FIRST GIRL [_calling him back with a ges_Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays

afterthought._] With two dimples!

SECOND GIRL. And an amber necklace! Bring me an amber necklace!

FIRST GIRL [_tossing away the rose she has just plucked_]. And a fresh

rose.

[_Life bows; turns to obey. The two are convulsed with mirth at the

adventure and its success._]

FIRST GIRL. Life!

[_Life halts._]

SECOND GIRL. What are you going to do?

FIRST GIRL. Come here!

[_Life comes to her. With a quick movement she snatches one of the

gold chains from about his neck._]

SECOND GIRL [_frightened_]. How can you dare?

FIRST GIRL. What you see you must take. [_She seizes his wrist and pulls

from it a bracelet._]

SECOND GIRL [_frightened_]. Ah!

FIRST GIRL. Go!

[_Exit Life._]

SECOND GIRL. But why--

FIRST GIRL. He does not like beggars, Life. You see, he is a slave

himself.

SECOND GIRL. He is so beautiful.

FIRST GIRL. Do not forget that he is your slave.... This rosebush

[_touches it_] is a queen who forgot.

SECOND GIRL. Ah!

FIRST GIRL [_pointing to bones that seemed part of bushes along

roadside_]. Those are the bones of others who forgot.

SECOND GIRL. But he is beautiful!

FIRST GIRL. Only so long as you are his master.

SECOND GIRL. But he is kind!

FIRST GIRL. Only so long as you are not afraid of him.

SECOND GIRL. But you snatched--

FIRST GIRL. Life is the only person to whom one should be rude.

[_They hear sounds of moaning and cries and a harsh voice menacing

some unseen crowd._]

SECOND GIRL. What is that?

FIRST GIRL. Come! We must not be seen! [_Pulls her companion behind bush

at side of stage._]

SECOND GIRL. What will be done to us?

FIRST GIRL. Hush! If he should see you! He is always watching for the

first sign of fear.

SECOND GIRL. What is the first sign of fear?

FIRST GIRL. It is a thought--

SECOND GIRL. But can he see one's thoughts--

FIRST GIRL. Only thoughts of fear.

SECOND GIRL. If one hides them well even from oneself?

FIRST GIRL. Even then. But words are more dangerous still. If we say we

are afraid we will be more afraid, because whatever we make into words

makes itself into our bodies.

VOICES OFF STAGE. Oh, master! Mercy, master!

FIRST GIRL. It spoils him, this cringing. It spoils a good servant. As

long as he is kept in his place--

[_A man enters and kneels, looking at Life off stage, in fear._]

FIRST GIRL [_steals to man and says_]. But he is only a slave. Do you

not see that he is a slave?

MAN. How can you say that? Look at his terrible face. Who that has seen

his face can doubt that he is a master, and a cruel one?

FIRST GIRL. He cannot be a master unless you make him so.

MAN. What is this that you are saying? Is it true?

FIRST GIRL. Yes, it is true. Even though it can be put into words it is

true.

MAN [_starts to rise, sinks to knees again_]. Yes. I see that it is

true. But go away.

FIRST GIRL [_crouching behind bush again_]. Ah!

[_Life crosses the stage, with a whip of many thongs driving a

huddled throng of half crouching men and women. They kneel and

kiss his robe. His mouth is wide and grinning, his eyes slant, his

nostrils are thick. He is hideous._]

LIFE. You! Give me your ideals. Three ideals! Is that all you have?

YOUNG MAN. Life has robbed me of my ideals.

WORKMAN. He robbed me too.

YOUNG MAN. But I had so few.

WORKMAN. When you have toiled to possess more, he will take those from

you also.

LIFE [_to an old woman_]. For twelve hours you shall toil at what you

hate. For an hour you shall work at what you love, to keep the wound

fresh, to make the torture keener.

OLD MAN. Ah, pity! Do not be so cruel! Let me forget the work I love!

LIFE. Dog! Take what I give you! It is not by begging that you may win

anything from me!

A VOICE. Give me a dream! A dream to strengthen my hands!

ANOTHER VOICE. A little love to make the day less terrible!

THIRD VOICE. Only rest, a little rest! Time to think of the sea, and of

grasses blowing in the wind.

A WOMAN. Master!

[_Life lashes her with his whip. The woman screams. Life draws

back from them, and dances a mocking dance, dancing himself into

greater fury, laughing terribly, he lashes out at them. Several

fall dead. He chokes a cripple with his hands. Finally he drives

them off the stage before him, several furtively dragging the

bodies with them._]

SECOND GIRL [_as the two emerge from their hiding place_]. Oh! I wish

never to see his face as they saw it!

FIRST GIRL. You will not, unless you kneel--never kneel, little queen.

SECOND GIRL. I shall never kneel to Life. I shall stand upright, as you

have taught me, and I shall say, "Bring me another necklace, Life--"

FIRST GIRL. I must go now for a little while. I shall come back. Do not

forget. [_She goes out._]

SECOND GIRL. I shall say--

[_Life's voice is heard off stage. Second Girl cowers. Life

enters._]

SECOND GIRL. Slave! I would have the chain with the red stone! [_As Life

submissively approaches, she snatches it from his neck._] And this!

[_Snatching at his hand and pulling the ring from a finger. The

slave bows. She happens to look toward the spot where the bodies

were, and shivers._]

LIFE [_raising his head in time to see the look of horror. From this

moment his aspect gradually changes until from the slave he becomes a

tyrant_]. Are you afraid of me?

SECOND GIRL. No.

LIFE. There are many who are afraid of me.

SECOND GIRL. You are a slave.

LIFE. There are many who are afraid.

SECOND GIRL. You are only a slave.

LIFE. A slave may become a master.

SECOND GIRL. No.

LIFE. I may become--

SECOND GIRL. You are my slave.

LIFE. If I were your master--

SECOND GIRL. You are a slave.

LIFE. If I were your master, I would be kind to you. You are beautiful.

SECOND GIRL. Ah!

LIFE. You are very beautiful.

SECOND GIRL. It is my crown that makes me beautiful.

LIFE. If you should take your crown from your head, you would still be

beautiful.

SECOND GIRL. That I will not do.

LIFE. You are beautiful as the slight burning of the apple-petal's cheek

when the sun glances at the great flowers near it. You are beautiful as

the little pool far in the forest which holds lily-buds in its hands.

You are beautiful--

SECOND GIRL [_aside_]. I think he wants me to be afraid, so I will say

it. I have heard that men are like that. I am not afraid, but I will say

it to please him.

LIFE. Are you afraid of me?

SECOND GIRL. Yes.

LIFE. Are you afraid?

SECOND GIRL. Yes, I am afraid.

LIFE. Ah, that pleases me.

SECOND GIRL [_aside_]. I knew that I would be able to please him!

Whatever I make into words makes itself into my body, she said, like

fear--but she does not know everything! It is impossible that she should

know everything! And it is so pleasant to please him--And so easy! I am

not afraid of him. I have only _said_ that I am afraid.

LIFE. Will you not take your crown from your head?

SECOND GIRL. No.

LIFE. There is nothing so beautiful as a woman's hair flying in the

wind. I can see your hair beneath your crown. Your hair would be

beautiful flying in the wind.

SECOND GIRL [_removes crown_]. It is only for a moment.

LIFE. Yes, you are beautiful.

SECOND GIRL [_to herself_]. It may be that I was not wise--

LIFE. You are like a new flower opening, and dazzling a passing bird

with sudden color.

SECOND GIRL. She said that I must not--

LIFE. You are like the bird that passes. Your hair lifts like winks in

the sun.

SECOND GIRL. He has not harmed me.

LIFE. Your crown is like jewels gathered from old galleons beneath the

sea. May I see your crown?

SECOND GIRL [_holds it out cautiously toward him, then changes her

mind_]. No--

LIFE. Let me hold it in my fingers. I shall give it back to you.

SECOND GIRL. No.

LIFE. I shall give it back.

SECOND GIRL. If you will surely give it back to me--

LIFE [_takes crown_]. But your hair is lovelier without a crown.

[_Flings it from him._]

SECOND GIRL. What have you done?

LIFE. It was only in jest.

SECOND GIRL. But you promised--

LIFE. In jest.

SECOND GIRL. But--

LIFE. Ho-ho! Laugh with me. What a jest!

SECOND GIRL [_laughs, then shivers_].

LIFE [_in high good humor with himself_]. Dance for me. You are young.

You are happy. Dance!

SECOND GIRL. What shall my dance say?

LIFE. That it is Spring, and that there are brooks flowing, newly

awakened and mad to be with the sea. That there is a white bud widening

under the moon, and in a curtained room a young girl sleeping. That the

sun has wakened her--

SECOND GIRL [_dances these things. At first she is afraid of him, then

she forgets and dances with abandon_]. And now give me back my crown.

LIFE. You do not need a crown, pretty one.

SECOND GIRL. I am afraid of you!

LIFE. Afraid of me! What have I done?

SECOND GIRL. I do not know.

LIFE. Do not be afraid.

SECOND GIRL. I am afraid.

LIFE. I shall be a kind master to you.

SECOND GIRL. Master?

LIFE. A kind master.

SECOND GIRL. You are my slave.

LIFE. I shall never be your slave again.

SECOND GIRL. And if she were right? If it is true?

LIFE. What are you saying?

SECOND GIRL. Nothing--

LIFE. You must call me master.

SECOND GIRL. No. That I will not do.

LIFE [_leering at her_]. Call me master. Then I shall be kind to you.

SECOND GIRL. No. I can not.

LIFE [_picks up his whip from the path, toying with the whip but

laughing at her_]. Then I shall be kind.

SECOND GIRL. Master--

LIFE. It has a good sound.

SECOND GIRL. You will give me--

LIFE. Greedy one! Be grateful that I do not punish you.

SECOND GIRL. You would not strike me?

LIFE. If you do not obey--

SECOND GIRL [_whispering_]. You would not strike--

LIFE. You must kneel.

SECOND GIRL [_repeating_]. Never kneel, little queen--

LIFE. You must kneel to me.

SECOND GIRL. No.

LIFE [_raising the whip as if to strike_]. On your knees! Slave!

SECOND GIRL. You were kind! Life, you were kind! You said beautiful

words to me.

LIFE. Kneel.

SECOND GIRL. You would be always kind, you said--

LIFE. Will you obey?

SECOND GIRL. I shall never--

[_Life curls his whip around her shoulders._]

SECOND GIRL [_screams_]. Do not flog me. I will kneel. [_Kneels_.]

LIFE. So? In that way I can win obedience.

SECOND GIRL. Master!

LIFE. It has a good sound.

SECOND GIRL. Pity! Have pity!

LIFE. Do not whine. [_Kicks her._]

SECOND GIRL [_rises staggering_]. Spare me!

LIFE. I shall beat you, for the cries of those who fear me are sweet in

my ears. [_Beats her._]

SECOND GIRL. Master!

LIFE [_flinging aside whip_]. But sweeter yet are stilled cries--[_He

seizes her, they struggle._]

SECOND GIRL. He is too strong--I can struggle no longer!

[_They struggle. Life chokes her to death and flings her body from

him. Then laughing horribly he goes off the stage._]

FIRST GIRL [_enters skipping merrily. Singing_].

Heigho, in April,

Heigho, heigho,

All the town in April

Is gay, is gay!

[_She plucks rose from bush._]

Heigho, in April,

In merry, merry April,

Love came a-riding

And of a sunny day

I met him on the way!

Heigho, in April,

Heigho, heigho--

[_Suddenly seeing the body, she breaks the song, and stares

without moving. Then she goes very slowly toward it, smooths down

the dead girl's dress, and kneels beside the body. Whispers._]

She was young ... he was cruel.... [_Touches the body._] She also was a

queen. She snatched his trinkets. See, there on her dead neck is his

chain with the red fire caught in gold. And on her finger his ring. But

he was too strong ... too strong.... [_She stands, trembles, cowering in

terror._] Life has broken her.... Life has broken them all.... Some

day.... I am afraid....

[_Life enters, still the ugly tyrant. She remains cowering. His

eyes rove slowly over the stage, but she sees him a second before

he discovers her. She straightens up just in time to be her

scornful self before his eyes light upon her. As she speaks Life

becomes the slave again._]

FIRST GIRL [_carelessly flings rose down without seeing that it has

fallen upon the body_]. Life! Bring me a fresh rose!

[_The slave bows abjectly and goes to do her bidding._]

[_Curtain._]

THE SLUMP

A PLAY

BY FREDERIC L. DAY

The Slump was first produced February 5, 1920, by "The 47 Workshop"

with the following cast:

FLORENCE MADDEN _Miss Ruth Chorpenning_.

JAMES MADDEN _Mr. Walton Butterfield_.

EDWARD MIX _Mr. W. B. Leach, Jr_.

Permission to reprint, or for amateur or professional performances

of any kind must first be obtained from "The 47 Workshop," Harvard

College, Cambridge, Mass. Moving picture rights reserved.

TIME: _The Present. About four o'clock on a Saturday afternoon in

December._

THE SLUMP

A PLAY BY FREDERIC L. DAY

[SCENE: _A dingy room showing the very worst of contemporary lower

middle-class American taste. The dining table in the center is of

"golden oak"; and a sideboard at the left, a morris chair at the

right and front, and three dining-room chairs (one of which is in

the left rear corner, the others at the table) are all of this

same finish. The paper on the walls is at once tawdry and faded. A

tarnished imitation brass gas jet is suspended from the right

wall, just over the morris chair. In the back wall and to the left

is a door leading outside. Another door, in the left wall, leads

to the rest of the house. A low, rather dirty window in the back

wall, to the right of the center, looks out on a muddy river with

the dispiriting houses of a small, grimy manufacturing city

beyond. On the back wall are one or two old-fashioned engravings

with sentimental subjects, and several highly-colored photographs

of moving picture stars, each of them somewhat askew. A few

pictures on the other walls are mostly cheap prints cut out of the

rotogravure section of the Sunday paper. In the right-hand rear

corner is an air-tight stove. The whole room has an appearance of

hopeless untidiness and slovenliness. Close by the morris chair,

at its right, is a phonograph on a stand. Outside it is a dull

gray day. The afternoon light is already beginning to wane._

_As the curtain rises, James Madden is sitting behind the table in

the center of the room. He is a rather small man of thirty-five,

his hair just beginning to turn gray at the temples. Spectacles, a

peering manner, and the sallow pallor of his face all suggest the

man of a sedentary mode of life. His clothes are faded and of a

poor cut, but brushed and neat. There is something ineffectual but

distinctly appealing about the little man. Madden is working on a

pile of bills which are strewn over the top of the table. He picks

up a bill, looks at it, and draws in his under lip with an

expression of dismay. He writes down the amount of the bill on a

piece of paper, below six or seven other rows of figures. He looks

at another bill, and his expression becomes even more

distracted._]

MADDEN [_with exasperation_]. Oh!

[_He brings his fist down on the table with a limp whack, then

turns and looks helplessly toward the door at the left. After a

moment this door starts to open. Madden turns quickly to the

front, trying to compose his face and busying himself with the

bills. The door continues to open, and Mrs. Madden now issues from

it lazily. She is thirty-two years old, and a good half head

taller than her husband. Where he is thin and bony, she has

already begun to lose her figure. Her yellow hair, the color of

molasses kisses, is at once greasy and untidy, and seems ready to

come to pieces. Her face is beginning to lose its contour--the

uninspired face of a lower middle-class woman who has once been

pretty in a rather cheap way. She is sloppily dressed in showy

purple silk. Her skirt is short, and she wears brand new, high,

shiny, mahogany-colored boots. She has powdered her nose._]

MRS. MADDEN [_uninterestedly, in a slow, flat, nasal voice_]. How long

y' been home? Yer pretty late f'r Sat'rdy.

MADDEN [_still looking down and trying to control his feelings_]. The

head bookkeeper kept me, checkin' up the mill pay roll. I been here

[_consulting his watch_] just seven minutes.

MRS. MADDEN [_yawning_]. Thanks. Yer s' darn acc'rate, Jim. I didn'

really wanta know.

[_He looks at another bill and writes down the amount on the same

piece of paper as before, keeping his head averted so that she may

not see his face._]

MRS. MADDEN. Jim. [_With lazy self-satisfaction._] Look up an' glimpse

yer wifey in 'r new boots. [_She draws up her skirts sufficiently to

show the boots._]

[_He looks up unwillingly and makes a movement of exasperation._]

MADDEN. Oh, Florrie!

MRS. MADDEN. W'at's a matter? Don'choo like 'em?

MADDEN. You didn't need another pair, Florrie.

MRS. MADDEN [_on the defensive_]. Y' wouldn' have me look worse 'n one

o' these furriners, would y'? There's Mrs. Montanio nex' door; she's

jus' got a pair o' mahogany ones an' a pair o' lemon colored ones. An'

_her_ husban's on'y a "slasher."

MADDEN. Slashers get a big sight more pay than under bookkeepers these

days, Florrie.

MRS. MADDEN [_persuasively_]. Got 'em at a bargain, anyways. Jus' think,

Jim. On'y twelve, an' they _was_ sixteen. [_Madden groans audibly. She

changes the subject hastily._] W'at's a news down town?

MADDEN [_seriously_]. Florrie-- [_He hesitates and then seems to change

his mind. He relaxes and speaks wearily, trying to affect an off-hand

manner._] Nothin' much. [_Struck by an unpleasant recollection._] Comin'

home by Market Wharf I saw 'em pull a woman out o' the river.

MRS. MADDEN [_interested_]. Y' don' say, Jim. Was she dead?

MADDEN [_nervously_]. I ... I don't know. I didn't stop. [_He passes his

hand across his face with a sudden gesture of horror._] You know,

Florrie, I hate things like that!

MRS. MADDEN. Well--y' poor boob! Not t' find out if she was dead!

[_She gives an impatient shrug of the shoulders and passes behind

him, going over to the back window and looking out aimlessly.

Madden picks up another bill, regarding it malevolently. After a

moment she turns carelessly toward him._]

MRS. MADDEN. Jim. [_He does not look up._] Say, Jim. I'm awful tired o'

cookin'. There ain't a thing t' eat in th' house. Le's go down t'

Horseman's f'r a lobster supper t'night, an' then take in a real show.

Mrs. Montanio's tol' me--

MADDEN [_interrupting very gravely_]. Florrie. [_He rises to his feet._]

MRS. MADDEN [_continuing without a pause_]. There's an awful comical

show down t' th' Hyperion. Regal'r scream, they say. Mrs. Montanio--

MADDEN [_breaking in_]. Florrie, there's somethin' I got to say to you.

MRS. MADDEN [_a little sulky_]. I got lots I'd like t' say t' _you_.

On'y I ain't sayin' it.

MADDEN [_more quietly_]. I wasn't goin' to say it now ... not 'till I

finished goin' through these. [_He makes a gesture toward the bills._]

But when I saw your new shoes, an' specially when you spoke o' goin' out

to-night....

MRS. MADDEN. Well, why shouldn' I? I got t' have _some_ fun.

MADDEN [_keeping his self-control_]. Look here, Florrie. D'you know what

I was doin' when you came in?

MRS. MADDEN. I didn't notice. Figgerin' somethin', I s'pose. Y' always

are.

MADDEN. This mornin' at the office I got called to the phone. The

Excelsior Shoe Comp'ny said you cashed a check there yesterday for

fifteen dollars. Said you bought a pair o' shoes ... those, I suppose

[_He looks at her feet. She turns away sulkily._] ... an' had some money

left over. Check came back to 'em this mornin' from the bank.--"No

funds."

MRS. MADDEN [_with righteous but lazy indignation_]. How'd I know there

wasn't no money in th' bank?

MADDEN. If you kept your check book up to date you'd know.

MRS. MADDEN. W'at right they got not t' cash my check?

MADDEN [_still controlling himself_]. The bank don't let you overdraw

any more. [_He glances back at the bills._] D'you know, I'm wonderin'

why you didn't charge those boots.

MRS. MADDEN. I ain't got any account at th' Excelsior.

MADDEN. I guess it's the only place in town you haven't got one.--You

don't seem to remember what salary I get.

MRS. MADDEN. Sure--I know. Ninety-five a month. Y' know mighty well I'm

ashamed o' you f'r not gettin' more. Mrs. Montanio's husban'--

MADDEN [_breaking in_]. Hang the Montanios! [_More quietly._] Don't you

see what I'm gettin' at? Here it is the twelfth o' December; you know my

pay don't come in till the end o' the month; an' here you go an' draw

all our money out o' the bank ... an' more. [_Turning toward the

table._] An' _look_ at these bills!

MRS. MADDEN. James Madden, I like t' know w'at right you got t' talk t'

me like that.

MADDEN [_thoughtfully_]. I've always argued it's the woman's job to run

the house. [_He walks around the table from front to rear, passing to

its left, and looking down at the bills. With conviction._] It's no

use!--I don't just see how we're goin' to get out of this mess; but I do

know one thing. [_Advancing toward her from the rear of the table._]

After this _I'm_ goin' to spend our money, even if I have to buy your

dresses.

MRS. MADDEN [_with rising anger_]. If you say I've been extrav'gant,

James Madden, yer a plain liar!

MADDEN [_biting his lip and stepping back a pace_]. Easy, Florrie!--I

know you don't mean that, or--

MRS. MADDEN [_interrupting viciously_]. I do!

MADDEN [_persuasively_]. Look here, Florrie. We got to work this out

together. There's no use gettin' mad. Prob'ly you aren't

extravagant--really. Just considerin' the size o' my salary.

MRS. MADDEN. A pig couldn' live decent on _your_ salary!

MADDEN. Other folks seem to get on, even in these times. What would you

do if we had kids?

MRS. MADDEN. Thank the Lord we ain't got _them_ t' think about.

MADDEN [_shocked_]. Florence!

MRS. MADDEN. Well, I guess anybody'd be glad not t' have kids with _you_

f'r a husban'. Y' don't earn enough money t' keep a cat--let alone kids!

An' jus' t' think they'd be like you!

MADDEN [_more surprised than angry_]. Florence--you're talking like a

street woman.

MRS. MADDEN. Oh, I am, am I? Well, I guess you treat me like a street

woman. Y' don' deserve t' have a wife.

MADDEN. Well, I don't guess I do. Not one like you!

MRS. MADDEN. That's right! That's right! You don' know how t' treat a

lady.

MADDEN [_controlling himself_]. Look here, Florrie. Don't let's get all

het up over this.

MRS. MADDEN. Who's gettin' het up? [_Bursting past him toward the door

at the left._] I wish t' God you was a gen'leman!

MADDEN. Florrie--_don't_!

MRS. MADDEN [_turning on him from the other side of the table_]. W'y

don't y' go out an' dig in th' ditch? Y'd earn a damn sight more money

th'n--

MADDEN [_with angry impatience_]. You _know_ I'm not strong enough.

MRS. MADDEN. Bony little shrimp! Not even pep enough t' have kids!

MADDEN [_beside himself_]. Florence! [_Going toward her._] I'm goin' to

tell you some things I never thought I would. You're just a plain,

common, selfish, vulgar woman! You don't care one penny for anybody

except yourself. You an' your clothes an' your movies an' your sodas an'

your candy! [_Mrs. Madden is glowering at him across the table. She is

beginning to weep with rage.--Two or three times she opens her mouth as

if to speak, but each time he cuts her short._] Look at the way you been

leavin' this house lately. [_He makes an inclusive gesture toward the

room._] The four years I've lived with you would drive a saint to Hell!

[_Mrs. Madden marches furiously by him and over to her hat and coat,

which are hanging from pegs at the right, just in front of the stove._]

I wish I'd never seen you!

MRS. MADDEN [_getting her coat and hat_]. D' y' think I'm goin' t' stay

in this house t' be talked to like that? [_Putting on her hat

viciously._] D' y' think I'm goin' t' stand that kind of a thing?

[_Putting on her coat.--Sobbing angrily._] I guess ... you'll be ...

pretty sorry when I've ... gone. [_Coming closer to him on her way to

the outside door._] If ... if I _did_ somethin' ... if somethin' ...

_happened_ t' me ... I guess you ... you wouldn't never ... f'give

yerself! [_She is at the door._]

MADDEN. I don't worry about you. [_She turns on him at the door._] You

wouldn't do anything like that. You're too _yellow_!

MRS. MADDEN [_at the door. Sobbing, in a fury_]. You'll ... see!

[_With one last glare at him, she turns, opens the door and goes

outside, slamming the door behind her. Madden stares after her,

almost beside himself. He takes several steps across the room,

then crosses and recrosses it, trying to regain control of

himself. Little by little his anger fades; the energy goes out of

his pacing, and finally he approaches the table and sits down in

his old place with a hopeless droop of the shoulders. He takes up

another bill and looks at its amount helplessly, finally writing

it down on the same piece of paper as before. He starts to add up

the total of the bills he has already set down on the piece of

paper. His hand moves mechanically. Suddenly a shadow crosses his

face, as an idea begins to form itself in his mind. He looks

straight ahead, his eyes opening wide with horror. With a sudden

movement he springs up from the table and goes quickly to the

window, where he looks out anxiously at the river. He turns back

into the room, and passes his hand across his face with the same

gesture of horror he used earlier in speaking to Mrs. Madden of

the woman who had fallen into the river._]

MADDEN. Ugh!

[_He returns to the table, his face dark with the fear that has

seized him. At the table, he stands a moment, thinking. Once again

he passes his hand across his forehead with the same gesture of

horrified fear. He drops into the chair behind the table, still

thoughtful. After a moment his face clears, and he shakes his head

with an expression of disbelief. He bends again over the bills,

and once more takes up his work of going over them. From outside

comes the faint sound of some one whistling "Tell Me." Gradually

the whistle grows louder and louder, as if the whistler were

coming nearer up the street. There is a sharp rap at the door.

Madden starts violently, and, jumping up, he goes quickly to the

door. He opens it eagerly and slumps with obvious disappointment

as Edgar Mix enters breezily. Mix is about twenty-five; a loosely

put together, thin faced youth in a new suit of readymade clothes

which are of too blatant a pattern and much too extreme a cut to

be in really good taste. He is whistling the refrain of "Tell

Me."_]

MIX [_as he passes_]. H'llo, James. [_Without stopping for an answer, he

crosses the room and starts to remove his hat and coat._] Where's the

sister?

MADDEN [_he has closed the door. Dully._] She's gone out.

[_As if struck by an idea, Madden reopens the door and goes

outside. He can be seen, looking first to the left, then to the

right, and finally down at the river before him. Mix finishes

taking off his outer garments, which he hangs with a flourish on

pegs near the stove. He is still whistling the same refrain._]

MIX. W'at's a matter with you? Tryin' t' freeze me out? [_His voice has

the same flat quality as his sister's, but it is full of energy._]

[_Madden does not appear to hear him. He now comes back into the

house, shutting the door behind him. His face is anxious, a fact

he tries to hide._]

MADDEN. Did you want to see Florence? [_Mix pauses in his whistling._]

MIX. Sure. Nothin' important, though. Just about a little party she said

you an' she was goin' t' take me on t'night. [_He commences whistling

cheerily the opening bars of his refrain._]

MADDEN [_dully_]. Sorry. I don't know anythin' about it.

[_Mix stops whistling suddenly and looks down with dismay. Then,

with his hands in his pockets, he slowly whistles the four

descending notes at the end of the third bar and the beginning of

the fourth. He stops and shakes his head, then slowly whistles a

few more bars of the refrain, starting where he just left off, and

letting himself drop into the morris chair on the descending note

in the fifth bar. After another brief silence he finishes the

refrain, but with a sudden return of the same quick, light mood in

which he entered. The refrain over, he begins again at the

beginning and whistles two or three more bars. Madden has

meanwhile sat down at the table and is again going over the

bills._]

MIX. Jim--ever get a piece runnin' in yer head so y' can't get it out?

[_Madden is looking vacantly down at the bills._] I s'pose I been

w'istlin' that tune steady f'r three whole weeks. [_He whistles three or

four more bars of the same refrain._] Like it? [_Madden does not appear

to have heard him._] P'raps Florrie's got th' record f'r that on th'

phornograph. Has she, Jim? It ain't been out long.

MADDEN [_impatiently_]. Oh, I don't know, Ed.

MIX [_after whistling very softly a bar or two more_]. I see some girl

fell in the river.

MADDEN [_startled_]. What?

MIX. Yep. They was tryin' t' make her come to. No use. She was a goner

all right.

MADDEN [_rising from his chair. Trying to control himself._] Where was

this?

MIX. Oh, not s' far below here. Saw her m'self, I did.

MADDEN [_with increasing fear. Taking a step or two toward Mix._] Did

you see her face?

MIX. Nope. Somethin' 'd struck her face. Y'd hardly know she was a

woman, 'cept f'r her clothes.

MADDEN [_wildly. Coming closer_]. How long ago?

MIX. W'at y' gettin' s' het up about? [_Madden is almost frantic._]

Oh ... 'bout 'n hour.

[_Madden relaxes suddenly. The reaction is almost too much for

him. He slowly goes back to the table._]

MADDEN [_nervously_]. Oh ... down by Market Wharf?

MIX. Sure. Did y' see her? [_Madden sits down heavily._]

MADDEN. Uhuh.

[_For a second or two there is silence. Madden rearranges the

bills in front of him. Mix lolls in the armchair, whistling very

softly._]

MADDEN. Ed.

MIX. Uhuh.

MADDEN. Would you call Florrie a ... a ... well one o' them high-strung

girls?

MIX. Gosh, no!

MADDEN. You don't think she'd be the sort to fly off the handle an' do

... well, somethin' desp'rate?

MIX. Come off. You know's well's I do, Florrie's nothin' but a big jelly

fish.

MADDEN. Ed--I don't want you to talk that way about Florrie. You don't

'preciate her.

MIX. Well, w'at's bitin' _you_? W'at y' askin' all these questions f'r,

anyways?

MADDEN [_dully_]. Oh, nothin'.

[_Madden looks down uneasily at the bills, but without giving them

any real attention. Mix yawns and lazily shifts his position in

the armchair._]

MADDEN. Ed--I do want to ask you somethin'.

MIX [_indifferently_]. Shoot.

MADDEN. I want you to tell the truth about this, Ed. Even if you think

it will hurt my feelings. It won't.

MIX. Spit it out.

MADDEN. Just what sort of a chap do you think I am?

MIX [_considering_]. Huh! That's easy. D' y' really wanta know w'at I

think?

MADDEN [_gravely_]. I cert'nly do.

MIX. Well--if you really wanta know, I think yer a damn good kid

[_Madden looks suddenly grateful_] ... but a bit weak on th' pep.

MADDEN [_a trifle dubiously_]. Thanks. [_Thoughtfully._] You don't

think I'm unfair?

MIX. Unfair? Why, no. How d' y' mean?

MADDEN. Well ... here in the house, f'r instance.

MIX. Lord, no, Jim! Yer s' easy goin' it'd be a holy shame f'r any one

t' slip anythin' over on y'. [_After a short pause. Suspiciously._] W'at

y' askin' all these questions f'r, anyways?

MADDEN. Oh--nothin'.

MIX [_struck with an idea.--Starting up from his chair_]. _I_ know

w'at's bitin' you. You an' Florrie's had a row. [_He walks up to Madden

and taps his arm familiarly with the back of his hand._] Come on. Own

up! [_He passes around behind Madden until he stands behind the chair at

the left of the table._]

MADDEN. Well ... we did have a ... a sort of a ... disagreement.

MIX. I bet y' did. Look here, Jim. W'at's a use o' takin' it s' hard?

MADDEN [_gravely_]. The trouble is----[_He breaks off_] I guess I was

mostly in the wrong.

MIX [_sitting down vehemently_]. Tell that to a poodle! I know you an' I

know Florrie. I guess I know who'd be in the wrong, all right. She was

bad enough w'en y' firs' got sweet on 'r--jus' a lazy fool, ev'n if she

did have a pretty face. Gee, how you did fall f'r her face! Moonin'

round an' sayin' how _wonderful_ she was! [_He chuckles._] An' Florrie

twenty-eight years old ... an' jus' waitin' t' fall into yer arms.

MADDEN. Ed--don't say things like that, even in fun.

MIX. Hell! It's the truth.... But lately Florrie's jus' plain slumped.

She's nothin' now but a selfish, lazy pig.

MADDEN [_angrily_]. I won't have you talk that way about Florrie. She's

made me a good wife ... on the whole. She don't go trapesin' off like

some o' your fly by nights. She's affection'te ... an' good tempered ...

an'----[_Mix is grinning incredulously._]

MIX. Rats! Yer havin' a damn hard time t' say anythin' real nice about

'r. I wouldn' stretch th' truth s' far 's _that_ [_snapping his

fingers._] f'r her, ev'n if she is m' sister.

MADDEN [_vehemently_]. Ed--if you can't talk decently about a nice girl

like Florrie, I guess you better get out.

MIX [_slowly rising from his chair_]. Well I'll be damned! All right, I

_will_ go.... Yer crazy, Jim!

MADDEN [_rising and putting a restraining arm on Mix's shoulder.

Nervously_]. Don't mind me, Ed. I didn't really mean what I said. I'm

all upset.

MIX. Sh'd think y' were. [_After a slight hesitation, he sits down

again._] W'at y' quarrelin' 'bout? Money?

MADDEN [_sitting down again_]. Uhuh.

MIX. Huh! Thought as much.... As I was sayin', I know Florrie.

MADDEN. It really wasn't her fault.

MIX [_slowly and emphatically_]. Well, you are sappy. Ever'body knows

Florrie spends more money th'n you an' all my family put t'gether.

MADDEN. You wouldn't have me deny her _ev'rythin'_?... She's got to have

_some_ fun.

MIX. But, Lord, man, y' don't earn th' income of a John D. Rockefeller.

MADDEN [_somberly_]. I know.... I ought to do much better. But that

isn't _her_ fault. Besides, she's learned her lesson.

MIX. Well, I'll be damned! T' hear you talk this way. O' course, y' kep'

yer mouth pretty well shut. But we all figgered you was havin' th'

devil's own time with Florrie!

MADDEN [_rising from his seat. With deep feeling_]. Ed----[_He turns and

goes over to the window, looks out and then faces around_]. I never knew

... till just now ... how fond I was of her.

[_Mix regards him with a puzzled expression. Madden begins to walk

up and down the floor, at first slowly and thoughtfully, then more

and more nervously. The light outside begins to fade._]

MIX [_after a pause. Looking up at Madden_]. Jim. Y' never c'n tell w'at

these women 're goin' t' do--can yer?

MADDEN [_stopping abruptly. Intensely_]. I s'pose not, Ed. [_He goes on

a few steps and then stops again._] Even ... even when they're not ...

high strung.

[_Madden continues his nervous pacing of the floor. Mix watches

him with increasing annoyance._]

MADDEN [_suddenly_]. Was that a footstep?

[_Mix shakes his head. Madden goes quickly to the window and looks

out. From there he rushes to the door and peers out, first to one

side and then to the other. He shuts the door, and with a hopeless

look on his face comes back into the room. Outside the light is

steadily fading._]

MIX [_slowly rising from his chair, a look of still greater annoyance on

his face_]. I guess Florrie ain't comin' f'r some time. I'll be goin'.

[_He goes over toward his coat and hat._]

MADDEN [_nervously_]. Why don't you drop into Smith's soda parlor?

That's where she always is, this time o' the afternoon.

MIX. She ain't there, I don't guess.... I jus' come from there m'self.

MADDEN [_intensely_]. You did?

MIX. Sure.

MADDEN [_wildly_]. Ed--I can't stand this waitin' f'r her any more. [_He

goes quickly and gets his hat and coat from a peg near the stove._] I'm

goin' out.

[_Madden goes swiftly across the room to the door at the back and

goes out. He is seen to pass outside in front of the back window.

Mix takes a few involuntary steps after him toward the door, then

stops and gives a low whistle of astonishment. After a moment he

turns and starts back toward his hat and coat._]

MIX [_half aloud_]. Poor ol' Jim.

[_He gets his hat and coat, and puts them on. In the course of a

few seconds the reflective look has gone from his face; he begins

to whistle softly the same refrain as before. From his pocket

he produces a cigarette, which he places in his mouth. He is

preparing to light it when a thought strikes him. He goes quickly

over to the phonograph and, bending down, takes a record and

examines it. It has become so dark that he is unable to read the

title; so he lights the neighboring gas jet. He then examines two

or three records in quick succession, finally producing one which

causes a smile to spread over his face._]

MIX. Ah!

[_He places his find on the phonograph, winds the machine, and

starts his record playing. The tune is the same one he has been

whistling the whole afternoon. With an expression of great

pleasure he hears the record start, at the same time producing a

huge nickel watch from his pocket and glancing at it casually. As

he sees the time, his whole expression changes._]

MIX [_throwing his cigarette impatiently on the floor_]. Hell!

[_He stops the phonograph and tilts back the playing arm. He

buttons up his overcoat, turns up his collar and adjusts his hat.

Then, his whistle suddenly breaking out again loudly into his

favorite refrain, he marches quickly across the room to the door

at the back, and goes out. He is seen to pass by the window, and

his whistling is heard to die away gradually down the street._

_Stillness has hardly fallen when the door at the back opens, and

Mrs. Madden enters. She appears a trifle chilly, but seems

otherwise to have recovered her composure. Closing the door behind

her, she comes forward lazily to the table. She looks down at the

piles of bills before her with a perfectly vacant stare, and

taking from her pocket a pound box of candy she tosses it down on

the papers. She opens the cover and extracts a large chocolate

cream, which she eats indolently and with evident pleasure. Next,

she removes her hat and coat, throwing them carelessly on the

table beside the candy. She walks, with a lazy, flat-footed step,

over to the gas jet at the right, and turns up the gas

sufficiently for reading. Looking down, she notices the record

left on the phonograph._]

MRS. MADDEN [_with slow pleasure_]. Hm!

[_Without bothering to find out whether or not the phonograph is

wound up, she starts it going and places the playing arm with

apparent carelessness so that the record begins playing about a

third of the way through. She listens to the music for three or

four seconds with an expression of indolent appreciation, then she

crosses the floor to the door at the left, always moving with the

same flat-footed walk. Opening the door, she peers through it._]

MRS. MADDEN [_calling, her flat voice rising above the sound of the

phonograph_]. Oh Ji--im!

[_She listens a moment for an answer; but as there is none, she

closes the door and turns around. Once again the music catches and

holds her attention. She listens for an instant and then goes back

to the table, making a heavy attempt at a dance step or two. From

the pocket of her overcoat she extracts a new cheap novel, whose

content is well advertised by a lurid colored cover. This she

takes over to the morris chair. Another thought strikes her; she

tosses the novel into the chair and goes back to the table, where

she gets five or six chocolate creams from the candy box,

depositing them in a row on the right arm of the morris chair.

Then she takes up her book and sits down. For a moment she tries

to read, but all is not comfortable yet. She changes her position

two or three times in the chair. At last she rises, heaving a

disgusted sigh. Dropping her book into the chair she walks with

flat, heavy steps across the room and out of the door at the left,

leaving it open. She returns almost instantly, dragging two greasy

looking sofa pillows after her. She kicks the door to, and crosses

to the morris chair. Here she places one of the pillows on the

ground for her feet, the other at the back of the chair. Picking

up her book once more, she settles back into the chair with an

expression of perfect animal contentment. She puts another

chocolate cream in her mouth, and finds her place in the book.

Then the music again engages her attention; she leans back with a

foolish smile on her face as she listens. Constantly chewing the

piece of candy, she hums a bar or two of the tune which is still

being played by the phonograph. Then she settles down to her

reading, eating candy as she feels inclined. The phonograph

reaches the end of the record and makes that annoying clicking

noise which shows it should be shut off. For two or three seconds

Mrs. Madden pays no attention to it. Finally she raises herself in

the chair, and without getting up she reaches over and switches

off the phonograph, then settles back again to her reading._

_Some one goes swiftly by the window outside. After a moment the

door at the back opens, and Madden stands in the doorway._]

MADDEN [_in the doorway, catching sight of Mrs. Madden. With pathetic

eagerness_]. _Florrie!_ [_He closes the door._]

MRS. MADDEN [_without looking up. In lazy, matter of fact tones_]. 'Lo,

Jim.

MADDEN [_coming forward toward his wife_]. Are you _really_ safe,

Florrie?

[_She looks up with a glance of feeble annoyance._]

MRS. MADDEN. Sure. I'm all right. [_She looks down again._]

MADDEN [_coming still closer_]. Oh, I'm so _thankful_!... I ... I been

lookin' for you, Florrie.--Where you been?

MRS. MADDEN [_without looking up_]. Wat d' y' say?

MADDEN. Where you been, Florrie? [_With even greater anxiety._] You

didn't go down by the river?

MRS. MADDEN [_looking up_]. Lord no! W'atev'r made y' think that? [_She

takes up a chocolate cream and bites off half of it._] I jus' took Mrs.

Montanio over t' Brailey's new place f'r a couple o' ice cream sodas.

[_She looks down again._]

MADDEN [_softly_]. Oh. [_A shadow passes over his face and vanishes._]

Florrie. [_He sits down on the left arm of the morris chair and puts his

arm affectionately about her shoulders._] I didn't know what I was

sayin'.

MRS. MADDEN [_puzzled. Without looking up_]. W'at y' talkin' 'bout?

MADDEN [_pathetically_]. I guess I ought not to ask you to forgive me.

MRS. MADDEN [_looking up_]. F'give y'? [_Remembering._] Oh, yes--y'

_did_ call me some darn hard names.

MADDEN. I know. [_Slowly. Looking into her face._] D' you think you

_could_ forgive me?

MRS. MADDEN [_lazily_]. Sure. I guess so. Glad t' see y' got over yer

pet.

[_He smiles a pathetic, eager smile, and takes her left hand,

which is lying in her lap. With an impatient movement, she

stretches her left arm out and back, carrying his left hand with

it and forcing him off the arm of the chair._]

MRS. MADDEN. Say, Jim--look w'at's on th' table.

[_Madden sighs softly and takes a few steps toward the table. He

sees the candy box; a darker shadow appears on his face for a

second or two, and is gone._]

MRS. MADDEN. Have a chocklick, Jim.

[_She herself picks one up from the arm of the chair; then she

looks down again at her book, eating the candy as she reads._]

MADDEN [_unheeding.--Taking a step or two back toward her from the

table. With deep feeling_]. Florrie. I got somethin' I want to tell you.

[_She does not look up. He takes another step toward her._] After you'd

gone out, I kept thinkin' ... thinkin' what mighta happened to you.

MRS. MADDEN [_with a short chuckle_]. Y' poor boob!

MADDEN. Florrie--look at me. [_She looks up with an expression of lazy

annoyance._] Out there--[_He gestures toward the door_] the river looked

so cold an' black--An' I couldn't find you-- ... I knew all of a sudden

I ... I hadn't really meant what I said to you.

MRS. MADDEN [_impatiently_]. That's all right. [_She looks down again at

her book._]

MADDEN [_with increasing emotion. Going to the arm chair and looking

down at her tenderly from behind it_]. I kept thinkin' ... thinkin' how

pretty an' how ... how good natured you are. [_With some

embarrassment._] I thought how we used to walk ... down by the river.

Four years ago ... you know--just before we was married.

MRS. MADDEN [_with growing annoyance_]. Don' choo want 'nuther

choclick, Jim?

MADDEN [_unheeding_]. Florrie--d'you remember that time ... the first

time you let me hold your hand?

MRS. MADDEN [_looking up impatiently_]. W'at's bitin' you? Don't y' see

I'm readin'? [_He steps back and to the left a pace or two. She looks

down again._]

MADDEN [_humbly_]. Scuse me, Florrie. I just wanted to tell you. [_With

great earnestness._] You know, I'd forgotten.... I mean I didn't

realize ... till just now--[_Awkwardly._] how fond ... how much I ... I

love you.

MRS. MADDEN [_thickly, through a chocolate cream which she is eating.

Without looking up._] Tha's ... nice.

[_He looks at her pathetically, waiting, hoping that she will look

up. His face is intense with longing. After a short interval he

gives it up. He turns sadly and goes toward the door at the left,

passing in back of the table._]

MRS. MADDEN [_taking another chocolate and looking after him. He has

almost reached the door_]. Jim. [_He stops and turns eagerly._] You

ain't such a bad ol' boy. [_His face is suddenly radiant. He takes

several steps back toward her, bringing him behind the table. She has

looked down at her book again. Coaxingly._] Goin' t' take me t'

Horseman's t'night f'r lobster?

[_All the eagerness, the radiance, vanishes from his face.--He

sits down heavily in the chair behind the table. He looks at her,

uncomprehending, hurt, disillusionized._]

MRS. MADDEN [_without looking up_]. An' say--[_She puts another

chocolate in her mouth. Speaking through it thickly._] I'm jus' _dyin'_

t' see a real ... comical ... show.

[_Madden's head droops. He looks at his wife dumbly, then back at

the table. His left hand goes out toward the bills; then he drops

both elbows limply on the table, resting his weight on them. Mrs.

Madden does not look up, but continues to read and munch a

chocolate cream. Madden stares in front of him miserably,

hopelessly as_

_The Curtain Falls._]

MANSIONS

A PLAY

BY HILDEGARDE FLANNER

CHARACTERS

HARRIET WILDE.

LYDIA WILDE [_her niece_].

JOE WILDE [_her nephew_].

TIME: _Yesterday_.

MANSIONS is an original play. The editors are indebted to Mr. Sam

Hume for permission to include it in this volume. Applications for

permission to produce this play must be made to Frank Shay, care

Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.

MANSIONS

A PLAY BY HILDEGARDE FLANNER

[_In a small town on the southern border of a Middle-Western

state, stands an old brick house. The town is sufficiently near

the Mason and Dixon line to gather about its ankles the rustle of

ancient petticoats of family pride and to step softly lest the

delicate sounds should be lost in a too noisy world. Even this old

brick house seems reticent of the present, and gazing aloofly from

its arched windows, barely suffers the main street to run past its

gate. Many of the blinds are drawn, as if the dwelling and its

inhabitants preferred to hug to themselves the old strength of the

past rather than to admit the untried things of the present._

_The scene of the play is laid in the living-room. At the back is

a wide door leading into the hallway beyond. At the left are

French doors opening upon steps which might descend into the

garden. At the right side of the room, and opposite the French

doors, is a marble fireplace, while on either side of the

fireplace and a little distant from it, is a tall window. To the

left of the main door is a lounge upholstered in dark flowered

tapestry, and to the right of the door is a mahogany secretary.

Before the secretary and away from the hearth, an old-fashioned

grand piano is placed diagonally, so that any one seated at the

instrument would be partially facing the audience. To the left of

the French doors is a lyre table, on which stands a bowl of

flowers. Above the rear door hangs the portrait of a man._

_When the curtain rises Harriet Wilde is discovered standing

precisely in the middle of her great-grandfather's carpet which is

precisely in the middle of the floor. To Harriet, ancestors are a

passion, the future an imposition. Added to this, she is in her

way, intelligent. Therefore even before she speaks, you who are

observant know that she is a formidable person. Her voice is low,

even, and--what is the adjective? Christian. Yes, Harriet is a

good woman. But don't let that mislead you._]

HARRIET [_calling_]. Lydia!

[_Lydia comes into the room from the garden. In fact, she has been

coming and going for more than fifteen years at the word of her

aunt, although she is now twenty-seven. Her hands appear sensitive

and in some way, deprived and restless. She is dressed in a slim

black gown which could be worn gracefully by no one else, although

Lydia is not aware of this fact. In one hand she carries a pair of

garden shears with handles painted scarlet; in the other, a bright

spray of portulaca; while over her wrist is slung a garden hat.

During their conversation Lydia moves fitfully about the room. Her

manner changes from bitter drollery to a lonely timidness and from

timidness to something akin to sulkiness. Harriet, whether seated

or standing, gives the impression of having been for a long hour

with dignity in the same position. She has no sympathy for Lydia

nor any understanding of her. There is a wall of mistrust between

the two. Both stoop to pick up stones, not to throw, but to build

the wall even higher. Lydia employs by turns an attitude of

cheerful cynicism and one of indifference, both planned to annoy

her aunt, though without real malice. But this has become a

habit._]

HARRIET. What are you doing, Lydia?

LYDIA. I had been trimming the rose hedge along the south garden, Aunt

Harriet.

HARRIET. But surely you can find something better to do than that, my

dear. [_She cannot help calling people "my dear." It is because she is

so superior._] Some one might see in if you trim it too much. We want a

bit of privacy in these inquisitive times.

LYDIA. The young plants on the edge of the walk needed sun.

HARRIET. Move the young plants. Don't sacrifice the rose hedge.

[_Pausing as she straightens the candle in an old brass candlestick on

the mantel._] I--it seems to me that the furniture has been disarranged.

LYDIA. I was changing it a little this morning.

HARRIET. May I ask why?

LYDIA [_eagerly_]. Oh, just--just to be changing. Don't you think it is

an improvement?

HARRIET [_coldly_]. It does very well. But I prefer it as it was. You

know yourself that this room has never been changed since your

grandfather died. [_Piously._] And as long as I am mistress in this

house, it shall remain exactly as he liked it.

[_Lydia looks spitefully at the portrait over the rear door._]

HARRIET [_stepping to the window to the left of the fire-place and

lowering the curtain to the middle of the frame._] The court house will

be done before your brother is well enough to come downstairs, Lydia.

How astonished he will be to see it completed.

LYDIA. Yes. But he would much rather watch while it is being done.

HARRIET. Well naturally. But from upstairs you can't see through the

leaves of the maple tree. Why, Lydia, there isn't another tree for miles

around with such marvelous foliage. Great-grandfather Wilde did not

know, when he set out a sapling, that the county court house was to be

built--almost in its very shadow.

LYDIA. You always did admire any kind of a family tree.

HARRIET [_as if speaking to an unruly child_]. If Great-grandfather

Wilde heard you say that--

LYDIA [_with a sudden flash of spirit which dies almost before she

ceases to speak_]. If Great-grandfather Wilde heard me say that. It may

be he would have the excellent sense to come back and chop off a limb or

two, so that Joe could have sunlight in that little dark room up there,

and see out.

HARRIET [_lifting her left hand and letting it sink upon her knee with

the air of one who has suffered much, but can suffer more_]. Lydia, my

dear child, I am not responsible for your disposition this lovely

morning. Moreover, this is a fruitless--

LYDIA. Fruitless, fruitless! _Why_ couldn't he have planted an apple

tree? [_Throwing her head back slightly._] With blossoms in the spring

and fruit in the summer--

HARRIET. I beg your pardon?

LYDIA [_wearily_]. With blossoms in the spring and fruit in the summer.

[_Slowly and gazing toward the window._] Sounds rather pretty, doesn't

it?

HARRIET [_unsympathetically_]. I do not understand what you are talking

about.

LYDIA [_shortly_]. No.

HARRIET. It is always a source of sorrow to me, Lydia, that you show so

little pride in any of the really noble men in the Wilde family.

LYDIA. I never knew them.

HARRIET. But you could at least reverence what I tell you.

LYDIA [_cheerfully_]. Well, I do think great-great-grandfather must have

been a gay old person.

HARRIET. Gay old person!

LYDIA. Yes. The portulaca blooms so brightly on his grave. It's really

not bad, having your family buried in the front yard, if its dust

inspires a flower like this.

HARRIET. I don't see why you insist upon picking those. They wilt

immediately.

LYDIA [_looking appealingly at her aunt_]. Oh, but they're so bright and

gay! I can't keep my hands from them.

HARRIET [_scornfully smoothing her lace cuff_]. Really?

LYDIA [_for the moment a trifle lonely_]. Aunt Harriet, tell me why

these dead old men mean so much to you?

HARRIET [_breathlessly_]. Dead--old--men--? Why, Lydia? The Wildes came

up from Virginia and were among the very first pioneers, in this

section. They practically made this town and there is no better known

name here in the southern part of the state than ours. We--

LYDIA. Oh, yes. Of course, I've heard all that ever since I can

remember. [_Assuming an attitude of pride._] We have the oldest and most

aristocratic-looking house for miles around; the rose-hedge has bloomed

for fifty years--it's very nearly dead, too; General Someone drank out

of our well, or General Some-One-Else drowned in it, I always forget

which.

HARRIET. Lydia!

LYDIA [_soothingly_]. Oh, it doesn't make much difference which. That

doesn't worry me. But what does, is how you manage to put a halo around

all your fathers and grandfathers and--

HARRIET [_piously_]. Because they represent the noble traditions of a

noble past.

LYDIA. What about the noble present?

HARRIET [_looking vaguely about the room_]. I have not seen it.

LYDIA [_bitterly_]. No, you have not seen it. [_Turning to go._]

HARRIET. Just one moment, Lydia. I want to speak to you about your

brother.

LYDIA [_quickly_]. Did the doctor say that Joe is worse?

HARRIET. No. In fact, the doctor won't tell me anything. He and Joe seem

to have a secret. I can get nothing definite from the doctor at all. But

what I feel it my duty to ask you, Lydia, is this: Tell me truthfully.

Have you been speaking to Joe about--Heaven?

LYDIA. No. What a dreadful thing to even mention to a sick boy.

HARRIET. My dear, you are quite wrong. But some one has been

misinforming him.

LYDIA. Really?

HARRIET. Lydia, I am very distressed. [_Slowly._] Your young brother

holds the most unusual and sacrilegious ideas of immortality.

LYDIA [_indifferently_]. So?

HARRIET. No member of the Wilde family has ever held such ideas. It is

quite irregular.

LYDIA. What does he think?

HARRIET. I don't know that I can tell you clearly. It is all so

distasteful to me. But he declares--even in contradiction to my

explanation--that after death we continue our earthly occupations,--that

is, our studies, our ambitions--

LYDIA. That is a wonderful idea.

HARRIET [_not noticing_]. That if we die before accomplishing anything

on earth, we have a chance in the after-life to work. Work! Imagine! In

fact he pictures Heaven as a place where people are--doing things.

LYDIA [_lifting her head and smiling_]. Oh, that is beautiful--I mean,

what did you tell him?

HARRIET [_reverently_]. I explained very carefully that Heaven is peace,

peace. That the first thing we do when a dear one dies, is to pray for

the eternal rest of his soul.

LYDIA [_dully_]. Oh.

HARRIET. Yes, Lydia, I am glad to see that you share my distress.

Why--he desecrates the conception of Heaven with workmen, artists,

inventors, musicians--anything but angels.

LYDIA. Anything but angels. [_Smiles._] That is quite new, is it not? At

least in this little town. Does Joe see himself building houses in

Heaven?

HARRIET. That is the worst of it. Why, Lydia, even after I told him

patiently that there were no such things as architects in Heaven, he

still insists that if he dies, he is going to be one.

LYDIA [_startled_]. If he should die?

HARRIET [_decidedly_]. That is simply another foolish fancy. He has been

confined so long, that he gets restless and imagines these strange

things.

LYDIA. Poor Joe.

HARRIET. Don't sympathize with him, please. I can't possibly allow him

to become an architect.

LYDIA. Why not?

HARRIET. When the men in our family have been clergymen for four

generations?

LYDIA. Yes, but they're dead now.

HARRIET. All the more reason for continuing the tradition.

LYDIA. There isn't one bit of money in it.

HARRIET [_proudly_]. When was a Wilde ever slave to money?

LYDIA [_sulkily_]. Certainly not since my day, and for a very, very good

reason.

HARRIET. Well, at least we have sufficient to send Joe to college--and

as a divinity student. And some day we will hear him preach in the house

of the Lord.

LYDIA. He would rather build houses himself.

HARRIET. Simply a boyish whim. He's too young to really have a mind of

his own. [_Confidently._] He will do what I tell him to.

LYDIA. He is very nearly nineteen, Aunt Harriet. Didn't you have a mind

of your own when you were nineteen?

HARRIET. Certainly not. Yes, of course.

[_Lydia laughs._]

HARRIET [_the hem of her skirt bellowing with dignity._] This is

entirely different. If you can't be polite, Lydia, you might at least

stop laughing.

LYDIA [_still laughing_]. Oh, no--oh, no--I take after my

great-great-grandfather. I've just discovered it. At last I'm interested

in the noble men of the Wilde family. I know he liked to laugh. Look at

the pertness of that! [_Holding up the portulaca._]

HARRIET [_ignoring the flower_]. Please give me your sun-hat, Lydia.

LYDIA [_demurely_]. Oh, are you going to look at the portulaca?

HARRIET. No. I am going to see what you have done to the rose-hedge.

[_Going out through the French door._]

LYDIA [_suddenly furious_]. Go look at your decrepit old rose-hedge! Go

look at it! And I hope you get hurt on a thorn and bleed, yes,

bleed--the way you make me bleed. I did cut a hole in it. I don't care

who sees in--I want to see out! [_Looking toward the portrait and

throwing the flowers on the floor._] Take your stupid flowers--take

them. They don't do me any good. They're withering, they're withering!

[_She goes to lean against the window and look toward the court

house. As she stands there, the door opens slowly and Joe, with

blankets wrapped about him and trailing from his shoulders, comes

unsteadily into the room. He carries paper and drawing materials.

He is an eager boy, who seems always afraid of being overtaken.

Lydia turns suddenly and starts toward the door. She stops in

surprise as she sees her brother._]

LYDIA. Joe! My goodness! Whatever made you come downstairs? Aunt Harriet

will be angry. Why this might be awfully dangerous for you, Joe. How did

you come to do such a thing?

[_She helps him toward the lounge and arranges a cushion for him._]

JOE [_sinking back, but facing the window_]. I wanted to see how the

court house was getting on. I can't see out of my window, you know.

LYDIA. Well, you see [_Raising the blind._] they will soon have it done.

JOE [_delightedly_]. Yes, won't they, though. Look at those white

pillars! That's worth something, I tell you. I'm glad I saw it.

LYDIA. What do you mean?

JOE. Just what I said.

LYDIA. Yes, but, Joe--coming down stairs this way, when you have been

really ill--

JOE. Oh, don't argue, Lydia. I have just been arguing with Aunt Harriet.

LYDIA. You'd better rest then. You will have to, anyway, before you go

back to your room. I see you plan to draw.

JOE. Yes, I've been lazy for so long. It's driving me crazy, never doing

anything. I thought I'd copy some Greek columns this morning. Could you

give me a large book to work on?

LYDIA. I'll look for one. [_Hunting._] Joe, what were you and Aunt

Harriet arguing about?

JOE. Oh, nothing.

LYDIA. Yes, I've heard her do that before. But won't you tell me?

JOE. It wasn't anything, Lydia.

LYDIA. Here is what you want.

[_She brings a large bound volume from the piano and places it

upon his knees._]

JOE. Thank you. [_Settling himself to draw._] Where is she, by the way?

LYDIA. Out looking at the rose-hedge, where I cut a hole in it.

JOE. A hole in the sacred rose-hedge! Where did you suddenly get the

courage? I've heard you talk about doing such things before, but you

never really did them.

LYDIA [_timidly_]. I don't know, Joe, where I got my courage. I think

it's leaving me, too.

[_She puts out her hand as if trying to detain some one._]

JOE [_cheerfully_]. Come stand by me. I have--I have a great deal of

courage this morning.

[_Lydia stands behind Joe and looks over his shoulder._]

JOE [_turning to her affectionately_]. It's good I have you, Lydia. Aunt

Harriet has a fit every time she sees me doing this.

LYDIA. Having them is part of her religion.

JOE. Well, this is mine. What is yours, Lydia? I don't believe I ever

heard you say.

LYDIA [_shortly_]. I haven't any.

JOE. Sure enough?

LYDIA [_nodding, then speaking quite slowly_]. I never did anything for

any one out of love, and I was never allowed to do anything I wanted to

for joy. So I know that I have no religion.

JOE [_embarrassed_]. Never mind. Perhaps that will all come to you some

day. [_Joe suddenly sits erect and looks first toward the French door

and then toward the window._] I wonder what you will do when I go?

LYDIA [_following the direction of his gaze_]. Where?

JOE. Oh--to college.

LYDIA. Perhaps when you go to college I'll do something Aunt Harriet

doesn't think is regular.

JOE. What will it be?

LYDIA. How can I know now? How should I want to know?

[_Joe looks over his shoulder toward the rear door of the room._]

LYDIA [_nervously_]. What do you see?

JOE. Nothing--nothing.

LYDIA. Then please stop looking at it.

JOE [_meeting her eyes for the fraction of a moment and then holding up

the sheet of paper._] I am actually getting some form into this column.

If I could only learn to design beautiful buildings--

[_He puts his hand to his side in sudden pain._]

LYDIA [_not noting his action_]. Why, of course you will some day.

JOE. I don't know. Sometimes I'm afraid I won't get the chance.

LYDIA. Oh, you'll be a man. You can ride over Aunt Harriet.

[_Joe looks at his copy and crumples it savagely. Suddenly he

holds up his hand and listens._]

JOE. What was that bell?

LYDIA. I did not hear any.

JOE. I did.

LYDIA. It must have been the side door. Some one will answer it.

JOE. Do people often come by the side door?

LYDIA. Why, Joe, you know very well that the delivery boy always comes

there.

JOE. Delivery?--I wonder--will it be delivery?

LYDIA. Joe, you're even odder than I am. Stop it. It doesn't do to have

two in the family.

JOE [_laughing_]. Oh, just as you say. [_Looking at the book on his

knee_.] What is this big book?

LYDIA. Music.

JOE [_opening the book_]. Why, it has your name in it.

LYDIA. It is my book.

JOE [_in surprise_]. Did you ever play the piano?

LYDIA [_turning aside_]. Yes.

JOE [_his face lighting up_]. Play something now, please.

LYDIA. That piano has been locked for fifteen years.

JOE. Ever since mother died and you and I came here to live?

LYDIA. Yes. Haven't you ever wondered why it was never open?

JOE. I certainly have. But Aunt Harriet always avoided the subject and I

could never get you to say anything about it.

LYDIA. By the time I had tried it for two years, I knew better.

JOE. But why is it locked?

LYDIA. Because I neglected my duties. I played the piano when I should

have been studying, and I played when I should have been hemming linen,

and I played when I should have been learning psalms.

JOE. But surely when you grew older--when you were through school--

LYDIA. No. I lied to her once about it. She made me promise not to

touch the piano, and left it open on purpose to see what I would do.

And I played and she heard me. So when I denied it--[_Shrugging her

shoulders._] You see, after that, to have let me go on, playing and

undisciplined--why, it would have meant the loss of my soul. [_Very

pleasantly._] It would have meant hell, at least, Joe dear, and I don't

know what else. Aunt Harriet has always been so careful about what I

learned.

JOE [_angrily_]. But surely you are old enough now to do what you want

to! I'll ask her myself if--

LYDIA [_alarmed_]. Oh, no, Joe! Please, please don't do that. I should

be frightened, really. It is a matter of religion with her.

JOE. And don't you know how to play any longer?

LYDIA. Yes, some. I sneak into the church when no one is there and play

on that piano. [_She walks to the instrument, and sitting down before

it, rubs her palms lovingly across the closed lid._] When you were away

six months ago, this was opened to be tuned for those young cousins of

hers who visited. They were lively young girls, and the first thing they

did every morning was to go to the piano. They would have asked

questions if it had been locked, and Aunt Harriet hates inquisitiveness

like poison.

JOE. Where is the key?

LYDIA. I don't know where it is now. She has probably thrown it away. It

would be just like her to do it. [_Changing her manner suddenly and

rising._] Joe, wouldn't you like a cup of tea?

JOE [_earnestly_]. No, I wouldn't. Sit down, Lydia.

[_Lydia sits down again. Joe starts to speak, but stops to look

about the room._]

LYDIA. Joe, what are you looking for?

JOE [_slowly and reluctantly_]. I can't get over the feeling that I am

expecting some one.

LYDIA. Who is it?

JOE [_evasively_]. I don't know. Some one I never saw before.

LYDIA [_laughing_]. An unknown visitor knocks before he comes in the

door.

JOE. I'm not sure that this one will.

[_He closes his eyes wearily and puts his palms before them._]

LYDIA [_gently_]. Joe, you're tired. Please go upstairs.

JOE. Not quite yet. [_Eagerly._] Lydia, you know what Aunt Harriet and I

were arguing about. I saw it in your eyes.

LYDIA. Of course. It's a beautiful idea.

JOE [_excitedly_]. Then you think I'm right.

LYDIA [_looking at the piano_]. I hope to Heaven you are.

JOE [_pleading_]. Then do something for me, Lydia, please.

LYDIA. What?

JOE. I've been so worried lately to think--how awful it is if a person

dies without accomplishing anything.

LYDIA. I wish you wouldn't talk like that.

JOE [_hastily_]. I wasn't speaking for myself. I meant, just generally,

you know. But what I have been figuring out, is this--so long as you

believe that you can go on working after you leave here, it's all right,

isn't it?

LYDIA [_hesitant_]. Yes.

JOE [_thoughtfully and as though on unaccustomed ground_]. But when you

first go over, you are rather weak--

LYDIA. You mean your soul?

JOE [_speaking hurriedly_]. Yes, that's it. And you mustn't be worried

by grief or any force working against you from the people you've left

behind.

LYDIA. Yes, I follow you. Where did you learn all this?

JOE. In a book at the library.

LYDIA [_uncertainly_]. I think I have heard of some theory--

JOE [_impatiently_]. I'm not bothering about theories. I haven't got

time for them. In fact, I'd almost forgotten about the whole idea until

the other day. Something the doctor told me set me thinking. He is

really a splendid man, Lydia.

LYDIA [_indifferently_]. Yes, I've always thought so. But what is it you

want me to do for you, Joe? Aunt Harriet may come in any moment.

JOE [_looking at Lydia very fixedly and speaking slowly_]. Just this.

When I die, don't let Aunt Harriet pray for my soul.

LYDIA. Joe!

JOE. Yes, I mean it. She has a powerful mind. And she would pray for my

eternal rest and I might not be strong enough to stand against her.

LYDIA [_starting toward the rear door_]. I won't listen to you any

longer. It is wrong to talk and think about death.

JOE. Lydia, please! It means so much to me. Listen just one second. I

know I'm not very good, but Aunt Harriet would be sure to try to make an

angel out of me. And if I thought I had to sit on those everlasting gold

steps and twang an everlasting gold harp forever and forever--Lydia, I'd

go crazy, I'd go crazy!

[_His voice rises to a scream and he sinks back gasping._]

LYDIA [_rushing to his side_]. I promise anything. Only don't excite

yourself this way. For Heaven's sake, Joe, be quiet.

JOE [_insisting_]. But don't let her pray. And make her give you the key

to the piano, and you play something so I can go out in

harmony.--Harmony--do you understand that, Lydia? Harmony. That's the

word they used so often in the book. Do you promise surely?

LYDIA [_tearfully_]. Yes, but, Joe, you're not going to die. You're not!

The doctor would have told us something about it.

JOE. Of course, I'm not going to. Not until I get good and ready. Don't

be silly. But remember, when it does happen, you must not cry. That is

very hard on souls that are just starting out.

LYDIA. I--I can see how it might be.

JOE. You won't forget to smile?

LYDIA. No.

JOE. But smile now, for practice.

LYDIA [_trying to smile, but failing_]. Oh, I can smile for you easily

enough; but don't frighten me like that again.

JOE. I'll try not to.

LYDIA [_suddenly facing him_]. Do you expect Aunt Harriet to live as

long as you do?

JOE [_with a second's hesitation_]. Yes, I'm quite sure she will. The

Wildes have the habit of living long, you know.

LYDIA. But why shouldn't you live longer than she, since you are

younger?

JOE. Oh, I don't know. I'd rather like to get ahead of her in something,

though.

LYDIA. Well, you do believe in preparation. I can't see why you are

being so beforehanded, but if it gives you any pleasure to scare me to

death----

JOE. It certainly does, Lydia. And just one thing more, I want of you.

LYDIA. What?

JOE [_rather shyly_]. Take the Bible and read something to bind the

promise. Just any verse.

LYDIA. This is becoming too solemn. I don't care for it.

[_She approaches the lyre table, upon which, of course, is a Bible,

and opens the book._]

JOE. Then I'll be ready to go.

LYDIA [_looking at him sharply_]. Go?

JOE. Upstairs.

[_Lydia turns the leaves of the Bible._]

JOE. This will be our secret, Lydia. [_He leans forward and looks out

the French door, then turns to her impatiently._] What are you waiting

for?

LYDIA. Yes, Joe, our secret. Let me see. Mother was always very fond of

John. [_Joe makes a movement of pain, which Lydia does not see._] Oh, I

have the very thing to read you. How strange! It sounds like a prophecy

for you.

JOE. Read it. [_Steps are heard in the garden. Joe looks up in alarm._]

Who is that coming?

LYDIA. Only Aunt Harriet.

[_Harriet Wilde comes in through the French door._]

HARRIET. I managed, Lydia, to some extent, to repair the damage which

you----[_Seeing Joe, she stops in surprise._] Actually, Joe downstairs!

But I felt certain this morning, my dear, when you were arguing in that

unheard-of fashion, that you must be better.

LYDIA [_hastily_]. I don't think it has hurt him to come down, Aunt

Harriet.

HARRIET. On the contrary, I think it has done him good.

JOE. I should say it did, Aunt Harriet,--you don't know how much.

[_Again he looks toward the rear door._]

HARRIET. What is it, Joe dear? Is the doctor coming again?

JOE. No, I hardly think the doctor will need to come again.

HARRIET. Why, how gratifying. I am so glad.

[_Joe closes his eyes wearily._]

LYDIA. Aunt Harriet, Joe was just about to go up to his room, but he

asked me to read something to him from the Bible first. I opened to this

passage. Won't you read it to him?

HARRIET. Yes, I will indeed. It gives me great happiness, Joe, to see

you really showing a desire for the holy word of the Scripture.

[_Harriet takes the Bible from Lydia and stands in the light by

the French door. She faces slightly away from Joe. Lydia walks to

the rear door and stands directly beneath the portrait. She

conceals a smile and looks expectantly toward her aunt._]

[_Reading_]: Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe

also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I

would have told you. I----

JOE [_sitting erect and interrupting_]. Many mansions--many

mansions--Lydia, Aunt Harriet--who said I couldn't build

hou--houses--in----

[_He sinks back. Harriet does not look at him, but shuts the Bible

with displeasure and moves forward to place it on the table._]

HARRIET [_coldly_]. That is positive sacrilege, Joe.

[_Lydia laughs triumphantly and steps to Joe's side, walking on

her tip-toes and pretending to dance, pleased at her aunt's

discomfiture._]

LYDIA [_stopping by Joe and bending over him_]. Didn't I say it was a

prophecy?

[_Joe does not answer nor open his eyes. Lydia takes his hand and

then drops it in fear._]

LYDIA. Aunt Harriet, come here quickly!

[_Harriet comes swiftly and stoops over Joe. She feels of his

pulse and lays her hand against his heart._]

HARRIET. Joe, Joe!

LYDIA [_moving distractedly toward the door_]. I'll call the doctor.

HARRIET [_standing very straight and twisting her handkerchief_]. It

will do no good, Lydia. Joe has gone. This is the way your father went

and your grandfather--all the men in the Wilde family. But this is

irregular. They never died so young.

[_Lydia covers her face with her hands._]

HARRIET. And he seems so well. Why didn't the doctor--Lydia! This was

their secret--this is what they wouldn't tell me!

LYDIA. Secret? Which secret?

[_She looks at Joe and clasps her hands in anguish. Harriet kneels

by the lounge and begins to pray._]

HARRIET. Dear Lord, I do beseech thee to grant peace and eternal rest to

thy child come home to thee. Grant that he may forever sit in thy

presence----

[_Lydia, slowly realizing what her aunt is saying, runs to her

side and makes her rise._]

LYDIA. Stop that! Stop it, I say! You worried him enough when he was

alive. Now that he's dead, let him do what he wants to.

HARRIET. Lydia! You have lost your senses. Be calm, be calm. [_Harriet

crosses to the table and picks up the Bible._] Come. We will read a few

verses and have faith that--

LYDIA [_snatching the Bible from her aunt_]. No you shan't! Let him

alone. Oh, Joe, Joe, I'm trying. Be brave! You knew, all along. You were

watching, you were expecting. Why didn't you tell me? [_Lydia looks from

Joe to the piano and back to Joe. She composes herself and puts her

hands on her aunt's shoulders._] Where is the key to the piano?

HARRIET [_horrified_]. You wouldn't touch the piano in the presence of

death!

LYDIA. Where is the key?

HARRIET [_unable to fathom Lydia's strange demand_]. It is gone. I don't

know where it is.

LYDIA. Don't you? Don't you? [_Sliding her hands toward her aunt's

throat and turning toward Joe._] Be brave, Joe. [_Speaking to her

aunt._] Then if the key is gone, I shall have to take the fire-tongs.

[_Lydia steps toward the fire-place._]

HARRIET. Lydia! Don't touch them! What are you about?

LYDIA [_coming again to her aunt and placing her hands on her

shoulders_]. I want--that--key. And I want it quickly.

[_They look squarely into one another's eyes._]

HARRIET [_uncertainly_]. I can't give it to you now. I will never give

it to you.

LYDIA. No? [_Almost breaking down._] Joe, why didn't you tell me?

[_Walking toward the hearth._] Very well, Aunt Harriet.

HARRIET [_passing her hand over her eyes in terror_]. Wait! Look in that

old vase on the mantel. No--the one that we never use--with the crack in

it--

[_Lydia takes down the vase and tilts it. A key falls on the

hearth with a ringing sound. She picks it up and quickly opens the

piano._]

HARRIET. To think that this should happen in my house. Lord, what have I

done to deserve it?

LYDIA [_seating herself at the piano_]. Joe, this sounds like wind

blowing through willow trees. [_She plays softly._] Good-by, Joe,

good-by, dear. Good luck!

HARRIET [_pulling down the blinds on either side of the fire-place_].

Lydia, have you no religion?

LYDIA [_controlling her agitation_]. Yes--I have.

HARRIET [_looking from Lydia to Joe_]. I can't understand. Joe, poor

Joe.

LYDIA. Let not your heart be troubled.... [_Continuing to play._] I'm

smiling, Joe. I'm laughing, Joe! Be strong....

[_Harriet is stupefied. She starts toward Lydia, but stops. She

lifts the Bible from the table, but replaces it hastily, as Lydia

looks across at her._]

LYDIA [_dreamily_]. In my Father's house are many mansions.

[_Harriet looks to the portrait above the door, as if for help._]

LYDIA. If it were not so--I would have told you--

[_And Lydia looks mystically out into space and continues to play

while_

_The Curtain Falls._]

TRIFLES

A PLAY

BY SUSAN GLASPELL

TRIFLES was first produced by the Provincetown Players, at the Wharf

Theatre, Provincetown, Mass., on August 8th, 1916, with the following

cast:

GEORGE HENDERSON _Robert Rogers_.

HENRY PETERS _Robert Conville_.

LEWIS HALE _George Cram Cook_.

MRS. PETERS _Alice Hall_.

MRS. HALE _Susan Glaspell_.

It was later produced by the Washington Square Players at the Comedy

Theatre, New York City, on the night of November 15th, 1916, with the

following cast:

GEORGE HENDERSON _T. W. Gibson_.

HENRY PETERS _Arthur E. Hohl_.

LEWIS HALE _John King_.

MRS. PETERS _Marjorie Vonnegut_.

MRS. HALE _Elinor M. Cox_.

Reprinted from "Plays" by Susan Glaspell, published by Small, Maynard

& Company, by permission of Miss Susan Glaspell and Messrs. Small,

Maynard & Company. The professional and amateur stage rights on this

play are strictly reserved by the author. Applications for permission

to produce this play must be made to Miss Susan Glaspell, care of

Small, Maynard & Company, 41 Mt. Vernon Street, Boston, Mass.

TRIFLES

A PLAY BY SUSAN GLASPELL

[SCENE: _The kitchen in the now abandoned farm-house of John

Wright, a gloomy kitchen, and left without having been put in

order--unwashed pans under the sink, a loaf of bread outside the

bread-box, a dish-towel on the table--other signs of incompleted

work. At the rear the outer door opens and the Sheriff comes in

followed by the County Attorney and Hale. The Sheriff and Hale are

men in middle life, the County Attorney is a young man; all are

much bundled up and go at once to the stove. They are followed by

the two women--the Sheriff's wife first; she is a slight wiry

woman, a thin nervous face. Mrs. Hale is larger and would

ordinarily be called more comfortable looking, but she is

disturbed now and looks fearfully about as she enters. The women

have come in slowly, and stand close together near the door._]

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_rubbing his hands_]. This feels good. Come up to the

fire, ladies.

MRS. PETERS [_after taking a step forward_]. I'm not--cold.

SHERIFF [_unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from the stove as

if to mark the beginning of official business_]. Now, Mr. Hale, before

we move things about, you explain to Mr. Henderson just what you saw

when you came here yesterday morning.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. By the way, has anything been moved? Are things just as

you left them yesterday?

SHERIFF [_looking about_]. It's just the same. When it dropped below

zero last night I thought I'd better send Frank out this morning to make

a fire for us--no use getting pneumonia with a big case on, but I told

him not to touch anything except the stove--and you know Frank.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Somebody should have been left here yesterday.

SHERIFF. Oh--yesterday. When I had to send Frank to Morris Center for

that man who went crazy--I want you to know I had my hands full

yesterday. I knew you could get back from Omaha by to-day and as long as

I went over everything here myself--

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Well, Mr. Hale, tell just what happened when you came

here yesterday morning.

HALE. Harry and I had started to town with a load of potatoes. We came

along the road from my place and as I got here I said, "I'm going to see

if I can't get John Wright to go in with me on a party telephone." I

spoke to Wright about it once before and he put me off, saying folks

talked too much anyway, and all he asked was peace and quiet--I guess

you know about how much he talked himself; but I thought maybe if I went

to the house and talked about it before his wife, though I said to Harry

that I didn't know as what his wife wanted made much difference to

John--

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Let's talk about that later, Mr. Hale. I do want to

talk about that, but tell now just what happened when you got to the

house.

HALE. I didn't hear or see anything; I knocked at the door, and still it

was all quiet inside. I knew they must be up, it was past eight o'clock.

So I knocked again, and I thought I heard somebody say "Come in." I

wasn't sure, I'm not sure yet, but I opened the door--this door

[_indicating the door by which the two women are still standing_] and

there in that rocker--[_pointing to it_] sat Mrs. Wright.

[_They all look at the rocker._]

COUNTY ATTORNEY. What--was she doing?

HALE. She was rockin' back and forth. She had her apron in her hand and

was kind of--pleating it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. And how did she--look?

HALE. Well, she looked queer.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. How do you mean--queer?

HALE. Well, as if she didn't know what she was going to do next. And

kind of done up.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. How did she seem to feel about your coming?

HALE. Why, I don't think she minded--one way or other. She didn't pay

much attention. I said, "How do, Mrs. Wright, it's cold, ain't it?" And

she said "Is it?"--and went on kind of pleating at her apron. Well, I

was surprised; she didn't ask me to come up to the stove, or to set

down, but just sat there, not even looking at me, so I said, "I want to

see John." And then she--laughed. I guess you would call it a laugh. I

thought of Harry and the team outside, so I said a little sharp: "Can't

I see John?" "No," she says, kind o' dull like. "Ain't he home?" says I.

"Yes," says she, "he's home." "Then why can't I see him?" I asked her,

out of patience. "'Cause he's dead," says she. "_Dead_?" says I. She

just nodded her head, not getting a bit excited, but rockin' back and

forth. "Why--where is he?" says I, not knowing what to say. She just

pointed upstairs--like that [_himself pointing to the room above_]. I

got up, with the idea of going up there. I walked from there to

here--then I says, "Why, what did he die of?" "He died of a rope round

his neck," says she, and just went on pleatin' at her apron. Well, I

went out and called Harry. I thought I might--need help. We went

upstairs and there he was lyin'----

COUNTY ATTORNEY. I think I'd rather have you go into that upstairs,

where you can point it all out. Just go on now with the rest of the

story.

HALE. Well, my first thought was to get that rope off. It looked....

[_Stops, his face twitches._] ... but Harry, he went up to him, and he

said, "No, he's dead all right, and we'd better not touch anything." So

we went back down stairs. She was still sitting that same way. "Has

anybody been notified?" I asked. "No," says he, unconcerned. "Who did

this, Mrs. Wright?" said Harry. He said it business-like--and she

stopped pleatin' of her apron. "I don't know," she says. "You don't

_know_?" says Harry. "No," says she. "Weren't you sleepin' in the bed

with him?" says Harry. "Yes," says she, "but I was on the inside."

"Somebody slipped a rope round his neck and strangled him and you didn't

wake up?" says Harry. "I didn't wake up," she said after him. We must 'a

looked as if we didn't see how that could be, for after a minute she

said, "I sleep sound." Harry was going to ask her more questions, but I

said maybe we ought to let her tell her story first to the coroner, or

the sheriff, so Harry went fast as he could to Rivers' place, where

there's a telephone.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. And what did Mrs. Wright do when she knew that you had

gone for the coroner?

HALE. She moved from that chair to this over here.... [_Pointing to a

small chair in the corner._] ... and just sat there with her hands held

together and looking down. I got a feeling that I ought to make some

conversation, so I said I had come in to see if John wanted to put in a

telephone, and at that she started to laugh, and then she stopped and

looked at me--scared. [_The County Attorney, who has had his notebook

out, makes a note._] I dunno, maybe it wasn't scared. I wouldn't like to

say it was. Soon Harry got back, and then Dr. Lloyd came, and you, Mr.

Peters, and so I guess that's all I know that you don't.

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_looking around_]. I guess we'll go upstairs first--and

then out to the barn and around there. [_To the Sheriff._] You're

convinced that there was nothing important here--nothing that would

point to any motive?

SHERIFF. Nothing here but kitchen things.

[_The County Attorney, after again looking around the kitchen,

opens the door of a cupboard closet. He gets up on a chair and

looks on a shelf. Pulls his hand away, sticky._]

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Here's a nice mess.

[_The women draw nearer._]

MRS. PETERS [_to the other woman_]. Oh, her fruit; it did freeze. [_To

the Lawyer._] She worried about that when it turned so cold. She said

the fire'd go out and her jars would break.

SHERIFF. Well, can you beat the women! Held for murder and worryin'

about her preserves.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. I guess before we're through she may have something

more serious than preserves to worry about.

HALE. Well, women are used to worrying over trifles.

[_The two women move a little closer together._]

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_with the gallantry of a young politician_]. And yet,

for all their worries, what would we do without the ladies? [_The women

do not unbend. He goes to the sink, takes a dipperful of water from the

pail and pouring it into a basin, washes his hands. Starts to wipe them

on the roller-towel, turns it for a cleaner place._] Dirty towels!

[_Kicks his foot against the pans under the sink._] Not much of a

housekeeper, would you say, ladies?

MRS. HALE [_stiffly_]. There's a great deal of work to be done on a

farm.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. To be sure. And yet.... [_With a little bow to

her._] ... I know there are some Dickson county farmhouses which do

not have such roller towels.

[_He gives it a pull to expose its full length again._]

MRS. HALE. Those towels get dirty awful quick. Men's hands aren't always

as clean as they might be.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Ah, loyal to your sex, I see. But you and Mrs. Wright

were neighbors. I suppose you were friends, too.

MRS. HALE [_shaking her head_]. I've not seen much of her of late years.

I've not been in this house--it's more than a year.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. And why was that? You didn't like her?

MRS. HALE. I liked her all well enough. Farmers' wives have their hands

full, Mr. Henderson. And then--

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Yes--?

MRS. HALE [_looking about_]. It never seemed a very cheerful place.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. No--it's not cheerful. I shouldn't say she had the

homemaking instinct.

MRS. HALE. Well, I don't know as Wright had, either.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. You mean that they didn't get on very well?

MRS. HALE. No, I don't mean anything. But I don't think a place'd be any

cheerful for John Wright's being in it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. I'd like to talk more of that a little later. I want to

get the lay of things upstairs now.

[_He goes to the left, where three steps lead to a stair door._]

SHERIFF. I suppose anything Mrs. Peters does'll be all right. She was to

take in some clothes for her, you know, and a few little things. We left

in such a hurry yesterday.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Yes, but I would like to see what you take, Mrs.

Peters, and keep an eye out for anything that might be of use to us.

MRS. PETERS. Yes, Mr. Henderson.

[_The women listen to the men's steps on the stairs, then look

about the kitchen._]

MRS. HALE. I'd hate to have men coming into my kitchen, snooping around

and criticizing.

[_She arranges the pans under sink which the Lawyer had shoved out

of place._]

MRS. PETERS. Of course it's no more than their duty.

MRS. HALE. Duty's all right, but I guess that deputy sheriff that came

out to make the fire might have got a little of this on. [_Gives the

roller towel a pull._] Wish I'd thought of that sooner. Seems mean to

talk about her for not having things slicked up when she had to come

away in such a hurry.

MRS. PETERS [_who has gone to a small table in the left rear corner of

the room, and lifted one end of a towel that covers a pan_]. She had

bread set. [_Stands still._]

MRS. HALE [_eyes fixed on a loaf of bread beside the bread-box, which is

on a low shelf at the other side of the room. Moves slowly toward it._]

She was going to put this in there. [_Picks up loaf, then abruptly

drops it. In a manner of returning to familiar things._] It's a shame

about her fruit. I wonder if it's all gone. [_Gets up on the chair and

looks._] I think there's some here that's all right, Mrs. Peters.

Yes--here; [_Holding it toward the window._] this is cherries, too.

[_Looking again._] I declare I believe that's the only one. [_Gets down,

bottle in her hand. Goes to the sink and wipes it off on the outside._]

She'll feel awful bad after all her hard work in the hot weather. I

remember the afternoon I put up my cherries last summer.

[_She puts the bottle on the big kitchen table, center of the

room, front table. With a sigh, is about to sit down in the

rocking-chair. Before she is seated realizes what chair it is;

with a slow look at it, steps back. The chair which she has

touched rocks back and forth._]

MRS. PETERS. Well, I must get those things from the front room closet.

[_She goes to the door at the right, but after looking into the other

room, steps back._] You coming with me, Mrs. Hale? You could help me

carry them.

[_They go in the other room; reappear, Mrs. Peters carrying a

dress and skirt, Mrs. Hale following with a pair of shoes._]

MRS. PETERS. My, it's cold in there.

[_She puts the cloth on the big table, and hurries to the stove._]

MRS. HALE [_examining the skirt_]. Wright was close. I think maybe

that's why she kept so much to herself. She didn't even belong to the

Ladies' Aid. I suppose she felt she couldn't do her part, and then you

don't enjoy things when you feel shabby. She used to wear pretty clothes

and be lively, when she was Minnie Foster, one of the town girls singing

in the choir. But that--oh, that was thirty years ago. This all you was

to take in?

MRS. PETERS. She said she wanted an apron. Funny thing to want, for

there isn't much to get you dirty in jail, goodness knows. But I suppose

just to make her feel more natural. She said they was in the top drawer

in this cupboard. Yes, here. And then her little shawl that always hung

behind the door. [_Opens stair door and looks._] Yes, here it is.

[_Quickly shuts door leading upstairs._]

MRS. HALE [_abruptly moving toward her_]. Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS. Yes, Mrs. Hale?

MRS. HALE. Do you think she did it?

MRS. PETERS [_in a frightened voice_]. Oh, I don't know.

MRS. HALE. Well, I don't think she did. Asking for an apron and her

little shawl. Worrying about her fruit.

MRS. PETERS [_starts to speak, glances up, where footsteps are heard in

the room above. In a low voice_]. Mr. Peters says it looks bad for her.

Mr. Henderson is awful sarcastic in a speech and he'll make fun of her

sayin' she didn't wake up.

MRS. HALE. Well, I guess John Wright didn't wake when they was slipping

that rope under his neck.

MRS. PETERS. No, it's strange. It must have been done awful crafty and

still. They say it was such a--funny way to kill a man, rigging it all

up like that.

MRS. HALE. That's just what Mr. Hale said. There was a gun in the house.

He says that's what he can't understand.

MRS. PETERS. Mr. Henderson said coming out that what was needed for the

case was a motive; something to show anger, or--sudden feeling.

MRS. HALE [_who is standing by the table_]. Well, I don't see any signs

of anger around here. [_She puts her hand on the dish towel which lies

on the table, stands looking down at table, one half of which is clean,

the other half messy._] It's wiped here. [_Makes a move as if to finish

work, then turns and looks at loaf of bread outside the bread-box. Drops

towel. In that voice of coming back to familiar things._] Wonder how

they are finding things upstairs? I hope she had it a little more red-up

up there. You know, it seems kind of _sneaking_. Locking her up in town

and then coming out here and trying to get her own house to turn against

her!

MRS. PETERS. But, Mrs. Hale, the law is the law.

MRS. HALE. I s'pose 'tis. [_Unbuttoning her coat._] Better loosen up

your things, Mrs. Peters. You won't feel them when you go out.

[_Mrs. Peters takes off her fur tippet, goes to hang it on hook at

back of room, stands looking at the under part of the small corner

table._]

MRS. PETERS. She was piecing a quilt.

[_She brings the large sewing basket and they look at the bright

pieces._]

MRS. HALE. It's log cabin pattern. Pretty, isn't it? I wonder if she was

goin' to quilt it or just knot it?

[_Footsteps have been heard coming down the stairs. The Sheriff

enters, followed by Hale and the County Attorney._]

SHERIFF. They wonder if she was going to quilt it or just knot it.

[_The men laugh, the women look abashed._]

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_rubbing his hands over the stove_]. Frank's fire

didn't do much up there, did it? Well, let's go out to the barn and get

that cleared up.

[_The men go outside._]

MRS. HALE [_resentfully_]. I don't know as there's anything so strange,

our takin' up our time with little things while we're waiting for them

to get the evidence. [_She sits down at the big table smoothing out a

block of decision._] I don't see as it's anything to laugh about.

MRS. PETERS [_apologetically_]. Of course they've got awful important

things on their minds.

[_Pulls up a chair and joins Mrs. Hale at the table._]

MRS. HALE [_examining another block_]. Mrs. Peters, look at this one.

Here, this is the one she was working on, and look at the sewing! All

the rest of it has been so nice and even. And look at this! It's all

over the place! Why, it looks as if she didn't know what she was about!

[_After she has said this they look at each other, then start to

glance back at the door. After an instant Mrs. Hale has pulled at

a knot and ripped the sewing._]

MRS. PETERS. Oh, what are you doing, Mrs. Hale?

MRS. HALE [_mildly_]. Just pulling out a stitch or two that's not sewed

very good. [_Threading a needle._] Bad sewing always made me fidgety.

MRS. PETERS [_nervously_]. I don't think we ought to touch things.

MRS. HALE. I'll just finish up this end. [_Suddenly stopping and leaning

forward._] Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS. Yes, Mrs. Hale?

MRS. HALE. What do you suppose she was so nervous about?

MRS. PETERS. Oh--I don't know. I don't know as she was nervous. I

sometimes sew awful queer when I'm just tired. [_Mrs. Hale starts to say

something, looks at Mrs. Peters, then goes on sewing._] Well, I must get

these things wrapped up. They may be through sooner than we think.

[_Putting apron and other things together._] I wonder where I can find a

piece of paper, and string.

MRS. HALE. In that cupboard, maybe.

MRS. PETERS [_looking in cupboard_]. Why, here's a bird-cage. [_Holds it

up._] Did she have a bird, Mrs. Hale?

MRS. HALE. Why, I don't know whether she did or not--I've not been here

for so long. There was a man around last year selling canaries cheap,

but I don't know as she took one; maybe she did. She used to sing real

pretty herself.

MRS. PETERS [_glancing around_]. Seems funny to think of a bird here.

But she must have had one, or why should she have a cage? I wonder what

happened to it?

MRS. HALE. I s'pose maybe the cat got it.

MRS. PETERS. No, she didn't have a cat. She's got that feeling some

people have about cats--being afraid of them. My cat got in her room and

she was real upset and asked me to take it out.

MRS. HALE. My sister Bessie was like that. Queer, ain't it?

MRS. PETERS [_examining the cage_]. Why, look at this door. It's broke.

One hinge is pulled apart.

MRS. HALE [_looking too_]. Looks as if some one must have been rough

with it.

MRS. PETERS. Why, yes.

[_She brings the cage forward and puts it on the table._]

MRS. HALE. I wish if they're going to find any evidence they'd be about

it. I don't like this place.

MRS. PETERS. But I'm awful glad you came with me, Mrs. Hale. It would be

lonesome for me sitting here alone.

MRS. HALE. It would, wouldn't it? [_Dropping her sewing._] But I tell

you what I do wish, Mrs. Peters. I wish I had come over some times when

_she_ was here. I--[_Looking around the room._]--wish I had.

MRS. PETERS. But of course you were awful busy, Mrs. Hale--your house

and your children.

MRS. HALE. I could've come. I stayed away because it weren't

cheerful--and that's why I ought to have come. I--I've never liked this

place. Maybe because it's down in a hollow and you don't see the road. I

dunno what it is, but it's a lonesome place and always was. I wish I had

come over to see Minnie Foster sometimes. I can see now--

[_Shakes her head._]

MRS. PETERS. Well, you mustn't reproach yourself, Mrs. Hale. Somehow we

just don't see how it is with other folks until--something comes up.

MRS. HALE. Not having children makes less work--but it makes a quiet

house, and Wright out to work all day, and no company when he did come

in. Did you know John Wright, Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS. Not to know him; I've seen him in town. They say he was a

good man.

MRS. HALE. Yes--good; he didn't drink, and kept his word as well as

most, I guess, and paid his debts. But he was a hard man, Mrs. Peters.

Just to pass the time of day with him. [_Shivers._] Like a raw wind that

gets to the bone. [_Pauses, her eye falling on the cage._] I should

think she would 'a wanted a bird. But what do you suppose went with it?

MRS. PETERS. I don't know, unless it got sick and died.

[_She reaches over and swings the broken door, swings it again,

both women watch it._]

MRS. HALE. You weren't raised round here, were you? [_Mrs. Peters shakes

her head._] You didn't know--her?

MRS. PETERS. Not till they brought her yesterday.

MRS. HALE. She--come to think of it, she was kind of like a bird

herself--real sweet and pretty, but kind of timid and--fluttery.

How--she--did--change. [_Silence; then as if struck by a happy thought

and relieved to get back to every day things._] Tell you what, Mrs.

Peters, why don't you take the quilt in with you? It might take up her

mind.

MRS. PETERS. Why, I think that's a real nice idea, Mrs. Hale. There

couldn't possibly be any objection to it, could there? Now, just what

would I take? I wonder if her patches are in here--and her things.

[_They look in the sewing basket._]

MRS. HALE. Here's some red. I expect this has got sewing things in it.

[_Brings out a fancy box._] What a pretty box. Looks like something

somebody would give you. Maybe her scissors are in here. [_Opens box.

Suddenly puts her hand to her nose._] Why--[_Mrs. Peters bends nearer,

then turns her face away._] There's something wrapped up in this piece

of silk.

MRS. PETERS. Why, this isn't her scissors.

MRS. HALE [_lifting the silk_]. Oh, Mrs. Peters--it's--

[_Mrs. Peters bends closer._]

MRS. PETERS. It's the bird.

MRS. HALE [_jumping up_]. But, Mrs. Peters--look at it. Its neck! Look

at its neck! It's all--other side _to_.

MRS. PETERS. Somebody--wrung--its neck.

[_Their eyes met. A look of growing comprehension of horror. Steps

are heard outside. Mrs. Hale slips box under quilt pieces, and

sinks into her chair. Enter Sheriff and County Attorney. Mrs.

Peters rises._]

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_as one turning from serious things to little

pleasantries_]. Well, ladies, have you decided whether she was going to

quilt it or knot it?

MRS. PETERS. We think she was going to--knot it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Well, that's interesting, I'm sure. [_Seeing the

bird-cage._] Has the bird flown?

MRS. HALE [_putting more quilt pieces over the box_]. We think the--cat

got it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_preoccupied_]. Is there a cat?

[_Mrs. Hale glances in a quick covert way at Mrs. Peters._]

MRS. PETERS. Well, not now. They're superstitious, you know. They leave.

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_to Sheriff Peters, continuing an interrupted

conversation_]. No sign at all of any one having come from the outside.

Their own rope. Now let's go up again and go over it piece by piece.

[_They start upstairs._] It would have to have been some one who knew

just the----

[_Mrs. Peters sits down. The two women sit there not looking at

one another, but as if peering into something and at the same time

holding back. When they talk now it is in the manner of feeling

their way over strange ground, as if afraid of what they are

saying, but as if they can not help saying it._]

MRS. HALE. She liked the bird. She was going to bury it in that pretty

box.

MRS. PETERS [_in a whisper_]. When I was a girl--my kitten--there was a

boy took a hatchet, and before my eyes--and before I could get

there----[_Covers her face an instant._] If they hadn't held me back I

would have--[_Catches herself, looks upstairs where steps are heard,

falters weakly_]--hurt him.

MRS. HALE [_with a slow look around her_]. I wonder how it would seem

never to have had any children around. [_Pause._] No, Wright wouldn't

like the bird--a thing that sang. She used to sing. He killed that, too.

MRS. PETERS [_moving uneasily_]. We don't know who killed the bird.

MRS. HALE. I knew John Wright.

MRS. PETERS. It was an awful thing was done in this house that night,

Mrs. Hale. Killing a man while he slept, slipping a rope around his neck

that choked the life out of him.

MRS. HALE. His neck. Choked the life out of him.

[_Her hand goes out and rests on the bird-cage._]

MRS. PETERS [_with rising voice_]. We don't know who killed him. We

don't _know_.

MRS. HALE [_her own feeling not interrupted_]. If there'd been years and

years of nothing, then a bird to sing to you, it would be awful--still,

after the bird was still.

MRS. PETERS [_something within her speaking_]. I know what stillness is.

When we homesteaded in Dakota, and my first baby died--after he was two

years old, and me with no other then----

MRS. HALE [_moving_]. How soon do you suppose they'll be through,

looking for the evidence?

MRS. PETERS. I know what stillness is. [_Pulling herself back._] The law

has got to punish crime, Mrs. Hale.

MRS. HALE [_not as if answering that_]. I wish you'd seen Minnie Foster

when she wore a white dress with blue ribbons and stood up there in the

choir and sang. [_A look around the room._] Oh, I _wish_ I'd come over

here once in a while? That was a crime! That was a crime! Who's going to

punish that?

MRS. PETERS [_looking upstairs_]. We mustn't--take on.

MRS. HALE. I might have known she needed help! I know how things can

be--for women. I tell you, it's queer, Mrs. Peters. We live close

together and we live far apart. We all go through the same things--it's

all just a different kind of the same thing. [_Brushes her eyes,

noticing the bottle of fruit, reaches out for it._] If I was you I

wouldn't tell her her fruit was gone. Tell her it _ain't_. Tell her it's

all right. Take this in to prove it to her. She--she may never know

whether it was broke or not.

MRS. PETERS [_takes the bottle, looks about for something to wrap it in;

takes petticoat from the clothes brought from the other room, very

nervously begins winding this around the bottle. In a false voice_]. My,

it's a good thing the men couldn't hear us. Wouldn't they just laugh!

Getting all stirred up over a little thing like a--dead canary. As if

that could have anything to do with--with--wouldn't they _laugh_!

[_The men are heard coming down stairs._]

MRS. HALE [_under her breath_]. Maybe they would--maybe they wouldn't.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. No, Peters, it's all perfectly clear except a reason

for doing it. But you know juries when it comes to women. If there was

some definite thing. Something to show--something to make a story

about--a thing that would connect up with this strange way of doing it.

[_The women's eyes meet for an instant. Enter Hale from outer

door._]

HALE. Well, I've got the team around. Pretty cold out there.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. I'm going to stay here a while by myself. [_To the

Sheriff._] You can send Frank out for me, can't you? I want to go over

everything. I'm not satisfied that we can't do better.

SHERIFF. Do you want to see what Mrs. Peters is going to take in?

[_The Lawyer goes to the table, picks up the apron, laughs._]

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Oh, I guess they're not very dangerous things the

ladies have picked out. [_Moves a few things about, disturbing the quilt

pieces which cover the box. Steps back._] No, Mrs. Peters doesn't need

supervising. For that matter, a sheriff's wife is married to the law.

Ever think of it that way, Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS. Not--just that way.

SHERIFF [_chuckling_]. Married to the law. [_Moves toward the other

room._] I just want you to come in here a minute, George. We ought to

take a look at these windows.

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_scoffingly_]. Oh, windows!

SHERIFF. We'll be right out, Mr. Hale.

[_Hale goes outside. The Sheriff follows the County Attorney into

the other room. Then Mrs. Hale rises, hands tight together,

looking intensely at Mrs. Peters, whose eyes make a slow turn,

finally meeting Mrs. Hale's. A moment Mrs. Hale holds her, then

her own eyes point the way to where the box is concealed. Suddenly

Mrs. Peters throws back quilt pieces and tries to put the box in

the bag she is wearing. It is too big. She opens box, starts to

take bird out, cannot touch it, goes to pieces, stands there

helpless. Sound of a knob turning in the other room. Mrs. Hale

snatches the box and puts it in the pocket of her big coat. Enter

County Attorney and Sheriff._

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_facetiously_]. Well, Henry, at least we found out that

she was not going to quilt it. She was going to--what is it you call it,

ladies?

MRS. HALE [_her hand against her pocket_]. We call it--knot it, Mr.

Henderson.

[_Curtain._]

THE POT BOILER

A SATIRE

BY ALICE GERSTENBERG

THE POT BOILER was first produced by the Players' Workshop, Chicago,

Ill., on the night of November 20th, 1916, with the following cast:

THOMAS PINIKLES SUD [_the playwright_] _William Ziegler Nourse_.

WOULDBY [_the novice_] _Morton Howard, Jr_.

MR. IVORY [_the financier_] _Henry Ryan_.

MR. RULER [_the hero_] _Donovan Yeuell_.

MISS IVORY [_the heroine_] _Caroline Kohl_.

MR. INKWELL [_the villain_] _H. C. Swartz_.

MRS. PENCIL [_the woman_] _Anna Buxton_.

THE POT BOILER is published for the first time. The editors are

indebted to Miss Gerstenberg for permission to include it in this

volume. The professional and amateur stage rights on this play are

strictly reserved by the author. Applications from amateurs to

produce the play should be addressed to Norman Lee Swartout,

24 Blackburn Road, Summit, N. J. Professionals should address

Miss Alice Gerstenberg, 539 Deming Place, Chicago, Ill.

THE POT BOILER

A SATIRE BY ALICE GERSTENBERG

[SCENE: _A stage only half set for a morning rehearsal and dimly

lighted. Sud, a successful playwright, enters in a hurry carrying

a leather bag of manuscripts._]

STAGE HAND. Good morning, Mr. Sud.

SUD. Good morning, Gus. Just set two doors; that'll be all I'll need

this morning. We're rehearsing for lines. [_Steps down stage and calls

front._] Joe, I'm expecting a young man, it's all right, let him in.

WOULDBY [_from auditorium back_]. I'm here now, Mr. Sud.

SUD. Come up, Mr. Wouldby. Some more border lights, please.

WOULDBY. It's very good of you to let me in.

SUD. I was fond of your father. I am glad to see his son.

WOULDBY. I have written a play, too.

SUD. Too bad, too bad, you make the price of paper go up.

WOULDBY. It must be wonderful to be the master playwright of our day.

Everybody knows Mr. Thomas Pinikles Sud.

SUD [_setting stage_]. Yes, it is a privilege to be a friend of mine!

WOULDBY [_pursuing Sud_]. Will you read my manuscript, sir?

SUD. Never roll a manuscript. I see very well you don't even know the

first principles.

WOULDBY. How can I learn the first principles? No one will tell me.

SUD. Wait, I will do a great thing for you, let you stay and see a dress

rehearsal of my latest play, "The Pot Boiler." In it I have used all

dramatic principles.

WOULDBY. What are they?

SUD. Well, for instance, this pencil is the woman in the case.

WOULDBY. Pencil!

SUD. This inkwell is the villain, although that's really too dark for

him. Deep-eyed villains are out of fashion.

WOULDBY. Inkwell!

SUD. The heroine is Miss Ivory paper cutter.

WOULDBY. Ivory!

SUD. Mr. Ruler is the hero.

WOULDBY. Ruler!

[_Other characters enter from stage door._]

SUD. I haven't finished writing it, but we're going through it this

morning as far as I have written, then I shall see how to go on. Here

are the players now. Line up, please, and let me see your costumes. [_He

studies them._] Now to work--[_Rubbing his hands._] to work--clear the

stage!

[_Mrs. Pencil and Ruler go out left; Mr. and Miss Ivory and

Inkwell go out right and close the door._]

SUD. Mr. Wouldby, if you sit down here with me, we'll be out of the way.

[_Sud and Wouldby sit on two stools way down right._] You must imagine

that this room is the library in Mr. Ivory's house. [_Sud claps his

hands and calls._] Ready.

[_There is a pause, then the door up left opens and Mrs. Pencil

comes in; her pantomime is as Sud explains it to Wouldby._]

SUD [_in stage whisper to Wouldby_]. The adventuress--she comes in--she

has been cut--she is worried--that nervous twitching of lips and

narrowing of eyes are always full of suspense--she takes off her gloves,

her hat--that's good business. A door opens--she starts--by starting she

shows you she is guilty of something--

MISS IVORY [_without hat or gloves enters from right_]. Oh, there you

are, Mrs. Pencil.

MRS. PENCIL. Yes, I'm back.

MISS IVORY. I thought I should have to drink my tea without you.

[_They sit down to tea--Miss Ivory back of table center. Mrs.

Pencil left of table._]

SUD [_in stage whisper to Wouldby_]. That tells the audience what time

of the day it is; besides, drinking afternoon tea shows Miss Ivory is in

society.

MRS. PENCIL. Isn't your father going to join us?

SUD [_aside_]. That's merely to show the girl has a father.

MISS IVORY. No, he is talking business with Mr. Inkwell.

MRS. PENCIL [_starting_]. Inkwell!

MISS IVORY. Yes, do you know him?

MRS. PENCIL [_evasively_]. I? Oh--no.

MISS IVORY. You've heard of him?

MRS. PENCIL. Yes--of course----

SUD [_aside_]. Do you catch it? Do you see how her nervousness and her

few words at once suggest that there is a link between Mrs. Pencil and

Inkwell? That's where I show my technique.

WOULDBY [_scratching his head_]. Technique! How can I learn it?

SUD. It is the secret that every playwright locks in his breast. Keep

the young ones out! _Mum_ is the word!

MISS IVORY. I am so sorry father has all this trouble with the

brick-layers. They shouldn't have gone on a strike--just now--when you

are visiting us.

SUD [_to Wouldby_]. That tells that Mrs. Pencil is a guest in Miss

Ivory's house.

MISS IVORY. When you were here last year my mother----

SUD [_aside_]. The girl hesitates--they both look sorrowful; we had to

cut down the cast, so I killed off her mother.

MRS. PENCIL [_sadly, with foreign accent_]. Ah, my dear--we were such

close friends--since my arrival in this country----

SUD [_aside_]. You see, I had to make her a foreigner. A villainess

always talks with a foreign accent.

MRS. PENCIL. I haven't had much time to read particulars about the

strike. Does your father still refuse to arbitrate?

MISS IVORY [_haughtily_]. What right have brick-layers to make rules for

my father? He would show his weakness if he gave in--I have faith that

what he does is right.

SUD [_to Wouldby_]. The innocent heroine, so cool and pure and white.

[_The right door opens and Inkwell enters--he starts as he sees

Mrs. Pencil; there is a straight look of recognition between them

which Miss Ivory does not see._]

SUD [_aside_]. That's a dramatic scene. Doesn't it thrill your spine?

MISS IVORY. Mrs. Pencil, may I introduce Mr. Inkwell--[_Inkwell and Mrs.

Pencil bow slightly._] Will you have a dish of tea?

SUD. Cup, cup of tea.

MISS IVORY. Dish; _dish_ of tea, or I quit. [_Pause._] Which is it?

SUD. Oh, very well, dish if you like.

[_Sud's manner indicates he gives in simply to let the rehearsal

progress, but that he will settle with Miss Ivory later._]

MISS IVORY. Please tell me that you have ordered the strikers to come to

father's terms?

MR. INKWELL [_at right of table_]. He is looking through his safe for

more papers so he asked me to wait in here.

SUD. That's an explanation why he came in.

MISS IVORY [_offering cup_]. How many lumps?

SUD [_aside_]. That question of the number of lumps is very important;

it gives a natural air to the scene.

MISS IVORY. I am going to the dining-room to get some arrack for your

tea.

MR. INKWELL [_nervously_]. Oh, please don't trouble----

MISS IVORY. No trouble at all.

[_Exit right._]

SUD. When you want to get a character out, you've got to get 'em out.

MR. INKWELL [_at right of table, to Mrs. Pencil_]. You here!

MRS. PENCIL [_at left of table_]. Sch! I had to come! I couldn't live

without you any longer----

INKWELL. But in this house?

MRS. PENCIL. I was her mother's friend.

INKWELL. You are indiscreet----

MRS. PENCIL. I was desperate for you! You kept putting me off--when I

read about this strike I had to come.

SUD. Mrs. Pencil is the dreadful woman! A play can't exist without

her----

WOULDBY. You mean she was his----

SUD [_seriously_]. Oh, yes--the more fuss we make about her the better.

MRS. PENCIL. Oh! Clem! You aren't glad to see me! Oh! that I have lived

for this!!!

[_She tears around the stage waving her hands in grief--making

faces of agony. Sud rises in astonishment and follows her left._]

SUD [_shrieks in anger_]. Idiot! Can't you talk! Do you think I write

lines to be cut? How dare you cut my lines!!!

MRS. PENCIL. I've done just what it says. [_She takes her part from

table, reads from it and shows it to him._] "Mrs. Pencil shows extreme

despair and passionately----"

SUD. That's not the play! That's the moving picture version!!! Come

here.

[_He fumbles with his papers. Takes blue pencil to her part,

changes his mind and uses red pencil--and puts them back of

different ears._]

WOULDBY. Oh! Have you the same play ready for the movies?

SUD. I write in columns--alongside of each other. Dramatic version,

moving picture, novelization--for magazines--newspapers and books.

WOULDBY. All _at once_!

SUD. Yes!

WOULDBY. What are all the pins for?

SUD. When I cut out a line one place--I keep it until I find a place

somewhere else to patch it in.

[_Hands new lines to Mrs. Pencil, who is back of table center._]

WOULDBY. A great playwright has to be economical with his great ideas!

SUD. Yes, if he wants a yacht.

MRS. PENCIL [_studying her book_]. Now I see, now I see--Mr. Sud. Shall

I go on?

SUD. Yes, go on!

[_Sud comes down right to Wouldby._]

MRS. PENCIL. Oh! Clem--I was so frightened when I heard about the

strikers. Even if you are their leader now, they might turn and murder

you.

[_Mrs. Pencil and Inkwell play center, front of table._]

INKWELL. Nonsense, I control the strikers, they come to me for orders.

I'll stop this strike as soon as old Ivory gives me my price.

MRS. PENCIL. What do the brick-layers want?

INKWELL. They want shorter hours, more pay, better light--better air----

[_Inkwell stops and looks at Sud._]

SUD. Go on--go on--don't glare at me!

INKWELL. Pardon me, Mr. Sud--but you have me say the brick-layers want

better air. It doesn't sound right. You see brick-layers work out of

doors and the air there is--I beg your pardon--it's in no way of

criticism, sir----

SUD. Come here. [_He cuts the line, using wrong colored pencil first._]

Leave out "light and air." That's a confusion from bad typing in the

serial version. Go on, Mr. Inkwell.

INKWELL [_sits right of table and Mrs. Pencil left_]. See here, Kate,

you keep out of this business--I'm not going to be spied on by any

woman.

MRS. PENCIL [_in whisper_]. Who is spying on you?

INKWELL [_in whisper_]. You!!

MRS. PENCIL. I?

SUD [_smacks his lips_]. Now we are coming to a big scene! There is

nothing so effective as the repetition of the same words brought up to a

climax. Begin again, Mrs. Pencil. "Who is spying on you?"

MRS. PENCIL. Who is spying on you?

INKWELL. You!

MRS. PENCIL. I?

INKWELL. You!

MRS. PENCIL. I?

INKWELL. You!

MRS. PENCIL. I?

SUD [_tearing his hair--going to them_]. Parrots! Nothing but parrots!

Increase the stress--build up the scene--build--build!

INKWELL. How can we build when you don't give us any lines?

SUD. What do you call yourselves actors for if you can't supply acting

when the playwright uses dashes!--This is the biggest scene in the play.

[_Crosses to lower left._] The very fact that I don't give you a lot of

literary lines puts me in the class of the most forceful dramatists of

the day! My plays are not wishy-washy lines! They are full of

action--red-blood--of flesh and blood! Now you do _your_ part--bing-bang

stuff!--shake them in their chairs out there--make shivers run up their

spines! Make 'em _feel_ you! Compel their applause! Now go to _it!_ Go

to it!!!

[_Sud sets the tempo, repeating their words._]

INKWELL. You!

MRS. PENCIL. I?

INKWELL. You!

MRS. PENCIL. I?

SUD [_shouts_]. Get it over! Get it over!

INKWELL. You!

MRS. PENCIL. I?

SUD [_shouts_]. Get it over! Mr. Wouldby, is it getting over?

WOULDBY [_looks at footlights_]. I don't see anything get over.

SUD. He doesn't see it! You hear? He doesn't see it! Begin again! And

please, please, please--get it over--over!!

[_He motions violently with his arms during following scene as if

to help them raise the vitality of the scene. Sud sets tempo

again._]

MRS. PENCIL. Who is spying on you?

INKWELL. You!

MRS. PENCIL. I?

INKWELL. You!!

MRS. PENCIL. I??

INKWELL. You!!!

MRS. PENCIL. I???

INKWELL. You!!!!!

MRS. PENCIL. I??????

INKWELL [_fiercely_]. You!!!!!!!

MRS. PENCIL. I???????

INKWELL. What do you call it then, coming here after me like this?

MRS. PENCIL. What do you mean--like this?

SUD [_shrieks--beside himself_]. Like what?

MRS. PENCIL. Like this?

SUD. Accent it--stress it--increase it! Like _what_?

MRS. PENCIL. Like this!

SUD. Like what?

MRS. PENCIL. Like this!

SUD [_rushes around circuit of stage and ends near Wouldby_]. The best

scene in the play--ruined--ruined! I'm noted for my strong, laconic

scenes and you make me suffer like this. Perfectly hopeless--I say

increase--you decrease; nothing but animal sounds! Nothing but a

machine! Oh! What's the use! Go on, go on--now you see, Mr. Wouldby, how

actors can make plays fail--

MRS. PENCIL. If you'd write us a decent play once we might--

SUD. No back-talk, madam! I haven't engaged you yet. If you can't play

it any better, I'll let you out! Show us what you can do with the rest

of the scene! By Heaven--if you can't pound his chest right the box

office will lose money on you!

WOULDBY [_his eyes popping_]. Oh! Must she pound him?

SUD. Seeing a woman pounding a man's chest and hearing her scream is

worth two dollars to anybody. Go on, Mrs. Pencil.

MRS. PENCIL. You are keeping something from me? You have deceived me!

You dog! Tell me! Tell me! Who is she? Where is she? You are keeping

something from me!

[_She pounds Inkwell in a rage._]

WOULDBY [_in innocent wonderment_]. Is she trying to yank it out of his

chest?

SUD. Pound! Pound! Get it over! [_Sud rushes back between Mrs. Pencil

and Inkwell, pushes her down left, drags Inkwell to center, grasps his

coat lapel, shakes him violently and shouts her lines: "You are keeping

something from me." and pushes Inkwell to right. Sud turns quickly to

left and shows her his manuscript._] I wrote "applause" here. You've got

to get applause here--so pound!

INKWELL. Would you mind skipping the scene to-day? I'll wear a foot-ball

suit to-morrow.

SUD [_in scorn_]. Just like an actor to have a personal prejudice

against a part.

INKWELL. I'm not "suited" to it yet--but with the proper costume--

SUD [_in scorn_]. You must not rely on costume! Think of your art!

WOULDBY. But why must she pound him so hard?

SUD [_down left_]. Because he is the villain and the audience likes to

see him get it.

MRS. PENCIL [_at right and Inkwell to her left_]. Who is she? You are

keeping something from me!

WOULDBY. What has he done to make him the villain?

SUD. I didn't want an explanation here, so I had to interrupt

them--sch--here comes Miss Ivory.

[_Miss Ivory enters._]

SUD. Such interruptions reek with dramatic intensity.

MISS IVORY. Here is the arrack for you, Mr. Inkwell--

INKWELL [_accepting it_]. Thank you.

MRS. PENCIL [_nervously_]. I think I'll take my hat to my room--

[_Inkwell gives her her hat. She goes out._]

SUD [_aside_]. Not a bad excuse, the hat! Eh? I had to get her out.

WOULDBY. Very natural--yes--indeed--

MISS IVORY [_seated at right of table. Inkwell stands back of

table--center_]. Well, Mr. Inkwell, I hope we may yet succeed in

claiming you as a friend--instead of coddling you as an enemy.

INKWELL. If you treat all your enemies so well--what must you do for

your friends?

MISS IVORY. We abuse those we love.

SUD [_nudging Wouldby--aside_]. Quite epigrammatic, eh?

INKWELL. Even abuse at such fair hands could only please.

SUD [_aside_]. Did you catch the subtlety of that line?

MISS IVORY [_nervously_]. Wi--wi--will you have some more tea?

INKWELL [_coming left of table--to be opposite her--catching her hand._]

I don't want tea--I want you! I love you!

SUD. Wait a moment! That's too abrupt! I've some more lines here

somewhere. [_Looks through slips pinned in manuscript._] I cut some out

of the beginning of the act. When the first curtain went up and the maid

was discovered dusting the room I had the Irish butler make love to her.

[_To Wouldby._] [_Handing Inkwell a paragraph._] There, Inkwell, are the

love lines I was looking for. Proceed, please.

MISS IVORY. Shall I go back?

INKWELL. To tea.

MISS IVORY. Wi--will--will you have some m--more--t--tea?

INKWELL [_catching her hand and bringing her forward, he gives speech

with Irish accent_]. I don't want tea--I want you! I love you! Oh! My

darlint, it is a terrible sensation I'ave for you, I'ave--'and me your

little 'and in moine, for the loikes of you I never--[_As all look dazed

and Inkwell has trouble twisting his tongue._] I beg pardon, Mr. Sud,

but this is a butler making love--I am playing the part of a gentleman--

SUD [_has dropped from his stool and retired in tears and rage up

right_]. Haven't you any brains of your own? If a musician can transpose

music by sight, can't you do the same to dialogue?

INKWELL. But a gentleman doesn't make love like a--

SUD [_goes up stage again--ends at his stool by Wouldby_]. He means the

same--now go on--I can't stand these arguments. They will give me

apoplexy!

FIRST GIRL [_calling him back with a gesture_]. Life! [_An important