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FORM 109
CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS
OF 1921
(AMERICAN)
Contemporary
One^Act Plays
OF 192)^
(AMERICAN)
Selected and Edited by
FRANK- SHAY
STEWART
CINCINNATI
STEWART KIDD COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
P5
Copyright, 1922
STEWART KIDD COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
Printed In the United States of America
The Caxton Press
'Bferybody for Books." ThU is one of the Interlaken Library
TO
EUGENE O'NEILL
FOREWORD
The present collection of short plays must be
considered as a supplementary volume to Fifty
Contemporary One- Act Plays issued early in 1921.
The same conditions surrounded its development
and completion.
The lot of the anthologist is not a happy one.
He must either select his plays because of the
fame of the authors, or, he must use a trace of
critical judgment and include only those plays,
regardless of the literary standing of their authors,
which he feels are the best that have come to his
attention. Whatever his course may be, it is
always open to criticism.
The editor has read several hundred one-act
plays since the previous volume was completed.
Indeed he has become so inured to meeting per-
sons who have plays they want published that he
is inclined to fly every time a person appears with a
manuscript under his arm. So many merely good
one-act plays are being written and acted these
days the editor early concluded that selecting the
best was not so much of a task as eliminating the
almost good. In this collection I have ignored
individual fame and have selected the best plays
I could find.
I would like to include Eugene G. O'Neill's
5
FOREWORD
The Emperor Jones, and Edna St. Vincent Mil-
lay's Aria da Capo. The former is so tied up in
copyrights that it could not be used. In the bib-
liography, which is appended, the reader will find
the play easily accessible to all interested. Miss
Millay's play, fortunately or unfortunately, was
included in the Fifty Contemporary One-Act
Plays. These two are unquestionably the out-
standing plays of the last year. They mark, in
no small way, the high accomplishments of the
art theatre in America.
F S
New York, April, 1922.
I
CONTENTS
PAGE
Foreword 5
Mirage George M. P. Baird 9
Napoleon's Barber Arthur Caeser 41
Goat Alley Ernest Howard Culbertson 63
Sweet and Twenty Floyd Dell 97
TiCKLESS Time ...Susan Glaspell and George Cram Cbok izj
The Hero of Santa Maria,
Kenneth Sawyer Goodman and Ben Hecht 163
All Gummed Up Harry Wagstaff Gribble 201
Thompson's Luck Harry Greenwood Grover 23 1
Fata Deorum Carl W. Guske 25 1
Pearl of Dawn Holland Hudson 269
Finders-Keepers George Kelly 3 1 1
Solomon's Song Harry Kemp 353
Matinata Lawrence Langner 373
The Conflict Clarice Vallette McCauley 403
Two Slatterns and a King. . .Edna St. Vincent Millay 443
Thursday Evening Christopher Morley 455
The Dreamy Kid Eugene O^Neill 487
Forbidden Fruit George Jay Smith 519
Jezebel Dorothy Stockbridge 541
Sir David Wears a Crown Stuart Walker 571
Bibliographies:
Books About the 1 heatre 617
Plays of The Little Theatre 618
MIRAGE
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
by George M. P. Baird
The first performance of Mirage was given at the
University of Pittsburgh by the Pitt Players on the evening
of April II, 1916, with the following cast:
PoLAiNA, a Hopi GHy ... Harriet Smith
Grayson Stone, an Ethnologist^ - Riddel Cramblet
Christine, his Wije^ _ - - > Irene Garrison
HoRMEK, a Psychiatristy - - Daniel T. R. Dickson
First Hopi Woman, - - - Augusta Schmeltz
Second Hopi Woman, - - . Claudia Chambers
Scenery, costumes, and properties designed by the
author and executed by the Pitt Players.
Copyright. 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Applications for permission to produce Mirage must be made to
the author, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, Stewart
Kidd Company, Cincinnati. Ohio.
MIRAGE
CONCERNING THE PEOPLE OF THE
PLAY
Polaina^ the niece of Chief Loloamaiy is a nine-
teen-year-old daughter of an ancient Amarind
tribe^ and heir to a civilization different from ^ but
in no essential sense inferior to^ that of the paler
peoples who have invaded its demesne. She is a
''child of nature^ perhaps ^ but by no means a
simple one. Passion and stoicism^ intellectual
curiosity and superstition^ frankness and guile^
craving and custom^ struggle within her. She is
neither a pathetic fool nor a sentimental wanton^
but a strong woman with an intense desire for hap-
pinessy an ardent love of life, and the courage to
attempt their satisfaction whatever the cost, Po-
laina is dressed in a wrapper-like^ blue^ cotton
gown which reaches slightly below the knees. Her
right shoulder and arm are bare, and a scarlet
blanket is flung over the left shoulder and fastened
beneath the right armpit. There are brightly
beaded moccasins upon her feet ^ and her legs are
wound about with strips of white cotton cloth.
Her blue-black hair is parted in the center and
rolled in elaborate ''' butterfly^^ coils above her ears.
These coils, together with the yellow squash bios-
iPolaina = Butterfly.
II
MIRAGE
soms which ornament them^ are a badge of virgin-
ity among the Hopi Indians, Her necklace^
bracelets^ and large^ square ear-pendants are of
hammered silver set with raw turquoise.
The First Hopi Woman is a middle-aged squaw^
while the Second Hopi Woman is probably about
ten years her senior. The faces of both are wrinkled
with a thousand little lines. Their hair is stiffly
braided, and their garments are similar to those of
Polainay though much more subdued in color.
These women are the sibyls of the play, their func-
tion being not unlike that of a Greek chorus,
Grayson Stone is a tall, somewhat emaciated man,
about thirty-five years of age. He is suffering from
amnesia, superinduced by sunstroke and exposure,
and has reverted to type. His hair and beard are
brown in color and quite unkempt, while his face,
arms, and bare feet are deeply tanned. He is
dressed, Hopi fashion, in a faded blue shirt and
nondescript tan cotton trousers. He wears a band
of red cloth about his head,
Christine is a well-poised, good-looking young
woman, blonde as to complexion, and obviously
Back Bay as to social status. She wears an icru
pongee motor coat over a blue summer frock, sun-
hat, tourist veil, and stout walking boots,
Dr, James Hormek is a short, somewhat stout per-
son, who would be singled out anywhere as a suc-
cessful physician. He has a generous, senti-
mental nature which he tries to disguise by a
brusque manner and clipped, incisive mode of
12
MIRAGE
speech. He is dressed in tweeds y golf cap^ and
tortoise-shell glasses ^ and carries motor gauntlets.
The action takes place upon the roof of an adobe
house y which forms one of the higher terraces in a
Hopi pueblo. To the right and left the walls of an-
other course of dwellings rise and are lost to sight
in the flies. At the rear is a low battlement of sun-
baked bricks y beyond which the silent desert and the
purple waste of space stretch illimitably, A rude
ladder leans against the wally right y and the top of
another can be seen projecting above the battlement.
It is the hour before dawn on an August morning,
Polaina is discovered at a stone corn-troughy down-
stagey left,
POLAINA {grinding corn and singing)
I-o-ho wonder-water,
I-o-ho wonder-water,
Life anew to him who drinks!
Look where southwest clouds are bringing rain;
Look where southeast clouds are bringing rain;
Life anew to him who drinks!
I-o-ho wonder-water,
I-o-ho wonder water.
Life anew to him who drinks!*
{Two Hopi women bearing water-jars upon their
heads enter from the lefty rear. They put down the
jars and squat beside them.)
FIRST WOMAN {wcarily)
Dry!
*See note on page 40.
13
MIRAGE
SECOND WOMAN
The rock pools are empty.
FIRST WOMAN
The Well of the Eagles has failed.
POLAINA
But the spring beneath the yuccas, at the foot
of the mesa? Even in the moon of thirst it has
always given sweet water.
FIRST WOMAN
Dry, too. The clay bottom is a crust of mud
burned like adobe.
SECOND WOMAN
Only the poisoned pool yields its palmful of bad
medicine.
POLAINA
The old men say that there has neVer been so
parched a summer; never so great a drouth in
all the years since the gods, our fathers, fled to
this mesa from the falling mountains.
FIRST WOMAN {taking a gourd bottle from the folds
of her blanket)
I have brought the witch-water from the poi-
soned pool.
POLAINA {surprised)
What will you do with that.^
SECOND WOMAN {significantly)
The thirst will soon be upon us. This is the milk
of forgetfulness from the breasts of Death.
FIRST WOMAN {nodding assent)
When the throat is afire and the tongue hangs
H
MIRAGE
like a blackened bean-pod between cracked,
swollen lips, swift death will be good medicine.
POLAINA {cheerfully)
Do not speak of death; the rains must come
soon. Uncle Loloamai and the priests have been
three days in the Kivas below the earth, weav-
ing the ceremonial cords of many colors and
binding feathers upon the sacred bahos.^ When
the yellow line brightens in the east we shall
plant them upon the edge of the mesa toward
the dawn, and the climbing sun will bear our
prayers for rain aloft.
SECOND WOMAN {skeptically)
Bahos ! What virtue is there in prayers breathed
to the turkey feathers and eagle feathers upon
a painted stick .^
POLAINA
Last year the Blue Flutes danced, the women
planted bahos in the white dawn, and at sunset
the rain clouds kissed the painted desert with a
crystal kiss.
SECOND WOMAN {looking shuvply at Polaina)
Some say it was not Hevebe, the Rain Lord, but
the White Bahana^, who brought luck, for it was
on that day that our herdsmen found him nearly
dead with thirst in the desert, and brought him
to the pueblo.
FIRST WOMAN
The Great Spirit behind the sun had touched
him, and the Drouth Demons feared him. The
Heyapo, the rushing clouds, followed the trail
^ Bahos = votive prayer-sticks,
2 Bahana = white man.
• 15
MIRAGE
of the mad white stranger. {Touching her head.)
The queer are good medicine.
SECOND WOMAN
Polaina, this Bahana is your lover. Can you
not make him work his strong rain-charm again ?
POLAINA
He says that he makes no medicine, that he has
no power. He does not even know whence he
came, or his name, or the home of his people.
FIRST WOMAN
The sun brings forgetfulness.
SECOND WOMAN
He is not a man, but a child of the sun.
POLAINA
He is a man! {Enigmatically.) It is not well
that a woman should be spouse to the child of a
god.
FIRST WOMAN
Then you are to be his woman?
POLAINA {touching the great wing whorls of hair
on the sides of her head)
I would cast aside the blossom of the squash for
no other. For him alone would I let down these
coils of maidenhood and plait them in wifely
fashion.
SECOND WOMAN
The white corn and the red corn do not grow on
one stock.
POLAINA
No, but they are ground in the same trough,
and when the pika^ is baked it is as sweet as
bread from unmingled meal.
^ Pika = cakes — ^'^paper bread.
i6
MIRAGE
FIRST WOMAN
You know nothing of the Bahana's tribe. What
if the gods should give back his memory and he
should carry you far from your people to the
Eastland, where the sun grows cold with cloud?
POLAINA
I should be happy anywhere with him.
FIRST WOMAN
Perhaps he already has a white woman for wife.
Some day he may remember. The eagle flies
far; but when the blood of dying day is red upon
the canyon crest, he returns to his nest among
the rocks.
POLAINA
For my Bahana there are no yesterdays. He
was born again of the desert and the sun. The
past is a mirage. Nothing is real but our love,
and in it are all the to-morrows.
SECOND WOMAN (dully)
Unless the rains come there will be no to-morrow
for the children of Muyinguava.^
{A pause, Polaina continues at her work. The
First Woman points toward the east^ where the
first light of dawn is brightening^
FIRST WOMAN
The spirits of the dawn are bending a yellow
line in the east like a string to the great bow of
the sky, and soon the blazing arrow of the sun
will shoot upward to the cloudless heavens.
{From below and at some distance comes the
^Muymguava = life-giving god — spirit of growth and
fertility.
17
MIRAGE
rhythmic chant of the men as they file up from the
Kivas or council chambers to make invocation to
the Great-Spirit-Behind-the-Sun for the life-giving
rains. They approach slowly. Their song in-
creasing in volume for a time dies gradually
as they move eastward toward the edge of the mesa,^)
{Grayson Stone climbs halfway down the ladder y
righty and stands silent for a moment, a dark
silhouette against the growing light. He speaks
slowly y almost colorlessly,)
STONE
May you have good in your hearts, O women !
POLAINA AND WOMEN
May you have good in your heart, O Bahana!
{He descends,)
STONE
Will there be rain to-day?
POLAINA {approaching him)
Listen! The men are marching to the eastern
cliff to pray for it. If the Demons keep the
breath of the prayer-sticks from the Great-
Spirit-Behind-the-Sun, the young men and the
Antelope Priests must dance the dance of the
rattlesnake to-morrow. Then surely there will
be rain.
SECOND WOMAN
There will be no rain.
STONE
The sun is still beneath the rim of the desert,
but it is already fever-hot. Give me to drink.
^ Chant should be accompanied by drum (tom-tom) and
Indian flute.
I8
MIRAGE
FIRST WOMAN
The springs are dried up. We have no water.
POLAINA
Is it true, my Bahana, as these women say, that
in your country it rains many times and the sun
is as pale as the moon ?
STONE
My country! I have no country but this. I
remember nothing earlier than my first sight of
you as you bent above me and poured the living
water, drop by drop, upon my tortured tongue.
I have tried to recall the past, for I know that I
have not lived here always. I must be of another
— another tribe. But it's no use. When I strive
to remember, I am like one in the darkness of a
strange house where still things and living
things are vaguely sensed, but are not seen or
known.
POLAINA
Some day you will remember; and in that day
I shall be forgotten.
STONE {takes her hand)
I must go on trying, but I shall never pierce the
darkness. Yet, even if the lost should come
back to me, if I should learn to remember, it
would make no difference in our love, Polaina.
POLAINA
Are you sure, Bahana? That is a fear that is
with me always. The call of the tribe is strong
and blood will answer blood.
STONE
No, my Butterfly, love is a mightier magic,
greater than all the powers, stronger than death
19
MIRAGE
itself. You are my tribe, and when my arms
are about you I embrace my only people. Love
sits with us in the Council Kiva of Life, and who
shall dare to make evil medicine where he
abides? O little Butterfly, have you begun to
doubt me? Have you ceased to trust my love?
POLAINA
No, no, I trust you ! . . . And yet I am afraid.
Though the coyote-cub be suckled by a dog on
the roof of a chiefs house, time comes when the
ancient longing for the wide waste of moonwhite
desert leaps in his heart and he answers the sum-
mons of the far-off pack.
STONE
I am not a wolf, but a man. I shall remain upon
the roof of the chiefs house.
POLAINA
You say that because you have not come to re-
member. Perhaps you once loved another wo-
man, and when the thought of her returns I
shall be left alone.
STONE
There can be no other woman. Butterfly.
POLAINA
The wells fail, the Demons are angry, and we
must die of thirst unless the rains come swiftly.
If you heard the call to return to the land of
cloud and rivers, the call of life and love and
your own people, you would go.
STONE
In life or death you are mine; I would not go.
{Pause.) Come, you shall plant a baho for me
on the edge of the mesa.
20
MIRAGE
POLAINA
You are a white man, a Bahana! Can you be-
lieve in Hopi magic?
STONE
Our souls are of one tribe, and I believe in you.
Come!
{They go -off stage , right y hand in hand.)
FIRST WOMAN {grinding corn)
I grind the red corn and the white corn in one
trough.
SECOND WOMAN
Meal is not bread until it has felt the fire.
FIRST WOMAN
How lies the corn in the Kivas on the Altar of the
Six Directions?
SECOND WOMAN {sorting corn)
A yellow ear to the north, and a blue ear to the
west, a sugar ear for the zenith of the sun, and a
black ear for its nadir, a red ear to the south,
and a white ear to the east. It is a powerful
charm to lay them so, but to mingle them is bad
medicine.
{The southern dawn has come swiftly, and the desert
begins to glow with the growing warmth of the sum-
mer sun. The light and heat increase in intensity
throughout the rest of the action.)
{Christine and Dr. Hormek enter , left.)
FIRST WOMAN
A red ear to the south and a white ear to the
east; an evil charm and a bad medicine if they
be mingled.
21
MIRAGE
CHRISTINE {advancing)
Good-morning.
WOMEN
May good be in your hearts !
CHRISTINE {illustrating her words with gesture and
raising her voice as one does when one thinks the
hearer unfamiliar with one's language)
We wish to buy pottery — jars, you know.
{The women indicate that they understand^
SECOND WOMAN
We have many beautiful pots. We will show.
{The First Woman goes of stage ^ right,)
DR. HORMEK
Now, don't be long, Christine. It's hot on this
roof already, and in an hour it'll be unbearable.
CHRISTINE
Five minutes will be long enough. Dr. Hormek.
DR. HORMEK {humorously petulant)
That's what you said at Acoma, and it took two
hours. O, you women! When the bargaining
instinct gets you, the devil himself couldn't
drag you away.
CHRISTINE {bantering him)
You'll reniember, doctor, that I didn't ask you
to come with me.
HORMEK
O, you didn't, eh? I suppose I'm to let you go
wandering all over this godforsaken desert alone!
I never should have permitted you to leave
Havordton.
22
MIRAGE
CHRjSTiNE {tossing her head)
Do you think that you could have prevented
my coming?
HORMEK
No, I suppose not. But you'll have to admit
that the whole thing has been a wild-goose chase.
Now, hasn't it?
CHRISTINE {seriously)
I have not given up hope.
HORMEK
Ah, but you have! I can see it in your eyes.
Your voice cries out, "No hope," even when
you are protesting the opposite. Come, Chris-
tine, give up this silly business. It can mean
but unhappiness for both of us.
CHRISTINE
I shall not give up until I have found Grayson,
or have conclusive proof that he is dead.
HORMEK
Proof! Great Scott! Haven't you the word of
the guides and the government agent for it?
Your brother, who spent months searching the
desert for him, believes he is dead. No man
could live without food or water through an
August week in these wastes.
CHRISTINE
The very fact that they found no trace of him
convinces me that he is still alive.
HORMEK
For quixotic obstinacy, go to a woman, especially
a married one! Here am I, trailing you all over
this damned — I beg your pardon — this infernal
country like a love-sick crusader when I ought
2j
MIRAGE
to be back home with my patients. Many of
them are not half so crazy as I am.
CHRISTINE {coolly)
Well, why not take a train to-morrow? By
starting now you will have plenty of time to
reach the railroad.
HORMEK
I shan^t leave without you; you know that.
CHRISTINE {banteringly)
For quixotic obstinacy, go to a man, especially
an unmarried one.
HORMEK
Tm not good at repartee. Hang it all, Christine,
I want to marry you, can't you understand
that? (She smiles^ Oh, it's damned humorous,
no doubt, and Tm making seven kinds of an ass
of myself, but I can't help it. It's enough to
make any red-blooded man fighting mad, to
have a woman like you within his reach and be
denied her by this gho — {He is about to say
*'ghosty* but changes it to) — this romantic fancy
of yours.
CHRISTINE {serious again)
Please don't say any more.
HORMEK
I shan't, if it pains you, dear, but honestly
now —
CHRISTINE
There, you're beginning all over again!
HORMEK
Well, let me have my word out now, and I swear
I won't trouble you again. We've been at every
pueblo and white settlement in this benighted
24
MIRAGE
region; you're ruining your health, and still no
word of Grayson. I want you to promise that
you'll go back home with me at the end of this
week. {He seizes her hand,) Will you, Chris-
tine?
{The First Woman returns with a back-load oj
pottery?^
CHRISTINE {hesitant)
I — I don't know.
SECOND WOMAN
Pots of the butterfly and pots of the eagle,
bowls of the rain-beast, and jars with the sign
of Hevebe.
FIRST WOMAN {displaying her wares)
Paint cups, corn bowls, and water-jars.
CHRISTINE {examining the collection with the eye of a
connoisseur)
The burning is not so good as that of Acoma.
{Holding up a small bowL) How much?
FIRST WOMAN
Three dollar?
CHRISTINE
One.
SECOND WOMAN {protesting)
The lady knows the best. Three dollar it is
little.
CHRISTINE {firmly)
One.
FIRST WOMAN
Two dollar?
HORMEK
Give it to her and let's get out of here. {Takes
two silver dollars from purse.)
25
MIRAGE
CHRISTINE
It's not worth that much. {Hormek is about to
give the coins to the woman,) She means two
dollars Mexican; one of those is sufficient.
{Hormek pays; Christine turns to go.)
FIRST WOMAN (taking a small jar out of a larger one
and holding it up)
Good medicine!
HORMEK (taking the jar)
I say, Christine, look at this one! Red and
white, Greek fret, and (Examining it closely)^
by George, Greek letters — Alpha, Pi, Sigma!
CHRISTINE (as if stricken by a blow)
Why, so it is! (To woman) Where did you get
this? It's not Hopi.
SECOND WOMAN
We make; Bahana paint.
HORMEK
Who?
FIRST WOMAN
Bahana, white man.
HORMEK
How'd he come to paint it? Who is he?
FIRST WOMAN (touching her forehead significantly)
A child of the mirage touched by the Great-
Spin t-Behind-the-Sun.
SECOND WOMAN
The forgetful one who gives us luck.
CHRISTINE
Oh, if it is he!
26
MIRAGE
HORMEK
Bring him here.
{Second Woman nods and goes out^ right,)
CHRISTINE
How long has the white man been with you ?
FIRST WOMAN
Since this time last year. We found him dying
in the desert just before the rains came.
HORMEK
And he remembers nothing?
FIRST WOMAN
His mind is like a bowl before it is painted.
CHRISTINE {moving impulsively toward the right)
I must go to him!
HORMEK {detaining her)
No, stay here. Try to calm yourself. It may
be a mistake. It may be someone else.
CHRISTINE {hysterically)
Let me go! You don't want me to find him,
you, you —
HORMEK
Good God, Christine! Do you think Tm such
a cad? You're getting hysterical. Brace up,
girl, I don't fancy having a collapse patient on
my hands in the middle of this blasted desert.
{Stone and Polaina enter slowly, right. His arm
is about her waist.)
CHRISTINE {rushing to Stone and embracing him)
Grayson 1
HORMEK {the sentimentalist)
O faith of woman !
27
MIRAGE
POLAiNA {interposing and pushing Christine away)
Go Vay, white woman !
CHRISTINE
He is my husband. {She attempts to seize Stone's
hands.) Speak to me, Gray!
{Grayson stands dazed and embarrassed and gives
no sign of recognition. Polaina looks at him
questioningly, and then turns scornfully to Chris-
tine.)
POLAINA
Let him choose!
STONE {oblivious of the newcomers)
Come along. Butterfly.
{Polaina smiles in triumph and puts her arm
about him. Christine sinks to a seat on the ground
and sobs hysterically.)
HORMEK {professionally)
Brace up, I need your help. It*s a case of fugue,.
I think. Pull yourself together and we'll save
him yet.
{Stone and Polaina move of. Christine stiffens
and sits with tensely clasped hands. Hormek
seizes Stone's arm and forces him to look at the
''Greek'' jar.)
HORMEK
Did you paint this?
STONE {slowly)
Yes. . . . Yes, I painted it.
HORMEK {pointing to the design and speaking in the
eveny deliberate tone which one uses with a hyp-
notic subject)
28
MIRAGE
Greek! Does that suggest anything? Alpha,
Pi, Sigma! Greek!
{Stone traces the letters with a labored finger and
speaks dreamily)
STONE
Alpha . . . Pi . . . Sigma . . . Greek
. . . Greek letter.
HORMEK
Fraternity.
STONE
My fraternity . . . We . . . there was
a girl . . . We danced there.
HORMEK
Our last college dance. Do you recall the girl's
name? Christine?
STONE {groping)
I think, I think it was Christine. . . . Yes,
that was it, Christine.
HORMEK
It was in May, our commencement night.
STONE {piecing the ideas together laboriously)
Christine, . . . moonlight, . . . Campus
trees, . . . elm trees . . . Commencement
. . . Christine ... I asked her and she
. . . she promised to marry me.
{Christine is about to cry outy but is stopped by a
warning gesture of Hormek)
HORMEK
You married her. You married Christine.
STONE {very slowly, as one emerging from sleep)
Yes, I married her. {Showing interest for first
time,) Where is she? Where am I?
29
MIRAGE
CHRISTINE (throwing her arms about him)
Here I am. Don't you know me. Gray?
STONE {his voice and manner changing to that of an
alert^ cultured man)
Of course I know you. Why shouldn't I ? How
did you get here? (Looking about.) I don't re-
member coming to this pueblo. Where's the
rest of the expedition?
HORMEK (soothingly)
In good time, in good time, old man. You've
been very sick, y' know. Sunstroke.
STONE
Nonsense! Never felt better. What's the joke?
How did you get here, Chrisie?
CHRISTINE
I came to find you.
HORMEK
And the devil's own time she's had of it.
STONE (impulsively seizing Hormek's hand)
Why, Jim Hormek, you old villain! You here,
too? So I've been sick. How long have I been
here ?
CHRISTINE (caressing him)
A year, dearest.
STONE (incredulously)
A year? Surely not! Why, it was only this
morning I left camp to look for a poison pool
the natives told me of.
HORMEK
A year ago these Indians found you dying of
thirst out yonder in the desert.
CHRISTINE
We have been searching for you ever since
30
MIRAGE
Brother Jack reported your disappearance, and
at last . . . Thank God! {She clings to him,)
{Pause.)
HORMEK
I had given you up for dead.
STONE
And yet you kept up the search, like the faithful
old friend you are.
HORMEK {looking at Christine)
Selfishness often travels the same road with
love. You have only Christine to thank.
CHRISTINE
I could not have restored his memory; that part
was yours.
HORMEK
Let it be for my atonement.
STONE
What have I been doing here? I remember
nothing.
HORMEK
Living the life of a native, I should think;
eating, sleeping . . . {He stops abruptly and
looks at Polaina, Christine does the same,
Hormek and Christine exchange glances.)
STONE {apparently seeing Polaina for the first time)
Why do you look at that girl so strangely?
{There is an embarrassing silence. Hormek and
Christine are evidently trying to think of the dip-
lomatic thing to say, Christine succeeds first and
says gently — )
CHRISTINE
I — I think she has been very good to you, Gray.
31
MIRAGE
STONE
Has she? Strange that I can't remember her.
(JPolaina clutches at her heart),
SECOND WOMAN {grinding corn)
The eagle returns to his nest.
FIRST WOMAN {sorting corn)
A white ear to the east, a red ear to the south,
and an evil medicine if they be mingled.
CHRISTINE (weakly)
I feel faint. (She sways; Stone supports her.)
HORMEK
The heat is becoming unbearable. (To the wo-
men) Any water there? (They nod denial.)
YouVe both been under a big strain. Let's get
out of here.
STONE
Yes, but first I must thank these Indians. (Feels
for money^ hut discovers that he is wearing the
pocketless clothes of the Hopi.) Have you any
money with you, Jim?
HORMEK (handing Stone a purse)
I'll take Christine down into the shade. We'll
start for civilization as soon as you can make
your adieux. Don't linger, now.
STONE
Trust me, I shan't be long. (He kisses Chris-
tine.) Wait for me, dearest.
CHRISTINE
I shall wait for you. (Christine^ supported by
Hormeky goes out.)
{Stone goes over to Polaina.)
32
MIRAGE
STONE {formally)
I have you and your people to thank for my
life, and I am truly grateful. Take this, not in
payment, but as a poor token of my gratitude.
{He closes her hand about the purse. She puts her
hands behind her backy the purse drops unnoticed,)
What is your name?
POLAINA
You called me Butterfly.
STONE {indulgently y as to a child)
Did I? What a pretty name!
POLAINA
You are going away?
STONE {in a matter-of-fact voice)
Yes, I must go back to my people.
POLAINA
The coyote answers the summons of the pack.
The eagle circles low at the she-eagle*s call.
STONE {somewhat puzzled)
You mean that the white lady is my wife, and
that I am going back with her?
POLAINA
Yes. What of me?
STONE {mystified)
You? Tm afraid I don't understand.
POLAINA {passionately)
Am I not your people, am I not your woman?
Have you forgotten your oath, have you for-
gotten the kisses of Polaina? You loved me,
and I gave you all my love — all! all!
STONE {starting back)
I kissed you? I said I loved you? I can't re-
member. No, no, I never did that!
33
MIRAGE
POLAINA (unwinding her maiden coils of black
hair)
Look! it was for you that I came out from among
the maidens.
FIRST WOMAN
She spoke truly.
SECOND WOMAN
She was his woman.
STONE (suddenly realizing her meaning)
Not that! O, my God! What have I done?
POLAINA
In the sight of your gods and of my gods, I am
your woman.
STONE
How shall a man atone for a sin he never willed
to do? (An agonized pause?) What do you
wish ?
POLAINA
You, your love.
STONE
Whatever may have been, that is impossible*
now. I am already married.
POLAINA
She has no children?
STONE
No, but—
POLAINA
Judge then, which of us is more truly your wife.
STONE
I must go to her. I must go to her.
POLAINA (strangely stoical)
Yes, you must go. It is useless to fight against
34
MIRAGE
the spell of blood, but in the eyes of the gods
you will always be mine.
STONE {torn with remorse)
Is there nothing I can do, nothing that will give
you back your life, your happiness?
POLAINA
The wells have failed, and the rains are not yet.
A little while and I, with all my people, must
journey to the country of the dead. My suffer-
ing is less than yours, for you must live with
your thoughts.
{A new light comes into her eyes^ her body stiffens
with purpose. Stone is too busy with his trouble
to discern the change in her. She smiles.)
STONE
Yes, life is often more cruel than death.
POLAINA {lifting the gourd bottle)
This is the last water I shall ever taste. Will
you drink it with me for good-bye?
STONE
I cannot take it, when you need it so much. It
may keep you alive until the rain.
POLAINA {coaxingly)
Will you deny me this last little joy? Drink,
drink!
{Stone drinksy hands the gourd to Polaina and
shcy toOy drinks,)
FIRST WOMAN {springing up)
They have drunk the —
SECOND WOMAN {drawing her down)
Peace! The milk of forget fulness. It is better
so.
35
MIRAGE
(Polaina raises and lowers her arms rhythmically
toward the heavens. Her lips move rapidly as in
prayer,)
FIRST WOMAN
She is praying to the Master of the Rods of
Life, she is praying for the rains.
SECOND WOMAN
No, she does not face the East. She is praying
to the Demons against the rains. She wishes
to die.
{Polaina regains her composure. She seats her-
self and motions for Stone to sit beside her. He
obeys,)
POLAINA {calmly)
Forgive me. The sun has made me mad. {She
touches Stone' s forehead,) You, too, are fevered.
STONE
Yes, I feel as if I were in a burning forest.
POLAINA {slowly y in a soothing voice ^ almost like an
incantation)
Your head throbs, your lips are like charred
embers.
STONE
My throat is parching.
POLAINA
The morning wind is dead.
STONE
My eyes burn.
POLAINA
The desert is burning. It is wrp.pped in the
flame of the sun.
36
MIRAGE
STONE
The heat curves and wavers. The air stifles me.
POLAINA
You are very thirsty, very thirsty.
STONE
Yes, yes!
POLAINA
Your tongue thickens, your throat is a tor-
tured coal. Thirsty, thirsty.
STONE
The sun beats Hke — like a thousand hammers
on my head. I think I am dying.
POLAINA
Come, I will shade you with my blanket. {She
draws him to her and puts her blanket about him,)
You are very thirsty.
STONE {weakly)
I must go; they are waiting.
POLAINA
You wish to drink, to drink, to drink. You are
thirsty, very thirsty.
STONE
Water! Water!
POLAINA {her arms about him, holds the gourd to his
lips)
Drink! {He drinks,)
STONE
My brain reels. {He struggles to rise, but is re-
strained by Polaina.)
I — must — go to — to — to drink! to drink! to
DRINK!
POLAINA
No, not yet, my Bahana. You thirst. But you
will not go.
37
MIRAGE
STONE {dreamily and in his first manner)
Come, we will find cold water, and you shall
plant a baho for me on the edge of the desert.
POLAINA
You have no wife. You have no wife, and you
are thirsty. No wife, only Polaina.
STONE (wandering
A wife? Don't tease me! You are my wife,
Polaina.
POLAINA
The white woman is waiting, but you will not
go. You will stay with Polaina, for you are very
thirsty.
STONE
I know no woman but you. Water! Water!
POLAINA {passionately)
Kiss me. {He kisses her.) Have you forgotten
your people ?
STONE
I have no people. {He claws at his throat.) Vm
dying with thirst. Water!
POLAINA {holding the gourd upside down)
There is no more water.
STONE {frenzied)
No water? You lie! {Getting to his feet un-
steadily and pointing into the desert.) Look!
The lake! Water! The lake, the lake!
POLAINA {laughing^ but without mirth)
Mirage, like our lives.
STONE
No! No! It's real, I tell you. Water! Water!
Come. {He moves to the left.)
38
MIRAGE
POLAiNA {triumphantly)
The desert gave you to me; the desert is my
mother. I will go. We shall die in the beautiful
desert!
STONE
We shall not die. We shall live our love beside
the sweet waters.
POLAINA {ecstatically)
Our love shall not die. It shall laugh on the
wind of the desert, when the morrow's sands
drift over us. Come, my Bahana.
STONE {embracing her)
Butterfly!
{They go out^ left^ in each other s arms. The
voice of Hormek is heard below ^ offstage^ I'ight.)
HORMEK
Ready to leave, Grayson?
FIRST WOMAN
The desert has conquered. They follow the
mirage.
SECOND WOMAN {grinding corn)
White corn and red corn are ground and
mingled. The pika smokes on the oven stones.
FIRST WOMAN {in bcncdiction)
May good be in their hearts!
SECOND WOMAN
May good be in their hearts!
VOICE OF CHRISTINE {calling)
Gray, ho Gray!
39
MIRAGE
FIRST WOMAN {rising and turning her water-jar up-
side down)
Tenkia! It is all finished.
SECOND WOMAN {following her example)
Aye, Tenkia!
{They pass out slowly toward the left as the cur-
tain falls,)
MUSIC
Polaina's song is the "Laguna Corn-grinding Song,"
while the Men's Chant is the "Lene Tawi" (Hopi Flute
Song.) The words and music are to be found only in
"The Indians* Book," by Natalie Curtis [Natalie Curtis
Burlin].
40
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
A PLAY
by Arthur Caesar
CHARACTERS
Napoleon Josephine
Barber Pierre
Copyright, 1922, by ARTHUR CAESAR
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No performance of this play may be given without the
written permission of the author, who may be ad-
dressed at 359 Clifton Place, Brooklyn, N. Y
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
Place. — The village of Plombiers^ about two kil-
ometres outside the city of Dijon.
Time. — Late one evening in the latter part of the
eighteenth century ^ just before Napoleon s Spanish
campaign.
Scene. — An eighteenth-century barber shop in a
small French village. Leading from the shopy
upstage^ are three short steps which one mounts
to enter the living quarters of the Barber. The
shop is divided from the dwelling quarters by
portiereSy which are almost always left undrawn
so that the Barber's wife may know all that goes
on in the shop. With rise of curtain the Barber
is observed pacing to and fro in his shopy ges-
ticulating wildly and reading from a manuscript
a poem of his own composition.
BARBER {reciting his poem in a loud voice and
with wild gesticulation)
To arms! To arms! my braves!
Are ye but slaves?
The tools of knaves?
Such you are. Napoleon lives.
{With the commencement of the reading, the
Barber s wife stands in the doorway of the living
chambers y listening to the Barber. The Barber y
knowing she is therCy pretends not to notice her,
and goes on louder than ever with his poetry y ex-
pecting the approval of his wife.)
43
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
Napoleon, beware!
Tyrant, have a care!
Had I you in my power,
Vd cut you ear to ear!
WIFE (smi/ingy descends into the shop)
That I believe. Some poor innocent client will
be found here some day by the police, headless
or earless or both, if you don't stop being a
poet and reformer of France.
BARBER
There you go, defending Napoleon.
WIFE
Bah! Defending Napoleon! I never said any-
thing about Napoleon. What have I to do
with the business of kings and emperors? I
leave them to the perfumed ladies of Paris.
They can take care of them very well. I mar-
ried a barber, who told my parents he was the
best in Dijon, and could earn a real respectable
livelihood, and now woe is me. I find I have
been tricked. He has become the worst poet
in France, and has made a business of being
Napoleon's best enemy.
BARBER
Madame, you do not understand. A woman
never understands. La Belle France is in
danger. A tyrant is sapping its life's blood —
{Grows very emotional and stutters) We must
arouse the people of France to — to — t — to —
WIFE
To look after clients and save France by ceas-
ing to chase away your patrons with long
speeches and bad haircuts. {Goes to him and
puts her hand on his shoulder,) Forget the
44
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
stories of your ne'er-do-well brother in Paris.
If he had something profitable to do, he wouldn't
know nor care how many times a day a man
beats his wife, even if that fellow were Na-
poleon. You were the best barber in France,
and now you are merely the worst rhymester
in the world. Give it up, I beg you.
BARBER
I can't — {Very emotional) I can't. Do you
remember General Du Bois?
WIFE
Yes, the kind old man in charge of the Dijon
section.
BARBER
Exactly. He is dead. A suicide.
WIFE
Dead! A suicide? Why?
BARBER
Napoleon insulted him.
WIFE
Poor man.
BARBER
Yes, he found him off duty. Is that such a
crime, I ask you? And told him in front of
several people, after recalling that he had dec-
orated him with the Legion of Honor, he would
shoot him in the very field where the old gen-
eral had received the decoration, and with as
much ceremony, if he found him away again
without permission. Is that the way to talk
to an old soldier?
WIFE
Well, I don't know, dear, but it seems to me
that the General ought to have been soldier
45
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
enough to stick at his work, even as you ought
to be barber enough to shave, shave, shave.
BARBER
My God, woman, are you in love with that
devil? Oh, if I could have him here now, I
would cut his neck from ear to ear! I would,
may God help me!
{During this speech the door leading from the
street into the shop has been quietly opened^ and
in the doorway^ listenings stands a private sol-
dier. He is unshaven^ his shoulders are stooped^
and his hair in the back is noticeably long,)
NAPOLEON {bows)
Pardon. May a tired soldier of France be
shaved here.^
{Madame makes a hasty exit up the steps which
lead to the living quarters^ enters the dwelling
chambers s and draws the curtain. The Barber
Jumbles nervously with the manuscript and then
thrusts it into his blouse.)
BARBER {nervously)
Eh, good day, my friend. Certainly, gladly.
Seat yourself. You must be tired.
NAPOLEON {goes to chaiT and sits in it with a great
sigh of relief)
I am tired. War is very hard work. It is
very hard for me, because I don*t like seeing
blood. I hate red. If I could but stop for a
moment marking time for Fate. Destiny is a
hard master. He punishes and rewards you
within the minute; he ruins you while you
sleep. To him, a lost minute is eternity.
46
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
{Stretches and sighs.) Ah, but for a rest, with-
out anxiety and fear.
BARBER {with cup in handy and not quite under-
standing)
Without fear? Poor fellow! Do the officers
beat you?
NAPOLEON
Yes, sometimes, when I'm not paying atten-
tion. When Fm off guard.
BARBER {putting down the cup)
Ah, it must be a hard life for you. Nothing to
do but kill and avoid being killed.
NAPOLEON
You talk as if death were the thing to be
feared. Ah, no; ah, no. It is life which holds
out the promise of tomorrow. Death is the
messenger of yesterday. I know of Caesar and
Rome, but what do I know of tomorrow?
BARBER
Oh, yes; quite right. Tomorrow you may be
dead, poor fellow —
NAPOLEON
Do you read the stars? Is this prediction —
BARBER
I hear of men dying in the thousands. I hear
strange stories of their blessing him who sends
them to their death. {Gets excited?) Why?
Sir — for whom do they die?
NAPOLEON
It is true, they bless him as they die — but why
they should bless him as they die, I cannot say.
{Napoleon noticeably afected.) I will never forget
the lad who stood beside him, a messenger, in
one of the battles of our last campaign. He was
47
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
hardly fifteen, a child from the province of
Dordogne, a dispatch carrier. I saw him shot
through the heart, but still grasping the mes-
sage, he saluted the Emperor: "God bless you,
sire, your generals are victorious." {Shakes his
head.) Poor lad, why should he have died
blessing him, I wonder?
BARBER
Why, indeed, poor son of his miserable parents —
Why, indeed, for a ridiculous httle man they
call Napoleon a tyrant, sucking the life's blood
of France ?
NAPOLEON
Quite right. A noDody, a ridiculous little man,
the son of a bandit, bred in a bandit cave, who
walked hungry through the streets of Paris,
making promises to his stomach that it would
sometime be fed power. The tears which
flowed down his cheeks from his sleepless eyes
watered this will to power.
BARBER {very much encouraged. At last he has
found a client who agrees with him^ he thinks)
Ah, how well you put it! Such elegant lan-
guage! You should be a journalist. He is a
traitor, too; we mustn't forget that. He betrayed
the Revolution.
NAPOLEON
Traitor, traitor; that's it. He cut off the hot
heads and heated the cold ones. He turned the
tide of blood-stained reason from suicide to
system and order. And for such a reward; for
a ridiculous eagle no handsomer than Han-
nibal's, but weighing a good deal heavier.
48
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
Traitor, indeed! He should be murdered in a
bathtub by some kind mistress.
BARBER
Or a barber shop. Would it were mine.
NAPOLEON
You really hate him ? You must know him well.
BARBER
Know him? Know him? I certainly do. He
beats his wife, hates children, insults his gen-
erals, kills innocent soldiers for sport.
NAPOLEON
What does this monster look like who feeds on
the blood of men ?
BARBER
Just like the devil. Short, with popping eyes
which burn into you like hot coals; a big head
like a cabbage. Sometimes he looks like an
imbecile and sometimes like a bloodthirsty
monster whose compressed lips hide carniv-
orous teeth.
NAPOLEON {sighs)
You know him well, very well. A few mistakes
in observation here and there, but for the rest
you know him like a poor relation.
BARBER
Ah, then you know him, too.
NAPOLEON
Not too well.
BARBER
You served under him ?
NAPOLEON
I served for him. I was his bodyguard; aye,
his soul guard, too, if you please, for I saw to
it that nanjght got to him which would inter-
49
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
fere with his course for a moment. I knew
that there was ever present the germ of his
own destruction in himself. He is sentimental
and sensitive.
BARBER {with much awe)
Then you were close to him?
NAPOLEON
So near to him I could hurt him with a word, a
look. I could have permitted jealousy to
smuggle its vicious sting into his consciousness,
or dangerous doubting, or perhaps, the most
destructive of all, indigestion. But I chal
lenged them all.
BARBER
Yet you are still a private. What was your
reward from the ungrateful one?
NAPOLEON
Reward was ever present in the game. The
harder I watched, the greater his warning to
watch harder, more carefully. The smaller the
danger the greater was my carefulness. "For
Fate," he would say, "lurks in strange places,
and Destiny chooses strange moments for his
practical jokes."
BARBER
Did he never say a kind word to you, the
tyrant?
NAPOLEON
Yes, I remember one night when he was very
kind to me. He reviewed his entire life for me.
We had been in retreat for several days. Dur-
ing this time we had not tasted meat. The
first day we had settled ourselves more or less
50
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
permanently, he ordered a full-course supper.
When the cook served it to him he ate it
ravishedly. That night he was sick. He sighed
and groaned and tossed about.
BARBER
Oh, had he died, what a blessing that would
have been.
NAPOLEON
Early that morning I heard him call my name.
"What is it, sire?" I asked. "Indigestion," he
replied, "my worst enemy. Listen, soldier.
Some day I shall lose all I have worked for be-
cause of my stomach. I have mastered all
elemental passions and emotions, but my desire
to eat, my ravishing desire to eat." Then,
pointing to his stomach, he said: "There lies
the source of victory and defeat; there lies the
fate of England and the world and Napoleon.
Achilles has bequeathed me his vulnerable heel
and I have swallowed it."
BARBER
I would have relieved him of his misery quickly,
the vicious dragon.
NAPOLEON
I think his ravishing appetite is responsible
for his speaking nights.
BARBER
His conscience, my friend. How can one rest
when he is responsible for the bloody deaths of
thousands? His heart must be as heavy as
lead —
NAPOLEON (sighs)
Nearly crushed, I should think.
51
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
BARBER
What does he say in his sleep? {Anxiously)
What does he do?
NAPOLEON
He is usually weeping. "Ah, woe is me!" he
cries, "woe is me. My generals lie to me; they
betray me. They promise to bring me the
hearts of ten thousand enemies, and I only get
one thousand."
BARBER {disgusted)
Hearts of men, the snake !
NAPOLEON (continues)
Then he calls the names of his marshals.
"Ney," he cries, "bring me the Colosseum. This
day, Bliicher, spare no children! General,
bring me the Pope's ring this noon!"
BARBER {very much excited)
Heathen! Devil! No respect for God or
man! Oh, I could make short of him! May
God appoint me his executioner!
NAPOLEON {peaches his climax in these gross exag-
gerations now. He draws the barber nearer by
speaking very quietly and dramatically)
That is not the worst, for it is in the early
morning that he sends a chill running up and
down my spine. He repeats this tale every
night. I think it is a fixed thought with him.
BARBER {anxiously)
What is it?
NAPOLEON
You know how fond he is of the Orient. It
appeals to his dramatic sense — the pomp and
ceremony. Well, he has planned for himself a
gorgeous Oriental funeral. He directs that his
52
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
successor gather together five thousand French-
men. They must represent every trade and
profession — mechanics, tradesmen, lawyers, doc-
tors, and barbers. Every small village is to
give up its quota in barbers, et cetera. These
are to be buried with him in Oriental fashion to
keep him company. "I love France and
Frenchmen!*' he cries. "I must have them in
death even as in life."
BARBER
Horrible ghoul! What an idea! Phew! {Gets
very excited,) Oh, if I only had him here —
NAPOLEON
Seeing you so excited, my dear friend, about the
trials of La Belle France, makes me a little bit
afraid that you might cut me.
BARBER {very proudly)
Not at all; not at all. I am the best barber in
Dijon. {Now very profoundly) And, besides,
shaving has nothing to do with revolution. I
keep them separate. One is an ideal and the
other a job. You understand.
NAPOLEON
Except when you have Napoleon for a cus-
tomer. I suppose then the ideal and the job
meet.
{Napoleon and the Barber laugh. The Barber
proceeds to lather Napoleon^ s J ace. He has one
side completely lathered when he suddenly stops
and searches through his blouse for the poem.)
BARBER
I am going to read you my revolutionary
masterpiece.
53
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
NAPOLEON
Do you mind completing the art you have
already commenced? The soap is drying on
my face.
BARBER {pays no attention to hiniy but wildly ges-
ticulatingy recites the poem^ while Napoleon
smiles and squirms uncomfortably in his chair.
Starts to lather Napoleon^ s face again, and this
time begins the shaving of him)
In those funeral arrangements did he include
barbers? Are you sure he expects to get one
at least from every village?
NAPOLEON
Quite sure. I remember his distinctly saying
barbers. Sometimes he would miss a doctor or
a lawyer, but a barber never.
BARBER
Oh, if the man who shaves him only knew! If
I were his barber — oh, if he were my customer,
I would give him his funeral.
NAPOLEON
What can a barber do to Napoleon?
BARBER {very much surprised. He gives his razor
an energetic honing, lifts the head of Napoleon
' by the chin a little higher so that the head is
thrown back, exposing the neck advantageously,
then he turns his razor so that the blunt edge meets
the neck of Napoleon)
Look. Just this — {runs the blunt edge across
Napoleon^ s neck from ear to ear) and no more
Napoleon, no more tyranny, and a barber is
the saviour of France.
54
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
NAPOLEON
True. A freak stroke of fate, and a barber suc-
ceeds where kings and emperors fail.
{Napoleon throws his head back and shuts his
eyes and the Barber completes the shaving oj
Napoleon, whistling Revolutionary tunes as he
proceeds,)
BARBER {pats Napoleon on the face)
Ah! Now you look like a young bridegroom
all ready for — {JVhispers in Napoleon's ear and
laughs. Napoleon has an accommodating smile,)
My Josephine likes me smooth-shaven. She
says she does not like me unshaven; it scratches
her skin. Vain women. They are strange,
aren't they?
NAPOLEON {startled, repeats)
Josephine — ^Josephine.
BARBER
Yes, that's the name of my wife, the woman
you saw here when you entered.
NAPOLEON
Josephine — your wife?
BARBER
Certainly, my good friend. Are you dreaming?
Certainly my wife.
NAPOLEON {more to himself, with his back to the
Barber, He has turned about in the chair and
looks out into the dirt path which leads to the
barber shop. The sun is setting and it is growing
darker)
Strange what images the sound of a name can
conjure up. The mention of that name has
driven from my mind the plans of empire,
SS
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
wiped from my will the ambitions of a lifetime.
I am one with him, just male, just male, crowded
with sentimental yearnings of love and father-
hood and —
BARBER
Speaking to yourself?
NAPOLEON {pays no heed. Still to himself^ while
the Barber hones a razor)
Strange how the years are destroyed by that
name. There she stands, in that drawing-
room, surrounded by the pampered pale aris-
tocracy of Paris. She, an Amazon in their
midst. The heat of the southern sun which
colored her ancestors gave her the passion of
its soul. Oh, Josephine, {quietly) Josephine,
you are mine in Egypt, on the battlefield, in
my tent in Italy, in victory and defeat, Jose-
phine.
BARBER
Pardon. Have you ever heard Napoleon speak
of his Josephine? The poor woman does not
miss him and his beatings, I suppose. Do you
think he ever gives a thought to her — the
devil? I hear because of him she is not invited
to the salons of Paris. She is left lonely, poor
woman.
NAPOLEON {with much disgust)
Insects creep without much sense of honor or
loyalty. Today they ignore her, but to-
morrow they will fawn at her feet and, like
lice, feed on the bounty and glory which she
may be able to bestow upon them. Phew!
Weep if you will about the destruction of
thousands on the battlefields. To one strong
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
oak there are thousands of fungi which must be
destroyed before the strong can serve.
BARBER {slowing gTOWtng conscious of a great per-
sonality. He takes sidelong looks at his patron
as he hones his razors. He speaks little now^ but
keeps constantly honing a razor ^ listening and
testing its sharpness)
Don't lose your kindness, sir. Perhaps it's
because of her recent caprices with a young
army lieutenant.
NAPOLEON (has heard this rumor before. He rises
in the chair in a rage. The Barber hones)
Lying lepers, slimy things which lie awake in
the still night, planning the destruction of the
fittest. Vultures, whose claws dig deepest when
one is most helpless. Dark scientists of tears
and laughter who study the human emotions,
will, and intellect for their cowardly profit.
They know to the gram the kind of stuff to
feed the emotions until such time when it will
in its desperation ride wildly over the will and
intellect, destroying the victim of their un-
scrupulousness. But they shall eat the entrails
of the weaker great, not the really great, for
such caliber of food is too rich for their flutter-
ing hearts.
(The Barber listens to this speech not really
meant for his ears^ honing his razors and testing
them. A look of suspicion has come into the
face of the Barber, Napoleon knows he has be-
trayed himself. There enters from the street
Pierre y the Barber s son. He is about ten years
old, and is singing a French song. He spies the
SI
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
soldier and runs to him. Napoleon takes him up
in his lap and kisses him.)
PIERRE
Hello! Are you a soldier with Napoleon?
NAPOLEON
Yes, my little friend.
PIERRE
I want to be a soldier with Napoleon.
NAPOLEON
Do you? And why?
PIERRE
I like to fight, to sleep in tents, to march to the
drum.
{The Barber looks disapprovingly at his son^ but
continues to hone razors.)
NAPOLEON
You may be a general some day.
PIERRE
My father doesn*t like generals.
NAPOLEON
Why?
PIERRE
I don't know. He says they murder people.
But mother says they sometimes make real men
out of what look like people.
NAPOLEON {laughs)
That's true.
PIERRE
I can recite.
Napoleon {pressing the boy closer to his breast)
What?
PIERRE
Egalite, fraternite — liberte.
58
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
NAPOLEON
That's fine — a soldier in their name. A good
sentiment.
(From behind the portieres is heard the calling of
the name ^'' Pierre'')
PIERRE
I must go now. Mother will want an explana-
tion for my staying so long after school was
out. But I played war and won the battle.
{Pierre by this time has gotten off Napoleon's lap
and is walking toward the steps which lead up to
the living quarters^
NAPOLEON
Fine boy.
PIERRE
Goodbye, father.
(Barber^ continuing to honCy says goodbye to the
boy rather absent-mindedly,)
NAPOLEON
Wait a moment, Pierre. Did you say that you
won that battle?
PIERRE
Yes — the battle of Dijon.
NAPOLEON
Come here, my general!
{Pierre approaches Napoleon. Napoleon fumbles
in his coat for a medal of the Legion of Honor y
pins it on him, kisses him^ and salutes him.
Pierre runs up the steps shouting^
PIERRE
Mother! Mother! See what I have!
59
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
{The Barber has watched this proceeding with
great awe. By this time he has laid out all his
razors with their blades extended.)
BARBER
But, sir, only he can do this — give the medal
of the Legion. Are you —
NAPOLEON
Whom?
{Both men look at each other intensely. There is
in the face of the Barber a knowledge of the cer-
tain identity of Napoleon. Napoleon seems to
read the thoughts of the Barber as he gazes at the
newly sharpened razors.)
NAPOLEON {runs his hands over his neck)
You have not quite finished. My neck here —
it is a little rough in spots. It will take but a
moment.
BARBER {anxious and nervous)
Only a minute, sir.
{Chooses one of the newly sharpened razors,
hones it again, pulls from his head a hair, and
tests it. A smile of satisfaction lights up his
face. Napoleon watches him intensely. He lays
his head back, staring firmly up into the face of
the barber. The Barber grows more and more
nervous as he commences to shave Napoleon's
neck. Napoleon watches him intensely. His
eyes hold those of the barber firmly fixed upon
him. The hand of the Barber shakes noticeably.)
NAPOLEON {just audibly)
No accidents, my friend. This requires will-
power. I cannot be the victim of accident.
60
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
BARBER {throws his razor to the ground^ falls to
his knees before him, and shrieks in a high pitch
nervously)
My God! I can't! You are too human! I
can't! You are too strong! You are the
Emperor! Forgive me.
{Enter from the living quarters the Barber s wife
and her son. They hear the last words — ^'You
are the Emperor ^ The Barber s wife falls to her
knees; Pierre runs to Napoleon s side)
WIFE
Forgive him. He is a good barber and a good
husband, but a fool.
NAPOLEON {holding Pierre's hand)
Rise, madame. You are forgiven for marrying
a fool. You are punished beyond measure.
BARBER
Forgive me. I did not mean to preach revolu-
tion. I did not know you were a man. I
thought you were a devil. I did not mean to
preach revolt. Forgive me.
NAPOLEON {acting up to the situation, feigning
anger)
Forgive you? Listen, Barber. You held the
fate of France in your hand; aye, perhaps the
entire world, and you had not the courage to
go on. That, Mr. Barber, is the real difference
between us — personality, the will to power. I
can forgive you your revolutionary rantings.
I love those who hate me; they prove my in-
vincibility. I am too vain to hang those that
oppose me. The spirits of Hannibal and Con-
st an tine, Alexander and Caesar live within me.
6i
NAPOLEON'S BARBER
I cannot hang barbers for opposing me, but
listen: The next time you take the imperial
name in vain to rhyme with an impossible
word, you have my word that you will hang
for it. I can forgive bad shaving, but bad
poetry never.
{He turns swiftly on his heels in military fashion.
It has grown quite dark noWy and there is just
barely seen the figure of Napoleon disappearing
through the street door,)
BARBER {as he rises to his feet exclaims to his wife)
Think of it, Josephine! Think of it! I have
been honored by the Emperor!
CURTAIN
62
GOAT ALLEY
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
by Ernest Howard Culbertson
CHARACTERS
Lucy Belle Dorsey
"Slim" Dorsey, her Brother
Aunt Rebecca, an Old Negress
Lizzie Gibbs, a Mulatto Woman
Sam Reed, alias ''"'Mule" Reed
Fanny Dorsey, )^,.,,
Israel Dorsey, ] Children
Policeman
A Young Baby
Goat Alley is here published as a One-Act Play. It was later re-
written and made into a long play. The extended version may be
had from the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.
Copyright. 1922, 6y ERNEST HOWARD CULBERTSON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Applications for permission to perform this play should be addressed
to the author, Ernest Howard Culbertson, Society of American
Dramatists and Composers, 148 West 4Sth Street, New York City.
No performance may be given without his written consent.
GOAT ALLEY
SCENE
The curtain rises on the sitting-room of a negro's
squalid dwelling in Goat Alley ^ Washington^ D. C
At the Right Back there is a door giving directly on
the street, and when it is open one gets a glimpse
of the miserable, tumble-down houses on the oppo-
site side. At Left Back is a window, one pane of
which is broken out and an old shirt stuck in the
hole. The one or two filthy rag-carpet rugs which
lie on the floor serve only in a small measure to
cover its bareness. Several old, broken, and bat-
tered chairs stand here and there about the room.
At Left Center is a door leading into the other room
of the house. Between it and the wall at Back is a
' door opening into a closet. Near the door. Left
Center, and toward the front stands a battered table
on which lie, in disordered array, papers and one
or two dog-eared books with their backs of. It is
night and a lighted oil lamp, with the chimney
badly smoked, rests in the center. The wick is
turned low, and the guttering flame causes count-
less shadows to disport themselves eerily about the
room. Flamboyant lithographs, a gilt-framed
picture of Jack Johnson, wearing his golden
smile, an engraved portrait of Abraham Lincoln,
and several grotesque crayon portraits, presumably
of members of the family (crassly inexpressive),
adorn the dirty and discolored walls. An old cor-
set, a half -eaten roll, and a doll, with the head off,
65
SB
GOAT ALLEY
lie about on the floor. A horseshoe is nailed over
the center of the door^ Back,
Aunt Rebecca^ an oldy coal-black negress, enters.
Back, with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She
has the appearance of an animated mummy. Her
eyes are small and bead-like, and shine with an
uncanny lustre; her hands, long and bony, re-
sembling the talons of a hawk. She glances about
inquiringly, gives an impatient grunt, then turns
and slowly closes the door.
AUNT REBECCA {in Mgh-pitchcd, raspy tones, as she
moves to the Center)
Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle!
LUCY BELLE {from the next room)
Yassum! Jes* a minute.
{Aunt Rebecca moves slowly about the room,
mumbling to herself. Presently Lucy Belle enters.
Left, wearing a black straw sailor hat, badly
misshapen, and carrying a basket of washing.
She is a frail, light-brown, young negress of about
twenty-eight. She has a nervous, hesitating man-
ner.)
LUCY BELLE
Oh! Tse so glad yo's yere. Yo* kin stay a
while, kain^t yo*? {Aunt Rebecca grunts and
nods.) I wants yo' ter stay wid de chillen while
I runs out wid dis yere washin*. Only take a
minute — 'roun ter Miss Erminie*s. {Lucy Belle
deposits the washing on a chair.) Seem mighty
good ter have yo' so handy onct more. Jes' like
ole times. Les* see — how long yo* all been
way?
66
GOAT ALLEY
AUNT REBECCA {Reflectively y as she sits,)
Um! Um! {Puts a hand to her head,) Dat gin
got mah haid all tangle up. Um! I keep tellin*
G'orge whiskey suit me bettah — but he like gin.
How long? Um! Um! Gawd-a-massy! Be
two yeahs in Feb-wary! (Lucy Belle exclaims
incredulously^ Sho' has ! I was a yeah in Cum-
berland wid Sadie — she's de slim yallar one, yo'
know — got a mole on her right cheek. Some say
dat reason she so lucky — an' den mos' six mon's
wid Em'ly — she dat HI' fat, brown gal. {Lucy
Belle nods,) An' den fo' mon's in Frederick wid
Henry. {Shaking her head proudly.) Henry a
great big fine lookin' niggah. Ain' so lucky
dough. Bawn in de da'k ob de moon.
LUCY BELLE
I 'member him. I 'member seein' him w'en his
fawther died — ole Uncle Henry.
AUNT REBECCA {sCOmfully)
Dat niggah wasn't his fawther. No indeedy!
Dat lir scrootchin' monkey wasn't calc'lated
ter be de fawther ob no boy like Henry. {Lucy
Belle gives an exclamation of surprise. Aunt Re-
becca sits in perplexed preoccupation for several
moments. At length she speaks slowly.) 'Deed,
chile, I kain't seem ter 'member who Henry's
fawther was. Dat gin got mah haid all tangle
up.
LUCY BELLE {tuming and moving toward L^ft)
I reckon I bettah bring dat baby out yere. No
tellin' what dem chillen liable ter do to it.
{She hurries out. Left, In a moment or two she
returns, carrying a very young negro baby,)
67
GOAT ALLEY
AUNT 'REBECCA
Yo* want me ter hoi' him?
LUCY BELLE
I reckon yo' might as well. {She places the baby
in Aunt Rebecca s arms.)
(Fanny Dorsey^ a little negro girl of eight, and
Israel Dorsey, a little negro boy of six, run in.
Left, Both wear nightgowns.)
FANNY
Mamma! Where yo' all gwine?
ISRAEL
Mamma! Git me some candy!
LUCY BELLE {harshly)
Yo' all hush! Git right back ter bed! Go *long!
FANNY {whimpering)
Tse scar't ob de night doctahs.
LUCY BELLE
Hush, chile! Night doctahs ain' gwine ter git
yo' in yere. Go 'long! {Threateningly.) Do yo'
wan* me ter beat yo'?
ISRAEL
Mamma! Git me —
{Lucy Belle grabs them roughly and pushes them
through door. Left, closing it after them. Their
cries are heard for several moments and then grad-
ually cease ^
LUCY BELLE
Some day I'se gwine ter git good an' mad an'
knock dere haids off! {propping into a chair
and drawing a hand across her for he ad.) I ain'
nevah had no luck. Some gals gits by widout
no trouble at all. I ain' one-a dem kin'. Nuffin'
68
GOAT ALLEY
I evah done come out right — nuffin at all! Ef
I starts ana* thing its boun' ter go wrong. I —
Tse cunjuhed fer life!
AUNT REBECCA
Hush, chile! Don* git down in de mouf like dat !
Yo' luck liable change any minute. Min' did
aft ah I gits rid-a dem warts.
LUCY BELLE
I ain* got no business wid all dese chillen. Tse
a fool — Gawd knows I is! Ain' only one niggah
evah treated me decent.
AUNT REBECCA
Who dat?
LUCY BELLE
Sam Reed. Gawd knows he treated me right!
An* now he's in jail!
AUNT REBECCA
Honey!
LUCY BELLE
I loves him. He's de onliest niggah I evah did
love! I thinks *bout him all de time! (A mo-
men fs pause. She stares into space,)
AUNT REBECCA
How long he been in jail?
LUCY BELLE
I reckon it's been pretty near two yeahs.
Weren't long aftah yo' leP I knows.
AUNT REBECCA
Is he yere?
LUCY BELLE {shaking her head)
Down at Moun-sville. He kain't write, an' so
I don' nevah yere from him. {A moment's
pause.)
69
GOAT ALLEY
AUNT REBECCA {cUUtioUsly)
What did he do?
LUCY BELLE {discousolately^ as she stares into space)
Cut a man. (With feeling,) He done it fer me!
Jim Bisbee come foolin* roun' aftah me — mos'
alias drunk — an* one day Sam seen him — aw,
dere wasn*t nuffin' to it. Jim, he blubbered like
a baby. He was so scar*t he didn't know what
ter do. Deed he was a sight !
AUNT REBECCA
An' de po-\\z^ git him?
LUCY BELLE (sudly)
Yas, indeed. (Rises slowly and takes up the
basket^ I ain' nevah gwine ter meet up wid
anoder niggah like Sam. He's de bes' ole buddy
in de worP !
AUNT REBECCA
How long did dey send him up fo' ?
LUCY BELLE
Fo' yeahs. (A silence. She moves toward door.
Back.)
LUCY BELLE (at door)
I ain' gwine ter be gone but a minute.
(Aunt Rebecta nods. Lucy Belle passes out. Back.
Aunt Rebecca chants in a low monotone to herself^
AUNT REBECCA
Um — aum — a — um — a — um — a — um — a —
um! Trouble in mah soul! Um — a — um — a —
um — a — um — a — um — a! Trouble in mah soul!
(high treble) Um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a!
(Footsteps and someone whistling are heard off-
stage. Back. Aunt Rebecca stops and listens. The
door opens and ''Slim'' Dorsey enters. Back. He
70
GOAT ALLEY
is a tall^ slender^ light-colored^ young negro of
about twenty-Jour, He wears a cap and old rag-
ged suit of clothes^
SLIM
Hello, Aun* Becky. What yo' all doin' yere?
AUNT REBECCA
Mindin' de chillen io Lucy Belle.
SUM
Whar she?
AUNT REBECCA
Takin* washin' 'roun' ter Miss Erminie.
{Slim proceeds to roll a cigarette?)
SUM
Dat gal ain' no good. She'd make twict as much
ef she was ter wuk out.
AUNT REBECCA
What kin' a brudder is yo'? Dat ain' no way
ter talk. What would she do wid de chillen?
SLIM (licking the cigarette)
Ter hell wid dem.
AUNT REBECCA
Shame on yo' — shame on yo' — talkin' like dat!
She doin' de bes' she kin! An' yo' all ies' lay
'roun' an' let her keep yo'.
SLIM
Dat's a lie! I wuks a damn sight harder den
she do.
AUNT REBBECA
Where yo' wuk?
SLIM
On de wharf — shuckin' oysters.
AUNT REBECCA
Dat steady?
71
GOAT ALLEY
SUM
Steady in season. I fishes w'en I ain* wukkin
dere. Dat's why we move ovah yere — ter be
handy ter de rivah. Don' yo' all go lyin' 'bout
me livin' off Lucy Belle.
{Aunt Rebecca glowers at him and remains silent
for several moments^
AUNT REBECCA {suddenly to Slim and nodding
toward Left)
What niggah de fader dese chillen ob Lucy
Belle's?
SLIM
Dat gal Fanny is Ed Gales'. {Shaking his head,)
Gawd knows who's de fader ob de oder two.
{A moments silence. Slim lights the cigarette.)
AUNT REBECCA
She got too many children.
SLIM
Ain' nobody knows dat bettah den I do. No
niggah ain* gwine ter take up wid her now. Ed
Gales was crazy fo' ter marry her one time.
Huh — he wouldn't look sideways at her ef he was
ter see her in de street.
{The wind blows and whistles through the cracks.
Aunt Rebecca sits erect and the whites of her eyes
show.)
AUNT REBECCA {in low, frightened tones)
Gawd — a — massy! Yo' ain' gwine ter git me —
yo' ole hussy!
SLIM
What's matter?
72
GOAT ALLEY
AUNT REBECCA
Dat*s Lil Mundy tryin' ter git back at me.
SLIM (with a laugh)
What fer?
AUNT REBECCA
Fer kickin' dat ole dog ob hern ofF my do' step.
(Jjucy Belle enters^ Back, at this point, carrying
the empty basket.)
AUNT REBECCA {exclaiming)
Lan* sake, chile! It ain' takin' yo' long.
LUCY BELLE
Yo' don' see me wastin' no time on a night like
dis. Hello, Slim.
SLIM {jumping up)
"Luce," Sam's yere!
LUCY BELLE (dropping the basket with a cry)
What d' yo' mean.^
SLIM
He's back yere in Wash'nin.
LUCY BELLE {with a gasp)
Oh, Gawd!
SLIM
"Mink" Hall jes' tol' me. He's lookin' fo' yo'.
LUCY BELLE
Sam!
SLIM
Yas. Yo' see he done los' track of us since we
move.
LUCY BELLE (huskHy)
How — how did he git out so soon ?
SLIM
Got his sentence cut short fo' bein' good.
73
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE {agitatedly)
Does Mink Hall know whar we live?
SLIM
He didn'. I jes' toF him.
LUCY BELLE {with a CTj of anger)
Yo* was a damn fool ter do dat — widout comin*
an' tellin* me! Oh! {Moves agitatedly about.)
SLIM
No use ter keep my mouf shet. Sam gwine ter
find out somehow or 'nother.
LUCY BELLE
Yo* ain' got no sense! Nevah did have no
sense! Damn yoM
SLIM {moving toward door^ Back)
Keep on talkin* ef yo' wan* ter Ian* in de hos-
pital.
LUCY BELLE {imploringly)
Slim — Slim — ef — ef yo* see him duck — duck.
Tse gwine over to Mag*s fo* a few days — in de
mawnin'. I — I don' want ter see him fo' a day
or two.
SLIM
I ain' botherin' 'bout him.
LUCY BELLE
Slim — yo'll duck, won't yo? Won't yo', honey?
{Slim slowly nods^ then turns and passes out^
Back.)
LUCY BELLE {slowly removing her hat and coat)
Oh, Gawd! I didn't have no kind-a idea Sam
'ud git out so soon. {Rapturously.) Sam! Mah,
Sam! {Then fearfully.) But I kain't see him
yet awhile.
74
GOAT ALLEY
AUNT REBECCA
What*s de mattah, honey?
LUCY BELLE {wringing her hands)
I tor yo' I nevah had no luck! What kin a po
gal like me do? Yo— yo' see I got dat baby.
It_it's free months ole now. Ef he sees dat—
Oh, Gawd!
AUNT REBECCA
Yo' reckon —
LUCY BELLE ^
He'd kill me! Sho' as yo* bawn! Yo see— Oh,
Gawd! Ef he could only know what I been up
against! I— I promised him I wouldn't look at
a niggah while he was gone. Ef Fd a had any
kind-a luck, nuffin' in de worl' would a made me
break it! I loves Sam— I loves him bettah den
anybody. He knows I does. {A moment's
pause. Her eyes rove space.) Las' wintah I
couldn't git nuffin' much ter do— an' Slim he
didn't have no job— an' Chick Avery, he come
'roun'. Chick is a barber an' makes good money.
Him an' me went ter school togeder. {Slowly.)
I let's him stay yere fo' a while. {A moment's
pause, then she points at the baby.) Dat's his
chile.
AUNT REBECCA {shaking her head)
Yo' po', po' chile!
LUCY BELLE
When Sam an' me fust met he says: Lucy
Belle, I don't care nuffin' at all 'bout what yo'
done fo' I knowed yo'. Dat's all pas' an'
some'fin' yo' an' me ain' gwine ter boder our
haids 'bout." {She stares into space.) But den
75
GOAT ALLEY
he said he'd kill me ef I evah had anything ter
do wid anoder niggah.
AUNT REBECCA
Nevah min'! He ain' gwine ter do nuffin' like
dat! Don' yo* worry!
LUCY BELLE {smiling faintly)
He's de onliest niggah dat evah done anything
much fo' me. He done mos' eva' thing I ask
him. Take me downtown on pay day an' buy
me clothes. Onct him an' me was 'rested fo'
gittin' drunk — an' he lies off an' takes all de
blame hisself. {A moment's pause.) An' — an'
yo' see he's comin' right back ter me now he's
out.
AUNT REBECCA
Yas, indeed!
LUCY BELLE {ckncMng her hands)
Oh, Gawd!
AUNT REBECCA
Don' yo' worry, honey!
LUCY BELLE
Sam nevah boder his haid 'bout oder gals — not
• since he know me. Long, long time ago he wen'
wid ole Lizzie Gibbs. Yo' know dat hard, ole
yallaw gal? {Aunt Rebecca nods.) De whole
yeah fo' he wen' ter jail she keep aftah him all
de time! Nevah did see nuffin' like it. He don'
care no mo' fo' her den he do a rat! But I'se
scar't a her. She'd blackguard me in a minute
ef she thought she had some'fin on me. {Fear-
fully.) Dat's de onliest thing I'm scar't of— is
dat niggahs will lie an' blackguard on me!
AUNT REBECCA {indicating the baby)
Who all know yo' got dis yere chile?
76
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE
Only Slim an' Mag an* yo'. Mag's mah sister
dat lives ovah in Anacostia. Yo' see we move
from Carter St. ovah yere ter Goat Alley— an'
we didn't tell nobody where we was gwine. Dat's
why Sam cain't fin' me.
AUNT REBECCA
Ef I didn't have dem gran'chillen I'd keep de
baby fo' yo'.
LUCY BELLE
No, no! Wouldn't wan' yo' ter do nuffin' like
dat.
AUNT REBECCA
What do yo' calc'late yo' do?
LUCY BELLE {pacing about agitatedly)
I don' know, I don' know! I ain' done no mo'
den Oder gals— an'— an' Sam gotta fo'give me!
{A knock sounds on the door. Back, Lucy Belle
starts,)
LUCY BELLE {in a low voice to Aunt Rebecca)
Take him in dere. {Points o/. Left:)
{Aunt Rebecca rises, carrying baby, and hurries
out. Left)
LUCY BELLE {as shc disappears)
Come in!
{The door. Back, opens and Lizzie Gibbs enters.
She is a large, voluptuous, loud-mouthed mulatto.
She has straight hair and a sinister countenance.
She wears no hat, but has a light shawl thrown
over her shoulders?}
LIZZIE {slouching in)
Hello!
77
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE {starting back)
Hel — hello, Lizzie.
LIZZIE
How is yo' ?
LUCY BELLE
Fse all right.
LIZZIE
Thought Td fin' yo' flyin' 'roun* wid yo' eyes
popin' out-a yo' haid.
LUCY BELLE {with Studied complacency)
No, indeed! I don' know what yo' all talkin'
'bout.
LIZZIE {with a sarcastic laugh)
Ha! Ha! Ain' got nuffin' on yo' min', eh.?
LUCY BELLE
Not a thing!
LIZZIE
A good frien' of yo's is back in town.
LUCY BELLE
Now yo' said some'fin'. Who?
LIZZIE (darkly)
Dat's right — preten' yo' don' know nuffin' 'bout
it — yo' damn little hussy!
LUCY BELLE {hotly)
Don' yo' call me no hussy!
LIZZIE
Don' yo' stan' up dere an' tell me yo' don' know
Sam Reed ain' home.
LUCY BELLE {simulating surprise)
Sam! No! Is yo' seen him?
LIZZIE {mysteriously)
Ha! Ha! I guess he don' fergit ole friends.
LUCY BELLE {sharply)
Huh! I bet he ain'! I bet yo' all I got he ain'!
78
GOAT ALLEY
LIZZIE
Yo' all got de idee yo* got some kin* of a strangle
hoF on Sam, ain* yo?
LUCY BELLE
I knows damn well he ain' gwine ter fool *roun'
an' ole wench like yo* !
LIZZIE {menacingly)
Ef yo' say anything like dat agin Fll bus' yo'
in yo' mouf. {Lucy Belle laughs.) Lemme tell
yo', gal, I knows a thing or two 'bout yo'.
LUCY BELLE
Nuffin' but what yo' make up out-a yo' own
haid.
LIZZIE
Gawd knows how many times I seen yo' on de
street las' wintah wid Chick Avery.
LUCY BELLE {quickly)
Yo'nevah! Yo' lie!
LIZZIE {with a laugh)
Oh, yas, yo' little angel-face! Yo' nevah done
nuffin' wrong in yo' life! {Darkly.) Lemme
tell yo' one thing — keep yo' ban's off dat niggah.
If I yere he's been foolin' 'roun' yo' all, I'se
gwine ter raise some hell. {She turns toward
the door.)
LUCY BELLE
Yo' won't do nuffin'!
LIZZIE {turning for a moment)
Ask anybody dat knows me ef I don' alias make
good. I'll clean up fo' yo' all! I'll fix dat face
ob yo's so it won' nevah look de same!
LUCY BELLE
Yo' ain' gwine ter do nuffin'!
« 79
GOAT ALLEY
LIZZIE (at the door)
Km \} Yo wait an* see? Fse gwine ter make
dat face-a yo's look like a piece-a sausage. Don*
yo' come tryin' ter play any ob dat doll-baby
business wid me! Ha! Ha! Yo' damn lil
hussy, yo* ! {She passes out. Back,)
{Lucy Belle stands gazing angrily after her.
Presently^ Aunt Rebecca enters^ Left,)
AUNT REBECCA
Whew-me! Gawd-a-massy! Sweah out a war-
rant fo* her! Go 'long! Don' yo' let no niggah
blackguard yo' like dat!
LUCY BELLE
I'll git her mahse'f! Ef I don', Slim will.
{Fiercely.) Some night I'll ketch her alone an'
I'll knock her haid ofF!
AUNT REBECCA
Low down yallaw wench !
LUCY BELL»
I ain' gwine ter stan' fo' no niggah talkin' ter
me like dat! {Moving agitatedly about.) 'Deed
I ain'! What she anyway? Stuck up kase she
got straight hair. Nevah done a lick-a wuk in
her life.
AUNT REBECCA
Hush, honey! Ain' no use ter git all wukked up!
LUCY BELLE {with an hysterical laugh)
Ha! Ha! She think she kin keep Sam away
from me! I like ter see her! I like ter see her!
AUNT REBECCA
Nevah min'! Nevah min'!
{A knock on the back door, Lucy Belle and Aunt
Rebecca start.)
80
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE {calling in tremulous tones)
Who dat?
SAM {of^ Back)
Me!
LUCY BELLE {with a gasp)
It Sam! {She motions to Aunt Rebecca to leave
the room. The latter hurries out^ Left.)
{Lucy Belle hesitates a moment^ then goes to door.
Back, and opens it, Sam Reed enters. He is a
big, powerful negro — brown in color — of about
thirty-five. He wears an old ragged suit of
clothes, an old felt hat, and no collar,)
SAM {with a cry of joy)
Gal!
LUCY BELLE {rushing to him)
Sam!
SAM {taking her in his arms and smothering her with
kisses)
Honey baby! Honey baby!
LUCY BELLE {murmuring softly)
Baby! Baby!
SAM
Yo* ain' forgot yo' ole Sam, is yo*?
LUCY BELLE
No, no! Oh, Sam, Sam! Mah ole Sam-boy!
{Clutching him tight.) Oh, Tse so glad ter see
yoM Gawd bless yoM
SAM
Honey baby! Honey baby!
LUCY BELLE
Ole Sam-boy! Fse so glad ter see yoM
SAM
Yo' all didn't 'spec' me, did yo'?
8i
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE
No, no! Didn't have no idea in de worl' Vd see
yo' so soon! Not until jes' a minute ago! Slim
come an* tol* me! Mink Hall toF him. Ah,
Sam-boy! Yo' ain' nevah gwine ter leave me
agin, is yo' ?
SAM
No, indeedy! Not unless dey takes me away in
a box!
LUCY BELLE
Yo's de bes' ole baby in de worl' !
SAM
Seem ter me I only had ter shet mah eyes —
night or day — an' see yo' face. Only thinkin'
'bout yo' kept me from killin' everybody in
sight when I'se breakin' mah back on dem rock
piles. Yo' don' know what kin'-a hell I been
through, gal. Kin'-a hell dat sets a man crazy
— 'less he's careful.
LUCY BELLE
I know, I know. Mus' — a been turrible — tur-
rible. Oh, Gawd!
SAM
What made yo' all move?
LUCY BELLE {qUlckly)
It's nearer fo' Slim — nearer to de rivah.
SAM
Nobody knowed whar yo' was.
LUCY BELLE
No, no! We sort-a los' track of all dem ole
niggahs ovah dere.
SAM
Yo' lookin' mighty thin.
82
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE
Fse been wukkin' hard, Sam. 'Tain*t easy fo'
a gal alone an' — an* wid two chillen.
SAM
I reckon not. Yo* po' kid!
LUCY BELLE
Sam — Sam-boy, le's yo* an* me go to Baltimo*.
SAM
BaltimoM
LUCY BELLE
Yas. Dey's mo' wuk ovah dere. Everybody
say so. An' — an' dey pay bettah wages.
SAM
I don' know, honey.
LUCY BELLE
De ^o-lice be aftah yo' all de time.
SAM
No, dey won't.
LUCY BELLE
Dey will — yo' know dey will. Eva' time dey's a
little trouble dey '11 pick yo' up. An' — an' Iain'
nevah had no luck in dis town.
SAM
I'll study 'bout if fo' awhile.
LUCY BELLE
Ain' near de chances ter git wuk dat dere is dere.
SAM
What put it in yo' haid ter go dere?
LUCY BELLE
I wants ter git away. I gotta feelin' dat things
ain' nevah gwine right long as we stay yere.
SAM
Wait until de fust of de week — an' den maybe
I'll go.
83
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE
Baby, it's bes' — I knows it is. Yo' an* me nevah
had no luck in dis town.
SAM
All right, honey baby. Ef dat's what yo' wants
to do we'll go.
LUCY BELLE {throwing her arms about him)
Baby, baby! Gawd bless yo'! Mah Sam-boy!
Mah Sam-boy!
{Aunt Rebecca enters^ Left.)
LUCY BELLE {breaking away from Sam)
Oh, Aun' Becky!
SAM {rushing forward and shaking her hand)
Aun' Becky! Glad ter see yoM
AUNT REBECCA
Sam! Gawd bless yoM
SAM
How yo' all been?
AUNT REBECCA
'Tolable! Tolable! I kain't complain. I'se
mighty glad yo's out.
SAM
Fse mighty glad ter be out.
AUNT REBECCA
Mus' 'scuse me. I got ter git home an' cook
some supper fo' mah ole man.
LUCY BELLE
Don' run away, Aun* Becky.
AUNT REBECCA
Mus', mah chile! See yo' some mo'.
SAM
Good-bye.
{Aunt Rebecca passes out. Back,)
84
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE {moving toward Left)
Honey baby, *scuse me a minute.
SAM
Whar yo' gwine?
LUCY BEhh^ {nodding toward Left)
In yere. I'll be right back.
{Sam nods. She passes out^ Back. Sam moves
slowly about the room. Presently^ there is a loud
knock on the door^ Back, Sam starts toward the
door. As he nears ity it opens and Lizzie rushes
in,)
LIZZIE {halting abruptly)
Sam!
SAM
What in hell are yo' doin' yere?
Lizzi E ( ingratiatingly)
Sam, kid — come on wid me!
SAM
Go 'long! Ef yo' keep foolin' 'roun' me yo's
gwine ter git hurt.
LIZZIE
Sam — Sam, ole baby — what did I evah do ter
make yo' treat me like yo' have?
SAM
Go 'long! D' yo' yere me?
LIZZIE {her manner gradually changing
Yo's a damn fool fo' stickin' ter dis gal.
SAM {menacingly)
Yo' shet up!
LIZZIE
She don' care nuffin* 'bout yo'!
SAM {stepping toward her)
I bet I'll bus' yo' in de mouf.
85
GOAT ALLEY
LIZZIE
Sam — Fse gwine ter git a good job uptown —
Monday. Til keep yo' dis wintah, Sam. Yo'
won' haf ter do no wuk. I don* want ter see no
fellah like yo' git tied up wid a wench like her.
SAM
Git out-a yere — d' yo* yere me? 'Go long!
LIZZIE {nastily)
Yo's a great big stiff ter let a gal like her take
yo' in!
(The dooTy Lefty opens slightly and Lucy Belle can
he seen listening^
SAM {hotly)
Shet up!
LIZZIE
She been runnin' 'roun' wid Chick Avery —
evah since yo' lef. Ha! Ha!
SAM
Dat's a lie!
LIZZIE
So help me Gawd, dat's de tru'f — an* I kin
prove it!
SAM {menacingly)
It's a lie!
LIZZIE
She'll bleed yo' ter deaf an' den tu'n yo' loose.
Dat's what I'm telling yo'!
SAM {hitting her on the jaw)
Shet up!
LIZZIE {shrieking)
Murder! Murder! Po-lice! Po-lice! Murder!
{Sam darts out the door. Back. Lucy Belle closes
the door^ Left. Hurried footsteps are heard at
86
GOAT ALLEY
Back. Lizzie glances out of window. Back, gives a
little gaspy hesitates a moment^ then darts into the
closet. Left Back, closing the door after her. A
policeman enters. Back.)
POLICEMAN {calling out)
What's the trouble here? {He stands surveying
the room for a moment or two, then advances
toward door, Left. The door suddenly opens and
Lucy Belle enters.)
POLICEMAN {gruffly)
What's the matter?
LUCY BELLE
Nuffin' — nuffin' at all, sir.
POLICEMAN
There was so ! {Marching over to her.) Who was
that yellin' ?
LUCY BELLE
I — I don' know, sir. It wasn't yere.
POLICEMAN
I know better!
LUCY BELLE
No, no! Hones' to Gawd!
POLICEMAN
Don't try to give me any gaff like that! {Strid-
ing over to the door. Left.) Who's in here?
LUCY BELLE
Jas' mah chillen.
{He passes in. She stands watching him. He
re-enters in a moment.)
POLICEMAN {moving toward Back)
I've a good mind to lock you up anyway.
LUCY BELLE {With a wail)
Oh — Oh, please, sir — I nevah done nuffin'!
87
GOAT ALLEY
POLICEMAN {hesitating at the door)
You*d better look out. I ain't goln' to stand for
any monkey business around this neighbor-
hood, (fie passes outy Backy closing the' door after
him.)
{Lucy Belle stands gazing after him for a moment
or two. Eventually she turns and passes hurriedly
outy Left. She re-enters immediately ^ carrying
the baby. Fanny — in her nightgown — runs in,
Left.)
FANNY
Mamma!
LUCY BELLE
Hush, chile!
FANNY
Whar yo* gwine?
LUCY BELLE
Tse gwine ter take de baby ovah to yo' Aun*
Rebecca's. Yo' go right back ter bed. Go
'long!
{Fanny turns and runs out. Left, closing the door
after her, Lucy Belle starts toward Back. Lizzie
steps out from the closet.)
LIZZIE
So dat's yo* baby, is it?
LUCY BELLE {with a cry)
Oh! Oh, mahGawd!
LIZZIE
I knowed I'd git yo'! Pretendin' ter be such a
little angel! Ha! Ha! Been up ter all kin*-a
tricks, ain' yo'.''
88
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE {commanding herself)
Git out-a yere!
LIZZIE {slouching slowly toward Back)
I got yo' numbah, now! Ha! Ha!
LUCY BELLE
What in hell d* yo* mean? It ain* mah chile!
LIZZIE
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ain* yo* chile! Ain' yo* chile!
Yo*s a good little liah, ain' yo?
LUCY BELLE {defiantly)
No, it ain' — yo' blackguardin' hussy!
LIZZIE
Ha! Ha! It certainly do look like Chick — jes*
'zactly. Wait until I tells Sam. He's one-a
dem kin' dat ain' so particular. He don* min*
accidents now an* den! Ha! Ha! {She
slouches outy Back, laughing fiendishly,)
{Lucy Belle stands staring to the front. Suddenly
a look of desperation comes over her face and she
dashes out. Back, In the course of a moment or
two Aunt Rebecca enters. Back, and moves about
the room,)
AUNT REBECCA (calling)
Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle!
{Fanny runs in. Left,)
FANNY
Mamma*s gone ovah to yo* house wid de baby.
AUNT REBECCA
Mah house!
FANNY
Dat what she say.
89
GOAT ALLEY
AUNT REBECCA
'Deed, chile, yo' all mus' been dreamin'.
FANNY (with a whimper)
Den — den I don' know whar she is.
AUNT REBECCA
Yo' been dreamin*. Go 'long back ter bed.
(Fanny reluctantly passes out^ Left. Aunt Re-
becca sits down in a chair and chants to herself.)
AUNT REBECCA
Devil gwine ter git yo' ! Um — a^— um — a — um —
a — um — a — um — a! Devil gwine ter git yoM
Um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a !
Devil gwine ter git yo' !
(Suddenly Slim rushes in. Back, wild-eyed.)
SLIM (breathlessly)
Aun' Becky!
AUNT REBECCA
Yas! Yas!
SLIM
Lucy Belle drown de baby!
AUNT REBECCA (jumping Up with a shriek)
Oh! Oh, mahGawd! Oh, oh!
SLIM (rapidly)
I seen her runnin' ter de rivah an* I follows her.
She th'u' it in an' den run in behin' dem coal
chutes. I stop an* see ef I could save it. Wasn'
no use 'dough — it was too dark. I believe she
gone plum crazy.
AUNT REBECCA
Oh, mah Gawd! Dat po' chile! I knowed
somefin turrible gwine ter happen!
90
GOAT ALLEY
SLIM
Come on ! Le's see ef we kin fin' her.
{Aunt Rebecca and Slim rush out. Back, In the
course of several moments Lucy Belle steals in.
Back. She wears a terrified expression and moves
agitatedly about the room, twining and intertwin^
ing her fingers. Presently Sam enters, Back,)
SAM
Lucy Belle!
LUCY BELLE {in tvcmulous tones)
Sam-boy!
SAM
I wasn't gwine ter take no chances.
LUCY BELLE {avoiding his gaze)
No, no! Honey baby! Mah ole honey baby!
Tse SO scar't I didn't know what ter do.
SAM {darkly)
Did yo' yere what she was tellin' me?
LUCY BELLE {lying)
I yere jes' a little —
SAM {fiercely)
She say yo' all been gwine 'roun' wid Chick
Avery.
LUCY BELLE
Dat's a lie! Ain' a wud of truf in dat!
SAM {grabbing her)
Have yo'?
LUCY BELLE
No, no! Sam! Fo' Gawd's sake! Yo' don' be-
lieve a devil like her, do yo' ?
SAM
Ef I ketch yo' runnin' wid anybody else I'se
gwine ter kill yo'
91
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE
Sam-boy! Hones' to Gawd — I ain' had nuffin'
ter do wid nobody since yo* been gone! Nuffin'
at all!
(Lizzie enters^ Back.)
lATLi^ {with a cry of triumph)
I knowed Fd git yo' numbah!
SAM
Git out-a yere! D' yo' want me ter kill yo'?
LIZZIE
Sam — Sam — she got-a baby! It Chick Avery's.
It's yere! Dat's de way she treat yo' all! Ha!
Ha! Makin' a damn fool of yo' ! I alias knowed
yo's an easy mark!
LUCY BELLE {screaming)
It's a lie! It's a lie! No, no!
{Sam starts for Lizzie. She backs out of the door.)
LIZZIE {outside)
Itol'yo'I'dgityoM I tol' yo' I'd git yo' ! Ha!
Ha!
{Sam starts to rush out after her. He hesitates^
however^ and finally bangs the door shut and turns
to Lucy Belle.)
SAM {between his teeth)
Yo* yere what she say?
LUCY BELLE {palsied with fear)
It ain' so! It's a lie! Yo' know she couldn't
tell de truf ! Yo' don' believe her, do yo' ?
SAM {gruffly)
Lemme look 'roun' yere!
92
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE
Yo' won* see nuffinM Yo' won' see nuffin*,
Sam!
SAM {shoving her aside roughly)
Lemme look! {Starts toward Left,)
FANNY
Ain' nobody but Fanny an' Israel in dere!
SAM {shouting)
Ef yo' try any funny business wid me I'll kill
yoM Damn yo' heart to hell!
{He passes out. Lefty followed by Lucy Belle.
The door stands open and their voices can be
heard,)
LUCY BELLE {of. Left)
See, Sam — ain' nobody but Fanny an' Israel.
Don' wake 'em up! Jes' mah clothes, Sam-boy!
Aw, yo' believe me — don' yo'? Yo' don' be-
lieve an ole hussy like her!
SAM {savagely)
Chick Avery been comin' yere?
LUCY BELLE
No, no! I swear ter Gawd he ain' nevah been
in dis house! No, no! It's all a dirty lie! See,
Sam — see — ain' no baby 'roun' yere! Lizzie
alias has blackguarded me — don' yo' know she
has — evah since yo' an' me met up! She jealous
of me ! She say anything — anything at all ter git
back at me!
{They re-enter. Left.)
SAM {grabbing her by the shoulder)
Yo' has seen Chick Avery !
93
GOAT ALLEY
LUCY BELLE
No — no — I ain' — I swear ter Gawd I ainM Aw,
Sam, yo' believe yo* honey baby, don' yo' ?
{A tense pause. He stares into her face.)
SAM {at length)
Ef she keep on blackguardin' yo' Fse gwine ter
kill her!
LUCY BELLE
No, no, Sam-boy! Yo' an' me wants ter git
away from dis town. It'll be bettah fo' us bo'f.
We ain' nevah had no luck yere! {Caressingly.)
Bes' ole buddy in de worl' ! I wants yo' Sam, —
jes' yo' — nuffin' else.
SAM {muttering)
I'll clean up fo' dat gal!
LUCY BELLE
Yo' loves me, don' yo' — don' yo' ?
SAM {impulsively takes her in his arms and holds her
tightly)
Kid, yo's all I got in de worl' ! Ef yo* fools me
I'll tu'n bad fo' hfe.
LUCY BELLE
Sam, baby, mah ole Sam-boy baby! Ain'
nuffin' on Gawd's ear'f I wouldn' do fo' yo'!
(Looking up into his face) Yo' an' me's gwine
ter Baltimo', ain' we? {Sam nods.)
SAM
Honey baby! Honey baby! Jes' mah lil' gal!
Yo's mine — mine fo' life!
{Aunt Rebecca rushes in excitedly ^ Back.)
94
GOAT ALLEY
I
AUNT REBECCA
Lucy Belle! Mah Gawd! Lucy Belle! Is yo'
crazy? Dey fish him out — de baby! Oh, mah
Gawd!
{Lucy Belle gives a stifled cry and breaks away
from Sam,)
SAM {exclaiming savagely)
Baby! What d* yo' mean?
{A tense silence of a moment or two. At length
Sam divines her meaning. Aunt Rebecca staggers
backy realizing what the consequences of her reve-
lation are likely to be, Lucy Belle stands at one
sidcy moaning softly, Sam rushes at Aunt Rebecca^
hits her and knocks her out through door^ Back,
She screams. He rushes over^ closes the door^ and
locks it,)
SAM {rushing at Lucy Belle)
Damn yo' black heart to hell! {She gives an
unearthly scream.) Yo' will double-cross me!
Dis is de way yo' pays me up fo' all I done
fo' yoM
LUCY BELLE {dropping to her knees)
Sam — Sam-boy — listen! Lemme tell yoM Oh,
Gawd! It ain* —
SAM {grabbing her)
rU show yo* how ter play dat kin* of a game!
LUCH BELLE {scrcaming)
Sam ! Sam !
95
GOAT ALLEY
SAM
rU fix yoM
{He takes her by the throat and slowly chokes her
to death. She struggles frantically to release her-
self. At length she grows quiet and her body limp.
He throws her on the floor, stands gazing at her
for a moment or two, grabs up his hat, slinks to the
door. Back, opens it cautiously and passes out,
closing it after him.)
CURTAIN
96
SWEET AND TWENTY
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT
by Floyd Dell
First produced by the Province town Players, New York
City, January 25, 191 8, with the following cast:
The Young Woman, - Edna St. Vincent Millay
The Young Man, - - . . Ordway Tead
The Agent, - - . - . Otto Liveright
The Guard, Louis Ell
Copyright. 1921, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sweet and Twenty is fuUy protected by the copyright law, all re-
quirements of which have been complied with. No performance,
either professional or amateur, may be given without the written
permission of the author or his representative, the Stewart Kidd
Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.
Sweet and Twenty
Scene — A comer of the cherry orchard on the court-
try place of the late Mr. Boggley, now on sale and
open for inspection to prospective buyers. The
cherry orchard^ now in full bloomy is a very
pleasant place. There is a green-painted rustic
bench beside the path. . . .
{This scene can be efectively produced on a small
stage by a back-drop painted a blue-green color ^ with
a single conventionalized cherry branch painted
across it^ and two three-leaved screens masking the
wings, painted in blue-green with a spray of cherry
blossoms),
A young woman, dressed in a light summer frock
and carrying a parasol, drifts in from the back.
She sees the bench, comes over to it and sits down
with an air of petulant weariness.
A handsome young man enters from the right. He
stops short in surprise on seeing the charming
stranger who lolls upon the bench. He takes of
his hat.
HE
Oh, I beg your pardon!
SHE
Oh, you needn't! IVe no right to be here,
either.
HE
{Coming down to her) Now what do you mean
by that?
SHE
I thought perhaps you were playing truant,
as I am.
99
SWEET AND TWENTY
HE
Playing truant?
SHE
I was looking at the house, you know. And I
got tired and ran away.
HE
Well, to tell the truth, so did L It's dull work,
isn't it?
SHE
IVe been upstairs and down for two hours.
That family portrait gallery finished me. It
was so old and gloomy and dead that I felt as
if I were dead myself. I just had to do some-
thing. I wanted to jab my parasol through the
window-pane. I understood just how the suf-
fragettes felt. But I was afraid of shocking
the agent. He is such a meek little man, and
he seemed to think so well of me. If I had
broken the window I would have shattered his
ideals of womanhood, too, Vm afraid. So I
just slipped away quietly and came here.
HE
IVe only been there half an hour and we —
IVe only been in the basement. That's why
our tours of inspection didn't bring us together
sooner. I've been cross-examining the furnace.
Do you understand furnaces? (He sits down
beside her) I don't.
SHE
Do you like family portraits? I hate 'em!
HE
What! Do the family portraits go with the
house?
lOO
SWEET AND TWENTY
SHE
No, thank heaven. TheyVe been bequeathed
to the Metropolitan Museum of Horrors, I un-
derstand. TheyVe valuable historically — early
colonial governors and all that sort of stuff.
But there is someone with me who — who takes
a deep interest in such things.
HE
{frowning at a sudden memory) Hm. Didn't
I see you at that real estate office in New York
yesterday?
SHE
Yes. He was with me then.
HE {compassionately)
I — I thought I remembered seeing you with-—
with him
SHE {cheerfully)
Isn't he just the sort of man who would be in-
terested in family portraits.'*
HE {confused)
Well — since you ask me — I — !
SHE
Oh, that's all right. Tubby 's a dear, in spite
of his funny old ideas. I like him very much.
HE
{gulping the pill) Yes. . . .
SHE
He's so anxious to please me in buying this
house. I suppose it's all right to have a house,
but I'd like to become acquainted with it grad-
ually. I'd like to feel that there was always
some corner left to explore — some mystery
lOI
SWEET AND TWENTY
saved up for a rainy day. Tubby can't under-
stand that. He drags me everywhere, explain-
ing how we'll keep this and change that —
dormer windows here and perhaps a new wing
there. ... I suppose youVe been re-
building the house, too?
HE
No. Merely decided to turn that sunny south
room into a study. It would make a very
pleasant place to work. But if you really want
the place, Td hate to take it away from you.
SHE
I was just going to say that if you really wanted
it, rd withdraw. It was Tubby's idea to buy
it, you know — not mine. You do want it, don't
you?
HE
I can't say that I do. It's so infernally big.
But Maria thinks I ought to have it. {Ex-
planatorily) Maria is —
SHE {gently)
She's — the one who is interested in furnaces,
I understand. I saw her with you at the real-
estate office yesterday. Well — furnaces are
necessary, I suppose. (There is a pause ^ which
she breaks suddenly) Do you see that bee?
HE
A bee ? (He follows her gaze up to a cluster of
blossoms.)
SHE
Yes — there! (Affectionately) The rascal! There
he goes. (Their eyes follow the flight of the bee
across the orchard. There is a silence^ in which
I02
SWEET AND TWENTY
Maria and Tubby drift into the limbo of forgotten
things. Alone together beneath the blossoms^ a
spell seems to have fallen upon them. She tries to
think of something to say — and at last succeeds^
SHE
Have you heard the story of the people who
used to live here?
HE
No; why?
SHE
An agent was telling us. It's quite romantic —
and rather sad. You see, the man that built
this house was in love with a girl. He was
building it for her — as a surprise. But he had
neglected to mention to her that he was in love
with her. And so, in pique, she married an-
other man, though she was really in love with
him. The news came just when he had finished
the house. He shut it up for a year or two, but
eventually married someone else, and they lived
here for ten years — most unhappily. Then
they went abroad, and the house was sold. It
was bought, curiously enough, by the husband
of the girl he had been in love with. They lived
here till they died — hating each other to the
end, the agent says.
HE
It gives me the shivers. To think of that house,
haunted by the memories of wasted love!
Which of us, I wonder, will have to live in it?
I don't want to.
SHE {prosaically^
Oh, don't take it so seriously as all that. If
103
SWEET AND TWENTY
one can't live in a house where there's been an
unhappy marriage, why, good heavens, where
is one going to live? Most marriages, I fancy,
are unhappy.
HE
A bitter philosophy for one so —
SHE
Nonsense! But listen to the rest of the story.
The most interesting part is about this very
orchard.
HE
Really!
SHE
Yes. This orchard, it seems, was here before
the house was. It was part of an old farm
where he and she — the unhappy lovers, you
know — stopped one day, while they were out
driving, and asked for something to eat. The
farmer's wife was busy, but she gave them
each a glass of milk, and told them they could
eat all the cherries they wanted. So they
picked a hatful of cherries, and ate them, sit-
ting on a bench like this one. And then he fell
in love with her. . . .
HE
And . . . didn't tell her so. . . . {She
glances at him in alarm. His self-possession has
vanished. He is pale and frightened ^ but there is
a desperate look in his eyeSy as if some unknown
power were forcing him to do something very rash.
In shorty he seems like a young man who has just
fallen in love,)
104
SWEET AND TWENTY
SHE {hastily)
So you see this orchard is haunted, too!
HE
I feel it. I seem to hear the ghost of that old-
time lover whispering to me. . . .
SHE {provocatively)
Indeed! What does he say?
HE
He says: "I was a coward; you must be bold.
I was silent; you must speak out."
SHE {mischievously)
That's very curious — because that old lover
isn't dead at all. He's a baronet or something
in England.
HE {earnestly)
His youth is dead; and it is his youth that
speaks to me.
SHE {quickly)
You mustn't believe all that ghosts tell you.
HE
Oh, but I must. For they know the folly of
silence — the bitterness of cowardice.
SHE
The" circumstances were — slightly — different,
weren't they?
HE {stubbornly)
I don't care!
SHE {soberly)
You know perfectly well it's no use.
HE
I can't help that!
105
SWEET AND TWENTY
SHE
Please! You simply mustn't! It's disgraceful!
HE
What's disgraceful?
SHE {confused)
What you are going to say.
HE {simply)
Only that I love you. What is there disgrace-
ful about that? It's beautiful!
SHE
It's wrong.
HE
It's inevitable.
SHE
Why inevitable? Can't you talk with a girl in
a cherry orchard for half an hour without f^-
ing in love with her?
HE
Not if the girl is you.
SHE
But why especially me?
HE
I don't know. Love — is a mystery. I only
know that I was destined to love you.
SHE
How can you be so sure?
HE
Because you have changed the world for me.
It's as though I had been groping about in the
dark, and then — sunrise! And there's a queer
feeling here. {He puts his hand on his heart)
To tell the honest truth, there's a still queerer
io6
SWEET AND TWENTY
feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a gone
feeling, if you must know. And my knees are
weak. I know now why men used to fall on
their knees when they told a girl they loved
her; it was because they couldn't stand up.
And there's a feeling in my feet as though I
were walking on air. And —
SHE {faintly)
That's enough!
HE
And I could die for you and be glad of the
chance. It's perfectly absurd, but it's abso-
lutely true. I've never spoken to you before,
and heaven knows I may never get a chance to
speak to you again, but I'd never forgive my-
self if I didn't say this to you now. I love
you! love you! love you! Now tell me I'm a
fool. Tell me to go. Anything — I've said my
say. . . . Why don't you speak?
SHE
I — I've nothing to say — except — except that I
— well — {almost inaudibly) I feel some of those
symptoms myself.
HE {triumphantly)
You love me!
SHE
I — don't know. Yes. Perhaps.
HE
Then kiss me!
SHE {doubtfully)
No. . . •
HE
Kiss me!
107
SWEET AND TWENTY
SHE (tormentedly)
Oh, what^s the use?
HE
I don't know. I don't care. I only know that
we love each other.
SHE
{after a momenfs hesitation^ desperately) I don't
care, either! I do want to kiss you. {She does.
. . . He is the first to awake from the ecstasy,)
HE
It is wicked —
SHE {absently)
Is it?
HE
But, oh heaven! kiss me again! {She does,)
SHE
Darling!
HE
Do you suppose anyone is likely to come this
way?
SHE
No.
HE {speculatively) Your husband is probably still
in the portrait gallery. . . .
SHE
My husband! {Drawing away) What do you
mean? {Thoroughly awake now) You didn't
think — ? {She jumps up and laughs convul-
sively) He thought poor old Tubby was my
husband!!
HE
{staring up at her bewildered) Why, isn't he
your husband?
1 08
SWEET AND TWENTY
SHE {scornfully)
No!! He€ my uncle!
HE
Your unc —
SHE
Yes, of course ! {Indignantly) Do you suppose
I would be married to a man that's fat and bald
and forty years old?
HE {distressed)
I — I beg your pardon. I did think so.
SHE
Just because you saw me with him? How
ridiculous!
HE
It was a silly mistake. But — the things you said !
You spoke so — realistically — about marriage.
SHE
It was your marriage I was speaking about.
{JVith hasty compunction) Oh, I beg your —
HE
My marriage ! {He rises) Good heavens 1 And
to whom, pray, did you think I was married?
{A light dawning) To Maria? Why, Maria is
my aunt!
SHE
Yes — of course. How stupid of me.
HE
Let's get this straight. Are you married to
anybody?
SHE
Certainly not. As if I would let anybody make
love to me if I were!
109
SWEET AND TWENTY
HE
Now don't put on airs. You did something
quite as improper. You kissed a married man.
SHE
I didn't.
HE
It's the same thing. You thought I was married.
SHE
But you aren't,
HE
No. I'm not married. And — and — youWe not
married. (The logic of the situation striking him
all of a sudden) In fact — ! {He pauses^ rather
alarmed,)
SHE
Yes?
<
HE
In fact — well — there's no reason in the world
why we shouldn't make love to each other!
SHE
(equally startled) Why — that's sol
HE
Then — then — shall we?
SHE
(sitting down and looking demurely at her toes)
Oh, not if you don't want to!
HE
(adjusting himself to the situation) Well — under
the circumstances — I suppose I ought to begin
by asking you to marry me. . . .
SHE
(languidly y with a provoking glance) You don't
seem very anxious to.
no
SWEET AND TWENTY
HE
{feeling at a disadvantage) It isn't that — but —
well —
SHE {lightly)
Well what?
HE
Dash it all, I don't know your name!
SHE
{looking at him with wild curiosity) That didn't
seem to stop you a while ago. . . .
HE {doggedly)
Well, then — will you marry me?
SHE {promptly)
No.
HE {surprised)
No! Why do you say that?
SHE {coolly)
Why should I marry you? I know nothing
about you. I've known you for less than an
hour.
HE {sardonically)
That fact didn't seem to keep you from kissing
me.
SHE
Besides — I don't like the way you go about it.
If you'd propose the same way you made love
to me, maybe I'd accept you.
HE
All right. {Dropping on one knee before her)
Beloved! {An awkward pause) No, I can't do
it. {He gets up and distractedly dusts of his
knees with his handkerchief) I'm very sorry.
8 III
SWEET AND TWENTY
SHE
(with calm inquiry) Perhaps it*s because you
don't love me any more?
HE (fretfully)
Of course I love you !
SHE (coldly)
But you don't want to marry me. ... I
see.
HE
Not at all! I do want to marry you. But —
SHE
Well?
HE
Marriage is a serious matter. Now don't take
offense! I only meant that — well — (He starts
again) We are in love with each other, and
that's the important thing. But, as you said,
we don't know each other. I've no doubt that
when we get acquainted we will like each other
better still. But we've got to get acquainted
first.
SHE (rising)
You're just like Tubby buying a house. You
want to know all about it. Well! I warn you
that you'll never know all about me. So you
needn't try.
HE (apologetically)
It was your suggestion.
SHE (impatiently)
Oh, all right! Go ahead and cross-examine me
if you like. I'll tell you to begin with that I'm
perfectly healthy, and that there's no T. B.,
112
SWEET AND TWENTY
insanity, or Socialism in my family. What else
do you want to know?
HE. (hesitantly)
Why did you put Socialism in ?
SHE
Oh, just for fun. You aren't a Socialist, are
you?
HE
Yes. {Earnestly) Do you know what Socialism
is?
SHE {innocently)
It*s the same thing as Anarchy, isn't it?
HE {gently)
No. At least not my kind. I believe in mu-
nicipal ownership of street cars, and all that
sort of thing. Til give you some books to read
SHE
Well, I never ride in street cars, so I don't care
whether they're municipally owned or not. By
the way, do you dance?
HE
No.
SHE
You must learn right away. I can't bother to
teach you myself, but I know where you can
get private lessons and become really good in
a month. It is stupid not to be able to
dance.
HE
{as if he had tasted quinine) I can see myself
doing the tango! Grr!
SHE
The tango went out long ago, my dear.
"3
SWEET AND TWENTY
HE
(with great decision) Well — I won^t learn to
dance. You might as well know that to begin
with.
SHE
And I won't read your old books on Socialism.
You might as well know that to begin with!
HE
Come, come! This will never do. You see,
my dear, it's simply that I can't dance, and
there's no use for me to try to learn.
SHE
Anybody can learn. IVe made expert dancers
out of the awkwardest men!
HE
But, you see, IVe no inclination toward danc-
ing. It's out of my world.
SHE
And I've no inclination toward municipal owner-
ship. It's out of my world!
HE
It ought not to be out of the world of any in-
telligent person.
SHE
{turning her back on him) All right — if you want
to call me stupid!
HE
(turning and looking away meditatively) It ap-
pears that we have very few tastes in common.
SHE
(tapping her foot) So it seems.
HE
If we married we might be happy for a month —
"4
SWEET AND TWENTY
SHE
Perhaps. {They remain standing with their backs
to each other ^
HE
And then: — the old story. Quarrels. . . .
SHE
I never could bear quarrels. ...
HE
An unhappy marriage. . . .
SHE
(realizing it) Oh!
HE
(hopelessly turn ing toward her) I c an * t marry you .
SHE
(recovering quickly and facing him with a smile)
Nobody asked you, sir, she said!
HE
(with a gesture oj finality) Well — there seems
to be no more to say.
SHE (sweetly)
Except good-bye.
HE (firmly)
Good-bye, then. (He holds out his hand»)
SHE
(taking it) Good-bye!
HE
(taking her other hand — after a pause^ helplessly)
Good-bye!
SHE
(drawing in his eyes) Good-bye! (They cling
to each other, and are presently lost in a pas-
sionate embrace. He breaks loose and stamps
awayy then turns to her.)
"5
SWEET AND TWENTY
HE
Damn it all, we do love each other!
SHE
{wiping her eyes) What a pity that is the only
taste we have in common!
HE
Do you suppose that is enough?
SHE
I wish it were!
HE
A month of happiness —
SHE
Yes!
HE
And then — wretchedness.
SHE
No — never!
HE
We mustn't do it.
SHE
I suppose not.
HE
Come, let us control ourselves.
SHE
Yes, let's. {They take hands again ^
HE
{with an efort) I wish you happiness. I — FU
go to Europe for a year. Try to forget me.
SHE
I shall be married when you get back — perhaps.
HE
I hope it's somebody that's not bald and fat
and forty. Otherwise — !
ii6
SWEET AND TWENTY
SHE
And you — for goodness sake ! marry a girl that*s
very young and very, very pretty. That will help.
HE
We mustn't prolong this. If we stay together
another minute —
SHE
Then go!
HE
I can't go!
SHE
You must, darling! You must!
HE
Oh, if somebody would only come along! {They
are leaning toward each other ^ dizzy upon the
brink of another kiss, when somebody does come —
a shorty mild-looking man in a Derby hat. There
is an odd gleam in his eyes),
THE INTRUDER {startled)
Excuse me! {They turn and stare at him^ but
their hands cling fast to each other ^
SHE {faintly)
The Agent!
THE AGENT
{in despairing accents) Too late! Too late!
THE YOUNG MAN
No! Just in time!
THE AGENT
Too late, I say! I will go. {He turns ^
THE YOUNG MAN
No! Stay!
117
SWEET AND TWENTY
THE AGENT
What's the use? It has already begun. What
good can I do now?
THE YOUNG MAN
I'll show you what good you can do now. Come
here! {The Agent approaches) Can you un-
loose my hands from those of this young woman ?
THE YOUNG WOMAN
{haughtily releasing herself and walking away)
You needn't trouble! I can do it myself.
THE YOUNG MAN
Thank you. It was utterly beyond my power.
{To the Agent) Will you kindly take hold of
me and move me over there? {The Agent propels
him away from the girl) Thank you. At this
distance I can perhaps make my farewell in a
seemly and innocuous manner.
THE AGENT
Young man, you will not say farewell to that
young lady for ten days — and perhaps never!
THE YOUNG WOMAN
What!
THE AGENT
They have arranged it all.
THE YOUNG MAN
Who has arranged what?
THE AGENT
Your aunt. Miss Brooke — and {to the young
woman) your uncle, Mr. Egerton — {The young
people turn and stare at each other in amazement.)
THE YOUNG MAN
Egerton! Are you Helen Egerton?
ii8
SWEET AND TWENTY
HELEN
And are you George Brooke?
THE AGENT
Your aunt and uncle have just discovered each
other up at the house, and they have arranged
for you all to take dinner together to-night, and
then go to a ten-day house-party at Mr. Eger-
ton's place on Long Island. {Grimly) The
reason of all this will be plain to you. They
want you two to get married.
GEORGE
Then we're done for! We'll have to get mar-
ried now whether we want to or not!
HELEN
What! Just to please them? I shan't do it!
GEORGE {gloomily)
You don't know my Aunt Maria.
HELEN
And Tubby will try to bully me, I suppose.
But I won't do it — no matter what he says!
THE AGENT
Pardon what may seem an impertinence. Miss;
but is it really true that you don't want to marry
this young man?
HELEN {flaming)
I suppose because you saw me in his arms — !
Oh, I want to, all right, but —
THE AGENT {mildly)
Then what seems to be the trouble ?
HELEN
I — oh, you explain to him, George. {She goes
to the bench and sits down.)
119
SWEET AND TWENTY
GEORGE
Well, it's this way. As you may have deduced
from what you saw, we are madly in love with
each other —
HELEN
(from the bench) But Tm not madly in love
with municipal ownership. That's the chief
difficulty.
GEORGE
No, the chief difficulty is that I refuse to enter-
tain even a platonic affection for the tango.
HELEN {irritably)
I told you the tango had gone out long ago!
GEORGE
Well, then, the maxixe.
HELEN
Stupid!
GEORGE
And there you have it! No doubt it seems
ridiculous to you.
THE AGENT {gTUVely)
Not at all, my boy. IVe known marriage to
go to smash on far less than that. When you
come to think of it, a taste for dancing and a
taste for municipal ownership stand at the two
ends of the earth away from each other. They
represent two different ways of taking life.
And if two people who live in the same house
can't agree on those two things, they'd disagree
on ten thousand things that came up every day.
And what's the use for two different kinds of
beings to try to live together.'* It doesn't work,
£20
SWEET AND TWENTY
no matter how much love there is between
them.
GEORGE
{rushing up to him in surprise and gratification y
and shaking his hand warmly) Then you're
our friend. You will help us not to get married !
THE AGENT
Your aunt is very set on it — and your uncle,
too. Miss!
HELEN
We must find some way to get out of it, or
they'll have us cooped up together in that
house before we know it. (Rising and coming
over to the Agent) Can't you think up some
scheme?
THE AGENT
Perhaps I can, and perhaps I can't. Fm a
bachelor myself. Miss, and that means that
I've thought up many a scheme to get out of
marriage myself.
HELEN [outraged)
You old scoundrel!
THE AGENT
Oh, it's not so bad as you may think. Miss.
I've always gone through the marriage cere-
mony to please them. But that's not what I
call marriage.
GEORGE
Then what do you call marriage?
HELEN
Yes, I'd like to know!
121
SWEET AND TWENTY
THE AGENT
Marriage, my young friends, is an iniquitous
arrangement devised by the Devil himself for
driving all the love out of the hearts of lovers.
They start out as much in love with each other
as you two are to-day, and they end by being
as sick of the sight of each other as you two will
be twenty years hence if I don't find a way of
saving you alive out of the Devil's own trap.
It's not lack of love that's the trouble with mar-
riage— it's marriage itself. And when I say
marriage, I don't mean promising to love,
honor, and obey, for richer, for poorer, in sick-
ness and in health till death do you part —
that's only human nature to wish and to at-
tempt. And it might be done if it weren't for
the iniquitous arrangement of marriage.
GEORGE {puzzled)
But what is the iniquitous arrangement?
THE AGENT
Ah, that's the trouble! If I tell you, you won't
believe me. You'll go ahead and try it out,
and find out what all the unhappy ones have
found out before you. Listen to me, my chil-
dren. Did you ever go on a picnic .^^ {He looks
from one to the other — they stand astonished and
silent) Of course you have. Everyone has.
There is an instinct in us which makes us go
back to the ways of our savage ancestors — to
gather about a fire in the forest, to cook meat
on a pointed stick, and eat it with our fingers.
But how many books would you write, young
man, if you had to go back to the camp-fire
122
SWEET AND TWENTY
every day for your lunch? And how many new
dances would you invent if you lived eternally
in the picnic stage of civilization? No! the
picnic is incompatible with everyday living.
As incompatible as marriage.
GEORGE
But—
HELEN
But—
THE AGENT
Marriage is the nest-building instinct, turned
by the Devil himself into an institution to hold
the human soul in chains. The whole story of
marriage is told in the old riddle: "Why do
birds in their nests agree? Because if they
don't, they'll fall out." That's it. Marriage
is a nest so small that there is no room in it for
disagreement. Now it may be all right for birds
to agree, but human beings are not built that
way. They disagree, and home becomes a little
hell. Or else they do agree, at the expense of
the soul's freedom stifled in one or both.
HELEN
Yes, but tell me —
GEORGE
Ssh!
THE AGENT
Yet there is the nest-building instinct. You
feel it, both of you. If you don't now, you will
as soon as you are married. If you are fools,
you will try to live all your lives in a love-nest;
and you will imprison your souls within it, and
the Devil will laugh.
[23
SWEET AND TWENTY
HELEN
(to George) I am beginning to be afraid of him.
GEORGE
So am I.
THE AGENT
If you are wise, you will build yourselves a
little nest secretly in the woods, away from
civilization, and you will run away together to
that nest whenever you are in the mood. A
nest so small that it will hold only two beings
and one thought — the thought of love. And
then you will come back refreshed to civiliza-
tion, where every soul is different from every
other soul — you will let each other alone, forget
each other, and do your own work in peace.
Do you understand?
HELEN
He means we should occupy separate sides of
the house, I think. Or else that we should live
apart and only see each other on week-ends.
Tm not sure which.
THE AGENT {passionately)
I mean that you should not stifle love with
civilization, nor encumber civilization with love.
What have they to do with each other? You
think you want a fellow student of economics.
You are wrong. You think you want a dancing
partner. You are mistaken. You want a
revelation of the glory of the universe.
HELEN
{to George^ confidentially) It*s blithering non-
sense, of course. But it was something like
that — a while ago.
124
SWEET AND TWENTY
GEORGE (pewilderedly)
Yes; when we knew it was our first kiss and
thought it was to be our last.
THE AGENT {fiercely)
A kiss is always the first kiss and the last — or
it is nothing.
HELEN {conclusively)
He's quite mad.
GEORGE
Absolutely.
THE AGENT
Mad? Of course I am mad. But — {He turns
suddenly^ and subsides as a man in a guard's
uniform enters^
THE GUARD
Ah, here you are! Thought you*d given us
the slip, did you? {To the others) Escaped
from the Asylum, he did, a week ago, and got a
job here. WeVe been huntin' him high and
low. Come along now!
GEORGE
(recovering with difficulty the power of speech)
What — what's the matter with him?
GUARD
Matter with him? He went crazy, he did,
readin' the works of Bernard Shaw. And if he
wasn't in the insane asylum he'd be in jail. He's
a bigamist, he is. He married fourteen women.
But none of 'em would go on the witness stand
against him. Said he was an ideal husband,
they did. Fourteen of 'em! But otherwise he's
perfectly harmless. Come now!
125
SWEET AND TWENTY
THE AGENT {pleasantly)
Perfectly harmless! Yes, perfectly harmless!
{He is led out.)
HELEN
That explains it all!
GEORGE
Yes — and yet I feel there was something in
what he was saying.
HELEN
Well — are we going to get married or not?
WeVe got to decide that before we face my
uncle and your aunt.
GEORGE
Of course we'll get married. You have your
work and I mine, and —
HELEN
Well, if we do, then you can't have that sunny
south room for a study. I want it for the
nursery.
GEORGE
The nursery!
HELEN
Yes; babies, you know!
GEORGE
Good heavens!
[curtain]
126
TICKLESS TIME
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT
by Susan Glaspell and George Cram Cook
First performed by the Province iown Players, New York,
December 20, 1918, with the following cast:
Ian Joyce, Who Has Made a Sun-dial^ James Light
Eloise Joyce, Wedded to the Sun-dial, Norma Millay
Mrs. Stubbs, a Native, Jean Robb
Eddy Knight, a Standardized Mind, Hutchinson Collins
Alice Knight, a Standardized Wife, Alice MacDougal
Annie, Who Cooks by the Joyces' Clock,
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Copyright. 1920. hy SMALL, MAYNARD & CO.
Production of this play must not be made except by written
permission of the authors, who may be addressed in care of
Small, Maynard & Company, Boston, Mass.
TICKLESS TIME
scene:
A garden in Provincetown, On the spectators
right a two-story house runs back from the pros-
cenium— a door towards the fronts a second-story
window towards the back. Across the back runs
a thick-set row of sunflowers nearly concealing
a fence or wall. Back of this are trees and sky.
There is a gate at the left rear corner of the garden.
People entering it come straight toward the fronts
down the left side and, to reach the house door^
pass across the front of the stage. A fence with
sunflowers like that at the back closes off the left
wing of the stage — a tree behind this left fence.
The sun-dial stands on a broad step or pedestal
which partly masks the digging which takes place
behind it. The position of the sun-dial is to the
left of the center of the stage midway between front
and back.
From behind the tree on the left the late
afternoon sun throws a well-defined
beam of light upon the horizontal plate
of the sun-dial and upon the shaft
which supports it. On this shaft is
the accompanying diagram: two feet
high and clearly visible. On the plate
of the sun-dial stands the alarm clock.
A huge shovel leans against the wall of the house-
comer at the back.
Ian is at the sun-dial. He sights over the style to
some distant stake left rear, marking the north. He
then sights over the east and left line toward the six
129
%
TICKLESS TIME
o^clock sun. Looks at shadow. Looks at alarm
clock. Is intensely pleased.
IAN {turning toward the house and calling ex-
citedly)
Eloise! Oh, Eloise!
ELOisE {inside house)
Hello!
IAN
Come quick ! You'll miss it.
ELOISE {poking her head out of the second-story
window; she cranes her neck to look straight up
in the air,)
What is it?
IAN
Come down here quick or you'll miss it.
ELOISE {disappears from window. A moment later
comes running out^ one braid of hair up and one
braid down. Again looks wildly up in the air.)
Where is it?
IAN {absorbed in the sun-dial)
Where's what ?
ELOISE
The airplane.
IAN
Airplane? It's the sun-dial. It's right. Just
look at this six-o'clock shadow. {She goes around
to the other side of it.) It's absolutely, mathe-
matically— you're in the way of the sun, Eloise.
{She steps aside.) Look! the style is set square
on the true north — this is the fifteenth of June
— the clock is checked to the second by telegraph
with the observatory at Washington, and see!
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TICKLESS TIME
the clock is exactly nineteen minutes and twenty-
seconds behind the shadow — the precise differ-
ence between Provincetown local time and
standard Eastern time.
ELOISE
Then the sun-dial's really finished — and working
right! After all these words! Oh, Ian! {She
embraces him,)
IAN _
It*s good to get it right after all those mistakes.
{With vision.) Why, Eloise, getting this right
has been a symbol of man's whole search for
truth^ — the discovery and correction of error —
the mind compelled to conform step by step to
astronomical fact — to truth.
ELOISE {going to it again)
And to think that it's the sun-dial which is true
and the clock — all the clocks — are wrong! I'm
glad it is true. Alice Knight has been here
talking to me for an hour. I want to think that
something's true.
IAN
That's just it, Eloise. The sun-dial is more than
sun-dial. It's a first-hand relation with truth.
A personal relation. When you take your time
from a clock you are mechanically getting in-
formation from a machine. You're nothing but
a clock yourself.
ELOISE
Like Alice Knight.
IAN
But the sun-dial — this shadow is an original
document — a scholar's source.
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TICKLESS TIME
ELOISE
To tell time by the shadow of the sun — so large
and simple.
IAN
I wouldn't call it simple. Here on this diagram
I have worked out —
ELOISE
Dearest, you know I can't understand diagrams.
But I get the feeling of it, Ian — the sun, the
North star. I love to think that this {placing
her hands on the style) is set by the North star.
{Her right hand remains on the style, her left
prolongs its line heavenward.) Why, if I could
go on long enough Fd get to the North star!
IAN {impressively)
The line that passes along the edge of this style
joins the two poles of the heavens. {Eloise pulls
away her hand as one who fears an electric shock.)
Look at this slow shadow, and what you see is
the spin of the earth on its axis. It is not so
much the measure of time, as time itself made
visible.
ELOISE {knitting her brows to get this — escaping
to an impetuous generality)
Ian, which do you think is the more wonder-
ful— space or time?
IAN {again sighting over his east and west lines,
Good-hu m oredly)
Both are a little large for our approbation.
ELOISE {sitting on the steps and putting up the other
braid)
Do you know, Ian, that's the one thing about
them I don't quite like. You can't get very
intimate with them, can you ? They make you
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TICKLESS TIME
so humble. That*s one nice thing about a clock.
A clock is sometimes wrong.
IAN
Don't you want to live in a first-hand relation
to truth.^
ELOISE
Yes; yes, I do — generally.
IAN
I have a feeling as of having touched vast forces.
To work directly with worlds — it lifts me out of
that little routine of our lives which is itself a
clock.
ELOISE {catching his exultation)
Let us be like this ! Let us have done with clocks !
IAN
Eloise, how wonderful! Can the clocks and
live by the sun-dial? Live by the non-auto-
matic sun-dial — as a pledge that we ourselves
refuse to be automatons!
ELOISE
Like Alice Knight. {She takes clock from dial
and puts it face downward on the ground,) I
shall never again have anything to do with
a clock !
IAN
Eloise! How corking of you! I didn't think
you had it in you. {Raising his right hand?}
Do you solemnly swear to live by the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth.'*
ELOISE {her hand upon the sun-dial)
I swear.
IAN
Bring them !
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TICKLESS TIME
ELOISE
Bring — ?
IAN
The clocks ! Bring them ! {Seizes the spade over
by the house; begins to dig a grave behind the sun-
dial?) Bring every one ! We will bury the clocks
before the sun-dial — an offering, a living sac-
rifice. I tell you this is great^ Eloise. What is
a clock? Something agreed upon and arbitrarily
imposed upon us. Standard time. Not true
time. Symbolizing the whole standardization
of our lives. Clocks! Why, it is clockiness that
makes America mechanical and mean! Clock-
minded! A clock is a little machine that shuts
us out from the wonder of time. {A large ges-
ture with the shovel.) Who thinks of spinning
worlds when looking at a clock .f* How daj^e
clocks do this to us? But the sun-dial — because
there was creation, because there are worlds out-
side our world, because space is rhythm and
time is flow that shadow falls precisely there and
not elsewhere! Bring them, Eloise! I am dig-
ging the graves of the clocks !
{Eloise^ swept up by this ecstasy ^ yet frightened
at what it is bringing her to^ hesitates^ then runs
to house, Ian digs with rhythmic vigor, A mo-
ment later Eloise is seen peering down at him from
window^ in her arms a cuckoo clock. It begins to
cuckoo^ startling Eloise,)
IAN
That damned cuckoo!
{A moment later Eloise comes outy bearing
a cuckoo clock and an old-fashioned clock. lan's
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TICKLESS TIME
back is to her; she has to pass the alarm clocks
lying where she left it^ prone on the ground. She
hesitates^ then carefully holding the other two
clocks in one arm^ she stealthily goes rear and puts
the alarm clock behind the sunflowers. Then ad-
vances with the other two,)
IAN {while digging)
Into these graves go all that is clocklike in our
minds. All that a clock world has made of
us lies buried here!
(Eloise stands rather appalled at the idea of so
much of herself going into a grave. Puts the old-
fashioned clock carefully on the ground. Gingerly
fits the cuckoo clock into the completed grave. With
an exclamation of horror lifts it out of the grave.
Listens to its tick. Puts her ear to the sun-dial;
listens vainly^
ELOISE
The sun-dial doesn't tick, does it, Ian?
IAN
Why should it tick?
ELOISE
Do you know, Ian, I {timidly) — I like to hear the
ticking of a clock. {No reply. Eloise holds up
the cuckoo clock,) This was a wedding present.
IAN
No wonder marriage fails. {He moves to take
it from her.)
ELOISE
I wonder if we hadn't better leave the cuckoo
until tomorrow.
IAN
Flaming worlds! A cuckoo!
135
TICKLESS TIME
ELOISE
Eddie and Alice gave us the cuckoo. You know
theyVe coming back. I asked them for dinner.
They might not understand our burying their
clock.
IAN
Their failure to understand need not limit our
lives. {Puts the cuckoo clock in its grave and be-
gins to cover it,)
ELOisE (as the earth goes on)
I liked the cuckoo! I liked to see him popping
out!
IAN (kindly)
You will grow, Eloise. You will go out to large
things now that you have done with small
ones.
ELOISE
I hope so. It will be hard on me if I don*t.
(Ian reaches for the other clock.)
ELOiSE (snatching it)
Oh, Ian, I don't think I ought to bury this one.
It's the clock my grandmother started house-
keeping with!
IAN (firmly taking clock)
And see what it did to her. Meticulous old
woman ! (Puts it in its grave.)
ELOISE
You were glad enough to get her pies and buck-
wheat cakes.
IAN
She had all the small virtues. But a standard-
ized mind. (Trampling down the grave.) She
lacked scope. And now — a little grave for
136
TICKLESS TIME
little clocks. {Takes out his watch^ puts it in its
graved Your watch, Eloise.
ELOiSE {holding to her wrist watch)
I thought I'd keep my watch, Ian. {Hastily,)
For an ornament, you know.
IAN
We are going to let truth be your ornament,
Eloise.
ELOISE
Nobody sees the truth. {With afresh outburst,)
This watch is my graduation present!
IAN
Symbolizing all the standardized arbitrary
things you were taught! Commemorating the
clocklike way your mind was made to run.
Free yourself of that watch, Eloise. {Eloise
reluctantly frees herself. Ian briskly covers the
watches. Moves to the unfilled grave.) Is there
nothing for this grave ? {Eloise shakes her head,)
Sure — the alarm clock!
ELOISE {running to the sunflowers and spreading
out her skirts before them.)
Oh, Ian, not the alarm clock! How would we
ever go to Boston ? The train doesn't run by the
sun.
IAN
Then the train is wrong.
ELOISE
But, Ian, if the train is wrong we have to be
wrong to catch the train.
IAN
Thafs civilization. {Stands resolutely by the
graved The alarm clock, Eloise. The grave
awaits it.
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TICKLESS TIME
ELOisE {taking it up^ her arms folded around it)
I wanted to go to Boston and buy a hat!
IAN
The sun will fall upon your dear head and give
you life.
ELOISE {about to cry)
But no style! It ticks so loud and sure!
IAN
All false things are loud and sure.
ELOISE
I need a tick! I am afraid of tickless time!
{Holding the clock in both hands she places it
against her left ear,)
IAN {spade still in his right handy he places his left
arm around her reassuringly)
You will grow, Eloise. You are growing.
{He takes the clock as he is saying this. She
turns her head backward following the departing
clock with surprised and helpless eyes. Dis-
consolately watches him bury it,)
ELOISE {an inspiration)
Ian! Couldn*t you fix the sun-dial to be set
and go off?
IAN {pained)
"Set and go off?" {Pause; regards the sun,)
Sine sole sUio,
ELOISE
What did you say, Ian?
IAN
I SRid: Sine sole silio.
ELOISE
Well, I don't know what you say when you say
that.
138
TICKLESS TIME
IAN
It*s a Latin motto IVe just thought of for the
sun-dial. It means, "Without sun, I am silent."
Silence is a great virtue. {Having finished the
grave, he looks around, making sure there are no
more clocks. Joyously.) Now we are freed!
Eloise, think what life is going to be! Done
with approximations. Done with machine
thinking. In a world content with false time,
we are true.
ELOiSE {sitting on the steps)
Yes, it's beautiful. I want to be true. It's
just that it's a little hard to be true in a false
world. For instance, tomorrow I have an ap-
pointment with the dentist. If I come on sun-
time, I suppose ril be twenty minutes —
IAN {eagerly. Going to the sun-dial and pointing)
If you will just let me explain this table —
{Eloise shrinks back. Ian gives it up.) Oh,
well, tell him you are living by the truth.
ELOISE
I'm afraid he'll charge me for it. And when we
ask people for dinner at seven, they'll get here at
twenty minutes of seven. Or will it be twenty
minutes after seven?
IAN {smoothing down the graves)
It will be a part of eternal time.
ELOISE
Yes — thafs true. Only the roast isn't so eternal.
Why do they have clocks wrong?
IAN
Oh, Eloise, I've explained it so many times. You
— living in Provincetown, three hundred miles
to the eastward, are living by the mean solar
139
TICKLESS TIME
time of Philadelphia. {Venomously^ Do you
want to live by the mean solar time of Philadel-
phia?
ELOISE
Certainly not, {An idea.) Then has Phila-
delphia got the right time ?
IAN
It's right six miles this side of Philadelphia.
ELOISE
We might move to Philadelphia.
{Enter, through gate, Mrs, Stubbs, a Province-
town ^'native.'')
MRS. STUBBS
Now, Mr. Joyce, this sun clock — is it running?
IAN
It doesn't "run," Mrs. Stubbs. It is acted upon.
MRS. STUBBS
Oh? Well, is it being acted upon ?
IAN
As surely as the sun shines.
MRS. STUBBS {looking at the sun)
And it is shining today, isn't it? Well, will
you tell me the time? My clock has stopped
and I want to set it.
IAN {happily)
You hear, Eloise? Her clock has stopped.
MRS. STUBBS
Yes, I forgot to wind it.
ELOISE {grieved to think' of any one living in such
a world)
Wind it!
IAN
Do you not see, Mrs. Stubbs, where the shadow
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TICKLESS TIME
falls? {She comes up the steps,) From its mil-
lions of spinn — You're in the way of the sun,
Mrs. Stubbs. {She steps aside.) Its millions of
spinning miles, the sun casts that shadow and
here we know that it is eight minutes past six.
MRS. STUBBS
Now, ain't that wonderful? Dear, dear, I
wish Mr. Stubbs could make a sun clock. But
he's not handy around the house. Past six.
Well, I must hurry back. They work tonight
at the cold storage but Mr. Stubbs gets home
for his supper at half past six. {Starts away^
reaching the gate,)
ELOiSE {running to her)
Oh, Mrs. Stubbs! Don't get his supper by sun
time. It wouldn't be ready. It — {with a
hesitant look at Ian) might get cold. {Mrs,
Stubbs stares,) You see, Mr. Stubbs is coming
home by the mean solar time of Philadelphia.
MRS. STUBBS {loyal to Mr, Stubhs)
Who said he was?
ELOiSE {in distress)
Oh, it's all so false! And arbitrary! {To Ian,)
But I think Mrs. Stubbs had better be false
and arbitrary, too. Mr. Stubbs might rather
have his supper than the truth.
MRS. STUBBS {advancing a little)
What is this about my being false? And —
arbitrary?
ELOISE
You see, you have to be, Mrs. Stubbs. We
don't blame you. How can you live by the truth
if Mr. Stubbs doesn't work by it?
141
TICKLESS TIME
MRS. STUBBS
This is the first word I ever heard said against
Johnnie Stubbs's way of freezin* fish.
ELOISE
Oh, Mrs. Stubbs, if it were merely his way of
freezing fish!
IAN
Since you are not trying to establish a direct re-
lation with truth, set your clock at five minutes
of six. The clocks, as would be clear to you
if you would establish a first-hand relation with
this diagram, Eloise, are slow.
MRS. STUBBS
You mean your sun clock's wrong.
IAN
All other clocks are wrong.
ELOISE
You live by the mean solar time of Philadelphia.
MRS. STUBBS
I do no such thing!
ELOISE
Yes, you do, Mrs. Stubbs. You see the sun
can't be both here and in Philadelphia at the
same time. Now, could it? So we have to pre-
tend to be where it is in Philadelphia.
MRS. STUBBS
Who said we did?
ELOISE
Well, (after a look at Ian) the Government.
MRS. STUBBS
Them congressmen!
ELOISE
But Mr. Joyce and I — You're standing on a
grave, Mrs. Stubbs. (Mrs. Stubbs jumps ^ The
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TICKLESS TIME
grave of my grandmother's clock. {In reply
to Mrs. Stubbs's look of amazement.) Oh, yes!
That clock has done harm enough. Mrs. Subbs,
think what time is — and then consider my grand-
mother's clock! Tick, tick! Tick, tick! Mess-
ing up eternity like that!
MRS. STUBBS {after failing to think of anything
adequate) I must get Mr. Stubbs his supper!
{Frightened exit.)
IAN {standing near house door)
Eloise, how I love you when feeling lifts you out
of routine! Do you know, dearest, you are
very sensitive in the way you feel feeling?
Sometimes I think that the way to feel feeling
is greater than to feel. You're like the dial.
Your sensitiveness is the style — the gnomon —
to cast the shadow of the feeling all around you
and mark what has been felt. {They embrace.)
{Eddy and Alice open the gate.)
EDDY
Ahem! {He comes down.) Ahem! We seem to
have come ahead of time.
ELOISE
Oh, Eddy! Alice! {Moving toward Eddy but
not passing the dial.) We are living by sun time
now. You haven't arrived for twenty minutes.
EDDY
We haven't arrived for twenty minutes ? {Feel-
ing of himself.) Why do I seem to be here ?
ALICE {approaching dial)
So this is the famous sun-dial.^ How very
interesting it is!
10 143
TICKLESS TIME
ELOISE
It's more than that.
ALICE
Yes, it*s really beautiful, isn't it?
ELOISE
It's more than that.
EDDY
Is it?
ELOISE
It's a symbol. It means that Ian and I are done
with approximations arbitrarily and falsely im-
posed upon us.
EDDY
Well, I should think you would be. Who's been
doing that to you?
ELOISE
Don't Step on the graves, please, Alice.
ALICE {starting back in horror)
Graves ?
ELOISE {pointing down)
The lies we inherited lie buried there.
EDDY
Well, I should think that might make quite a
graveyard. So the sun-dial is built on lies.
ELOISE
Indeed it is not!
ALICE
Does it keep time?
IAN
It doesn't "keep" time. It gives it.
EDDY {comparing with his watch)
Well, it gives it wrong. It's twenty minutes fast.
{Van and Eloise smile at one another in a superior
way,)
144
TICKLESS TIME
ALICE
You couldn*t expect a home-made clock to be
perfectly accurate. I think it's doing very
well to come within twenty minutes of the true
time.
IAN
It is true time.
ELOISE
You think it's twenty minutes fast because your
puny, meticulous little watch is twenty minutes
slow.
ALICE
Why, is it, Eddy? {Comparing watches across
the sun-dial^ No, Eddy's watch is right by
mine.
IAN
And neither of you is right by the truth.
ELOISE {pityingly)
Don't you know that you are running by the
mean solar time of Philadelphia?
EDDY
Well, isn't everybody else running that way?
ELOISE
Does thatjnake it right?
EDDY
I get you. You are going to cast off standard
time and live by solar time.
ELOISE
Lies for truth.
EDDY
But how are you going to connect up with other
people?
IAN
We can allow for their mistakes.
145
TICKLESS TIME
ELOISE
We will connect with other people in so far as
other people are capable of connecting with
the truth!
EDDY
Vm afraid you'll be awful lonesome sometimes.
ALICE
But, Eloise, do you mean to say that you are
going to insist on being right when other people
are wrong?
ELOISE
I insist upon it.
ALICE
What a life!
EDDY
Come, now, what difference does it make if
we're wrong, if we're all wrong together?
IAN
That idea has made a clock of the human mind.
(Enter Annie.)
ANNIE
Mrs. Joyce, can't I have my clock back now?
I don't know when to start dinner.
IAN {consulting dial)
By true time, Annie, it is twenty minutes past
six.
ELOISE {confidentially)
By false time it is six.
ANNIE
I have to have my kitchen clock back. {She
looks around for it.)
IAN
We are done with clocks, Annie.
146
TICKLESS TIME
ANNIE
You mean Vm not to have it back?
ELOISE
It lies buried there.
ANNIE
Buried} My clock buried? It's not aead!
IAN
It's dead to us, Annie.
ANNIE {after looking at the grave)
Do I get a new clock?
ELOISE
We are going to establish a first-hand relation
with truth.
ANNIE
You can't cook without a clock.
IAN
A superstition. And, anyway — have you not the
sun?
ANNIE {after regarding the sun)
I'd rather have a clock than the sun. {Returns
to her clockless kitcken.)
IAN
That's what clocks have made of the human
mind.
EDDY {coming to Ian)
Of course, this is all a joke.
IAN
The attempt to reach the truth has always been
thought a joke.
EDDY
But this isn't any new truth! Why re-reach it?
IAN
I'm reaching it myself. I'm getting the impact —
as of a fresh truth.
147
TICKLESS TIME
ALICE
But hasn't it all been worked out for us?
IAN
And we take it never knowing — never feeling
— what it is we take.
ELOISE
And that has made us the mechanical things we
are!
ANNIE {frantically rushes in, peeling an onion)
Starting the sauce for the spaghetti. Fry onions
in butter three minutes. {Wildly regards sun-
dial— traces curved line of diagram with knife.
Looks despairingly at the sun. Tears back into
the house.)
IAN
You get no sense of wonder in looking at a clock.
ALICE
Yes, do you know, I do. IVe always thought
that clocks were perfectly wonderful I never
could understand how they could run like that.
ELOISE
I suppose you know they run wrong?
EDDY
What do you mean "run wrong?"
ELOISE
Why, you are running by the mean solar time
of Philadelphia. And yet here you are in
Provincetown where the sun is a very different
matter. You have no direct relation with the
sun.
EDDY
That doesn't seem to worry me much.
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TICKLESS TIME
IAN
No, it wouldn't worry you, Eddy. You're too
perfect a product of a standardized world.
{Eddy bows acknowledgment.)
ANNIE {rushing out to look at diaL) Add meat,
brown seven minutes. {Measures seven minutes
between thumb and finger^ holds up this frag-
ment of time made visible and carries it carefully
into the house.)
EDDY
That girl'll get heart disease.
IAN
Let her establish a first-hand relation to heat.
If she'd take a look at the food instead of the
clock — !
EDDY
Trouble is we have to establish a first-hand re-
lation with the spaghetti. {Eddy now comes down
and regards the sun-dial. Moralizes.) If other
people have got the wrong dope, you've got to
have the wrong dope or be an off ox.
IAN
Perfect product of a standardized nation!
EDDY {pointing with his stick)
What's this standardized snake?
IAN
That's my diagram correcting the sun?
EDDY
Does one correct the sun?
ELOISE {from behind the dial)
Ian ! Correcting the sun!
IAN
You see, there are only four days in the year
149
TICKLESS TIME
when the apparent time is the same as the aver-
age time.
ELOisE {in growing alarm)
Do you mean to tell me the sun is not right
with itself?
IAN
IVe tried to explain it to you, Eloise, but you
said you could get the feeling of it without un-
derstanding it. This curve {pointing) marks
the variation. Here, today, you see, the shadow
is "right" as you call it — that is, average. It
will be right again here in September, and again
on December twenty-first.
ALICE
My birthday!
ELOISE
Ian, you mean to say the sun only tells the right
sun time four days in the year.f*
IAN
It always tells the * 'right" sun time, but here
the said right sun time is fifteen minutes be-
hind its own average, and here it is sixteen
minutes ahead. This scale here across the bot-
tom shows you the number of minutes to add
or subtract.
ELOiSE {with bitterness)
Add! Subtract! Then you and your sun are
false!
IAN
No, Eloise, not false. Merely intricate. Merely
not regular. Machines are regular.
ELOISE
You got me to bury the clocks and live by the
150
TICKLESS TIME
sun and now you tell me you have to fix up the
sun.
IAN
It was you who said bury the clocks.
ELOISE
I suppose you have to do something to the North
star, too!
IAN
Yes, the North star is not true north. {He
starts to point out its error^ sighting over the style
of the dial,)
ELOISE
What is true? What is true?
IAN {with vision)
The mind of man.
ELOISE
I think rd better have a clock. {A new gust.)
You told me I was to live by the sun, and now
— after the clocks are in their graves — what
I am to live by is that snake. {She points at
diagram.)
IAN
You are a victim of misplaced confidence,
Eloise. Sometimes when one feels things with-
out understanding them, one feels the wrong
thing. But there's nothing to worry about.
The sun and I can take care of the sun's irregu-
larities.
EDDY
Take heart, Eloise. It's a standardized sun.
IAN
It's not a blindly accepted sun!
ANNIE {who comes as one not to be put aside)
What'll I do when it rains?
151
TICKLESS TIME
IAN
You'll use your mind.
ANNIE
To tell time by? {Looking to Eloise,) I think
rd better find another place.
ALICE {coming forward y regarding this as a really
serious matter)
No, don't do that, Annie.
ELOISE {tearfully)
You don't know the wonders of your own mind!
ANNIE
No, ma'am. {After a look at the sun, becomes
terrified,) It's going down !
EDDY
Yes, it goes down.
ANNIE
How'll we tell time when it's dark.^
IAN
Sine sole silio.
ANNIE
Is that saying how we'll know when it's time
to go to bed?
IAN
The doves know when to go to bed.
ANNIE
The doves don't go to the pictures.
ELOISE {hysterically)
You'll grow, Annie!
ANNIE
I'd rather have a clock. {Exit.)
IAN
She'd rather have a clock than grow.
ALICE
Now, why can't one do both?
152
TICKLESS TIME
IAN
One doesn't — that's the answer. One merely
has the clock. I'd rather be a fool than a ma-
chine.
EDDY
I never definitely elected to be either.
IAN
One can be both without electing either.
ELOISE
I want to hear the ticking of a clock!
EDDY
It's a nice thing to hear. The ticking of a clock
means the minds of many men. As long as the
mind of man has to — fix up the facts of nature in
order to create ideal time I feel it's a little more
substantial to have the minds of many men.
ALICE
As I've told you before, Eloise, you can't do
better than accept the things that have been
all worked out for you.
IAN
You hear them, Eloise? You see where this de-
fense of clocks is leading?
ELOISE
Ian, I'm terribly worried — and a little hurt —
about the sun. {As one beginning a dirge ^ The
sun has fail'ed me. The North star is false.
IAN {going to her)
I am here, dearest.
ELOISE
Sometimes you seem so much like space. I
am running by the sun — that wobbly sun {look-
ing at it) and everyone else is running by Phila-
delphia. I want a Httle clock to tick to me!
TICKLESS TIME
IAN
You will grow, dearest.
ELOISE
There's no use growing. The things you grow
to are wrong. {Pressing her hands to her head.)
I need a tick in time!
IAN {striding savagely from her)
Very well, then ; dig up the clocks.
EDDY
Now you're talking!
(Eloise springs up.)
IAN
Dig up the clocks! And we spend our lives
nineteen minutes and twenty seconds apart!
{Eloise is arrested^ appalled. Dreadful pause,)
ELOISE
You mean we*d never get together?
IAN
Time would lie between us. I refuse to be
re-caught into a clock world. It was you,
Eloise, who proposed to give up the clocks and
live in this first-hand relation to truth.
ELOISE
I didn't know I was proposing a first-hand re-
lation with that snake!
IAN
It's not a snake! It's a little piece of the long-
winding road to truth. It's the discarding of
error, the adjustment of fact. And I did it my-
self. And it puts me on that road. Oh, I know
{to Eddy and Alice) how you can laugh if you
154
TICKLESS TIME
yourself feel no nt^d to feel truth. And you,
Eloise, if you don^t want to feel time — return
to your mean little clock. What is a clock?
A clock is the soulless —
{The alarm clock enters a protest. Smothered
sound of the alarm clock going off underground.
Eloise screams.)
ELOISE
The alarm clock! It's going off!
ALICE
Buried alive!
ELOISE
Oh, no — oh, no! How terrible! Ian, how ter-
rible! [She runs to him. Alarm clocks being
intermittent^ goes of again,)
IAN
Eloise, if you listen to the voice of that clock — !
EDDY
How bravely it tries to function in its grave!
ALICE
The death struggle — the last gasp!
QVith another scream Eloise snatches spade^ be-
gins to dig; alarm clock gives another little gasp;
spade is too slow for her: in her desperation, goes
to it with her hands. Gets it and, as she holds
it aloft, the alarm clock rings its triumph^
ELOISE (holding it to her ear)
It's ticking. It ticks! It ticks! Oh, it's good
to hear the ticking of a clock!
{As he hears this, Ian, after a moment of terrible
silence, goes and unscrews the plate of the sun-
dial. All watch him, afraid to speak. He takes
TICKLESS TIME
it ofy holds it above the grave from which the alarm
clock has been rescued^
ELOISE
Ian! What are you doing? (He does not an-
swer^ hut puts the sun-dial in the alarm clock's
grave) Ian! No! No! Not that! Not your
beautiful sun-dial ! Oh, no! Not that!
{lan^ having finished the burial of the sun-dial^
sees the alarm clocks and puts it on the pedestal
from which the sun-dial has been taken.
IAN
We bow down, as of old, to the mechanical.
We will have no other god but it. (He then
sits on the step, sunk in gloom)
{Annie appears , in her hand a panful of water.)
ANNIE
This liver has to soak five minutes. TU soak
it here. {Sees the alarm clock; with a cry of joy)
My clock! My clock! (Overcome with emotion)
Oh! My clock! My clock! Can I take it in the
house to finish dinner ?
ELOiSE {in a hopeless voice)
Yes, take it away.
{Beaming, Annie bears it to her kitchen. Eloise
now kneels behind the grave of the sun-dial)
EDDY
Let us leave them alone with their dead. {Leads
Alice to the corner of the house; they look of down
the road)
{Eloise and Ian sit there on either side of the
156
TICKLESS TIME
grave ^ swaying a little^ back and forth ^ as those
who mourn,)
ELOiSE {looking at grave)
I had thought life was going to be so beautiful.
IAN
It might have been.
ELOISE (looking at empty pedestal)
I suppose it will never be beautiful again.
IAN
It cannot be beautiful again. . .
{Suddenly^ with a cry^ Eloise gets up and darts
to the house: comes racing back with the alarm
clocks snatches spade^ desperately begins to dig
a graved
ELOISE
Ian! Ian! Don't you see what Tm doing? Fm
willing to have a first-hand relation with the sun
even though it's not regular.
(But Ian is as one who has lost hope, Eddy
and Alice turn to watch the re-burial of the alarm
clock, Annie strides in,)
ANNIE (in no mood for feeling)
Where's my alarm clock?
ELOISE
I am burying it.
ANNIE
Again ? (Looks at sun-dial,) And even the sun
clock's gone?
EDDY
All is buried. Truth. Error. We have re-
turned to the nothing from which we came.
157
TICKLESS TIME
ANNIE
This settles it. Now I go. I leave. {Firm
with purpose^ re-enters the housed
ALICE {excitedly)
Eloise! She means it!
ELOiSE {dully)
I suppose she does. {Continues ner grave dig-
ging,)
ALICE
But you can't get anybody else! You can't
get anybody now. Oh, this is madness. What
does any of the rest of it matter if you have lost
your cook? {To Ian,) Eloise can't do the work I
Peel potatoes — scrub. What's the difference
what's true if you have to clean out your own
sink.'' {Despairing of hirUy she turns to Eloise.)
Eloise, stop fussing about the moon and stars!
You're losing your cook!
{Annie comes from the house with suitcase^
shawl-strap, and hand-bag on long strings,
Marches straight to left of stage, makes a face at
the sun^ marches to gate left rear and of.)
ALICE
Eddy, go after her! Heavens! Has no one a
mind? Go after her!
EDDY
What's the good of going after her without a
clock?
ALICE
Well, get a clock! For heaven's sake, get a
clock! Eloise, get off the grave of the alarm
clock! {Eloise stands like a monument. To
Eddy,) Well, there are graves all around you.
158
TICKLESS TIME
Dig something else up. No! You call her back.
rU — (^Snatches spade ^ which is resting against
sun-dial pedestal y begins to dig.)
EDDY {stands at backy calling)
Annie! Oh, Annie! IVaity Annie!
ALICE {while frantically digging)
Say something to interest her, imbecile!
EDDY {stick in one hand, straw hat in the other ^
making wild signals with both.) Come home,
Annie! Clock! Clock! {Giving up that job and
throwing of his coat.) You interest her and I'll
dig.
{They change places.)
ALICE
She's most to the bend! Eddy, don't you know
how to dig?
{Eddy^ who has been digging with speed and skilly
produces the clock with which Eloise's grand-
mother started housekeeping. Starts to dash of
with it.)
ELOiSE {dully)
That clock doesn't keep time. Annie hates it.
IAN {as if irritated by all this inefficiency)
What she wants is the alarm clock. Get off
the grave, Eloise.
{He disinters alarm clock and with it runs after
Annie. Alice draws a long breath and rubs her
back, Eddy brings the clock he dug up and sets
it on the pedestal. Then he looks down at the
disturbed graves.)
EDDY
Here's a watch! {Lifts it from the grave; holds
u 159
TICKLESS TIME
/'/ out to Eloise; she does not take it. He puts
it on the pedestal beside the clock.) Here's an-
other watch. {Holds up lan's watch,) Quite
a valuable piece of ground.
{Now is heard the smothered voice of a cuckoo,)
ALICE {jumping)
What's that?
ELOISE
The cuckoo. I suppose it's lonesome.
ALICE {outraged)
Cuckoo! {Pointing.) In that grave? The
cuckoo we gave you? {Eloise nods.) You
buried our wedding present? {Eloise again nods.
Eddy and Alice draw together in indignation.)
Well, I must say, the people who try to lead
the right kind of lives always do the wrong thing.
{Stiffly.) I am not accustomed to having my
wedding presents put in graves. Will you please
dig it up, Eddy? It will do very well on the
mantel in our library. And my back nearly
broken digging for your cook! {She holds her
back.)
{While Eddy is digging up the cuckoo, Annie and
Ian appear and march across from gate to house ,
Annie triumphantly bearing her alarm clock,
Ian — a captive at her chariot wheels— following
with suitcase, shawl-strap, and long strings
of bag around his wrist. A moment later Ian
comes out of the house, looks at each dug-up
thing, stands by the grave of the sun-dial. Enter
Mrs. Stubbs.)
1 60
TICKLESS TIME
MRS. STUBBS
Oh, Mr. Joyce, IVe come to see your sun clock
again. Mr. Stubbs says he II not be run from
Philadelphia. He says if you have got the time
straight from the sun — {Sees that the sun-dial
is gone.) Oh, do you take it in at night?
IAN
The sun-dial lies buried there.
MRS. STUBBS
YouVe buried the sun-clock? And dug up all
the wrong clocks? {JVith a withering glance at
Eloise,) That*s how a smart man's appreciated!
What did you bury it for, Mr. Joyce?
{Eddy gives the cuckoo clock to Alice.)
IAN
It cannot live in this world where no one wants
truth or feeling about truth. This is a world for
clocks.
MRS. STUBBS
Well, / want truth! And so does Johnnie
Stubbs! If you'll excuse my saying so, Mr.
Joyce, after youVe made a thing that's right
you oughtn't to bury it, even if there is nobody
to want it. And now that / want it — {Mrs.
Stubbs takes the spade and begins to dig up the
sun-dial. Ian cannot resist this and helps her.
He lifts the sun-dial^ she brushes it of^ and he
jits it to its place on the pedestal.) Now, there it
is, Mr. Joyce, and as good as if it had never seen
the grave. {She looks at the setting sun.) And
there's time for it to make its shadow before
this sun has gone.
i6i
TICKLESS TIME
IAN
The simple mind has beauty.
ELOISE {coming to him)
I want to be simpler.
MRS. STUBBS
Now what time would you say it was, Mr.
Joyce?
IAN
I would say it was twenty minutes of seven,
Mrs. Stubbs.
MRS. STUBBS {looking at Eddy and Alice and the
cuckoo clock)
And they would say it was twenty minutes past
six! Well, / say: let them that want sun time
have sun time, and them that want tick time
have tick time.
(Annie appears at the door,)
ANNIE {in aflat voice)
It's dinner time!
Curtain
162
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
A RIDICULOUS TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT
by Kenneth Sawyer Goodman and Ben Hecht
CHARACTERS
Nathan Fisher, known as ^^Nate**
Martin Fisher, known as ^^Marty^*
Elmira Fisher,
Edward Martin Fisher,
known as ^^Toady*^
James Merryweather Hines,
known as the "Squire'' or '^^ Heinle*'
Bernard P. Foss
Theodore Q. Wilkinson
The Hero of Santa Maria was originally presented by the
Washington Square Players, at the Comedy Theatre, New
York, on the night of February 12, 191 7-
Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Production of this play must not be made except by written
permission of the authors, who may be addressed in care of
the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.
THE HERO
OF SANTA MARIA
The Scene is the living-room of the Fisher home,
A scrupulously neat room of the late horsehair
and wax flower period.
At the back is the 'front door^^ and near it a win-
dow looking toward the street. At the left is a
door leading into Marty's bedroom^ and at the
right a door leading into a room sacred to Nate.
Over Marty's door is a printed sign, ''Trespassers
will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law."
On the right wall is a crayon portrait of Nate in
G. A. R. uniform. The uniform is draped with
small American flags.
In the center of the room is a table with two stiff
chairs beside it. There are other articles of furni-
ture^ including another small table with a drawer
in it. Among the knick-knacks on the center
table is a plush-covered family album.
The time is about ten in the morning of a pleasant
spring day.
When the curtain rises the stage is empty. Imme-
diately the street doors open and Marty peers
cautiously into the room. He then enters and
closes the door behind him,
MARTY
Hey! Anybody home? (JAe listens^ then goes
cautiously to the door at the rights opens it^ and
165
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
listens again,) Hullo, Nate! Are y' in there?
{Evidently satisfied that the room is empty ^ he
tiptoes across to the door at the lefty stands before
ity and raps softly and with precision. He then
squats down and addresses the occupant of the
room through the keyhole,) P-s-s-s-t! Toady!
{Receiving no response^ he looks about anxiously
and again speaks into the keyhold in a slightly
louder voiced P-s-s-s-t! Toady!
A SLEEPY VOICE {from inside)
What d*you want?
MARTY
Open the door. It's me. Uncle Marty.
THE VOICE
Oh!
{A bolt is shoty and Toady Fisher stands on the
threshold^ rubbing his eyes, Marty produces
two bottles of beer and a paper bagy which he
places on the center table.)
TOADY {stretching his arms)
Oh hum!
MARTY
Wake up. . . . I've brought yer breakfast.
TOADY {glancing at the clock)
You took yer time about it.
MARTY
If Fd snuck so much as a doughnut out of our
own kitchen yer Aunt Elmira'd been wise to
us in a minute. She's tighter than the skin on
a prize pig, she is.
TOADY
Well, what you got?
i66
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
MARTY
A couple of bottles of beer and a fried egg
sandwich from Hopper's Hotel.
TOADY {examining the supplies)
Huh, is that all?
MARTY {looking into his hat^ which he takes ojff for
the first time)
I had a pair of fried fish-cakes in the top of my
hat. Guess I must have lost *em when I tipped
it to Mrs. Sprudder down by the corner.
TOADY {pulling up a chair to the table)
Say, get me a glass and a plate, can't you?
MARTY {seizing his arm)
No you don't; not out here. They'll spot you
sure.
TOADY
Rats! Pa wouldn't have me arrested.
MARTY
You ain't lived with him for sixty-seven years
like I have.
TOADY
He can't pin it on me that I ever seen his fifty
dollars.
MARTY
I reckon everybody knows it left town along
about the same time you did.
TOADY {beginning to eat the sandwich)
Well, I ain't got it now, that's a cinch.
MARTY
Look here, who's running this family recon-
ciliation, me or you?
TOADY {his mouth full)
Aw, can the prodigal son stuff, can it.
167
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
MARTY
Now, Toady, don't go and spoil it all.
TOADY
I wouldn't have stopped off in no flea-bitten
burg like this, only I was sick of bumming my
way on freights. All I want's enough coin to
get me to Chicago like a gentleman.
MARTY
You don't know how much I've missed you.
Why, I can't even take a couple of drinks no
more without crying. Go on in there like a
good boy, and mebbe I'll run up to the barber
shop and borrow the Police Gazette for you to
read.
TOADY {getting up)
I give you fair warning. I ain't going to sit in
that hole all day.
MARTY
You'll be safe. Even Elmira daresn't put her
foot in my room.
TOADY {picking up one of the beer bottles and the
sandwich and moving toward the door at the left)
Aw, all right! All right!
MARTY
I'll Steal something nice for your dinner, honest
to Gawd I will. Some cold banana pudding.
TOADY {wearily)
All right! All right!
{Marty pushes Toady ' through the door and
closes it.)
MARTY
Now lock it on the inside. An' don't you open
your head except I give you the high sign.
i68
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
TOADY {from inside)
All right!
(The bolt is shot. Marty listens a moment, then
goes back to the center table and picks up the re-
maining bottle of beer just as the street door opens
and Elmira Fisher enters. She has a letter in
her hand.)
ELMIRA {in a rasping voice)
Well, what are you doing home at this time of
day?
{Marty, startled, turns and switches the bottle of
beer behind him.)
MARTY
Eh?
ELMIRA
You heard what I said.
MARTY
So help me, I —
ELMIRA
YouVe been drinking. I can smell it on you
from here.
MARTY
That's a nice way for a sister to talk, ain't it?
ELMIRA
I'd like to forget I was your sister.
MARTY
I ain't laying nothing in the way to hinder you
trying. {He makes a move toward the street door.)
ELMIRA
Where you going now?
169
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
MARTY
Mebbe Vm going back to sweep the court-
house, and then again, mebbe Tm going fishing.
ELMIRA
Fishing! Huh!
MARTY
Well, fishing's respectable, ain*t it? It*s men-
tioned in the Bible, ain't it? I guess that'll
hold you. The Lord said to his disciples, "Go
out and dig bait," or something —
ELMIRA
Martin Henry Fisher, you're a blaspheming
good-for-nothing —
MARTY
Aw, dry up!
ELMIRA
You'll lose your job, and serve you right, too.
MARTY
Needn't let that wear on your nose. I'm a
political appointee, I am. I've got influence in
Forkville.
ELMIRA {turning on him)
Influence! You've got influence, all right. Bad
influence, that's what you've got. It was your
influence made a thief out of your own nephew
Edward and damned his immortal soul for him.
MARTY
I ain't responsible for Toady. He ain't my son.
ELMIRA
It don't matter whose son he is —
MARTY
Aw, lay oflF!
170
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
ELMIRA
What's that you*re hiding under your coat-
tails?
MARTY {realizing that further concealment of the
beer bottle is useless)
Just a plain bottle of beer, registered under the
Pure Food Act, to contain five per cent alcohol.
ELMIRA
I knew it! So that's what you keep hidden in
that pig-sty of a room of yours. {She advances
toward the door at the left,)
MARTY {in alarm)
Hold on there. Where you going?
ELMIRA
To bust in that door if I have to take an axe to
it. Vm going to clear this house of every drop
of devil's rum you've had the indecency to
bring into it.
MARTY {getting between Elmira and the door)
No you don't! I own one-third of this house
the same as you and Nate. Take a squint at
that sign over my door. "Trespassers will be
prosecuted to the full extent of the law." You
keep out of my place and I'll keep out of yours.
Don't have nothing more to do with me than
you can help, and I'll return the favor, all right.
But, by cricky, if you so much as set one of
your flat feet acrost that sill, I'll have a war-
rant out for you.
{Marty has backed up against the door^ and
Elmira stands glaring at him, Nathan Fisher
enters from the street unnoticed in time to hear
the last line,)
171
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
ELMiRA {to Marty)
You — you viper!
NATE {gruffly)
Here, what's going on?
MARTY
Howdy, Nate. I was just going out.
ELMIRA
It would be a God's mercy if you'd go for
good.
NATE {coming toward the table)
It ain't likely he'll oblige us that far. What
can't be helped has got to be endured.
MARTY
Amen ! That goes for both sides of the family.
NATE {picking up the letter from the table and
peering at it)
When did this come?
ELMIRA
I just fetched it from the post-office.
NATE {feeling in his pockets)
I must have left my specks in my other coat.
Here, Marty, where's it from? {He hands the
letter to Marty and sits down.)
MARTY {reading from the corner of the envelope)
Fourteen eighteen F Street, Washington, D. C.
NATE
Huh!
ELMIRA
Give it here to me.
MARTY
Don't get in a twitter. I'm doing this.
NATE
Well, why don't you open it?
172
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
{Marty deliberately tears open the envelope and
shakes out the letter.)
MARTY {reading from the letter)
Mr. Nathan Fisher, Forkville, Indiana.
Dear Sir: Our Mr. Gray has again looked into
the evidence upon which you propose to base
your fourth application for pension as a veteran
of the Civil War, and we regret that, in our
opinion, it is not sufficient to warrant us in
going further with the case. The records
clearly show that you were drafted into the
army March 14, 1864, and had not left training
camp at the close of hostilities.
There is, however, one possibility, to which we
call your attention. We understand that the
Honorable Bernard P. Foss is a fellow-citizen
of yours. Mr. Foss is doubtless well known to
you, and if willing to bring his personal influ-
ence to bear in your behalf could undoubtedly
induce the Board of Pensions to take favorable
action.
We herewith enclose bill for services to date,
trusting that they have been entirely satis-
factory and that our suggestion in regard to
Mr. Foss will prove helpful.
Yours respectfully,
DoDsoN & Griffin,
Attorneys-at-Law.
NATE {with hitter resignation)
That settles it, consarn 'em! Old Foss wouldn't
lift a finger if I was drowning.
ELMIRA
How much is the bill?
173
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
MARTY
Eighty-seven dollars.
ELMIRA
The robbers!
NATE {between his teeth)
That's it, robbers! The hull country's in the
hands of a bunch of dirty political crooks. If
fellers like Squire Hines and Ted Wilkinson had
an ounce of red-blooded patriotism they
wouldn't stand to see a soldier of the Rebellion
turned out of his nation's history.
MARTY
Haw, haw!
ELMIRA .
You act like you seen something funny in pay-
ing out eighty-seven dollars for nothing.
MARTY
I reckon it takes a smarter Har than Nate to
fool 'em in Washington.
NATE
W^ho's a liar? Ain't I marched in every Deco-
ration Day parade for forty years? Ain't I a
member of the G. A. R. Post Number Ninety-
two?
ELMIRA
Not to count being a deacon and an officer of
the Sunday school
MARTY
Being a Bo's'un in the Baptist Church don't
entitle you to nothing this side of the Golden
Gate.
ELMIRA
You're a low-down blaspheming likker snake.
174
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
MARTY
Well, as Toady used to say, mebbe it*s better
to be soaked in rum than vinegar.
{Elmira begins to whimper.)
NATE
I told you never to mention that scalawag's
name in this house. Ain't it enough misfortune
to be cheated out of sixteen hundred dollars
back pension and a regular pension twice a
month without you forever reminding me that
Fm the father of a thief?
MARTY {glancing apprehensively at the bedroom
door)
You hadn't ought to be so hard and unforgiv-
ing. Like as not Toady'll turn out a credit to
the family yet.
NATE {bitterly)
I never had an ounce of comfort out of him all
the days of his life, and I never expect to.
MARTY
Supposing he was to come home — Tm only
saying — supposing ?
NATE {bringing his fist down)
I'd have him in jail, that's where I'd have him.
He's a liar and a drunkard and a thief. There
ain't anything bad enough to call him, nothing!
MARTY
Hold on! You don't have to yell.
ELMIRA
There's Squire Hines now.
NATE
Eh! Who?
12 175
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
ELMIRA
Squire Hines. He*s coming up the walk!
NATE {confused between his anger at Toady and
his anger over the pension)
He's another one of 'em, damn *em! They're
all of a piece, conspiring to keep a man out of
his rights. Darn the hull pack of 'em!
ELMIRA
Nate!
NATE
He'd better keep out of here. I got scores to
settle with him.
MARTY
You ain't thinking of the editorial he wrote
the time Toady was up for throwing the dead
calf down Eben Fosdick's well ? The one where
he said the father was responsible for the sins
of his son }
NATE
I ain't saying what I'm thinking —
MARTY
'Cause you'd oughtn't to blame a newspaper
editor for thinking things out in an uncommon
way.
{There is a knock at the door. Elmira hesitates
and looks at Nate, The knock is repeated^
NATE {to Elmira)
You heard him knock, didn't you.?
{Elmira opens the street door. Squire Hines
enters pompously with his hat in his hand. The
others regard him suspiciously without speaking)
176
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
NATE
WeU?
HINES
Mr. Fisher, sir, I realize that under ordinary
circumstances I would not be a welcome visitor
in your home.
MARTY
I guess you're about right on that.
HINES
I feel, however, that in view of what has so
recently and unexpectedly transpired, all petty
rancors and animosities should be swept aside.
I come, friends, as the bearer of sad, but glorious
news, which to-night will thrill the national
conscience and set the hearts of every man
and woman in the State beating high with
pride and sorrow.
ELMIRA
Well, we're listening to you.
HINES
To be as brief as possible, my paper has just
received a dispatch from the Associated Press,
dated this morning.
MARTY
No wonder you're excited. I bet it's about the
first time the Bugle's had a piece of news less
than a couple of days old.
HINES (impressively)
Your levity, sir, is ill-timed. The dispatch to
which I refer recounts the heroic death of your
brother's only son, Edward Martin Fisher.
MARTY
Eh?
177
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
NATE {taken back)
How*s that?
ELMIRA
It's all a mistake. Toady wasn't the kind to
expose himself.
HINES
So I thought myself, Miss Fisher, but I was
wrong. Toady, as you so lovingly call him,
showed himself, when the crisis came, to be a
man of honor fit to take his place beside the
heroes of the past.
MARTY {with a glance at the bedroom)
Say, you could knock me down with a feather!
NATE
Where did it happen?
HINES
At Santa Maria del something-or-other, on the
Mexican border, the Company of United States
Cavalry in which your son had enlisted —
ELMIRA
Now I know it's a mistake. Toady never rode
a horse in his life.
HINES {ignoring the interruption)
I repeat, sir, his company crossed the river
under a murderous iire to dislodge a party of
snipers. At the very foot of the enemy's posi-
tion Edward gloriously gave up his life for our
beloved flag, the first American killed.
MARTY {wiping his face with his handkerchief)
Phew!
NATE
You're sure of what you're saying?
HINES
When you have been duly informed of your
178
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
bereavement by the War Department, the re-
mains will be shipped here for interment, via
El Paso, Texas.
MARTY
I never was a funeral fan like Elmira, but this
here corpse is one I'll take a heap of interest
looking at.
ELMIRA {to Marty)
You're a callous, unfeeling reptile.
HINES
I have no wish to add to your burden of afflic-
tion, but I warn you in advance that the features
have been mutilated beyond recognition. He
was identified only by the card sewed in his
uniform.
MARTY (slapping his knee as a light suddenly dawns
on him)
Haw, haw, haw! So that's it?
ELMIRA {seizing Marty by the collar)
So that's what?
MARTY
Take your hands off me. I got a right to be
upset by my grief the same as the rest of you,
ain't I?
HINES
If I may be allowed to say so, your grief ought
to be somewhat tempered by the knowledge
that your loss has given the youth of America
an example of noble and self-sacrificing courage.
NATE
I knew it.
MARTY
Eh?
179
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
NATE
Any son of mine was bound to have the right
stuff in him. Yes, sir, I knew it all along.
MARTY
Well, ril be damned!
NATE
And it's about time the nation waked up to
what me and mine has done for it.
HINES
That's just the point I was coming to. We
have decided, with your permission, Mr. Fisher,
to hold a large public demonstration of Pride
and Sorrow, a military funeral, the expenses of
which, I am authorized to say, will be borne
jointly by the Bugle, Congressman-elect Foss,
and the Honorable Theodore Q. Wilkinson, our
Democratic candidate for sheriff at the coming
county elections.
MARTY
Seems to me the offer ain't to be sneezed at.
HINES
To be perfectly frank, that's the way I look
at it.
NATE
No!
ELMIRA
You mean you ain't going to let them?
NATE
They can't pay me off cheap and make a good
thing out of it for themselves at the same time.
HINES
Am I to understand —
NATE
You're to understand you can't make nothing
i8o
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
off me. Fve suffered enough for my country
and been disowned by it. I ain't going to sit
by and see my own son's funeral turned into a
rally for the Democratic party that wouldn't
lift a finger to get me my just rights. No, sir!
He'll be buried with only family members and
close personal friends attending, and if there's
any credit coming, it ain't going to the bunch
of political shysters that has turned me down.
MINES
I give you my word, Mr. Fisher —
MARTY
Nate's right for once. If he lets you pull votes
for Ted Wilkinson and boom the circulation of
the Bugle, there ought to be something in it
besides brass bands and immortelles.
NATE
I've given my own flesh and blood that might
have been a comfort and a support to me in
my old age.
ELMIRA
It's no more'n right they should do something
for him.
HINES
Fm deeply pained by your attitude, deeply
disappointed.
MARTY
It don't seem exactly fair we should deprive
the Squire of a chance to make a couple of
speeches.
HINES
The committee are at the Bugle oflice now,
drafting a set of resolutions which we had in-
tended to present later in the day. I feel, how-
i8i
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
ever, that under the circumstances any further
offer from us might be misunderstood.
MARTY
You needn't be shy about making a proposi-
tion. This ain't a sensitive family.
HiNES {to Nate)
In that case may I venture to suggest that if
Mr. Foss would undertake to push your own
claim for a pension, and that if the Bugle
would draft and circulate a petition endorsing
it?—
ELMIRA
Do you mean that?
MARTY
There's sixteen hundred dollars of back pension
due him, according to his own reckoning.
HINES
I dare say the Government will not be niggardly
in its recognition of your brother's patriotic
service when the facts are presented by the
proper persons.
NATE
I ain't saying it's a bargain.
ELMIRA
If there was some way of fixing it so as Nate's
pension was mentioned in the resolutions, and
Mr. Foss couldn't crawl out of it afterwards.
MARTY
I always said that woman had ought to been a
lawyer.
HINES
Well?
NATE
Mebbe, if you could fix it like Elmira says.
182
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
HiNES {glancing at his watch)
Done! A public funeral it is, then. {He has
lost his unctuousness^ and the others have ap-
parently lost sight of the gravity of the event upon
which they are basing their bargain.) I'll be
back in fifteen minutes with the committee.
NATE
I ain't promising nothing yet.
HINES {genially)
That, sir, to put it vulgarly, is up to us. Good
morning, all.
{He goes briskly out at the street door, Elmira
goes to the window and looks after him,)
ELMIRA {thoughtfully)
Eighty-seven dollars from sixteen hundred —
MARTY
I never thought twenty minutes ago I'd be the
uncle of a hero and the brother of a bonyfidy
pensioned veteran. {He fills his pipe.)
ELMIRA
Well, it won't benefit you none. You'll pay
your keep out of what you can earn for you-
self, same as ever.
MARTY
Mebbe so, and then again, mebbe not. {He
strikes a match.)
ELMIRA
Don't you dast light that pipe in here!
MARTY
Aw, close your face!
NATE
It's hard enough to lose an only son, without
hearing you two jawing each other.
183
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
MARTY
Yes, and mebbe it's a darn sight harder'n you
think to lose a son like yours.
ELMIRA
What d'you mean by that?
MARTY
There's a little piece of business has got to be
settled amongst ourselves before the Squire gets
back with them resolutions.
NATE {suspiciously)
Eh!
MARTY {going to the bedroom door and opening it)
Hey! Come out of there.
{Toady appears in the doorway. Nate and
Elmira regard him in speechless consternation?)
TOADY
Howdy, Pa.
NATE {bitterly)
So! You wasn't killed, after all?
MARTY
At least his face ain't any worse mutilated than
usual. Come on. Toady; don't be bashful.
You ain't buried yet.
ELMIRA
I might have known there was some mistake.
NATE
Mistake nothing! It's a game they put up on
me, the two of 'em. Yes, and Hines was in it,
and Foss, and the hull damn bunch, like as not.
TOADY
No they wasn't.
MARTY
This here is just a quiet family funeral. {He
184
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
begins turning the pages of the family album on
the table.)
NATE
ril — ril get even with you. Til—
TOADY
There's gratitude for you.
ELMIRA
I like your impudence.
TOADY
It ain*t every son has done as much for his old
man as Fve done for you, pa.
NATE
rU call the constable and have you in jail.
Yes, sir, and Til have Marty —
MARTY
You needn't pay no further attention to me.
{He extracts a photograph from the album and
goes to the small table^ where he opens a drawer
and takes out a hammer and some tacks?}
NATE (to Toady)
You heard what I said. Now git!
TOADY
I ain't in no particular rush. You can't pin
nothing on me. I'll tell 'em Aunt Elmira
swiped your fifty dollars for the Baptist mis-
sion.
(Marty draws a chair to the side of the room,
climbs on //, and begins tacking up the photo-
graph in a conspicuous place.)
ELMIRA
You're a deserter from the United States Army.
They'll get you for that, anyhow.
185
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
TOADY
Say, you make me laugh. When I heard old
Hiny shooting off that bunk about me wading
acrost the Rio Grandy with a flag in my mit,
you could have butchered me with a dish rag.
MARTY (poinding with his hammer to the flags over
Nate's crayon portrait)
Will you reach me them flags, Elmira, please?
ELMiRA (turning)
Eh? Land of Goshen, what are you doing on
my best chair.
MARTY
Just putting up an old photo of the dear de-
parted for his loving relatives to admire.
(}Ie gets down from the chair and goes for the flags
himself?)
TOADY
That's right. You'd ought to have a decorated
picture of the Hero of Santa Maria. I guess
you can't jump over Uncle Marty for a sob
artist.
ELMIRA (advancing on Toady)
I'm going to get to the inside of this, if I have
to shake the skin off you.
TOADY
Hold on, will you? I'm busy. (He turns to
Marty ^ who has returned with the flags and has
begun adjusting them,) Say, Unk, you're stick-
ing them flags a little crooked.
NATE
If Hines and Foss ain't putting up a game on
me, how'll I look when they find out?
i86
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
TOADY
I guess that's something you got to figure out
for yourself.
NATE
YouVe fixed my chances for a pension. It's a
conspiracy!
ELMIRA
Yes, and Marty was in it.
MARTY
So help me, I never laid eyes on Toady till he
came tapping at my window last night.
ELMIRA
You needn't tell me.
TOADY
If you all shut up, I'll give you the straight
dope. On the level, I will.
MARTY
Make it short if you don't want your pa to
have apoplexy.
TOADY
I met a feller in the park one night last winter.
ELMIRA
What park?
TOADY
Madison Square Park, New York City. He
was a little red-headed feller with bow legs,
and say, but he had a bad eye, believe me!
His name was Christian Dane O'Houlihan.
ELMIRA
What's that got to do with it.?
TOADY
For cat's sake, who's telling this, me or you?
NATE
Let him alone.
187
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
TOADY
"Gee," I sez to him, "if I had a flossy label like
yours, I bet I wouldn't have to be no free
lunch hound." "If you like it," he sez, "you're
welcome to it. You can't do no worse with it
than what Fve done. If I had a nice, plain
name like Edward Martin Fisher, Fd go and
enlist in the cavalry with it." "Go ahead," I
sez, "you're on." So we swapped names, and
I got a job washing dishes in a dairy lunch.
MARTY
And the red-headed feller's getting shipped
from Santa Maria, via El Paso, Texas, to be
buried at the expense of the local option Dem-
ocrats of Forkville, Indiana.
TOADY
I guess that's about the answer. My name
was more unluckier than his'n.
ELMIRA
What did you come back for? Why couldn't
you let the only sensible thing you ever done
stay done?
TOADY
Oh, I got a heart, all right. I almost had a
mind to light out and keep my mouth shut
when I saw how puffed up Pa was over having
me killed. I'd have done it, too, only I heard
you driving that bargain with Hines about my
funeral.
ELMIRA
Well, what do you want? I know you want
something.
TOADY
I give you just one guess.
i88
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
NATE
No, sir, I don't give him a cent. Til be doing
my country another service by putting a crook
like him behind the bars.
TOADY (cheerfully)
All right. Turn me up, and blooie goes the
pension.
MARTY
You sort of owe it to the family reputation,
Nate, to keep him dead.
ELMIRA
If your pa gives you twenty-five dollars, will
you get out and leave us be?
TOADY
Come around to the other ear. You don't talk
loud enough.
NATE
I tell you I won't be a party to no fraud.
ELMIRA
That ain't the question. When he's gone, we
can decide what's best according to our own
conscience.
MARTY
I'd like to put some money on the way 'Miry's
conscience'll jump.
ELMIRA {to Toady^ paying no attention to Marty)
Suppose he makes it fifty dollars.^
TOADY
What d'you take me for, a boob? I guess I
know what me and the red-headed feller has
done for Pa, all right. Twenty-five per cent
cash. Them's my best terms. {He turns and
surveys the decorated portrait^ Say, Uncle
Marty, that looks swell.
189
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
ELMIRA
I never heard such gall in my life.
TOADY
I want four hundred dollars, or I'll walk down
the street to Hopper's Hotel, and get drunk
where the hull town '11 see me.
NATE
That's a fine way for a son to talk to his father.
Here's Hines and Foss, come around to do the
right thing, after ten years' crookedness, and
just when it's all fixed up for me to get my
just deserts —
MARTY
Hold on!
ELMIRA
Yes, and mebbe your pa'd have got his pension
long ago, except for your carryings on, putting
everybody against us.
TOADY
Don't make me laugh. Everybody's heard how
Pa tried to buy a substitute when he was
drafted, only he couldn't raise the coin.
NATE
That's a lie, you blackmailing young skunk!
TOADY
I got my feelings the same as other people, and
just for that word "skunk" it'll cost you an
extra hundred before I leave this house.
MARTY
They'll be back here any minute with them
resolutions.
NATE {rising)
I'll— I'll—
190
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
MARTY
You'll get your regular thirty a month all the
same.
NATE {to Toady)
ril — I'll — take a stick to you. Til beat you
till there ain't a hull bone in your carcass.
{He seizes his stick,)
TOADY
All right, sail in. I could lick you with one
hand, but I'll let you beat me if you want to.
{Nate makes a move toward Toady,)
ELMIRA
For the love of heaven, Nate, be careful.
TOADY
Only for every belt you give me I'll holler like
the Bull of Basham. We'll have all the neigh-
bors in here to see you basting the Hero of
Santa Maria;
{Nate stands trembling with rage^ the stick
clutched in his hand,)
MARTY
Walloping the corpse back to life'U settle things
quick enough.
{A hand is heard faintly in the distance, Elmira
puts her hand suddenly to her heart,)
ELMIRA
Glory be! What's that?
{They all listen a moment.)
MARTY
It's Heinie coming back with his bandwagon
load of Pride and Sorrow.
13 i^i
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
TOADY {cheerfully)
Well, Pa, what's the good word?
NATE
You — you —
TOADY
I meant to be easy on you, but when they turn
the courthouse corner, I'll have to make it
eight hundred for the suspense you're causing
me.
NATE (inarticulate with rage)
You'll— you'll—
(^he music grows suddenly louder.)
MARTY
There they go around the corner into Main
Street.
ELMiRA {xvringing her hands)
You better give in, Nate. Three-quarters is
better'n nothing.
TOADY
It ain't three-quarters any longer. I've been
reasonable and honest, but you've kind of
pushed me too far. I've got to have eight
hundred cold, iron dollars.
ELMIRA
We ain't got four hundred to our names, let
alone eight hundred.
{The band stops ^ and there is only the sound of
the drums tapping a slow march,)
TOADY
I'll take one hundred in cash and Pa's note for
eight hundred, six months at seven per cent in-
terest. Seven hundred to the order of Christian
192
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
Dane O'Houlihan, that's me, for services
rendered, and the rest to Uncle Marty for
acting as my agent. How's that, Marty?
MARTY
Sounds fair to me.
TOADY
Marty can hold the notes, and if they ain't
taken up on the dot, I'll come back and we'll
all get jugged together for defrauding the
Government.
MARTY {at the window)
You better decide pretty quick, Nate. They're
almost in front of the house.
NATE
No, by God! You can't rob a man that's been
honest all his life. I'll —
MARTY
They're stopping in the gate. Foss has got his
plug hat on.
NATE
They ain't here any too quick to suit me. I'll
have the both of you up for robbery and black-
mail.
ELMIRA
You'd better think what you're doing, Nate.
NATE
That's fine advice for a deaconess to give,
ain't it?
ELMIRA
I'm only thinking what's best in the end.
NATE
No, sir! I'm honest, and I'll see you all damned
before I'll—
193
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
TOADY {soothingly)
It*s all right, Pa. I know you ain*t yourself.
Fm going back in Uncle Martyrs room, and if
you want to go through with it, the stuff's on.
I mean it. Til skin out tonight and stay a
corpse. (He picks up the bottle of beer from the
tabled Of course if you want me to come and
get pinched, all you got to do is call me.
NATE {sullenly)
I ain't saying what Fll do.
{There is another knock. Toady goes into the
bedroom and closes the door softly, Elmira goes
to the street door and opens ity disclosing Foss,
HineSy and Wilkinson, Foss wears a frock coat
and carries a silk hat in one hand and a roll of
papers in the other. The three dignitaries ad-
vance into the room. Behind them is a group of
neighbors framed in the doorway. Wilkinson
shakes Nate by the hand rather abruptly and
awkwardly,)
WILKINSON {attempting to come at once to the point)
Howdy, Mr. Fisher. The Squire's {he indicates
Hines with a hitch of his thumb) already put you
wise to what we're here for.
HINES {cutting in on Wilkinson and taking Nate's
reluctant hand)
Quite so! {He points to the decorated portrait^
See, gentlemen, what loving hands have al-
ready done. Nothing we can say or do more
sincerely voices the poignancy of this moment
than those simple flags and that simple photo-
graph.
194
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
Foss {taking Nates hand in turn)
In this room, sir, where the hero of Santa
Maria so recently lived and had his being,
{Marty glances apprehensively at the bedroom
door) our sympathy must seem a poor and in-
adequate thing —
NATE
I ain't said I wanted your sympathy, I —
ELMiRA {cutting in)
Don't mind what he says, Mr. Foss. He's
been that upset —
Foss {still zvringing Nate's hand)
Spartan firmness, M'am. I admire him for it.
WILKINSON
ril just leave some of my campaign cards on
your table, in case the neighbors —
{Nines shoots him an ugly look,)
FOSS
We will not intrude on you long, Mr. Fisher.
I have delegated myself —
WILKINSON
Been delegated.
FOSS
Been delegated by the citizens of Forkville to
act as their spokesman on this solemn occasion
and to read you these er — {He adjusts his
eyeglasses,)
WILKINSON
You'll find them O. K., Mr. Fisher.
MINES
We have inserted a clause explicitly recogniz-
ing your own patriotic services.
195
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
MARTY
D'you hear that, Nate?
NATE
Yes, I hear it. But I got something to say
first.
(Elmira plants a chair against the bedroom door
and sits down in it.)
Foss (unrolling his document)
Spare yourself, my friend. We all know the
strain youVe been laboring under. Perhaps,
later at the public demonstration —
{Nate glances at him,)
HINES
The Governor and Senator Tinblatter have
wired us —
WILKINSON
Say, that's a fine stunt. A little talk, eh?
Telling the folks how Edward was always a
good Democrat.
{Nate glares at him,)
HINES
The Governor and Senator Tinblatter have
wired us, promising to speak. Perhaps after
that.
ELMIRA
D'you hear, Nate? The Governor and Senator
Tinblatter.
NATE
I ain't said there'd be no demonstration.
MARTY
You'll be getting telegrams from Washington
next.
196
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
WILKINSON
You bet! Joe Finks is on the piazza now with
a fist full.
{A man steps forward from the group in the door-
way and hands Nate a packet of yellow envelopes,
Nate looks at them helplessly^
MARTY
The hull Democratic party's going to see this
thing done up right.
Foss {clearing his throat and reading from the
paper)
We, the citizens of Forkville, Indiana, offer the
following: Whereas, this day has become for
us a day of er —
MARTY {under his breath)
Pride and sorrow.
ELMiRA {to Marty)
Shut up!
FOSS
Whereas, facing his country's foes on foreign
soil, Edward Martin Fisher, son of our respected
citizen, Nathan Fisher, himself an intrepid de-
fender of our national existence in the Civil
War, yesterday gave up his life;
Whereas, by his courageous death and ex-
ample, the said Edward Martin Fisher has per-
formed an inestimable service to each and
everyone of us —
MARTY
That's right!
FOSS
Be it resolved, that we evidence our esteem
and gratitude to the bereaved father by cir-
197
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
culating an endorsement of his own claim to
the proper and lawful pension heretofore un-
accountably denied him by the National Gov-
ernment.
And be it further and finally resolved, that
Edward Martin Fisher be buried with full
military honors and all other tokens of love
and respect of which this city and the Sovereign
State of Indiana are capable.
(Signed.) Bernard P. Foss,
Member of Congress,
James Merryweather Hines,
Theodore Q. Wilkinson,
Committee on Arrangements.
{Foss rolls up the paper. Elmira, unable to
stand the tension^ sobs in partial hysteria. Nate's
face has undergone various changes during the
reading. He is rapidly losing his desire for re-
venge on Toady under the influence of the adula-
tion of his neighbors. He stands undecided^
crumpling the telegrams in his hand.)
WILKINSON
I guess that about covers it.
{They all regard Nate as if expecting a definite
answer^
MARTY (seeing that Nate has practically given in)
You better say something, Nate.
NATE
I — I don^t know exactly how to put it, gentle-
men—
MARTY
You was mighty keen to talk a minute ago.
198
THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA
ELMiRA {between her sobs, afraid that Marty may
spoil everything
Let him alone, can't you?
NATE
It's all come on me sort of sudden-like, but I
guess I know what I done for the United States
— yes, and what my son Edward done for 'em,
too.
THE CROWD IN THE DOORWAY
Hear! Hear!
NATE
I'd kind of set my heart on a — a —
MARTY
A quiet family funeral —
FOSS
Exactly, but under the circumstances —
NATE
It ain't for me to set myself up against what's
expected of me.
WILKINSON {extending his hand)
Put it here, Mr. Fisher.
HINES
Then we're to understand?
NATE
I reckon I got to accept your resolutions.
FOSS {shaking Nate by the hand)
I can see how, sir, that your son was a chip off
the old block.
MARTY
That's about the truest thing anybody's said yet.
CURTAIN
199
ALL GUMMED UP
A SATIRICAL COMEDY
by Harry Wagstaff Gribble
CHARACTERS
George Bartlett, a Liver Specialist
MiNTER, his Assistant
Henrietta Tremayne,
Geoffrey Tremayne, her Husband, a Pianist
Gloria Bartlett, George's Wife
Time: The Present
Scene: Bartletfs Consulting Room
Copyright, 1921, hy HARRY WAGSTAFF GRIBBLE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Applications for permission to produce this play should be addressed
to Harry Wagstaff Gribble, 168 Waverley Place, New York City.
No performance may be given without his written consent.
ALL GUMMED UP
scene:
There is a door leading into the ante-room up R.
Another door leading to another part of the house
up Ly at the back. A desk over L, C, with a desk-
chair behind it. Fireplace at the backy C. A
settee over R, C. An armchair to L of fireplace
and a small chair to R of fireplace. To the L of
the settee and slightly above it is a smoker's table
and set. Behind the settee is a small table with a
lamp on it. The window is over L, behind the
desk. On the desk are a cigar ash-tray y writing
materials y a desk-lamp y and a note pad^ and at the
rise a smally oblong tin box.
As the curtain riseSy Bartlett is discovered asleep
in the chair behind his desk, with his feet up on the
desk.
Enter Minter, Minter crosses and pulls down the
window shade. He puts a tin box in a drawer of
the desk.
MINTER
Seven o'clock, Mr. Bartlett. (Bartlett does not
answer. Shaking Bartlett.) Mr. Bartlett!
BARTLETT
Eh? What?
MINTER
Seven o'clock. (Minter switches on desk-lamp^
BARTLETT
Morning or evening?
203
ALL GUMMED UP
MINTER
Evening. {Minter crosses and tidies cushions
on settee^ afterwards switching on lamp behind
settee,)
BARTLETT
Have I had my supper?
MINTER
Yes.
BARTLETT
Well, Fm still hungry. How do you account
for that?
MINTER
It's your liver.
BARTLETT
You can't tell me anything about my liver.
MINTER (re-crossing to desk and taking ash-tray and
shaking ashes into fireplace)
If I could, I should be a liver specialist and you
my assistant- — instead of vice versa.
BARTLETT
My wife's going to the theater tonight, isn't
she?
MINTER
Yes. And you are going with her.
BARTLETT
Who said so?
MINTER
She did.
BARTLETT
She's usually right.
MINTER
Her choice is excellent — with a few exceptions.
{Glancing at him,)
204
ALL GUMMED UP
BARTLETT {tiot noticwg the *'dig*)
Theaters, for instance. She likes those noisy
plays that won't allow one to sleep.
MINTER
It would take several brass bands to keep you
awake.
BARTLETT
What's the use of keeping awake? Nothing ever
happens nowadays.
MINTER
Doesn't it? You're too sleepy to notice any-
thing.
BARTLETT
What do you mean?
MINTER
Did you ever realize that people suffer from love
as well as from liver?
BARTLETT
Who the dickens is in love?
MINTER {going)
Keep awake and you'll find out.
BARTLETT
Minter, do you know why I continue to employ
you?
MINTER
Because I continue to stay with you.
BARTLETT
You haven't even mentioned leaving.
MINTER
I shouldn't mention it. I should go.
BARTLETT
I think you had better go. You are getting too
fresh.
205
ALL GUMMED UP
MINTER
What time for breakfast?
BARTLETT
Breakfast won't concern you.
MINTER
It never does. I don't take it. What time for
yours ?
BARTLETT
Minter, you're discharged. Here's your salary.
MINTER
Well, we'll say eight o'clock.
BARTLETT
Do you mean that you refuse to be discharged?
MINTER
You had better get dressed for the theater.
BARTLETT
Minter, you are almost impertinent. Try to re-
member the difference in our stations. {Door-
bell rings ^
MINTER
There's the door-bell. Will you answer it?
BARTLETT
What do you mean?
MINTER
That's the difference in our stations. {Exit.)
BARTLETT {rising and walking slowly to fireplace^
where he puts on a pair of slippers)
Life would be very pleasant and peaceful if it
were not for Minter. But he's an evil — an evil
necessity. {Re-enter Minter.)
MINTER
A lady to see you, Mr. Bartlett.
BARTLETT
I'm not consulting. It's after hours.
206
ALL GUMMED UP
MINTER
Sorry. Too late. Here she is. {Enter Henrietta
Tremayne,)
BARTLETT
How do you do?
HENRIETTA
How do you do?
BARTLETT {bringing small chair from fireplace to R
of desk)
Won't you sit down?
MINTER
The lady is not a patient.
BARTLETT
You can go, Minter.
MINTER
Sorry I spoke. Thought Fd put you wise.
BARTLETT
Tm waiting.
MINTER
All right. But don't forget. It isn't liver — it's
love. {Exit Minter.)
BARTLETT
Please pardon this exhibition of ignorance. I'm
getting rid of him shortly.
HENRIETTA
Oh, please don't. He's such a nice fellow. So
handsome, and so alert.
BARTLETT
He's very alert in answering the door-bell; but
he can't even do that without boasting about it.
HENRIETTA
He understood me at once.
BARTLETT
Um!
1« 207
ALL GUMMED UP
HENRIETTA
I know it's a scandalous hour to call on you, but
I told him that it was a very important matter
• and he showed me in.
BARTLETT
Um ! What can I do for you ?
HENRIETTA
Of course, you know my husband.
BARTLETT
I haven't even the pleasure of knowing you —
as yet.
HENRIETTA
My name is Tremayne. My husband is Geoffrey
Tremayne — the musician.
BARTLETT
Oh, yes. I beheve my wife took me to hear him
sing one day.
HENRIETTA
No, no. Play the piano. He's a very fine
pianist.
BARTLETT
Oh! My impression was that he sang. Per-
haps someone else did. Music always confuses
me.
HENRIETTA
Well, it was about Geoffrey that I came to see
you.
BARTLETT
Quite so. Pianists are frequently troubled with
liver complaint. Chiefly owing to the sedentary
life they lead. He should take a course in danc-
ing, and after every sixth scale, or arpeggio,
should do a buck and wing, or a little Russian
208
ALL GUMMED UP
ballet. If you had time you could shimmie with
him — that would be better still.
HENRIETTA
Oh, no, his liver is perfectly all right.
BARTLETT
Then your husband cannot interest me,
madam. I specialize in the liver solely.
HENRIETTA
He*s as sound as a bell, physically. It's his
mental condition I want to talk to you about.
You see, he's desperately in love.
BARTLETT
Don't do anything for it. It will cure itself.
HENRIETTA
Oh, perhaps you think he's in love with me.
Not at present. Just now he's in love with your
wife.
BARTLETT
Well, that's a perfectly natural and healthy
sentiment. My wife is a very attractive girl,
and anyone who was immune to her beauty
would probably be suffering from some Hver
complaint.
HENRIETTA
Then you have no objection to their affection
for each other. I'm so glad.
BARTLETT
"Their affection" — I was not aware that my
wife reciprocated the attachment.
HENRIETTA
No, I thought not. Well, she does.
BARTLETT
I think there must be some mistake. My wife
209
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is always most confidential, and she hasn't even
mentioned the matter.
HENRIETTA
Well, Geoffrey is a very straightforward boy.
He never lies to me, and he wouldn't tell me it
was so if he weren't sure.
BARTLETT
What is the program? Do I blacken your hus-
band's eye, or do you tear my wife's hair?
HENRIETTA
It was to avoid those very things that I came
to see you. My husband is coming to call on
you, and I want you to promise not to injure
him in any way. I shall behave wonderfully
to your wife.
BARTLETT
But shouldn't we be committing a social error
by taking it so calmly?
HENRIETTA
The only way for us to cover up their social error
is by committing one ourselves. Besides, why
should they corner all the publicity? We should
create a sensation by remaining perfectly calm.
BARTLETT
You seem quite certain that you and I should
make a good partnership in this affair. I hope
your proposals are strictly businesslike.
HENRIETTA
Absolutely. Don't you see that directly we in-
troduce emotion we lose our calm. In fact, our
calm is essential to balance their emotion.
BARTLETT
You have somewhat relieved my mind.
2IO
ALL GUMMED UP
HENRIETTA
Of course, we could have a little intrigue on the
side, just to amuse ourselves, and to complicate
matters for them.
BARTLETT
I begin to be frightened again.
HENRIETTA
Please retain your calm. I wouldn't have sug-
gested an intrigue had I not thought I could
trace an element of sport in you. {Risings and
crossing to sofa^ where she sits at head of it,)
BARTLETT
Oh, my dear lady, did you ever hear of a sporty
liver specialist?
HENRIETTA
No; I never expected you to be like this.
BARTLETT {crossing C)
Er — of course, if we enter into this agreement,
we do it for the sake of our respective conjugal
partners — not for each other's — nor for our
own.
HENRIETTA
Absolutely, it's entirely unselfish.
BARTLETT
My wife, Gloria, is a very delightful girl, and
the only reason I specialized in livers was to be
able to shower her with the fees from my
wealthy liverish clients.
HENRIETTA
Oh, that's nothing. I have sued every street-
car company, and several of the Railroads, for
self-inflicted sprained ankles, and obtained
damages in each case, merely to provide
Geofl^rey with European musical vacations.
2X1
ALL GUMMED UP
BARTLETT
What a noble woman ! We certainly have some-
thing in common. {Sitting by her.)
HENRIETTA
Oh, you are quite different from what I ex-
pected.
BARTLETT
I think you are the first woman who has really
interested me — except Gloria.
HENRIETTA
You are almost the only man who has ever at-
tracted me — except Geoffrey.
BARTLETT
What was it in me which suggested to you sport
or intrigue?
HENRIETTA
Oh, now you are getting inquisitive.
BARTLETT
Very inquisitive.
HENRIETTA
Well, rU tell you. It's in your eye.
BARTLETT
Really!
HENRIETTA
Yes. It's more in the way you look at a person.
You seem to search one's very liver — er, I mean
soul.
BARTLETT
I'm trying to search you now for your idea of an
intrigue.
HENRIETTA
You are dying to be a sport.
212
ALL GUMMED UP
BARTLETT
It isn't the intrigue itself — it's your idea of one
— which interests me.
HENRIETTA
Then I'll tell you. For a long time I have been
looking for someone to share with me a secret
passion. I believe you are the person.
BARTLETT
You amaze me.
HENRIETTA
It's no ordinary passion. The famous sirens^
adventuresses, and vampires never experienced
a desire such as mine. Their cravings were by
comparison as mild as a child's longing for
sweets.
BARTLETT
I really think that I had better back out.
HENRIETTA
Oh, please don't. The force of my craving is all
in the desire — the object is very simple — merely
gum.
BARTLETT
Gum?
HENRIETTA
Yes, gum — chewing gum. Plain, ordinary gum
will do, but I delight in the fancy kinds — the
refreshing spearmint, the sensuous clove, the
juicy tutti-frutti. My husband knows of my
passion, and thwarts me at every turn. He
won't have a piece of gum in the house. He
would rather I eloped to Honolulu with a bar-
tender than chew one little morsel of gum. But,
now that he is seeking his independence, don't
you think my emancipation is justifiable?
213
ALL GUMMED UP
BARTLETT
Why, yes, and the amazing coincidence is just
this, that I, too, have the same craving, and am
thwarted by my wife in the same manner.
HENRIETTA
Oh, I knew I had come to the right man. Di-
rectly I saw you I knew you were my chewing-
gum mate.
BARTLETT (gowg to desk uYid Opening drawer^ takes
out box of gum)
Tm almost afraid to show this to anyone. I
have kept it hidden so long. {Showing ^er the
box.)
HENRIETTA
Oh — oh — how marvelous! Give me some!
BARTLETT
Be careful! Gloria might come in at any mo-
ment, and then there would be a terrible scene.
HENRIETTA
Oh, what do we care for Gloria, or Geoffrey, or
anyone. Let's be rash — let us abandon our-
selves to our delight. {She takes a piece and un-
wraps ity handing it to Bartlett. He does the same
thing for her.) Oh, what rapture!
BARTLETT
It has a wonderful thrill, hasn't it?
HENRIETTA
This publicity will never do. We must meet in
some secret place. What about the subway?
BARTLETT
You are right. There is no secrecy like the se-
crecy of a crowd.
214
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HENRIETTA
A long trip. Just you and I and our gum. Say-
to the Bronx Zoo.
BART LETT
Oh, no. The animals stare so. They always
remind me of my aunts at a prayer-meeting.
HENRIETTA
Well, then Van Cortlandt Park
BART LETT
It shall be. {Enter Minter.)
MINTER
Better break away — the third party is here.
{Bartlett and the Lady rise.)
BARTLETT
What the — How dare you interrupt without
knocking?
MINTER
For the simple reason that if I had knocked he
would have known that you were here. I
wanted to warn you. You had better beat it.
I think he has a gun.
BARTLETT
Who?
MINTER
Her lawfully wedded husband.
BARTLETT
Oh — show him in.
MINTER
What?
BARTLETT
Show him in.
MINTER
On second thoughts Fll take my salary. {Bart-
lett gives him some notes.) Here's my gun. {Takes
215
ALL GUMMED UP
his gun out of his pocket.) Good-bye. {Exit.
Bartlett puts gun in drawer,)
BARTLETT
Are you nervous?
HENRIETTA
Of Geoffrey ? Not now that you know my secret.
{Re-enter M inter with Geofrey.)
MINTER
Mr. Tremayne.
GEOFFREY {to Bartktt)
How do you do ? {Seeing Henrietta.) Henrietta !
What is the meaning of this ?
HENRIETTA
Oh, Geoff, you bad boy, youVe come out with-
out your overcoat.
MINTER
It's all right. Tm keeping it for him.
HENRIETTA
Thank you so much, Mr. Minter.
MINTER
Not at all. Tm delighted to do anything for
you.
BARTLETT
Minter, you can go.
MINTER
I know it. {Exit.)
BARTLETT
Please be seated, Mr. Tremayne.
GEOFFREY
No, thank you. Henrietta, what are you doing
here?
BARTLETT
Mrs. Tremayne had the goodness to call on me
with reference to her liver.
216
ALL GUMMED UP
GEOFFREY
That's not true. She has no liver.
BARTLETT
Dear, dear! That makes her still more Interest-
ing.
GEOFFREY
Henrietta, you're chewing!
HENRIETTA
Just a little, dear.
GEOFFREY
How disgusting, Mr. Bartlett; I must apologize
for my wife.
BARTLETT
Not at all. You find me in the same condition.
In fact I gave it to her.
GEOFFREY {to Henrietta)
You had better leave me alone with Mr. Bart-
lett.
HENRIETTA
Certainly. Where shall I wait?
BARTLETT
Oh, please stay. All the other rooms are so
draughty.
HENRIETTA
I don't mind draughts. I'll go and talk to Mr.
Minter. Now, Geoff, take care of yourself, and
Mr. Bartlett, don't upset him, will you? {Exit.)
GEOFFREY
My wife leaves me in a very awkward position.
BARTLETT
Well, sit down and make yourself comfortable.
GEOFFREY
I don't wish to be comfortable. I have a very
serious matter to discuss.
217
ALL GUKlMED UP
BARTLETT
Quite SO. Fm always more serious myself when
Tm uncomfortable.
GEOFFREY
I hope you will not make fun of me. It's a very
difficult situation. What was my wife telling
you?
BARTLETT
About what?
GEOFFREY
About me — and my affairs?
BARTLETT
Oh, she said you sold pianos —
GEOFFREY
No, sir. I play them.
BARTLETT
I knew you did something to them.
GEOFFREY
Was your wife's name introduced —
BARTLETT
In connection with the pianos?
GEOFFREY
No, no — in connection with me?
BARTLETT
Now, let me see —
GEOFFREY
Well, if my wife tried to influence you in any
way with regard to a matter which she knows I
intend to put to you, I warn you not to let it
have any weight.
BARTLETT
No — of course not.
GEOFFREY
Because, sir, I am adamant.
218
ALL GUMMED UP
BARTLETT
You are. Have a cigar?
GEOFFREY
No, thank you.
BARTLETT
A cigarette?
GEOFFREY
No, thank you.
BARTLETT
How is the piano game?
GEOFFREY
What piano game?
BARTLETT
The piano game in general?
GEOFFREY
Look here, Mr. Bartlett, you are evidently in
the dark as to my mission here.
BARTLETT
A man of your charm needs no mission.
GEOFFREY
I have one just the same — Er — Er — I think
you will admit to yourself, if not to me, that
you are by nature, profession, and tempera-
ment entirely unsuited to your wife's society.
BARTLETT
Absolutely unsuited.
GEOFFREY {taken aback)
Vm glad to find you honest about so personal
and yet so obvious a matter.
BARTLETT
We married men should be very thankful to be
unsuited to our wives. A woman sticks to a man
she can't understand.
219
ALL GUMMED UP
GEOFFREY
Are you sure?
BARTLETT
Yes — as long as no one else understands him.
GEOFFREY
I think I understand you,
BARTLETT
You're very clever. I don't understand my-
self.
GEOFFREY
Do you understand your wife.'*
BARTLETT
Heaven forbid. She is the greatest study of my
life.
GEOFFREY
Perhaps again I am clever^-I think 7 under-
stand Gloria.
BARTLETT
Well, you are accustomed to intricate mechan-
ism. The piano must be very complicated.
GEOFFREY
Are you comparing Gloria to a piano?
BARTLETT
A piano has its limits. Gloria has none.
GEOFFREY (rising)
She has reached her limit, Mr. Bartlett.
BARTLETT
For heaven's sake, has she exhausted all the
plays and cabarets?
GEOFFREY
Ah! that is your idea of Gloria — You have
simply a superficial knowledge of her appetites.
Let me tell you, you haven't begun to study her
220
ALL GUMMED UP
soul! And while you have been neglecting her,
I have studied and understood her soul.
BARTLETT
How interesting! Would you mind putting
your result on one of my diagnosis forms?
GEOFFREY
Don't joke about it, Bartlett. This is a serious
matter. Yes, to be brief, we are so suited to
each other that it would be almost criminal for
us to remain separated.
BARTLETT
Who? You and L?
GEOFFREY
No, no. Your wife and L
BARTLETT
Oh, yes.
GEOFFREY
In fact it is essential for us to be together
to fulfill our destiny. It would be useless for
you to oppose us, for we should simply elope.
BARTLETT
Oh, yes. I remember now, your wife mentioned
something of the sort.
GEOFFREY
She did?
BARTLETT
And then we began discussing a very important
matter and it passed out of my mind.
GEOFFREY
Is your wife's future not an important matter?
BARTLETT
It is so important to have had a good past, and
so interesting having a good present, that the
future is bound to take a third place.
221
ALL GUMMED UP
GEOFFREY
Do you mean to say that you're countenancing
my proposal?
BARTLETT
You said it was useless for me to oppose you
GEOFFREY
You have no objections to a man coming into
your house and taking your wife from under
your very nose — a perfect stranger.
BARTLETT
I know nothing against you. You seem a nice
clean-cut young man. If I knew you better I
might have some objections to you.
GEOFFREY
But this is preposterous — it's — it's outrageous
— it's absolutely immoral. Surely you will put
up some fight for your wife!
BARTLETT
Well, Minter loaned me his revolver to defend
myself against you. Now, I never used one of
. these things. Do you know how they work?
GEOFFREY
Are you trying to make an ass of me?
BARTLETT
No, no. I assure you, if it is the proper thing
to do I'll shoot you. Where would you like to
be shot ? You see, if I kill you, you will be of no
further use to Gloria. On the other hand, if I
wound you severely, you will again be out of
luck, because Gloria is an atrocious nurse.
GEOFFREY
I never heard anything as abominable in my
life. I shan't waste another moment here. I
222
ALL GUMMED UP
shall go and fetch Gloria and take her away from
you at once.
BARTLETT
Try and be back by June 20th, will you ? I al-
ways take Gloria to visit my aunts at French
Lick. She amuses them while I give them a
liver treatment.
GEOFFREY
IVe tried hard to control myself, Bartlett; but
your utter contempt for the common decencies,
your lack of appreciation of your wife, and your
general unsoundness of mind are more than I
can bear. Let me tell you that of all the inane
idiots I have ever met — I have never in all my
life — {Enter Minter.)
MINTER
Excuse me, but Mrs. Tremayne says not to
strain your voice as you have to lecture tomor-
row— also not to bang your fingers on the table,
as that will spoil your touch.
GEOFFREY
What the devil are you doing out there with my
wife?
MINTER
I was telling her of my troubles since I started
taking care of other people's wives.
GEOFFREY
Oh, get out!
MINTER
Don*t forget about the voice. {Enter Gloria
Bartlett,)
GLORIA
Good evening, Minter. Georgie, it's time to
start for the theatre. Why, there's Geoff. How
16 223
ALL GUMMED UP
are you ? {Goes over to him and pats his face.
To Bartlett.) Darling! You aren*t ready, and
you know I like to hear the overture. He*s a
terrible trial, GeofF. Til never be able to train
him.
GEOFFREY
Gloria, come away from your husband.
GLORIA
From Georgie, why? Oh, I see. YouVe been
chewing again! How bad of you! Throw the
horrid stuff away!
BARTLETT
Yes, dear. {Throws his gum in waste basket.)
GEOFFREY
Gloria, what do you mean by this familiarity
with that man? Do you realize why I came
here tonight?
GLORIA
To meet him, I suppose. Have I interrupied a
consultation? Oh, Tm so «orry. Geoff, there's
nothing wrong with your liver, is there?
GEOFFREY
Do you suppose I should come to your husband
about my liver?
GLORIA
I can't think of anything else you would want
to see him about.
GEOFFREY
Not even about you?
GLORIA
My liver's all right, isn't it, Georgie?
GEOFFREY
Have you gone out of your senses, or are you
224
ALL GUMMED UP
trying to fool me, because it won't work — I tell
you — it won't work!
GLORIA
Whose liver won't work? Georgie, who's ill?
What's the trouble?
BARTLETT
I think you have forgotten an appointment you
had with Mr. Tremayne.
GLORIA
Oh dear, have L?
BARTLETT
He seems to think you made an agreement to
elope with him.
GLORIA
Oh, that's perfectly true, I did. Yes, dear, we
had a long talk the other evening and we de-
cided it would be quite the latest thing for us to
do. When shall we start, Geoff?
GEOFFREY
Heavens above — am I really the only honest
person left? Am I to stay here and listen to a
wife tell her husband that she is going to elope
with me?
GLORIA
Well, Geoff, I'd have told him before, only I
forgot.
GEOFFREY
I think you are the most impossible people I
ever met; I wouldn't elope with you if you went
on your knees and begged me to. You aren't
worthy! And as for you, Bartlett, you're a hip-
pant fiypocrite. {Enter Henrietta.)
BARTLETT
Your liver must be in a wonderful condition.
225
ALL GUMMED UP
Would you let me use you as a standard type in
my new book?
HENRIETTA
No — No! I absolutely refuse! Geoffrey isn't a
standard. Everything about him is original
and Tm sure his liver is no exception. What
have they been trying to do to you, Geoff.'*
GEOFFREY
Oh, leave me alone, Henrietta; are you trying
to make a fool of me, too ?
HENRIETTA
How could you ask such a thing ? ( To the others^
Have you made a fool of Geoffrey? That's very
unkind of you.
BARTLETT
I must apologize for my wife. Through a lapse
of memory she omitted to mention the fact that
she was about to elope with your husband. She
has upset his plans and he refuses to reconsider
the matter.
HENRIETTA
And I don't blame him. He has a sensitive na-
ture, and though big things might slip his
memory, he is very particular about trifles.
GEOFFREY
Trifles!
GLORIA
I seem to have made an awful mess of things.
HENRIETTA
We know you didn't do it intentionally. Come^
Geoff, dear, we had better go.
BARTLETT (to Geofrey)
I hope you are not tired, and I do hope we shall
226
ALL GUMMED UP
meet again. I should like to hear you play Wag-
ner on our Church organ.
GEOFFREY
Oh, that's the last straw! Your wife trifles with
my emotions. You outrage my sense of de-
cency. Henrietta defies my independence, and
now you cap it all with a request for Wagner on
an organ! Do you realize that an 8o-piece or-
chestra can only begin to interpret Wagner —
and you ask for him on an organ ! — Where's my
coat?
HENRIETTA
Minter has it, dear.
GLORIA
Come to dinner some night and bring your wife.
GEOFFREY
If we were on a desert island, and you two had
the only cocoanut, I wouldn't chew a piece of
the fibre. {Exit,)
BARTLETT
What a splendid fellow!
HENRIETTA
Oh, he's just splendid in his own way. Some
day he will compose a symphony which even the
critics will understand. Good-bye, Mrs. Bart-
lett.
GLORIA
Good-bye.
HENRIETTA
Good-bye, Mr. Bartlett.
BARTLETT
I'll see you to the door. {Following her,)
227
ALL GUMMED UP
HENRIETTA {at doov)
Ohj please don't trouble. {Bartlett makes a sign
to her.)
BARTLETT {handing her the box of chewing gum)
One day next week — subway — bring the gum
with you. {Sotto voce.)
HENRIETTA {sOttO VOCc)
I'll wait for a message from you.
BARTLETT
ril send Minter. {Exit Henrietta.)
GLORIA {holding up a piece of paper with Bartletfs
chewed gum on it)
George, where did you get this chewing gum?
BARTLETT {confuScd)
The woman tempted me and I did eat.
GLORIA
Did she give it to you ?
BARTLETT
Y-u-yes, dear.
GLORIA
Och! The cat! {Throwing it back into basket.)
BARTLETT
Now don't get angry, darling.
GLORIA
I had far rather you had bought it yourself and
been honest about it. {Going up stage.)
BARTLETT
Oh! {Enter Minter^ with box of gum.)
MINTER
Did you give this to Mrs. Tremayne.'*
BARTLETT
Certainly not.
MINTER
I thought not. I caught her trying to get away
228
ALL GUMMED UP
with it. I didn't think she was that kind of
person. {He puts box back in drawer^
BART LETT
What are you putting it there for?
MINTER
It belongs there, doesn't it?
BARTLETT
What makes you think that?
MINTER
I ought to know. I've had enough of it. {Going
right.)
BARTLETT
Minter, there's your gun, go shoot yourself.
MINTER
If I did, your business would go to the devil.
I'm the only lasting impression anyone gets
from a consultation with you.
GLORIA
One moment, Minter, you are a witness that my
husband lied to me. George, you shall pay for
this — you shan't take me to the theater.
BARTLETT
Oh, dear!
GLORIA
I shall go, and just to spite you I shall sit by
myself.
BARTLETT
Oh, dear!
MINTER
Perhaps I could be of assistance to you, Mrs.
Bartlett.
GLORIA
Oh, thank you, Mr. Minter, you shall take me.
229
ALL GUMMED UP
BARTLETT
No — no — I object! I absolutely object to your
going with Minter to the theater. You should
have more regard for my feelings.
GLORIA
Had you any regard for my feelings when I
found you chewing in my house with another
man*s wife?
BARTLETT
Just the same, I absolutely refuse to let you go
with Minter.
GLORIA {lurning and going)
Oh, we shall see —
BARTLETT
But think, dear!
GLORIA
Think what?
BARTLETT
I shall have to answer the door-bell. (Exit
Gloria^ angry ^ with Minter. Bartlett settles him-
self into his chair, with his feet on the table,)
Oh, dear! What an uneventful Ufe!
CURTAIN
230
THOMPSON'S LUCK
A TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT
by Harry Greenwood Grover
The author acknowledges his indebtedness for the central
idea of this play to Ben Ames Williams, whose story,
"They Grind Exceeding Small," suggested the play.
CHARACTERS
Stephen Thompson
Jane, his Wife
Waterman Holmes
Hiram Pratt
[■ Neighbors
Copyright, 1922, hy STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Application for permission to produce Thompson's Luck must
be made to Harry G. Grover, 278 Carmita Ave., Rutherford. N. J.
THOMPSON'S LUCK
SCENE
The interior of a very plain farmhouse kitchen^
forenoon of a gray winter day. At the right there
is a kitchen range^ with tea kettle and iron pot.
Right front door to pantry. Back center the sink
in front of a window; a pump at right end, large
water-pail at the other, with tin dipper hanging
over it; at left, shelves, and along the wall at right
more shelves and a comer cupboard. A plain table
is in center of room, with two equally plain chairs
by it. There is a door, back left, which reveals, as
it opens later to admit the neighbor, that it is the
only one leading outdoors, although it must be
through one of those shed-like contrivances, so fre-
quent in New England, that stretch from house to
barn, for, when the door opens, only a darkening
results. On the left wall there is a door which leads
to the ''down-stairs'' bedroom; near this door is an
old-fashioned wooden cradle; the hooded sort, with
rockers. It is turned with head towards audience.
At the rise, a thin, faded, small woman of thirty-
five is washing dishes at the sink. When she walks,
she is a little twisted over to one side: one limb is
drawn up a little so she stands on her toes. An
oldish-looking, gray-haired, stoop-shouldered, and
sharp-faced man, sunken, small, gray eyes, bushy
overhanging brow, is seated in the center pulling off
rubber boots; and, as the conversation proceeds,
233
THOMPSON'S LUCK
putting on blacky shiny^ greased^ knee-length
leather boots. The woman turns round from her
worky looks at him and sighs.
THOMPSON
Want anything to the store?
MRS. THOMPSON {sadly)
Are you going to town to-day?
THOMPSON
Yes. {Sharply,) What's going to hinder?
MRS. THOMPSON (tuming and wiping dish as she
talks, half apologetically: as if she did not feel it
her right to question or dispute with her lord and
master)
I thought mebbe that the going and the —
THOMPSON
The going? When did going ever stop me?
MRS. THOMPSON
Yes, I know. (Falteringly^ as if she had more to
say, but doesn't get any further^
THOMPSON {vigorously)
I guess SO. No Storm is going to stop me from
getting to town; there is two men owe me in-
terest money that will be in to-day to my office.
That's how I got my money, putting it out and
taking care to get it back. {He laughs very
slightly y a little cackling, thin laugh without any
joy in it.)
MRS. THOMPSON
Aren't you afraid it's going to storm?
THOMPSON
No, I'm not afraid of anything! It isn't my
luck to have a storm. Don't you believe what
folks around here tell you about Thompson's
234
THOMPSON'S LUCK
luck. Mebbe some of my folks was unlucky,
but it don't follow me. {He chuckles a little^
holding one boot in his hand; he looks at her,)
You know yourself what folks said when I mar-
ried you. {Mrs. Thompson turns with a pained
expression^ as if she does not care to hear what she
knows so well. Thompson continues looking
away so that he doesn't see the look of pain.)
Thompson's luck again! Waited until he was
an old man, then married a crooked stick. {He
chuckles again^ not seeing the look of hatred on
her face; pulls on his boot and looks up towards
her.) But we fooled 'em. {He rises, goes over to
the cradle, kneels before it, and looks in, pushing
away a bit of the blanket that covers the child
within^ Who's got a finer boy than Steve
Thompson? {Turning to her anxiously^ What
makes him sleep so much?
MRS. THOMPSON
He's got cold.
THOMPSON
Pshaw, why should he have a cold? {Rising.)
He'll be all right. I won't have him sick!
MRS. THOMPSON
Don't you think you better get the medicine?
He seemed worse last night.
{Thompson goes over, takes a coat from a hook by
the door, and takes things from its pockets and
puts them into another coat, which hangs there.
While he is fumblingly doing this he goes on with
his talking^
Thompson
Didn't I buy medicine last week?
235
THOMPSON'S LUCK
MRS. THOMPSON
But that was another trouble. We can't use
that for this.
THOMPSON
He won't be sick.
MRS. THOMPSON (sightng)
I hope not, but I am afraid.
THOMPSON
You ain't afraid to spend money, I notice.
MRS. THOMPSON
But, Steve, if he needs it, you wouldn't mind
spending money?
THOMPSON
But he'll be all right, I say. Can't anything
happen to my boy!
(Knock at the door is heard.)
THOMPSON {without looking around)
Come in.
(There enters a quiet ^ smiling man, smooth, red
face, soft voice, bundled up in a big coat, with
heavy mittens, a cap pulled over his ears. He is
younger looking than Thompson,)
HOLMES (quietly)
So you're going, are you?
THOMPSON (sharply)
Didn't I just telephone you I was?
HOLMES (smiling)
Well — (and seeing Mrs. Thompson over in the
corner) Good morning. Miss Thompson.
MRS. THOMPSON (nods)
Don't you think it's going to be a blizzard?
236
THOMPSON'S LUCK
HOLMES {doubtfully)
I don't know.
THOMPSON
She's afraid of Thompson's Luck. Guess she
heard of it before she ever came over here to
keep house for me. Wouldn't think she'd
marry me, would you? {Bitterly ^ fumbling in
his pocket and not looking up.) Old man and
crooked stick!
MRS. THOMPSON
Steve!
THOMPSON {laughing^ turns to Holmes)
Have you seen my boy?
HOLMES
Not since yesterday. {Smiling.) Is he grown
up? {He looks at Mrs. Thompson^ who smiles
faintly.)
{Thompson going over to cradle^ pulls back the
quilt a little; although Holmes has followed him,
he speaks to himself.)
THOMPSON
A fine boy! A fine boy! {He gets up.) Thomp-
son's luck! It never hit me!
HOLMES {dryly)
It never does hit more than once, does it?
THOMPSON {angrily)
You believe in it, too, do you?
HOLMES {quietly)
Oh, no, I don't believe in any luck. I think, as
a man sows, he will reap.
THOMPSON
Hump! {Contemptuously.) You think my
grandfather was struck by lightning just be-
237
THOMPSON'S LUCK
cause, after the big tree in the yard was split to
kindling, he said, "Now, try Thompson!"
HOLMES
Well, I don't know.
THOMPSON
I do ! But they don't hit me, I tell ye. {He has
by now dressed^ and goes into the pantry^ of right,
returning with a basket into which he looksy turn-
ing to his wife.) Only two dozen eggs today?
Why, I brought in seven yesterday.
MRS. THOMPSON {meekly)
I sold a dozen day before yesterday.
THOMPSON
You did! {Winking at Holmes,) Where's the
money?
MRS. THOMPSON {not Seeing the joke)
You said I might keep it.
THOMPSON
That's why I asked; to see if you keep it or
spend it. {He laughs a cynical laugh in which
no one joins him. Holmes looks uneasy^ Well !
{To Holmes) Come on. {He goes to the water-
pail at the sinky takes down the tin dipper,
drinks from it, puts back the dipper, draws
from his trousers' pocket a black plug of to-
bacco, from which he bites, and returns it to his
pocket,)
MRS. THOMPSON {who has been standing nervously
wiping a pan over and over again, now gets up her
courage to speak,)
Don't you think you better get the medicine?
If anything should happen —
THOMPSON {interrupting)
Nonsense! I'm going to town to get money, not
238
THOMPSON'S LUCK
to spend it. He isn't sick. I won't have him
sick! {Turns to go, takes the latch of the door in
his handy then back over his shoulder with) Take
good care of my boy! Keep him warm! Care
and warmth is what he needs. {He goes out,
followed by Holmes who simply nods as he goes
through the door.)
MRS. THOMPSON {stands by the sink, looking out the
window, until there is heard outside, Thompson' s
voice calling, ^^Whoal hold up!'' Then there is a
sharp jingling of sleigh-bells succeeded by quiet,
and she moves a step or two, evidently to follow bet-
ter with her eyes, the retreating sleigh. She me-
chanically puts down the pan which she has con-
tinued to hold and wipe, and stands there with the
dish-towel in her hand. She turns and looks
toward the cradle, then out of the window suddenly
as if he had come in sight again on some far hill-
top. She raises her hand threateningly and ex-
claims:)
It will be your fault! {She limps over to the
cradle, kneels by it, remains there as if listen-
ing. She gets up quickly, goes to the table with
great determination; makes something in a cup,
goes back to the cradle and exclaims feverishly:)
I won't let him die ! His boy, and he won't spend
a penny for medicine ! He's my boy, too, and I
won't let him die. {She puts the cup back ofi
the table, goes to the stove, takes a brick from the
top of the stove, wraps it in a large piece of cloth,
carries it to the cradle, pulls up the covering at the
foot, and^ while putting it in, talks frantically.)
His baby! I'll show him! He wouldn't hav«
w 239
THOMPSON'S LUCK
him die! I will not let him die! His mother
will save him. He's my boy! Another crooked
stick! {She shrieks hysterically; buries her face
in her hands y sobbing uncontrollably.)
SCENE II
The curtain falls for an instant to rise on the same
scene with this difference. The room is filled with
queer shadows made by the light from a poor, little
lamp on the table. There is a large rocking-chair
near the table which has been moved to the middle
of the room. The shades are drawn. The cradle
is over near the stove. The oven door is open and
Mrs. Thompson propped up in the chair with a
redy faded shawl over her shoulders seated before it.
She wakens with a start at some distant y low call
heard outside.
MRS. THOMPSON
Oh! {She steps over near the cradle and listens;
looks up at the clock on the mantle over the stove.)
Half-past twelve. {A weak knock is heard at the
door. She rises quickly y limps over to the door,
andy with her hand on the bar, which locks the
doory she calls timorously:) Who's there? {A
weak man^s voice is heard outside^ It's me. {To
which Mrs. Thompson adds with assurance and
eagerness:) Hiram Pratt? {Before the ''yes''
comes she has taken down the bar and with it the
door is openedy disclosing a thin, tally stooped man;
clad in a poor-lookingy oldy faded overcoat; a cap
pulled down over his narrow head; a big strip of
cloth wound round his thiny long neck.)
MRS. THOMPSON
Well, I'm glad you've come.
240
THOMPSON'S LUCK
PRATT (staggers to the chair at the left of the table;
sits down as if exhausted; in a weak voice says)
Baby worse?
MRS. THOMPSON
Yes, awful; but Til save him with the medicine.
{Pratt begins unbuttoning his coat; then another
beneath it; and^ at last, painfully draws some-
thing out of his trousers side-pocket, which Jane
reaches eagerly for ^
PRATT
I didn't fetch it, Miss Thompson. Tm sorry!
{His speech is broken off by a spasm of coughing.
Her hands have fallen limp at her side, and from
now, during the recital, she stands mute and some-
times as if unconscious of his story or presence,
until he comes to the part Thompson had played;
at which, for a moment, she shows signs of a re-
pressed rage, which suggests strength that lies
hidden beneath her pitifully weak, habitual ex-
terior^ You see! {He holds out a small, dirty,
white canvas bag, such as country men use to carry
loose change^ I put that dollar bill you gave me
to buy the medicine in here with my money
and tied this tape around it just as I always do.
{He shows the bag folded securely, with the open end
turned in and a soiled piece of white tape turned
around it,) It couldn't have got lost, could it?
{Appealing to Mrs, Thompson,) Do you see
how it could?
MRS. THOMPSON {shakcs her head)
No!
PRATT
I thought Fd do my interest business first, be-
241
THOMPSON'S LUCK
fore I went to the store to trade. I got my
mortgage on my place from Mr. Thompson, you
know.
MRS. THOMPSON
No, I didn't know.
PRATT
Yes, so I went right to the office. My! but it
was warm up there; up those stairs. You know
how it is.
MRS. THOMPSON
No, Fve never seen it.
PRATT
Hain't seen it?
MRS. THOMPSON
No, I never go to town.
PRATT
Come to think of it, I don't know as I ever did
see you there; but I supposed mebbe the old
man took you sometimes.
MRS. THOMPSON
No, he never has room.
PRATT
I see he had Waterman Holmes.
MRS. THOMPSON
Yes, Waterman went. {Weakly.) But the
baby was sick.
PRATT
Waterman was there when I went in; though I
was kind of bhnded when I first got in, I soon
made out who it was and I knew his voice. I
felt so kind of queer up there, cUmbing the
stairs and the heat and all, and my fingers were
so cold, I couldn't scarce count my money. But
I finally got out the $11.40 that I had. It was
242
THOMPSON'S LUCK
not enough, but Mr. Thompson took it and let
me have a little more time for the rest. {He
coughs terribly,) This has been a tough winter,
all the children sick with colds and one thing or
another. {He sighs y shakes his head.) I don't
know. {He remains silent for what seems a long
timey until brought back to his story by the cold
voice of Jane,)
MRS. THOMPSON
And then?
PRATT {starting up)
Oh, yes! Well, I thought it wouldn't do any
harm as long as I had so much bad luck, poor
crops and a calf that died, and so on, to ask Mr.
Thompson if he wouldn't let me off a little. {He
sighs again)
MRS. THOMPSON {quickly and mechanically)
What did he say?
PRATT
I suppose I can't complain. I told him I had
a big family and had lots of sickness, and he
said he had a family, too, to look out for. "I
know," says I. {He pauses ^ looks at the cradle
and around the room.) So I got up and come
out, and when I got over to the store for the
medicine the dollar bill was gone. {He pauses
and looks at Jane as if looking for some sharp
scolding or word of question y perhaps of sympathy y
buty seeing nothing but a stare on herfacCy he con-
tinues pitifully^ I always put my money in
that bag, but I thought I might have put it in
some back pocket, seeing it wasn't my money.
MRS. THOMPSON
And you couldn't find it in your pocket?
243
THOMPSON'S LUCK
PRATT
I hunted in every pocket Fve got. Zack Turner
finally spoke up and asked me if I had come to
town to clean out my pockets. I couldn't find
that dollar, Miss Thompson. FU pay you back
soon as I can. Mebbe in a month I'll get it.
Will that be all right? I'm sorry. {He rises y be-
gins fumblingly buttoning his coat.)
MRS. THOMPSON {us if awakening to reality)
It ain't the money; it's the medicine. {She goes
over and kneels by the cradle^ What will become
of my boy ? {She sobs,)
PRATT {weakly)
I guess he'll be a'right. Harriet could come
over tomorrow and help you, mebbe.
MRS. THOMPSON
Tomorrow?
PRATT
Well, if it stops snowin*.
MRS. THOMPSON {as if to herself)
Mebbe Steve bought it and will bring it.
PRATT
Steve won't be out tonight.
MRS. THOMPSON
Oh, yes, he will. He would have telephoned to
find out about the boy if he didn't mean to come
home.
PRATT
Telephoned! There hain't three lengths of tele-
phone wire between here and Bates ville.
MRS. THOMPSON
Then he'll come. {Faintly ^ as if she did not be-
lieve it,) I guess.
244
THOMPSON'S LUCK
PRATT
If there's anything I could do — I'm afraid he
won't come.
MRS. THOMPSON
You got through.
PRATT
Yes, but I had to. There was Harriet and the
children.
MRS. THOMPSON
He's got a family, too.
PRATT
Yes, but he can afford to stay in town. He can
go to the hotel.
MRS. THOMPSON
Not him. He sleeps in his office sometimes when
he's kept in late. {She looks at the cradle?} But
he'll come before mornin'. {As if to herself^ He
said he wouldn't let him die.
PRATT
Humph! He don't believe in Thompson's luck.
Well, I hope not. {Turning to go.) I'm sorry.
Miss Thompson. I must be going. {He goes,
and she mechanically bars the door after him.
Now she seems awake, as if she realizes that the
child has no hope but her resources. She wraps
up another brick taken from the stove, takes the one
from the cradle, and puts in the freshly heated one.
Her every movement is feverish; at times, frantic.
She stoops over very close as if to listen for the
breathing of the child. She rises, limpingly
fetches the lamp; kneels by the cradle, turns up the
wick until it smokes and seems to peer into the
face of the child within. She puts the lamp back
on the table, mixes at the table something in a cup,
245
THOMPSON'S LUCK
puts it down, goes over to the telephone, takes down
the receiver, and, after a pause, calls faintly:)
MRS. THOMPSON
Hello! {Pause.) Hello! {A longer pause in
which she moves nervously, as if she heard strange
sounds or perhaps no sound in the receiver.)
Hello! {Then, frantically) Hello! Hello! Hello!
{The receiver drops full length of the cord from her
hand, she turns slowly round; falls into a chair
and laughs hysterically.) It's coming now.
Thompson's luck!
Curtain
SCENE III
When the curtain rises after a brief interval, it is
to disclose the kitchen flooded with a dazzling sun-
light reflected from the snow-covered world outside.
Tt is mid-forenoon of the day following the previous
events. The table is still out in the center of the
room, but the cradle is gone. The back door opens
and in walks Thompson, followed by Waterman
Holmes.
THOMPSON {over his shoulder)
You might as well come in. We'll have some-
thing hot to drink. {Loosening their coats, they
sit at the table; Thompson toward the stove and
away from the bedroom door. From the bedroom
door Jane comes quickly. She has a strained look,
is pale, with deep circles under her eyes.)
MRS. THOMPSON
At last!
246
THOMPSON'S LUCK
THOMPSON {not looking at her; speaking over his
shoulder)
This isn't late. We're early. {Looking at his
watch.) Only ten o'clock. Give us a cup of cof-
fee, will you ?
{Mrs. Thompson, without answering, goes over to
the shelf by the window, takes a spoon, a jar of
coffee, and puts water from pail into the cofee-
pot.)
THOMPSON {continuing)
It turned out to be a big storm. I didn't see
any good spending money to telephone. I see
the wires are all down anyhow. I knew you
would be all right; you aren't afraid.
{Jane pauses in her preparations, looks at him
with a sudden look of hatred coming over her face,
but says nothing.)
THOMPSON {continuing)
Never see such drifts, did you, Waterman ?
Holmes
No!
THOMPSON
Couldn't have got through last night no more
than you could fly.
MRS. THOMPSON
Some did
THOMPSON {turning around and looking at her)
Who?
MRS. THOMPSON
Hiram Pratt.
THOMPSON {laughing his dry, cackling laugh)
He couldn't do anything but go through. No
247
THOMPSON'S LUCK
place to stay and no money to put up at the
hotel. {Turning to Waterman.) Mebbe that
dollar bill he dropped at my table was his hotel
expenses. {He slaps his knee and laughs so he
doesn't hear the cofee-pot come down with a thud
on the shelf at the side of the sinky when Jane's
nerveless hand lets it drop as she hears '''^ dollar bill.''
Waterman Holmes looks around^ but, as Jane
manages to pick it up and go on^ he turns back.
Thompson continues to Jane^ who now stands
with her back to him.) He was into my office
yesterday afternoon to pay up his interest and
dropped a dollar bill on the table while he was
counting out his chicken feed to make up his
$11.40. {Turning to Holmes.) Guess he must
have saved all the change he's seen for the last
six months. He did have two silver dollars,
though. {He laughs again and then resumes to
Jane.) Well, sir, he's got so Httle brains that,
while he was counting and recounting his small
change to make sure he wasn't giving me too
much, he let a dollar bill slip out on the table,
and, with his eyes looking straight at that table,
setting there as near as Holmes and I are to this
one, he never saw me cover it up with my hand
{imitating on table) and put it in my pocket.
{He bursts out laughing. Holmes smiles a little^
but stops as he perceives Jane's queer look when
she hears *' dollar bill.")
HOLMES
It was too bad, though.
THOMPSON {snorting)
Too bad, nothing! Dum fool! Why didn't he
take care of his money .'^ He ain't got brains
248
THOMPSON'S LUCK
enough to carry him around the corner let alone
borrow money. {Bitterly to Jane.) How did
you know he got back last night?
MRS. THOMPSON
He stopped here.
THOMPSON
What time?
MRS. THOMPSON
About half-past twelve.
THOMPSON
What for?
MRS. THOMPSON
I asked him to do an errand.
THOMPSON
Can't I do your errands?
MRS. THOMPSON {doggedly)
You wouldn't.
THOMPSON
Shucks!
MRS. THOMPSON
I asked you to buy the medicine and you said
No!
THOMPSON
Pshaw! Did he get it?
MRS. THOMPSON
No, he couldn't.
THOMPSON
Why not?
MRS. THOMPSON {looking defiantly at him)
He lost the money I gave him.
THOMPSON
Lost the money? Stole it, you mean. How
much did you give him ?
249
THOMPSON'S LUCK
MRS. THOMPSON {defiantly^ looking sharply at him)
A dollar bill! {Holmes stands up; Thompson
jumps to his feet y starts toward the bedroom door,
stops y turns around and asks, with a tremor in his
voice:)
THOMPSON
How's my boy?
MRS. THOMPSON {pointing to the door of the bed-
room)
Go and see!
THOMPSON {goes slowly, but before he reaches the
door turns again and says)
How's my boy?
MRS. THOMPSON
Dead!
CURTAIN
250
FATA DEORUM
A POETIC PLAY IN TWO SCENES
by Carl W. Guske
CHARACTERS
Marius, a retired General •
Decius, a Philosopher and Slave to Marius
A Messenger from Rome
A SuEviAN Prisoner
Two Roman Soldiers
Copyright, 1922, 6y STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Application for permission to produce this play must be made
to the author, who may be addressed in care of the publishers,
Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.
\
FATA DEORUM
Time: About 15 A. D.
Place: Near Rome.
SCENE ONE. A room in the home of Marius,
Discovered: Marius, sitting perfectly rigid and
staring blankly into space.
Enter: Decius and Messenger.
DECIUS
Stay yet awhile, for I divine that soon
This morbid melancholia,
Corroding fast the basis of his reason.
Will abate. Then in the trenchant wrath
That will ensue, as surely as the night
Succeeds the day, it is more like we'll find
A chance to broach the subject of thy message.
MESSENGER
Tis well; Til stay awhile, and pray the Gods
May soon repel this death incipient!
See how he stares with fixed gaze into
Vague miles of distance, and nor hears.
Nor sees, nor knows what 'round him stirs.
Poor soul! How long hath he thus been af-
flicted?
DECIUS
Since his retirement, and day by day
Grows worse. Of nourishment he scarce par-
takes.
Moreover, when to soothing sleep at last
253
FATA DEORUM
He doth succumb, *tis not for long, but starts
With sudden, wild, incisive shriek, and cries:
"Oh, Claudius, oh, Claudius, my son!'*
And then he writhes, and moans, and weeps, as
though
His heart were being cleft. Then follows wrath.
Mad, turgid wrath, when all about him he
Would tear asunder. Yet I fear it not —
Not half so much as when he sinks into
This melancholy spell. 'Tis so like death;
I am afraid!
MESSENGER
Alas, he was
Rome's bravest general. Even to-day
The Emperor proclaimed him such when he
Dispatched me here and said: "I would that he
Were well again." Where is the scroll I brought?
DECIUS
I left it there before him. Look, he wakes.
The Gods be praised!
MESSENGER
The Gods be praised!
MARIUS
Where art thou, Decius?
DECIUS
Here, master, here.
MARIUS
Say if I slept a moment since, or woke.
DECIUS
Master, I do not know. Thou wert as rigid
As a stone, and yet thine eyes were opened wide.
MARIUS
Tis that accursed, hideous dream that haunts
me
254
FATA DEORUM
Even while I wake. It hangs on me^
As if a sorrow bitterer than I've
Yet known were threatening. But no, it seems
As though it were a shadow of long past
Calamity, which I in state of blissful
Ignorance escaped. How strange it was,
And yet I saw them plainly — myriads
On myriads came staggering up a hill.
It seemed, and I was at the top.
Plodding, plodding, slowly plodding, nearer,
Nearer they approached; clad in scanty
Filthy rags, fast rotting in the dampness
Of their foul, unearthly home. Poor souls !
Though some were blind and toothless, yet they
grinned
Like fiends from hell. And one there was more
gruesome
To behold than all the rest; he stretched
His arms to me in dire passion as
He passed. Gods, what a sorry sight!
And what a sound their harsh, hoarse croaking,
Moaning, wailing, laughing, crying.
All at once: ^'Unclean, unclean, unclean!"
Why am I tortured thus? Is 't not enough
That I must bear ? Why do the Gods their fury
Wreak upon the head of one poor mortal
Here below? I had a son — where is
He now? He's gone, I know not where.
Not e'en the comfort of his death is mine.
Relent thy vengeance, mighty Gods. You've
racked
Enough this wretched heart; now succor it.
Lest it should rise in mutiny, and, fraught
With curses rank, defy thy punishment!
" 255
FATA DEORUM
DECIUS
Oh, master mine, thou work*st thine own de-
struction.
MARIUS
What sayest, fool? That is a lie. The Gods,
The Gods — I am a victim of their mills;
Oh, how they grind! "Thou work'st thine own
destruction?"
Lie, lie, I say it is a lie. The Gods
Have planned it all, and I am doomed. They
laugh
To scorn my fervent prayers, whilst I, full help-
less.
Bear their cruel blows. Whence came this
scroll?
DECIUS
*Twas brought to thee by yonder messenger
From Emperor Tiberius.
MARIUS
Then read it,
Decius. My temples rock, mine eyes
Are almost blind! Read what Tiberius says.
DECIUS (reading)
"Rome greets thee. Noble Marius:
Now hast
Thou rested forty days, and hope runs high
In Rome that soon thy health will be restored.
Thou mayest know how keen our forces
Feel thine absence, when that we do send to
thee.
While still thy pulses rage, this matter for at-
tention.
The Gods have dealt us graciously the capture
Of a Suevian prisoner — the charge
256
FATA DEORUM
'Gainst whom, in full, the bearer will impart to
thee."
MARIUS
Where is the prisoner?
MESSENGER .
Without, my lord.
MARIUS
Go, fetch him in. Come hither, Decius,
{Exit Messenger)
Come, sit thou here; I would a while consult
With thee. For years and years IVe trusted
thee
With duties sacred in my household.
Thy wisdom I regarded high enough
To make thee tutor to mine only son —
Who now is gone. Thus, and in various other
Ways, Fve shown thy judgment great respect,
Albeit thou art a slave. And now that I
Am ill, I place still greater import on
Thy wisdom. Tell me, Decius, what thinkest
Thou of my misfortune? Is't not too great?
Have not the Gods abased me much ?
DECIUS
Tis truly great. Would thou could'st heap it
all
Upon my head; most willingly Fd bear it.
So I love thee, master mine.
MARIUS
And yet,
A moment hence thou did*st remark: "Thou
work' St
Thine own destruction."
DECIUS
Twas an idle word.
257
FATA DEORUM
MARIUS
'Twas not an idle word. Thou hast a mind
Which anyone might envy thee. Now come.
How dost thou mean I work mine own destruc-
tion ?
DECIUS
I fear, oh, master, thou wilt be offended.
MARIUS
ril be offended at thy prudish dalliance.
Which rears obstructions to mine understand
ing.
Thou art a good philosopher; come,
rU forget thou art a slave. Come, come, speak
out.
DECIUS
Hast ever thought that in the world to-day
We dam the torrents of our grief until they wax
So turbulent, we turn with dazed
Reasoning to blame the rancour of
The Gods, when we ourselves have been the
source?
For when the worst within us has overcome
The best, and when to poignancy we've yielded.
All the best seems but an atom in a
Sea of gall, wherein we float, and blindly
Groping, fall still lower in the bitter
Flood, which greedily devours us.
So thou dost only live in memory
Of sorrows thou hast known, and yield to moods
That fain would eat thy very soul away —
MARIUS
And should I smile when that from battle I
Returned one day to find mine only son
Was no more here?
258
FATA DEORUM
DECIUS
Not so; but now that he is
Gone, thou multiplyest much thy grief, by
dwelling
On it over-long.
MARIUS
Ah, "over-long!"
Into eternity would scarcely be long
Enough ! I loved my child, my Claudius,
My son.
DECIUS
And even I —
MARIUS
His father, I —
DECIUS
And I, his slave.
MARIUS
Indeed thou art a wise
Philosopher! Hast ever helped to bring
Into this world an offspring of thine own,
That thou might'st know the ties that bind a
father
To his child? Hast ever felt the sweetness
Of paternal cares that wax as time
Goes on, as doth the grief that comes when such
Cares end? No, no, that hast thou not; and yet
Thou counsel'st thus ? Out of my sight; be gone
Thou fool; out of my sight, be gone, be gone!
(Decius retires to the background. The Mes-
senger enters ^followed by the Suevian prisoner be-
tween two Roman soldiers.)
MESSENGER
Most noble sir: This is the leader of
259
FATA DEORUM
A damned tribe that thrice hath ravished our
Cities, resting in the quiet of the
Night, with ne*er a thought of harm impending.
So the last atrocious deed was done
At Samaris, where scarce a peristyle
Remains, but that is smeared with blood which
once
In veins of youth and noble manhood ran !
Not even helpless children did they spare.
And many a Roman maid, despondent grown
In pregnancy, now ends her life, ere yet
Her bastard Suevian offspring may be born!
And Samaris will not alone the mark
Of Suevian menace bear, for twice before
Hath Rome heard cries of mad despair.
Rising amid the smoke and flames
Of other devastated cities ! But,
Each time the fiends had fled into the darkness
Of the night, before our soldiers could
Arrive. And now we have the leader of
Their tribe, with whom the Emperor hath sent
Me here, to say that Marius alone
Can justly treat so dastardly a crime.
Rome cries to thee from out the depths of shame.
That she should let such deed e'en once occur.
Avenge thou her, remove the tarnish from her
name!
MARIUS
What hear I now? My breath, my breath, it
fails!
Though all the rage that mortal could possess
Now sears my soul, and kindles up a flame
Of keenest hate,
I count myself too much a weakling still
260
FATA DEORUM
To punish thee. Thou hellish
Monster, thou — for every drop of Roman
Blood that thou didst spill, thy body shall
Receive a slash while hanging by its toes.
And for the Roman womanhood thou didst
Deflower, thy slashes shall be strewn with burn-
ing
Sulphur! Now, my Suevian friend, how likest
Thou the wrath of Rome ?
PRISONER
Thou slanderest Rome
To say thy shameful passion is her wrath.
MARIUS
My shameful passion then; how suits it thee?
PRISONER
Well, Roman, well; since I bear guilt of actions
Such as thine, Fm pleased to die.
MARIUS
Oh, thou
Germanic dog! 'Twas never known of Rome
To murder children in their sleep.
PRISONER
We even murder babes and women in
Their sleep, since murder deals a gentler blov^
Than banishment to leprosy. *
MARIUS
Ah, banishment to leprosy. So, now
I understand — My reputation travels fast.
PRISONER
Ne'er had our tribe an unfair battle waged.
And calmly were we e'er resigned to fates
Of honest war. But once because our loss
Was not so great as yours, and but a score
261
FATA DEORUM
Of Suevian prisoners you had won, thy glut-
tonous
Enmity thy reason stole and with
A fiendish mania thou didst condemn
Them to a living death, there in
The barren vales of that secluded isle.
With naught but cold gray hills to gaze upon.
And scores of wretches falling joint from joint,
'Twas then we swore that naught should s>tay
our just
Revenge, not e'en the foulest trickery.
My daughter, too, was in that lot. Now she's
Unclean ! Sweet child of rarest innocence !
Oh, how I wish that I might clasp her to
My heart just once again — just once again!
Now thou dost know why we bear guilt of
damned
Deeds as black as thine.
MARIUS
Thou dar'st stand there
And damn what I have done ! Since thou hast so
Declared thyself, I'll grant thy boon, that thou
May'st clasp thy daughter once more to thy
breast.
Thou, too, shalt be unclean! Go drag him
hence.
And when 'tis done, bring word in person here
to me.
{Exeunt the prisoner^ messenger^ and soldiers?)
Now, Decius, put out the torch;
The moonbeams pierce the deep tenebrous
clouds.
To woo the latent sorrow in my heart.
Now go; ril count, alone, the tedious hours
262
FATA DEORUM
That languish in the stillness of the air —
Creating vivid likenesses of pangs of
Passions ancient-born.
Curtain
SCENE TWO
Same as Scene One. Night.
Discovered: Marius.
MARIUS
When that the Gods
So prudently had wrought to manly youth
The only offspring of my flesh and blood —
I see him now, with head held high, darting
On nimble limbs as swift as winds that toss
His dark, abundant, curly hair;
With eyes a-sparkle, boyish smile, and gentle
Stroke of tender hand to smooth the time-worn
Furrows on my brow — my cup was filled !
Drunk with the joy of happiness supreme,
Unheedful of the source from whence it came,
I angered the immortal Gods, and reaped
The harvest of their quick and fearful doom!
And now my soul has fled to hazy spheres
Of everlasting memories, where happy
Dreams reiterate dear days that were
But are no more. Oh, Claudius, my son,
Return thy father's hideous gloom to cheer.
Or bid the Gods to open wide the black doors
Of foul mystery that thy dear presence
Doth conceal. Fd let the soothing zephyrs
Of the south waft thee my lamentations,
But the stream that yonder flows might rise
263
FATA DEORUM
Enticing to my woeful words, and drown
Them in its buoyant waters. No, FU face
The east; mayhap the first bright gleam of
Morning light will bring me hopeful word of
thee.
Or thou, thyself, wilt come again, dear son;
Yes, yes, thou'lt come, I know, I know thou'lt
come!
(Decius and the Messenger have entered and over-
heard part of Marius' soliloquy.)
DECIUS
You hear? And thus all through the night. And
Now this news. I fear, I fear, and yet
It must be done. Stand thou apart.
{Decius cautiously approaches Marius.)
Oh, master.
MARIUS (after gazing about him in a dazed manner
addresses the messenger)
What's in thy look that leers with mockery,
The while thy features ache with frowns and
fear?
MESSENGER
Oh, gruesome, soul-devouring sight that I
Beheld. Thy doom is sealed, and I the sealer,
Bound by thy command!
MARIUS
What is my doom?
Speak on, I am prepared for anything.
MESSENGER
We traveled fast and sped our sails, so that
We reached the wretched isle ere yet the sun
Had set, by whose slow-dying rays the peaks
Of those cold hills seemed steeped in gore.
264
FATA DEORUM
The Suevian never spoke a word on all the way,
But once he said in tones that still are ringing
In mine ears: "He'll rue this day. For every act
Of violence we commit, we pay a ten-fold
Penalty before we quit.'* And then
He smiled, and entered fearlessly the heavy
Gate, which yawned and swallowed him.
I was about to turn and leave, when standing
There before me, at spear's length, I saw
A pair, now scarcely human as they looked,
She, from his fond embrace, sprang with a
shriek
And fell into a heap before the prisoner.
Crying 'mid rasping sobs, "My father! Pity,
Gods!"
The boy then came to me and when
He spoke, his tainted breath rose thiough the
air
And stifled me. So frightfully distorted
Was his face, 'twas torture when he tried
To smile, which plainly I discerned, though low
He bowed his head. He dragged his limbs as if
To drop them would remove a weight of pain.
And bulging from their sockets with a piercing
Glare, his eyes shone through the lifeless strings
Of hair about his face. Sir, 'twas your son!
The girl whom he had followed there no earthly
Power could tear from him, nor him from her.
For so they loved — and so they went from life
to death.
I knew him not, but he knew me. Oh, how I
longed
To clasp him to my heart, and fold his swollen
hands
265
FATA DEORUM
In mine, but he's a thing unclean, unclean, un-
clean !
He asked with trembling lips concerning thee,
And quickly came the thought to me to lie.
I told him thou didst die in battle here
Of late; again he tried to smile and thanked
The Gods that thou should'st ne'er behold him
in
That piteous plight. And then he asked con-
cerning
Decius; and once again I lied,
And said thou gavest him his freedom at
Thy death; therefore I knew not where he was.
Then falling with his face upon the ground.
He clasped his hands in prayer, and thus I saw
Him lying still, while from the stern of our
Reluctant-moving barge I watched the scene of
sorrow fade.
MARIUS
Thy work is done, and well; return to Rome.
{Exit the messenger?)
Oh, God, a thing unclean, unclean, unclean!
And thou almighty Gods, art satisfied }
Oh, ne'er to come again, never again.
Ye Gods, ye mock me so. My heart doth
break.
And breaking still doth live. Can ye not still
Its beating, Gods? Why must it beat and
break ?
No, no, I know thou'lt never come again, dear
son;
Ne'er more shall we behold thee! Decius,
When I am gone, what wilt thou do, and I
Thy freedom give to thee?
266
FATA DEORUM
DECIUS
Ah, master mine, Fll stay with thee till thou
Art gone, and then I'll join my master Claudius,
To lave his wounds, and pray for comfort in
His last declining days of misery.
MARIUS
Tm faint — go, Decius, and fetch me wine.
{Exit Decius.)
Each twinkling star laughs at my sorry plight;
Each flower its perfume sends to throttle me;
Each fleeting cloud but mocks my waning life;
While each cool breath of breeze but fans the
mad.
Devouring flame that in me burns. Ye triumph.
Mighty Gods.
(He takes a sword from the wall.)
Be not afraid, oh, sword, of this poor heart,
Tis but a broken fluttering thing that fain
would die.
Thou wilt disturb no feeling there, for all
Is gone, and thou art truly welcome — come!
{He stabs himself and dies,)
{Enter Decius,)
DECIUS
Here, master mine, take drink this wine.
And follow me, so that we three —
{He sees that Marius is dead)
Now, Claudius, my master, I will come.
FINIS
267
PEARL OF DAWN
A FANTASY IN TEN SCENES
by Holland Hudson
CHARACTERS
Haroun al Raschid, Caliph of Bagdad^
surnamed ^Uhe Good"
His Vizier
His Favorite
His Chief Eunuch
A LI A LI, a Mer chanty also called ^' the good'
His Eldest Wife
His Youngest Wife
Hazan, his Brother-in-Law
A Robber Captain
His Lieutenant
Guards y robbers, wives , houri, ad lib.
ORDER OF SCENES
1. A Street 6. A Room in the Caliph's
2. In the Shop of Ali the House
Merchant 7. A Street
3. A Street 8. Ali's Shop
4. Ali's Shop 9. A Street
5. A Street 10. Ali's Shop
The entire action takes place in one night. Scenes 3 to g
comprise the story within the play.
Copyright, 1922, hy STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Applications for permission to produce Pearl of Dawn should be addressed
to Frank Shay, in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cin-
cinnati, Ohio, No performance may be given without his consent.
PEARL OF DAWN
AUTHOR S NOTE
*^Pearl of Dawn** was written to provide a pic-
torial one-act play, neither tragic nor highfaluttn^
which might afford opportunity for rapid move-
ment and adventure in a small compass of time
and space. I have therefore placed the story in a
period and a country about which the rising gen-
eration knows comparatively little^ and have de-
liberately shifted the action constantly from street
to shop or palace and back again.
Scenically^ the street is a painted front curtain^ and
the shop a cyclorama drape. The palace scene is
simply the shop^ with different lights and its
properties changed.
sceneone: a Street in Bagdad. Night.
HAZAN {comes down the street, making his way with
difficulty, swaying with weakness. His clothes
are shredded to ribbons. He has bandaged him-
self, here and there, with fragments of his gar-
ments)
Allah, be merciful! Let me die! Let me die!
Allah — (He falls unconscious^
A LI (xuns out, carrying a lantern. He bends over the
prostrate man and tries to rouse him.)
HAZAN {sprawls on his face, and his back, upon
which no clothing remains, is revealed striped with
marks of a whip.)
18 271
PEARL OF DAWN
ALI
Ah, poor man ! Poor man !
HAZAN {recovering consciousness y rolls over on his
side^ looks up)
Ali!
ALI
What, you know me? Who are you?
KAZAN
You do not recognize me? I am Hazan. {He
faints again ^
ALI
Hazan, good brother; wake again. It is I, Ali,
Ali. I don't remember which wife it is whose
brother you are, but I know you. Come, wake
up, dear brother, you are much too heavy for
me to carry. (Nevertheless ^ he manages to pick
up Hazan and stagger out with him^ leaving his
lantern behind^
HAROUN AL RASCHiD {enters from the opposite di-
rection^ with his Vizier^ who carries a lantern)
You say the man who carried him into that shop
is Ali the good?
THE VIZIER {salaaming)
So people call him. As he is a merchant — you
may believe it if you like.
HAROUN
Stop salaaming. I wish to remain incognito.
So that is the man to whom they give my title?
Not Haroun al Raschid the Good, but Ali the
good! A merchant of women's wear for a rival !
VIZIER
The moon does not rival the sun, but reflects it.
HAROUN
But if he is called *'the good," why does he now
272
PEARL OF DAWN
give aid and comfort to a wretch who has been
publicly whipped for violating his neighbor's
harem ?
VIZIER
Perhaps Ali*s own harem is a little too much for
him.
HAROUN
That is the most cynical thing you have said
this evening. I shall have to present you with a
brace of wives.
VIZIER
That is the most cynical threat you have made
today. To keep you from remembering it, let
me tell you that the man who was whipped is
Ali's brother-in-law. Further, Ali undoubtedly
does not know yet what he was whipped for.
His wives keep all the scandal to themselves.
HAROUN
I should like to see this merchant sell his wares
and yet earn his title of "the good."
VIZIER
You should have that opportunity soon. The
guardian of your harem asked me where your
favorite might buy some silks this evening at a
reasonable price and I told him of Ali*s shop.
They may be there now.
HAROUN
And be defiled by the presence of Hazan the
unclean! Let us go there quickly. {They hurry
ofy Haroun taking Ali's lantern.)
A patrol passes. The lights fade out.
The scene changes.
273
PEARL OF DAWN
SCENE two: The Shop of AH
Through the open doorway at the back one sees
the sky of early night. In the foreground a cur-
tained divan is lighted by a small lamp concealed
in the canopy. The center of the shop is lighted
by a brass hanging lamp. Under it AWs wives
are displaying silks to a veiled lady, who is guarded
by Harouns Chief Eunuch , a gigantic Nubian
with a naked sword across one arm,
THE ELDEST WIFE
Lady, the silk is worth fifty pieces of silver, and
it is yours for thirty.
HAROUN AL RASCHID's FAVORITE
It does not interest me.
THE YOUNGEST WIFE
Lady, we could not cheat you. You are in the
shop of AH the good.
THE ELDEST WIFE
We are commanded to cheat no one and to speak
to our customers no untrue word.
THE YOUNGEST WIFE
These are the commands of Ali the good.
THE FAVORITE
Is the merchant really so good?
THE ELDEST WIFE
I, the eldest wife, acknowledge it.
THE FAVORITE
Then he must be good, indeed. Are you sure
this silk is of the best quality?
THE YOUNGEST WIFE
Lady, it is the jewel of China, whence it came.
274
PEARL OF DAWN
A LI {appears in the doorway carrying the uncon-
scious Hazan)
One of you, a cup of water, quickly!
THE ELDEST WIFE
But see, a customer, a great lady!
ALI
But I have found a brother — not yours? Well,
a brother of one of you. Make haste! {He
brings Hazan down to the curtained divan.)
THE YOUNGEST WIFE {brings a cup of water.)
THE ELDEST WIFE {attends to her customer y s^nen-
ing her from seeing more of the intruder.)
THE FAVORITE
Is that the merchant, Ali?
THE ELDEST WIFE
Ali the good, lady. You must forgive him.
He is so tenderhearted that he forgets all busi-
ness to help any creature in distress.
THE FAVORITE
What a wonderful husband he must be!
THE ELDEST WIFE
He is wonderful. Only sometimes we wish his
heart would harden a little to the distress of
others that he might take more thought for his
own affairs.
ALI {taking the cup from the Youngest Wife)
Oh, he's your brother?
THE YOUNGEST WIFE
Dear husband, do not call him my brother again.
Let him tell you for what he was beaten. {She
rejoins the Eldest Wife.)
ALI {lifts Hazan and gives him a drink.)
275
PEARL OF DAWN
KAZAN (riot fully conscious)
You may kill me if you like. It is the will of
Allah.
A LI
Why should I kill you, brother.?
KAZAN
Ah, it is you, Ali. Where have you brought me ?
A LI
To my house.
KAZAN
No, no! You must not. {Attempting to rise?)
My own sister, your youngest wife, would have
me driven out.
ALI
What have you done, brother?
KAZAN
I was found — in the harem of my neighbor.
ALI
With his — wives?
KAZAN
His favorite.
A. LI
Alas, brother, why did you do this ?
KAZAN
Ali, you are too good; you do not know sin.
ALI
Do I not? Have I not eyes, brother?
KAZAN .
I do not know, myself, why I sinned.
ALI
That is sin, indeed.
KAZAN
Yes, I have sinned and I have been caught,
wounded with swords and beaten with whips.
276
PEARL OF DAWN
Then, when the breath came back into my
body they stood before me with her — my be-
loved— and struck off her head before me so
that I was blinded with her blood. Oh Allah!
Allah! {He weeps,)
ALI
Shall I not arm you against them that did this?
KAZAN {regaining some of his self-control)
No, dear brother; it was done by decree of the
Caliph, Haroun al Raschid the Good.
ALI
Alas, then your case is hopeless.
HAZAN {struggling up on one elbow^ his eyes bright
with fever)
No, it is not.
ALI
Indeed, I can see no hope for you.
HAZAN
Allah is merciful. I have learned it here in your
shop. That is why he would not answer my
prayers for death. That is why I shall leave
your house at once with my wounds healed.
{He struggles to his feet ^
ALI
A miracle?
KAZAN
The miraculous mercy of Allah ! Listen, brother
— neither the sharp edges of the swords nor the
blows of whips have robbed me of my golden
hour. You say to yourself ''but one hour?"
Why, it might have been but a minute. It is
written in the book of man's life that such things
shall not last long; we should then lose our inter-
est in heaven. And look —
277
PEARL OF DAWN
ALI
Where, brother?
HAZAN
Just before me.
ALI
I see nothing.
HAZAN
Ah, you cannot see her, but I do, and I shall
never lose sight of her image while I live. I
shall go to the desert, where my disgrace will
not be known, and her ghost will lead the way
and comfort me. Allah is merciful!
ALI
No! Do not go!
THE YOUNGEST WIFE (hus come dowTi to them with a
bag and a large cloak)
Dear husband, I bring a cloak and food for this
unfortunate man. You, dear husband, are Ali
the merchant, and have a duty to your cus-
tomers. Let the unfortunate man, who was my
brother before his sin, go his way lest your cus-
tomers think evil of Ali the good.
ALI
No, no!
HAZAN
The Youngest Wife is right, O Ali the good! Let
me go my way in peace. {He puts on the cloak^
takes the bag and starts for the door.)
HAROUN AND HIS VIZIER {enter the shop, coming
down toward Ali.)
HAZAN {turning in the doorway)
The blessings of Allah on this household! {Then
to the moonlight outside.) Lead on! {He leaves
the shop.)
278
PEARL OF DAWN
HAROUN
To whom did he speak the last words?
ALI
To a ghost. The unfortunate man has sinned
and suffered.
HAROUN
Too bad, too bad!
ALI
Isn't it, now?
HAROUN
Don't you think the Caliph was too cruel?
ALI
Yes, of course. He has to be. People expect it
of a man in his position. ... I suppose that,
personally, he is as merciful a man as any of us.
VIZIER
I am sure the Caliph would like to hear himself
so well commended.
HAROUN
You are the merchant, Ali the good?
ALI {simply)
I am the merchant, Ali.
THE FAVORITE
I have been shopping in the bazaar all after-
noon, and I am very tired. I must rest.
ALI
Conduct the lady to a place of rest.
THE ELDEST WIFE {kuds the Favovite to the curtained
divan ^
ALI (to the Youngest Wife)
Show her silks. Do not lose the sale. Is coffee
ready ?
279
PEARL OF DAWN
THE YOUNGEST WIFE
All ready to be poured. That Egyptian fabric
— I cannot find it. "
THE ELDEST WIFE {joiifs her tfi the search)
A LI {handing a cup of qofee to Haroun)
May I offer you gentlemen a cup of coffee, since
the Caliph has outlawed more stimulating hos-
pitality?
THE VIZIER
Do you mean to tell us that you have nothing
in your cellar?
A LI {giving him cofee)
I am unfortunate. My house was built without
a cellar.
THE VIZIER
Then you are, perforce, Ali the good.
A LI {absently filling a third cup)
So I am called.
THE FAVORITE {who has rcmoved her cloak and veil)
Do I smell coffee?
THE WIVES {busy with their search, do not hear her.)
ALI {comes down to her with the third cup.)
THE FAVORITE {snatchcs up her veil with a little
s tarty then, lowering it with a smile , takes the
cofieCy which she sips)
How nice of you !
ALI {devouring her with his eyes)
I am richly rewarded. O, how unfortunate are
the blind!
HAROUN {signals to the Chief Eunuchy who tiptoes
stealthily toward AH.)
THE FAVORITE
Tell me more.
280
PEARL OF DAWN
A LI
Pearl of Dawn !
THE FAVORITE
But this is evening.
ALI
A night of miracles ! Oh, that I —
THE FAVORITE
Be careful. We are watched. {She raises her
veil circumspectly,) Has your shop ever been
robbed?)
ALI
No, lady. My besetting vice is covetousness.
I wish for what is my neighbor's. I dream of a
jewel in a prince's turban.
THE FAVORITE
Such wishes sometimes come true. You should
find ways.
THE WIVES {come down with a piece of white silk.)
THE FAVORITE
No, I want color. Show me all you have. {She
goes up with them to the other side of the shop,)
THE NUBIAN {stunds regarding Aliy darkly,)
ALI {gazes y rapt, at the cushions where the Favorite
rested. He becomes conscious of the Nubian,
turns and smiles at him)
Your master's lady is safe within my shop, good
swordsman. {He rejoins the Caliph and the
Vizier?)
HAROUN {picking up the goods originally offered to
the Favorite)
This piece of silk. Is it good?
ALI
Gentlemen, no. That silk is of domestic make.
THE ELDEST WIFE {signals frantically to AH,)
281
PEARL OF DAWN
A LI {disregarding her)
It will turn yellow in a short time and the fabric
will split.
VIZIER
Why, then, is it for sale in the shop of Ali the
good?
ALI
Because it is cheap. The price is but ten pieces
of silver. If you want silks for your turbans,
buy this. If you do not find it good you may
have, for the asking, another fabric or your
money again.
THE FAVORITE
I will buy some new veils. And, mind you, do
not try to cheat me again. This is the shop of
Ali the good.
THE WIVES {all talking at once)
We would not think of cheating you.
Our husband knows the stock.
We made a mistake.
It takes an expert to tell the goods apart.
{Grouped about the Favorite^ they remove her outer
cloak. One holds a mirror for her^ the other a box
of veils ^ which she tries on ^frequently allowing her
face to be seen by Ali.)
HAROUN
Ali, you are a righteous man. Yet I have seen
that you have compassion for the sinner. Can
you not tell us why one man is righteous and an-
other wicked?
ALI {attempting to give his attention to the question,
but letting his eyes stray frequently to the Favorite)
No two men sin for the same reason. Some sin
because they are stupid, which is a sin of itself.
282
PEARL OF DAWN
Others sin because they live many years behind,
or ahead, of the age in which they are born.
Still others sin because all their lives they have
cherished a dream, perhaps not a good dream,
but the dream of their lives. When the chance
comes for the dream to come true they do not
stop to consider the consequences to the others,
nor even to themselves. Sin has intrigued the
philosophers of every age and nation. As for
myself, I know that I might sin, and in this wise.
Suppose two robbers met upon the street in
Bagdad — {As he talks the lights Jade out.)
The scene changes,
SCENE three: a Street.
A ROBBER CAPTAIN AND HIS LIEUTENANT {enter
from opposite directions — both carry lanterns.)
CAPTAIN
Well, how many purses?
LIEUTENANT
None, yet, but I have news. Haroun al Raschid
the Good is in the shop of the merchant Ali,
also called "the good."
CAPTAIN
"The good" — to be cursed with a title like that!
Was the Caliph spending freely there?
LIEUTENANT
He will, no fear. Ali is a shrewd merchant.
CAPTAIN
The more he spends, the more for us to take.
But he doesn't spend fast enough. I wish I had
force enough to swoop down on his treasury.
283
PEARL OF DAWN
LIEUTENANT
It is well guarded.
CAPTAIN
Well guarded — yes, so is he. And well he need
be, for banishing wine from Bagdad. My
throat*s dusty as a carpet in the bazaar. Who
are these?
LIEUTENANT
The Caliph, his Vizier, and his Favorite. Hide
quickly, the patrol will follow them. {They hide
at the end of the street.)
THE NUBIAN {enters and passes along the street y fol-
lowed by the Favorite^ carried in a tiny palanquin^
with a lantern in its canopy^
THE CALIPH AND HIS VIZIER {follow a few paces be-
hind y also carrying lanterns^
THE VIZIER
You paid him too much for the silk.
HAROUN
I paid, not for the silk, but for the man. Such
honesty is priceless. Had I more of it in Bag-
dad, I might dispense with guards and patrols.
THE VIZIER
Until you get it, though — ah, here they come.
THE PATROL {cntcrs^ Standings ready to follow the
Caliph)
HAROUN
Do you think he knew me for the Caliph ?
THE VIZIER
Of course he did. I have told you a thousand
times that your incognito deceives no one but
yourself. {They disappear ^ followed by the
patrol)
284
PEARL OF DAWN
THE ROBBER CAPTAIN (comes outy With his Lieu-
tenant^ Jvom their hiding-place)
There goes the robber of wine. . . . Our way is
clear. Call the men. We'll fall upon the Ali
the moment his harem is alseep — be careful not
to wake the women — they're worse than any
dog — a bone will not silence them.
The lights fade out as they leave
SCENE four: The Shop — The lights are dim.
ALI {is discovered^ standing beside the curtained
divan^ lost in thought, alone.)
THE WIVES {from another room)
Good-night, good-night!
ALI
Good-night! {He draws the curtain across the
doorway to the street and comes down to the spot
where the Favorite tried on the veils. He finds on
the floor the veil which she wore, which he takes to
the chest in the center of the room, upon which he
sits with the veil at his lips, and is presently lost
in dreams.)
{A naked arm appears at the curtain to the street
and pulls it aside a little.)
THE ROBBER CAPTAIN AND THE LIEUTENANT {stCal
into the room. They have left their cloaks outside
and their knives gleam wickedly in the dim light.
They waken AH, presenting their knives to his ribs
to prevent outcry.)
ALI
Mercy!
285
PEARL OF DAWN
THE CAPTAIN
Tell US where your treasure is hid and no harm
shall come to you.
ALI
In the box I sit on.
THE ROBBERS {dump Mm unceremoniously of the
chest and open it.)
THE CAPTAIN {lifting a bottle)
By the beard of the Prophet, wine !
ALI
Even so.
THE CAPTAIN
Sly dog! Ali the good! Why, he has twenty
varieties of bottled drunkenness !
LIEUTENANT
But how if it be poisoned?
THE CAPTAIN
In these days of forbidden wine, make the giver
drink with you. Come, merchant. (He fills a
cup,)
ALI
As I put by the wine, myself— may we all live
to be extremely wicked ! {He drinks.)
LIEUTENANT
The man is moonstruck!
CAPTAIN {chuckling)
Ali the good, extremely wicked? {He drinks —
wine dribbles down his chin.)
ALI {mopping it up with a napkin from the chest)
Don't waste it, good Captain. There isn't much
left.
CAPTAIN
Enough for the evening, good merchant. {Pours
himself another drink.)
286
PEARL OF DAWN
ALI
And after that?
CAPTAIN
After that, who cares? {He drinks.)
ALI
Could I but catch that thought! {He drops the
Favorite* s veil.)
LIEUTENANT {snotches it up with a ribald exclama •
tion^
ALI
Give it me!
CAPTAIN
I told you he was a sly dog! Ali the good, a ha-
rem robber, a beauty snatcher! Ah, old fox!
LIEUTENANT
Let it be, merchant, or I'll give you the knife in-
stead. {He thrusts at Ali.)
ALI {with a wrestler s tricky throws him on the floor.
He retrieves the veil as the man sprawls.)
CAPTAIN
Serves you right. Shouldn't interfere with an-
other man's souvenirs. What's she like, mer-
chant?
ALI
She is the Pearl of Dawn!
CAPTAIN
Marvelously accurate description ! Identify her
immediately. Where's she live?
ALI
That is my secret.
CAPTAIN
Must find this out. {He places the point of his
knife between Alts ribs.)
LIEUTENANT {does the same on the other side.)
w 287
PEARL OF DAWN
ALI
It is the will of Allah. I will tell ... All my
life I have been seeking for naughtiness.
CAPTAIN
Ali the good! {He laughs boisterously,)
ALI
That name was not of my own seeking. I own
the largest library of forbidden books in Bagdad.
CAPTAIN
Some day when I am sober
ALT
If you are ever sober you may look at them. I
assure you they have been a great disappoint-
ment. None of them really come up to their
reputations.
CAPTAIN
But the censors
ALI
The censors wouldn't know real naughtiness if
they met it. And I have wasted my substance
to see all tne dancers and nautch girls of Turkey
and Egypt.
THE CAPTAIN {vubbing his hands)
Ah, an epicure!
ALI
Very, very stupid and not at all naughty. Dis-
appointments, every one. So I have thought
a great deal about naughtiness, and Allah has
given me the key to the riddle.
THE CAPTAIN
Well?
ALI
Naughtiness is like the kingdom of Heaven.
It lies within you. I have tended the naughti-
288
PEARL OF DAWN
ness in my heart like a poppy garden until to-
day—
THE CAPTAIN
To-day you*re a bolder fellow than I am, you
were going to say.
LIEUTENANT
Captain, he's tricked you. He's led you away
from the secret.
CAPTAIN {his knife at Alts ribs)
Quickly — where does she live?
A LI
It is the will of Allah. She lives in the palace of
the Caliph.
CAPTAIN
Ah, the sly dog! No wonder he is vain!
A LI
The Pearl of Dawn!
CAPTAIN {after emptying his cup)
What would you give to hold the Pearl of
Dawn — to have her, perhaps.
ALI
Anything!
CAPTAIN
Now, perhaps, it might be managed if you —
No, no; it won't do. {He finishes another cup.)
ALI
Try me.
CAPTAIN
You are determined? Listen, then. About the
Caliph's house there is one place where the wall
may be reached from a neighboring roof. Once
inside, the harem is but one door away. The
treasury — but that is my affair. You have the
289
PEARL OF DAWN
courage to climb that wall upon the shoulders
of my men and let a rope down after you ?
A LI
Command me!
CAPTAIN
Come, then!
ALI
A moment only. A letter for my wives, lest they
grieve too loudly for my absence.
CAPTAIN {looking over Alts shoulder as he writes)
"Am held captive by robbers. Give no alarm,
but send two thousand sequins at once to the
old gate of the city.'' Ah, sly dog! Lead on,
O Prince of Evil! {The three men go out into the
street after putting out the light,)
women's voices {rise in the next room from a mur-
mur to an argument^
THE youngest WIFE {coming from behind the cur-
tains in her nightdress^ with a lantern)
But I'm sure I heard voices. {She goes to the
divany and^ finding it empty, begins to search the
room.) Husband is not here! The chest is
open! A letter! {She reads it and screams,)
THE OTHER WIVES {run in; they all talk at once)
Let me see it! How can I when you — But I
don't understand. It can't be true.
But think — robbers in here and gone without
noise. I knew there was something wrong. You
told me to be quiet. What shall we do ? Ali says
to give no alarm. But they may murder him.
Two thousand sequins! Let's call the patrol!
Allah be merciful! Help! Robbers! Thieves!
290
PEARL OF DAWN
{Their chatter rises to a shriek^ and the Youngest
Wife goes tearing out into the street^ followed by
the others^ all screaming.)
The lights fade out. The scene change ^^
SCENE five: a Street.
A patrol passes. The Captain^ Aliy the Lieu-
tenant^ and sundry robbers enter warily y watching
the patrol.
CAPTAIN {stopping in a peevish, alcoholic reaction)
I don't like it. Something will go wrong, I know.
Bagdad is alive with patrols. Tomorrow
night —
A LI {with bravado — also slightly alcoholic)
Tomorrow — why, tomorrow I may be
Myself with ten thousand yesterdays.
CAPTAIN
Stop quoting that damned Persian! His verses
are full of wine, and they make me thirsty.
{Struck by a happier thought.) Let's go back
and have another drink!
ALi {not budging, but pointing ahead)
Have you forgotten the Caliph's treasury?
Haroun al Raschid may feel generous in the
morning and give half of it away to somebody.
Think of taking, in one night, all the gold your
men could carry!
CAPTAIN
Being wicked in large doses, aren't you?
ALI
I have been good for a long, long time.
LIEUTENANT {starting sharply)
What's that—
291
PEARL OF DAWN
A LI {laughing)
Your shadow on the wall. What a bold company
I have joined!
CAPTAIN {roaring)
Coward! Learn courage from this brave mer-
chant, Ali the good! Let all brave men follow
me. {He struts of.)
ALI
I follow
{The party goes out — A patrol passes. From
one side comes a murmur which swells in volume
to the shrieks of Alts wives ^ who now appear in
their night robes ^
THE WIVES {all at once)
Help, help, help! Thieves, thieves. Watch ho!
Watch ho!
Thieves! Thieves! Watch ho! Watch ho!
Help! Help!
Watch ho! Watch ho! Help! Help! Help!
Thieves !
THE PATROL {rctums on the run,)
THE WIVES {loudly and all at once)
Ali the merchant has been stolen by robbers
while we slept, etc.
Robbers have kidnapped Ali the good for ran-
som, etc.
My husband is in the hands of robbers! He left
this note, etc.
ONE OF THE PATROL {bawHng)
One at a time — one at a time!
THE WIVES {all at once^ though less stridently)
While we slept, robbers broke into our house.
They broke into my husband's chest and stole.
292
PEARL OF DAWN
Not content with that they have taken him for
ransom, forcing him to leave this note here.
What shall we do?
You must help us to find our husband, etc.
How can you stand here and do nothing?
Don't you understand that robbers have entered
our house and stolen and taken away our hus-
band?
If we do not pay the ransom they will kill him;
and we can't pay it because all our money is
stolen, etc.
I shall die if you don't save him. Scour the
streets! Go at once! Spread the alarm! He is
our husband. If he dies our hearts perish also!
Draw your swords !
Read the letter!
Save him from the robbers!
THE PATROL {puts tts hands to its ears.)
The lights fade out. The gabble subsides to a
murmur^ but does not stop^ swelling again as the
lights come up on the next scene.
SCENE six: The Favorite's Chamber.
On the rights a draped bed. Cushions at intervals
on the floor. Several colored lamps hang from the
ceiling. As the lights come up the noise turns out
to be the chatter of three houri seated in the center
of the room,
THREE HOURi {all three at once)
First: I don't see why on earth she paid fifty
sequins for that veil. I wouldn't trade at that
shop anyway. They're cheats. She doesn't use
293
PEARL OF DAWN
any judgment at all in her shopping. That's
why her clothes never look like anything.
Second: Did you smell the perfumery she
bought? When the Caliph smells it, someone
else will be the favorite until his nose gets well.
I don't know how she gets away with it — a per-
son with no more taste than that. Some women
have all the luck.
Third: Then the Persian said to me, "Why are
you content to be a maid for the Favorite? You
should be favorite yourself. Run away with
me and I will make you favorite over forty
wives. The idea! I gave him one look and I
told him—"
CHIEF EUNUCH (appearing in the doorway)
Silence. (The chatter ceases abruptly?) The hus-
band comes!
THE HOURi (prostrate themselves on the floor ^
HAROUN AL RASCHiD (enters, followcd by the Vizier)
That will do, girls. Get up. Take them away.
Captain.
THEHOURi (go out, salammingy followed by the Chief
Eunuch.)
HAROUN (sighing as he sits on a cushion)
They're always underfoot.
VIZIER
Shall I have a hundred of them beheaded ?
HAROUN
No, the executioner already complains of over-
work.
VIZIER
I might give them away to the Bashaw.
HAROUN
No. No other potentate has my serene patience.
294
PEARL OF DAWN
I must endure them. It is the will of Allah!
{He looks toward the canopy,)
VIZIER {claps his hands,)
HAROUN
She sleeps.
VIZIER {chuckles audibly)
HAROUN
You do not trust her.
VIZIER
I trust her to make an effective entrance always.
HAROUN
She sleeps. I will waken her. {He strikes a bell,)
VIZIER
Two more.
HAROUN {strikes the bell again twice. On the third
stroke the curtains of the bed part^ disclosing the
Favorite^ becomingly costumed and well-lighted by
a lamp within the canopy.)
THE FAVORITE {afccts to rub her eyeSy then^ seeing
Haroun^ sinks gracefully to the floor and kisses
his slipper^
HAROUN {to the Vizier)
Well?
VIZIER
Perfect — I knew she would be.
HAROUN
Could you resist her?
VIZIER
In your place, I couldn't. In mine, I have to.
FAVORITE
That's the nicest thing he has said to me.
HAROUN
Doesn't he like you?
295
PEARL OF DAWN
FAVORITE
Ask him.
HAROUN
Well?
VIZIER
There is no lady in Turkey more delightful —
FAVORITE {squeals and claps her hands ^
VIZIER {finishing)
— To look at.
HAROUN {fondling the Favorite)
That's all you know about it.
THE CHIEF EUNUCH {enters ^ prostrates himself
before Haroun and hands him a parchment^ which
Haroun passes to the Vizier^ who reads it and rises.)
HAROUN
Well?
VIZIER
Robbers are at work in the city.
HAROUN {abruptly drops the Favorite sprawling
on the cushions^ and jumps up)
I thought I had rid Bagdad of those vermin!
Here is work for us. My chainmail and my
sword! {He rushes outy the other men following,)
FAVORITE {much injured y gets up and adjusts her
hair)
Allah make me faithful to such a husband! {She
shakes her heady then dismisses the matter from her
mind and disappears behind the bed curtains, A
garment or two is flung out onto the cushion^
{A rope drops from an unseen window in the top
of the corridor. Ali comes down the ropey looks
into the room and then around the turn. At his
signal y the Robber Captain also descends the rope.)
296
PEARL OF DAWN
THE CAPTAIN
You're as good as your word. Well, your treas-
ure is in here. {Indicating the room,) Til let my
men in by the door in the passage here. Allah
be with you! We all go out by this door. {He
disappears around the corner^
A LI {lifts the veil to his lips. As he lowers it ^ his eye
falls on the garments lying on the cushions. He
lifts these also to his lips and holds them there^
intoxicated^
THE CHIEF EUNUCH {tiptocs around the corridor^ a
bloody scimitar in his hands. Seeing Aliy he
comes behind him and lifts his weapon?)
THE FAVORITE {looks out from the canopy) .
Behind you!
ALi {turns and so does the Chief Eunuch. AH pulls
the Chief Eunuch' s feet from under him,)
THE FAVORITE {stUl Comparatively clothed y hands
AH scarves to bind the Chief Eunuch, When he
is neatly trussed upy she says)
I knew you'd come!
ALI
Pearl of Dawn ! {A great tumult is heard in the
corridor.)
THE FAVORITE
They are coming this way. Quickly, in the bed !
{They pick up the Chief Eunuch and hide him
under the canopy. The Favorite pushes AH in
after him and sits hastily.)
HAROUN {enters y brandishing a sword and driving a
robber before him^ who is fighting desperately for
his life. Haroun finishes him with a thrust ^ andy
kicking himy wipes his sword on his sash.)
297
PEARL OF DAWN
The devils are in the palace. Have they dis-
turbed you?
FAVORITE
I haven't heard a sound.
HAROUN
Guard! Guard!
A GUARD {runs in, panting)
HAROUN
Where are the rest?
GUARD
Fighting in the Treasury.
HAROUN
Remove this carrion ! {He storms out,)
GUARD {drags the corpse out by its feet,)
FAVORITE {looks around the corridor)
Now!
A LI {comes out from behind canopy)
Pearl of Dawn !
THE ROBBER CAPTAIN {darts infrom the corridor and
hides in the shadow at one side,)
THE FAVORITE {scrcaming, disappears under the
canopy^
A GUARD {dashes into the room,)
THE CAPTAIN {springing on him, stabs him in the
back and hides again as.)
TWO GUARDS {run in. Seeing AH, they attack him,)
TWO HOURi {run in, screaming, and seeing the melee
run out again,)
ALi {has picked up the sword of the robber whom
Haroun killed, and defends himself. He kills one
guard. The other guard disarms him. He springs
under the other guard's sword and they both go
down with a crash,)
298
PEARL OF DAWN
THE CAPTAIN {finishes the guard with his knije^ and
pulls him of Aliy whom he shakes)
Come quickly! I left the door open.
A LI {pulls himself up painfully on one elbow ^ much
the worse for his fall.)
THE CAPTAIN {pulls the Favorite from behind the
curtains and carries her of, struggling vigorously.)
A LI {staggers to his feet ^ looks under the canopy ^ and
steps over the dead bodies)
Must find her — must find — {He disappears in
the turn oj the corridor^
HAROUN {storms in y followed by the Vizier)
I thought we had killed all of them, and look
here! {He darts to the bed and parts the curtains.
The Chief Eunuch^ bound and gagged^ is sitting
on the edge of the bed. Haroun releases him.)
HAROUN
Where is she?
THE CHIEF EUNUCH {points to the corridor.)
THREE HOURi {run in screaming and throw them-
selves at Haroun' s feet.)
HAROUN
Out, out of my way! {He flings them off. He
tears outy followed by the Vizier and the Chief
Eunuch^
The lights fade out. The scene changes,
SCENE seven: a Street.
Enter the Robber Captain^ carrying the Favorite^
whom he sets unceremoniously on her feet,
THE CAPTAIN
Stand awhile! Oof! What does Haroun feed
his women to make them so heavy?
299
PEARL OF DAWN
THE FAVORITE
Nobody asked you to carry me.
THE CAPTAIN
Oh, ho! You would have walked it, eh?
THE FAVORITE
With the right man.
THE CAPTAIN
Tm the right man. Ali thinks he is, but I
brought you off and / keep you. What do you
say to that?
THE FAVORITE
If Ali lets you keep me, then you are the right
man.
THE CAPTAIN
What a mind you have ! I like you better all the
time.
THE FAVORITE
See, here comes Ali.
ALI (enters hurriedly)
The chase is close behind. We must hurry.
THE CAPTAIN
We must? Go on, no one will hinder vou!
ALI
Do you mean — then you don't —
THE CAPTAIN
You led me into a trap. My men are dead.
THE FAVORITE
He led you ?
THE CAPTAIN
To find you. The treasury was full of armed
men.
ALI
I could not know that. Do you forget that I,
too, have fought — I, too, have stolen ?
300
PEARL OF DAWN
THE CAPTAIN
Stolen what?
ALI
The Pearl of Dawn.
THE CAPTAIN
Ha! It was my arms that carried her. I shall
keep her myself. You — what does she want
with you, a merchant — a dreamer? I am a man
of action! She will come with me and of her
own accord.
ALI {to the Favorite)
Speak!
THE FAVORITE
I go with him who takes me.
ALI \stabs the Captain without warning and, strad-
dling his body, lifts the Favorite in his arms)
Pearl of Dawn !
THE FAVORITE
I knew you would! {The pursuit sounds close
at hand,)
ALI {hurries of with the Favorite?}
HAROUN AL RASCHiD {enters, running with drawn
sword, and with his retinue strung out behind him.
He comes upon the captain s body)
Lights! Lights here!
THE VIZIER {holding a lantern to the Captain's face)
It is the captain of the robbers. Now all of them
are dead.
HAROUN
What have they done with her? Where is she?
THE VIZIER
She has possibly hidden from them. Did you
search the palace?
301
PEARL OF DAWN
HAROUN
I tell you, she is stolen from me!
THE VIZIER
This man's alive yet. He's trying to speak.
HAROUN {leans close to listen^
THE CAPTAIlSr
Find — Ali — (summoning his strength for a final
sneer) the goodl (He dies,)
HAROUN
Ha!
He goes tearing of, followed by his retinue y
as the lights fade out,
SCENE EIGHT: The Shop.
ALI (enters, badly out of breath, carrying the Favorite,
whom he puts down as soon as they are inside^
THE FAVORITE (not altogether pleased)
Is this where you were taking me?
ALI
I know of no other place to go. I have thought
of — this sort of thing — before, but I never got
this far with it. (His hand on his stomach^ All
this murder has upset me a little.
THE FAVORITE
I thought you were a man! Now, what are we
to do?
ALI (sitting down on the chesty one hand on his
stomach, ready to weep)
Vm sure I don't know.
THE FAVORITE
Listen! {The pursuit is heard in the street out-
side,) The guards! They're coming here!
Save me!
302
PEARL OF DAWN
A LI (rising uncertainly and pointing to the divan)
Hide over there! \He staggers up to the doorway^
taking a sword from the chest.)
HAROUN AL RASCHiD {dashcs through the door^ his
sword whirling before him in vicious circles.)
A LI {defending himself as best he can^ backs down
into the middle of the room.)
THE VIZIER {following closely y strikes AWs sword
from his hand.)
ALi {recognizing his antagonist)
Mercy on a poor merchant, O Haroun al Rt .schid
the Good!
HAROUN
Where is she?
ALI
There, quite safe, and very angry.
THE FAVORITE {is Very angry y indeed y and beats the
pillows with her fists.)
HAROUN {steps down to look at her.)
THE NUBIAN {ckvates kis sword over the prostrate
merchant.)
THE VIZIER
Stop! Let the Caliph give the word for his
death!
ALI {weeping)
Sir, that was most unkind. I had already re-
signed myself to dying, and now I will have it
to do all over again.
HAROUN
Take him to the street. Let him first be
whipped with five hundred lashes. Then let
one hundred lashes be laid upon the soles of his
feet. After that, slit his tongue, cut off his hands
and feet. After that, drag him through the
20 303
PEARL OF DAWN
streets at the tail of a wild horse. When he
dies, cut his body in twelve pieces and feed it to
the lions.
THE VIZIER
Is that all?
HAROUN
No. Do all this in the streets of Bagdad at
dawn, and do not begin until I give the word.
A LI
It is the will of Allah! {He marches out, followed
closely by the Vizier, the Nubian , and the guards,)
HAROUN (turning on the Favorite)
You!
THE FAVORITE [yawning]
Why be angry with me? I've lost a whole
night's sleep on account of the filthy robbers.
Your house should be better guarded 1
HAROUN {partly mollified, but still suspicious)
You and this dog of a merchant!
THE FAVORITE
He is a disappointment, isn't he? See, it is al-
most day. Let us go and see him whipped.
{As she speaks, she takes him by the hand and goes
out talking to him.)
The lights fade out. The scene changes.
SCENE nine: a Street,
A LI {lies on the ground, with his hands bound behind
him. The Vizier stands watching him. The
Nubian stands ready with a whip,)
THE VIZIER
Are you sorry, merchant?
304
PEARL OF DAWN
ALI
I shall be able to answer that truthfully only
after I am dead.
THE VIZIER
That would be unusual.
ALI
Any truthful answer to that question would be
unusual, sir. When men are sorry they pretend
a defiance they do not feel and deny it. When
they are not sorry they pretend repentance in
the hope of getting off easier.
THE VIZIER
Can I do anything for you, merchant?
ALI
Yes. Persuade Haroun al Raschid, if you can,
to leave out that part of my punishment in
which the wild horse was mentioned. I shall
be as dead by that time as I am ever going to
be, and there is no need to annoy the poor horse
with my domestic shortcomings.
HAROUN {enters with the Favorite^ who has reached
the climax of a long and thrilling tale,)
THE FAVORITE
Then the robber captain carried me off, fighting
and struggling every step of the way. He must
have carried me a thousand cubits. Then we
heard steps behind us. The robber captain put
me down and turned. Ali the merchant came
running up with drawn sword. "Dog!" he
shouted in a voice of thunder, "you have stolen
the favorite of Haroun al Raschid the Good.
Release her or perish." Then they fought and
the merchant killed the robber captain. Then,
as he fell, we heard others running up the street.
305
PEARL OF DAWN
The merchant did not know whether they were
friends or enemies, so he carried me to his shop,
which was the nearest place of safety.
HAROUN {looking at AH doubtfully)
But why did he fight me?
THE FAVORITE
You came in with a rush, and he did not know
whether you were friend or foe.
HAROUN
Merchant, why didn't you tell me this?
A LI
How could I expect Haroun al Raschid the
Good to believe anything so improbable?
HAROUN
I don't see yet, though. (To the Vizier,) Do
you believe it?
THE VIZIER
I?
HAROUN
Why do I ask you? You never believe any-
thing! Merchant, what shall I believe?
ALI
Believe what you would like to. That is the
true secret of happiness.
HAROUN
Just one question — How came you with the
robbers ?
ALi's WIVES {come tearing in^ all talking at once^ at
the top of their voices. One of them holds the letter.)
THE VIZIER {shouting)
Silence!
HAROUN {reading the letter)
Held for ransom! Merchant, I have done you a
great injustice. Come to my house this after-
306
PEARL OF DAWN
noon, when I have had time for sleep, and you
shall be richly rewarded. Unbind him. (The
Vizier liberates AH.)
THE ELDEST WIFE
Then he is not to be whipped?
HAROUN
By no means. Go to your home. It is not
seemly for the wives of Ali the good to go out
on the streets unveiled and unclad.
THE WIVES {salaam and run outy very conscious of
their attire,)
THE FAVORITE {steps into her palanquin and is car^
ried of, followed by all of the retinue but the
Vizier^ who stands backy watching AH,)
HAROUN {walking beside the palanquin)
Try to get some sleep, merchant.
ALI {salaams, then rises quickly to watch the Favorite,)
THE VIZIER
I perceive that you are a man of some imagina-
tion.
ALI
That has always been my undoing. It is forever
leading me into trouble.
THE VIZIER
And what led you out of it this time?
ALI
I don't know — it sounds like a riddle.
THE VIZIER
It is a riddle, merchant. I leave it you to think
upon. The answer is: Your imagination led you
into trouble — and your innocence led you out.
{He leaves,)
ALI {looking after him)
Innocence ?
307
PEARL OF DAWN
A MUEZZIN {shrieks his call to the faithful from a
nearby tower.)
A LI {assumes the posture of a Mussulman at prayer)
Allah il Allah! Allah il Allah! Make me bad!
Make me bad!
The lights fade out. The scene changes,
SCENE ten: The Shop.
Exactly as at the close of Scene TwOy except that
the Nubian has fallen asleep, AWs voice is heard
before the lights come up.
A LI {concluding his tale)
Allah il Allah! Make me bad! And thus I
might pray until the last muezzin had called
the faithful from his tower and further sin might
follow unless —
THE NUBIAN {snoring)
Z — z — z — z ! !
THE VIZIER
He has no interest in sin.
HAROUN
Poor fellow, it is past his bedtime. {He rises
and throws a purse to AH.) Bring that piece of
silk tomorrow afternoon to my house. And
think of other sins you might commit, were you
not Ali the good.
A LI {rising and looking at the Favorite)
The thought shall not leave my mind.
THE VIZIER {giving Ali a purse)
And do not forget to bring something from your
library.
ALI
Gentlemen, your pardon. I must ask the way
to your house.
308
PEARL OF DAWN
HAROUN {delighted)
What, you do not recognize me? {To the Vizier.)
I told you; I told you. {To Ali with a flourish^
I am the Caliph Haroun al Raschid.
ALI AND HIS WIVES {salaaming)
Haroun al Raschid the Good!
HAROUN {in the doorway)
The blessings of Allah on this household. {The
party goes out,)
THE FAVORITE {last to kave)
And bring, yourself, the veils I have selected.
{Gives Ali a purse,)
ALI {salaaming)
Pearl of Dawn !
THE FAVORITE {rouses the Nubian with a kicky and
leaves,)
ALI {rises, jingling the purses)
A fine night's business! And more tomorrow!
He! He! He thought we didn't know him!
THE ELDEST WIFE {grimly)
Whom were you thinking of while you told that
story?
THE YOUNGEST WIFE
Just what I want to know!
ALI {slipping his arms about them and displaying
the purses)
Of new clothes for both of you, my loves. It is
written that the want of money is the root of all
evil.
CURTAIN
309
FINDERS-KEEPERS
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
by George Kelly
Finders-Keepers was presented at the Palace Theatrt,
New York City, on Monday, October 23, 1916,
with the following cast:
Eugene Aldrid Mr. George Kelly
Mrs. Aldrid, his wife Miss Anne Cleveland
Mrs. Hampton, a neighbor Miss Nora O'Connor
The action of the play takes place in the living-room of Eugene
Aldrid's home, which is located in an outlying suburb of the City
of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The time is about five o'clock of
a late-September afternoon. All curtains are of quiet cretonne,
and there are sheaves of autumn-leaves about. The garden,
through the window at the back,.is bright with scarlet sage.
NOTE. — The form of the present manuscript is exactly that in
which this play was presented continuously for a period of three years
in the principal Keith and Orpheum Theatres of The United States oj
America and The Dominion of Canada.— A vthok.
Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Application for permission to produce Finders- Keepers
must be made to the author, in care of the publishers,
Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.
FINDERS-KEEPERS
SCENE
After a second's stillness^ a door closes out at the
rights and immediately Mrs, Aldrid enters
through the archway^ carrying several parcels^
which she hastens to deposit on the center-table;
then she straightens up and draws a deep breath.
She is a trim blonde^ in her late twenties^ wearing
a tailored coat-suit of fawn-colored serge ^ a toque
of champagne silk^ and a waist of very pale pink
silk. Her slippers and stockings are of the lighter
shades of brown^ and she wears a quite long string
of freakish black-and-yellow beads. Before she has
had time to take the second breathy the bronze clock
on the mantelpiece, at the left, strikes five. She
glances at it,
MRS. ALDRID
Heavens! five o'clock! {She hurriedly removes
her coat and hat, lays them on the sofa in front of
the mantelpiece, and, with a glance at herself in the
mirror over the mantelpiece, vanishes through the
door at the left. Then there is a slight pause; and
Eugene Aldrid enters through the archway from
the right, carrying a roll of blue-prints in one hand,
and the evening paper in the other. He is a tall
and thin, very intelligent-looking man of perhaps
thirty-three, wearing a dark-blue, double-breasted
business suit, dark shoes, and a dark tie. He sets
the roll of blue-prints down on the center-table, and
FINDERS-KEEPERS
then Mrs, Aldrid speaks to him from the room out
at the left) Is that you. Gene ?
ALDRID {looking toward the left^ and then starting
over towards his desk at the right)
Yes.
MRS. ALDRID
You must have been right behind me.
ALDRID (laying the newspaper on his desk,)
Did you just get in.^^
MRS. ALDRID {coming into the. room from the left^
adjusting a bungalow apron)
This minute, — IVe been in town shopping; I
had no idea it was so late.
ALDRID {picking up a telegram from his desk, and
opening it)
It's after five.
MRS. ALDRID
I know it is; and there isn't a thing ready; you'll
have to wait a while for your dinner,
ALDRID {with an exaggerated sigh of resignation)
Ah — ho! {Reads the telegram,)
MRS. ALDRID
Did you come out on the four-fifty- three?
ALDRID {without looking up)
Yes; you weren't on it, were you?
MRS. ALDRID
No, I'd intended coming out on the train, but —
something happened that made me change my
mind.
ALDRID {looking straight aheady thinking; and tap-
ping the telegram, which he has finished reading,
against his hand)
Spaulding. {Turning suddenly to Mrs, Aldrid.)
What? Why — what happened?
314
FINDERS-KEEPERS
I
MRS. ALDRiD {assuming an air of great confidence)
Wait till I tell you! {She steps to the back of the
room and looks keenly out into the hallway ^ to as-
sure herself that no one is within hearing — then
comes down to the left of her husband^ who watches
her curiously.) You know, I went into town this
afternoon to get some Georgette Crepe for that
new blouse of mine.
ALDRID
Yes.
MRS. ALDRID
Well, — as I went into the Market Street en-
trance of Blum's — you know, there's a glove-
counter right inside the Market Street door.
{Aldrid nods.) Well, I went over to ask the
saleslady where I could get the Crepe; and, as
I leaned over to ask her, I stepped on some-
thing: it felt like a bracelet or something — rather
soft — and yet it was metallic.
ALDRID
Yes.
MRS. ALDRID
Well, I didn't pay any attention to it at first, —
I thought it might be a joke or something, —
you know, they're always doing that sort of
thing in those Department Stores.
ALDRID
Yes, I know.
MRS. ALDRID
But, as I started away from the counter, I just
glanced down at the floor; and, what do you
suppose it was ?
ALDRID
What?
3^S
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRID
A purse — one of those little gold, mesh purses.
ALDRID
Anything in it?
MRS. ALDRID
Well, now, wait till I tell you. I didn't open it
right away; I was afraid someone might be
looking; so I waited till I got up to the writing-
room before I opened it: and, what do you sup-
pose was in it?
ALDRID
What?
MRS. ALDRID
Four — hundred — dollars.
ALDRID {after a slight pause)
Four hundred dollars?
MRS. ALDRID
Hum — hum.
ALDRID {incredulously)
Where is it?
MRS. ALDRID
In my pocketbook.
ALDRID
Well, are you sure it's real money?
MRS. ALDRID
Of course it is; I'll show it to you in a minute.
You know, I could scarcely believe my eyes at
first; because, you know, I've never found any-
thing in all my life; and then to suddenly pick
up eight fifty-dollar bills. Positively, Gene, I
don't know how I ever got home.
ALDRID
Were they all fifties?
316
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRID
Hum-hum; and brand-new ones at that; they
look as though they'd just been taken out of a
bank.
ALDRID (turning suddenly and leaning on the chair
in front of his desky then looking at her)
Can you imagine losing that !
MRS. ALDRID
Losing it? Can you imagine finding it? I
thought I was seeing things. {She starts towards
the door at the left,)
ALDRID
Did you say anything about it?
MRS. ALDRID {stoppings and turning to him)
How do you mean?
ALDRID
At the "Lost and Found"?
MRS. ALDRID
No, of course I didn't; what do you think I am.
ALDRID
You might have gotten in touch with the owner.
MRS. ALDRID {smiling indulgently)
Positively, G^nt^ you talk like a boy from the
country.
ALDRID
Why so?
MRS. ALDRID {with a touch of impatience^ and com-
ing to the left of the center-table)
Because you do! Don't you know that if I were
to turn that amount of money into a "Lost and
Found" desk, Fd stand just about as much
chance of ever seeing it again as I would of see-
ing the North Pole?
317
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRID
Well, you wouldn't expect ever to see it again
if it were returned to the owner?
MRS. ALDRID
And, how would I know that it had been re-
turned to the owner?
ALDRID
Oh, everybody isn't dishonest! (Glances through
the telegram again.)
MRS. ALDRID
Well, you let people get their hands on four
hundred dollars — you'll find out how many of
them are honest! Turn that amount of money
over to one of those "Lost and Found" clerks —
he'd soon find an owner for it, believe me! {She
starts for the door at the left,)
ALDRID {crushing the telegram in his hand)
What are you going to do with it? {She stops
at the door and looks back at him. He gracefully
tosses the telegram overhand into the waste-paper
basket below his desk,)
MRS. ALDRID
Fm going to keep it!
ALDRID
Ho!
MRS. ALDRID {surpriscd that he should ask such a
question)
What do you suppose Fm going to do with it —
throw it away? It's as good in my pocket as it
is in anybody's else ! {He turns and looks at her
in a way that disconcerts her slightly^ but, as he
withdraws his eyes in turning to his desk, she re-
gains herself y and comes a step or two farther into
318
FINDERS-KEEPERS
the room,) I can get awnings for this whole
house for that — and a Victrola, too!
ALDRiD {coming over to the center-table for his blue-
prints^ after looking for them on his desk)
You'd better not count your chickens before
they're hatched.
MRS. ALDRID {after looking at him for a second)
What do you mean ?
ALDRID {picking up the roll of blue-prints from the
table ^ and speaking rather abstractedly)
Why, there'll very likely be an ad for it in one
of the morning papers.
MRS. ALDRID
Well, what if there is?
ALDRID {looking at the blue-prints)
Nothing, only you'd simply have to return it,
that's all.
MRS. ALDRID {after thinking for a second^ and with
an expression of sullen calculation)
I don't see why I should. {He raises his eyes
from the blue-prints and looks at her quizzically^
ALDRID
You don't see why you should return lost prop-
erty to the person who lost it?
MRS. ALDRID
That depends.
ALDRID {in a level tone)
Upon what?
MRS. ALDRID {looking Straight ahead)
Whether or not I was sure he'd lost it.
ALDRID
Couldn't you make sure?
MRS. ALDRID {after turning and looking at him)
How?
21 319 .
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRID
Identification.
MRS. ALDRID
Not in this case.
ALDRID
Why not?
MRS. ALDRID
Because there isn't a solitary thing about it,
Gene, by which it could possibly be identified:
not a card or a paper of any kind!
ALDRID
How about the purse?
MRS. ALDRID
There are a million exactly like it; a plain, gold,
mesh bag. {Indicating the desk at the right ^
IVe had one in that top drawer there for the
past year.
ALDRID
Couldn't the money be described?
MRS. ALDRID
That wouldn't be any identification.
ALDRID
Why not?
MRS. ALDRID
Why, because — money is simply money! — un-
less it's marked; and this isn't, because I've ex-
amined it very carefully.
ALDRID (resting one end of the roll of blue-prints on
the table, and leaning his elbow on the other end)
So you don't see any possible way by which
this money could be returned to its owner?
MRS. ALDRID
Not unless I took his word for it; {turning and
320
FINDERS-KEEPERS
looking at him) and, really, I don't see why I
should do that.
ALDRiD (evenly)
What are you trying to do, make yourself be-
lieve it belongs to you?
MRS. ALDRID {tuming her head uwaj)
I found it.
ALDRID
And somebody else lost it.
MRS. ALDRID
I suppose so.
ALDRID
Possibly some poor man or woman.
MRS. ALDRID (with a little toss of her head)
Now, don't get sentimental, please!
ALDRID {with a touch of impatience^ and taking a
couple of steps in front of the table towards her)
That isn't sentiment at all!
MRS. ALDRID (tuming to him sharply^ and speaking
incisively)
No very poor man or woman has any eight
fifty-dollar bills to lose. (She turns away^ and
secures a hairpin at the back of her head: he looks
at her steadily^ And no matter who lost it, it'll
be a very good lesson to him to be a little more
careful in the future.
ALDRID
I see. Well, why should he pay you four hun-
dred dollars for that lesson ?
MRS. ALDRID
Nobody's paying me any four hundred dollars.
ALDRID
You've often lost things yourself, haven't you?
321
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRiD {tumtng to him quickly)
Yes, and I never got them back, either!
ALDRID
Whose fault was that ?
MRS. ALDRID (tuming away again)
I don't know whose fault it was.
ALDRID
Well, try and think.
MRS. ALDRID
Unless the people who found them weren't hon-
est enough to return them. (The door out at the
right closes.) Who's that? {She starts for the
archway at the right, tossing her apron onto the
sofa as she goes.)
ALDRID {turning and crossing to his desk)
Somebody at the door.
MRS. ALDRID {in a lowered tone)
Don't say anything about this. {She reaches the
archway.) Oh, it's you, Mrs. Hampton! {Al-
drid half glances towards the archway , then picks
up the evening paper and flips it open.)
MRS. HAMPTON {in the hallway)
Yes, it's me.
MRS. ALDRID {rather effusively)
Come right in ! {She extends her arm and hand,
and leads Mrs. Hampton into the room. Mrs.
Hampton is a dark woman, with a pale but lovely
face, and a certain Madonna quality about her
generally. She is of the same build as Mrs. Al-
drid, and, apparently, of the same age. She wears
a coat-suit of good black, a white-silk waist, with
a little string of purple beads at her throat, and a
medium-sized hat of very dark, purple-colored
322
FINDERS-KEEPERS
straw, trimmed with an ornament of itself. Her
slippers and stockings ^re black,)
MRS. HAMPTON
Good-evening.
MRS. ALDRID
Good-evening, dear, how are you?
ALDRID
Good-evening, Mrs. Hampton.
MRS. HAMPTON
Oh, good-evening, Mr. Aldrid, I didn*t see you.
I hope you'll both excuse me for coming in with-
out ringing.
ALDRID {tossing his paper onto the desk)
Don't mention it.
MRS. ALDRID {standing back of the center-table)
Saved me the trouble of answering the door;
it's the girl's day out.
MRS. HAMPTON
Well, I do hope I haven't intruded.
MRS. ALDRID
You haven't at all, dear, really; I've just gotten
in from town.
MRS. HAMPTON
I've been in the city, too; I came out on the
four-fifty- three.
ALDRID {placing a chair, which he has taken from
above his desk, about mid-way between the center-
table and the archway)
Won't you take a chair, Mrs. Hampton?
MRS. HAMPTON
No, thank you, Mr. Aldrid, I can't stay a mo-
ment.
323
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRID
Vm sorry. (He moves down to his desk again and
picks up the paper.)
MRS. ALDRID
Why not?
MRS. HAMPTON {obviouslj troubled about something)
Oh, I'm too upset.
MRS. ALDRID
Are you ill, dear?
MRS. HAMPTON
No, — but — rd like to ask your advice about
something.
MRS. ALDRID
Well, do sit down for a minute. {Mrs. Hampton
hesitateSy then sits, Mrs. Aldrid takes a chair
from the back, and, placing it above the center-
table and slightly to the left of it, sits also. Aldrid
stands at the lower corner of his desk, reading the
paper. There is a slight paused What is it?
MRS. HAMPTON {speaking directly to Mrs. Aldrid)
IVe lost some money. {Aldrid lifts his eyes over
the top of his paper and looks straight out; Mrs.
Aldrid looks straight into Mrs. Hampton^ s eyes
for a second, then rises quietly, still holding her
eyes, and moves to the center-table^
MRS. ALDRID
Much?
MRS. HAMPTON
Quite a bit, yes.
ALDRID {without turning)
Where did you lose it, Mrs. Hampton?
MRS. HAMPTON {tuming to him)
I haven't an idea; {Mrs. Aldrid has been looking
intently at her, but, at this, she shifts her eyes to
324
FINDERS-KEEPERS
Aldrid, with a shade of relief^ but I think it was
in town. {Aldrid turns and glances at his wife^
but she shifts her eyes back again to Mrs, Hamp-
ton.)
ALDRID
How much was it?
MRS. HAMPTON
Why —
MRS. ALDRID {quickly)
I suppose you don't know the exact amount, do
you, dear.^
MRS. HAMPTON (tuming to her)
Four hundred dollars. (Aldrid looks at his wife,
but she's looking blankly at Mrs. Hampton.)
Isn't that dreadful! Of course, I know it would
only be an item to some people, — but, to me!
I feel terrible about it! {She breaks down and
cries. Aldrid turns and looks at her; then^ tossing
his paper onto the desk, and thrusting his hands
into his trousers-pockets , he turns and strolls
towards the back of the room, looking significantly
at his wife.)
MRS. ALDRID {advancing and placing her hands on
Mrs, Hampton s arms)
Now, don't cry, Mrs. Hampton, it isn't that
bad.
MRS. HAMPTON
Oh, I think it's dreadful to lose all that money!
MRS. ALDRID
I know it is, dear; I don't wonder you feel bad.
MRS. HAMPTON
Eight fifty-dollar bills! {Mrs. Aldrid is frozen
into stillness. Aldrid steps forward eagerly from
the archway, where he has been standing.)
325
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRID
Eight fifties?
MRS. HAMPTON
Yes.
ALDRID {straightening up^ and looking at his wife
with an ingenuous smile)
Eight fifties.
MRS. HAMPTON
And brand-new ones, too! It's awful! {She be-
gins crying again?)
ALDRID {to his wife^ voicelessly, and indicating Mrs,
Hampton with a nod)
Why don't you tell her.? {Mrs, Aldrid lifts her
chin and looks at him icily; whereupon he indicates
Mrs. Hampton again, with an austere point of his
finger,)
MRS. ALDRID {choosing the better part of valor, and
leaning over the back of Mrs. Hampton's chair)
Come now, Mrs. Hampton, you may not have
lost it at all ! {Aldrid, who has been watching his
wife narrowly, breaks slowly, and goes to his desk,
where he espies a large scribbled note fastened to
the desk-light, to attract his attention. Detaching
this, he sits on the lower corner of his desk and
reads it,)
MRS. HAMPTON {tearfully)
Oh, but I have, Mrs. Aldrid!
MRS. ALDRID
I know, my dear, but, you know, sometimes we
think weVe lost a thing, and we find out later
that we haven't lost it at all.
MRS. HAMPTON
But, IVe looked everywhere, and it's lost, I tell
you!
326
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRID
But, you may find it again, honey.
MRS. HAMPTON
Oh, I don't think so!
MRS. ALDRID
Or someone else may find it.
MRS. HAMPTON
But, that wouldn't do me any good.
MRS. ALDRID
It would if the person who found it were honest.
MRS. HAMPTON
Vm afraid very few people are honest, if it cost
them four hundred dollars. {Aldrid finishes
reading the note^ and sits looking out^ thinking^
MRS. ALDRID
Well, now, it may be one of those very few who
has found it.
MRS. HAMPTON
I don't expect ever to get it again.
ALDRID
Nonsense, Mrs. Hampton!
MRS. HAMPTON
I don't.
ALDRID
Nonsense! Now, you wait and see. {There is
a pause: Mrs. Hampton touches her handkerchief
to her eyes.)
MRS. ALDRID {looking away of)
Of course, you'll have to advertise. {There is a
second before Aldrid grasps what she has said; then
he turns his head sharply and looks at her; but she
is still looking away of.)
MRS. HAMPTON
Yes, that's what I wanted to see Mr. Aldrid
327
FINDERS-KEEPERS
about; {She turns to him,) which would be the
best paper for me to advertise in. {He sits look-
ing at his wife until she turns and meets his eyes:
then he abstractedly extends his arm and hand in a
gesture of interrogation^ to which she responds by
a sudden and taut pressing of her closed hand
against her breast. He rises^ to divert the atten-
tion of Mrs, Hampton^ and, after leaning for a
second upon the back of his desk-chair^ starts
slowly across the room in front of the center-table.
As he passes Mrs, Hampton ^ she rises also,)
Now, don't let me worry you, Mr. Aldnd!
ALDRiD {abstractedly)
No, no, it isn't that — I was just — wondering —
MRS. HAMPTON {tuming to Mrs, Aldrid)
If Ed thought it would bother you folks, I
shouldn't have told you at all.
MRS. ALDRID
That's perfectly all right, dear.
MRS. HAMPTON
But I was so troubled when I got home, I simply
couldn't stay in the house! I just had to come
out and tell someone! And, my dear, I don't
know how I'm ever going to tell Frank when he
comes home tonight; because he said to me this
morning, when I told him I was going to town —
he said, "Can I trust you to deposit this money
for me?" And I said, "What do you think I am,
a thief?" "Well," he said, "you're always
losing things!" "Well," I said, "there's no
danger of my losing four hundred dollars."
"Well," he said, "I hope not, or we'll get a
guardian for you!" {Starting to cry again.)
And then I go straight into the city and lose it!
328
FINDERS-KEEPERS
{She cries a little^ Mrs. Aldrid stands watching
her; and Aldrid ^ who is leaning on his elbow on
the mantelpiece^ over at the left^ watches Mrs, Al-
drid.) And, mind you, to make sure that noth-
ing would happen to it, I didn't even put it with
my other money!
MRS. ALDRID {eagerly y but without moving)
Where did you put it ?
MRS. HAMPTON
In one of those little, gold, mesh purses. {Al-
drid accidentally tears the note-paper which he
still has in his hand.)
ALDRID
Mrs. Hampton!
MRS. HAMPTON
Yes?
ALDRID
Where did you first miss this money?
MRS. HAMPTON
When I was going up the steps into the bank.
ALDRID
Which bank?
MRS. HAMPTON
The Franklin National.
MRS. ALDRID
Whereas that?
ALDRID
Broad and Chestnut. Where had you been be-
fore that?
MRS. HAMPTON
Why, when I came out of the station, — after
I got off the train, —
ALDRID
Yes?
329
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. HAMPTON
I went over to Wanamaker's — to get some
gloves. {Aldrid looks at her keenly^
MRS. ALDRID
Wanamaker's?
MRS. HAMPTON {turning to her)
Yes. {Mrs. Aldrid gives a significant look at
Aldrid^ but he is looking at Mrs, Hampton.)
But they didn't have my size in what I wanted
at Wanamaker's, so I crossed over to Blum's.
ALDRID {quietly)
Blum's glove-counter?
MRS. HAMPTON
Yes. {Aldrid glances at his wife^ but she is
coughing into her handkerchief. He moves rather
thoughtfully to the left of the center-table^ andy
picking up a book^ stands it on its end on the
table and leans upon it. Mrs. Hampton is stand-
ing on the opposite side of the table ^ and Mrs. Al-
drid has moved quietly down to a point in front of
Aldrid' s desk?)
ALDRID
You hadn't missed this money up to that time?
MRS. HAMPTON
No, and I'm quite sure I had it up to that time;
because I hadn't opened my pocketbook from
the time I left the house; and the money was in
the big pocketbook.
ALDRID
I see; and you went directly from there to the
bank?
MRS. HAMPTON
Yes, directly.
330
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRID
Then you think it was somewhere between
Blum's glove-counter and the bank steps that
you lost it?
MRS. HAMPTON
It must have been: I imagine I must have
pulled it out without knowing it, when I was
paying for the gloves at Blum's.
ALDRID
Very likely.
MRS. HAMPTON
Or else, possibly, someone opened my pocket-
book and took out the little purse {turning to
Mrs. Aldrid) when I wasn't looking. {She be-
gins to cry again y as she turns back to Mr. Aldrid.)
You know they do that, Mr. Aldrid.
ALDRID {abstractedly)
Yes, I know they do.
MRS. ALDRID {standing at the rights quietly toying
with her beads ^ and looking straight ahead, with a
calculating expression)
There wasn't a card or a paper of any kind in
the purse, was there?
MRS. HAMPTON {tuming to her)
No, there wasn't a thing in it but the money.
MRS. ALDRID
That's too bad: {Aldrid watches her narrowly.)
no initials on it?
MRS. HAMPTON
No, I've always been going to have my initials
put on it, but, — Oh, I don't know, — I never
seemed to get round to it.
MRS. ALDRID
That makes it bad.
3Z^
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. HAMPTON {with the threat of a Jew more tears)
Dear me, I wish I had, now.
MRS. ALDRiD (tuming to her suddenly^ with a kind of
forced sincerity)
Yes, because if someone find it, and answer
your advertisement, he'll naturally expect you
to be able to identify it — definitely; that is, be-
fore you could reasonably expect him to return
it to you, I mean.
"MRS. HAMPTON
Yes, I suppose he would; but, then, I could de-
scribe the purse and the money.
MRS. ALDRID {with a tokrant smile)
I know, my dear; but there may be a milUon
purses exactly like it —
MRS. HAMPTON
That's true, too.
MRS. ALDRID
And, as far as the money is concerned, why, —
money is simply money; unless it's marked;
and this isn't, (checking herself) as you say.
MRS. HAMPTON
No, it isn't.
MRS. ALDRID
So that, really, a person would be more or less
obliged to take your word for it, wouldn't he?
MRS. HAMPTON
I'm afraid he would.
MRS. ALDRID
And that's rather a lot for us to expect of people,
isn't it, dear?
MRS. HAMPTON
Too much, I'm afraid.
332
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRID
Especially, when there's four hundred dollars
in the bargain. {She gives a little mirthless^ self-
conscious laughy and settles the lace on Mrs,
Hampton's lapelle, Aldridy who has been watch-
ing her steadily^ turns his head away slowly ^ and
his eyes wander about the floor ^
MRS. HAMPTON (tuming to the chair from which
she arose)
You're right, it is rather a poor prospect. {Sits
down,)
MRS. ALDRID
Oh, well—
MRS. HAMPTON
Unless someone who is really honest find it.
MRS. ALDRID {looking curiously at one of the beads in
her necklace)
Of course, the only thing you can do is to adver-
tise.
MRS. HAMPTON {rising)
Yes, I must, right away. {Moving to the right
of the center-table.) Which paper do you think
it would be best for me to advertise in, Mr. Al-
drid? {He doesn't hear her,) Mr. Aldrid?
ALDRID {turning to her suddenly)
I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hampton, what did —
MRS. ALDRID
She wants to know which paper you think it
would be best for her to advertise in ?
ALDRID {directly to his wife)
None of them — {To Mrs, Hampton y with a
change of tone) until she hear from me.
MRS. ALDRID {quickly, and laying her hands on Mrs,
Hampton's shoulder and arm)
Z2Z
FINDERS-KEEPERS
He means, he'll look up the circulations later.
{Aldrid looks at her for a rather long pause ^ but
she avoids his eyes; then^ as Mrs. Hampton turns
and looks at him^ he speaks^
ALDRID
ril telephone you after dinner, Mrs. Hampton.
(He starts towards the hack of the room.)
MRS. HAMPTON
Well, that's very charming of you, Mr. Aldrid.
ALDRID
Don't mention it. {He passes out through the
window into the garden; then stops abruptly^
makes a taut, general movement of desperate ir-
resolution, turns, and steps hack in through the
window again; where, gripping the draperies in
his hands, he stands watching his wife with an
expression of stony suspicion^
MRS. HAMPTON {to Mrs. Aldrid)
And I really feel that I owe you both a genuine
apology for bothering you with my troubles.
(Starting for the archway at the right.)
MRS. ALDRID (turyiiug, oMd following her)
That's what neighbors are for, dear.
MRS. HAMPTON
Good-bye, Mr. Aldrid.
ALDRID {coming a step or two out of the window-
alcove)
Good-bye, Mrs. Hampton.
MRS. HAMPTON
I'll be waiting to hear from you.
ALDRID
Right away, I'll call you.
334
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. HAMPTON {tuming at the archway)
And, be sure and ask for me^ when you telephone,
won't you?
ALDRID
Yes, I shall.
MRS. HAMPTON
Thank you very much.
ALDRID
You're very welcome.
MRS. HAMPTON {gowg out itito the hallway at the
right^followed by Mrs, Aldrid^ who has been stand-
ing at the back of the room^ just to the left of the
archway.
I don't want Frank to know anything about this,
if possible.
MRS. ALDRID
No, there's no need of annoying him.
MRS. HAMPTON
I suppose he'll have to be told soon enough.
{Aldridy standing at the back of the roomy watches
his wife out into the hallway; then he turns
sharply^ and comes forward several stepSy i?i
a panic of indecision. Suddenly the impulse
to recall Mrs. Hampton whirls him round into a
literal spring in the direction of the hallway y but ,
at this pointy the definite closing of the front door
arrests himy and he stands taut and still for a sec-
ondy gripping the back of the chair which Mrs.
Aldrid occupied earlier in the action of the play.
Then he shifts his position; andy gripping the
chair with the other handy leans upon /V, and waits
for his wife to come back from the door. Presently
she darts into view between the archway portieres y
and stands regarding him with an expression of
FINDERS-KEEPERS
amused calculation. But he doesn't see her: sOy
after a glance over her shoulder into the hallway ^
she speaks^
MRS. ALDRID
Did you see that?
ALDRID (in a repressed y ominous tone)
What?
MRS. ALDRID {with a nod toward the hallway)
She must have heard.
ALDRID
Have you told anybody?
MRS. ALDRID {coming a little farther into the room)
No!
ALDRID
I suppose the walls have ears?
MRS. ALDRID
Not necessarily.
ALDRID (turning to her sharply and searching her
with a look)
Then, how would she know?
MRS. ALDRID
She must have heard me — there in the hallway!
ALDRID (mercilessly)
When?
MRS. ALDRID (hccoming slightly disconcerted under
his gaze)
A few minutes ago — when I was telling you I'd
found a purse.
ALDRID (after a fractional pause, and tilting his
head a bit on one side, to look at her more quizzic-
ally)
How would she overhear you — she wasn't in the
hallway?
33^
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRID
Wasnt she!
ALDRID (whipping the chair upon which he is lean-
ing out the way^ and coming forward in a trem-
bling rage)
You know very well she wasn't! {She crosses
the back of the room towards the left^ watching
him. He stops in the middle of the room and for-
ward^ and continues speakings but without looking
at her,) What are you trying to do, kid your-
self, or me! {He goes towards his desk at the
rights and she comes forward at the left.)
MRS. ALDRID {picking Up her apron from the sofa)
I suppose you didn't take notice of the fact that
she came in without ringing, did you?
ALDRIP
Well, what of it, what of it, what of it!
MRS. ALDRID {taking his tone)
Nothing! Only just think it over while Vm get-
ting your dinner! {She starts towards the door
at the left,)
ALDRID {leaning on the back of his desk-chair)
You needn't get me any dinner. {She stops and
looks back at him.)
MRS. ALDRID
Why not?
ALDRID
Because I don't want any.
MRS. ALDRID
Don't you want anything at all?
ALDRID {turning sharply ^ and looking at her)
Yes! {Starting across towards the back of the
center-table^ and indicating the departed Mrs,
Hampton with a wide gesture,) I want to know
337
FINDERS-KEEPERS
whether or not you intend to return that wo-
man's property?
MRS. ALDRID
Her property?
ALDRID {enragedy and lifting his voice)
You heard me!
MRS. ALDRID {lifting her hand to silence him)
Sh— sh!
ALDRID {disregarding her gesture)
I want an answer, yes or no!
MRS. ALDRID {flinging her apron back onto the sofa^
and steppi?ig up very close to him)
What's the matter with you, Gene, are you
blind?
ALDRID {stonily)
Not now; but Fm beginning to think I have
been — terribly blind.
MRS. ALDRID {turning away from him, and taking a
couple of steps to the left)
Well, I'm glad something has happened to open
your eyes. {She feigns to be occupied with her
right cuff. He crosses to her rigidly, and, seizing
her by the arm, turns her sharply to him and hoks
knowingly into her eyes.)
ALDRID {after a pause)
If my eyes are not opened after this, it isn't
your fault. {She attempts to move, but he pins
her to his side with another quick grip. She shows
a trace of fright.) I want to know whether or not
you intend to return that money?
MRS. ALDRID {with a mingling of fright and con-
ciliation)
When I find the owner, yes!
338
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRiD {breaking from her in a wrathy and going
towards the back of the room)
Ah! more hedging!
Speaking together —
ALDRID {turning at the back of the room, and coming
forward again)
God! how I hate that attitude!
MRS. ALDRID {holding her right upperarm as though
he had hurt her)
rd like to hand over four hundred dollars to
every Tom, Dick, and Harry that says he lost
it. You must think Tm a —
ALDRID {whirling fiercely upon her, as he passes in
front of the center-table)
Please! {She is instantly silenced^ Don*t drive
me out of the house! {He goes blindly up
towards the hallway.)
MRS. ALDRID {regaining herself, and half crying)
What do you think I am — some school-girl!
ALDRID {stopping abruptly just inside the archway)
No! {Turning to her,) I think you're a thief!
MRS. ALDRID {freezing with resentment)
Do you, really?
ALDRID
More contemptible than the out-and-outer, for
he at least doesn't try to justify himself.
MRS. ALDRID
And Fm not trying to justify myself either.
ALDRID
You couldn't! There is no justification for
your attitude.
MRS. ALDRID
There doesn't need to be any.
339
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRID
And there isn't — among honest people!
MRS. ALDRID {sarcastically)
So you don't consider me honest?
ALDRID (moving a little nearer to her)
You're like a million other people in this world,
honest, as long as you don't lose anything by it;
but as soon as you see where the principle of
honesty is going to cost you a dollar, you begin
to hedge! — just as you've been doing in this.
MRS. ALDRID
I've been doing nothing of the kind!
ALDRID (bitterly)
You've been tinkering with honesty.
MRS. ALDRID (advancing a step or two towards him)
I never took a cent in my life that didn't belong
to me!
ALDRID
There are rafts of people can say that. But
they wouldn't walk back a block to return ten
cents overchange that some clerk has given
them. (She snijffs contemptuously^ and turns
away,) Pat themselves on the back, as I've
heard you do, — when the conductor on the
trolley doesn't ask them for their carfare!
(Swings down towards his desk.)
MRS. ALDRID
The trolley companies have enough!
ALDRID
There you are! (Turning to her.) That's the
psychology of a thief! (He goes up to the
French window at the back of the room^ andy after
glancing out to see that no one has heard them^
closes it.)
340
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRiD (ready to cry with madftess)
Have I ever stolen anything from you? {Evi-
dentlyy he doesn't hear her, and starts back down
towards the right of the center-table. She advances
a bit towards him,) Have I ?
ALDRID {stopping on a line with her^ and looking at
her witheringly)
Now, don't start that, please. {He continues
on down to the right of the center-table ^ and stands^
leaning upon it.)
MRS. ALDRID {stepping to the left of the center-table,
and striking her fist upon it)
Answer me! Have I ever stolen anything from
you? {There is a slight pause; then he sits down
on the edge of the table — very weariedly — as
though weighted with the conviction of having mar-
ried an inferior woman.)
ALDRID {with a complete change of tone)
Listen to me! {He takes his left hand in his
right, and looks at the back of it, with a kind of
vacant curiosity; then he drops his clasped hands
onto his leg and looks up and out and away of.)
A man's home, in the majority of cases, is
founded upon his belief in the honesty of his
wife; youVe stolen that from me to-night.
MRS. ALDRID
What?
ALDRID
That belief — that I had in you, as an honest
woman. {With an impatient toss of her head,
she crosses over in front of the table to the desk, and
straightens the desk-pad; then stands with her back
to him, with one hand resting on the back of the
desk-chair, and the other on her hip.) You
341
FINDERS-KEEPERS
know, there^s a line in a book somewhere that
says:
''What a little thing makes the world go wrong!
A word too short, or a smile too long:
Then comes the mist, and the blinding rain,
And life is never the same again."
Your — {He feels for the word.) attitude — in this
affair to-night is that mist and blinding rain:
it has shown me that my wife is not strictly hon-
est— for the sake of being so; and honesty is
such a passion with me that, as far as you are
concerned, Hfe will never be the same again;
because I could never — absolutely trust you
again. {He rises slowly^ and moves around in
front of the tabled Never. {He continues to the
window at the back^ then stops and turns to her.)
Tm very sorry we found that out — {He steps
into the window-alcove and quietly pushes the
window open; then^ after glancing outy he leans
against the side of the window-alcove and saySy
half to himself and half to her — ) Vm sorrier —
than if I had lost a million dollars. {There is a
rather long stillness; then Mrs. Aldrid^ who has
been finding it difficult to encompass the situation^
abandons the effort and crosses the room towards
the door at the left?)
MRS. ALDRiD {as shc tums and starts across the room)
Well, Gene, if you hadn't been so strictly honest
all your life, we might have had a million dollars
now.
ALDRID (picking her up)
Very true; but we'd have gotten it the way you
are getting that four hundred.
342
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRiD {about to Icuve the room^ and with a re-
turn to her former manner)
And the way Tm going to hold on to it, inci-
dentally. {She starts to go out at the left.)
ALDRID {in a sudden rage^ and seizing the telephone
at his right)
All right! Listen to this! Wait! {She stops y
and turns to him.) I want you to hear this!
{He works the telephone hook violently.) Give
me Wayne one — three seven — D. — Wayne.
Please? {She recognizes the number ^ evidently ^
and takes a couple of frantic steps towards him;
but he meets her startled expression with a look of
quiet defiance y so she stops dead and turns away^
waiting.) Hello! Hello .^ {He lowers the tele-
phone again, and there is another pause: then,
suddenly, he is answered.) Hello! — Mrs. Hamp-
ton?— Is this Mrs. Hampton? — Mr. Aldrid.
{Mrs. Aldrid turns, and their eyes meet.) I have
some very good news for you.
MRS. ALDRID {advancing in a panic)
If you tell her I found that money, Ell deny it!
ALDRID {into the telephone, and bitterly)
Your money has been found!
MRS. ALDRID {raising her arms and hands helplessly,
and turning to the center-table)
Oh, you silly fool!
ALDRID {into the telephone)
I found it.
MRS. ALDRID {looking frantically among her parcels
on the center-table)
Well, if you did, you'll pay it!
ALDRID {into the telephone, and half s?niling)
I wanted to give you a lesson.
343
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRID
For Fm very sure I won't! {Glancing under
the center-table?^ Where's my pocketbook?
{flurries over to the desk and looks.)
ALDRID {into the telephone)
I know, but I imagine you must be rather care-
less to drop that much money.
MRS. ALDRID {hurrying back to the table y and be-
coming more excited every minute)
Where's my pocketbook?
ALDRID {into the telephone)
All right, Mrs. Hampton, come ahead — it's here
for you. {Hangs upy and sets down the telephone.)
MRS. ALDRID {tuming to him excitedly)
Listen ! Have you seen anything of my pocket-
book?
ALDRID
No.
MRS. ALDRID {looking among her parcels again,
breathlessly)
I can't find it!
ALDRID
Where'd you have it?
MRS. ALDRID
Right here among these parcels!
ALDRID {disinterestedly)
I haven't seen anything of it. {He comes down
to his desk,)
MRS. ALDRID
My God ! I wonder if F ve lost that ! {She looks
again for a second, then stops dead and taps the
table as though she has suddenly come to a con-
clusion.) I wonder if she could have taken
that—
344
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRiD {turning to her)
Who?
MRS. ALDRID
Mrs. Hampton.
ALDRID
ril ask her that — when she comes over.
MRS. ALDRID
Don't you dare!
ALDRID {bitterly)
Hum-hum. {He shakes his head from side to
side.)
MRS. ALDRID
Well, it's gone!
ALDRID
Maybe you left it in the trolley-car.
MRS. ALDRID
Oh, wouldn't that be awful! — And that four
hundred dollars is in it! {Aldrid gives a shorty
dry sound of amusement ^ and, thrusting his hands
into his trousers-pockets ^ starts across the room
towards the left.) I don't see anything to laugh
at! {He throws his head back and makes another
little sound of intensely derisive laughter.) And
twenty-six dollars of my own! {He laughs
again.) God! what's the matter with me?
ALDRID {turning in front of the sofa)
Maybe you dropped it out there in the hallway.
MRS. ALDRID
Call up the Rapid Transit "Lost and Found,"
and see if a lady's pocketbook has been turned
in. I'll look out here. {She vanishes into the
hallway at the right. Aldrid stands still for a sec-
ondy then picks up the telephone.)
345
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRiD {into the telephone)
Information, please. {To Mrs. Aldrid) Do you
see anything of it?
MRS. ALDRID {in the hallway)
Not a sign!
ALDRID
Why don*t you Hght that light? {He stands
looking into the hallway until a light is turned on:
then into the telephone) Hello? Information?
What is the number of the Rapid Transit "Lost
and Found?" Yes. Kensington one three —
hundred? Will you ask the operator to ring it,
please? If you please? {He lowers the telephone^
and Mrs. Aldrid appears at the entrance to the
hallway^ searching frantically . Aldrid laughs
dryly ^
MRS. ALDRID {glancing up)
Funny, isn't it! {She disappears again into the
hallway^ and immediately there is the sound oj a
chair being knocked over^ as though she had flung
it aside in her anger. Aldrid looks sharply
toward the hallway^ then shakes his head slowly
and conclusively.)
ALDRID {shifting his attitude, and sighing rather
wearily)
Ha, ho-ho — {Into the telephone) Hello? Infor-
mation? {Glances toward the hallway.) Oh,
this is "Lost and Found?" I'd like to know
whether or not a lady's pocketbook has been
turned in there this evening?
MRS. ALDRID {rushing in from the hallway)
Oh, it isn't out there! What do they say? {He
silences her with a gesture; then, after a slight
pause y speaks suddenly into the telephone again.)
346
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRID
This minute?
MRS. ALDRID
It has been turned in?
ALDRID {to her)
Yes.
MRS. ALDRID {tumtng and sinking onto the chair at
her hand)
Oh, thank God!
ALDRID {into the telephone,
No, my wife did.
MRS. ALDRID {tuming to him)
A regular, lady's, black-leather pocketbook!
ALDRID {into the telephone)
Well, can you wait a minute? Please? {To Mrs.
Aldrid) They want to know whether or not you
can identify this?
MRS. ALDRID {impatiently)
Oh, certainly I can! It's a regular, lady's black-
leather pocketbook, with my initials E. A. on
the outside!
ALDRID
Yes.
MRS. ALDRID {illustrating with her hands)
There's a small, gold-mesh purse inside, with
four hundred dollars in it; and, in the side
pocket, there are twenty-six dollars. Then,
there's —
ALDRID {to Mrs. Aldrid)
Wait a minute. {Into the telephone) Hello!
MRS. ALDRID
A gold, mesh purse, with —
ALDRID {to Mrs. Aldrid)
Wait a minute! {Into the telephone^ A lady's
347
FINDERS-KEEPERS
black, leather pocketbook, with the initials,
E. A., on the outside. There's a gold — E. A.
No, no, no, no! E! — Yes. — Well, that's right.
Why — {He looks at his wife?)
MRS. ALDRID
A gold, mesh purse —
ALDRID (into the telephone)
A gold, mesh purse, with four hundred dollars
in it; and in the side pocket there are twenty-
six dollars — of her own. {Mrs, Aldrid looks at
him suddenly^
MRS. ALDRID
Five fives and a one.
ALDRID {into the telephone)
In bills, yes. {He looks at her^ and she nods con-
firmation^ Five fives and a one. One minute.
(To his wife) What else? — quick!
MRS. ALDRID {becoming very nervous)
Why, there's a silver vanity case —
ALDRID
Yes.
MRS. ALDRID
And a gold bracelet — with the clasp broken —
{He makes a movement of interruption^ but she
continues) and a tax receipt, and a —
Aldrid and Mrs. Aldrid^ speaking together —
ALDRID {to Mrs, Aldrid)
Wait a minute, now, till I get that! {Into the
telephone) Hello?
MRS. ALDRID
Sample of Georgette Crepe, and a face veil, and
a handkerchief, and two packages of hairpins,
and —
348
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRiD {to Mrs. Aldrid)
I can't remember all those! {She stops ^ and re-
laxes; then he speaks into the telephone) Hello!
There's a silver vanity case and a bracelet —
MRS. ALDRID
Broken !
ALDRID {into the telephone^
Broken! — A broken bracelet. (JVith a touch of
annoyance.) The bracelet is broken. Yes.
And there's a — {He stops gradually and listens
attentively — his eyes wandering to his wife's.)
I see.
MRS. ALDRID {rising slowly and apprehensively)
What is it?
ALDRID {silencing her with a deft gesture^ and con-
tinuing into the telephone)
Why, yes, that is rather funny.
MRS. ALDRID {impatiently)
What does he say?
ALDRID {into the telephone)
How about tomorrow afternoon? No, no, I'll
call for it myself. Well, if you will, please?
Tha — nk you, very much. Thanks, ifle sets
the telephone down.)
MRS. ALDRID
Is everything all right?
ALDRID
Yes.
MRS. ALDRID {sighing with reliefs and leaning upon
the center-table)
Oh! — can you imagine if Fd lost that!
ALDRID {coming down thoughtfully towards his
desk)
Everything but the money.
349
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRiD {tuming ufid looking at him)
What'd you say?
ALDRID (without meeting her eye)
He says that, evidently, the person who found
your pocketbook took all the money out of it
before turning it in.
MRS. ALDRID {ughast)
What!
ALDRID {indifferently^ and turning to his desk)
That's what he says.
MRS. ALDRID {morally and physically indignant)
Can you imagine anybody being that con-
temptible?
ALDRID {turning and going up to the archway)
Please don't make me laugh — Fm not in the
mood.
MRS. ALDRID
You won't laugh when you have to pay that
woman four hundred dollars out of your own
pocket !
ALDRID {turning to her sharply)
Yd have had to do that anyway! — there didn't
seem to be very much chance of getting it away
from you!
MRS. ALDRID
Well, you're not going to give her four hundred
dollars of your own money?
ALDRID
That'll do! And, when she comes here, don't
make it necessary for me to tell her ^\io found
her money. Now, be wise. {He looks out the
hallway^ starts slightly^ then steps quickly towards
his desk.) Where is that gold, mesh purse of
yours ?
350
FINDERS-KEEPERS
MRS. ALDRID
There in that drawer — what are you going to do ?
ALDRID {speaking directly to her in a level tone)
Tm going to give you a lesson in honesty. Where
is it? {Opens the middle drawer of his desk.)
MRS. ALDRID
Right where you're looking: what do you want
it for?
ALDRID {whipping a little gold, mesh purse out of the
drawer)
Never mind! Is this it?
MRS. ALDRID
Yes; what are you going to do? {He slams the
drawer shut, and, simultaneously, there is a sharp
ring at the front door. He lays his hand on Mrs.
Aldrid's army and they stand still for a second)
ALDRID
There she is. {Then turning and urging Mrs.
Aldrid across in front of the center-table towards
the door at the left.) Go up to my money-box
and get me eight fifty-dollar bills — the newest
you can find; and, hurry! {He starts back
towards the archway.)
MRS. ALDRID {recovering herself)
V\\ do nothing of the kind!
ALDRID {whirling upon her, and indicating the left
door with an imperative gesture)
Quick! Now, youVe lost enough tonight, I
think!
MRS. ALDRID {tums and goes to the left door, then
stops again, defiantly)
I will not!
» 351
FINDERS-KEEPERS
ALDRID
Very well, then; I shall be obliged to tell this
woman the particulars.
MRS. ALDRID {bitterly)
Oh, I'll get them! But I never knew, Gene,
that you were such a fool! {She starts to leave
the room.)
ALDRID
Wait! {She stops and looks at him,) Wait a
minute. {He starts across towards her, passing
back of the center-table.) Til get them myself.
MRS. ALDRID
Why can't I get them?
ALDRID {looking at her steadily as he passes above
her and out the door)
Because Fd rather get them myself. {She
stands very still, realizing the implication, until
the doorbell has rung three times; then with a
rather slow, general gesture of sullenness and
defeat, she moves up and across towards the arch-
way to answer the door.)
THE CURTAIN DESCENDS SLOWLY
ZS'^'
SOLOMON^S SONG
A PASTORAL TRAGI-COMEDY IN ONE ACT
by Harry Kemp
CHARACTERS
Shamgazar Abishag
MiLCAH AbIATHAR
Solomon
Copyright, 193 i. hy HARRY KEMP
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Applications for permission to produce Solomon's Song should be
addressed to Harry Kemp, in care of Brentano's, 225 Fifth Ave.,
New York City. No performance may be given without his consent.
SOLOMON'S SONG
Time: The most flourishing period of Solomon's
rule: about looo b, c.
SCENE
The Throne-Room of Solomon's royal palace^ built
in that quarter of Ancient Jerusalem called Millo.
The Throne-Room is a vast afair. The wallsy
from the floor to the ceilings are covered with cedar
wood and adorned with gold fretwork.
In the center stands Solomon's world-celebrated
throne y of massive ivory ^ overlaid with gold. It is
elevated on a platform^ and a bronze lion stands
on each side of it. An ascent of six steps leads up
to it, and on each side of each step stands a bronze
lion. They face toward the front y twelve in ally
symbolizing the twelve tribes of Israel over which
Solomon holds sway.
In the backy at the center y is an open balcony y giv-
ing on a garden of trees beneath. The tops of the
trees come up to the edge of the balcony.
Enter A bis hag. She is a young and slender y
brown-bodied girl. She is dressed in simple shep-
herd costume, which consists of a skirt to the knees.
Her legs and arms are bare. She has an agile
girlish beauty that belongs to open fields and free
hilltops. Stepping slowly and carefully about y
she follows the contour of the roomy with outspread
SOLOMON'S SONG
palms against the walls ^ like one seeking escape.
Her anklets and armlets make a tinkling sound.
Coming on the balcony^ in the back^ she looks outy
as if about to leap into the near tops of the trees.
Buty in all her movements ^ she has been stealthily
followed, by the Chief Eunuch, Shamgazar, who
noWy coming close to her, clutches her by the right
arm and slowly swings her back to the center of the
room. Abishag is brought to a kneeling position;
she pulls away from Shamgazar.
SHAMGAZAR
Amend thy folly, girl! There is no maiden
From the Euphrates to the river Nile
But sorrows for the lack of what is thine,
Yearns all her girlhood for the thing thou hast —
The love of Solomon !
ABISHAG
I sought it not!
Let him have many maidens, yea, as many
As almond blossoms putting forth in Spring,
So that he come not nigh me with his arms,
Nor touch me with the lips of his desire !
SHAMGAZAR {imprcssivcly)
Abishag, he is ruler of the world !
ABISHAG
Good — so he be not ruler of my heart! {She
turns and looks out into garden.)
SHAMGAZAR
Ten thousand bearded men guard Solomon;
About his palace wait ten thousand men
With shield and sword. Then, who can bring
thee help?
Be wise; accept the great king's love.
3S^
SOLOMON'S SONG
{Dropping down disconsolately, A bis hag seats
herself on the first step of the throne. A pause.
Then, the words inaudible, a song is heard with-
out?)
ABISHAG
I am
Abiathar*s, and his alone, Shamgazar!
{Sojter:)
That song — how could I hear it and say else?
SHAMGAZAR
'Tis Solomon's song of one and perfect love.
ABISHAG
It is the song we sang among the hills,
Tending our sheep. ...
SHAMGAZAR
The world is singing it
From Tyre to Elath.
ABISHAG
*Twas our one hearts' song
At even, when the sheep were folded safe.
SHAMGAZAR
Put by all dreams of shepherds and green
hills. ....
A thousand towns and cities walled with stone
Have sent the whitest of their maidens hither.
And from the flower of these hast thou been
chosen.
The one bud to break into bloom for him. . . .
But wherefore trouble I my heart with thee?
Thou art a maiden, and thou dost but fear
What thou hast never known. {Clapping his
hands ^ Come hither, Milcah!
357
SOLOMON^S SONG
{Enter Milcahy who is to be handmaid to Abishag.
Milcah is tall. She is paler than Abishag, with
the pallor that comes from living an indoor life,
in the palace. She is dressed elaborately after the
Egyptian fashion, the style having been set by the
Egyptian Princess, daughter of King Psusennes,
for whom, a year previously, Solomon built a great
house, for her own private use, after her marriage
to him.)
SHAMGAZAR {tO MUcaK)
Attend the Queen ! {Shamgazar goes out.)
MILCAH {rushing up to Abishag and embracing her)
Abishag! Thou!
ABISHAG {returning the embrace)
As my soul liveth, Milcah of the Plains I
What dost thou here?
MILCAH
I am handmaid to the King. . . . {Lower.)
And hast thou thanked Jehovah yet ?
ABISHAG
I pray,
With every thought, for my deliverance.
MILCAH {astonished)
For thy deliverance! Art thou not glad?
ABISHAG {dumfounded)
Glad, Milcah?
MILCAH {reprovingly)
Yea, that thou art chosen queen
To sit by Solomon on a throne of gold! . . .
Why, I, who was his but a day, rejoice!
ABISHAG {smiling confidently)
Didst know Abiathar?
358
SOLOMON^S SONG
MiLCAH {surprised)
That tall, ill-favored shepherd lad?
ABiSHAG {severely)
The same — but comely as the tents of Kedar
MILCAH
Thou lovedst him — but yet —
ABISHAG {fervently)
ril have none other.
MILCAH {looking about her, with a frightened air)
If thou wouldst live
Then hold thy peace, lest thou be overheard.
ABISHAG
Nay, ril speak out, ev'n if my words bring
death.
MILCAH
Doubt not but thou shalt die, thwarting the
King.
But be to him the thing that he desires
And he will make thy pathways delicate
And all thy goings-out and comings-in
As soft as wool. . . . Music will wait upon thee
Of divers instruments, and all the world
Will bow before thee. . . . Tyre will bring thee
purple;
All Egypt will be raiment unto thee;
Ivory and apes and gold will come by ships.
Crowding the sea with white like cloud on cloud.
While peacocks draw their fans down jacinth
courts
And make a sound like wind among blown
leaves. . . .
ABISHAG {vehemently angry)
Milcah, thou speakest with an harlot's tongue.
Go from me; I command thee, being Queen.
359
SOLOMON'S SONG
(Milcah goes out, Solomon's Song again comes
from the garden under the balcony. But now a
man's voice sings.)
I saw one star grow in the sky,
I bent in worship to its light —
Then star on star, and star on star
Drew here and there my sight;
The moon rose — to the moon I bowed;
In its great light the stars were gone —
The moon, that, graying to a ghost.
Went out before the sun. ...
Women are many, thou, but one —
The lights of heaven are but three.
The stars, the moon, and then — the sun! . . .
O Love, make day for me !
{The singing ceases.)
ABiSHAG {recognizing Abiathars voice^ and leaning
over)
Abiathar!
ABiATHAR (faintly ^from below)
Abishag!
{Abiathar is seen climbing in the very top of
a tree near the edge of the veranda. Abishag
reaches out her hand and helps him in. Abiathar
holds her at arm' s lengthy fondly gazing at her.
Then they embrace^
ABISHAG
How camest thou
Through all those eyes and spears that hedge
with death
The gates and gardens of King Solomon }
360
SOLOMON^S SONG
ABIATHAR {laughtTig boldly)
Simple the deed was as the words that tell:
When the bright moon swam forth, I hid, and
when
It hid, I ran, and slid from tree to tree,
From shade to shadow, climbing guarded walls.
Unseen, until, by chance, I heard your voice —
And then I sang!
ABISHAG
'Tis strange that thou alone
Couldst do so great a deed. . . . And didst thou
fear not.
Singing?
ABIATHAR {qUtckiy)
There is no hope for us but death!
ABISHAG
The prophets say that God is merciful.
ABIATHAR
The king, I think, is not.
ABISHAG
He has concubines.
And seven hundred wives.
ABIATHAR
Yet the new gift
Is ever prized the most — till others come.
{trumpets without; cries of "The King,*' "King
Solomon.")
ABIATHAR {showitig dagger)
Now death must take
Another, beside us!
ABISHAG
Thou slay the King!
361
SOLOMON'S SONG
ABIATHAR
Aye, even Solomon, that mighty king. . . .
And wherefore not? What pity hath he for
thee.
Or me, thy lover?
HERALD {approaching from without)
Make way for Solomon!
ABiSHAG (hurriedly)
Convey thee hence behind yon throne and hide
thee;
Then, after I have sought the uttermost —
ABIATHAR (embracing her)
— The dagger!
(Going.)
I will slay him with one thrust!
HERALD (entering^ crosses stage in stately and pomp-
ous fashion, as he chants:)
Make way for Solomon, that mighty king!
Wiser than Ethan, the famed Ezrahite,
Than Heman, Chalcol, and the sons of Mahol,
Is Solomon, the Chosen of the Lord. . . .
Hath he not made of songs a thousand and five?
Hath he not spoken proverbs twice a thousand?
(A bis hag seats herself on lower step to throne and
waits. Herald chants as he disappears:)
Make way for Solomon! Make way for Solo-
mon!
(Trumpets are heard again. A momentary si-
lence. Solomon appears. He is a tall, rather
stout man. He wears a turban, starry with jewels.
It is green. He has flashing black eyes and a
black beard. When he smiles his teeth flash white.
He walks as if with a sense of his own greatness
362
SOLOMON'S SONG
and magnificence y with his arms folded. Yet his
smile shows that^ in spite of his unlimited power^
he iSy when he wills y whimsically human.)
SOLOMON {standing over Abishag^ and looking down
at her)
Abishag, lovest thou me?
ABISHAG {looking up)
I love thee not, nor will I bide thy wish.
SOLOMON
Others have vowed the same, nor kept that
vow.
ABISHAG {with slow determination)
I have not vowed. I have no need of vows
To keep me from the thing I hate.
{Solomon ascends throne and sits down on it, rest-
ing his chin on his hand. From this position he
studies Abishagy who remains seated on the lower
step of the ascent.)
SOLOMON
Thou hast
Another lover?
ABISHAG
Nay, I know but one.
SOLOMON {leaning down, seriously)
One more, Abishag, than IVe ever known!
ABISHAG {looking up into his face with sudden
vivacity. She is curious and would hear further)
Nay, but the great King points a jest at me?
SOLOMON
Would it were so. Yet could I somewhere find
That love's perfection I have ever sought.
And never won, my seven hundred wives
363
SOLOMON'S SONG
Would I return to their far tribes again.
On seven hundred camels, royally.
{Softly.)
Abishag, hast thou ever heard my song,
"O Love, Make Day For Me?"
ABISHAG
All but the deaf have heard it, mighty king'
SOLOMON {sadly dreaming)
Yea, lovers sing it underneath the moon.
And in the latticed twilight it is sung,
Charming the evening air all hushed and still;
It is the world's one word of happy love,
The love which, hapless, I have never known.
{Sighing.)
A dream I shaped from a far dream's desire!
ABISHAG {searching his thought)
But thou hast gold from Ophir, and the wealth
Of twenty kingdoms ready at thy wish!
SOLOMON
But who has bought love since the world began ?
ABISHAG
Yet, after God, thou hast the highest place.
SOLOMON
So *tis the power I wear, not I, is loved.
ABISHAG
God gave thee wisdom passing all the world.
SOLOMON
Women love neither Wisdom nor the Wise.
ABISHAG {with wonder and incredulity)
Thou never hast been loved?
SOLOMON
By those I loved not.
The which is worse than hate.
364
SOLOMON^S SONG
ABiSHAG {with swift firmness)
Thou hast said my thought.
SOLOMON {rising and coming down to her)
Handmaid, I will not reason with thee longer.
{She rises ^facing him.)
Thou hast been sent to me as any gift,
And as a gift I'll use thee. If thou yield not
Thou shalt be made a handmaid to my hand-
maids.
Yielding, thou shalt possess an equal throne.
And I have gold from Ophir and the wealth —
ABISHAG {laughing)
Nay, who hath bought love since the world be-
gan?
SOLOMON
Yet, after God, mine is the highest place.
ABISHAG
Then would I love thy power and place, not
thee.
SOLOMON
God gave me wisdom passing all mankind.
ABISHAG
Women love neither Wisdom nor the Wise.
SOLOMON
Thou mockest me?
ABISHAG
Thy wisdom I repeat!
SOLOMON {entranced and flattered)
Brown-bodied little woman from the hills.
Is there no way by which to win thy love?
ABISHAG
None but to be indeed the man I love.
2^S
SOLOMON'S SONG
SOLOMON
What man is he?
ABISHAG
A shepherd of my tribe. . . .
ril tell of him no further lest thou send
Those who will come with swords and seek him
out.
SOLOMON (scornfully)
And make a slave my rival in men's eyes.f^
ABISHAG (admiringly)
Ah, thou art wise, great king, in all but love.
SOLOMON
What man knew woman since recorded time.'*
ABISHAG
But thou, the wisest —
SOLOMON
Nay, I know them less
Than my least slave, for, seven hundred times,
I have shown lack of wisdom, marrying.
ABISHAG
And still thou seekest love in me, great king?
SOLOMON (earnestly)
For thou 'rt the only woman I have loved.
ABISHAG
A lie repeated seven hundred times.
SOLOMON
Nay, for now
It springs, a living glory, born of truth:
Not words lip-said, but brought deep from the
heart
As divers fetch up pearls from dangered seas. . . .
(A paused
Yea, and if thou wilt not come unto me
Then I shall find ways out to bend thy will. . . .
SOLOMON'S SONG
Even now, even now thou livest at my word. . . .
Put by all thoughts of shepherds and green
hills. . . .
A thousand towns and cities walled with stone
Have sent the whitest of their maidens hither.
And from the flower of these hast thou been
chosen.
The one bud to break into bloom for me. . . .
ABISHAG
I am Abiathar's, and his alone . . .
I will speak diit, ev'n if my words bring death.
SOLOMON {angrily)
Doubt not but thou shalt die, denying me:
{Persuasively,)
But be to me the thing that I desire.
And I will make thy pathways delicate,
And all thy goings-out and comings-in
As soft as wool. . . . Music shall wait on thee
Of divers instruments, and all the world
Will bow before thee. . . . Tyre will bring thee
purple;
All Egypt will be raiment unto thee;
Ivory and apes and gold will come by ships
Crowding the sea with white like cloud on cloud.
{Abiathar now suddenly and silently steps from
behind throne. Thrice he lifts dagger to stab the
King^ and each time lowers it. As he is lowering
it the third time^ Solomon turns, with slow im-
perial dignity y and laughs in his face.)
SOLOMON
Abiathar, thou son of Zeruel,
Put up thy unsheathed dagger; 'tis a toy
« 367
SOLOMON'S SONG
Too perilous for youth to play with so. . . .
Here! Give it me!
{He reaches for it, Abiathar draws back.)
What, child, thou thinkest to slay Solomon ?
ABIATHAR
Aye, to slay Solomon, who steals my love.
SOLOMON
Thy love — ? And darest thou rival Israel's
king?
ABIATHAR
We have gone hand in hand since childhood,
sire.
SOLOMON {admiringly)
Thou art a bold youth.
ABIATHAR
Love hath made me so.
SOLOMON
So thou wouldst slay me? But what held thy
hand? . . .
Thrice thou assayedst. ...
ABIATHAR
Thou art God*s Anointed. ...
{Kneeling,)
So to the merciful be merciful. . . .
If not — even yet —
SOLOMON
And thinkest thou, bold young man.
That I was not aware? Rash boy, I knew
The moment that thou wen test from thy tent.
Thy solitary tent among the hills.
Where thou didst guard thy flocks nigh Dabe-
rath,
368
SOLOMON'S SONG
On Tabor's morning heights . . . how thou
didst track
The caravan which brought Abishag hither
By Harod's Well, Rabbi th, and Lebonah. . . .
My secret watchers held thee in their eye
At Bethel, Beeroth, and Gibeon. . . .
And when thou didst assay the guarded walls
Twas at my laughing wish the Watch with-
drew . . .
Yea, in the light of intermittent moons.
And from the sinking of the day till dawn.
And through each golden passage of the sun.
Eyes watched thy goings-out and comings-in —
And, but I had reserved thee for my sport.
Thou hadst gone down to the forgotten Dark
Ten dawns ago.
ABiATHAR {firmly)
Do with me as thou wilt.
{Kneeling, he ofers up his dagger to King,)
ABISHAG {also kneeling)
And do with me as thou wilt do with him.
SOLOMON {triumphantly)
Behold the wisdom of the King's device!
{He waves his hand. The wall to the right slowly
opens, and five bearded and armed men are seen.
Another wave of the hand, and the wall closes
again ^
Thou art taken fast like any silly bird
That drops upon a twig and finds a net. . . .
{A pause. They still kneel, unspeaking.)
Lovest thou not life, that thou dost rush on
death? . . .
Bethink thee, thou art young, Abiathar!
SOLOMON'S SONG
ABIATHAR
Without love life is naught. ... It was thy
song — {Choking.)
{Solomon'' s face grows alit with sudden interest.
He leans forward^
Thy song — that taught me so!
SOLOMON {pleased)
How, boy? . . . My song?
ABIATHAR
Thy song that oft I sang on silver eves
And in the soft, rose-dappled dawns. . . .
ABisHAG {taking up)
Thy song
That thou didst make, of One and Perfect
Love . . .
{In a soft^ sweet voice.)
How oft we sang that song among the hills
Tending our sheep. . . .
{Solomon^ s face is bright with childlike pleasure.)
It was our hearts' one song
At even, when the sheep were folded safe
And the long shadows marched down from the
hills.
SOLOMON {smiling imperially)
And so he won thee with {fondly) those words of
mine?
ABISHAG {joyfully)
Twas so he won me. And, as with us, so is it
With all of Israel!
SOLOMON {leaning forward eagerly)
"With all of Israel!" What meanest thou?
ABIATHAR {confidently answering for A hi shag)
Under the spell and music of thy song,
370
SOLOMON'S SONG
The world has turned to walking two by two
In perfect love, in simple happiness. . . ^
SOLOMON (half musing)
That happiness which never will be mine,
That love, which, hapless, I shall never know—
Ah, Dream I shaped from a far dream's desire!
ABiSHAG {with a woman s quickness^ pressing the
perceived advantage)
Thou hast taught all the world this strange, new
thing —
That faithful love holds only room for two.
That every man, each woman, must create.
Anew, the garden of God's paradise
By walking hand in hand, like Adam and Eve,
Before mankind became a multitude. . . .
SOLOMON {full of ecstasy at his fame)
Abishag and Abiathar, arise!
{They stand before him.)
There's something makes my soul compassion-
ate. . . .
I know not what it is — but ye may go
Back to your hills!
( They fall at his feet, )
Aye, ye may go — {Sadly; half to self.)
'Tis I that am the one caught in a net. . . .
Nay, what am I, before this youth and love.^
My only empire is an empty heart.
My lifted sceptre, but a gilded boast;
The glory that I have possesses me;
I am weighed down with splendor to my death,
Am sickened by the wasting of desire
371
SOLOMON'S SONG
For what my wisdom, seeking, cannot find —
And all is vanity of vanities! ...
{A pause . . . thetiy with a proud, ringing voice.)
Yet have I made a song that all men sing!
CURTAIN
372
MATINATA
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
h Lawrence Langner
Matinata was first produced by the Provincetown
Players at their playhouse November i, 1920,
with the following cast:
Columbine Norma Millay
Pierrot James Light
Harlequin Sydney Powell
Copyright, 192 i, by LAWRENCE LANGNER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Applications for permission to produce Matinata should be
addressed to Mr. Lawrence Langner, ss Liberty Street, New
York. No performance may be given without his written consent.
MATINATA
SCENE
A small room in a large city, in which Pierrot
and Columbine make their home. The room is
neither kitchen, bedroom, nor living-room; but
it serves as all three; it is, in fact, a room of a char-
acter which is denied to the rich.
There is a bed-couch, left front; door leading to
the bathroom, left rear; window, left center wall,
bed-couch against center wall; kitchen sink and
gas stove, right center wall; cupboard with dishes
and chest of drawers against right wall rear; and
door leading to staircase to street, right front.
In the center are a small table and a few chairs,
AT RISE
Pierrot is in bed; his head lies near the window.
Columbine is bustling around, setting the table on
which she has already placed some of the breakfast
dishes,
COLUMBINE {to Picrrot)
Breakfast is nearly ready, Pierrot! Do wake
up. {Pierrot takes no notice. Columbine goes
over to sit on the bed,) Don't you want some
coffee? {Pierrot grunts.) Tm making a lovely
breakfast for you, Pierrot.
PIERROT {sleepily)
All right, dear! Tm getting up. (^S*^^ waits
expectantly; he rolls over and goes back to sleep,)
21S
MATINATA
COLUMBINE
Tm going to stay here and bother you until
you get up! See! I'm a mosquito! Fm buzzing
around you! Buzz, buzz, buzz!!! {She kisses
him.) Vm going to bite you! {She attempts
to bite him,)
PIERROT
Do go away, dear! Can't you see Tm making
up my mind to get up? It takes time. {He
turns over so that his head is covered upy and M:
one can see of him is his hunched-up back,)
COLUMBINE
You'll never make up your mind! You know
you've lots of things to do today. Please get
up, Pierrot! Please do! {She begins to pull the
bedclothes off him,)
PIERROT
Do leave me alone ! I'm getting up. {He winds
the covers around him,)
COLUMBINE
But breakfast!
PIERROT
I don't want any breakfast. {He settles down
in the bed in a determined manner,)
COLUMBINE {hurt)
Very well!
{She goes over to the gas stove and pours hot
water into the coffee-pot. She looks over at
Pierrot to see whether her new attitude will
make any difference. It does not. She pulls
up the blinds. She puts the coffee-pot on the table
with a thud and sits down, moving her chair
376
MATINATA
noisily. She pours herself a cup of cofee, Pier-
rot raises his head.)
PIERROT {cheerfully)
Hello!
{Columbine drinks her coffee with great intensity.)
PIERROT {shouting)
Didn't you hear what I said?
COLUMBINE {coldly)
What did you say?
PIERROT
I said, "Hello!"
COLUMBINE
IVe heard you say that before. Do you know
what time it is?
PIERROT
No!
COLUMBINE
It's nearly eleven o'clock.
PIERROT
Now, why did you tell me that? Fve slept only
— let me see — six hours. You're very irritating!
COLUMBINE
I meant to be.
PIERROT
Very well. I shall go back to sleep. {He lies
back on the bed.)
COLUMBINE
I don't care. Your company isn't so charming,
after all.
PIERROT
I have a lovely idea for a song. If I could write
it, I might be able to sell it for a hundred dol-
lars.
377
MATINATA
COLUMBINE
If only you could!
PIERROT
What couldn't we do with a hundred dollars!
I know! We could go to a hotel and have break-
fast, lunch, and dinner served in our room so
we could stay in bed all day. I wish I could re-
member that song. Confound you, Columbine,
why did you you bother me! I was half dream-
ing of it — and now youVe made me forget it.
{He sits up.) It was a song to the dawn —
"Matinata"!
COLUMBINE
What do you know about the dawn?
PIERROT
There is a great mystery about the dawn. It is
seen only by people with very good habits,
or by people with very bad habits.
COLUMBINE
It isn't difficult to see where you belong!
PIERROT
Isn't it? Well, I've never seen the dawn — that
is, not for years!
COLUMBINE
You were out all night last Monday. Didn't
you see it then ?
PIERROT
No, I was playing poker. I think I shall get up.
COLUMBINE
I've finished my breakfast.
PIERROT {gaily jumping out of bed)
Isn't that fine! Just in time to get me mine!
COLUMBINE
I shall do nothing of the sort.
378
MATINATA
PIERROT {pleading)
But, Columbine, dear! Vm so hungry. IVe
had nothing to eat since two o'clock — and now
it's eleven.
COLUMBINE
You should have gotten up when I called you !
PIERROT
My Columbine angry with me? Don't be
angry, sweetheart. Your mouth is like a red
rosebud when you smile — but when you're
angry it gets thin, like a long, red worm.
COLUMBINE
Ugh! How can you say my mouth's like a
worm!
PIERROT {struck with the thought)
A worm may hide in the reddest rose!
COLUMBINE
I'm angry with you!
PIERROT
I didn't say your mouth was like that. {Gaily)
I meant I wanted you to smile — to be happy.
It's morning, the sun is up!
COLUMBINE
It's been up for hours.
PIERROT {jumping out of bed)
And so am I! Here is your penitent Pierrot!
If you'll only forgive me, I'll go to bed early,
sleep all night, get up with the dawn, and bring
you your breakfast in bed! Won't you like
that? {He takes of his pyjama jacket^ disclosing
his costume underneath.)
COLUMBINE
It would be lovely — but it'll never happen!
Goodness me, you've slept in your clothes!
379
MATINATA
PIERROT
Yes, I was too tired to take them off. Do they
look bad ?
COLUMBINE
The coat's creased terribly. I shall have to
put the iron on. You can't go out looking like
that ! {She goes over to the stove and puts on an
iron.)
PIERROT {pulling on his stockings)
Columbine, you are a dear! I don't deserve you.
I know I don't. {He looks around helplessly,)
Where are my shoes?
COLUMBINE
I don't know. I didn't take them off. Look
where you least expect to find them.
{Pierrot looks in his bed^ under his pillow^ and
finally under the bedy where he finds them.)
PIERROT
What are you going to give me for breakfast?
COLUMBINE
Would you like boiled eggs ?
PIERROT {with disgust)
Eggs! Oh, Columbine, how could you suggest
eggs? I want something dainty, something
with a French name that will just waft its way
gently into my insides.
COLUMBINE
I suppose you've been drinking!
PIERROT
Not more that was necessary!
COLUMBINE
I'll make you an omelette.
380
MATINATA
PIERROT
The French name! And it must be a frothy
one — clusters of air bubbles coated with egg!
COLUMBINE {sighing)
I shall have to dirty three extra dishes.
PIERROT
That makes me think of something. I know!
I haven't washed!
COLUMBINE {breaking the eggs into a dish)
Hurry, please! You'll begin to dress yourself
just when I have everything ready for you.
PIERROT
Don't hurry me, Columbine. There should be
something dignified about the way a man pre-
pares himself for the day. If he hurries and
skurries, it makes him fretful and nervous. A
great opportunity may come to me today, if I
preserve a calm in my soul. Would you have
me miss it, just so as not to keep breakfast
waiting for a few moments?
COLUMBINE
But you said you were hungry!
PIERROT
I am hungry. {Rises.) But I have a dignified
hunger. I shall enter the bathroom with a
stately air. Thus shall I begin the day and so
shall I end it. {Exit Pierrot^ bathroom door,)
{Columbine sighsy takes the egg-beater^ mixes the
omelette and pours it into pan. She puts the
coffee-pot back on the stove. Enter Pierrot^
mopping his face with a towel. He dries ity then
stands up and exercises listlessly for a few
moments^ using knife and fork as dumb-bells,
381
MATINATA
He then tries rising up and down^ hands on hips,
body stiff; gets down but fails to rise; he staggers
up. He repeats this twice y and finally Jails into
a chair at the tabled
Pierrot!
Well! Where's the omelette?
COLUMBINE
It isn't ready yet.
PIERROT
I'm hungry.
COLUMBINE
Eat some bread.
PIERROT
Where is it?
COLUMBINE
Over here.
PIERROT
Well, why don't you bring it to me?
COLUMBINE
Can't you get it yourself?
PIERROT
Don't you see I'm sitting down to my break-
fast? You've been hurrying me the whole
morning, and now I'm here it isn't ready — .
COLUMBINE
It is ready. See, the omelette is done. {She
puts it on his plate ^
PIERROT
Where's the salt?
COLUMBINE
Here you are!
382
MATINATA
PIERROT
And the bread. Do bring the bread!
{She hands him bread,)
COLUMBINE
You are bad tempered this morning.
PIERROT
I'm not. {He eats the omelette ravenously?)
COLUMBINE {sitting at the table)
Do you like the omelette?
PIERROT
It's all right. I nearly had that song. Listen : —
"Rose-colored Dawn,
My heart's forlorn —
Do you like that?
COLUMBINE
I don't. First of all, a dawn's not rose-colored;
and, secondly, the idea's absolutely unoriginal!
PIERROT
You do tell the truth terribly!
COLUMBINE
You need someone to tell you the truth.
PIERROT
Those weren't the words I was thinking of
in bed. If you don't like them, it's your own
fault for waking me up. What I said just now
was inspired by the omelette.
COLUMBINE
Don't be stupid, Pierrot. If I waked you up,
it was because I had to. I've worked all the
week and now it's your turn. There isn't a
thing in the place to eat.
PIERROT
Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could school
=« 383
MATINATA
ourselves to live without food; one could do it
gradually. After all, material functions are
merely matters of habit.
COLUMBINE
I wish you*d get the habit of working!
PIERROT {hopelessly)
Oh dear! {He stretches?^
COLUMBINE
You kicked me — right on the leg!
PIERROT {indifferently)
Did I?
COLUMBINE
Yes. You might say you're sorry.
PIERROT {sharply)
I suppose I am sorry. Is it necessary to say so?
COLUMBINE {indignantly)
It certainly is!
PIERROT {equally indignant)
I might say equally, why did you have your leg
in my way? My desire to stretch was frustrated
— and by your leg!
COLUMBINE
Do you mean you're not sorry?
PIERROT
I mean that if your leg hadn't been there, I
wouldn't have kicked it.
COLUMBINE {angrily)
Where should I put my leg?
PIERROT {more angrily still)
Somewhere where it wouldn't be in my way!
COLUMBINE {rising)
Look here, Pierrot, I've just about had enough
of you. You don't care what you do, or what
you say!
384
MATINATA
PIERROT {angrily)
I suppose I don't! Well, Tm going. {He puts
on his hat.)
COLUMBINE {alarmed)
Where are you going?
PIERROT {bitterly)
To work. To sell my immortality for a mess of
pottage.
COLUMBINE
But I haven't ironed your coat — it is all creased.
You look disreputable.
PIERROT
I don't care how I look.
COLUMBINE
And you haven't finished your breakfast.
PIERROT
I'm not going to finish it.
{He goes out^ slamming the door. Columbine
sits at the table and weeps. After a pause ^ enter
Harlequin, He stands at the door,)
HARLEQUIN {with aplomb)
Good morning!
COLUMBINE {through her tears)
Hello, Harlequin!
HARLEQUIN
Is that all you say to me, just "Hello"? Aren't
you glad to see me ?
COLUMBINE {tearfully)
Yes, Harlequin!
{Harlequin approaches her,)
HARLEQUIN
What's the matter? You're crying.
385
MATINATA
COLUMBINE {tearfully)
Yes, Harlequin.
HARLEQUIN
Why are you crying? It's not over me, is it?
COLUMBINE
No, Harlequin.
HARLEQUIN (disappointed)
No ? Oh ! I thought it was !
COLUMBINE
Why, Harlequin?
HARLEQUIN
Well, I know I haven't been very nice to you
lately. But it's all over now, Columbine. Tell
me what you've been crying about.
COLUMBINE
I don't know.
(Harlequin takes her hand.)
HARLEQUIN {sympathetically)
Won't you tell Harlequin? Perhaps he can help
you.
COLUMBINE
Oh, Harlequin, it's — it's Pierrot! {She weeps
again,)
HARLEQUIN
It's too bad, dear. Pierrots are the same the
world over. You may thank your stars that
wherever there's a Pierrot you'll always find
a Harlequin for consolation!
COLUMBINE
I'd like you to console me, Harlequin, but I
don't think it would be right.
HARLEQUIN
Oh, yes it would. Harlequins are quite neces-
386
MATINATA
sary to the world. The Pierrots would be quite
unbearable without them. And now tell me,
what has Pierrot been doing?
COLUMBINE (tearfully)
It's what he hasn't been doing.
HARLEQUIN
Oh! Neglecting you!
COLUMBINE
Neglecting himself. Wasting his time. Going
to parties, staying up late, working only when
he has to. He*s so — so inefficient with him-
self.
HARLEQUIN
Not with himself, Columbine, but with you.
Columbine dear, if you were my wife, how I
would devote myself to you! It would be the
greatest pleasure for me to do little things for
you, to make your life easier, instead of com-
plicating it as Pierrot does. You make yourself
a slave to him; you spoil him.
COLUMBINE
I know I do. He went away just now and left
everything for me to do. The dishes aren't
washed, the beds aren't made. He didn't get
up 'til eleven o'clock!
HARLEQUIN
Eleven o'clock! (With immense satisfaction^
I've been up since five. What a way to treat
you! Well, dear, I shall help you. Nobody can
call Me inefficient!
COLUMBINE
How I wish Pierrot had some of your qualities!
387
MATINATA
HARLEQUIN {with Still move satisfaction)
He never will have. {Jumps up,) Shall we be-
gin?
COLUMBINE
Begin what?
HARLEQUIN
Tidying up. I hate to sit in a room that's dis-
orderly.
COLUMBINE {coaxing)
Oh, let's talk for a while. I don't feel like tidy-
ing up yet.
HARLEQUIN
Don't you move! You stay right there. I'll
do it. You've worked enough this morning.
COLUMBINE {catches his arm)
You are a dear to want to help me.
HARLEQUIN
There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you,
Columbine. {He bends his head down to her
and kisses her.)
COLUMBINE {with a little cry of pleasure)
Oh, Harlequin!
HARLEQUIN {taking her hand)
Columbine, dear, I love you. It's breaking
my heart to see you so unhappy, to see your
dear hands so hardened and stained by working
and scrubbing for Pierrot, who doesn't ap-
preciate you in the very least little bit.
COLUMBINE {weeps)
It's true. He doesn't.
HARLEQUIN
He stays out night after night, drinking and
gambling, and when he's so tired that he can do
nothing else, he comes back to you and offers
388
MATINATA
you the dregs of himself. Columbine, you are
too wonderful to be wasted on such a man.
COLUMBINE {weepingly)
I am ! I know I am !
HARLEQUIN
Then leave him !
COLUMBINE {amazed)
Leave him?
HARLEQUIN
Yes, come with me.
COLUMBINE {enthusiastically)
Oh — an elopement!
HARLEQUIN
This wouldn't be an elopement exactly. We
should have to go through the form of a legal
separation.
COLUMBINE {disappointed)
But an elopement! I've always wanted an
elopement!
HARLEQUIN
I know, dear, but you must really leave this to
me. An elopement is very romantic and all that,
but a legal separation is really the most sensible
way of doing it.
COLUMBINE {pouting)
Very well, if you say so. I'm not sure I'm
very keen about a legal separation. It sounds
so — so —
HARLEQUIN {interrupting)
Practical. And that's just what it is.
COLUMBINE {admiringly)
You are practical, Harlequin. What do I have
to do?
389
MATINATA
HARLEQUIN
Sit right down and leave everything to me. I
shall attend to every detail.
COLUMBINE
You are a dear, Harlequin. {She sits down on a
chair by the table.) Kiss me, sweetheart.
{Harlequin bends over and kisses her.)
HARLEQUIN {stUl bending over her)
This isn't very comfortable.
COLUMBINE {rising)
You sit here and let me sit on your lap. {Harle-
quin sits downy and she sits on his knee.) Tell me,
Harlequin, how was it you came to fall in love
with me?
HARLEQUIN {starting)
Oh, dear, I ve put my sleeve in the omelette
Tm covered with egg. Do you mind if I clear off
the table?
{Columbine jumps of his knee and Harlequin
rises.)
COLUMBINE anxiously)
Let me help you.
HARL'EQUiN {wiping his sleeve)
No, I can manage, dear.
COLUMBINE
But Harlequin!
HARLEQUIN
But Columbine!
COLUMBINE
Oh, very well. {She sits down.)
HARLEQUIN
ril clear them all off in a second.
390
MATINATA
{He piles all the dishes on one arm^ and in a Jew
seconds has them all carried of, like an expert
waiter,)
COLUMBINE {admiringly)
How clever you are, Harlequin!
HARLEQUIN
While Vm up, I think Fll fix the beds.
COLUMBINE
But, Harlequin, v/hat about the elopement?
HARLEQUIN {rather sharply)
The legal separation?
COLUMBINE
Yes, when shall we get started?
HARLEQUIN
When will Pierrot return ?
COLUMBINE
I don*t know.
HARLEQUIN
Didn't you ask him, dear?
COLUMBINE
No!
HARLEQUIN
That was rather thoughtless of you.
COLUMBINE
But, Harlequin, I didn't know we were going to
elope when he left th s morning.
HARLEQUIN
Of course you didn't, but on general principles,
if you're living with a person constantly. Colum-
bine, you ought to know just about what his
habits are, and how long he may be expected to
be away.
391
MATINATA
COLUMBINE
But Pierrot has no habits.
HARLEQUIN
That's true. I suppose you'd better get packed,
so we can leave before he returns. Where is
your suitcase, dear?
COLUMBINE {pointing)
Under the bed.
HARLEQtriN {pulls out the suitcase)
Lord, what a state it's in! Have you a duster?
COLUMBINE
Let me do it.
HARLEQUIN
Please, Columbine. Tell me where you keep the
duster.
COLUMBINE
Please let me do it.
HARLEQUIN
Now, Columbine, didn't you say you'd leave
everything to me?
COLUMBINE
But I want to do it!
HARLEQUIN
Very well, I know what we'll do. You pack the
suitcase and I'll tidy the room.
(Columbine takes the suitcase and dusts it with
her handkerchief^
Using your handkerchief, dear?
COLUMBINE
I have no duster.
HARLEQUIN
No duster?
392
MATINATA
COLUMBINE
No!
HARLEQUIN {expanswely)
When you are living with me, dear, we shall have
large piles of dusters! We shall have small,
striped ones, large tea cloths, dishcloths, towels,
and washrags, and every kind of brush, broom,
and cleaning appliance!
COLUMBINE
How wonderful!
HARLEQUIN (begins making Pierrofs bed)
Does Pierrot sleep in this bed?
COLUMBINE
Yes.
HARLEQUIN
I thought SO. Nobody but Pierrot could stand
such sheets.
COLUMBINE {alarmed)
They're clean, aren't they?
HARLEQUIN
Yes, but cotton and such cotton! When you
five with me. Columbine, you shall sleep on linen.
What's this? {He takes out a photograph of
Columbine in a silver frame from under pillow.)
COLUMBINE {taking the picture)
Where did you find it ?
HARLEQUIN
Under his pillow.
COLUMBINE
Silly Pierrot !
HARLEQUIN
Silly's too mild a name for a lazy sentimentalist
Hke Pierrot. Sleeps with his wife's photograph!
393
MATINATA
COLUMBINE
Hadn't we better hurry?
HARLEQUIN
We can't go away and leave the place untidy —
though I suppose Pierrot would never notice it.
COLUMBINE
No — I don't think he would.
{Columbine begins to bundle her underwear and
clothes into the suittase. Harlequin continues
making up the bed.)
HARLEQUIN {making the bed)
Do you tuck the quilt under the mattress on
both sides, or only on the left-hand side?
coL*UMBiNE {carelessly)
Oh, any old way.
HARLEQUIN {dogmatically)
The correct way is to tuck it under on the left-
hand side only. {Columbine attempts to close the
suitcase. Harlequin sees her.) Don't do that,
Columbine. You're liable to strain yourself.
Let me do it. {Harlequin begins to struggle
with the suitcase but fails to close it.) You have
too much in it. Do you mind if I open it?
COLUMBINE
But, Harlequin, we must hurry. Pierrot may
come back any moment.
HARLEQUIN
We can't go away with all your things trailing
out of the suitcase, dear! {He opens it and turns
to Columbine reproachfully.) Columbine!
COLUMBINE
Yes, it is untidy, isn't it? I was so excited I
just pushed everything in.
394
MATINATA
HARLEQUIN
No wonder I couldn't close it. Columbine,
dear, just leave this packing to me, will you?
Look, here's a magazine. \{He gives it to her and
guides her to chair.) You sit down there and read
it for a few minutes, and I'll have your suitcase
packed like lightning.
COLUMBINE
But I feel so useless!
HARLEQUIN {reproachfuUy)
Columbine!
COLUMBINE
I do.
HARLEQUIN
But you want to go away with me, don't you,
dear?
COLUMBINE {dubiously)
I suppose I do.
HARLEQUIN
You suppose? Don't you know. Columbine,
darling?
COLUMBINE
Yes, of course I know.
HARLEQUIN
Very well. Leave everything to me and there
won't be any hitch.
{He begins packing up her clothes^ which he has
dumped out of the suitcase onto the floor. He is an
expert packer; everything is folded up into the
tiniest space. Columbine watches him appre-
hensively over the top of the magazine. Harlequin
begins to fold up a very frilly nightgown.)
395
MATINATA
COLUMBINE
Please don*t look at that, Harlequin!
HARLEQUIN
Why not?
COLUMBINE
It embarrasses me.
HARLEQUIN
IVe seen loads of them.
COLUMBINE
Harlequin !
HARLEQUIN
In shop windows. But isn't this rather a
stupid one?
COLUMBINE
Pierrot doesn't think so.
HARLEQUIN
It is rather stupid, though. Look at aU that
frilly lace on the shoulders! It means that the
gown lasts half as long. You are always liable
to catch cold wearing it. Then again, the
laundering is always more difficult and conse-
quently more expensive, and it often scratches
your skin when they put too much starch in
it. {His voice full of promise.) Fll buy you some
simple, practical ones, without any frills and
fripperies.
COLUMBINE
But I like that one.
{Harlequin has another frilly garment in his hand.
She jumps up and takes it away from him.)
HARLEQUIN {amazed)
Columbine, you don't mean to tell me you
wear those!
396
MATINATA
COLUMBINE {puzzled)
Yes, I do; why not?
HARLEQUIN
Goodness me, they're mid- Victorian. You take
me back to the days of my grandmother.
COLUMBINE
What's the matter with them?
HARLEQUIN
I shall have to buy you an entirely new trous-
seau!
COLUMBINE
I don't know that I want a new trousseau!
HARLEQUIN
Indeed you do. You need a new dress badly,
too. When you live with me, I shall work hard
and buy you loads of wonderful clothes. I shall
select them myself. I want everybody to admire
you and say what a faultlessly dressed woman
you are! There! Everything's in, and there's
room for a whole lot more. Are you sure you
have everything?
COLUMBINE {putting oYi cout and hat)
Quite sure. Come along.
HARLEQUIN
Did you remember to put in your rubbers?
COLUMBINE {puzzled)
Rubbers — on an elopement?
HARLEQUIN
Yes, why not? It might rain.
COLUMBINE
Well, I won't put in rubbers!
HARLEQUIN
If it rains, you'd take cold without them.
397
MATINATA
COLUMBINE
I will not take rubbers.
HARLEQUIN
Columbine, I insist on rubbers.
COLUMBINE {sarcastically)
Very well, I have no rubbers. But I have an
umbrella — perhaps you'd like me to take that!
HARLEQUIN
That would be an excellent idea!
COLUMBINE {getting angry)
And how about a small medicine chest with
mustard plasters, hot water bottles, and all the
necessary equipment for treating small wounds,
sprains, bruises, burns, and chapped hands?
HARLEQUIN
Columbine, I believe you are angry with me.
COLUMBINE
Angry with you? No, Harlequin, Tm not angry
with you. Tm angry with myself. Imagine
eloping with a man who insists on packing
rubbers and an umbrella. Oh, Lord!
HARLEQUIN
My dear, Fm simply trying to be practical!
COLUMBINE {scornfully)
Practical! Why haven't you brought a lawyer
with you ? Why haven't we signed the necessary
legal documents? Why haven't you brought a
doctor in case we have an accident, and a trained
nurse, and a hospital, and an ambulance? Why
haven't you been really practical?
HARLEQUIN
Columbine, you're making fun of me !
COLUMBINE
No, I'm not! If I elope, it must be with a
398
MATINATA
practical man, not an amateur. I want him
to bring along railroad trains and seaside
hotels and ocean liners!
HARLEQUIN
You are making fun of me! Columbine, I shall
not go away with you.
COLUMBINE {points to sink)
How could you go away with me when the dishes
aren ' t washed ? {^A noise is heard outside.) Hist !
It's Pierrot!
HARLEQUIN
What shall I do?
COLUMBINE
Something practical!
HARLEQUIN
rU hide in the bathroom.
(Exit Harlequin^ bathroom door. Columbine
takes off her hat and coat and passes Harlequin s
hat a?id walkingstick into the bathroom,
Eyjter Pierrot. He carries a small straggling bunch
of flowers,)
PIERROT {penitently)
Columbine, dear, these are for you!
COLUMBINE
Pierrot, dear! {They embrace.)
PIERROT
Forgive me, darling!
COLUMBINE
There's nothing to forgive, dearest.
PIERROT
I was rude to you!
26 399
MATINATA
COLUMBINE
It was my fault, Pierrot. I had my leg in your
way!
PIERROT
No, dearest, I was wrong in kicking my foot
against you! I know I was. So I went out into
the fields and picked these flowers for you. Then
I sat on the grass and looked at them, and do
you know. Columbine, dear, that the song came
back to me, the one I was dreaming about when
you woke me up this morning — "Matinata,'*
I called it — so I wrote it down on a piece of
paper and took it to the song publishers and
would you believe it — they paid me ninety dol-
lars and forty-seven cents for it!
COLUMBINE {amazed)
And forty-seven cents!
PIERROT
Three dollars and seven cents a line! Look,
here's the money ! {He pulls out the roll of bills
and shows them to her,) Do you know what
Tm going to do with it? Fm going to buy half
a dozen of the laciest of lace nighties for you !
The ones you have are nearly worn out.
COLUMBINE
But, darling, they are so impractical!
PIERROT
They're beautiful! And then Fm going to bring
you half a dozen pairs of —
COLUMBINE {glancing apprehensively at the bath-
room door)
Never mind, Pierrot!
PIERROT
And with the rest of the money we'll go on a
400
MATINATA
little trip together! You'll have to pack your
suitcase!
COLUMBINE {shows her suitcase)
It is packed!
PIERROT
How did you come to do that?
COLUMBINE {hesitating, then lying heroically)
Woman's intuition! The moment you said
those few lines at the breakfast table, I just
knew the publisher would buy the song!
PIERROT
Have you any room for my things?
COLUMBINE {opens suitcase)
Lots!
PIERROT {admiringly)
How neatly you packed it! Here, drop these in.
{He throws in some clothes and shuts the suitcase,
stamps on it and goes to the door, right. Columbine
puts on her hat and picks up the suitcase.)
PIERROT
Columbine, you look charming in those old
clothes people will think we're eloping!
{They kiss. Exit Pierrot. The bathroom door
opens and Harlequin peeps through.)
COLUMBINE {calls dowstairs, looking at Harlequin)
Pierrot, dear, shall I bring rubbers ?
{Exit Columbine. Enter Harlequin. He looks out
of the window, sighs, goes over to the table, shrugs
his shoulders, and begins to wash the dishes,)
CURTAIN
401
THE CONFLICT
A DRAMA IN ONE ACT
bv Clarice Vallette McCauley
The Conflict was first produced at the Vagabond
Theatre, Baltimore, Monday evening, December 6, 1920.
CHARACTERS
Emelie, Mrs. J. A. Dushane Penniman
Bess, \ ^^^^ Kohler
Harriet Gibbs
I
Bob, John Steuart
Mother, Mrs. S. Johnson Poe
Produced by May Standish Rose. Setting by
the Vagabond Workshop
Copyright, 1920, 192 1, hy CLARICE VALLETTE McCAULEY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Originally published by The Norman, Remington Company as
No. 6 of the Vagabond Plays, The Conflict is included in this
collection by special arrangement with the author.
Application for permission to produce this play should be made to
Clarice Vallette McCauley, Columbia University, New York City.
THE CONFLICT
CHARACTERS {in the order of their appearance) :
EMELiE, the elder daughter of the house, who has
already tested her wings in a first flight.
BESS, seventeen — just beginning to be aware oj the
worlds outside,
BOBS, thirteen — a vigorous young animal with no
wings to speak of as yet,
THE MOTHER, guardian of the nest, and very
jealous of the world — where her brood is concerned,
scene: The kitchen of an old-fashioned farmhouse,
time: Late afternoon of an April day.
In the back wall, well to the right, is a door leading
into the garden. Left of center a broad window
curtained in crisp white muslin. In the right wall
— down stage — a door leading to the living-rooms
at the front of the house. Just opposite — in the
left wall — a door which, when opened, reveals a
narrow flight of stairs which turn and disappear
— evidently the back stairway leading to the rear
bedrooms.
In the upper left-hand corner a built-in kitchen
range with copper preserving kettle above it. In
the upper right a small sink with pump attach-
ment— a little oak-framed mirror over it — a roller
towel on the wall beside it. Further down, on the
405
THE CONFLICT
right, a cupboard filled with old-fashioned china
— a nest of yellow bowls — a pan of apples. A
drop-leaf table down right of center is covered with
a pretty blue and white cloth — a cane-seated
rocker on the right of it — on the left a straight
chair to match. Between outer door and window
is a little table with a workbasket on it — a clock
hangs on the wall above it. Near the window a
chair — on the sill potted geraniums in bloom. The
window is open and through it you get a glimpse
of a white lilac bush in flower. The square of sun-
shine on the floor is gradually cut ofl diagonally —
as though by a slanting roof — //// near the end it
disappears entirely.
{Note, — The room should suggest by every detail
of its cheery y wholesome orderliness a certain sym-
pathetic plea for the mother. Otherwise, if the
home were unattractive, there would at once be
furnished a reason for the children s wish to leave
it; but there is no fundamental reason — other than
the primordial urge to try our wings, which gets
us all, sometime; and which no mother can success-
fully deny without forever crippling her child. In
contrast to the crisp, clear-cut details of the kitchen
is the vague, hazy sunshininess of the garden out-
side the door.)
As the curtain rises Emelie is discovered seated
at left of the center table writing a letter. On this
table stands a small black traveling-bag, and scat-
tered around it gloves, purse, a few letters.
Emelie is a tall girl of about twenty-three, not ex-
actly beautiful, but with a certain nobility of pur-
406
THE CONFLICT
pose in her face that lends her distinction^ and the
lines of her slender figure in its solemn black are
full of allurement. Her face quivers as she writes^
and she stops a moment to wipe her eyes. There is
the cheery y impudent call of a robin in the garden^
and Bess enters from the living-room.
Bess is a girl of seventeen. She is not in mourning
like her sister^ but her white skirt and middy-
blouse are set of by a black tie^ and a black ribbon
on her hair. She has emptied a vase of withered
flowers on to a newspaper^ and carries them care-
fully before her.
EMELiE {looking up and referring to the flowers)
Gone — are they?
BESS
Yes — lilacs droop so soon. I cut these for you
to take with you on the train.
EMELIE {absent-mindedly ^ looking at her letter)
Vm sorry, Puss —
BESS
Vm not; Tm, oh, so glad — you stayed! (^S*^^
has stopped back of the chair to give her sister a
hug.) You can't think how much even two days
more means to us. You're surely going this
time?
EMELIE
Yes.
BESS {going up towards window)
Then Fd better cut you some more. The white
ones by the window — they're in bloom now —
and they last longer, I think. Do you like them
just as well?
407
THE CONFLICT
EM E LIE {writing)
Just as well, dear.
BESS {raising the lid of the range and emptying news-
paper)
My! It's good I looked at this fire. It's almost
gone. {Reaches into wood-box and puts wood on
fire as she speaks^ And Mother told Bob to tend
to itj but, of course, he's out — as usual — dear
knows where. {There's the sound of a rapidly
passing train, and the sky above the window is
darkened — as is the square of sunlight on the floor.
Bess looks at the clock.) There goes the express
now. I suppose you'll take the 5.05 .f*
EMELIE
Yes.
BESS
Well — You'll want supper before you go.
EMELIE
No, Bess, don't bother. I'm not hungry — I can
get tea on the train.
BESS {coming down)
Sister, you haven't changed your mind.^
EMELIE
No.
BESS
You're really going to New York?
EMELIE
Yes.
BESS
Does Mother know? {Emelie nods.) But she
doesn't believe you'll do it?
EMELIE
I suppose not.
408
THE CONFLICT
BESS
And when Mother sets her mind against any-
thing we want to do — you know how it is — even
Father always gave in to her — in the end. Don't
you feel afraid — she'll persuade you not to go?
EMELIE
I hate to vex her, dear, but — well — neither of
you quite understand. My whole future, my
very life depends on this. {Under her breath.)
More than my life, perhaps.
BESS {who has caught the last phrase, looks at her
searchingly)
Sister — {Coming down back of the tabled you
know that talk — we — had — last night? After
we had gone to bed?
EMELIE
Yes — I kept you awake till all hours.
BESS
It was I kept you. Well — you know what you
said — about how, sometimes, when you wanted
something that wasn't good for you and didn't
feel very strong — how it was awfully foolish to
hang around in sight of it, and how it was much,
much wiser to run away from temptation ?
EMELIE
Yes.
BESS {coming around and kneeling softly beside her)
Are you — running away — from temptation?
EMELIE
Little sister, dear little sister, what are you say-
ing?
BESS {with the frank persistence of a child)
Are you?
409
THE CONFLICT
EM E LIE {frames the earnest face in her hands ^ and as
she stoops to kiss her^ whispers)
Sh — yes.
BESS
Oh, I was sure of it! Then that's why you're
not going back to Boston. I knew it — I knew
it — It's those letters! {Reaches towards them,)
EM E LIE {checking her)
Darling! You don't know what you're talking
about. Those letters are from a very, very dear
friend
BESS {convictingly)
In Boston!
EMELIE
Well, yes
BESS
And they always make you cry — such funny
tears !
EMELIE
They spoke of Father — of our loss, dear. If
they made me cry it was because they were so
full of tenderness — of sympathy
BESS
You think so much of him, sister?
EMELIE
So much, dear. He's the best, the truest friend
I ever had.
BESS {puzzled)
Then why.?
EMELIE
Don't, darling. I've no right I don't dare
Oh, I can't explain
BESS {jealously)
Well — just the same — I'm glad you're going to
410
THE CONFLICT
New York instead. I wish I were. Is that
really an hones t-to-goodness contract — that
long one? {Indicating envelope.)
EM E LIE {laughing and abandoning hope of writing
J or the time,)
Not exactly. It*s an offer, though — from one of
the biggest magazines in New York — suggesting
subjects for four of my kiddie pictures. If they
like them — and they shall like them — they'll
produce them in colors. And then — it*s up to
the public. If the public likes them — if it laughs
— and applauds — and clamors for more — why,
then I can ask, oh, just anything I want for my
work — in reason, of course — and they'll give it
to me. That's the way of the world.
BESS
Isn't is splendid? And that's when you'll send
for me?
EMELIE
Yes, dear — if Mother will let you
BESS {despairingly)
Oh, Mother
EMELIE
Don't cross bridges. Honey. You know I must
first be very sure that I can take care of you —
before I talk to Mother.
BESS
You don't think I'll be too old, by then?
EMELIE
For music? You goosie, of course not! If you
don't strain those sweet little vocal cords of
yours, you'll be just right to begin. Pussy, run
along now and cut the lilacs, won't you? — while
411
THE CONFLICT
I finish my letter. And send Bobs if you see
him about. I want him to mail this for me.
BESS {going)
I shouldn*t wonder if that's where he's gone —
to the post-office. Shall I raise the shade?
EMELIE
Yes, dear; and leave the door open — the air's so
good to-day.
BESS {taking a large scissors from a hook near the
door — wistfully)
I wish I was going to New York. {Goes out^
leaving door open.)
{Through the open door the sun falls in a tessel-
lated square — as though through a trellis — across
the threshold. Erne lie resumes her letter-writing,
Bess is seen through the window at the lilac bush.
There is no sound for a moment but the twittering
of birds and a little dry sob from the girl at the
table. Then a boys clear whistle is heard ^ to which
Bess replies y and presently a boys shadow falls
across the threshold^ and an instant later he is ap-
parently joined by BesSy who has gone to meet him.
By this time Emelie has sealed her letter and is ad-
^dressing it,)
EMELIE {calling)
Bobbie!
BOB {from outside)
All right. Sis! I'm coming. {Entering,) Bess
said you wanted me.
{Bobbie is a boy of twelve or thirteen — perfectly
clean but barefooted^ and in the boyish dishabille
of a fellow that lives close to the ground. There is
no subtlety about Bobbie — he^s just plain Boy,)
412
THE CONFLICT
EMELIE
Yes, I — goodness, Bobs! Bare feet, so early in
Spring! Won't you catch cold?
BOB
Cold! Forget it! D'ye think Tm a girl? Say,
Em! You're sure some letter writer. Gettin'
'em and sendin' 'em every mail — must keep you
busy. Don't you want a secr'tary?
EMELIE
If I did, I wouldn't hire you — you fourth-grader,
you!
BOB {good-naturedly)
Gee, what a wallop! Don't I make a pretty
good fist at corresponding, though? Oh, well!
Who wants to write, anyway? I got no use for a
pen; but gimme a hammer an' saw an' some
nails, an' I'll make you own up that I can't be
beat turnin' out chick'n-coops. Ain't that
right?
EMELIE (laughing)
It surely is; but, good gracious, Bobs, haven't
you any ambition? Don't you ever think what
you want to be when you're a man ?
BOB
Sure I do! I'm goin' to stay right here and have
the best little chick'n-farm in the county.
Nothin' but Wy'ndottes an' Barr'd Rocks in
mine! Well — mebbe some Leghorns f'r the
eggs.
EMELIE (smilingly)
Oh, well! In that case, it's all right, I suppose.
It's a good thing one of us wants to stick to the
old place. If it were only Jim, now By the
413
THE CONFLICT
way, Bobs, where /j Jim? I haven't seen him
all day.
BOB
Off with the gang, I guess.
EMELIE
Oh, dear! That isn't right. He ought to cut
that out! — that's how he got into all that
trouble.
BOB
You got it doped out wrong. Cutting it out's
what got him in Dutch !
EMELIE
Bob! What do you mean? I don't understand.
BOB {loftily)
No, and nobody takes the trouble to understand
a fellow around here.
EMELIE
Robert! I don't think that's quite fair — not to
me!
BOB
Oh, well, it makes me sore. Jim's all right —
even if he does get pretty bossy sometimes.
And Jim never got a square deal in this mixup
— never, from nobody. Seems to me anyone
could understand that you can't go out with
fellers one day an' cut 'em out the next — just
like that ! {He makes a little perpendicular chop-
ping-off gesture with one hand.) But you know
how Mother is! When she says cut it out — it
means cut it out— just like that! Not to-morror',
or th' next day — or lettin' 'em down easy — but
now! Well, the night she said "No more of it!"
the gang was meetin' at Dutch Heinie's for a
game o' cards
414
THE CONFLICT
EMELIE
Oh, Bobbie!
BOB
Oh, well — they'd been meetin' all winter —
nothin' to it! But somebody riiustVe got wind
of it — an' the whole crowd gets pinched! — an',
of course, just 'cause Jim had cut it out so sud-
den and shamefaced-like, they thought he was
the squealer — and mebbe they didn't have
trouble planted for him from that on. Say, he
didn't any more break into Martin's show-case
than I did.
EMELIE
Of course he didn't! My own brother! Don't I
know that, Bobs?
BOB
Well, if you'd heard Mother questioning him —
you'd a thought he was a liar as well as a thief.
EMELIE
Sh — Bobbie! That's the unfortunate part of it.
That's what he got for going with bad company.
BOB
Well — he sure had enough of 'em. When he got
out didn't he just beg Mother to let him get
away from here? He knows they're no good —
but in a little place like this what's a fellow goin'
to do? He wanted to go to Fall River; Uncle
Zack'd a got him a job there. But Mother said
he was too young to be breaking home ties,
EMELIE
Oh, Bobbie — you don't understand, dear.
Mother didn't want him away then^ with Father
sick.
« 415
THE CONFLICT
BOB {sullenly)
No, and she won't let him go now^ with Father
(He stops ^ gulps ^ and turns away suddenly^
brushing his eyes with his coat-sleeve,)
EMELiE {going to him)
There, there, Bobbie — I know! It does seem as
if everything was set against his getting a
chance. But we will have to think hard — and
stand together — and just be patient a little
longer.
BOB
Well, ril tell you something! It wouldn't sur-
prise me none if he'd run away and enlist some
day.
EMELIE
He can't! He's too young.
BOB
What's the matter with lying.?
EMELIE
Bobby!
BOB
Oh, well, Jiminy Crickuts! If I wanted to get
out of a place as bad as Jim does out 'a this one
my brain 'u'd get so cracked I'd forget my name
— let alone my birthday. Where's Mother?
Out?
EMELIE
I think she's taking a nap, dear — she went up
to lie down. You know she's all worn out with
nursing
BOB {nodding and speaking quickly)
Does she take it all right — you're going?
416
THE CONFLICT
EMELIE
Bobs, dear! I don't like to hear you speak of
Mother that way.
BOB
Aw, gee!
EMELIE
Well, I don't. It sounds so disrespectful. And
you love her.
BOB
Course I do — you know it!
EMELIE
Sure I know it. Why, just think! You are her
baby!
BOB {slyly)
Say, I don't get no chance to forget that neither.
EMELIE {shaking him)
Bobbie, you're incorrigible.
BOB ( purposely as ungrammatical as he knows how
to be)
I ain't never goin' to get no chance to grow up!
I'm like that guy — what's his name.^ Peter Pan!
That's me ! Well, where's this letter you wanted
me to mail ? {Going to table.)
EMELIE
You haven't been to the post-office.'*
BOB
No. {Half sheepishly,) Mrs. Lane's. She prom-
ised to have something for me. {Picks up
letter,) Bosting, eh? Well — Jumpin' y<?^-hosa-
phat! What do you want to mail this here for?
Why don't you take it along?
EMELIE
I'm not going that way.
417
THE CONFLICT
BOB
You ain't going by the 5.15 to Boston.
EMELIE
No, dear youth — I take the 5.05 to New York.
BOB {whistles)
Mother know?
{Enter Bess with lilacs,)
EMELIE
Yes, she — knows.
BOB
Well*, Vm off. {To Bess.) Shall we show her
what I got? {Exit,)
BESS {explaining BoFs last speech)
Pansies, Emelie.
EMELIE
Oh, for Father. {Taking the lilacs from Bess.)
Thank you, dear — they're beautiful — and like
you. They'll go along to take care of me, Sweet-
heart.
{Re-enter Bob with a broad ^ shallow basket
filled with pansy plants.)
BOB
Pansies! Ain't they beauts? Mrs. Lane gave
'em to me. It looks so rough up there — no sod,
nor nothin' growin'. Bess an' I were goin' to
set 'em out this afternoon, but they can wait till
morning. I won't have more'n time to get to
the post-office and back before your train goes.
Well — you don't have far to go — that's one com-
fort. Comes in sort o' handy this havin' a pri-
vate railroad station at your back door, eh?
Well—I'm off.
418
THE CONFLICT
EMELIE
Wait, Bobbie. I don't want you to come back
here.
BOB
What! Not to say good-bye?
EMELIE
I can't say good-bye to you children that way.
I don't want either of you here when — they're
going to be so hard — these last few moments
with Mother. Bess will take the pansies and
wait for you — you know the little siding where
the train almost stops? Fll wave good-bye to
you there; and after the train's gone, why, you
two can go to the cemetery together, and all the
way to New York I'll be seeing you setting out
the pansies on Father's grave.
BOB
Don't, Em! Funny how a feller misses him —
though he hardly ever said much Aw' Gee !
(Disgusted with himself for showing emotion.)
Take care of yourself, Em. Write soon ! {Rushes
blindly of,)
{The two girls stand for a moment in each other's
armSy then they break away with a guilty look at
the clock.)
BESS
Do you think she's sleeping?
EMELIE
No.
BESS
Then why
EMELIE
Oh, it makes it so hard for me! It's her way,
419
THE CONFLICT
you know Will you go up and tell her,
dear, that Vm almost ready to go — and that
there isn*t much more time?
BESS (crossing towards the door to the back stairway)
Yes. What did you do with your suitcase.
Sister?
EMELIE
I sent it over early this afternoon. And Bess — I
don't want to go up to the room again — you
might just bring my hat and coat, dear — I have
everything else.
{Bess runs up the back stairway^ leaving the door
swing open behind her. Enlelie gathers up
her writing materials, dropping the letters into
the little satchel. One of these she stops to re-
read; in the midst of it, with a little sob and a
gesture of renunciation, she tears up the letter and
drops the pieces into the fire. Coming back she
stops and picks a pansy which she slips into the
book on the table before she drops that into the
satchel, too. Bess comes down the stairs carrying
Emelie's hat and coat.)
BESS
She'll be down in a minute. {Then, in reply to
the question in Emelie's face) She was u^
looking out of the window.
EMELIE
What did she say?
BESS
Only that she thought you'd given up going.
EMELIE {sighs)
Good-bye, dear.
420
THE CONFLICT
BESS
You won't forget you're going to send for me?
EMELIE
I won't forget.
BESS {taking up basket)
Bobs and Til be at the siding.
EMELIE
And ril be sure to lean out of the window and
throw you kisses as far as I can see you.
BESS {tremulously)
Good-bye. {She goes out waving her hand and is
seen passing the window.)
EMELIE
Good-bye, little sister — and God keep you, dar-
ling— as you are. {Emelie turns and sees Mother ^
who during the last speech has come down the
stairway. She has taken down the kitchen apron
that is hanging on nail inside of door, and is put-
ting it on. There is a moment's embarrassed
pause, then Emelie speaks.) Mother — I hated
to disturb you; but I was beginning to be afraid
you might not waken till the last minute.
MOTHER {placidly)
I wasn't asleep. I thought you'd reconsidered
going.
EMELIE
Mother — you make it so hard for me
MOTHER
I mean to make it hard — very hard. {She goes
to the dresser and takes from it a large pan of
apples, a knife, and a bowl. Then she draws the
cane-seated rocker to the left of the table and pro-
ceeds to peel the apples in long, thin, unbroken
421
THE CONFLICT
curls — possibly only for the woman with a steady
hand and no troublesome nerves^ For that mat-
ter, IVe never said that staying right here was
going to be the easy thing for you to do; but you
can't get out of the fact that it's your duty,
Emelie. (The rocker stops a moment^ as though
its occupant expected a reply; then^ as there is
none^ h continues its placid rhythmic swing, as the
Mother resumes her argument,) You can't al-
ways have things the way you want them — and
I don't think it would be good for you if you
could. {Emelicy who has come down behind the
table, makes a sudden sharp movement as though
to speak, then closes her lips firmly. She picks
up one of her gloves, examines it mechanically for
a moment — and then goes up stage to the work
basket, and stands there finding needle and thread,
etc., during next speeches. Meanwhile all the
mother s attention appears to be centered on the
careful coring and quartering of the apple in her
hand. She leisurely selects another before con-
tinuing.) Now that you've got used to your
freedom and your own way, it's asking a sacri-
fice of you — I realize that; but you'll have to
make lots of them before you're as old as I am.
EMELIE {with a sudden lift of her head, and in a
tone — crisp, clean-cut, that somehow shows the
fight is on)
It's your idea of life, isn't it, Mother?
MOTHER
Making sacrifices ?
EMELIE
Yes.
422
THE CONFLICT
MOTHER
Well, it's a pretty big part of it — as you'll find
out.
EMELIE
Fm a poor scholar.
MOTHER
When you don't like the lesson ?
EMELIE
Yes. For nearly twenty years Fve tried to
learn it, but — I can't do it.
MOTHER
How you exaggerate, Emelie.
{There is nothing impetuous in the speech of
these women — there is power — repose — at bottom
both are very much alike.)
EMELIE
Oh, no, I don't. Stop and think. I was three
years old when Robert was born. I was ex-
pected to grow out of babyhood right then and
there. And when he died — there was James to
do for — and give in to. Do you remember what
a naughty child I used to be? Poor little
tempestuous mite — always being punished —
hardly ever understanding what for
MOTHER
Well, you did have a bad temper.
EMELIE
And, of course, that had to be sacrificed! {At
the little exclamation of surprise from her mother
she continued hastily^ Oh, I know that must
sound absurd to you, because you don't — per-
haps you can't see it as I do; but all the little
things you didn't like about me — had to be
423
THE CONFLICT
lopped off, even if I was as surely maimed
thereby as though you had cut off my arms and
legs. Dear Mother! I know you meant every-
thing for the best — always! You were de-
termined I should be unselfish — well-disciplined
— and self-controlled — cut out and fashioned
by a pattern on your nail; weren^t you? {She
has come down right of table during this speech^
and on the last two words, to soften the unfilial
tone of it, reaches out and just touches her mother s
hand,)
MOTHER (not hurt at all by the criticism — and equally
untouched by the caress)
Do you think you're any the worse for it?
EMELIE
Who knows?
MOTHER
I don't think you understand, Emelie. Just
what do you mean to complain of?
EMELIE
I don't mean to complain of anything, dear.
You loved us all devotedly — no one could have
been a better mother — if only — {She hesitates,
then finishes whimsically,) If only you could
have individualized us a bit, dear, instead of
lumping us all together as just ''your children,'''
MOTHER {her hands idle for a moment, she revolves
what seemed to her an absurd arraignment; then,
surrendering to the apparent need for justification)
I suppose you will admit, Emelie, that you were
a very jealous child?
EMELIE
Oh, undoubtedly! Frightfully so! Did you
think you had cured me. Mother?
424
THE CONFLICT
MOTHER
I tried
EMELIE
On the contrary, you fed the flame — don't you
see? You exercised the unlovely thing till it
grew strong. I learnt jealousy as a fine art
at the mature age of seven. It frightens me to
think how I used to feel — how I could feel now
if any- {She catches herself up and finishes
rather lamely — as she goes back to the sewing-
table) anyone gave me cause.
MOTHER (looking back after her a moment — then
down at her work)
Emelie! You've never told us — me — much
about your friends.
EMELIE
No.^ {She lingers a bit unnecessarily over the
smoothing out of the gloves y but finally places them
beside her hat and coat and comes slowly down to
her mother s side.) What is it you would like to
know, Mother?
MOTHER
Something about the way you're living now —
the people who have helped you in your work.
That girl you roomed with first — for instance;
what's become of her?
EMELIE
I don't know. I never see her any more.
MOTHER
Why not?
EMELIE
Mother! Let's not go into that. It's a long
story — and it would have no bearing on the
subject we are discussing.
425
THE CONFLICT
MOTHER {mildly)
I thought that was settled.
EMELiE (her eyes flashing ominously^ but her voice
quiet)
Did you ? You thought that all my life to come
was to be narrowed within the limits of your
"NO;" that Td give up my plan to go to New
York, to forego all the splendid opportunities
this year is holding out to me, just because you
believe my duty is here. And after all, is that
your real reason. Mother? Isn't it rather that
you're afraid — that you distrust your child —
and your teaching.? If not, why is it that you
seem to resent each problem that I dare to solve
for myself, each step I take unaided, each fresh
proof that Tm no longer a child at your apron-
strings .f*
MOTHER
Emelie!
EMELIE
Yes, Mother, I beg your pardon. I know Fm
going to hate myself presently for talking to you
like this — but can't you see that Fve got to fight
you.'* All my life with you has been a fight — a
fight to keep true to myself — a constant con-
flict of wills — ideals and principles that clash and
clash — it's terrible — terrible! Can't you see
{She stops to get hold of herself^
MOTHER
Can't I see what, Emelie?
EMELIE {more gently)
Can't you see that you can not hope to always
have the ordering of your children's lives? We
grow up; it is the way of children, Mother. We
426
THE CONFLICT
have adult responsibilities — problems of our
own which we have a right to face ourselves;
and to each one of our battles we bring all that
we have inherited from our parents — and all
the teaching weVe got at their hands — but
something of our own besides. And, Mother
— {She kneels beside her.) that something is the
God within us! Forever to do violence to that
something is to kill the individual. Can't you —
can't you try to understand before it's too late?
Jim — Bess — Bobs, even, will have his future
some day to decide for himself.
MOTHER
That's just why you're needed at home; you're
the eldest. You always were more like a boy
than a girl — Jim'U listen to you.
EMELIE
It took me a long time. Mother, to realize how
exacting your love was. Do you remember
how you opposed the idea of my studying in
Boston? Why, if I had not gotten that first
scholarship at the art school, I'd never have had
my chance at all — and then I had to go with the
bitter thought of your displeasure at my heart
like a stone all summer long.
MOTHER {rather proudly)
You had it in you! You'd have gotten there
just the same — no matter where you studied —
// a little later, perhaps.
EMELIE
Yes, but that's such a tragedy! The joy of bat-
tle and achievement belongs to youth! / want
it now! Not when Tm forty. And you know
that if I hadn't made good — right from the very
427
THE CONFLICT
start — I should have had to come home. Not
because my people couldn't afford it — that I
would have understood — but just because Fate
— in your own person — ^said "No!'' Talk about
signs from heaven! I fairly worshiped those
first checks. Why, fifty dollars was a fortune
that meant room-rent for a month — yes, and
food, too. It took so little to live in a hall bed-
room with the aid of a twenty-five-cent gas
stove and the delicatessen around the corner.
MOTHER {dryly)
No wonder youVe ruined your digestion.
EMELIE
Digestion depends upon the frame of mind.
Mother. Mine was better in the hall bedroom
than it has been here in my father's house,
bottling up my sorrow and fighting your dis-
pleasure. {The girVs lips quiver pitifully. The
Mother rises ^ and^ on her way hack to the sink with
the apple Sy she stops with a half clumsy caress and
says gently)
MOTHER
You're a good girl, Emelie, lots of ways. You
mustn't think I'm always finding fault with you.
It's strange how you've taken your father's
death harder than any of the other children —
though you were away from home so much —
and never his favorite.
EMELIE
I guess there's no grief quite so bitter as the loss
of someone we have loved imperfectly. Oh, it's
all so irrevocable — and it's such a pity. Father
— working, slaving all his life for us — unrecom-
pensed, unappreciated.
428
THE CONFLICT
MOTHER
Why, Emelie! I think we all did our duty by
father.
EMELIE
Duty? Oh, yes. Duty — weighed — measured;
so much politeness, so much service, so much
tolerance of individual likings — with a sort of
affection, too, of course. We all loved Father
— Oh, as a father, all very much according to the
letter of the law — but did any of us ever try to
understand him — as an individual, like our-
selves? And now it's too late! Oh, Mother,
dear, I do wish we could understand each other
a little better before I go.
MOTHER (in the act of crossing to the range with the
saucepan of apples^
But I thought you*d come to see it my way —
about going.
EMELIE [with a little wail of hopeless desperation in
her voiced
Yes, yes, I know you did! And the pity of it is
that you'll keep on thinking so till the whistle
blows. We talk round and round in a circle —
and my train will be here in fifteen minutes.
Couldn't you just give in once — kiss me good-
bye and wish me success? It takes lots of
strength to travel the hard, lonely road in a
strange city.
{The Mother is through with her work, NOW
they will have it out. She turns her back definitely
upon the range y and for the first time speaks di-
rectly to the girl. All through the preceding scene
she has made you feel that Emelie and her problem
429
THE CONFLICT
must take second place to this dish of apple sauce y
the duty of the moment,)
MOTHER
That's another thing I don't understand. You
might as well be frank with me, Emelie. I've
never liked secrecy — and you're mighty close
about your affairs. You were perfectly content
with Boston when you came here a month ago.
What's changed you — why, this sudden notion
for going to New York, instead .f*
EMELIE {half-heartedly)
We'll all need more money now that Father's
gone — and Jim's not making much yet. I think
I can earn more in New York.
MOTHER
And spend more, too. A year ago you were de-
lighted with your place.
EMELIE
That was a year ago. Now, the drawing of in-
sipid faces and faultless figures in absurd gowns
seems intolerable — because I've grown and my
work has grown. Fashion-work was just a
means to keep me in food and lodging while I
studied.
MOTHER
Suppose you don't get anything to do — what
then ?
EMELIE
I'm pretty sure to fall into something. If I fail,
there's always the fashion-work to fall back on.
But I have offers — good ones.
MOTHER
Who from.f*
430
THE CONFLICT
EMELIE
Friends who have faith in me.
MOTHER
That's another thing I don't like. You never
talk about your friends. Tain't natural — un-
less you're ashamed of them.
EMELIE
Mother!
MOTHER
I don't care — it doesn't look right. You've had
letters and sent some every day — even the day
of the funeral — but I notice how careful you
were not to let them lie around none.
EMELIE {looks nervously around the room — her eyes
light on the clock)
Mother, we're wasting time. You've known all
along that I couldn't stay on here indefinitely.
MOTHER
I can't see why not. Why is one place any better
than another to make pictures in? The boys are
away all day. You needn't be afraid I'd expect
much housework of you.
EMELIE (looks at her mother in silence for a moment.
There grows in her face a determination to force
the issue, yet she reads the unspoken trouble at her
mother s heart and her sense of justice counsels her
to be very patient under the probe)
Mother, suppose we quit fencing like this — get
down to facts. Just why are you so determined
to keep me here?
MOTHER
I donU trust you, Emelie, and that's the truth.
You are changed somehow. You're older and
more world-wise — and nervous — and there's
^ 431
THE CONFLICT
something going on that you don*t tell me. You
never were one to talk much, but you don't
give me your confidence at all, now.
EMELIE
And you think you can force it? Have I ever
given you any real cause for not trusting me?
MOTHER {reluctantly)
Not as I know of.
EMELIE
Am I necessarily guilty of something unless I
continually prove myself innocent?
MOTHER
I don't like it. You're not frank with me.
EMELIE
Fm all right, Mother. Oh, why should I worry
you with my problems? I can't do it — though
I love you, dear. {She flings her arms impulsively
around her mother s neck; but the whole unyielding
figure is so prohibitive^ so keenly censorious^ that
the next moment her hands fall limply to her side)
Well — what is it you want to know. Mother?
MOTHER {grasping at the permission^ without no-
ticing what she pays for it)
This man you've been getting letters from —
who is he?
EMELIE
A gentleman I met through my work, Mother.
He's been very good to me — in a business way —
MOTHER
Yes, but it don't look like just business to be
writing letters back and forth every day
EMELIE
Then it would be safe to conclude that there was
more than just business between us.
432
THE CONFLICT
MOTHER
What's his name?
EMELiE {flinching)
Is that necessary?
MOTHER
Are you ashamed of him?
EMELIE
No.
MOTHER {after a dissatisfied pause)
What's he do?
EMELIE
He's — he's on a magazine. Mother — what they
call "Managing Editor."
MOTHER
That how you came to meet him?
EMELIE
Yes. I illustrated some articles for him.
MOTHER {not looking at her)
Known him long — do you see much of him ?
EMELIE
About a year. Yes, I see quite a great deal of
him. {The girl's steady eyes have never wavered
from her mother's face. There is a cold, bitter
little smile about her lips. She could quicker un-
derstand a storm of passionate, anxious scolding
than this inquisitorial skirmishing that keeps
getting closer and closer to the vital question^ but
that dreads to ask it.)
MOTHER
I suppose he takes you out — sometimes?
EMELIE
Frequently.
MOTHER
You go — alone — with him?
433
THE CONFLICT
EMELIE
Usually.
MOTHER
Of course — he*s single ?
EMELIE
No.
MOTHER
What!
EMELIE {stiffening against the table — her nervous
hands fingering the edge of the cloth^ her coat^ her
gloves)
He's married. I don't think I am hurting his
wife. She does not care.
MOTHER {indignantly)
How do you know ?
EMELIE
They have not lived together for years; she's
abroad most of the time.
MOTHER {speaking the word as though it were sacri-
lege)
Divorced?
EMELIE
No — there's a child — a girl, just reaching wo-
manhood. For her sake — well, they've never
just happened to
MOTHER
And you run around with him like this — you'^ T
want to know — he says he loves you ?
EMELIE {laughing shortly)
Yes.
MOTHER
And you?
434
THE CONFLICT
EMELIE
I love him — yes. {The last speeches have been
spoken almost flippantly. Her attitude during the
earlier part of the scene has been that of a child
whistling in the dark. Now that her secret has
been dragged boldly y nakedly into the day lights her
attitude becomes one of impregnable^ hurt defiance.
In her anxiety the mother is blind,)
MOTHER
I can't grasp it! Fve felt there was something
like this in the wind all along — yet I couldn't
believe it of you, Emelie. Mind you, Tm not
saying you've done anything really bad
EMELIE
Thank you. {There is a flash of gratitude in her
face^ but it fades into bitterness as her mother quite
unconsciously spoils it.)
MOTHER
Youve had too good training for that — but I didn't
think you'd cheapen yourself so. How can you
believe this man
EMELIE
Because belief is the very life of love — some-
thing you've never learnt, Mother. You kill
love by doubting it.
MOTHER
Can't very well believe in a married man who
makes love
EMELIE
Mother! Might I suggest that you do not know
either the man or the circumstances?
MOTHER {very emphatically)
There aren't any circumstances that can make
wrong right.
435
THE CONFLICT
EMELIE
Oh! {Pause.) Very well. Then, since you've
judged me, what do you propose to do?
MOTHER
I am trying to think. You want to go to New
York. Why.?
EMELIE
I told you
MOTHER
You didn't! You told me a lot of nonsense.
You never gave me the real reason.
EMELIE
Which is
MOTHER
This man ! He lives in New York — or he's going
to live there. Ain't that why you want to go?
{The girl looks at her mother incredulously — her
whole attitude one of helpless aloofness. It is as
though she looked across an ever-widening gulf at
the dead?)
EMELIE {with a gesture of hopelessness)
Well
MOTHER
Do you think I can't put two and two together?
Those big envelopes you got from New York
yesterday and again today — and you walking
about like one in a dream ! He's on a magazine,
you say — and look at you — so sure of getting
work in a strange city. Well, why don't you
speak? Isn't it so?
EMELIE
What's the use of speaking? You can't expect
to extract truth with a probe — and get it out
436
THE CONFLICT
undamaged. You have chosen to put your own
construction on appearances — go on! Vm anx-
ious to see what you're going to make of it. Jusf
what you will do to my life,
(The train is heard whistling in the distance^
MOTHER
You shall not go to New York tonight.
EMELIE
No? Well, that looks exceedingly probable. I
should have to run now to catch the train. Yet
I could make it! Quick, Mother! I know all
that's worrying you. But of what good was
your training if you can't trust me? I've made
my choice — I want to abide by it. Just say
that I may.
MOTHER
You see! Why are you so set on going by this
very train if it isn't an appointment ? If you are
so determined on leaving home to-night it will
have to be for Boston. You're playing on the
brink of a precipice — and you don't know it!
EMELIE
Take care, Mother, that you don't push me
over —
MOTHER
Oh, yes — I know you're stubborn — but after
all, you're my child ! Maybe when you've had a
night to think
(The unwonted stimulus of opposition has aroused
the Mother quite out of her quiet calm. All
the majesty of outraged motherhood is in her
bearing as she sweeps to the outer door and
locks it. After the first little cry of "Mother,
437
THE CONFLICT
don't do that!" the girl makes no protest. List-
lessly she goes to the sink; as in a dream she
washes her hands and dries them on the roller-
towel^ and at the little mirror studies her face cu-
riously while she fastens on her hat. While she is
doing this the smoke of the New York train dark-
ens the window. The girl parts the curtains and
stands watching. You hear the grinding of brakes^
the hissing of escaping air, the momentary por-
tentous silence, the clang of the bell, the exhaust —
and then the throbbing of the departing south-
bound train. The girl slips into her coat and picks
up her bag as the mother moves stolidly over to the
door and throws it open. Once more a shaft of sun-
light— a long, pale one this time— falls across .the
threshold, and the birds break out into a joyous
twittering. The girl joins her mother in the door-
way, and for a moment they stand there in silence,
so incongruously out of it all — all that the spring
would tell them if they could but hear.)
EMELIE
Well, Mother — good-bye.
MOTHER
T suppose you'll have to go now. You wouldn't
care to stay till morning?
EMELIE
Hardly.
MOTHER {flustered by the girFs steady eyes, takes
refuge in a commonplace)
rd a thought you'd have more pride, Emelie.
I had when I was your age. You'll write?
EMELIE
I don't know — it depends.
438
THE CONFLICT
MOTHER
On what?
EMELIE
I can't see the outcome of this, Mother. But,
whatever happens, I want you to feel that Til
not hold you "responsible for my decisions.
MOTHER
EmeHei
EMELIE
Funny! You believe in predestination — don't
you. Mother? I never did — before. I never
could see Fate as a cat playing with a mouse —
I never believed that God played with us in
wanton sport, but what's the difference if he lets
His creatures do it for Him?
MOTHER
You mustn't talk like that — I don't understand.
EMELIE
I hope you never will.
MOTHER {drawing her quickly to her in alarm)
Emelie !
EMELIE
Oh, don't! Please don't! {In a sudden hurst of
anger she tears herself brusquely out of her mother s
arms,) You've faith in no one but yourself!
Well, you can sleep tonight very sure of how
beautifully you've managed everyone's life.
{Train whistles.) Let me go! I don't want to
miss my train. {Emelie goes quickly out of the
door and down the walk without a backward looL)
MOTHER {making a movement after her)
Emelie! What a way for a girl to speak to her
mother! {Muttering to herself,) Well, she
439
THE CONFLICT
needn^t feel so bitter about it. Vm sure I did it
all for her own good. But that's the way with
children. (Coming down.) They never under-
stand— till it's too late. She's forgot her flowers.
Well, it's too late for them, too. I wonder what
she meant by
(Bess is heard calling from rights "Emelie!"
Oh, Emelie! Where are you?" She runs
excitedly in at the door down rights and takes
in her mother s appearance with an evident
start of dismay. Train is heard stopping,)
BESS
Why, Mother! Where's Emelie? Didn't she
go? We waited for her at the siding. I'm sure
she wasn't on the train, for it stopped an awful
long time there. We ran all the way back. I
came cross-lots and through the front because
Bob got a
BOB (who has run around the house is seen passing
window and runs in at kitchen door)
Didn't she go?
(Train is heard going rapidly in distance^
MOTHER (after a pause)
Yes — she went.
BESS
To New York?
MOTHER
No — to Boston
BESS
Oh! I wonder what made her change her mind.
BOB
Shucks! And I found this telegram for her at
440
THE CONFLICT
the post-office, too! That chump of a green
kid of Sweeny's put it in our mail box.
MOTHER
A telegram?
BOB
Yes; do you suppose it*s anything important?
MOTHER
Give it to me. Til see. {She opens it — reads —
looks stunned. Still clutching the envelope, in a
dazed sort of way she drops the telegram^ and
crosses unsteadily towards the door, left.) Emelie!
My girl! Oh, why didn't you tell me? Why
didn't you tell me? {She goes heavily, brokenly
up the stairs, muttering.) I — I didn't under-
stand her — she said Oh, my God — my
God! What have I done?
BOB
Why, whatever's the matter with Mother?
What's in the thing, anyway? {Picks up tele-
gram.) That's funny — I don't see anything in
this
BESS {faintly)
What's — it say, Bobs?
BOB
Why, all it says is — "You can't mean to go out
of my life like this. Think how I need you.
I shall be waiting at South Station for you to-
night, with what anxiety you can imagine.
Don't fail me. Devotedly Craig." Who's
Craig? Do you know? Well, anyway, it's from
Boston. I don't see anything the matter with
that. She'll meet him O. K. since she got that
train. {Goes to stairway.) Oh, Mother! It's
441
THE CONFLICT
all right! That telegram was from Boston, you
know. {Waits a moment; then starts up the
stairs,) Say, Mother! What's the matter?
Ain't you goin* to have any supper?
BESS {staring down at the forgotten flowers y and
speaking in a low ^ frightened voice)
She — didn't take — my lilacs.
CURTAIN
442
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
A MORAL INTERLUDE
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
PERSONS
The King
Chance, The Vice
Tidy, The False Slattern
Slut, The True Slattern
The Prologue and the Epilogue are spoken by Chance.
Two Slatterns and a King was first produced at
Vassar College.
Copyright, 1921. 6y STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No amateur or professional use permitted of Two Slatterns
AND A King without written authorization first obtained from
Stewart Kidd Company, 121 East Fifth Street, Cincinnati, O., to
whom all applications should be addressed.
Two Slatterns and a King
PROLOGUE
I am that cunning infidel
By men called CHANCE, — ^you know me well.
It is through me you met your wives ;
Through me your harvest blights or thrives ;
And one and all, through me, to-day
Hither you came to see the play,
Which if your favor still you lend,
As now, so on until the end,
You shall be taught what way a King
Though a sublime and awful thing
And even wise, may come to be
A laughing-stock, — and all through me !
(Exit)
(enter king)
KING
I am the King of all this land:
I hold a sceptre in my hand;
Upon my head I wear a crown;
Everybody stands when I sit down. (Sits)
CHANCE (Appearing to audience; he is invisible
throughout the play to the other players in it,)
Excepting me, — please bear in mind
I sit whenever I feel inclined. (Sits)
KING
Although my lands are wide and long,
My walls right thick, my armies strong,
I am not wholly satisfied.
445
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
CHANCE
That is because you have no bride.
KING
Who speaks ? — Come forth and, if you dare,
Say once again what causes my care I
Why I am discontent with life I
CHANCE
It is because you have no wife.
KING
A woman in my royal house I
A woman I A wife ! A bride I A spouse 1
Bold stranger, this is not the cure.
For a woman I could never endure I
CHANCE
Per-CHANCE to-morrow you will find
You have altered your imperial mind.
(Exeunt KING and CHANCE severally)
(enter tidy)
TIDY
I am TIDY, I have been
All my life both neat and clean.
From my outside to my in
Clean am I unto my skin.
Every day into a bucket
My hands I dip, my head I duck it;
And if the water plenty be
I sometimes wet some more of me.
This is my kitchen, where you will find
All things pleasant and to your mind ;
Against the wall in orderly pairs —
One, two, — one, two, — observe my chairs.
446
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
In the middle of the room my table stands :
I would not move it for many lands.
My basins and bowls are all in their places;
The bottoms of my pots are as clean as your
faces.
My kettle boils so cheerily,
It is like a friendly voice to me ;
About my work I merrily sing,
And I brush my hearth with a white duck's wing.
Oh, full is every cupboard, sharp Is every
knife ! —
My bright, sunny kitchen is the pride of my life !
{Exit tidy)
(enter slut)
SLUT
I am SLUT ; I am a slattern,
You must not take me for your pattern.
I spend my days in slovenly ease ;
I sleep when I like and I wake when I please.
My manners, they are indolent ;
In clutter and filth I am quite content.
Here is my kitchen, where I stir up my messes,
And wear out my old shoes and soiled silk
dresses.
My table sags beneath the weight
Ot stale food and unwashed plate ;
The cat has tipped the pitcher o'er, —
The greasy stream drips onto the floor;
Under the table is a broken cup —
I am too tired to pick It up.
{Exit slut)
447
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
(enter king)
KING
Now I will no longer tarry
For I think that I will marry.
Now the one thing in my lire
Is to marry me a wife.
But I will not be content
With a wench that's indolent,
Or take a slattern for a spouse, —
I will go from house to house.
Unheralded — that there may be
No cleaning up because of me —
And that maid whose kitchen's neatest
Will I have to be my sweetest.
{Exit king)
(chance appears)
CHANCE
That I am absent do not fear
For that you have not seen me here,
For know, I oft invisibly
Do move among the things you see ;
And to confuse and thwart the King
Through Slut and Tidy, is a thing
Dear to my nature, — therefore heed,
And you shall see a show indeed !
{Exit chance)
(Enter tidy in great disorder)
TIDY
Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall I do ?
Oh, such a plight I never knew I
Though I arose as is my way
An hour before the break of day,
448
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
Here it is noon, and nothing done ;
The milk has soured in the sun,
And the sweet, pretty duck I broiled
A neighbor's dog has dragged and spoiled;
I beat him with my hands and wept !
Straight through the window then he leapt,
And through the window after hirn,
With scratched face and bruised limb.
And on through mire and briar and bog
Hours and hours 1 chased that dog,
Stumbling, uttering awful cries —
While into my kitchen swarmed the flies 1
I came back at half-past ten I
Oh, what a sight did greet me then !
My fair white sheets I hung so fine
Down in the black muck under the line !
And out of the oven from cakes 'n' pies 'n'
Beautiful tarts the thick smoke risin' !
I knelt down my tarts to remove.
And my quince jelly that stood on the stove
Up did boil, and, as you see,
Boiled itself all over me ! —
All over the floor, all over the room, —
Whereat I ran to fetch the broom —
The broom ! The broom — instead of the mop I
To fetch a broom to wipe up slop !
And with its handle smashed the clock's face.
Getting glass all over the place.
And knocked the dishes off the shelf.
And fell to my knees and cut myself.
And wept and cried and when I would rise
Could not see for the tears in my eyes;
So tripped on a chair and, to save a fall,
Caught at the table, then flat did sprawl,
449
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
Dragging the table down with me,
And everything on it, as well you may see I
I cannot live in such a state !
But where to begin is past my pate I
{Enter king)
KING
I am the King of all these lands :
Down upon your knees and hands.
Wishing to marry me, I have said
That the tidiest maiden I would wed
In all my realm, wherefore I go
From kitchen to kitchen, that I may know
And judge for myself what maid is worth
To sit at my side in feasting and in mirth.
Untidy Spill-time, it is easy to see
That my fair bride you never will be.
TIDY
Oh, great King, hear me when I say
This has been a most unusual day I
It is by chance alone you see
In such a state my kitchen and me I
I can set us both to rights in a minute !
KING
In vain I I have set a trap and caught you in it !
Vain, wench, your lies and your pretense I
I see what I see and I hie me hence I
{Exit king)
(Exit TIDY, weeping)
(enter slut)
SLUT
Lest you know me not in this disguise
I tell you I am SLUT, and I tell you no lies.
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
My face and my hands are clean and neat;
Fresh is my frock, trim are my feet.
But I assure you you are not wrong
To think that so tidy I shall not be for long.
And if the story you wish from me,
I will tell you how this came to be :
Dull was the day and tedious my book;
I saw no pleasure wherever I might look;
I had done everything that I knew how to do,
And I could think of nothing new.
But at last I thought of one
Thing that I had never done.
And I said, "I will take a broom,
And I will sweep this room I
I will wash this floor I"
I had never washed it before —
"All things in order will I arrange,
Although I hate order, for it will be a change."
So here I am, as you can see —
I and my kitchen as clean as can be.
But in a room as clean as this
My bones ache and I find no bliss.
So watch, and soon it will appear
Much less orderly and drear.
(Enter king)
KING
Down upon your knees and hands I
I am the King of all these lands.
Wishing to marry me, I have said
That the tidiest maiden I would wed
In all my realms, wherefore I go
From kitchen to kitchen that I may know —
Yet stay ! This kitchen is so tidy,
I think that you must be my bridey I
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
As far and wide as I have been
So neat a kitchen I have not seen ;
Therefore I say you are my wife,
For the remainder of your life.
SLUT (aside)
To point him out his error at first I intended,
But least said is soonest mended.
{Exit KING wM slut)
(Enter tidy)
TIDY
Now once again with me
All is as it is wont to be.
Now once again you see me stand
The tidiest lady in the land.
If the King should see me now
He would tell a different tale, I trow.
(Enter king)
KING
Oh, lovely lady, who are you,
That I am a talking to ?
TIDY
She am I whom you did scorn
This very day at morn.
KING
It may not be as you have said,
For you would I gladly wed I
TIDY
I thank you for the favor, but
They tell me you have married slutI
452
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
KING
Oh, cock's bones ! And strike me dead I
Is it a Slut that I have wed?
(Enter SLUT dressed as at first)
SLUT
So here you dally whilst I sit at home !
Never any more abroad shall you roam,
But sit at home with me for the rest of your life,
For I am your lawful wedded wife !
KING
Oh, woe is me, what a life will be mine I
SLUT
It is too late now to repine :
Home with me you come for the rest of your
life,
For SLUT is your lawful wedded wife I
{Exit SLUT with king)
TIDY
A slattern is a fearful sight, — ah, me I
What pleasure it gives so tidy to be 1
{Exit tidy)
EPILOGUE
Now that the play is at an end.
By CHANCE you have enjoyed it, friend;
By CHANCE to you his sweet was gall;
By CHANCE you slumbered through it all.
Howe'er it be, it was by chance
The king was led so merry a dance,
By CHANCE that TIDY met disgrace,
By CHANCE alone slut washed her face;
453
TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING
From morn to eve the whole day long
It was by chance that things went wrong.
Wherefore, good friends, t' escape derision,
Be not o'er hasty in your decision,
For he who heedeth not this rule
BY CHANCE HE WILL BE CALLED A FOOL I
454
THURSDAY EVENING
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT
by Christopher Morley
Thursday Evening was first produced by the Stockbridge
Stocks, New York City, in November, 1921,
with the following cast:
Gordon Johns, a Young Business Man, Hubert Teitman
Laura, Mrs. Gordon Johns, Eleanor Coates Teitman
Mrs. Sheffield, Laura s Mother, Rachel Lyman Field
Mrs. Johns, Gordon's Mother, Lysle Clark
Copyright, 1922 hy CHRISTOPHER MORLEY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
All Stage rights, professional and amateur, reserved by the author,
and will be strictly protected. Application to produce or reprint
this play must be made to the author, in care of the publishers,
Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.
THURSDAY EVENING
SCENE
A small suburban kitchen in the modest home of
Mr, and Mrs, Gordon Johns, A meal has re-
cently been cooked^ as is shown by a general con-
fusion of pots and pans and dish-cloths. At the
rear^ an icebox standing in the comer, Rear^
center y two shelved cabinets ^ one containing ^oc cr-
ies and household sundries^ the other dishes and
glassware, Rear^ L, an oil range. Some baby
linen and very small shirts {such as would be suit-
able for a child of about ten months) are hanging
on a clothes-horse near the stove. Door R leads
out to back porch; there are two windows in R
wall^ one each side of door. Door L to dining-
room. At the comer in the rear^ L, door opening
on back stairs, which ascend to upper parts of the
house, Down stage, L, against side wall, a sink
and oil-cloth covered drain-board or shelf beside
it. In the center of stage a small table covered with
oil-cloth, A kitchen chair in comer, down R.
When the scene opens, GORDON and LAURA
are carrying in soiled dishes through door, L.
They come in and out several times, making me-
thodical arrangements for cleaning up. They
pile the dishes on the shelf by the sink, Gordon
takes dishpan from a hook under the sink, and
fills it with hot water from the kettle on the stove,
LAURA, who is an attractive little person, aged
about twenty-three, is in that slightly tense con-
457
THURSDAY EVENING
dition of a young hostess who has had a long and
trying day with house and bahy^ and has also
cooked and served a dinner for Jour,
GORDON
All right. Creature, just wait till I light my pipe
and we'll polish this up. {Lights pipe and rolls
up shirtsleeves,)
LAURA {taking an apron from chair in corner)
Put this on first. That's the only decent pair
of trousers youVe got.
{Enter Mrs, Sheffield^ carrying dishes,)
MRS. SHEFF
Now you children run along and take it easy,
ril do all this.
LAURA
No, no, mother. You go and talk to Mrs. Johns.
{Pointedly,) Don't let her come in here.
MRS. SHEFF {ultramatemally)
Poor baby, she's tired. You've been on your
feet all day, now let Mother wash up for you.
That was a big dinner to cook.
LAURA
No tireder than you are. Mother darling. You
cooked lunch.
GORDON
Both of you clear out; I can get this done in no
time.
MRS. SHEFF {patting Laura^s cheek)
Busy with the baby all afternoon, and then
cooking such a delicious dinner — Dearie,
won't you let Mother do this for you ?
458
THURSDAY EVENING
LAURA
There isn't room in this kitchen for everybody —
{Enter Mrs, Johns^ carrying dishes.)
MRS. JOHNS
Gordon, you and Laura go and rest. Let the
two grandmothers —
GORDON
Now listen, little people, this is my job. I al-
ways wash up on Thursday evenings —
MRS. JOHNS
You go and read your newspaper. I can see
you're all fagged out after that long day in the
office —
MRS. SHEFF {to Lauro)
Please go and lie down. Baby. You're so tired.
LAURA {with waning patience)
You two go and amuse yourselves; Gordon and
ril attend to this. {They gently eject the two
mothers-in-law,)
GORDON
Come on, now, the good old system ! {He takes
the small table from center of stage ^ and puts it
carefully midway between sink and dish cabinet.
Takes chair from corner^ down Ry and sets it beside
table. Laura sits down on chair and wipes silver-
ware and dishes as he hands them to her after
washing.)
LAURA
The silver first, while the water's clean.
GORDON
Right. We make a pretty good team at this,
don't we?
459
THURSDAY EVENING
LAURA {holds Up a small silver jug)
That darling old cream jug. Mother used that
when she was a little girl.
GORDON
I love our little Thursday evening suppers. I
think they're more fun than any other night.
LAURA
Fm glad, Gordie.
GORDON
We get better grub on Thursdays, when Ethel
goes out, than we ever do when she's in.
LAURA
I tried to have everything specially nice to-
night. Some visitors are very critical.
GORDON
It was lovely. I'm afraid it was hard for you.
Creature, to have Mother come just now. {A
short paused Especially when your Mother was
here.
LAURA
Didn't she know Mother was here?
GORDON
No. I hadn't told her. You see your Mother is
here so much more often. I didn't know your
mother would still be here. I was afraid Mother
might be a little hurt —
LAURA
Mother helps me a great deal. I think it's a
queer thing if a wife can't have her mother stay
with her once in a while —
GORDON {aware of danger ^ changes the subject)
Ye Gods, Ethel has cracked the Copenhagen
460
THURSDAY EVENING
platter. {Laura is silent.) That's one of the
set Mother gave us when we were married.
LAURA
It's a stock pattern. You can get another at
any department store.
GORDON
ril bet that coon didn't empty the icebox pan
before she went. I never saw a cook yet who
could remember to do that —
LAURA
If you had to go out and hunt for them you
wouldn't be so particular. She's better than
no one.
GORDON {goes to icebox and removes a large ^ brim-
ming pan from under it)
What did I tell you! {The water slops over from
pan as he carries it gingerly to sink and empties it.
He replaces the pan under icebox.)
LAURA
You'd better heat some more water. You've
poured that ice-water into the dishpan.
GORDON {getting a little peevish; refills kettle and puts
it on stove)
It's perfectly absurd not having any pantry to
keep the icebox in. In here, the heat of the
stove melts the ice right away, (poes back to
icebox and slams its doors shut,) Of course, she
never keeps the doors properly closed. {He re-
turns to sink and resumes dishwashing,) It's a
funny thing.
LAURA
What is?
461
THURSDAY EVENING
GORDON
Why, that a presumably intelligent coon can't
understand the doors of an icebox are meant to
be kept tight shut, to save ice. What does she
suppose those little clamps are for? {Laura is
silent. There is a pause^ while Gordon scrapes
portions of food off the soiled plates. He examines
some of these plates rather carefully , and picks out
several large pieces of meat, lettuce, butter, etc.,
which he puts on one plate at one side. Then he
seems to resume his good humor and relights his
pipe.) Well, it's jolly to have both the grand-
mothers here together, isn't it?
LAURA
Gordon, dear, put the silver away in the side-
board before it gets wet again. {He gathers up
silver from the table in front of her and exit L.
Laura steps outside door R, and returns, bringing
garbage can, which she puts down by the sink. She
begins to wash dishes, and sees the plate of odds
and ends which Gordon has carefully put to one
side. She scrapes its contents into the garbage
pail. While she is washing, Gordon enter, L.)
GORDON
Now, Creature, let me do that. You don't want
to spoil those pretty hands. {Takes them, with
an attempt to be affectionate.)
LAURA
I guess it isn't any worse for them than washing
the baby's things.
GORDON
Come on, old man, let me. {Gently removes her
462
THURSDAY EVENING
from sinky and pushes her to the chair by the table.
She sits down and wipes dishes as he hands them
to her,) It doesn't take long when there are two
of us.
LAURA
Gordie, these dishes aren't properly clean. You
can't get that grease off without hot water.
GORDON
I guess that kettle's hot by now. {To stove , feels
water in kettle.) Give it a minute longer.
{Stands by stove and pufs at his pipe. In a mo-
ment of false security y he foolishly reopens a dan-
gerous topic ^ You know, I'm a little worried
about Mother.
LAURA {putting away dishes)
Why?
GORDON
I don't think she's as well as usual. She hardly
ate any of her salad.
LAURA {turns as though about to say somethings but
checks herself and pauses a moment. This time
it is she who tries honorably to avert the gathering
storm)
Oh, Gordie, I forgot to tell you! Junior drank
out of a cup to-day — the first time !
GORDON
He did! The little rascal!
LAURA
Look, here's the cup. {Shows a small silver cup,)
GORDON {affectionately y putting his arm around her)
Well, well. {Looks at cup.) What cup is that?
I don't seem to remember it —
463
THURSDAY EVENING
LAURA
Why — Mother brought it with her. She used
it when she was a baby.
GORDON
Whereas that nice old Christening mug of
mine? I think Junior would like to use that
once in a while, too.
LAURA
I put it away, dear. I was afraid Ethel might
dent it.
GORDON {takes kettle from stove, goes back to sink)
I hope Mother isn't feeling poorly. I noticed
at supper —
LAURA
When hot meat is served, refined people usually
call it dinner —
GORDON (looks at her cautiously, and suddenly seems
to realize that they are on the edge of an abyss)
Now, honey, you're tired. You go and rest,
ril finish up here.
LAURA
No, thank you. I like to see that everything
gets cleaned up properly. Someone might come
snooping out here, and then there'd be hints
about my housekeeping. Of course. Til admit
I wasn't brought up to be a cook —
GORDON {seeks inspiration by relighting his pipe,
and takes up a handsome silver coffee pot)
One thing I never can make out is, how to pre-
vent coffee grounds from going down the sink.
{He talks desperately, trying to tide over the mutu-
ally realized danger point,) Perhaps if I could
464
THURSDAY EVENING
invent some kind of a little cofFee-ground
strainer Td make our fortune. That coffee was
delicious, Creature.
LAURA
Take care of that urn, it's one of the few hand-
some things we have.
GORDON
It /J a beauty.
LAURA
Jack Davis gave it to me —
GORDON {puts it down with distaste)
I guess Vd better attend to the garbage.
LAURA {nervously)
It's all fixed.
GORDON
I always like Thursdays because that's the one
evening Ethel doesn't get a chance to throw
away about five dollars' worth of good food.
LAURA
I fixed the garbage. You can put the pail out-
side.
GORDON {hunting among plates on the shelf beside
sink)
Where's that plate I put here? There was a lot
of perfectly good stuff I saved —
LAURA {blows up at last)
Well, if you think I'm going to keep a lot of half-
eaten salad your Mother picked over —
GORDON {seizes garbage pail, lifts it up to the sink
and begins to explore its contents. His fuse also
is rapidly shortening.)
My Lord, it's no wonder we never have any
465
THURSDAY EVENING
money to spend if we chuck half of it away in
waste. {Picking out various selections.) Waste!
Look at that piece of cheese, and those potatoes.
You could take those things, and some of this
meat, and make a nice economical hash for
lunch —
LAURA
It*s a wonder you wouldn*t get a job as a scav-
enger. I never heard of a husband like you,
rummaging through the garbage pail.
GORDON {blows up)
Do you know what the one unforgivable sin is.^^
The sin against the Holy Ghost? It's Waste!
It makes me wild to think of working and work-
ing like a dog, and half of what I earn just
thrown away by an ignorant coon. Look at
this, just look at it! {Displays a grisly object.)
There's enough meat on that bone to make
soup. And ye gods, here's that jar of anchovy
paste! {Holds it up.) I thought you got that
for me as a little treat. I wondered where it
had gone to. Why, I hadn't eaten more than
just the top of it.
LAURA
Well, you left it, and left it, and it got mildewed.
GORDON
Scrape it off. A little mildew won't hurt any-
body. There'll be mildew on my bank account
if this kind of thing goes on. {Still examining
garbage pail.) Look here, about half a dozen
slices of bread. What's the matter with theniy
I'd like to know.
466
THURSDAY EVENING
LAURA
I think it's the most disgusting thing I ever
heard of. To go picking over the garbage pail
Hke that. You attend to your affairs and Til
attend to mine.
GORDON
I guess throwing away good, hard-earned money
is my affair, isn't it?
LAURA
You're always quick enough to find fault. I
know Ethel's careless, but she's the best I can
get out here in this godforsaken suburb. Maybe
you'll be good enough to find me a better serv-
ant. A well-trained girl wouldn't work in this
old dump, where there isn't even gas. You
don't seem to know when you're lucky. You
come back at night and find your home well
cared for and me slaving over a hot dinner, and
do you ever say a word of thanks .f' No, all you
can think of is finding fault. I can't imagine
how you were brought up. Your Mother —
GORDON
Just leave my mother out of it. I guess she
didn't spoil me the way yours did you. Of
course, I wasn't an only daughter —
LAURA
I wish you had been. Then I wouldn't have
married you.
GORDON
I suppose you think that if you'd married Jack
Davis or some other of those profiteers you'd
never have had to see the inside of a kitchen —
467
THURSDAY EVENING
LAURA
If Junior grows up with your disposition, all I
can say is, I hope he'll never get married.
GORDON
If he gets married, I hope it'll be to some girl
who understands something about economy —
LAURA
If he gets married, I hope he'll be man enough
not to be always finding fault —
GORDON
Well, he wont get married! I'll put him wise to
what marriage means, fussing like this all the
time —
LAURA
Yes, he will get married. He shall get married !
GORDON
Oh, this is too absurd —
LAURA
He shall get married, just to be a humiliating
example to his father. I'll bring him up the way
a husband ought to be.
GORDON
In handcuffs, I suppose —
LAURA
And his wife won't have to sit and listen to per-
petual criticism from his mother —
GORDON
If you're so down on mothers-in-law, it's queer
you're anxious to be one yourself. The ex-
pectant mother-in-law!
LAURA
All right, be vulgar. I dare say you can't help it.
468
THURSDAY EVENING
GORDON
Great Scott, what did you think marriage was
like, anyway? Did you expect to go through
life having everything done for you, without a
little hard work to make it interesting?
LAURA
Is it necessary to shout?
GORDOTSr
Now let me tell you something. Let's see if
you can ratify it from your extensive observa-
tion of life. Is there anything in the world so
cruel as bringing up a girl in absolute ignorance
of housework, believing that all her days she's
going to be waited on hand and foot, and that
marriage is one long swoon of endearments —
LAURA
There's not much swooning while you're around.
GORDON
Why, I believe you actually think your life is
wrecked if you aren't being petted and praised
every minute. You pretend to think marriage
is so sacred and yet you're buffaloed by a few
greasy dishes. I like my kind of sacredness bet-
ter than yours, and that's the sacredness of
common sense. Marriage ought not to be per-
formed before an altar, but before a kitchen
sink.
LAURA {furiously)
I ought to have known that oil and water won't
mix. I ought to have known that a vulgar,
selfish, conceited man couldn't make a girl
happy who was brought up in a refined family.
469
THURSDAY EVENING
I was a Sheffield, and why I ever became a Johns
is more than I can imagine. Johns — I suppose
that's camouflage for Jones. You're too com-
mon, too ordinary, to know when you're lucky.
You get a charming aristocratic wife and expect
her to grub along like a washerwoman. You
try to crush all the life and spirit out of her.
You ought to have married an icebox — that's
the only thing in this house you're really at-
tentive to.
GORDON
Now listen —
LAURA (will not be checked)
Talk about being spoiled — why, your Mother
babies you so, you think you're the only man
on earth. {Sarcastically!) Her poor, over-
worked boy, who tries so hard and gets all
fagged out in the office and struggles so nobly
to support his family! I wonder how you'd
like to run this house and bear a child and take
care of it and shuffle along with an ignorant
coon for a maid and then cook a big dinner and
be sneered at and never a word of praise. All
you can think of is picking over the garbage
pail and finding fault —
GORDON {like a fool)
I didn't find fault. I found some good food
being wasted.
LAURA
All right, if you love the garbage pail better
than you do your wife, you can live with it.
{Flings her dishtowel on the floor and exit^ L,)
470
THURSDAY EVENING
(Gordon stands irresolutely at the sink^ and makes
a Jew gloomy motions among the unfinished dishes.
He glares at the garbage can. Then he carefully
gathers those portions of food that he had chosen
as being still usable^ contemplates them grimly^
then puts them on a plate and, after some hesita-
tion^ puts the plate in the icebox. He takes the
garbage can and puts it outside door, R. He re-
turns into the kitchen^ but then a sudden fit of
anger seizes him.)
GORDON
It's always the way! {Tears of apron, throws it
on the floor, and exit R, slamming door.)
{After a brief pause, the door at the rear, opening
onto the back stairs, is cautiously opened, and
Mrs. Shefiield enters quietly. She takes one swift
look around the disordered kitchen, picks up dish-
towel and apron from the floor, and sets to work
rapidly to clean up. Then the back stairs door is
again opened in the same stealthy way, and Mrs,
Johns enters. The two ladies seem to take each
other s measure with instinctive shrewdness, and
fall into a silent, businesslike team-play in putting
things to rights. Mrs. Johns takes charge at the
sink, and the remaining dishes spin under her ca-
pable hands. Mrs. Shefiield takes them from her,
rapidly polishes them, and puts them away on the
shelves. There is unconscious comedy in the
trained precision and labor-saving method of their
actions, which are synchronized so that every time
Mrs. Johns holds out a washed dish, Mrs. Shefiield
is moving back from the cabinet, ready to receive
471
THURSDAY EVENING
it. They work like automatons^ for perhaps two
minutes not a word is said^ and the two seem^ by
searching side-glances^ to be probing each other s
mood.)
MRS. JOHNS
If it wasn't so tragic Fd laugh. {A pause ^ during
which they work busily.)
MRS. SHEFF
If it wasn't so comic Td cry. {Another pause.)
I guess it's my fault. Poor Laura, Fm afraid
I have spoiled her.
MRS. JOHNS
My fault, I think. Two mothers-in-law at once
is too much for any young couple. I didn't
know you were here, or I wouldn't have come.
MRS. SHEFF
Laura is so dreadfully sensitive, poor child —
MRS. JOHNS
Gordon works so hard at the office. You know
he's trying to get promoted to the sales depart-
ment, and I suppose it tells on his nerves —
MRS. SHEFF
If Laura could afford to have a nurse to help her
with the baby she wouldn't get so exhausted —
MRS. JOHNS
Gordon says he wants to take out some more in-
surance, that's why he worries so about economy.
It isn't for himself, he's really very unselfish —
MRS. SHEFF {a little tartly)
Still, I do think that sometimes — {They pause
and look at each other quickly.) My gracious,
we'll be at it ourselves if we don't look out!
472
THURSDAY EVENING
{She goes to the clothes-horse and rearranges the
garments on it. She holds up a lilliputian shirty
and they both smile,)
MRS. JOHNS
That darling baby! I hope he won't have poor
Gordon's quick temper. It runs in the Johns
family, I'm afraid. I was an Armstrong before
I married Gordon's father — I didn't know what
temper was until I married — either my own or
his.
MRS. SHEFF
I was a Thomson — Thomson without the P,
you know, from Rhode Island. All families are
hot tempered. All husbands' families, anyway.
MRS. JOHNS
Gordon's father used to say that Adam and Eve
didn't know when they were well off. He said
that was why they called it the Garden of Eden,
MRS. SHEFF
Why.?
MRS. JOHNS
Because there was no mother-in-law there.
MRS. SHEFF
Poor children, they have such a lot to learn!
I really feel ashamed, Mrs. Johns, because
Laura is an undisciplined little thing, and I'm
afraid I've always petted her too much. She
had such a lot of attention before she met Gor-
don, and was made so much of, it gave her wrong
ideas.
MRS. JOHNS
I wish Gordon was a little younger, I'd like to
473
THURSDAY EVENING
turn him up and spank him. He's dreadfully
stubborn and tactless —
MRS. SHEFF
But Vm afraid I ^U make a mistake. Laura
was having such a good time as a girl, I was al-
ways afraid she'd have a hard awakening when
she married. But Mr. Sheffield had a good deal
of money at that time, and he used to say, 'She's
only young once, let her enjoy herself.'
MRS. JOHNS
My husband was shortsighted, too. He had had
to skimp so, that he brought up Gordon to have
a terror of wasting a nickel.
MRS. SHEFF
Very sensible. I wish Mr. Sheffield had had a
little more of that terror. I shall have to tell
him what his policy has resulted in. But really,
you know, when I heard them at it, I could
hardly help admiring them. {fFM a sigh,) It
brings back old times!
MRS. JOHNS
So it does! {A pause,) But we can't let them
go on like this. A little vigorous quarreling is
good for everybody. It's a kind of spiritual
laxative. But they carry it too far.
MRS. SHEFF
They're awfully ingenious. They were even
bickering about Junior's future mother-in-law,
I suppose she's still in school, whoever she may
be!
MRS. JOHNS
Being a mother-in-law is almost as painful as
being a mother.
474
THURSDAY EVENING
MRS. SHEFF
I think every marriage ought to be preceded by
a treaty of peace between the two mothers. If
they understand each other, everything will
work out all right.
MRS. JOHNS
You're right. When each one takes sides with
her own child, it's fatal.
MRS. SHEFF {lowering her voiced
Look here, I think I know how we can make
them ashamed of themselves. Where are they
now.f*
MRS. JOHNS (^oes cautiously to door L, and peeps
through)
Laura is lying on the couch in the living-room.
I think she's crying — her face is buried in the
cushions.
MRS. SHEFF
splendid. That means she's listening with all
her ears — {Tiptoes to window^ R.) I can't see
Gordon, but I think he's walking round the
garden —
MRS. JOHNS {quietly)
If we were to talk a little louder he'd sit on the
back steps to hear it —
MRS. SHEFF
Exactly. Now listen! {They put their heads to-
gether and whisper; the audience does not hear
what is said.)
MRS. JOHNS
Fine! Oh, that's fine! {Mrs, Sheffield whispers
THURSDAY EVENING
again, inaudible to the spectators^ But wait a
moment. Don't you think it would be better
if / praise Laura and you praise Gordon ? They
won't expect that, and it might shame them —
MRS. SHEFF
No, no! Don't you see — (Whispers again, in-
audibly.)
MRS. JOHNS
You're right. Cunning as serpents and harm-
less as doves — {They carefully set both doors,
L and R, ajar,)
MRS. SHEFF
I only hope we won't wake the baby — {They
return to the task of cleaning up, and talk very loud,
in pretended quarrel.)
MRS. JOHNS
Where do these dessert plates go?
MRS. SHEFF
On this shelf.
MRS. JOHNS
You're here so much more often than I, nat-
urally you know Laura's arrangements better.
MRS. SHEFF
It's a lucky thing I am here. I don't know what
poor Laura would do without me at such a
dreadful time —
MRS. JOHNS
Poor Laura ! I should say she's very fortunate,
such a good husband —
MRS. SHEFF
I think it's rather sad for a girl who has had as
much as she has, to come down to this —
476
THURSDAY EVENING
MRS. JOHNS
It's perfectly wonderful how Gordon has got on
in business —
MRS. SHEFF
He ought to, with such a lovely home, run like
a clock —
MRS. JOHNS
Yes. An alarm clock.
MRS. SHEFF
Well, Vm not going to see my daughter's happi-
ness ruined —
MRS. JOHNS
I always knew he'd make some girl a fine hus-
band—
MRS. SHEFF
Perhaps. But he seems to have picked the
wrong girl. Laura has too much spirit to be
bullied —
MRS. JOHNS
Well, perhaps it was all a mistake. Poor Gor-
don, he works so hard. I believe his hair is
going white over his ears already.
MRS. SHEFF
Stuff! That's lather from where he shaved this
morning. He's too slovenly to wash it off.
MRS. JOHNS
It isn't right that a young man should have to
slave the way he does —
MRS. SHEFF {apparently in a passion)
Do you think that business slavery can com-
pare to household slavery .'' I think it's heart-
477
THURSDAY EVENING
rending to see an attractive girl like Laura shut
up in a poky little house doing drudgery and tend-
ing a baby. Think of it, having to take care of
her own baby! Why, it's an outrage. If Gor-
don was half a man, he'd get her a trained baby
nurse so she wouldn't have to look at the poor
little thing —
MRS. JOHNS {scathing)
Yes, how sad that Gordon should have to en-
trust his son to amateur care when it needs sci-
entific attention.
MRS. SHEFF
Poor darling Laura — she never ought to have
had a baby.
MRS. JOHNS
Gordon is too intellectual to be bothered with
these domestic details. He ought to be able
to concentrate on his work.
MRS. SHEFF {comifig close to Mrs, Johns ^ feigning
great rage, but grimacing to show it is merely acting)
Well, if you don't think my daughter is good
enough for your son, I can always take her home
with me. I guess I can find room for her, and
we can put the child in an institution. {Both
nearly laugh, but recover themselves^
MRS. JOHNS
Don't worry. /'// take the child. He's a Johns
anyway, not a Sheffield. And you just watch
Gordon, when he's relieved of all this family
worry and quarreling. He'll make his mark
in the world. He's too fine to be tied down by
a wife that doesn't understand him.
478
THURSDAY EVENING
MRS. SHEFF
Oh, how happy Laura will be to hear this. My
sweet, clever, attractive, economical, sensible
little girl, free at last. Her married life has been
a nightmare. That great, hulking, selfish man
has tried to trample all the joy out of her. He
shan't do it.
MRS. JOHNS
I never heard of a young husband as self-sacri-
ficing as Gordon. I don't believe he ever goes
out for an evening with other men, and he never
spends anything on himself —
MRS. SHEFF
I think the way Laura runs her little home is
just wonderful. See how she struggles to keep
her kitchen in order — this miserable, incon-
venient little kitchen, no gas, no pantry, no de-
cent help. I think it's terrible she has had to put
up with so much — {They pause, and listen at
the door, L, The kitchen is now spick and span.
Mrs, Johns makes a gesture to indicate that Laura
is taking it all in, of staged
MRS. JOHNS
Well, then, it's all settled.
MRS. SHEFF
Yes. As Laura's mother, I can't let her go on
like this. A husband, a home, and a baby — it's
enough to ruin any woman.
MRS. JOHNS
It's only fair to both sides to end it all. I never
heard of such brutal hardships. Gordon can't
fight against these things any longer. Throwing
479
THURSDAY EVENING
away a soupbone and three slices of bread! I
wonder he doesn't go mad.
MRS. SHEFF
WeVe saved them just in time. {They look at
each other knowingly^ with the air of those who
have done a sound bit of work. Then they stealthily
open the door at the rear^ and exeunt up the back
stairs^
{There is a brief paws e; then the door L opens like
an explosion^ and Laura bursts in. She stands
for a momenty wild-eyed, stamps her foot in a pas-
sion. Then she seizes one of the baby shirts from
the rack, and drops into the chair by the table, cry-
ing. She buries her head in her arms, concealing
the shirt. Enter Gordon, R. He stands uncer-
tainly, evidently feeling like a fool.)
GORDON
I'm sorry, I — I left my pipe in here. {Finds it
by the sink.)
LAURA {her face still hidden)
Oh, Gordie, was it all a mistake?
GORDON {troubled, pats her shoulder tentatively)
Now listen, Creature, don't. You'll make
yourself sick.
LAURA
I never thought I'd hear such things — from my
own mother.
GORDON
I never heard such rot. They must be mad,
both of them.
480
THURSDAY EVENING
LAURA
Then you were listening, too —
GORDON
Yes. Why, they're deliberately trying to set us
against each other.
LAURA
They wouldn't have dared speak like that if they
had known we could hear. Gordon, I don't
think it's legal —
GORDON
Fm afraid the law doesn't give one much pro-
tection against one's mothers.
LAURA {miserably)
I guess she's right. I am spoiled, and I am silly,
and I am extravagant —
GORDON
Don't be silly, darling. That's crazy stuff. I'm
not overworked, and even if I were I'd love it,
for you —
LAURA
I don't want a nurse for Junior. I wouldn't have
one in the house. {Sits upy dishevelled^ and dis-
plays the small shirt she has been clutching^ Gor-
don, I'm not an amateur! I love that baby and
I am scientific. I keep a chart of his weight
every week.
GORDON
Yes, I know, ducky, Gordon understands. Soon
we'll be able to buy that scales you want, and
we won't have to weigh him on the meat balance.
LAURA
Nobody can take away my darling baby —
481
THURSDAY EVENING
GORDON
It was my fault, dear. I am obstinate and dis-
agreeable—
LAURA
ril speak to Ethel about the garbage —
GORDON
EtheFs all right. We're lucky to have her.
LAURA
Gordon, you mustn't work too hard. You know
you're all I have — {A sob.) since Mother's gone
back on me.
GORDON {patting her)
I think it's frightful, the things they said. What
are they trying to do, break up a happy home.^
LAURA
We are happy, aren't we?
GORDON
Well, I should say so. Did you ever hear me
complain? {Takes her in his arms.)
LAURA
No, Gordie. It was cruel of them to try to make
trouble between us — but, perhaps, some of the
things they said^-
GORDON
Were true? —
LAURA
Well, not exactly true, dear, but — interesting!
— your mother is right, you do have a hard time,
and I'll try —
GORDON {stops her)
No, your mother is right. I've been a brute —
482
THURSDAY EVENING
LAURA
Tm lucky to have such a husband — {They are
silent a moment.)
GORDON
I suppose you'll think it an awful anticlimax —
LAURA
What, dear?
GORDON
Suppose we have something to eat?
LAURA {happily)
Good idea. Quarreling always makes me
hungry. {They go to the icebox.) I didn't really
get any supper to speak of, I was worrying about
everything so —
GORDON {opening icebox)
You mean dinner, honey — among refined people!
LAURA
Don't be a tease. Come on, we'll have a snack—
{She discovers Gordon^ s plate of left-overs^
GORDON
Throw out that junk — I was idiotic to save it.
LAURA
No, Gordie, you were quite right. We must
save everything we can. Four or five heads of
lettuce would make a new shirt for Junior.
GORDON {bewildered)
Lettuce ?
LAURA
I mean, if we saved that much, it would make
enough money to buy him a new little vest.
He's getting so enormous — {She puts plate of
left-overs on the table, with some other cold food ^
483
THURSDAY EVENING
GORDON
There, now, this is better. (Jhey sit down at
tabled
LAURA {thoughtfully)
You know, Gordie, we mustn't let them know
we heard them.
GORDON
No, I suppose not. But it's hard to forgive that
sort of talk.
LAURA
Even if they did say atrocious things, I think
they really love us —
GORDON
We'll be a bit cold and stand-offish until things
blow over.
LAURA {complacently)
If I'm ever a mother-in-law, I shall try to be
very understanding —
GORDON
Yes, Creature. Do you remember why I call
you Creature.^
LAURA
Do I not?
GORDON
There was an adjective omitted, you remember.
LAURA
Oh, Gordie, that's one of the troubles of married
life. So many of the nice adjectives seem to get
omitted.
GORDON
Motto for married men: Don't run short of ad-
484
THURSDAY EVENING
jectives! — You remember what the adjective
was?
LAURA
Tell me.
GORDON
Adorable, It was an abbreviation for Adorable
Creature — {Holds her. They are both perfectly
happy,) I love our little Thursday evenings.
LAURA {partly breaks from his embrace)
Sssh! {Listens,) Was that the baby?
CURTAIN
485
THE DREAMY KID
(1918)
A PLAY
by Eugene G. O'Neill
CHARACTERS
Mammy Saunders
Abe, her grandson^ ''The Dreamy Kid''
Ceely Ann
Irene
Originally produced by the Provincetown Players in 191 9
Copyright, 1922, &y EUGENE G. O'NEILL
No performance of this play may be given without the written consent
of, and arrangement with, the author, who may be addressed in
care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.
THE DREAMY KID
Scene. — Mammy Saunders* bedroom in a house
just of of Carmine Street^ New York City, The
left of the roomy forward, is taken up by a heavy,
old-fashioned wooden bedstead with a feather mat-
tress, A gaudy red-and-yellow quilt covers the
other bedclothes. In back of the bed, a chest of
drawers placed against the left wall. On top of
the chest, a small lamp, A rocking-chair stands
beside the head of the bed on the right. In the
rear wall, toward the right, a low window, with
ragged white curtains. In the right comer, a wash-
stand with bowl and pitcher. Bottles of med-
icine, a spoon, a glass, etc, are also on the stand.
Farther forward, a door opening on the hall and
stairway.
It is soon after nightfall of a day in early winter.
The room is in shadowy half-darkness, the only
light being a pale glow that seeps through the
window from the arc lamp on the nearby comer,
and by which the objects in the room can be dimly
discerned. The vague outlines of Mammy Saun-
ders' figure lying in the bed can be seen, and her
black face stands out in sharp contrast from the
pillows that support her head.
MAMMY SAUNDERS {weakly)
Ceely Ann ! {With faint querulousness) Light
de lamp, will you? Hits mighty dark in yere.
{After a slight pause) Ain't you dar, Ceely Ann?
489
THE DREAMY KID
{Receiving no reply^ she sighs deeply and her
limbs move uneasily under the bedclothes. The
door is opened and shut and the stooping form of
another colored woman appears in the semi-
darkness. She goes to the foot of the bed, sobbing
softly^ and stands there^ evidently making an
effort to control her emotion,)
MAMMY SAUNDERS
Dat you, Ceely Ann?
CEELY {huskily)
Hit ain't no yuther. Mammy.
MAMMY
Light de lamp, den. I can't see no whars.
CEELY
Des one second, till I finds a match. {She
wipes her eyes with her handkerchief, then goes to
the chest of drawers and feels around on the top
of it, pretending to grumble^ Hit beat all how
dem pesky little sticks done hide umse*fs.
Shoo! Yere dey is. {She fumbles with the lamp.)
MAMMY {suspiciously)
You ain't been cryin', is you?
CEELY {with feigned astonishment)
Cryin'? I clar' ter goodness, you does git the
mos' fool notions lyin' dar.
MAMMY {in a tone of relief)
I mos' thought I yeard you.
CEELY {lighting the lamp)
'Deed you aint.
( The two women are revealed by the light. Mammy
Saunders is an old white-haired negress about
ninety, with a weazened face furrowed by wrinkles
and withered by old age and sickness, Ceely is a
490
THE DREAMY KID
stout woman of fifty or so, with gray hair and a
round fat face. She wears a loose-fitting ging-
ham dress and a shawl thrown over her head,
CEELY {with attempted cheer in ess)
Bless yo* soul, I ain't got nothin' to cry 'bout.
Yere. Lemme fix you so you'll rest mo' easy.
{She lifts the old woman gently and Jixes the
piflows,) Dere. Now ain't you feelin' better?
MAMMY {dully)
My strenk don' all went. I can't lift a hand.
CEELY {hurriedly)
Dat'll all come back ter you, de doctor tole
me des now when I goes down to de door
with him. {Glibly) He say you is de mos'
strongest *oman fo' yo' years ever he sees in
de worl'; and he tell me you gwine ter be up
and walkin' agin fo' de week's out. {As she
finds the old woman's eyes fixed on her, she turns
away confusedly and abruptly changes the sub-
ject^ Hit ain't too wo'm in dis room, dat's
a fac'.
MAMMY {shaking her head — in a half-whisper)
No, Ceely Ann. Hit ain't no use'n you tellin'
me nothin' but de trufe. I feels mighty poo'ly.
En I knows hit's on'y wid de blessin' er Gawd
I kin las' de night out.
CEELY {distractedly)
Ain't no sich a thing! Hush yo' noise, Mammy!
MAMMY {as if she hadn't heard — in a crooning
sing-song)
I'se gwine soon fum dis wicked yearth — and
may de Lawd have mercy on dis po' ole sinner.
{After a pause — anxiously) All I'se prayin' fer
491
THE DREAMY KID
is dat Gawd don' take me befo* I sees Dreamy
agin. Wharfs Dreamy, Ceely Ann? Why ain't
he come yere? Ain't you done sent him word
I'se sick, like I tole you?
CEELY
I tole dem boys ter tell him speshul, and dey
swar dey would soon's dey find him. I s'pose
dey ain't kotch him yit. Don' yo' pester
yo'se'f worryin'. Dreamy 'ull come fo' ve'y
long.
MAMMY {after a pause — weakly)
Dere's a feelin' in my haid like I was a-floatin'
yander whar I can't see nothin', or 'member
nothin', or know de sight er any pusson I
knows; en I wants ter see Dreamy agin befo' —
CEELY {quickly)
Don' waste yo' strenk talkin'. Yo' git a wink
er sleep en I wake yo' when he comes. Yo'
heah me?
MAMMY {faintly)
I does feel mighty drowsy. {She closes her eyes.)
{Ceely goes over to the window andy pulling the
curtains aside, stands looking down into the
street as if she were watching for someone coming.
A moment later there is a noise of footfalls from
the stairs in the hall, followed by a sharp rap on
the door.)
CEELY {turning quickly from the window)
S-s-s-h-h ! S-s-s-h-h !
{She hurries to the door, glancing anxiously to-
ward Mammy. The old woman appears to have
fallen asleep. Ceely cautiously opens the door a
bare inch or so and peeks out. When she sees
492
THE DREAMY KID
who it is she immediately tries to slam it shut
again ^ but a vigorous shove from the outside forces
her back and Irene pushes her way defiantly into
the room. She is a youngs good-looking negressy
highly rouged and powdered, dressed in gaudy,
cheap finery,)
IRENE {in a harsh voice, evidently worked up to a
great state of nervous excitement)
No you don't, Ceely Ann! I said I was comin'
here, and it'll take mo'n you to stop me!
CEELY {almost speechless with horrified indigna-
tion— breathing heavily)
Yo' bad 'oman! Git back ter yo' bad-house,
whar yo' b'longs!
IRENE {raising her clenched hand— furiously)
Stop dat talkin' to me, nigger, or I'll split yo*
fool head ! {As Ceely shrinks away, Irene lowers
her hand and glances quickly around the room,)
Whar's Dreamy?
CEELY {scornfully)
Yo' axe me dat! Whar's Dreamy? Axe yo'se'f.
Yo's de one ought ter know whar he is.
IRENE
Den he ain't come here?
CEELY
I ain't tellin' de likes er you wedder he is or not.
IRENE {pleadingly)
Tell me, Ceely Ann, ain't he been here? He'd
be sure to come here, 'count of Mammy dyin',
dey said.
CEELY {pointing to Mammy — apprehensively)
S-s-shsh ! {Then lowering her voice to a whispt
suspiciously) Dey said? Who said?
493
THE DREAMY KID
IRENE {equally suspicious)
None o' your business who said. (Then pleading
again) Ceely Ann, I jest got ter see him dis
minute, dis seconM He's in bad, Dreamy is,
and I knows somep'n I gotter tell him, somep'n
I jest heard —
CEELY (uncomprehendingly)
In bad? What you jest heah?
IRENE
I ain't tellin' no one but him. {Desperately,)
For Gawd's sake, tell me whar he is, Ceely!
CEELY
I don't know no mo'n you.
IRENE {fiercely)
You's lyin', Ceely! You's lyin* ter me jest
'cause I'se bad.
CEELY
De good Lawd bar witness I'se tellin' you de
trufe!
IRENE {hopelessly)
Den I gotter go find him, high and low, some-
wheres. {Proudly) You ain't got de right not
ter trust me, Ceely, where de Dreamy's mixed
in it. I'd go ter hell for Dreamy!
CEELY {indignantly)
Hush yo' wicked cussin'! {Then^ anxiously) Is
Dreamy in trouble?
IRENE {with a scornful laugh)
Trouble? Good Lawd, it's worser'n dat!
{Then in surprise) Ain't you heerd what de
Dreamy done last night, Ceely?
CEELY {apprehensively)
What de Dreamy do? Tell me, gal. Somep'n
bad?
494
THE DREAMY KID
IRENE {with the same scornful laugh)
Bad? Worser'n bad, what he done!
CEELY {lamenting querulously)
Oh, good Lawd, I knowed it! I knowed with
all his carryin's-on wid dat passel er tough
young niggers — him so uppity *cause he's de
boss er de gang— sleepin' all de day 'stead er
workin' an' Lawd knows what he does in de
nights — fightin' wid white folks, an' totin' a
pistol in his pocket — {with a glance of angry
resentment at Irene) an' as fo' de udder com-
pany he's been keepin* —
IRENE {fiercely)
Shut your mouth, Ceely! Dat ain't your
business.
CEELY
Oh, I knowed Dreamy'd be gittin' in trouble
fo' long! De low-flung young trash! An' here's
his ole Mammy don't know no dif'frunt but
he's de mos' innercent young lamb in de worl'.
{In a strained whisper) What he do? Is he
been stealin' somep'n?
IRENE {angrily)
You go ter hell, Ceely Ann! You ain't no fren'
of de Dreamy 's, you talk dat way, and I ain't
got no time ter waste argyin' wid your fool
notions. {She goes to the door.) Dreamy'll go
ter his death sho's yo' born, if I don't find him
an' tell him quick!
CEELY {terrified)
Oh, Lawd!
IRENE {anxiously)
He'll sho'ly try ter come here and see his ole
Mammy befo' she dies, don't you think, Ceely?
» 495
THE DREAMY KID
CEELY
Fo* Gawd, I hopes so! She's been a-prayin'
all de day —
IRENE {opening the door)
You hopes so, you fool nigger! I tells you it's
good-bye to de Dreamy, he come here! I
knows! I gotter find an' stop him. If he come
here, Ceely, you tell him git out quick and
hide, he don't wanter get pinched. You hear?
You tell him dat, Ceely, for Gawd's sake! I'se
got ter go — find him — high an' low —
{She goes out leaving Ceely staring at her in
speechless indignation.)
CEELY {drawing a deep breath)
Yo' street gal! I don' b'lieve one word you
says — stuffin' me wid yo' bad lies so's you kin
keep de Dreamy frum leavin' you! {Mammy
Saunders awakes and groans faintly, Ceely
hurries over to her bedside.) Is de pain hurtin'
agin, Mammy?
MAMMY {vaguely)
Dat you. Dreamy?
CEELY
No, Mammy, dis is Ceely. Dreamy's comin'
soon. Is you restin' easy?
MAMMY {as if she hadnt heard)
Dat you. Dreamy?
CEELY {sitting down in the rocker by the bed and
taking one of the old woman s hands in hers)
No. Dreamy's comin'.
MAMMY {after a pause — suddenly)
Does you 'member yo' dead Mammy, chile?
496
THE DREAMY KID
CEELY {mystified)
My dead Mammy?
MAMMY
Didn't I heah yo* talkin* jest now. Dreamy?
CEELY {very worried)
I clar ter goodness, she don* know me ary bit.
Dis is Ceely Ann talkin' ter yo*. Mammy.
MAMMY
Who was yo' talkin* wid, Dreamy?
CEELY {shaking her head — in a trembling voice)
Hit can't be long befo' de en*. {In a louder
tone) Hit was me talkin' wid a pusson fum ovah
de way. She say tell you Dreamy comin' heah
ter see yo' right away. You heah dat. Mammy ?
{The old woman sighs y but does not answer.
There is a pause,)
MAMMY {suddenly)
Does yo' 'member yo' dead Mammy, chile?
{Then with a burst of religious exaltation) De
Lawd have mercy!
CEELY {like an echo)
Bless de Lawd! {Then in a frightened half-
whisper to herself) Po' thing! Her min's done
leavin' her, jest like de doctor said.
{She looks down at the old woman helplessly. The
door on the right is opened stealthily and the
Dreamy Kid slinks in on tiptoe.)
CEELY {hearing a board creaky turns quickly toward
the door and gives a frightened start)
Dreamy!
DREAMY {puts his fingcrs to his lips — command-
ingly) S-s-s-h-h !
497
THE DREAMY KID
{He bends down to a crouching position and^
holding the door about an inch open, peers out
into the hallway in an attitude of tense waiting,
one hand evidently clutching some weapon in the
side pocket of his coat. After a moment he is
satisfied of not being followed, and, after closing
the door carefully and locking it, he stands up
and walks to the center of the room, casting a look
of awed curiosity at the figure in the bed. He is a
well-built, good-looking young negro, light in
color. His eyes are shifty and hard, their expres-
sion one of tough, scornful defiance. His mouth
is cruel and perpetually drawn back at the corner
into a snarl. He is dressed in well-fitting clothes
of a flashy pattern. A light cap is pulled down
on the side of his head.)
CEELY {coming from the bed to meet him)
Bless de Lawd, here you is at lasM
DREAMY {with a warning gesture)
Nix on de loud talk! Talk low, can't yuh?
{He glances back at the door furtively, then con-
tinues with a sneer) Yuh're a fine nut, Ceely
Ann! What for you sendin* out all ober de
town for me like you was crazy? D'yuh want
ter git me in de cooler? Don* you know dey're
after me for what I done last night?
CEELY (fearfully)
I heerd somep'n — but — what you done,
Dreamy?
DREAMY {with an attempt at a careless bravado)
I croaked a guy, dat's what! A white man.
CEELY {in a frightened whisper)
What you mean — croaked?
498
THE DREAMY KID
DREAMY (boastfully)
J shot him dead, dat*s what! (As Ceely shrinks
away from him in horror — resentfully) Aw say,
don' gimme none o* dem looks o' yourn.
'TVarn't my doin' nohow. He was de one
lookin' for trouble. I wasn't seekin' for no mess
wid him dat I would help. But he tole folks
he was gwine ter git me for a fac', and dat
fo'ced my hand. I had ter git him ter pertect
my own life. {With cruel satisfaction) And I
got him right, you b'lieve me!
CEELY {putting her hands over her face with a low
moan of terror)
May de good Lawd pardon yo' wickedness!
Oh, Lawd! What yo' po' ole Mammy gwine
say if she hear tell — an' she never knowin'
how bad you's got.
DREAMY {fiercely)
Hell! You ain't tole her, is you?
CEELY
Think I want to kill her on the instant? An'
I didn' know myse'f — what you done — till you
tells me. {Frightenedly) Oh, Dreamy, what you
gwine do now? How you gwine git away?
{Almost wailing) Good Lawd, de perlice gon'
kotch you suah!
DREAMY {savagely)
Shut yo' loud mouth, damn yo'! {He stands
tensely listening for some sound from the hall.
After a moment he points to the bed,) Is Mammy
sleepin' ?
CEELY {tiptoes to the bed)
Seems like she is. . {She comes back to him,)
499
THE DREAMY KID
Dat*s de way wid her — sleep fo' a few minutes,
den she wake, den sleep again.
DREAMY {scornfully)
Aw, dere ain't nothin' wrong wid her 'ceptin'
she's ole. What yuh wanter send de word
tellin' me she's croakin', and git me comin'
here at de risk o' my life, and den find her
sleepin'. {Clenching his fist threateningly,) I
gotter mind ter smash yo' face for playin' de
damn fool and makin' me de goat. {He turns
toward the door.) Ain't no use'n me stayin'
here when dey'll likely come lookin' for me.
I'm gwine out where I gotta chance ter make
my git-away. De boy is all fixin' it up for me.
{His hand on the door knob) When Mammy
wakes, you tell her I couldn't wait, you hear?
CEELY {hurrying to him and grabbing his arm —
pleadingly)
Don' yo' go now. Dreamy — not jest yit. Fo'
de good Lawd's sake don' yo' go befo' you
speaks wid her! If yo' knew how she's been
a-callin' an' a-prayin' for yo' all de day —
DREAMY {scornfully^ but a bit uncertainly)
Aw, she don' need none o' me. What good kin
I do watchin' her do a kip? It'd be dif'frunt if
she was croakin' on de level.
CEELY {in an anguished whisper)
She's gwine wake up in a secon' an' den she
call: "Dreamy. Whar's Dreamy?" An' what
I gwine tell her den? An' yo' Mammy is dyin'.
Dreamy, sho's fate! Her min' been wanderin'
an' she don' even recernize me no mo', an' de
doctor say when dat come it ain't but a sho't
time befo' de en'. Yo' gotter stay wid yo'
500
THE DREAMY KID
Mammy long 'nufF ter speak wid her, Dreamy.
Yo' jest gotter stay wid her in her las' seconds
on dis yearth when she's callin' ter yo'. {With
conviction^ as he hesitates) Listen heah, yo'
Dreamy! Yo' don' never git no bit er luck in
dis worril ary agin, yo' leaves her now. De
perlice gon' kotch yo' suah.
Dreamy {with superstitious fear)
S-s-s-h-h! Can dat bull, Ceely! {Then boast-
fully) I wasn't pinin' to beat it up here, git
me? De boys was all persuadin' me not ter
take de chance. It's takin' my life in my
hands, dat's what. But when I heerd it was
ole Mammy croakin' and axin' ter see me, I
says ter myse'f: "Dreamy, you gotter make
good wid ole Mammy, no matter what come —
or you don' never git a bit of luck in yo' life
no more." And I was game and come, wasn't
I? Nary body in dis worril kin say de Dreamy
ain't game ter de core, n'matter what. iJVith
sudden decision^ walks to the foot of the bed and
stands looking down at Mammy. A note of fear
creeps into his voice) Gawd, she's quiet 'nuff.
Maybe she done passed away in her sleep like
de ole ones does. You go see, Ceely; an' if she's
on'y sleepin', you wake her up. I wanter speak
wid her quick — an' den I'll make a break outa
here. You make it fast, Ceely Ann, I tells yo'.
CEELY {bends down beside the bed)
Mammy! Mammy! Here's de Dreamy.
MAMMY {opens her eyes — drowsily and vaguely^ in a
weak voice)
Dreamy?
501
THE DREAMY KID
DREAMY {shuffling his feet and moving around the
bed)
Here I is. Mammy.
MAMMY {fastening her eyes on him with fascinated
joy)
Dreamy! Hits yoM {Then uncertainly) I ain't
dreamin' nor seein' ha'nts, is I ?
DREAMY {coming forward and taking her hand)
'Deed I ain't no ghost. Here I is, sho' 'nufF.
MAMMY {clutching his hand tight and pulling it
down on her breast — in an ecstasy of happiness)
Didn' I know you'd come! Didn' I say:
"Dreamy ain't gwine let his ole Mammy die all
'lone by he'se'f an' him not dere wid her." I
knows yo'd come. {She starts to laugh joyously ^
but coughs and sinks back weakly.)
DREAMY {shudders in spite of himself as he re-
alizes for the first time how far gone the old
woman is— forcing a tone of joking reassurance)
What's dat foolishness I hears you talkin',
Mammy? Wha' d'yuh mean pullin' dat bull
'bout croakin' on me? Shoo! Tryin' ter kid
me, ain't yo'? Shoo! You live ter plant de
flowers on my grave, see if you don'.
MAMMY {sadly and very weakly)
I knows! I knows! Hit ain't long now. {Burst-
ing into a sudden weak hysteria) Yo' stay heah.
Dreamy! Yo' stay heah by me, yo' stay heah
— till de good Lawd take me home. Yo'
promise me dat! Yo' do dat fo' po' ole Mammy,
won't yo'?
DREAMY {uneasily)
'Deed I will. Mammy, 'deed I will.
502
THE DREAMY KID
MAMMY {closing her eyes with a sigh of relief —
calmly)
Bless de Lawd for dat. Den I ain't skeered no
mo\ {She settles herself comfortably in the bed
as if preparing for sleep.)
CEELY {in a low voice)
I gotter go home fo* a minute, Dreamy. I
ain't been dere all de day, and Lawd knows
what happen. Fll be back yere befo' ve'y
long.
DREAMY {his eyes fixed on Mammy)
Aw right, beat it if yuh wanter. {Turning to
. her — in a fierce whisper) On'y don* be long.
I can't stay here an' take dis risk, you hear?
CEELY {frightenedly)
I knows, chile. I come back, I swar!
{She goes out quietly. Dreamy goes quickly to the
window and cautiously searches the street below
with his eyes.)
MAMMY {uneasily)
Dreamy. {He hurries back and takes her hand
again.) I got de mos' 'culiar feelin' in my
head. Seems like de years done all roll away
an' I'm back down home in de ole place whar
you' was bo'n. {After a short pause.) Does yo'
'member yo' own mammy, chile?
DREAMY
No.
MAMMY
Yo' was too young, I s'pec'. Yo' was on'y a
baby w'en she tuck 'n' die. My Sal was a
mighty fine 'oman, if I does say hit my se'f.
THE DREAMY KID
DREAMY {fidgeting nervously)
Don' you talk, Mammy. Better you*d close
yo' eyes an' rest.
MAMMY {with a trembling smile — weakly)
Shoo! Wat is I done come ter, wid my own
gran'chile bossin' me 'bout. I wants ter talk.
You knows you ain't give me much chance
ter talk wid yo' dese las' years.
DREAMY {sullenly)
I ain't had de time. Mammy; but you knows
I was always game ter give you anything I
got. {A note of appeal in his voice) You knows
dat, don' you, Mammy?
MAMMY
Sho'ly I does. Yo' been a good boy. Dreamy;
an' if dere's one thing more'n 'nother makes
me feel like I mighter done good in de sight er
de Lawd, hits dat I raised yo' fum a baby.
DREAMY {clearing his throat gruffly)
Don' you talk so much. Mammy.
MAMMY {querulously)
I gotter talk, chile. Come times — w'en I git
thinkin' yere in de bed — w'at's gwine ter come
ter me a'mos' b'fore I knows hit — like de thief
in de night — en den I gits skeered. But w'en
I talks wid yo', I ain't skeered a bit.
DREAMY {defiantly)
You ain't got nothin' to be skeered of — ^not
when de Dreamy's here.
MAMMY {after a slight pause— faintly)
Dere's a singin* in my ears all de time. {Seized
by a sudden religious ecstasy) Maybe hits de
singin' hymns o' de blessed angels I done heah
504
THE DREAMY KID
fum above. {Wildly) Bless Gawd! Bless
Gawd! Pity dis po* ole sinner!
DREAMY {with an uneasy glance at the door)
S-s-shsh, Mammy! Don' shout so loud.
MAMMY
De pictures keep a whizzin* io my eyes like de
thread in a sewing machine. Seems 's if all
my life fly back ter me all ter once. {With a
flickering smile — weakly) Does you know how
yo' come by dat nickname dey alls call yo'—
de Dreamy? Is I ever tole yo' dat?
DREAMY {evidently lying)
No, Mammy.
MAMMY
Hit was one mawnin' b'fo' we come No'th.
Me an* yo' mammy — yo' was des a baby in
arms den —
DREAMY {hears a noise from the hall)
S-s-sh-h, Mammy! For Gawd's sake, don'
speak for a minute. I hears somep'n. {He
stares at the door^ his face hardening savagely^
and listens intently,)
MAMMY {in a frightened tone)
Wat's de matter, chile?
DREAMY
S-s-s-h-h! Somebody comin'. {A noise of foot-
steps comes from the hall stairway. Dreamy
springs to his feet.) Leggo my hand. Mammy —
jest tor a secon'. I come right back to you.
{He pulls his hand from the old woman's grip.
She falls back on the pillows ^ moaning. Dreamy
pulls a large automatic revolver from his coat
pocket and tiptoes quickly to the door. As he
THE DREAMY KID
does sOy there is a sharp rap. He stands listening
at the crack for a moment^ then noiselessly turns
the key^ unlocking the door. Then he crouches
low down by the wall so that the door, when
openedy will hide him from the sight of anyone
entering. There is another and louder rap on
the door.)
MAMMY {groaning)
Wat's dat, Dreamy? Whar is yo*?
Dreamy
S-s-sh-h! {Then muffling his voice y he calls)
Come in. {He raises the revolver in his hand.)
{The door is pushed open md Irene enters y her
eyes peering wildly about the room. Her bosom
is heaving as if she has been runningy and she is
trembling all over with terrified excitement,^
IRENE {not seeing himy calls ouf questioningly)
Dreamy ?
DREAMY {lowering his revolver and rising to his
feet roughly)
Close dat door!
IRENE {whirling about with a startled cry)
Dreamy!
DREAMY {shutting the door and locking it — ag-
gressively)
Shut yo' big mouth, gal, or Til bang it shut for
you! You wanter let de whole block know
where I is?
IRENE {hysterical with joy — trying to put her arms
around him)
Bless Gawd, I foun* you at last!
506
THE DREAMY KID
DREAMY {pushing her away roughly)
Leggo o' me! Why you come here follerin'
me? Ain*t yo* got 'nuff sense in yo' fool head
ter know de bulls is liable ter shadow you when
dey knows you 's my gal? Is you pinin' ter
git me kotched an' sent to de chair?
IRENE (terrified)
No, no!
DREAMY {savagely)
I got ter mind ter hand you one you won't
forget! {He draws back his fist.)
IRENE {shrinking away)
Don' you hit me. Dreamy! Don' you beat me
up now! Jest lemme 'xplain, dat's all.
MAMMY {in a frightened whisper)
Dreamy! Come yere to me. Whar is yo'?
I'se skeered!
DREAMY {in a fierce whisper to Irene)
Can dat bull or I'll fix you. {He hurries to the
old woman and pats her hand.) Here I is,
Mammy.
MAMMY
Who dat yo's a-talkin' wid?
DREAMY
On'y a fren' o' Ceely Ann's, Mammy, axin'
where she is. I gotter talk wid her some mo'
yit. You sleep. Mammy? {He goes to Irene.)
MAMMY (feebly)
Don' yo' leave me. Dreamy.
DREAMY
I'se right here wid you. {Fiercely to Irene) You
git the hell out a here, you Reeny, you heah —
quick! Dis ain't no place for de likes o* you,
wid ole Mammy dyin'.
THE DREAMY KID
IRENE {with a horrified glance at the bed)
Is she dyin' — honest?
DREAMY
S-s-s-h-h! She's croakin*, I tells yo' — an' I
gotter stay wid her io a while — an' I ain't got
no time ter be pesterin' wid you. Beat it
now! Beat it outa here befo' I knocks yo'
cold, git me?
IRENE
Jest wait a secon', for de love o' Gawd. I got
somep'n ter tell you —
DREAMY
I don't wanter hear yo' fool talk. {He gives her
a push toward the door,) Git outa dis, you hear
me?
IRENE
I'll go. I'm gwine soon — soon's ever I've had
my say. Lissen, Dreamy! It's about de
coppers I come ter tell you.
DREAMY {quickly)
Why don* you say dat befo'? What you
know, gal?
IRENE
Just befo* I come here to find you de first time,
de madam sends me out to Murphy's ter git
her a bottle o' gin. I goes in de side door, but
I ain't rung de bell yet. I hear yo' name
spoken an' I stops ter lissen. Dey was three or
four men in de back room. Dey don't hear
me open de outside door, an' dey can't see me,
course. It was Big Sullivan from de Central
Office talkin'. He was talkin' 'bout de killin*
you done last night, and he tells dem odders
he's heerd 'bout de ole woman gittin* so sick,
508
THE DREAMY KID
and dat if dey don^t fin' you none of de odder
places dey's lookin*, dey*s goin* wait for you
here. Dey s*pecs you come here say good-bye
to Mammy befo* you make yo' git-away.
DREAMY
It's aw right, den. Dey ain't come yit. Twister
Smith done tole me de coast was cleat befo'
I come here.
IRENE
Dat was den. It ain't now.
DREAMY {excitedly)
What you mean, gal?
IRENE
I was comin' in by de front way when 1 sees
some pusson hidin' in de doorway 'cross de
street. I gits a good peek at him and when I
does — it's a copper. Dreamy, suah's yo' born,
in his plain clo'se, and he's a watchin' de door
o' dis house like a cat.
DREAMY {goes to the window and^ stealthily crouch-
ing by the dark side^ peeks out. One glance is
enough. He comes quickly back to Irene.) You
got de right dope, gal. It's dat Mickey. I
knows him even in de dark. Dey 're waitin' —
so dey ain't wise I'm here yit, dat's suah.
IRENE
But dey'U git wise befo' long.
DREAMY
He don' pipe you comin' in here?
IRENE
I skulked roun' and sneaked in by de back
way froo de yard. Dey ain't none o' dem dar
yit. {Raising her voice — excitedly) But dere will
be soon. Dey're boun' to git wise to dat back
509
THE DREAMY KID
door. You ain't got no time to lose. Dreamy.
Come on wid me now. Git back where yo'
safe. It's de cooler for you certain if you stays
here. Dey'll git you like a rat in de trap.
{As Dreamy hesitates) For de love of Gawd,
Dreamy, wake up to youse'f!
DREAMY {uncertainly)
I can't beat it — wid Mammy here alone. My
luck done turn bad all my life if I does.
IRENE {fiercely)
What good's you gittin' pinched and sent to
de chair gwine do her? Is you crazy mad?
Come away wid me, I tells you!
DREAMY {half persuaded — hesitatingly)
I gotter speak wid her. You wait a secon'.
IRENE {wringing her hands)
Dis ain't no time now for fussin' wid her.
DREAMY {gruffly)
Shut up ! {He makes a motion for her to remain
where she is and goes over to the bed — in a low
voice) Mammy.
MAMMY {hazily)
Dat you. Dreamy? {She tries to reach out her
hand and touch him,)
DREAMY
I'm gwine leave you — jest for a moment.
Mammy. I'll send de word for Ceely Ann —
MAMMY {wide awake in an instant — with intense
alarm)
Don' yo' do dat. Don' yo' move one step out
er yere, or yo'll be sorry. Dreamy.
DREAMY {apprehensively)
I gotter go, I tells you. I'll come back.
510
THE DREAMY KID
MAMMY {with wild grief)
O good Lawd! Wen Fs drawin' de las' bre*fs
in dis po' ole body. {Frenziedly) De Lawd have
mercy! Good Lawd, have mercy!
DREAMY {fearfully)
Stop dat racket, Mammy! You bring all o*
dem down on my head! {He rushes over and
crouches by the window again to peer out — in
relieved tones) He ain't heerd nothin'. He's
dar yit.
IRENE {imploringly)
Come on. Dreamy!
{Mammy groans with pain,)
DREAMY {hurrying to the bed)
What's de matter, Mammy?
IRENE {stamping her foot)
Dreamy! Fo' Gawd's sake!
MAMMY
Lawd have mercy! {She groans,) Gimme yo'
han', chile. Yo' ain't gwine leave me now,
Dreamy? Yo' ain't, is yo'? Yo' ole Mammy
won't bodder yo' long. Yo' know w'at yo'
promise me. Dreamy! Yo* promise yo' sacred
word yo' stay wid me till de en'. {With an air
of somber prophecy — slowly) If yo' leave me
now, yo' ain't gwine git no bit er luck s'long's
yo' Hve, I tells yo' dat!
DREAMY {frightened — pleadingly)
Don't you say dat, Mammy!
IRENE
Come on. Dreamy!
33 511
THE DREAMY KID
DREAMY {slowly)
I can't. {In awed tones) Don' you hear de curse
she puts on me if I does?
MAMMY {her voice trembling with weak tears)
. Don' go, chile!
DREAMY {hastily)
I won't leave dis room, I swar ter you! {Re-
lieved by the finality in his tones ^ the old woman
sighs and closes her eyes. Dreamy frees his hand
from hers and goes to Irene, He speaks with a
strange calm,) De game's up, gal. You better
beat it while de gwine's good.
IRENE {aghast)
You gwine stay?
DREAMY
I gotter, gal. I ain't gwine agin her dyin'
curse. No, suh!
IRENE {pitifully)
But dey'll git you, suah!
DREAMY {slapping the gun in his pocket signifi-
cantly)
Dey'll have some gittin*. I git some o' dem
fust. {JVith gloomy determination) Dey don' git
dis chicken alive! Lawd Jesus, no suh. Not
de Dreamy!
IRENE {helplessly)
Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy! {She goes to the window —
with a short cry) He's talkin' wid someone.
Dere's two o' dem.
{Dreamy hurries to her side.)
DREAMY
I knows him — de udder. It's Big Sullivan.
{Pulling her away roughly,) Come out o' dat!
512
THE DREAMY KID
Dey'll see you. {He pushes her toward the door.)
Dey won't wait down here much longer. Dey'll
be comin' up here soon. {Prayerfully y with a
glance at the bed) I hopes she's croaked by den,
fo' Christ I does I
IRENE {as if she couldn't believe it)
Den you ain't gwine save youse'f while dere's
time.'' {Pleadingly) Gh, Dreamy, you can
make it yet!
DREAMY
De game's up, I tole you. {With gloomy
fatalism) I s'pect it hatter be. Yes, suh.
Dey'd git me in de long run, anyway — and wid
her curse de luck'd be agin me. {With sudden
anger) Git outa here, you Reeny! You ain't
aimin' ter git shot up, too, is you? Ain't no
sense in dat.
IRENE (^^rr^/y)
Fse stayin', too, here wid you!
DREAMY
No you isn't! None o' dat bull! You ain't
got no mix in dis jamb.
IRENE
Yes, I is! Ain't you my man?
DREAMY
Don' make no dif. I don' wanter git you in
Dutch more'n you is. It's bad 'nufF fo' me.
{He pushes her toward the door,) Blow while
you kin, I tells you!
IRENE {resisting him)
No, Dreamy! What I care if dey kills me?
I'se gwine stick wid you.
THE DREAMY KID
DREAMY (gives her another push)
No, you isn't, gal. {Unlocking the door — re-
lentlessly) Out wid you!
IRENE (hysterically)
You can't gimme no bum's rush. I'm gwine
stay.
DREAMY (gloomily)
On'y one thing fo' me ter do, den. (He hits her
on the side of the face with all his mighty knocking
her back against the wall^ where she sways as if
about to fall. Then he opens the door and grabs
her two arms from behind) Out wid you, gal!
IRENE (moaning)
Dreamy! Dreamy! Lemme stay wid you!
(He pushes her into the hallway and holds her
there at arm's length.) Fo' Gawd's sake. Dreamy.
MAMMY (whimperingly)
Dreamy! I'se skeered!
IRENE (from the hall)
Fse gwine stay right here at de door. You
might 's well lemme in.
DREAMY (frowning)
Don' do dat, Reeny. (Then with a sudden
idea) You run roun* and tell de gang what's
up. Maybe dey git me outa dis, you hear?
IRENE (with eager hope)
You think dey kin?
DREAMY
Never kin tell. You hurry — through de back
yard, 'member — an' don' git pinched, now.
IRENE (eagerly)
I'm gwine! I'll bring dem back!
DREAMY (stands listening to her retreating foot-
THE DREAMY KID
steps — then shuts and locks the door — gloomily to
himself)
Ain't no good. Dey dassent do nothin* — but I
hatter git her outa dis somehow.
MAMMY {groaning)
Dreamy!
DREAMY
Here I is. Jest a secon*. {He goes to the win-
dow.)
MAMMY {weakly)
I feels — like — de en*s comin*. Oh, Lawd,
Lawd!
DREAMY {absent-mindedly)
Yes, Mammy. {Aloud to himself) Dey 're
sneakin* cross de street. Dere's anudder of
'em. Dat's tree.
{He glances around the room quickly — then
hurries over and takes hold of the chest of drawers.
As he does so the old woman commences to croon
shrilly to herself^
DREAMY
Stop dat noise. Mammy! Stop dat noise!
MAMMY {wanderingly)
Dat's how come yo' got dat — dat nickname —
Dreamy.
DREAMY
Yes, Mammy.
{He puts the lamp on the floor to the rear of the
door, turning it down low. Then he carries
the chest of drawers over and places it against
the door as a barricade.)
THE DREAMY KID
MAMMY {rambling as he does this — very jeebly)
Does yo' know — I gives you dat name — w'en
yo's des a baby — lyin* in my arms —
DREAMY
Yes, Mammy.
MAMMY
Down by de crik — under de ole willow — whar
I uster take yo' — wid yo' big eyes a-chasin* —
de sun flitterin' froo de grass — an' out on de
water —
DREAMY (takes the revolver from his pocket and puts
it on top of the chest of drawers?) Dey don't git
de Dreamy alive — not for de chair! Lawd
Jesus, no suh!
MAMMY
An* yo' was always — a-lookin' — an' a-thinkin'
ter yo'se'f — an' yo' big eyes jest a-dreamin' an'
a-dreamin' — an' dat's w'en I gives yo' dat
nickname — Dreamy — Dreamy —
DREAMY
Yes, Mammy. {He listens at the crack of the
door — in a tense whisper) I don' hear dem — but
dey're comin' sneakin' up de stairs, I knows it.
MAMMY {faintly)
Whar is yo'. Dreamy? I can't — ha'dly —
breathe — no mo'. Oh, Lawd, have mercy!
DREAMY {goes ovcr to the bed)
Here I is. Mammy.
MAMMY {speaking with difficulty)
Yo' — kneel down — chile — say a pray'r — Oh,
Lawd !
DREAMY
Jest a secon' Mammy. {He goes over and gets
his revolver and comes back.)
516
THE DREAMY KID
MAMMY
Gimme — yo* hand — chile. {Dreamy gives her
his left hand. The revolver is in his right. He
stares nervously at the door.) An* yo* kneel
down — pray fo* me.
{Dreamy gets on one knee beside the bed. There
is a sound from the hallway as if someone had
made a misstep on the stairs — then silence.
Dreamy starts and half aims his gun in the
direction of the door. Mammy groans weakly.)
MAMMY
Fm dyin', chile. Hit's de en*. You pray
for me — out loud — so's I can heah. Oh, Lawd!
{She gasps to catch her breath.)
DREAMY {abstractedly y not having heard a word she
has said)
Yes, Mammy. {Aloud to himself ^ with an air
of grim determination as if he were making a
pledge) Dey don't git de Dreamy! Not while
he's 'live! Lawd Jesus, no suh!
MAMMY {falteringly)
Dat's right — yo* pray — Lawd Jesus — Lawd
Jesus —
{There is another slight sound of movement from
the hallway.)
THE CURTAIN FALLS
517
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
A COMEDY 11^ ONE ACT
Based on a Work of Octave Feuillet
by George Jay Smith
PERSONS
CoRiSANDA, a Countess
Bettina, her Maid
Anselm, her Notary
RosARio, a Stranger
Mazetto, his Servant
First prcxiuced at the Bandbox Theater, New York, 191 5,
by The Washington Square Players.
Copyright, 1915. hy GEORGE JAY SMITH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Applications for permission to produce Forbidden Fruit
must be made to George Jay Smith, 500 Park Ave., New York.
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
The scene shows an interior^ a large living-room
in the chateau of the Countess Corisanda. Doors
right and left, A large window^ left rear^ in flat.
A large divan under the window^ which is suitably
draped with curtains, A small writing desk right y
forward. A table left, near the side. A wall mirror
near it. Carpet^ chairs y etc.
At rise, Corisanda is seated, LC, and Bettina is
engaged in putting the finishing touches on the
Countess' coiffure,
CORISANDA
Oh, how bored I am! . . . What shall I read,
Bettina? — while you are doing my hair? Hand
me those verses that silly Marquis addressed to
me. . . . {Bettina brings the paper from the
writing desk. After glancing at the vers'es, Cori-
sanda throws them impatiently upon the table.)
No; go call my notary. {Bettina goes to door,
right, and summons Anselm. He enters, ap-
proaches and bows.) Good day, Monsieur
Anselm. . . . Oh, pardon me, but what does
this mean? What's the color of your hair?
ANSELM
A blond brown, Madame.
CORISANDA
Ah, this is some joke. Yesterday it was black
as a crow.
521
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
AN s ELM {embarrassed)
Madame the Countess is mistaken.
CORISANDA
I assure you, Mr. Notary, it was black as a crow.
Why should I try to deceive you? — Bettina,
haven't you almost finished?
BETTINA
Almost, Madame.
ANSELM
Madame the Countess had nothing else to say
to me?
CORISANDA
Oh, I ask your pardon. Please sit there. {He
sits.) Take this bundle of papers which came
yesterday by post. {She hands him papers from
her table?) They are about that law-suit of the
Count's for the lands. I spent half the night
going over these papers, and do you know what
I have discovered? That I have lost! Fifty
thousand francs, if you please.
ANSELM {who has opened the papers)
Pardon, Madame, but, on the contrary, you
have won.
CORISANDA {bursting into laughter)
Ah, so much the better! . . . Did I have anything
else to say to you? . . . Ah, no matter.
ANSELM {aside)
Can she have seen how I feel?
CORISANDA
Yes. . . . There is one matter I must speak of.
ANSELM
Yes, Madame? — {Aside) I tremble for fear my
love may be displeasing to her.
522
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
CORISANDA
I'm going to make my will.
ANSELM
Your will, Madame?
CORISANDA
I shall die of weariness tomorrow, or day after
at latest. I shall be bored to death.
ANSELM
Weary? bored? Madame! In this magnificent
chateau, beautiful, rich, a widow.
CORISANDA
Bettina, explain to Monsieur Anselm why I am
bored.
BETTINA
Madame is bored. Monsieur, because she is
beautiful, rich, and a widow. These are three
very sufficient reasons. She is bored because
she has no wish that may not be gratified, be-
cause there is no whim that her immense fortune
does not permit her to carry out, no man whom
her beauty does not make a lover, and no lover
whom her liberty does not permit her to marry.
CORISANDA {sighing)
Ah, all that is only too true ! {Noise of horsemen
is heard.) What's that noise, Bettina? A troop
of cavalry ?
BETTINA {running to the window)
Madame, there are two strange gentlemen on
horseback — one with feathers on his hat !
CORISANDA
Is he young, the one with feathers?
{Anselm rises.)
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
BETTINA
Young and fine-looking! But his valet has the
look of a goose dressed in livery. They're enter-
ing the court.
CORISANDA (who hus goYie to the window)
He is handsome, that's true. How unfortunate!
It would be fun to turn his head, but then he'd
want to marry me, and what reason could I give
for saying no? For, of course, I am a widow.
, . . He'd take me for a coquette — he wouldn't
know how bored I am.
BETTINA
That's a case when it would be most convenient
to have a husband.
CORISANDA
Bettina, I can't refuse him hospitality if he asks
it. {She reflects a moment^ Yes, that's it.
Monsieur Anselm, you are my husband !
ANSELM (starting)
Good heavens! What, Madame!
CORISANDA
Yes, for an hour or two — for as long as this
stranger is in my chateau. Listen now, and you,
Bettina, give the word to all the servants. (She
comes forward with Anselm and Bettina?) Mon-
sieur Anselm, you are General Castelforte, my
husband, whom false news reported dead in
Bulgaria. . . . Now, then, this young stranger,
whatever happens, can ask me nothing that I
shall not be in a position to refuse him. Re-
member, Anselm, to speak as I speak.
ANSELM
Yes, Madame. Should I, in the course of con-
524
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
versation, call you "my angel" — before this
young man?
CORISANDA
No. Put on this sword. {She goes to the wall^
rights and brings a sword and belt,)
ANSELM (aside)
Is all this only a game to make me understand
she knows of my love? — Why shouldn't I be the
husband for her? Fm the only well-dressed man
in the neighborhood.
CORISANDA
Here, get on your gloves, and give me your
hand. {Seizing his hand with a flourish she goes
out^ lefty laughingy followed by Anselm^ with the
papers y grave, and Bettina.)
{Knocking on door, without, right. Re-enter
Bettina, who admits the Chevalier de Rosario and
Mazetto, his valet. They place their hats on ihe
divan, rear. All thre^ comie forward,)
ROSARIO
Whose is this chateau, my girl ?
BETTINA
The Countess Corisanda's, sir.
ROSARIO
Is she young, this Countess?
BETTINA
Young as one of the Graces, and beautiful as all
three.
ROSARIO
Take this purse for your mythology.
BETTINA
Thanks, Your Highness.
5^5
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
MAZETTO {coming closer to Bettina)
I must see a little closer here. Oh, good heavens,
my child! What is that on your cheek there?
{He suddenly kisses her.) Be easy, there's noth-
ing there now.
ROSARIO
You have disgusting bad manners, Mazetto.
My dear, will you announce the Chevalier de
Rosario to your mistress?
BETTINA {smiling)
Yes, Your Excellency. She begs that you will
await her here. {She makes a saucy face at Ma-
zetto, and goes out ^ left,)
ROSARIO
Explain me one thing, Mazetto: you seem re-
markably successful with women. . . .
MAZETTO (laughing)
Oh — fairly, fairly, that's a fact.
ROSARIO
And yet you have the face of a fool.
MAZETTO
Nothing is more certain; I have.
ROSARIO
Notwithstanding, you please women — you re-
ceive their favors?
MAZETTO
I should receive them if my master would only
give me time enough. Yesterday, when you
called me, if you had only given me ten minutes
more my happiness would have been certain.
ROSARIO
You have a crazy idea of always wanting ten
minutes more. Your "ten minutes more" is
getting to be a little tiresome. But how is it
526
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
with a face like that you can win any woman's
favor? I can*t understand it.
MAZETTO
Oh, this face of mine gives me positive advan-
tages. Women say, "Oh, he's only a poor fool,
that Mazetto." And that gives me positively
great advantages.
ROSARIO
That may be. Everything has its good side —
except marriage.
MAZETTO
Oh, that thought torments you, sir! It has be-
come a sort of refrain in your talk.
ROSA RIO
But why are women such fools as to wish to bury
their lovers in the guise of a husband ? Disagree-
able scientists will cut a beautiful flower in the
sun to make of it an old dried-up thing in a her-
barium. Women are the same way.
MAZETTO
Your excellency is not a marrying man, that's
all.
ROSARIO
No, and when I make love to a pretty woman
(which, of course, I can't help doing), it's most
annoying to have her make an unpleasant scene
when she discovers Fm not the marrying sort.
MAZETTO
Well, you have only to let them think from the
first that you are already married.
ROSARIO
Married? No; that gives a fellow an awkward
air. But there's one thing I might do. I'll say
Fm a Knight of Malta. Everyone knows that
84 P7
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
the rule of this Order forbids marriage — that*s
a great idea!
MAZETTO
And I — rU give myself out for a lay brother of
of the same Order! We'll both be safe then.
ROSA RIO
Be silent. She's coming.
{Bettina opens the door, lefty and admits Cori-
sanda and Anselm.)
BETTINA
My lady, gentlemen.
ROSA RIO {aside)
Who's this melancholy fellow with her? — {Aloud)
Madame, finding myself this morning on your
road here with my valet —
CORISANDA
Sir, it is a piece of good fortune in this lonely
region to —
ROSARio {bowing)
To find a hostess so charming.
CORISANDA
The pleasure, I assure you, is mutual. But
without more compliment, pray be seated.
{Aside to Anselm?) Remember to back up all I
say.
{They all sit except Mazetto and Bettina.)
ROSA Rio {aside)
She's very beautiful. — {To Mazetto , apart).
Don't forget to enlarge on what I say.
BETTINA {to Corisanday apart)
His lackey is certainly a fool.
528
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
ROSA RIO {aside)
I wonder who this silent duffer can be? — {Aloud)
Madame, permit me to introduce myself as the
Chevalier de Rosario, {insistently) Knight of
Malta.
MAZETTO {bowing)
Of the holy Order of Malta.
CORISANDA
Chevalier, let me present General Castelforte,
my husband, recently returned from his last
campaign in Bulgaria.
AN s ELM {bowing)
In Bulgaria.
ROSA RIO {bowing)
General. — {Aside) What an ass he is! But
since she's married, the Order of Malta was un-
necessary, in fact embarrassing. Bah! she's
forgotten it already!
CORISANDA
Tell me, Chevalier, exactly what is your Order
of Malta? I confess my ignorance of it.
ROSARIO
Oh, Countess, it's an order of knighthood — like
all the orders.
MAZETTO
Except, Madame, that it forbids marriage.
ROSARIO {aside)
The idiot! When she's married!
CORISANDA
Ah! — {Aside.) If I'd known that, I shouldn't
have bothered with this stupid notary. But,
too late now.
529
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
ROSARio {looking furiously at Mazetto)
My servant also, Madame, belongs to the same
Order, and is bound by the same vows.
MAZETTO {ogling Bettina)
Yes, for my sins.
BETTINA {aside)
He's rather funny after all, this fellow.
CORISANDA
Did you choose this profession. Chevalier?
ROSARIO
Frankly, no, Madame. My father chose it for
me, in my boyhood, because I was the youngest
of my house.
MAZETTO
As I of mine.
ROSA RIO {apart to the Countess)
Pardon, Countess. Would you mind sending
this valet of mine to the servants' quarters ?
CORISANDA
Bettina, take this young man and let him have
some breakfast — unless his vows forbid food.
MAZETTO
Oh, no, Madame!
{Bettina and Mazetto exeunt^ right ^
ROSARIO
A thousand thanks. Countess! When the boy
sees me in peril of temptation, he becomes in-
tolerable. Count, you appear troubled; pray,
don't let me detain you. . . .
CORISANDA
You must pardon the Count, Chevalier de Ro-
sario. The great suffering he endured in Bul-
garia rendered him very taciturn.
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
ANSELM
Very taciturn.
CORISANDA
He was wounded and made prisoner in a skirm-
ish, and, like everyone else, I, for a year, be-
lieved him dead.
ANSELM
Dead.
CORISANDA
Heaven was good enough to restore him to me
one evening in the garb of a pilgrim.
ANSELM
Of a pilgrim.
ROSA RIO {aside)
Good Lord! It's an echo dressed like a man!
{Aloud.) General, it's very sad. Madame, will
you permit me to express the great admiration
I have for your park? — surely one of the most
beautiful I have ever seen. It has the coquetry
of a lovely woman, always inviting, yet always
concealing and evading. I should like to ex-
plore this park, Madame.
CORISANDA {smiling)
But you would get lost. Chevalier, unless I serve
you as guide; and if I guide you I should destroy
the solitude.
ROSA RIO
Countess! Do angels destroy paradise ? Count,
I am truly sorry for your indisposition.
CORISANDA {rising)
I take you at your word. Give me your arm.
My dear Count, this walk would tire you. {All
have risen.)
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
ANSELM
But, my loveliest one. . . .
CORISANDA
Silence, my dear. No unnecessary gallantry.
The Chevalier will excuse you, I say.
ROSA RIO
Certainly, General.
CORISANDA
Let us go out, Chevalier, by way of the library.
{They go out, left, Anselm remains, pacing
furiously up and down,)
ANSELM {alone)
Vm their stalking horse, that's plain. Fm play-
ing fool to them. This stranger with his pre-
tentious talk must think me an ass. But, by
heaven! I won't lose them from my sight. Fll
make use of the advantage she's given me. It's
not delicate, but love knows no law. Where
the deuce have I seen that? No matter. After
them.
{He follows them, going out left. Enter, right,
Bettina and Mazetto,)
MAZETTO
Lovely Bettina! I admired you from the first
glimpse I had of you !
BETTINA {left center)
Sorry I can't return the compliment.
MAZETTO
"Like mistress, like maid" proves true; only, if
anything, I like your style a bit better than the
Countess'.
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
BETTiNA {edging away from his arm)
Pity you don't share the Chevalier's good looks.
What's the matter with your arm?
MAZETTO {trying to embrace her)
It's nervous.
BETTINA
And you a brother of a holy order, too!
MAZETTO
Ah! But then you understand my vows were
not so strict as the Chevalier's. Far from it.
BETTINA
Evidently.
(He seizes her and kisses her. She runs out, left,
followed by Mazetto. Enter, right, Corisanda
and Rosario,)
ROSARIO
We've eluded him. Countess.
CORISANDA
Ah, the General is experienced in pursuit.
ROSA RIO
Madame, do you know you are maddeningly
beautiful?
CORISANDA
Pray, Chevalier, admire my park ah you please,
but let my face be.
ROSARIO
Madame, in this world we admire what we must,
whether we ought or not.
CORISANDA
But surely it is not permitted a Knight of
Malta ....
ROSARIO {hastily)
Oh, beautiful Countess! I see you have a little
S33
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
misunderstood that matter of the vows. {Sh&
happens to look back to the window ^ at which the
face of Anselm appears^
CORISANDA {aside)
Anselm! The impertinent meddler!
ROSARio {aside ^ also having perceived Anselm)
The Count! Confound him! Fortunately his
wife hasn't seen him. — {Aloud) Countess, if
you will again enter the library, we may enjoy
the view now more at leisure.
CORISANDA
Certainly, Chevalier. {She looks back at the win-
dow ^ from which the face of Anselm disappears^
This way! {They go out again ^ left.)
{Enter Anselm^ rights out of breath and irritated^
ANSELM
Where did they go.^* They have no shame! Tm
eaten up with jealousy. {Calling loudly^ Cori-
sanda! Oh, Corisanda! — I know well I'll lose
the Countess' favor forever, but love doesn't
reason. {He calls into the door^ left.) Corisanda!
Where are you ? Corisanda ! Oh, you are there,
my dear one!
CORISANDA {entering)
You are an insolent fool, Anselm. Go away!
What do you mean?
ANSELM {in a loud voice)
No, my adored angel!
CORISANDA {low VOlCC)
What! You deserve a thrashing, you impudent
fellow !
ANSELM {very loud)
No, joy of my life! Noi
?34
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
CORISANDA {low Voicc)
I'll call the Chevalier and let him deal with you.
{Calling.) Chevalier, here, if you please!
ANSELM {low voice)
Countess! You will involve yourself in great
embarrassment.
{Enter Rosario, left.)
CORISANDA {aloud)
'Tis well, sir. You are right. A thousand par-
dons, Chevalier. The General reminds me of
an engagement. Pray excuse me. {Exily right.)
ROSA RIO {striking Anselm on the shoulder)
What the Countess told me is the fact, Gen-
eral?
ANSELM
What, sir?
ROSARIO
Not only that the world believed you dead, but
that you yourself shared in this tragic opinion ?
ANSELM
Maybe so.
ROSA RIO
You thought yourself dead. General? Very
strange, indeed. But, shall I tell you? You
don't seem to have recovered from that idea.
ANSELM
Possibly not.
ROSARio {taking of his coat)
In that case, wouldn't it be just as well to bury
you, by way of precaution ? {He takes his sword
into his hand.)
ANSELM {coldly)
Underling! {He goes out hastily y right ^
535
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
ROSARio {stupefied)
What! Are you crazy? IVe insulted you and
you run away ! Sir, you are ridiculous ! {Louder)
General, you are a coward! — {Alone.) Well, Til
be — I never knew the like in all my life — and he
a general! {He puts on his coat. Noticing the
desk^ he sits and writes as follows:)
"Madame, I have deceived you: I have made
no eternal vow save that of loving you. The
union which binds you is monstrous. I will say
nothing of the General. Either he is an idiot,
or his mind is so far unbalanced that he refuses
to fight me. I will rescue you from this bond-
age. I will go to Rome, to the Pope. I will do
anything that is necessary, but I will recover
liberty for you. Then do with me as you will.
Your husband or your slave, Rosario."
{Calling) Mazetto! {Enter Mazetto, left.) Take
this to the Countess. {Exit Mazetto ^ right.)
Oh, I am saved in this world and the next, if
this woman will marry me. Thanks be to
heaven for this second youth which I feel in my
veins ! O primitive faith, lost and sacred adora-
tion, I feel you revive in my soul, and flood my
heart!
MAZETTO {returning)
Sir, I met the Countess' servant, who was
bringing this note from her mistress, and I gave
^her yours. That girl would make a musket fall
in love!
ROSARIO
Go. {Exit Mazetto, left.) — {Reading) "I have
deceived you. Chevalier, The Count, my hus-
band, is dead. I am free, but you are not. I
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
will never see you again under any pretext.
Adieu." Divine pity! She is free! and she
loves me! {The Countess appears at door^ rights
holding the open letter of Rosario, He perceives
her.) Oh, beloved vision! Tears, tears in your
eyes! Oh, let me stop them forever!
CORISANDA
No, no let them flow. Chevalier! They are
sweet. Come! {The Chevalier kneels at her
feety LC) No, my friend, beside me; your hand
in mine. Look into my eyes, since they please
you. Talk to me of love, since I love you. Oh,
my own, my own !
ROSARio {embracing her)
Dear heart, how my mother will love you ! The
news that at last I love, love truly, blessedly,
will make her happy. Oh, my darling — my life
has not been all it should have been. Let me
confess to you . . .
CORISANDA
No — no. It would only be to waste words. Let
the past be. The present is enough!
ROSARIO
Oh, how I love you, love you! Till the end of
the world!
CORISANDA
Some little ceremony is necessary for that,
Chevalier. I have a mother, too, and her pres-
ence here now would be advisable. Come, sit
there, write to your mother; I will write here,
to mine.
{Rosario sits at the desk, Corisanda at the table.)
S37
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
ROSARIO
It's far away from you, here.
CORISANDA
Well, in that case, make haste.
ROSARIO {writing)
"My dear Mother*'—
CORISANDA {writing)
"Beloved Mamma"—
ROSARIO {aside ^ thoughtful)
Yes, yes, I love her, certainly — very probably.
IVe spoken very feelingly to her.
CORISANDA {aside)
We shall be married. He wasn't a Knight of
Malta, after all. That probably excited me.
ROSARIO {looking at her^ aside)
Assuredly, she's a beauty. Her mind has some
depth, too.
CORISANDA {looking at him, aside)
A good-looking man. His foot rather big: but a
well-looking man.
ROSARIO
"My dear Mother."— (y^j/i^.) Who the devil
can that pretended general be? She has a rather
thin arm, like that of an actress I once knew.
CORISANDA
"Beloved Mamma." . . . You're not writing.
Chevalier.?
ROSARIO
I ask your pardon. But when one wishes to be
brief, one seeks the right word, and that takes
time. — {Aside.) That shadow on her upper lip,
to an indifferent person, would look like a mous-
tache. Her arm is certainly thin. {Pretends to
write,)
538
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
CORISANDA {aside)
Somehow I don't feel very sure of him. He's
had experiences. Do I really know anything
about him? {Pretends to write.)
ROSARIO
She has seen life, this widow — for she is a
widow . . .
CORISANDA
Chevalier, you're not writing?
ROSARIO
It seems to me we're playing the same game,
Countess: your paper is blank, too.
CORISANDA
Do you know. Monsieur de Rosario, that your
hesitation could be given an ill interpretation?
ROSARIO
How about yours, Madame?
CORISANDA {abruptly y after a pause)
Chevalier, you have an enormous foot.
ROSARIO {rising)
It is a reproach. Countess, which your arm will
never merit!
CORISANDA
Your hat, sir, is on the divan.
ROSARIO {bowing)
If the dream has been half as agreeable to you,
Madame, as to me, you will pardon me the
awakening, as I pardon it to you. Mazetto!
Blood and death! Mazetto!
(Mazetto, redfaced, puts his head in at the door,
left,)
539
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
MAZETTO
My lord, in heaven's name! In the name of all
that's most sacred! Ten minutes more!
ROSA RIO {putting on his hat)
Fool! Will you come, or not?
MAZETTO {entering)
Oh! my cursed luck! You are harder than
rock, sir!
ROSARIO
There's your hat! We're off! {Exeunt ^ right ^
CORISANDA {seating herself languidly)
Bettina! {Enter Bettina^ left.) Hand me a
novel, Bettina. . . . {Corisanda regards herself
in her hand mirror^ . . . Oh, how bored I am !
CURTAIN
540
JEZEBEL
A PLAY
hy Dorothy Stockb ridge
CHARACTERS
Jezebel Melkah Jehu
Messenger Two Slaves
First produced at Vassar College
Copyright. 1921. by DOROTHY STOCKBRIDGE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Applications for permission to produce this play should be ad-
dressed to Miss Dorothy Stockbridge, in care of Hector Mac
Quarries' Book Shop, 27 University Place, New York City. No
performance may be given without her consent.
JEZEBEL
SCENE
A room in the royal palace in Jezreel overhanging
the wall of the city. At back is a great window
with steps leading up to it. D. R. is a statue of
the Golden Bull on a pedestal. Jezebel is kneeling
before it, her forehead bowed on its hoofs, side face
to the audience. Melkah, a slave girl, not over
young but very handsome, stands in the window
looking down on the plain below. There are en-
trances through the curtains, R. and L. and a
great chair, U. R. As the curtain riseSy there is
an instant's silence.
JEZEBEL
He whom I nursed as a child, forget not his
name, O Heedless One.
He is riding forth into battle, Joram, Joram, my
son.
With his hundred men of iron he is riding forth.
And Ahaziah, King of Judah, is with him,
I have served thee well, O thou golden Beast.
I have builded unto thee images and temples.
I have kept thy prophets, and in this way and
in that.
Have I slain the priests of Him who would de-
stroy thee.
{More softly.)
Forget not therefore his name, O Heedless One.
Joram, Joram, my son.
Remember him in the hour of battle.
" 543
JEZEBEL
His coat is red, red as the blood of his heart that
I gave him.
Thou canst see him afar off.
Be thou a shield to his heart, that no harm befall
him.
{Rises y turning to slave.)
Girl, girl, rideth my son bravely? {Taking a few
impatient steps y M. C.)
Speak! Speak! What seest thou.^ Hath he
goodly following?
MELKAH
Aye, Queen. He is well attended. But the
army of his enemy numbereth many men.
JEZEBEL
His enemy. Would I knew his name. May he
be accursed forever. Tell me, girl, canst thou
not see who this man is that dare confront the
King, my son?
MELKAH {slowly)
Nay, O Jezebel. He standeth too far. {A
quiver of excitement in her voice.) But he bear-
eth himself well — {softly) well.
JEZEBEL
Some upstart captain whom Joram trained to
war. What color weareth he ?
MELKAH
A green coat. {Turning and facing Jezebel with
covert triumph.) And his hair is like flame in the
sun.
JEZEBEL {venomously)
Then it is Jehu. Jehu, the stranger, whom no
one knew. Cursed be his name and his house.
My son loved him and made him to be his cap-
tain, albeit he came none knew whence, and
544
JEZEBEL
now he turneth on him to rend him. (Goes to
chair and sits down,)
MELKAH
Aye, he came none knew whence.
JEZEBEL
And Joram loved him.
MELKAH
Aye, O daughter of Kings. {Maliciously,) And
thou, too, didst love him, ingrate that he is.
JEZEBEL {quickly)
I? I loved him?
MELKAH
Aye, Queen, and he hath returned thee this
treachery. Cursed be he that could see love in
thine eyes and return thee such treachery.
JEZEBEL
It is a lie, girl, I never loved him. {The murmur
of distant shouting is heard y softly at first.)
MELKAH
True, true! Alas, that he should have dared to
boast of thy love in the streets of Jezreel and
among the captains.
JEZEBEL {hoarse with rage)
Ah, when I shall have him in these hands!
MELKAH
He will die, I doubt not, O Queen.
JEZEBEL
Die! {Breaks of as murmur rises to a distant
shout and then dies down again. The tempo ^
which began at a medium speedy has been slowly
decreasing for the last ten lines or so. Now there
is a sudden jump to quick tempo in the following
lines;)
545
JEZEBEL
MELKAH {at window)
The messenger of King Joram hath ridden forth
to speak with Jehu.
JEZEBEL {hoarsely)
What — what — tell me what befalleth, girl.
MELKAH
A strange chance, truly. The messenger goeth
not back to the army of our King Joram, but
entereth the host of Jehu the traitor.
JEZEBEL {rising)
Dogs that they are. And must my son perish
at the hands of traitors? — Perish — {Again a
shout,)
MELKAH {breaks in)
Another messenger rideth forth.
JEZEBEL {to the Bull in supplication)
Ah, send he may prosper and return. Tell me,
girl, dost thou see Joram .f* How fareth he?
MELKAH
Well, O Queen — well. I see his red cloak shin-
ing right bravely among his captains.
JEZEBEL
He is first of all, first of all. Is it not always so?
Men call me proud. Isn't it not so, girl?
MELKAH
Aye, thou hast the pride of a Queen.
JEZEBEL
Proud? Proud? Is he not always first? Doth
he not bear himself royally? Doth he bow to
any, even to me who gave him light ? Is he not
the man of men whom all envy and admire?
Shall I not be proud ? {More softly,) Because I
bore him under my heart — because I know how
small he was and helpless. Because he was the
546
JEZEBEL
only one, my only one — and I the only need
of his life when he was so small. {Murmur of
battle dies away here.)
MELKAH {coming from window and speaking with
unexpected sympathy)
Ah, Jezebel, my heart bleedeth for thee!
JEZEBEL {scornfully)
Bleedeth for me. How, girl, what canst thou
know of such things? {Returns to chair and sits
down.)
MELKAH
What can I know? Hast thou forgotten that
once thou gavest me — to him?
JEZEBEL {indiferently)
To Joram— Aye, I remember. He fancied thee,
. I think. Was it not honor enough for thee?
MELKAH
Aye, Queen, too great honor. My child died,
dost thou remember? Since then I have not
forgotten the prophecy of the man Elijah.
JEZEBEL {startled; to herself, in a terrified whisper)
The prophecy of Elij ah ! ( Then, turning to Mel-
kah.) Elijah is a prophet of the God of Israel,
but no God of mine.
MELKAH
Who but a fool could believe in a God whom no
one hath seen, whom no one can name? Who is
everywhere, in the depths of the sea and the
ends of the earth, but whom no one hath
touched ?
JEZEBEL
Out on thee, woman, what wouldst thou do to
me?
547
JEZEBEL
MELKAH {runs and throws herself at JezebeVs feet)
I kiss thy feet if thou art en angered, O Queen.
I would ease thy heart, if thou thinkest of the
curse as I have thought of it. Hast thou not
dreamed of this curse in the night-time as I have
dreamed —
JEZEBEL
I have seen it sleeping and waking, sleeping and
waking — we will not speak of it. (Rises.)
MELKAH (standing by chair.)
Truly, O Queen, it is best to forget.
JEZEBEL
Forget! (She paces restlessly about the room^
speaking with assumed indifference.) Didst
thou see this Elijah?
MELKAH
Aye, Queen, I was a child then. In all thes'=;
years I have not forgotten.
JEZEBEL
A madman, I think he was, crying of wrongs
done. There was a story of some wrong, I think.
MELKAH
Aye, Queen — there was a story of wrong.
JEZEBEL
I have forgot. (Returning slowly to chair.)
MELKAH (leaning over the chair)
Shall I tell thee the whispers of the people, O
Queen ?
JEZEBEL
Nay, Nay! What have I to do with their whis-
perings ?
MELKAH (with suppressed passion)
They said thou gavest Naboth, the old man, to
548
JEZEBEL
death because he would not sell his vineyard to
my lord Ahab, thine husband.
JEZEBEL
Naboth! {Laughing in scorn.) Now I do re-
member. He was in his dotage or else mad.
My lord was too gracious to him.
MELKAH
Aye, he would have given him money for his
father's acres.
JEZEBEL
He haggled with him like a merchant when he
might have taken his desire like a king.
MELKAH {obsequiously and stepping back a little)
As thou wouldst have done.
JEZEBEL
As I would have done! Truly thou sayest well
— Come hither, girl, come hither. {Laughing
wildly^ And so I wrote to the elders and
nobles and I said, "This Naboth is a blas-
phemer," and they hired men to bear witness
against him and he was stoned to death in the
market-place. It was so simple, so simple.
{Pauses^ and then slowly ^ with clenched hands)
What sayest thou to that, thou God of Israel?
MELKAH
And then, O Queen '^,
JEZEBEL
And then Ahab went down and took the vine-
yard of Naboth as was his due.
MELKAH {creeping up closer)
Aye, he went down and took it. And when
King Ahab was in the vineyard, Elijah came —
{Leaning near.) Didst thou see him, O Jezebel?
549
JEZEBEL
JEZEBEL
Aye, I saw him.
MELKAH {going back M C step by step as if in fear
before a frightful vision)
Ah, Queen, was not his presence a frightful
thing? It haunteth me in the dark, and is with
me all day long. Had I not seen him, perchance
his prophecy would not be to me so black a
thing.
JEZEBEL
Nay, what was there so frightful in him ? I have
seen beggars whose look offended me more.
MELKAH
But the look in his eyes. And he stood like a
god or the messenger of a god. Canst thou for-
get, O Queen? {Standing with arms raised^ a
figure vibrant with passion,) "Hast thou killed
and also taken possession? In the place where
dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall dogs lick
thy blood, even thine. Because thou hast sold
thyself to work evil in the sight of the Lord I
will bring evil upon thee and will take away thy
posterity.**
JEZEBEL {rising)
Nay — do not make an end. There is more to
it than that. And when it is finished "the dogs
shall eat Jezebel by the wall of Jezreel." When
it is finished — {Walking furiously towards Mel-
kah,) Why didst thou forget so much, girl?
MELKAH {flinging herself at JezebePs feet)
O daughter of Kings, look not on me so. All,
all could I endure but only that. How dared I
frame it with my tongue? My child is dead.
What have I to fear from the curse ? ( The murmur
JEZEBEL
of distant shouting begins very softly and contin-
ues during the next few pages.)
JEZEBEL (thoughtfully)
Aye, girl, thy child is dead. {Wanders restlessly
about, Melkah watching her covertly. For a mo-
ment she stops before the image of the bull, then
turns impatiently away. Murmur rises to shout-
ing and the tempo which has again slowed down
becomes very fast?} Tell me, dost thou see my
son?
MELKAH
The army of Jehu advanceth — Ah, grant the
curse fall not today.
JEZEBEL
Be silent.
MELKAH
Nay, be not afraid. Doubtless there will be yet
many years before my lord, thy son.
JEZEBEL
Silence, girl. Wouldst thou slay me? {An-
other shout. During the following lines the noise
of distant shouting grows increasingly louder.)
What passeth without?
MELKAH
They are met. They clash in battle, the armies
of my lord Joram and of Jehu the traitor.
JEZEBEL
Seest thou my son ?
MELKAH
Aye, Queen, I see him.
JEZEBEL {rushing to the window behind Melkah)
Where, Where?
JEZEBEL
MELKAH
There among the plunging hosts and the white
horses.
JEZEBEL
I see liim not.
MELKAH
Dost thou not see the sun on his crown and his
flashing blade? There, there in the forefront of
battle. See, they press upon him, they sur-
round him.
JEZEBEL
Nay, nay, there is a mist before my eyes. I see
naught. {^Staggering from the window^
MELKAH {watching her with furtive intensity)
What, dost thou not even see the red cloak of
Joram, of Joram the king?
JEZEBEL
Nay, nay, I have told thee, girl. I see naught,
naught but a cloud of phantoms seething in a
mist. {Sinks exhaustedly in a chair, her back to
Melkah, Noise culminates in a great shouting
and sinks again to a murmur.)
JEZEBEL {frozen with fear, not turning in her chair)
How fareth my son ?
MELKAH
Well, O Queen, well. {Melkah turns from win-
dow with narrowed eyes on Jezebel, but she speaks
as though watching the battle below. The murmur
of shouting rises very softly from the plain,) He
beareth himself royally, yet alas, how doth he
defend himself? He is surrounded. Just
Heavens! He is master of the sword. It is a
wall of light around him. They attack him on
all sides. They strike at him — he striketh their
552
JEZEBEL
weapons down and goeth unscathed. Yet how
can he endure?
JEZEBEL {speaking with difficulty)
Do they not bring him succour? Where are his
captains ? {Rising desperately,) Ah, God, were
I a man !
MELKAH
Thou dost well to call on a god. That is wo-
man's work and help cometh so. Do thou pray
to the Golden Bull — he belike will help thee.
{During the following speech the distant shouting
is almost inaudible.)
JEZEBEL
He ? {For a long moment she stands looking up at
the golden image. Then suddenly she strikes it
with her hand, half laughing, half shrieking hys-
terically.) Thou? I strike thee with my hand.
What then? My hand bleedeth a little. Bah!
Dost thou destroy me? If I gave thee my heart
to eat thou wouldst still grin and grin as the
smith made thee. Thinkest thou I have for-
gotten how thou wert made of my jewels — the
jewels King Ahab gave me when I was a bride?
{She leans close to the bull.) That jewel that is
thine eye — that sparkled on my bosom once.
Faugh! Dost think that I do not know that
they are jewels and not eyes? These I wore in
my ears. Dost thou think I can believe that
the goldsmith hath made a god of my vanities?
{Raises her arms and strikes down the incense jar
from the stand, stamping upon it. Laughs wildly
and threatens the beast with her hands.) So much !
{Suddenly louder shouting. To Melkahy who has
553
JEZEBEL
crept down from the steps watching her,) To thy
place, girl. How fareth my son ?
MELKAH {running to window)
Surprising well, O Queen. He hath rallied a few
of his captains about him. Be not dismayed.
He will yet win to the city gates.
JEZEBEL
Oh, if I could see! If I could see! Those cries
are a thousand daggers stabbing my heart in
darkness.
MELKAH {leaning toward her from the window)
Think not of them, O Queen.
JEZEBEL
Shall I not think of them ? What shall cause me
to forget .f* Prayers? Girl, girl, thou hast made
a mock of me. {Sits in chair. The murmur of
shouting dies away altogether,)
MELKAH {craftily)
Nay, I would not have spoken, O Queen, but
that I feared thy wrath, had I said what it was
in my mind to say.
JEZEBEL {petulantly)
Speak, speak.
MELKAH {slowly and softly^ watching Jezebel)
In old days I used to think the God of Israel
would answer prayer.
JEZEBEL
The God of Israel 1
MELKAH
Nay, do not listen to those voices of the slain
priests, close thine ears to them.
JEZEBEL
I hear them.
554
JEZEBEL
MELKAH
But they were servants of a God who was not
thy God, O Queen. Indeed, indeed, thou didst
right to order their deaths.
JEZEBEL
There were fifty of them.
MELKAH
Aye, fifty all told, but they spoke the truth un-
wisely; they prophesied unwisely. They spoke
against thee, O Queen, and how may a state
endure when tongues wag against its Queen ?
JEZEBEL
True, they were unwise. {In a half-whisper to
herself,) But doth He think of that, I wonder?
MELKAH
Perhaps he doth. I think he doth, O Queen.
Do thou call thy name to him and he will not
forget thee.
JEZEBEL {she does not notice the half -hidden mockery,
A pause ^ and then dully)
Aye, so be it. Keep thou good watch, girl, and
tell me what befalleth.
MELKAH
O Queen, I will.
{Jezebel rises, starts toward the bull, covers her
eyes as from some horror and crosses to the oppo-
site side. Kneels, head bowed on her arms. Si-
lence, except for the distant shouting which begins
again very softly, Melkah creeps from window
watching her,)
JEZEBEL {in a low voice, not moving)
They cry very loud.
sss
JEZEBEL
MELKAH
It is the noise of battle.
JEZEBEL {dully)
Nay, nay, it is the voices of the slain priests. I
can not hear my praying for their cries. They
cry to God against me.
MELKAH {from behind, bending over her malignantly)
Look up to Heaven, God will hear thee.
JEZEBEL {raising her head slowly. Her senses are
dulled. She is conscious only of the turmoil raging
within. Her eyes fall on the bull)
Nay, that way standeth the Golden Bull like a
sign across the sky. I can not see God's face for
the glitter of trivial things.
MELKAH
Call to Him. He will forget the slain priests and
the golden idols. {Very slowly.) He is merciful.
JEZEBEL
Merciful. {Risingyher pride stung to life.) What
have I to do with mercy? Shall I, who have
given life and death, ask mercy? {Restlessly.)
Bah! Mercy is the talk of weaklings and chil-
dren.
MELKAH
Aye, it is true. {Pauses, and then ventures with
malice^ The little daughter of Naboth prayed
to thee for mercy, O Queen.
JEZEBEL {turning sharply)
How dost thou know that?
MELKAH
I have heard it said.
JEZEBEL {pausing with her hand before her eyes)
No matter, no matter. {Half to herself^ I had
thought that none knew that.
556
JEZEBEL
MELKAH
Surely thou hast forgotten so small a thing.
JEZEBEL
Forgotten! {Laughs oddly,) Doth one then
forget? She was very small, not so old as my
son — so small. I struck her, I believe.
MELKAH
That, too, was justice — the daughter of one
whom thou hadst condemned.
JEZEBEL {laughing)
Aye, that was justice. {The murmur from the
plain, which has been increasing in volume, rises
to a great shouting.)
JEZEBEL {frantically)
What is that ^ {Again the sudden rise to very fast
tempo.)
MELKAH {runs to the window)
Alas, alas. King Joram is down — no, no, he
holdeth his own. Ah, dear God, his men desert
him — he is alone among his enemies. {With
wild exultation.) Pray thou for him, O Queen,
pray to God for him or he is indeed lost.
JEZEBEL {raising her arms frantically)
Pray to God! Fool! God hath spoken his jus-
tice against me. And when it is finished, "The
dogs shall eat Jezebel by the walls of Jezreel."
Doth He forget? Dost thou think he hath for-
gotten that I have slain His priests and blas-
phemed against His name? Have / forgotten?
Shall I cry against his justice for mercy? {She
sinks exhausted into a chair, cowering and tremb-
ling convulsively. The tempo grows slower and
slower through the next lines until entrance of mes-
senger^ I would do as He hath done, if I were
557
JEZEBEL
He and had power without limit. I would do it.
I would have no thought of mercy. Why, then,
should he ? Shall I ask for mercy and be denied
— I, Jezebel, the Queen ?
MELKAH
Nay, 'tis not for thyself thou shouldst ask
mercy, O Queen, but for the King, thy son.
JEZEBEL {softly)
^'Because thou hast sold thyself to work in-
iquity I will bring evil upon thee, and {hardly
above her breath) I will take away thy posterity."
MELKAH
My child died, O Queen.
JEZEBEL {furiously)
Thy child ! What of mine ?
{The curtain J R, is flung aside ^ the sound of
shouting increases^ and a messenger enters^ breath-
lessly ^ and flings himself down before Jezebel,
Fast tempOy which continues until the song.)
MESSENGER
Alas! O Queen, the King's army is fled. {A
short pause. Jezebel stands as though turned to
stone ^
JEZEBEL
What sayest thou?
MESSENGER
My lord Joram's captains have fled before the
enemy.
JEZEBEL {speaking with difficulty in a strange voice)
And the King? What of him?
MESSENGER
The King! {Jezebel sways uncertainly,) Look
558
JEZEBEL
to thy mistress, girl, she is ill. (Melkah does not
stir.)
JEZEBEL {hoarsely)
What of the King? Speak, fool!
MESSENGER
King Joram is taken prisoner in the hands of his
enemies.
JEZEBEL
How knowest thou this?
MESSENGER
I Stood by the King's orders in the gate of the
city and saw it befall as I have said.
JEZEBEL {raising her arms in futile passion)
Traitors! Cowards!
MELKAH {speaking slowly in emphatic contrast to the
others)
What of Jehu?
MESSENGER
He is riding into the city with his army, bring-
ing King Joram with him.
JEZEBEL
Will he come here, thinkest thou?
MESSENGER
I fear so, O Jezebel.
JEZEBEL
Fear! Fear! {Thinks a minute^ We thank
thee for thy good service. Now get thee gone.
Bid them open the great doors of the palace and
receive Jehu, the captain, in my name. And
tell my musician, the lute player, I would have
him play softly, here behind the curtains, love
songs of the ancient gods and heroes. It is my
command.
559
JEZEBEL
MESSENGER
I obey. {He withdraws to doorway y pauses,) I
crave thy pardon, O Queen.
JEZEBEL {impatiently)
Speak, speak.
MESSENGER
Would it not be well, O Queen — a small guard —
behind the curtain?
JEZEBEL
Are there still any who will serve me?
MESSENGER
There are a few men in the palace, O Queen.
JEZEBEL
Then a guard, an armed guard — behind the cur-
tain, there, with all the speed thou knowest. Go!
MESSENGER
I obey. {Exit. After exit of messenger shouting
gradually dies away.)
JEZEBEL
My robe and crown, Melkah. The jewels and
the ointment for my face. {Melkah goes to table.)
Quick, girl, quickly. Thou must paint me a
new image in the mirror — young as I once was
— and of a beauty to find favor in the eyes of
Jehu.
MELKAH {brings robe^ puts it about JezebeVs shoul-
ders and then steps away a few feet. Anxiously.)
Most gracious Queen, what hast thou in thy
mind to do?
JEZEBEL {with a hard, excited laugh)
Do? Am I then so old that I may not be loved?
What, girl, didst thou not say that this Jehu
boasted of my love? Is it not a wine a man
560
JEZEBEL
may be drunk withal ? The crown, girl. I would
receive him meetly.
MELKAH {speaking with real feeling)
0 Queen, thou knowest not what thou dost.
JEZEBEL
Do I not? Do I not? (^S*^^ laughs strangely.)
Come near me, girl — near to me. Didst thou
hear what he said?
MELKAH
Aye, Queen.
JEZEBEL
They are bringing my son in — a captive — to the
city of his fathers — a captive.
MELKAH
Alas, it is true.
JEZEBEL
Shall I not win his safety for him?
MELKAH {eagerly)
Alas, how can that be?
JEZEBEL
My jewels, girl — bring them to me. The emer-
alds like green eyes. {As Melkah brings the jew-
els^ the sound of a harp softly touched sounds from
behind the curtain^ R.) Here, clasp them about
my neck — so. I will bring love back into his
heart. I will make it a flame to devour him —
and when he shall lie half fainting at my feet he
will give me again the life of my son. {Raising
her clenched hands in exultant defiance^ Aye, in
the teeth of thy prophets, O thou God of Israel,
1 will have back the life of my son.
MELKAH {softly from behind her)
And what of that armed guard behind the cur-
tain ?
561
JEZEBEL
JEZEBEL {with slow^ exultaut cruelty)
When he hath released to me my son — then they
shall speak. {Melkahy standing behind her^
draws a dagger from her bosom with swift^ menac-
ing gesture, then slowly , hesitantly, slips it back
again.) Look thou behind the curtains. Are
they in readiness.'' {Melkah crosses R and holds
curtain back for Jezebel to see, Melkah comes
slowly back,) It is well. Now the ointment, girl.
{She sits in chair. As Melkah kneels to paint
Jezebel's face a voice is heard singing behind the
curtain. While the song is being sung, Melkah
anoints JezebeVs arms and feet, perfumes her hair
and clothes, paints her lips and eyes, etc. This
should be done with ceremony and unhurriedly^
Song
I have sought her all the night among the dark
streets of the city.
Her for whose sake sleep hath forsaken me.
In the morning I spoke to the watchman at the
gates.
I asked him, "Hast thou seen her for whose sake
sleep hath forsaken me?"
The hair of my love is as the cedars of Lebanon,
the black cedars of Lebanon:
Her eyes shine between her locks like stars
among trees.
The blood of slain doves hath stained her
narrow lip.
And her neck is white as the roses of Sharon in
the dawn.
562
JEZEBEL
JEZEBEL
That will suffice. {Melkah puts back the oint-
ments. As the song stops ^ the noise of triumphant
shouting commences and continues to the end,)
Tell me what passeth without.
MELKAH (in window^ looking of, R)
They are moving under the gate into the city.
O Queen.
JEZEBEL {hoarsely)
Dost thou — see — ^Joram?
MELKAH {her voice quivering with passionate excite-
ment)
Aye, I see him. I see his red cloak clearly. {A
louder shout. After the song is over, the tempo
should be kept very slow up to this point and then
very fast ^ What is that? {Running down from
steps.) Nay, nay, it cannot be true.
JEZEBEL
What is it? What seest thou?
MELKAH
O Queen, yon messenger lied to thee.
JEZEBEL {trembling)
Lied to me?
MELKAH
All is not lost. King Joram is riding back at the
head of his men. It is Jehu that walketh in
chains.
JEZEBEL {rising)
Jehu in chains! Ah, God, that I should live to
hear those words! Girl, thou art slaying me
with joy. Is it true? Look again. I could not
live if it were false.
JEZEBEL
MELKAH {running back to window)
True, Jezebel, as I live. Thou hast arrayed thy-
self for thy victorious son, not Jehu the traitor.
JEZEBEL
Why, it can not be true. What have I ever done
that God should repent his words against me?
MELKAH
Belike thou hast loved thy son.
JEZEBEL
Loved him — Aye, I have loved him, and none
other — all my life — none other. {Very softly,)
He grew to life in my life, to childhood in my
arms, to manhood under my care — Aye, belike
I have loved him. God! God! I can ask Thy
mercy for him. Dost Thou care for love, O
Thou stern God? {She is weeping softly^ hys-
terically. Melkah in the window watches her
with almost fiendish malignity.)
MELKAH {holding herself calm with difficulty)
He rideth into the streets like a King, bearing
himself proudly. Now he hath gone around the
edge of the palace. I cannot see him now. He
will be here soon.
JEZEBEL
Aye, he will come to me here — to me — I shall
hold him in my arms whom I thought was dead.
He was dead and is come alive again.
MELKAH
He is coming, O Queen, he is coming. {Eagerly y
running to Jezebel.) Shall I not send the guard
to meet him with honor?
JEZEBEL
Aye, send them j:hat he may know there are still
faithful men among us.
564
JEZEBEL
(Melkah steps behind curtains^ Ry for a moment ^
and then back to window^
JEZEBEL {pacing up and downy half crying^ half
laughing)
My son, my son ! O God of Israel, I thank Thee
if indeed Thou hast brought him back to me.
But, indeed, I think it was his own valor that
made him victor.
MELKAH {from the window)
I have sent them forth.
JEZEBEL
It is well. Melkah, Melkah, he is returning to
me!
MELKAH {in a low voice, following Jezebel with cruel
eyes)
Aye, Queen. {The shouting rises Jor an instant.)
JEZEBEL
Hear them shout! The people love Mm so.
MELKAH {with irony)
Aye, so they do.
JEZEBEL
How canst thou be so calm, girl?
MELKAH {with rising excitement)
I was thinking that belike he, too, had for-
gotten me. {Shouting dtes away,)
JEZEBEL {stopping, D L)
He, too?
MELKAH {swift and catlike comes D C)
As thou dost, daughter of Kings! {PFith pas-
sionate calm.) Thou hast forgotten that it was I
who prayed to thee for mercy long since. Thou
hast forgotten it was I whom thy hand struck —
56s
JEZEBEL
years on years ago when I was a child. {The
tempo quickens again.)
JEZEBEL {her face filling with horror)
Thou! What art thou?
MELKAH
Thou hast almost forgotten that Naboth had a
daughter !
JEZEBEL {almost shrieking)
Thou the daughter of Naboth !
MELKAH
Aye, of Naboth whom thou hadst slain — by
false witnesses.
JEZEBEL {whispering)
The daughter of Naboth.
MELKAH
He died — with blood on his white hair — stoned
to death in the market-place. I saw it. I have
never forgotten.
JEZEBEL {dully)
I, too, have never forgotten.
MELKAH {her excitement at fever heat)
And yet, yet I can be glad that thy son re-
turneth to thee. {Shouting outside.) Hark!
He Cometh even now — he cometh. I rejoice
that thy son is returned to thee. {She laughs
wildly. The shouts grow nearer and nearer.
Jezebel faces the door from D L, with a presenti-
ment of coming evil. Melkah, C^ faces door back-
ing down towards Jezebel and speaks in rising
voice with unutterable triumph.) He returneth
to thee, O Queen — returneth to thee.
{The curtain^ Ry is drawn back. Great shouting
outside — "Make way for Jehu." Jehu comes in
see
JEZEBEL
Jrom R, trailing the red cloak of Joram in his
hand and wearing Joram s crown. Two slaves
wait at the door. There is an instant's silence.
Jezebel stands rigid, swaying slightly. Then
Melkah creeps to the feet of Jehu, kissing his hand.
The tempo grows slow.)
MELKAH
Thou art come, O Jehu, my beloved. {His eyes
are on the ^ueen.)
JEZEBEL
My son — {It is all she can say.)
JEHU
— Is dead. {He raises the cloak, flinging it D C.)
{Jezebel walks slowly over; she stoops wearily after
a moment and with a low, crooning moan, gathers
the cloak in her arms as though it were the body of
her dead son. She straightens up, the red cloak
trailing from her side, and looks at Melkah.)
JEZEBEL {laughing oddly)
Thou hast even sent the guard away.
JEHU
Will no one take this woman for me, or must I
take her with my own hands?
{The two slaves start forward, one up stage and one
down. Jezebel steps quickly onto the step of
the window. They hesitate. Melkah watches,
crouched at Jehus feet.)
JEZEBEL
Are ye so impatient? God moveth only once
and then it is done. It will be all over in a mo-
ment.
567
JEZEBEL
JEHU
Seize her!
(The slaves advance, Jezebel steps back into the
window,)
JEZEBEL
Nay, nay. {At the ring of command in her voice
the slaves hesitate again. Then to Jehu.) Once
thou couldst have had me for — a word, but thou
wouldst not. Now thou shalt not. Take her
who was the concubine of the King, my son —
my son — take her. {She throws back her head^
laughing,) Now I have finished my life. What
sayest thou, girl.^ Have I asked for mercy .^
{She raises her arms like a prophet,) "When it is
finished, the dogs shall eat Jezebel by the walls
of Jezreel." {Holding the cloak close to her left
side.) Well, it is finished, — {she turns to the
right, half facing the window) now!
JEHU
Seize herl
{The men advance on her to foot of steps. As
they put out their hands to take her she raises her
arm, stopping them again by her tremendous pres-
ence, and, facing the audience, the cloak held close
in her arms she takes the last step back,)
JEZEBEL
Have I asked mercy, O Thou God of Israel?
{She flings herself out of the window, Melkah
starts forward with a terrible indrawn scream of
horror. The two slaves leap quickly forward, lean
out, looking down, and fall back on each side of the
568
JEZEBEL
window as Jehu rushes to the top of the steps. This
happens almost instantaneously. Then the slaves
stand stiffly and indifferently on each side of the
windoWy and Jehu turns slowly away from it,)
JEHU
So passeth IsraeFs beauty. She was betrayed
of her gods, who gave her pride and moulded
her in woman's form. Let her lie where she hath
fallen, lest the prophecy go unfulfilled. {Comes
down from window and seats himself in the chair,
Melkah crouches at his feet,) Lord God, now am
I King of Israel as thou hast ordained.
The light fades out and the curtain falls on the
darkened stage.
569
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
(J sequel to ''Six Who Pass While the Lentils BoiP*)
by Stuart Walker
First produced at the Murat Theatre, Indianapolis,
June 24, 1921, with the following cast:
Prologue to the Performance, Tom Powers
The Prologue, _ _ _ Edwin Noel
The Device-Bearer, - - James Morgan
YOU-IN-THE-AUDIENCE, - - YoU AND OtHERS
The Population,
The Soldiery,
The Mime, - - -
The Milkmaid,
The Blindman, -
The Ballad-Singer,
The King's Trumpeter,
His Majesty, The King, -
The King's Councillor,
The King's Great-Aunt, -
The Headsman, -
Her Majesty, The Queen,
Sir David Little-Boy,
His Mother, - - -
Aldrich Bowker
- John Wray
Oscar Davisson
- Helen Burch
Walter Vonnegut
- Stuart Walker
Oakley Richey
- George Somnes
Robert McGroarty
- Elizabeth Patterson
McKay Morris
- Judith Lowry
Robert Masters
- Blanche Yurka
The Scene is a gateway to the King's Castle.
The Time is when you will.
Scenery designed by Stuart Walker and Oakley Richey.
Costumes by Frank J. Zimmerer and Wilmot Heitland.
Properties by Frank J. Zimmerer.
Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This play is fully protected by copyright. All public perform-
ances are forbidden. All dramatic and producing rights
are retained by Stuart Walker, who may be addressed at
304 Carnegie Hall, New York City.
An Outline of Six Who Pass While the
Lentils Boil
fVhile the Boy watches boiling lentils for his Mother y
six people pass: The condemned ^ueen^ whom he
promises to hide until after the hour set for her
decapitation; the Mime, who tempts him to leave
his duty; the Milkmaid^ who tells him of the
reward offered for the ^ueen and makes him wish
he had not made a promise; the Blindman^ who
shows him why it is best to keep a promise; the
Ballad- Singer^ who would rather wander all his
life than break a promise; and the dreadful
Headsman whoy outwitted by the Boy^ finds the
^ueen too late. Her Majesty gratefully knights
Sir David Little-Boy and takes him in state to
the Kings castle. He is free to go, because by
this time the lentils have boiled. He has done his
duty and he has kept his promise.
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574
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
{The Prologue and the Device-Bearer enter ^
PROLOGUE
I am the Prologue. He is the Device-Bearer.
I am here to tell you about the play that hides
behind these curtains. He serves the simple
purpose of balancing me as a decoration.
{The Prologue claps his hands and the Device-
Bearer sits at the side of the stage and henceforth
is nothing more than a small part of the picture^
It is possible that something difficult may creep
into this simple play. If there is anything you
do not understand I shall be glad to explain it
to you.
YOU {in audience^
While the play is going on?
PROLOGUE
Of course.
YOU
That will be disturbing.
PROLOGUE
Why? If one must talk in the theater every-
body ought to be allowed to hear.
Now the interesting thing about this play is
that it isn't true at all. It is all make-believe.
Nobody in it ever was^ and, unless you do your
part, no one in it ever will be.
YOU
What can we do?
575
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
PROLOGUE
Believe.
YOU
I can't believe what isn't real.
PROLOGUE
Then make it real. . . . Here are the cur-
tains. They divide you and them. . . . You
are real, perhaps, and they are make-believe,
surely. When these curtains open will you
come here, shall they go there, or will you, both
you and they, forget everything except the
play?
So, remove your hats, dear ladies, fix your hair
once and for all. Clear your throats, you
husky men, and cough now, for the play be-
gins. Amongst you there are some so young,
so eternally young, that they will soon be lost
in the story. Do not disturb them if you have
forgotten how to play. So, remove your hats,
dear ladies, fix your hair for good and all.
Clear your throats, you husky men, and cough
now. See, the play begins.
{He claps his hands and the curtains open, dis-
closing the scene,)
This play is the story of what happens when
one is guilty of a breach of etiquette.
YOU
What is etiquette?
PROLOGUE
Etiquette? Why, etiquette is living according
to rules made by people who have never smiled.
576
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
, . . We are now outside the King's Palace.
. . . This is a gate. Through this the King
and the King's Great-Aunt will come. The
King will sit here, and the King's Great- Aunt
will sit here. . . . This is the Headsman's
block, and here the lovely Queen is to be be-
headed before the clocks strike twelve at mid-
day, a half an hour from now.
YOU
Where is it.^
PROLOGUE
Who can tell what country? I wish I knew.
. . . Are you ready? . . . Quiet, then.
. . . Here comes the Population; and here
the Soldiery.
{The Prologue sits at She side of the curtains oppo-
site the Device-Bearer.)
{The Population enters from one side of the
stage^ the Soldiery from the other; the former
carries a bit of bread; the latter a lance and a
silken cord.)
POPULATION
Good-morning, Soldiery.
SOLDIERY
Good-morning, Population.
POPULATION
I've come to see the beheading.
SOLDIERY
You're early.
POPULATION
I brought my lunch. I want to sec it all.
577
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
SOLDIERY
That's good. Now help me stretch the ropes
to keep the Population back.
POPULATION
Why stretch the ropes to keep the Population
back?
SOLDIERY
It is the law.
POPULATION
Vm the Population, and I promise that Fll
stay back.
SOLDIERY
The Soldiery has a/ways stretched the ropes to
hold the Population back. I shan't stop it
now, whether you number one or thousands.
Here, take this end and stretch the rope.
(He sets his lance against the blocks and he and
the Population stretch the rope, laying it very
carefully on the ground in a half -circle,)
SOLDIERY {taking up his lance and assuming a
professional pose ^ bellows)
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of
death. Do you hear?
POPULATION {obsequiously^ kneeling)
Yes, sir.
SOLDIERY {setting down his lance and assuming a
human tone)
Thank you for your help.
POPULATION
That's all right.
{He offers the Soldiery a crust of bready which is
gratefully accepted,)
578
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
{Indeedy the Soldiery is a very excellent and
human person^ and his fierce attitude with the
lance and his bellowing are merely official ^ like a
uniformy and as easily removed. But the Sol-
diery has associated bellowing with taking up his
lance so long that he is wholly automatic noWy as
he should be,)
POPULATION
Who are they beheading?
SOLDIERY
What did you say?
POPULATION
I said, "Who are they beheading?"
SOLDIERY
Whom?
POPULATION
Yes, who?
SOLDIERY
You mustn't say "Who are they beheading?"
You must say "Whom are they beheading?"
POPULATION
Nonsense. You don't say "Whom are you,"
do you?
SOLDIERY
Certainly not, but you ought to say "Whom
are they beheading?"
POPULATION
Well, you can —
SOLDIERY {taking up his lance y bellows)
You say "Whom are they beheading!"
579
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
POPULATION
All right, if you are going to resort to force:
Whom are they beheading?
SOLDIERY {putting his lance down)
I don't know. That's the Headsman's business.
POPULATION
I heard it was the Queen.
SOLDIERY
May^^. I wish it was the King's Great-Aunt.
(The Mime and the Milkmaid enter ^
POPULATION
Is the King's Great-Aunt very old?
SOLDIERY
She's very old and very meddlesome. She's
into everything, and she knows every law that's
ever passed, and she holds us to them.
(^he Mime steps forward?^
MIME
Is this —
SOLDIERY {seeing him and the Milkmaid Jor the first
time^ leaps for his lance and, assuming his pro-
fessional pose y bellows)
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of
death! Do you hear?
{There is no answer.)
{Bellows again)
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of
death! Do you hear?
{There is no answer. The Soldiery looks appeal-
ingly at the Population)
Do you hear?
580
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
{Again no answer^ and again an appeal to the
Population)
Do you hear?
POPULATION {to the Milkmaid)
Say "Yes, sir."
MIME AND MILKMAID
Yes, sir.
SOLDIERY {putting down his lance)
Why didn't you answer me the first time?
MILKMAID
I didn't know you wanted me to.
SOLDIERY
Well, I did.
MILKMAID
But you shouted so loud I thought you weren't
talking to anybody in particular.
SOLDIERY
It's the law.
MIME {to the Population)
Some laws are funny, don't you think?
POPULATION
I don't know. A law's a law, and I'm the Pop-
ulation, and a law is for the Population.
MIME
And now we know!
SOLDIERY
Who are you?
MIME
I'm a mime.
POPULATION
What's a mime?
S8i
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
MIME
A mime's a mime.
SOLDIERY
What's a mime?
MIME
A mime's a mountebank.
MILKMAID
And what's a mountebank?
MIME
A mountebank's a strolling player.
SOLDIERY
Are you going to perform for us?
MIME
After the decapitation.
POPULATION
What's your name?
MIME {in action)
Ho, for Jack the Juggler! Would you miss him?
SOLDIERY
We know all the rest of that.
MILKMAID
You must let him finish.
SOLDIERY
What's the use?
POPULATION
Let's have it. Jack.
MIME
How can I when you do not let me make my
speech ?
MILKMAID
Go on, we'll let you finish.
582
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
MIME
Oh, no. I'll wait until the crowd is here.
POPULATION
Fm the crowd.
MILKMAID
Come on ! Come on !
MIME
All right. . . . Ho, for Jack the Juggler!
Would you miss him —
{A cry is heard, ''Help the blind! Help the
blindr and on top of it just the refrain ''Old
King Cole was a merry old soul.'')
{The Soldiery is on his guard immediately with
his lance as the Blindman and the Ballad-Singer
enter.)
SOLDIERY {bellowing)
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of
death! Do you hear?
MILKMAID
You'd better say, "Yes, sir," or he'll yell it
again.
SOLDIERY {begins to bellow again)
You can't —
BALLAD-SINGER AND BLINDMAN
Yes, sir.
SOLDIERY {normally)
I've got to finish it — {and again starts) come
inside —
MIME
We know the rest of it.
SOLDIERY
Don't interfere with the law. {Continues bellow-
583
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
ing) The ropes on pain of death! Do you
hear?
ALL {eagerly)
Yes, sir!
SOLDIERY {putting down his lance)
Thank you. . . . What are you doing here?
MILKMAID
I came to see the beheading.
BLINDMAN
And I, that I might tell about it.
SINGER
And I, that I might sing to the crowd.
MIME
And I, that I might dazzle you.
POPULATION
Everybody's here — except the Queen. Why
not begin?
MILKMAID
They can't find the Queen.
POPULATION
Where is she?
MILKMAID
They've offered a reward for her —
POPULATION
A reward?
MIME
How much?
MILKMAID
A pail of gold and a pair of finger-rings.
POPULATION
Why don't you find her, Soldiery?
584
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
SOLDIERY
No one told me to.
BLINDMAN
You say the reward is a pail of gold and a pair
of finger-rings?
SINGER
That's what she said. I know —
SOLDIERY {taking up his lance)
What do you know?
BLINDMAN
Nothing.
SINGER
Nothing.
SOLDIERY
But you said "/ know.*' Is it about the Queen?
What do you know about the Queen?
SINGER
Shall I sing you a ballad?
POPULATION
Yes, sing a ballad.
SOLDIERY
What do you know about the Queen?
MILKMAID
Oh, let him sing a ballad.
SOLDIERY
I must do my duty. What do you know about
the Queen ?
{The Kings Trumpeter enters and stands at the
center of the gate. He blows a noble blast on his
trumpet.)
58s
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
TRUMPETER
His Majesty, the King!
{All kneel except the Trumpeter as the King
enters y followed by his Councillor.)
{The Trumpeter blows a lesser blast ^
Her Highness, the King's Great-Aunt.
{The Kings Great- Aunt enters^
{She and the King seat themselves ceremoniously,)
{The Councillor bows between the King and the
Kings Great-Aunt,)
{A mechanical chant is the official way of con-
ducting cases here, and a man must learn by rote
what he must say at trials y be he King or Coun-
cillor,)
COUNCILLOR {in a stiff, mechanical chant)
Your Majesty, it is our duty to inform you
that your wife, the Queen, is to be beheaded,
in compliance with the law, while your Majesty's
four clocks are striking twelve.
KING {chanting)
Who is the aggrieved person?
COUNCILLOR {chanting)
The aggrieved sits on your left.
MILKMAID {whispering)
Doesn't the King know his wife is to be be-
headed ?
POPULATION {whispering)
Of course he does.
MILKMAID
Then why do they tell him here?
POPULATION
It is the law.
586
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
SOLDIERY {bellowingy after he is quite sure he /las
heard the entire conversation)
Silence!
KING {chanting)
Then let the aggrieved speak.
COUNCILLOR {chanting)
His Majesty the King bids you speak your
grievance which is just cause for the Queen's
beheading.
king's great-aunt {chanting)
Last night we were celebrating the second year
of peace with the neighboring kingdom. We
were dancing the minuet after the banquet —
MILKMAID {whispering)
Does the old lady dance?
POPULATION {whispering)
She tries to.
SOLDIERY {bellowing)
Silence!
king's great-aunt
When the Queen — {forgetting to chant) your
wife —
{The Councillor coughs and she chants again)
Stepped on the ring-toe of the King's Great-
Aunt.
king {chanting)
What is your demand?
king's great-aunt {chanting)
I demand that the aforesaid Queen be beheaded.
KING
By what authority?
587
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
king's great-aunt
According to the law.
KING
Is there such a law?
COUNCILLOR
There is.
KING
Read the law.
COUNCILLOR {unrolling a parchment^ reads)
Whereas, if a Queen step on the ring-toe of the
King's Great-Aunt, or any member of her
family; Be it resolved, the aforesaid Queen
must be beheaded while the King's four clocks
are striking twelve at mid-day,
king's great-aunt
I demand the execution of the law.
KING
We, the King, decree that our wife the Queen
be beheaded to-day while our four clocks are
striking twelve at mid-day.
COUNCILLOR
The culprit will kneel.
MILKMAID (whispering)
Where is the culprit?
SOLDIERY {bellowing
Silence!
{Naturally) She isn't here.
KING {rising)
It is not in our power to pardon you, oh, guilty
Queen. Gracefulness is a royal possession, and
when a Queen is no longer graceful she can no
longer live.
588
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
king's great-aunt {naturally)
The Queen isn't here.
KING
The law will take its course.
king's great-aunt
Where is the Queen ?
COUNCILLOR
I've offered a pail of gold and a pair of finger-
rings for her apprehension.
king's great-aunt
Two pails of gold if she is found!
BLINDMAN
Is that a promise, your Highness?
soldiery {bellows)
Silence!
{Normally) Royalty can't take back any state-
ments.
king's great-aunt
I mean —
KING
We heard what you said. We shall judge what
you meant,
COUNCILLOR
It is on the stroke of twelve, your Majesty, and
there is no Queen, no culprit.
king's great-aunt
Are the laws of our country to be held up to
ridicule? Find the Queen! Four pails of gold
if she be found!
{The kneeling commoner's are excited^
Six pails of gold and six pairs of finger-rings !
{The King's clocks begin to strike ^ but not in
589
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
unison. First there is one large one^ then two
smaller ones, and finally a tiny one.)
{During the striking of the clocks there is great
excitement. The spectators almost forget their
manners before royalty. The Councillor buzzes
around. The Kings Great-Aunt cries out again
and again, ^'Where is the ^een?'' *'Where is
the culprit'''' The Soldiery, lance in hand, bel-
lows his familiar call, ''You cant come inside the
ropes'' The Trumpeter blows his trumpet. The
King stands up and counts the strokes of the
clocks.)
KING {at the twelfth stroke of the tiny clock)
The Queen is free! I now decree a holiday to
all the land. And everybody can go to hunt
the Queen.
SINGER
And if I find the Queen I shall get six pails of
gold and six pairs of finger-rings ?
MILKMAID
That was the promise of the King's Great-
Aunt.
SOLDIERY
Silence!
king's great-aunt
I said —
KING
You said just that. The King's Great-Aunt will
give six pails of gold and six pairs of finger-
rings to the one who finds the Queen.
king's great-aunt
I refuse —
590
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
KING
Royalty cannot refuse to fulfill a promise!
And to the offer of my aunt I shall add six
more pails of gold.
BLINDMAN
Can they behead the Queen now if they find
her?
KING
They can not.
BLINDMAN
Then I can find her, your Majesty.
KING
Where is she? Come here and tell me.
{As the Blindman steps forwardy the Soldiery
bellows ''You can't come inside the ropes r)
KING
Come here!
COUNCILLOR
He cannot approach your Majesty. . . .It
is the law.
SINGER
I can find the Queen, your Majesty!
king's great-aunt
Off with their worthless heads! They have
aided the escape of the culprit!
KING
No, I decree —
king's great-aunt
The law! The law!
councillor
Her Highness is right, your Majesty. The law
'^^ 591
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
states that anyone guilty of aiding a culprit to
escape must be beheaded.
SINGER
We did not aid,
BLINDMAN
No, we did not.
king's great-aunt
The word of a commoner cannot stand.
COUNCILLOR
Soldiery, do your duty!
king's great-aunt
Now, we shall have a beheading after all!
SOLDIERY {to Singer and Blindman)
Come on, step up!
MILKMAID
Mercy, have mercy!
SOLDIERY
Step up.
{The Ballad-Singer and the Blindman walk to
the side of the block and there the Soldiery binds
them together, all the while they protest their in-
nocence.)
{At this moment the Headsman is heard, ''Her
Majesty the ^ueen and Sir David Little-Boy,
Her Majesty the ^ueen and Sir David Little-
Boyr)
{The Headsman, bearing his ax, enters in his
own stately way, and with the utmost dignity
starts to approach the King, but as he nears the
rope, the Soldiery bellows his command, ''You
can't come inside the ropes.'' The Headsman
stops shorty but slays the Soldiery with a glance.)
592
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
HEADSMAN
The King's Headsman, the Winder of the King's
Four Clocks —
SOLDIERY
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of
death. Do you hear?
HEADSMAN
Yes, I hear. {Then he calls with refined dignity)
Her Majesty the Queen and Sir David Little-
Boy!
{The ^ueen and the Boy enter. The boy suddenly
becomes very conscious of being in the presence of
the King,)
king's GREAT-AUNT
Oh, there you are!
KING
My Queen!
COUNCILLOR
It is not etiquette, your Majesty.
KING {recalling the proper procedure^ chants)
Who is this before us?
QUEEN {chanting)
It is your wife, the Queen.
KING
And who stands beside our Queen?
BOY
I'm—
SOLDIERY
Silence!
QUEEN
This is Sir David Little-Boy.
593
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
COUNCILLOR
There is no Sir David Little-Boy in the royal
almanac, your Majesty.
KING
Who is this Sir David Little-Boy, Sir Heads-
man?
HEADSMAN
He helped the Queen to escape.
BLINDMAN
Is that the little boy who gave me the lentils
when I was hungry, and who would not break
a promise?
SINGER
It*s the little boy to whom I sang two ballads.
BOY
Queen, why are my two friends bound to-
gether?
QUEEN
Sir David, first we must tell them who you are.
BOY {stepping forward)
I—
HEADSMAN
Address the King.
BOY
King—
HEADSMAN
That's not the way.
BOY
What do I do?
HEADSMAN
Watch me. {He struts forward and kneels ,^
Your Majesty — see, that way.
594
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
BOY {imitating the Headsman as only a little boy
can imitate his elders)
Your Majesty, I am the little boy who lives in
the yellow cottage on the short-cut to the
headsman*s block.
king's great-aunt
How does it happen that you are called Sir
David, upstart?
BOY
Fm not an upstart. The Queen called me Sir
David Little-Boy.
king's great-aunt
What right has the Queen to create a knight?
Well?
QUEEN
By the law passed by my great-great-grand-
father.
king's great-aunt
There is no such law.
queen
Oh, yes, there is, Aunt.
councillor
I think your Majesty's memory fails.
QUEEN
It does not fail.
BOY
Queen, I won't be Sir David if it will cause you
trouble.
QUEEN
A Queen has one trouble or another, but this
will be my last.
595
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
king's great-aunt
Will you permit this insolence, your Majesty?
KING
Her Majesty the Queen claims a law. Can she
produce the law?
QUEEN
I can, your Majesty.
KING
Where is it?
QUEEN
Here {she takes a scroll from her dress). I found
it in the room of the King's Great-Aunt.
king's GREAT-AUNT
By what right does a Queen steal into my
apartment? Seize her!
{The Soldiery starts to take the ^ueen.)
king
Hands off the Queen!
(The ^ueen takes a step to cross the ropes.)
SOLDIERY {bellows)
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of
death. Do you hear?
QUEEN
But I'm the Queen.
SOLDIERY {normally)
Duty is duty, your Majesty, law is law. {Bel-
lowing) You can't come inside the ropes, on
pain of death. Do you hear?
QUEEN
Yes, I hear.
596
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
KING
Sir Headsman, bring me the law.
{The Headsman is about to obey.)
Soldiery {bellows)
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of
death. Do you hear?
KING
Then I shall go to the Queen.
COUNCILLOR
Your Majesty, it is not fitting.
BLINDMAN
I am about to die, oh, Queen; let me give the
law.
QUEEN
About to die?
BOY
He is my friend! ... If the ropes weren't
there could I take the law to the King?
QUEEN
Surely.
BOY
Let*s take the ropes away.
QUEEN
Alas, it can't be done.
BOY
Let's coil the ropes.
QUEEN
How?
BOY
So. {He quickly coils the ropes,)
597
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
SOLDIERY {bellows)
You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of
death. Do you hear?
BOY
You can't get inside the ropes ! There isn't any-
inside.
QUEEN {going to the king)
Here is the law, your Majesty.
KING {about to embrace her)
My Queen!
king's great-aunt
I protest.
COUNCILLOR
It is not seemly, your Majesty. . . . Fll
take the law.
KING
Read the law.
COUNCILLOR
It may be better to discuss it first.
KING
Read the law!
COUNCILLOR {reading)
Whereas, all relatives have had an upper hand
in my kingdom for three generations and have
passed laws that make it difficult for our
Queens; Be it resolved, that all such laws shall
stand, because etiquette and discipline are good
for all mankind, but should there ever be a
Queen who can escape the punishments devised
by relatives she shall be absolute, and there-
after her word will be the law, for any woman
598
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
who can outwit her husband's relatives is
worthy to rule a nation.
QUEEN
I have escaped. I claim the reward of the law.
KING
Your word is absolute. Henceforth you are
the law.
king's great-aunt {feathering her nest)
Dearest, mount the throne.
QUEEN
Nay, I shall mount the Headman's block.
{She mounts the Headman s blocks and she is
very beautiful.)
I, the Queen —
COUNCILLOR
Your Majesty, it is proper to say "We, the
Queen"—
QUEEN
I, the Queen, do first hereby reiterate that this
brave knight is Sir David Little-Boy. Second,
that —
COUNCILLOR
You should chant it, your Majesty.
QUEEN {still in normal tones)
Second, that the office of King's Councillor be
vacant; third, that the King's Great-Aunt give
up her ring or her ring-toe —
king's GREAT-AUNT
Mercy! I am too old to lose my ring! I should
die without my ring-toe!
QUEEN
Very well, you shall keep your ring and your
toe; but when we dance the minuet you must
599
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
sit on your foot, for in future I shall step when
and where I please. ... Sit on your foot!
{The Kings Great- Aunt sits on her foot and
wails?)
king's great-aunt
What is the country coming to! (But she is
very glad to save her toe,)
YOU (in the audience)
Pshaw! this play is just like every other one.
PROLOGUE
It isn't over yet. You just wait.
QUEEN
Fourth^ the Soldiery must lay down his arms.
SOLDIERY {bellows)
You can't come —
QUEEN
Lay down your arms!
SOLDIERY
Pardon me, your Majesty, it was habit. {He
lays down his lance,)
QUEEN
Loose the bonds from the BHndman and the
Ballad-Singer.
{The Soldiery does so.)
Sir David, your hand.
{The Boyy in a glow of wonder, steps forward.)
Here are your friends.
king's great-aunt
A noble cannot have friends among the com-
moners!
QUEEN
Quite true. Quite true. . . . Mime, step
600
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
forward. . . . Kneel. . . . Arise, Sir
Mime. Every Friday afternoon you shall have
an hour's sport with Sir David Little-Boy.
MIME
Please, your Majesty, I must wander far away
in search of farthings from the crowds of all
the world.
QUEEN
You make men happy with your play. We
give you farthings. You will not want.
{As she speaks to each of the others, she makes
the gesture of knighting him,)
{They kneel together^
QUEEN
To you, sweet Lady Milkmaid, I give a spotted
cow; to you. Sir Blindman, a cushion and a
canopy at the castle gate; to you. Sir Ballad-
Singer, a vermilion cloak. Arise. And now.
Sir Little-Boy — {She leans over him) to you who
saved my life, to you who kept your promise,
for your mother I give a velvet gown, a silken
kerchief, and a cloth-of-gold bonnet, and for
yourself I give a milk-white palfrey, two pails
of gold, two finger-rings, a castle, and a sword.
Sir Councillor —
{The Councillor comes forward and she whispers
in his ear,)
COUNCILLOR
The little one, your Majesty?
QUEEN
The best one. Sir Councillor!
{The Councillor goes into the Castle.)
6oi
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
Q.UEEN
Court is dismissed! Your Highness, my hus-
band's Great-Aunt, you may go to your room.
You have caused us years of anguish; but I
forgive you. Trumpeter, lead her Highness
away in state.
{The Trumpeter blows a little blast and exits ^
shouting ''Make way j or her Highness^ the Kings
Great-Auntr)
(The Kings Great- Aunt rises with difficulty and
waddles away in defeat^
king's great-aunt {mumbling)
I never thought Fd live to see the day — but
times have changed. (Exits into the Castle,)
QUEEN
The Population may go into the gardens. The
Soldiery may take a holiday.
(Ji^he Population and the Soldiery go out arm in
arm.)
Sir Headsman, you may take your ax to the
museum.
BOY
Queen, can he come back and tell me stories?
QUEEN
Whenever you may wish. . . .
(The Headsman starts to go)
BOY
Sir Headsman —
HEADSMAN (magnificent to the end)
Sir Headsman —
602
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
BOY
Sir Headsman —
HEADSMAN
Alas, Sir Headsman, no more. I am now only
the Winder of the King's Four Clocks.
BOY
Sir Winder of the King's Four Clocks, I —
HEADSMAN {with the ghost of a smile)
Sir Winder of the King's Four Clocks! That
is the longest title in the kingdom. There is
some consolation in that. . . . Well?
BOY {looking at the ^een's neck)
You said your ax was so sharp it would cut a
hair in two.
HEADSMAN
I did and it will.
BOY
How could it?
Headsman
Easily. This way. {He swings it downward
with all the grace of achieving his swan's song
with it,) See?
BOY
How do you spell hair?
HEADSMAN
H-A-R-E, of course. How else?
BOY
Why, H-A-I-R.
603
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
HEADSMAN
I never quibble.
{He bows to the ^ueeUy the crowd, and You
superbly; and he departs,)
PROLOGUE
He is going to the Museum where other relics
are; but civilization will always respect him and
remember his ax and keep it sharp.
{The ^ueen takes her place where the King's
Great-Aunt had sat.)
QUEEN
And now my friends and friends of Sir David,
you may say good-bye. In an hour we shall
meet in the banqueting hall for pies and
cherry tarts and cakes and things.
{The Mime steps forward,)
MIME
Sir David Little-Boy, I am your slave.
{He bows very deeply and lays his hand in the
Boys, When he has gone Sir David finds that
he is clasping a golden ball,)
{The Milkmaid comes to Sir David,)
MILKMAID
Isn*t it wonderful!
{And before he knows it she has thrown her arms
around his neck and kissed him and passed on,)
{He doesn't know whether to smile or blushy but
he does hang his head.)
{The Blindman shuffles up to him,)
604
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
BLINDMAN
You only have to close your eyes to make
things true. {And passes on.)
{The Ballad-Singer comes,)
SINGER
HeUo!
BOY
Sing me a ballad.
SINGER
Later — perhaps.
BOY
No, now.
QUEEN
Just for us.
{The Boy sits between her and the King on the
step at their Jeet, The Ballad-Singer sits close
beside him,)
SINGER
This is the Ballad of the Silver Star and the
Crescent Moon.
(Sings to the wondering Boy.)
Oh, a silver star and a crescent moon
Afloat in the sunset sky
Can make a smile on a scowling face,
Tho' the face be you or I.
For the silver star and the crescent moon
Are like memories afar —
We always dream at the guarded gate
And pass the gate ajar.
605
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
There*s a moral to my little song,
For hearts bowed down and hearts in tune —
The silver star is a distant dream
And a waxing hope is the crescent moon.
Good-bye. And don*t forget that the King's
Great- Aunt owes you six pails of gold. Good-
bye.
{He dashes off,)
{The Boy sits in wonder a moment and then
looks first at the smiling ^ueeny then at the pleasant
King. He takes the knife from his pouch and
shows it to the King,)
BOY
Have you seen my knife?
{The King slips down beside him^ which makes
the Boy gasp. It isn't everybody who sits beside
a King,)
KING
We had a little boy like you, and he loved his
knife. . . . He was a Prince. . . . How
would you like to be a Prince?
BOY
I think— rd like it.
{He is almost breathless^ talking to a King!)
{The Councillor enters and hands something to
the ^een,)
KING
And would you like to be my son?
BOY j
Yes, sir. ;
606
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
QUEEN
And mine?
{As she sits beside him. Now they are not like
King and ^ueen and a little Knight, They are
just three people sitting together^
BOY (to the lovely ^ueen)
Next to my mother I like you,
KING
If you were our little boy, some day you would
be a King.
BOY
Oh — I couldn't be a King.
QUEEN
Why not?
BOY
I wouldn't know what to do.
KING
There are many kings who do not know what
to do.
QUEEN
And think of all the happiness you could make.
BOY
Could I do whatever I wanted to do?
KING
If you were wise.
BOY
Could I give a ring to the Bhndman?
KING
Oh, yes.
BOY
And ask him in?
w 607
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
QUEEN
Surely.
BOY
Then — would I have to have a Great-Aunt?
KING
Not now.
BOY
Or a Councillor?
QUEEN
All that is abolished now.
BOY
Then — you're sure I wouldn't have a Great-
Aunt?
QUEEN
Quite sure.
BOY
Then — Yd like to be a king!
QUEEN
All right. Shut your eyes.
BOY
Oh, I know — the Blindman told me to shut my
eyes to make things come true.
(He shuts his eyes very tight. The ^ueen un-
wraps the something which the Councillor brought.
It is a beautiful crown. She places it on the
boy's head,)
QUEEN
Open your eyes!
{He opens his eyes and his hands steal up to the
crown. He can't believe his touch,)
BOY
Oh!
608
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
QUEEN
How do you feel?
BOY {gasping)
All right.
KING
You are a Prince now.
{He takes a cape from his shoulder and throws it
about the Boy's shoulders,)
Arise, my Son and Prince.
{The Boy stands upy and he looks every inch a
little king in his crown and robe.)
BOY
Am I a real prince?
QUEEN
As real as the King or I.
{The Boy walks a princely step or twOy when a
voice is heard calling ''David! David!" It is the
sweetest voice in the world, and it is sad and
troubled now. The Boy stops short,)
BOY
My mother!
VOICE
David!
BOY
I am here, Mother.
{The mother enters. She is the most beautiful
woman in the world — like your mother and minCy
but her eyes are wide with fear,)
MOTHER
David! Oh, I thought I had lost you! My
boy! my boy!
609
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
BOY
Mother, I am a Prince.
MOTHER
Ohj my little dream-boy, you are always my
Prince. Why did you run away?
BOY
I didn't run away. I came to save the Queen.
And now I am a Prince.
MOTHER
The Queen ? A Prince !
{She sees the King and ^ueen.)
Oh, your Majesties! {And bows very low,)
QUEEN
Arise, Lady Little-Boy. We have made your
boy our son and heir.
MOTHER
Does that mean — I must — he must go from —
me?
KING
When his country calls he must go.
BOY
You mean I must leave my mother?
KING
Some day you must leave her. tk-
BOY {to his mother)
But don't you need me now?
MOTHER
David, if you are meant to be a king, I want
you to be a king.
6io
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
QUEEN
We'll leave you here together. You can tell
him what you know.
{She understands what ail women understand,)
KING
Farewell, my Prince.
QUEEN
My little boy!
(They leave the mother and the hoy together?)
MOTHER
David, isn't it wonderful!
BOY
Mother, did they mean I had to leave you?
MOTHER
You will be a king.
BOY
I can't leave you.
{He sits disconsolately on the step of the King's
seat,)
MOTHER {sitting beside him)
You are going to grow up to be a great, fine
man, my David-Boy, and you will be a king.
Some day you would have to leave me anyway
— to go out into the world and seek your
fortune.
BOY
But not so soon.
MOTHER
rU be near, and I'll see you every day. You
will be a king, my boy!
6ii
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
BOY
You'll be all alone.
MOTHER
Oh, no, my boy, never alone. For every hour
of every day Vl\ think of you and dream of you.
BOY
Who'll help you work?
MOTHER
There'll be no work. It will all be play, for
my boy is going to be a king.
BOY (as he leans his head against her shoulder)
Oh, Mother, I'm so tired!
MOTHER {placing her arm about him)
I know. Do you remember how I used to sing
a little lullaby to you when you were tired?
BOY {his eyes are heavy with sleep)
Uh-huh.
{The mother hums softly as she places her cheek
against his heady but the crown interferes some-
what,)
BOY
Sing it out. I like the words.
MOTHER {singing)
Sleep, Davie, sleep —
BOY
No, I like the old words — the ones when I was
a little boy.
MOTHER
Sleep, baby, sleep —
Close your tired eyes;
Here's a kiss from father.
To make you wealthy;
612
SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN
Here's a kiss from mother,
To make you healthy;
And God the Father blows a kiss
To make you wise.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Close your tired eyes.
{The Boy snuggles against his mother and then
reaches up and takes ojf the crown. She carefully
places it beside her and continues her lullaby as
the curtains close.)
YOU {in the audience)
Well, will he be a king or not?
PROLOGUE
His mother knows.
{The Prologue and the Device-Bearer bow and
disappear,)
{The ladies may arrange their hair and the gen-
tlemen may cough to their throats* content.)
The Curtains Close
613
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
BOOKS ABOUT THE THEATRE
BARKER, HARLEY GRANVILLE —The Exemplary Theatre
LittUy Brown, Boston
GOLDBERG, ISAAC— The Drama of Transition: Native and
Exotic Playcraft. (In preparation.)
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
HUDSON, HOLLAND —Little Theatre Handbook. (In prep.)
Frank Shay, New York.
LEWISOHN, LUDWIG.— The Drama and the Stage.
Harcourt, Brace, New York.
MACGOWAN, KENNETH.— The Theatre of Tomorrow.
Boni & Liverighty New York.
MITCHELL, ROY. — Shakespeare for Community Theatres.
Button, New York.
NATHAN, GEORGE JEAN.— The Critic and the Drama.
Knopf, New York.
PICHELL, IRVING.-On Building a Theatre.
Theatre Arts, New York.
STRATTON, CLARENCE.— Producing for Little T^ieatres.
Henry Holt, New York.
THALER, ALWIN.— Shakespeare to Sheridan.
Harvard University Press, Cambridge.
WISE, CLAUDE MERTON.— Dramatics for School and Com-
munity. (In preparation.) Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
617
PLAYS OF THE LITTLE THEATRE
ANDREYEV, LEONID.— He the One Who Gets Slapped.
Brentano'Sy New York.
To the Stars. Daniely London.
ATLANTIC BOOK OF MODERN PLAYS: Edited by Sterling
Andrus Leonard.
Containing:
Chapin, Harold. Philosopher of Butterbiggins 4m. iw.
Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News 7m. jw.
Parkhurst, W. The Beggar and the King 3m.
Middleton, Geo. Tides 3m. iw.
O'Neill, Eugene. He 5ni. iw.
Ferguson, J. A. Campbell of Kilmhor 5m. iw.
Galsworthy, J. The Sun im. iw.
Saunders, L. The Knave of Hearts 14m. 2w.
Dunsany, Lord. Fame and the Poet am. iw.
Dix, B. M. The Captain of the Gate 5m.
Mackaye, Percy. Gettysburg im. iw.
Brighouse, H. Lonsome-Like cm. 2w.
Synge, J. M. Riders to the Sea im. 3W.
Yeats, W. B. Land of Heart's Desire 3m. 3W.
Bottomley, G. The Riding to Lithend 9m. 9W.
Atlantic Monthly y Boston.
BAIRD, GEORGE M. P.— Mirage 2m. 4W.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
BAX, CLIFFORD and RUBINSTEIN, H. W.-Shakespeare.
A play in five episodes. Houghtony Miffliny Boston.
BEACH, LEWIS.— Four One-Act Plays
Containing:
The Clod 4m. iw.
A Guest for Dinner 4m
Love Among the Lions 3m. iw.
Brothers 3m.
Brentano'Sy New York.
BIERSTADT, EDWARD HALE.— Sounding Brass. 3m. iw.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
618
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
BOTTOMLEY, GORDON.-King Lear's Wife, etc.
Containing:
King Lear's Wife
2m. yw.
The Crier by Night
2m. 2W.
The Riding to Lithend
9m. 9w.
Midsummer Eve
2m. 5w.
Laodice and Danae
im. 8w.
Small,
Maynardy Boston,
BROOKE, RUPERT.-Lithuania
4m. 2W.
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
BROWN, ALICE.-One Act Plays
Containing:
The Hero
3m. IW.
Doctor Auntie
2m. 2W.
The Crimson Lake
8m.
Milly Dear
2m. 2W.
The Web
3m. 2W.
The Loving Cup
5m. 9W.
Joint Owners in Spain
4W.
The Sugar House
4m. 3w.
A March Wind
2m. 2W.
Macmillany New York.
CHIEF CONTEMPORARY DRAMATISTS. Second Series:
Edited by Thomas H. Dickinson.
Containing:
Bennett and Knoblock.
Maugham, W. Somerset.
Drink water, John.
Ervine, St. John G.
Dunsany, Lord.
Walter, Eugene.
Peabody, Josephine Preston.
Hazelton and Benrimo.
Porto-Riche, Georges de.
Rostand, Edmond.
Guitry, Sacha.
Thoma, Ludwig.
Schnitzler, Arthur.
Bahr, Hermann.
d'Annunzio, Gabriele.
Benavente, Jacinto.
Gorki, Maxim.
Heiberg, Gunnar.
Milestones.
Our Betters.
Abraham Lincoln.
Mixed Marriage.
King''Argimenes and the Un-
known Warrior.
The Easiest Way.
The Piper.
The Yellow Jacket.
A Loving Wife.
Cyrano de Bergerac.
Pasteur.
"Moral."
Living Hours.
The Concert.
Gioconda.
The Bonds of Interest.
The Lower Depths.
The Tragedy of Love.
Houghton^ Miffliny Boston,
619
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS, with outline study
of the one-act play and bibliographies by B. Roland Lewis.
Containing:
Barrie, Sir James M.
Middle ton, George.
Thurston, Althea.
Mackaye, Percy.
Gregory, Lady Augusta.
Pillot, Eugene.
Tchekov, Anton.
Crocker, Bosworth.
Kreymborg, Alfred.
Greene, Paul.
Hopkins, Arthur.
Hervieu, Paul.
Marks, Jeannette.
Wolff, Oscar M.
Pinski, David.
Bornstead, Beulah.
Sudermann, Hermann.
Strindberg, August.
The Twelve-Pound Look.
Tradition.
The Exchange.
Sam Average.
Hyacinth Halvey.
The Gazing Globe.
The Boor.
The Last Straw.
Manikin and Minikin.
White Dresses.
Moonshine.
Modesty.
The Deacon's Hat.
Where But in America,
A Dollar.
The Diabolical Circle.
The Far-Away Princess.
The Stronger.
ScribneVy New York.
COOK, GEORGE CRAM.— The Spring 9m. 2w.
Frank Shay, New York.
CULBERTSON, ERNEST HOWARD.— Goat Alley. 3 acts.
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
DARGAN, OLIVE TILFORD and PETERSON, F.— The
Flutter of the Goldleaf, etc.
Containing:
The Flutter of the Goldleaf.
The Journey.
Everychild.
Two Doctors of Akragas.
Scriiner, New York.
DAVIS, OWEN.— The Detour. 3 acts. Litt/e, Brown, Boston.
DELL, FLOYD.— Sweet and Twenty 3m. iw.
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
Also in: The Provincetown Plays.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati
620
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
DRINKWATER, JOHN.— Pawns.
Containing:
The Storm.
The God of Quiet.
X-0: A Night of the Trojan War.
Cophetua.
Houghton^ Mifflin^ Boston.
Mary Stuart. 6m. 2w.
Houghtony Mifflin^ Boston.
Oliver Cromwell. 19m. 3W.
Houghtony Miffliny Boston.
FICKE, ARTHUR DAVISON.— Mr. Faust 6m. 2w.
Frank Sfiayy New York.
FIFTY CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS: Edited by
Frank Shay and Pierre Loving.
Containing:
von Hofmannsthal, Hugo.
Schnitzler, Arthur.
Maeterlinck, Maurice.
More, Federico.
Ancey, Georges.
Porto-Riche, Georges de.
Ettlinger, Karl.
Wedekind, Frank.
Bennett, Arnold.
Calderon, George.
Cannan, Gilbert.
Crocker, Bosworth.
Dowson, Ernest.
Ellis, Mrs. Havelock.
Hankin, St. John.
Mukerji, Dhan Gopal.
Gregory, Lady.
Speenhoff, J. H.
Biro, Lajos.
Giacosa, Giuseppe.
Andreyev, Leonid.
TchekofF, Anton.
Benavente, Jacinto.
Quinteros, The.
Strindberg, August.
Wied, Gustav.
Beach, Lewis.
Cowan, Sada.
Madonna Dianora.
Literature.
The Intruder.
Interlude.
Monsieur Lamblin.
Fancoise' Luck.
Altruism.
The Tenor.
A Good Woman.
The Little Stone House.
Mary's Wedding.
The Baby Carriage.
The Pierrot of the Minute.
The Subjection of Kezia.
The Constant Lover.
The Judgment of Indra.
The Workhouse Ward.
Louise.
The Grandmother.
The Rights of the Soul.
Love of One's Neighbor.
The Boor.
His Widow's Husband.
A Sunny Morning.
The Creditor.
Autumn Fires.
Brothers.
In the Morgue.
621
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
Cronyn, George W.
A Death in Fever Plat.
Davies, Mary Carolyn.
The Slave with Two Paces.
Day, Frederic L.
The Slump.
Planner, Hildegarde.
Mansions.
Glaspell, Susan.
Trifles.
Gerstenberg, Alice.
The Pot Boiler.
Helburn, Theresa.
Enter the Hero.
Hudson, Holland.
The Shepherd in the Distance,
Kemp, Harry.
Boccaccio's Untold Tale.
Langner, Lawrence.
Another Way Out.
Millay, Edna St. Vincent. Aria Da Capo.
Moeller, Philip.
Helena's Husband.
MacMillan, Mary.
The Shadowed Star.
O'Neill, Eugene G.
He.
Stevens, Thomas Wood.
The Nursery Maid of Heaven.
Stevens, Wallace.
Three Travelers Watch a Sun-
Tompkins, Frank G.
rise.
Sham.
Walker, Stuart.
The Medicine Show.
Wellman, Rita.
For All Time.
Wilde, Percival.
The Finger of God.
Asch, Sholom.
Night.
Pinski, David.
Forgotten Souls.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
PLANNER, HILDEGARDE.
— Mansions im. 2w.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
FYPE, HAMILTON.— The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory.
Danie/y London.
GALE, ZONA.— Miss Lulu Bett. Appleton, New York.
GALSWORTHY, JOHN.— Six Short Plays.
Containing:
The First and the Last 2m. iw.
The Little Man
9m. 3w.
Hall Marked
6m. 4W.
Defeat
im. IW.
The Sun
2m. iw.
Punch and Go
8m. 2w.
ScribneTy New York.
GERSTENBERG, ALICE.— Ten One-Act Plays.
Containing:
He Said and She Said im. 3w.
Overtones
4W.
The Unseen
im. 2w.
622
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
The Buffer
lm. 4W.
Attuned
IW.
The Pot Boiler
5m. iw.
Hearts
4W.
Beyond
IW.
Fourteen
im. 2w.
The lUuminatti
in Drama Libre
im. IW.
Brentano'Sy New York.
GLASPFTJ,, SUSAN— Inheritors.
Small,
Maynardy Boston.
COLORING, DOUGLAS.— The Fight for Freedom. 4m. 4W.
SeltzeTy New York.
GREGORY, LADY.— The Image and Other Plays.
Containing:
The Image 5m. 2w.
Hanrahan's Oath 3m. 3W.
Shanwalla 9m. 3W.
The Wrens 4m. iw.
Putnam^ New York.
HARVARD PLAYS : Plays of the 47 Workshop. Third Series.
Containing:
Manley, William F. The Crowsnest.
Kister, M. A., Jr. The Hard Heart.
Bray, Louise Whitefield. Mis' Mercy.
Ketcham, Arthur. The Other One.
Brentano*Sy New York.
HERBERT, A. P.— Wrong Numbers.
The Book of Jonah.
In "Little Bits of Moonshine."
Knopf y New York.
HOUSMAN, LAURENCE.— Angels and Ministers.
Containing:
The Queen: God Bless Her! 3m. iiw.
His Favourite Flower. 2m. 2w.
The Comforter 3m. 2w.
Possession 2m. 5W.
Harcourty Bracey New York.
HUDSON, HOLLAND.— The Sheoherd in the Distance. 10
characters. Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
KOTELIANSKY, S. S.— The Green Ring. 4 acts.
40 Daniely London.
623
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
KREYMBORG, ALFRED.— Plays for Merry Andrews.
Containing:
Vote the New Moon.
At the Sign of the Thumb and Nose.
Uneasy Street.
The Silent Waiter.
Monday.
Sunwise Turn, New York.
LANGNER, LAWRENCE.— Five One-Act Plays.
Containing:
Matinata.
2m. iw.
Another Way Out.
2m. 3w.
Pie.
2m. 2W.
The Family Exit.
4m. 3w.
Licensed.
im. 2w.
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
LAWRENCE, D. H.— Touch and Go. Seltzer, New York.
Lin LE THEATRE CLASSICS.
Vol. IV: Edited by Samuel
A. Eliot, Jr.
Containing:
Shakuntala.
The Wandering Scholar from Paradise.
All for Love, or The World Well Lost.
The Martyrdom of Ali.
Little, Brown, Boston.
LORD, KATHARINE.— Plays for School and Camp. (For
Boys and Girls, 10 to 15.)
Containing:
The Raven Man. 9 characters.
Buried Treasure. 8 characters.
Kris Kringle Makes a Flight. Large cast.
The Three Bears. 5 characters.
The Pied Piper. Large cast.
The Honorable Miss. 10 characters.
Little, Brown, Boston.
MACKAY, CONSTANCE D'ARCY.— Franklin. 4 acts.
Henry Holt, New York.
MACMILLAN, MARY.— Third Book of Short Plays. (In prep.)
Containing:
A Weak-End. 5m. 8w.
In Heaven. 4m.
Standing Moving. 2m. 2w.
624
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
An Apocryphal Episode. Om. 2w.
The Storm. im. low.
When Two's Not Company. 2m.
Peter Doneliy. im. 3w.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
A Fan and Two Candlesticks. 2m. iw.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
MARKS, JEANNETTE.— The Sun Chaser. 4 acts.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
MARQUIS, DON.— Words and Thoughts 2m. 4W.
In "Carter and Other People."
Appletony New York.
MASEFIELD, JOHN.— Collected Plays.
Containing:
The Campden Wonder 4m. 2w.
Mrs. Harrison 3m. iw.
The Locked Chest 3m. iw.
The Sweeps of Ninety-Eight 7m. iw.
The Tragedy of Nan 8m. 5W.
The Tragedy of Pompey the Great 17m. 5W.
The Faithful 17m. 3W.
Philip the King 8m. iw.
Good Friday 7m. iw.
Macmillany New York.
Esther and Berenice (two plays).
Esther 6m. 5W.
Berenice 3m. 4W.
Macmillany New York.
MASTERPIECES OF MODERN SPANISH DRAMA: Edited
by Barrett H. Clark.
Containing:
Echegaray, Jos6. The Great Galeoto.
Guimerd, Angel. Daniela.
P6rez-Gald6s, Benito. The Duchess of San Quentin.
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
MILLAY, EDNA ST. VINCENT.—
The Lamp and the Bell. Five acts. Large cast.
Frank Shayy New York,
Aria Da Capo. 4m. iw. Kennerleyy New York.
{Also in: Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays and The
Provincetown Plays. Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.)
Two Slatterns and a King. 2m. 2w.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
The Princess Marries a Page. (In preparation.)
Frank Shay, New York,
625
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
MILNE, A. A.— Second Plays.
Containing:
Make-Believe. 3 acts for children.
Mr. Pim Passes By. 3m. 4W.
The Camberley Triangle 2m. iw.
The Romantic Age 5m. 4W.
The Stepmother 3m. iw.
Chatto & fVinduSy London.
MOLNAR, FRANZ.— Liliom. 8 scenes. 19m. 8w.
Boni & Liverig/ify New York.
MORLEY, CHRISTOPHER.— Thursday Evening im. 3W.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
NO PLAYS OF JAPAN, THE: Translated by Arthur Waley.
Knopfs New York.
O'DEA, MARK.— Red Bud Women.
Containing:
The Song of Solomon
Shivaree
2m. 3w.
2m. 2W.
Miss Myrtle Says "Yes"
Not In the Lessons
im. 3w.
2m. 2W.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
ONE-ACT PLAYS BY MODERN AUTHORS: Edited by
Helen Louise Cohen.
Containing:
Tarkington, Booth. Beauty and the Jacobin 3m. 2w.
Dowson, Ernest. The Pierrot of the Minute im. iw.
Down, Oliphant. The Maker of Dreams 2m. 2w.
Mackaye, Percy. Gettysburg im. iw.
Milne, A. A. Wurzel-Flummery 3m. 2w.
Brighouse, Harold. Maid of France 3m. 2w.
Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News 7m. 3w.
Mark, Jeannette. Welsh Honeymoon 3m. 2w.
Rogers, Robert E. The Boy Will im. 3w.
Synge, John M. Riders to the Sea im. 3w.
Dunsany, Lord. A Night at an Inn 8m.
Young, Stark. The Twilight Saint 2m. 2w.
Egerton, Lady Alix. Masque of the Two Strangers
14 char.
Maeterlinck, Maurice. The Intruder 4m. 3W.
Peabody, Josephine P. Fortune and Men's Eyes 8m. 2w.
Galsworthy, John. The Little Man 6m. iw.
Harcourty Bracey New York.
626
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
\"
O'NEILL, EUGENE.— The Emperor Jones
The Straw ^ In one volume
Different
Boni y Liveright, New York.
The Emperor Jones
Stewart Kidd^ Cincinnati.
Gold Boni & Liveright, New York.
Beyond the Horizon
Boni y Liverighty New York.
OVERSTREET, H. A —Hearts to Mend 2m. iw.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
PEABODY, JOSEPHINE PRESTON.— Portrait of Mrs. W.
Three acts and an Epilogue. Houghtony Mifflin, Boston.
PHILLIPS, STEPHEN.— Collected Plays.
Containing:
Aylmer's Secret.
Ulysses.
The Sin of David.
Nero.
Faust.
Pietro of Siena.
Macmillany New York.
PRZYBYSZEWSKI, STANISLAW.— Snow. 4 acts.
Nicholas L. Browny New York.
REPRESENTATIVE ONE-ACT PLAYS BY BRITISH AND
IRISH AUTHORS: Edited by Barrett H. Clark.
Containing:
Pinero, Arthur. The Widow of Wasdale Head
5m. IW.
Jones, Henry Arthur.
The Goal
4m. 2W.
Wilde, Oscar.
Salome
12m. 2W.
Sutro, Alfred.
The Man in the Stalls
2m. IW.
Fenn, Frederick, and
Pryce, Richard.
'Op-O'-Me-Thumb
im. 5w.
Gordon-Lennox,
The Impertinence of the
Creature
Cosmo.
im. IW.
Bennett, Arnold.
The Stepmother.
im. 3w.
Barker, Granville.
Rococo
3m. 3w.
Cannan, Gilbert.
James and John
3m. IW.
Housman, Laurence.
The Snow Man
3m. 2W.
Houghton, Stanley.
Fancy Free
im. 3w.
Brighouse, Harold.
Lonesome-Like.
2m. 2W.
Baker, Elizabeth.
Miss Tassey
627
5w.
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
Robins, Gertrude. Makeshifts. 2m. 2w.
Down, Oliphant. The Maker of Dreams 2m. iw.
William Butler Yeats. The Land of Heart's Desire 3m. 2w.
Synge, J. M. Riders to the Sea im. 4W.
Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News. 7m. 3W.
Ervine, St. John G. The Magnanimous Lover 3m. 2w.
Dunsany, Lord. The Golden Doom lom. iw.
LittUy Browfiy Boston.
SHAW, G. BERNARD.— Back to Methuselah.
Brentano'Sy New York.
SHORT PLAYS BY REPRESENTATIVE AUTHORS: Edited
by Alice M. Smith.
Containing:
Sigurjonsson, Johann. The Hraun Farm. 6m. 8w.
Marks, Jeannette. The Merry Merry Cuckoo 4m. iw.
Masefield, John. The Locked Chest 4m. iw.
Tagore, R. The Post Office 9m. iw.
Walker, S. Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil
Mackay, Constance.
The Silver Lining
2m.
iw.
Fulda, Ludwig.
By Ourselves
3m.
2W.
Torrence, Ridgely.
The Rider of Dreams
3m.
IW.
Gregory, Lady.
Spreading the News
7m.
3w.
TchekhofF, Anton.
The Swan Song
2m.
Sutro, Alfred.
The Man on the Kerb
im.
IW.
MacMillan, Mary.
The Shadowed Star.
3m.
4W.
Macmillan^ New York,
STEWART, DONALD OGDEN.— For the Freedom of the
World. 2 acts. In "A Parody Outline of History"
Dorany New York.
STEWART KIDD LITTLE THEATRE PLAYS: Edited by
Grace Adams. (Published separately.)
Tarkington, Booth. The Ghost Story.
Bierstadt, Edward Hale. Sounding Brass.
MacMillan, Mary. A Fan and Two Candlesticks.
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
STEWART KIDD MODERN PLAYS: Edited by Frank Shay.
(Published separately.)
Tompkins, Frank G. Sham.
Flanner, Hildegarde. Mansions.
Hudson, Holland. The Shepherd in the Distance.
Overstreet, H. A. Hearts to Mend.
O'Neill, Eugene. The Emperor Jones.
628
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
Dell, Floyd.
Sweet and Twenty.
Walker, Stuart.
Six Who Pass While the Lentils
Boil.
Millay, Edna St. Vincent. Two Slatterns and a King.
Morley, Christopher.
Thursday Evening.
Baird, George M. P.
Mirage.
Walker, Stuart.
Sir David Wears a Crown.
West, Duffy R.
Society Notes.
Brooke, Rupert.
Lithuania.
Gnudtzmann, Albert.
Eyes That Cannot See.
Prydz, Alvilde.
In Confidence.
Mackall, Lawton &
Bellamy, Francis R
Scrambled Eggs.
Loving, Pierre.
The Stick-Up.
Quintero, Serafin, &
Joaquin.
The Fountain of Youth.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
TARKINGTON, BOOTH.-
-The Ghost Story 5m. 5W.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
TOMPKINS, FRANK G.—
Sham 3m. iw.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
TREASURY OF PLAYS FOR CHILDREN: Edited by Mont-
rose J. Moses.
Containing:
Fourteen plays requiring only children for casting.
Littlcy Brown, Boston.
TREASURY OF PLAYS FOR WOMEN: Edited by Frank
Shay.
Containing:
Fifteen plays requiring
only women for casting.
Litt/cy Brown. Boston.
VAGABOND PLAYS: First Series.
Containing:
The Double Miracle
by Robert Garland 4m. iw.
On Vengeance Height
by Allan Davis and C.
C. Vencill 3m. iw.
Pan in Ambush
by Marjorie Patterson 3m. 4W.
Release
by Edward H. Smith 5m.
Importance of Being a
Roughneck
by Robert Garland 3m. iw.
The Conflict
by Clarice Vallette McCauley
im. 4W.
Normany Remingtony Baltimore.
All of the above plays may be had separately from the same
publisher.
629
99^18/
/ / ^ f u L BIBLIOGRAPHIES
WALKER, STUART— Portmanteau Adaptations.
Containing:
Gammer Gur ton's Needle.
The Birthday of the Infanta.
Sir David Wears a Crown.
Nellijumbo.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil.
Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.
Sir David Wears a Crown.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
WEST, DUFFY R.— Society Notes 3m. 3W.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
WILDE, PERCIVAL.— Eight Comedies for Little Theatres.
Containing:
The Sequel. 3m. iw.
The Previous Engagement. im.
The Dyspeptic Ogre. Large cast
In the Net. 4m.
A Wonderful Woman. 3m. iw.
Catesby. im. iw.
His Return. im. 3w.
Embryo. 3m. 2w.
LittUy Browny Boston.
YOUNG, STARK.— Three One-Act Plays.
Containing:
Addio 3m. iw.
Madretta 2m. iw.
At the Shrine im. iw.
Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati.
630
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