Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed.
Words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_.
THE CONVOLVULUS
A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS
BY
ALLEN NORTON
NEW YORK
CLAIRE MARIE
MCMXIV
COPYRIGHT, 1914
BY CLAIRE MARIE
DRAMATIC RIGHTS RETAINED BY THE AUTHOR
PRINTED SEPTEMBER, 1914
TO
CARL VAN VECTEN
THOSE CONCERNED
JANE GIBBS
GLORIA, HER SISTER
KATHRYN
DILL
JACK HARGRAVE
PETER HARGRAVE
COL. CHRISTOPHER CRAPSEY
SCENES OF THE PLAY
Act 1. Jane's house on Gramercy Park
Act 2. Peter Hargrave's Apartment
Act 3. Reverting to Act 1
TIME
An Afternoon
THE CONVOLVULUS
ACT I
_Scene_--JANE'S _house on Gramercy Park. A living room with doors R.
and L. Entrance U. R. Curtains U. C., showing an alcove which looks out
on the Park._ DILL, _in velvet knickerbockers and jacket, is arranging
service for tea_. JACK, _a young man of twenty, has entered. He wears
green kid gloves and a green Alpine hat to match._
JACK. So you're getting married, Dill?
DILL. I am, sir. Have you any objections to offer?
JACK. None whatever, Dill. But why tea at this hour? It's only just
past lunch.
DILL. It's the very latest thing, sir; all Americans are doing it now.
It's to keep up with the London time, sir, and there it's tea-time
already. (_Examines a crumpled manuscript with his back to_ JACK.)
JACK (_indifferently_). What is that, Dill?
DILL. It's a will, sir.
JACK (_observing_. DILL'S _progress about the room_). Never admit that
you have a will, Dill. Where there's a will there's a conscience, you
know. One must get over such things.
DILL. I'll try to, sir. (_Puts manuscript back in pocket._)
JACK (_with an air of importance_). I've some melancholy news, Dill.
DILL. Melancholy for whom, sir?
JACK. For you, Dill, and for my father. I hope you won't take it too
seriously when I say you're the living picture of my father.
DILL. Oh, I just adore pictures, sir.
JACK. My father does not adore you, Dill. He took you for his brother.
DILL (_with dignity_). Really, sir! Who do you say that I am, sir?
JACK (_facing about_). I say you're the butler, Dill.
DILL. Quite right, sir. (_Attentively._) Are you a gentleman?
JACK. By no means.
DILL. Your father?
JACK. Nor he either. (_Enter_ JANE.)
DILL. My brother was a gentleman. (_Exit haughtily with tray._)
JANE _is forty, a young woman of forty. If failure is the worst
deformity, she must be open to that accusation, for she has compromised
with life. But_ JANE _will always be something a little better than a
woman_.
JANE. What is it all about, Jack? Yourself? Kathryn? Or merely me?
JACK. None of us, Jane. Dill said that he was getting married.
JANE. Oh, Dill's always getting married. He never does, though.
JACK. And then Dill was telling me about a brother of his, and I was
telling him about a brother of my father's. I have never told you,
Jane, but father really came here looking for a brother. Sort of a
business journey on his part. That is--none of his business whatever. I
tell him fathers should begin at home and stay there. But father feels
differently. Have you got a husband, Jane? I know that nothing short of
marriage will ever stop him.
JANE. I haven't, Jack. But I almost had an English one once.
JACK. No need to explain, Jane. They don't exist. Our men were all
killed in the Wars of the Wives. Father says it was they who started
that horrible Rebellion in this country, and that it's going on still.
Father doesn't believe in matrimony. That's because you're the first
person I've had the heart to broach the subject to. (_Aside._) I don't
think I shall ever marry. It's a fine opportunity for a young man.
JANE. To become your mother, Jack, I might think of it. But a minister
can support anything but a wife or a sense of humor.
JACK. Ah! but if father comes into the estate--
JANE. The estate?
JACK. Yes, you see when my grandfather died he left his entire fortune
to his second son, at the same time disinheriting us. Said that when
father became a minister he handled enough tainted money without
hoarding any of his.
JANE. That's too bad, Jack. Not a penny?
JACK. No, just died and damned us.
JANE. He might have left that to his father, mightn't he?
JACK. So he might. It doesn't make much difference now though. By the
terms of the will he had to be found, or to find himself, within one
year, or the estate reverted to us. (_Pulls out watch._) His time's
almost up I fear.
JANE. You don't think he's dead, do you?
JACK. That or strayed I guess. (_Sighs._) He was always the black sheep
of the family.
JANE. It was certainly very good of your father to come to America to
find his brother. Where did he think he was, do you suppose, in
Australia?
JACK. Well--his brother always had an antipathy for Americans. He
married an American! (_Enter_ GLORIA.)
GLORIA. _is the ordinary middle-aged mortal. In face, figure and
deportment she is like any other middle-class American woman. All
American women belong to the middle class. They are not all_ GLORIAS,
_however_.
GLORIA (_flouncing into a chair_). Have you seen Kathryn--anyone?
(_Puts the finishing look to a letter; seals it; then resumes without
noticing either one of them._) I have a very important letter for her.
JACK. I didn't know anything was of importance to Kathryn, now that
she's in love with me.
GLORIA (_quietly_). Kathryn in love with you? Mr. Hargrave, you must be
mistaken.
JACK. No--she proposed to me yesterday.
JANE. And did you accept?
JACK. No, I wanted to surprise Kathryn by refusing, and then to startle
her by proposing myself. This afternoon I have chosen for my surprise.
Three o'clock I think would be the appropriate hour.
JANE. The surprise, Jack, may be yours, but the romance remains with
Kathryn. Eve will out, you know, and Kathryn has proposed again.
JACK. Again! May I ask who it is who has been so bold as to be proposed
to?
JANE. Oh, it's still in the family.
JACK. The family?
JANE. Yes, Kathryn has proposed to your father. She said her love for
you was of no import, that her love for your father was based upon
degrees of reverential confidence which marriage alone could be trusted
to dispel.
JACK (_rising_). I presume, Jane, that you refer to somebody else's
father.
JANE. Your very own.
JACK. Impossible!
JANE. She recognized him at once.
JACK. How so?
JANE. By his resemblance to you.
JACK. Improbable.
JANE. Why so?
JACK (_seating himself_). I have no father.
JANE. Of course if you have no father, that settles it. You have often
spoken to us of one, just the same.
JACK. So I have. But he's not a real father.
GLORIA. What sort of a father is it that's not a real father?
JACK. Oh, mine's adopted.
JANE. You mean that you're an orphan, an adopted son, or something of
the sort?
JACK. Yes; father found me; on a Friday.
JANE. Found you? On a Friday?
GLORIA (_rising_). I don't see anything peculiar in the day at all,
Jane. It is one of the seven, and to be found in all the best
calendars. (_Brusquely._) Have you found Kathryn, Jack? (_Enter_ DILL.)
JACK. I think I have. I think she's in the next room. (_Edges off C._)
DILL. Pardon the contradiction, sir, but Miss Kathryn is in the Park.
Picking convolvulus I think. Convolvulus very sweet today, sir.
JACK. Was she alone, Dill?
DILL (_gaily_). No, sir; no, sir. I think she's with your father, sir.
(_Retreats before_ JACK'S _glance_.)
JACK (_wheeling about_). Foolish father! foolish father! Really I
cannot begin to account for such conduct on my parent's part. The sense
of family obligation in the old is appallingly on the wane. But perhaps
he's forgotten his glasses. Father's been wearing glasses for twenty
years and performs the most revolting capers whenever he's without
them. He becomes a boy all over again. (_Stands in curtain way._) Have
you got a book on fathers, Jane? Or perhaps I'll see him from the
window. (_Stretches himself out in inner room where he may be observed
throughout remainder of scene._)
GLORIA (_matter-of-factly_). I think a book on daughters is what you
really need, Jane. (_Fans herself._) I need not say that Kathryn has
never been a daughter to you. (_They sit facing each other._)
JANE. Of course not, Gloria. How could she have been? But Kathryn is my
adopted daughter.
GLORIA (_very determinedly_). Kathryn is not your daughter at all!
Kathryn is my daughter.
JANE. How unexpected, Gloria! Since when did you discover this?
GLORIA. I have never discovered it at all, of course. I have known it
from the first.
JANE. Then that Friday, that biblical Friday, twenty years ago, when
you came to me with tears in your eyes--and a basket and a baby--
GLORIA. I did it for your sake, Jane. I thought it would add to your
character.
JANE. Why didn't you adopt Kathryn yourself, Gloria? You might have
done that for your daughter.
GLORIA. For reasons of my own, and my husband's, I thought it best to
allow you to.
JANE. Your child is quite your treasure, Gloria, you hide it so
cleverly. As for your husband, I think you must have buried him.
GLORIA. We were married on our trip to London--yours and mine. My
husband's father did not approve of the match and our marriage was
annulled. Events which have since transpired allow us to be reunited.
JANE. It seems very strange this, your marrying your own husband.
GLORIA (_radiantly_). It is strange, beautifully, idealistically
strange. Oh, you never could believe me, never!
JANE. I believed you once, Gloria.
GLORIA (_turning quickly_). In the exact spot where I said I had found
the basket--
JANE. And with which Kathryn picks posies now--
GLORIA. It was there that I found the will!
JANE. What will, Gloria?
GLORIA. The will leaving everything to my husband--on condition that we
were married--that is, left it to us as man and wife.
JANE. So you think the will won't hold?
GLORIA. Not unless we are married, and immediately.
JANE. It is a great temptation, Gloria, I admit.
GLORIA. More than that; my husband takes a title.
JANE. Oh, I detest titles--American titles at any rate. In America a
title is the conventional crown to which the rich and poor alike must
bow. Every professional man, every silly doctor and scientist holds
some title by the hand with which he is clubbing us on the head. Once
we assert ourselves, feel instinctively that which he never could
comprehend, down comes the cudgel.
GLORIA. You don't think my husband is going to beat me?
JANE. I don't know, I can't say.
GLORIA (_proudly_). My husband is a baronet.
JANE. Then probably he will.
GLORIA. I tell you frankly that my husband is not going to beat me. The
English haven't beaten anybody in years, and I'm not going to be the
first. (_Going closer to her._) Jane, why do you insist upon calling
yourself Jane Gibbs? Would not your husband's name, or even Mrs. Gibbs,
be better? You must think of Kathryn and your husband.
JANE. My husband?
GLORIA. Your husband! (_Drawing still closer, her curiosity lending a
tone of affection._) Who is your husband, Jane? I have always been most
curious.
JANE (_shrugging her shoulders_). Indeed I am sorry, Gloria. I know
that curiosity never should be allowed to go unanswered, but I have no
husband.
GLORIA (_at the point of tears_). Jane, this is terrible! I sanctioned
Kathryn's adoption believing you at least had that. What of her? What
of your son? I thought that constant association with my daughter might
arouse some affection for him whom you have evidently disowned. Have
you never thought that he might want to visit this country, that he
might feel the neglect of the only mother he can call his own? What of
your son!
JANE. My son?
GLORIA. Your son!
JANE. I have no son.
GLORIA. Ever since your return from London I have been told that you
had a husband, and you have told me that you had a son. You said his
name was John.
JANE. Suit yourself, Gloria. I have a son.
GLORIA. And John is now?
JANE (_hesitating--then with real enthusiasm_). At a School for
Socialism in Canterbury.
GLORIA. A School for Socialism!
JANE. Yes, and until John's twentieth year there is completed he must
remain in socialistic hands.
GLORIA. You are not for socialism, Jane?
JANE. I am not enough interested in myself, Gloria, to be interested in
others. However, I am for socialism till the advent of socialism, then
I shall be for something else.
GLORIA. And this school--had it a founder?
JANE. Yes, a Col. Christopher Crapsey. A really lovable man. The idea
was wholly his, and wholly original too. The school has prospered and
is now one of the largest in England. From all that I hear John is its
prize pupil.
GLORIA. But are you sure, Jane, that Crapsey is quite, quite reliable?
JANE. I am never sure of anything, Gloria. But Crapsey is in this
country now and you may judge for yourself. He wrote me yesterday to
say that he was coming to see me on a matter of importance, of the very
first importance. I suppose he had reference to John.
GLORIA. I should never trust any man, Jane. They give us children and
suffering and that is all. Pain has ever been the path of woman.
JANE. They talk a lot about the pain of women, Gloria, but it's not so.
Slender waists are still the style.
GLORIA. Nevertheless I should investigate for myself.
JANE. And Kathryn--what would you do about her?
GLORIA (_holding up letter_). Kathryn will understand when she has read
this. It is from her father and explains everything.
JANE. I am glad that Kathryn's father is a man of letters. Few
Englishmen can boast of that. But is Kathryn to become your daughter,
or will she remain with me?
GLORIA. For twenty years Kathryn has been your daughter. She has been
your daughter and nobody else's. Kathryn thinks she is your daughter.
She acts like your daughter. (_Rises._) And now--when I had expected
some vast upheaval of your nature, some evidence of more than a petty
affection, you cast her off for a son whom you have scarcely seen. You
have no maternal instinct whatever.
JANE. I am sorry, Gloria. But when one puts money into a thing one
expects some return--even if it is a son. And I have spent a great deal
of dollars on John's education.
GLORIA. How mercenary you are! And here Kathryn has barely a stitch on
her back. (_Enter_ DILL.)
JANE. That's due to the new fashions, Gloria. (_Clock strikes. Reënter_
JACK.)
DILL (_to_ GLORIA). There's a bit of Convolvulus in the air, my lady.
(KATHRYN _steals in unnoticed_.)
JANE. A bit of what, Dill? I've heard that name before. Have you ever
heard of the Convolvulus, Jack? It sounds as round as a race-track.
JACK (_watch in hand_). I don't know, Jane. I haven't followed the
flowers for years.
GLORIA. Oh, it's only an ordinary flower that grows in the Park. I
don't think it even has a smell, but Dill says I'm named after it.
JACK. That's not true, Gloria. There's only one Convolvulus, and that's
Kathryn. I named her that yesterday. Besides, who ever heard of a
Convolvulus Gloria or a Gloria Convolvulus? It's absurd.
KATHRYN (_emptying flowers over Jack's head_). Well, here are some
anyway. A flower for you, Jack. And mother, a flower for you, too. A
Convolvulus for each of you.
KATHRYN. _is picturesque and pretty. A little too young to be anything
but herself, she is nicely original. Her favorite books are Brieux and
Browning, with a little Tennyson in the summer. She believes in the
soul, and has one._
JACK. You are just in time, Kathryn. I have something of importance to
tell you.
GLORIA. And I have an important letter for you.
KATHRYN. Oh, mother--you know how I have always wanted one. Do you
think it could be from--father?
JANE. I don't know, dear. I'm going to look for a book on mothers and
I'll know more about parents in general when I come back. (_Goes out
C._)
KATHRYN (_to herself_). Of course not; how silly of me. Why it hasn't
even a postage stamp, to say nothing of a foreign one.
GLORIA. I shouldn't read it now, dear, anyhow. (_Prepares to go._)
JACK. I shouldn't read it at all. I think Gloria wrote it herself.
GLORIA. If you have any intention of marrying Mr. Hargrave, Kathryn, I
should advise you to teach his son better manners. (_Exit._)
KATHRYN. I'm afraid you're too young, Jack, for me to ever teach you
anything. (_Turns her back on him._)
JACK (_with his back to her_). I'm old enough to be thoroughly
cross--and rebellious, Kathryn.
KATHRYN (_facing about_). Jack, you're not, and such remarks are
thoroughly disrespectful. One of the first lessons in life a young man
must learn is never to rebel against a woman.
JACK. I distinctly rebel against your proposing to my father. I was
with father most of the morning and took especial pains that he should
meet no one. Where did you find him?
KATHRYN. I discovered him in the Park, Jack. He was wandering about as
aimlessly as a child, and I am sure had no earthly idea of where he was
going.
JACK. Yes, father moves very much like a planet at times, doesn't he?
But then I'm not responsible for his defects. (_Nestles beside her._)
KATHRYN. I don't think your father has any defects.
JACK (_continuing_). And then father's a terrible failure. But one
expects that. The old are all failures. It is only from a very young
man that one demands immediate, impossible success.
KATHRYN. Before you talk so much about others, Jack, you might educate
yourself a little.
JACK. Oh, I don't believe in education, Kathryn. What has education
done for this country? One-hundred-million Philistines?
KATHRYN. What a silly thing to say, Jack. (_Strokes his hair._)
JACK. It makes no difference what one says, Kathryn, so long as one
says something.
KATHRYN. You're very irreverent, Jack. (_Pushes him aside._)
JACK. Please don't call me Jack! I'd so much prefer a number.
KATHRYN. A number?
JACK. Yes, a number. I know Shakespeare was thinking of me when he said
there was nothing in a name.
KATHRYN. You're always comparing yourself to Shakespeare, Jack, and I
don't like it. Shakespeare was a great poet, and you're not even a poet
at all. (_Moves away._)
JACK (_with mock gallantry_). The earth should not always be told it
cannot rival the sun.
KATHRYN. That's better.
JACK. But seriously, I do wish I had a number.
KATHRYN. You're not a futurist, Jack?
JACK. I'm far too futile for that. But I believe in numbers in place of
names.
KATHRYN. That's just nonsense, Jack.
JACK. It's not nonsense. Numbers are necessary and convenient.
Moreover, I for one am entirely in accord with the socialistic idea of
the separation of parent and child. (_Rises._) A School for Socialism
is the one thing most needed today--some place a child may be put and
not molested by its parents, adopted or otherwise. Each child should
have a number, a perfectly reliable number, one that was all his own
and inherited from no one.
KATHRYN. I don't think your father would like to hear you talk that
way, Jack.
JACK. No, but then you must remember that father is a back number.
KATHRYN. I don't care.
JACK. No woman ever does. Lack of care is their distinction.
KATHRYN. And lack of character a man's.
JACK. Then you are no longer my Convolvulus?
KATHRYN. It's too late. You had your chance and didn't take it. Never
overlook an opportunity with a woman, you might change your mind.
JACK. Gloria said she was named after that flower, and I of course
denied it. I said that you were my Convolvulus--my white Convolvulus.
KATHRYN. I am your father's Convolvulus now, Jack. What's more, he's
coming to tea. (_Reënter_ JANE.)
JACK. Well, of all that's outrageous! Tea? At this hour? It's
three-fifteen, and they're deep in their dinners in London by now.
JANE. The clock may be set back, Jack. (_A pause._)
KATHRYN. Jack's father was telling me about his poor lost brother.
JACK. Oh, I'm not so sure that he's poor, or lost either--at least not
till tomorrow.
JANE. Why what do you mean, Jack? You said he was dead, to me these few
minutes ago.
KATHRYN. And your father isn't even looking for him any longer.
JACK. Looking for him? I should say not! When people look for things
they find them. When they look for children they are successful. And
the same rule applies to brothers. Parents are harder to locate and it
is their redeeming feature. But father has found his brother! He found
him this morning in the Park--found him with his own eyes, or rather
his glasses. Father can see anywhere with his glasses, and nowhere with
his eyes. If it were not for his glasses he'd be like other people.
KATHRYN. I don't believe this imputation against your father. You think
you can win my love by foully maligning his character and making him
appear as wicked as yourself. But you cannot. I don't believe one word
you have spoken, not one! (_Throws herself on sofa._) Your father
doesn't wear glasses! You have tried to deceive me. (_Enter_ GLORIA.)
GLORIA. He has deceived me too. But my charge is of a more serious
nature. Jane herself could not have been guilty of such conduct. You
have tampered with the dearest thing it is a woman's privilege to
possess. You have mocked that which was only mine to give and yours to
take. You have sullied a woman's name. (JACK _looks appealing to_ JANE
_and_ KATHRYN. _Both scorn him._)
JACK (_on bended knees_). Gloria! (_His hands are uplifted in prayer._)
GLORIA (_holding flower_). When I said I was named after that flower
you denied it. But my name is Gloria and the Convolvulus is mine by
baptism. (_Bell rings._ DILL _goes out_.)
JANE. He has been guilty of the grossest deception.
KATHRYN. Of the very grossest deception. We could never trust him now.
(_They lock arms and saunter across the stage together._)
GLORIA. He has! The Convolvulus is nothing but a Morning Glory, and I
was named after it. If I were not so very stationary I should pick some
now. I should pick a whole bundle of them.
KATHRYN (_most severely_). Your father does not wear glasses. You must
promise never to say such a thing again.
JACK. And to think that of all days father should have chosen this one
to forget his glasses.
JANE. Love is blind, Jack. (_Enter_ DILL _out of breath_.) Perhaps that
explains it.
DILL. Mr. Hargrave, Miss Kathryn.
_A white flower peeps clumsily from Hargrave's buttonhole. He wears the
usual vest and has the unusual voice of a member of the clergy. His
hair is long, and as he has apparently forgotten his glasses, he stands
in the doorway quite, quite confused._
KATHRYN (_running up to him_). Oh, you dear, dear man! (_Takes his
hand._) Of course you don't wear them, do you? (_Calling._) Jack, let
me introduce you to your father. Mr. Hargrave, let me introduce you to
your son.
HARGRAVE (_groping about and wiping his forehead uneasily_). My son?
KATHRYN. Jack--your father!
JACK. I am not his son, and he is not my father. I consider his
presence an intrusion, a disgrace. You shall be unfrocked, sir, at the
first opportunity.
HARGRAVE (_marching up to Jane_). How dare you, sir! How dare you speak
so disrespectfully of your father!
JANE. Mr. Hargrave, I am not your son--although you certainly do look
familiar. (HARGRAVE _has floundered to the other end of the room and is
being cared for by_ DILL, _who mops his face with a big handkerchief_.)
JACK. I know, father, there's great suffering among the rich in this
hot weather. Do you think you'd still care to marry him, Jane?
JANE. I'm not sure, Jack. Your father looks very much like someone I
almost married before.
JACK. Ah, in that case you'd hardly care to repeat the experiment.
(_Waves to them._) Goodbye, Kathryn. Come soon and find his glasses.
KATHRYN. No, I'd rather read my letter.
JANE. I'm not a bad looker, Jack. And I have a new high hat which
reaches to Heaven.
JACK. No more than mine, Jane. It's from the Alps. (_Takes his arm._)
This way, father. You don't drink tea anyway. (_They go out._ JANE
_strolls off_.)
KATHRYN (_to_ DILL). Do you think, Dill, do you think that a man could
ever be a success in life, I mean a real success like you have, who
wore glasses?
DILL. In my capacity, Miss Kathryn, I have often wished I wore them.
There are so many things it's best not to see too clearly.
KATHRYN (_with a relieved sigh_). Oh, that's all right then. (_She
disappears._ GLORIA _and_ DILL _are left quite, quite alone_.)
DILL (_after a pause_). Your debut--and that about the Convolvulus--was
very sweet, my dear.
GLORIA. Thank you, Dill.
DILL. On the contrary, Mr. Hargrave's entrance failed to come up to
expectations.
GLORIA (_sternly_). No, Dill. But men never do, and Mr. Hargrave can
render us a distinct service later. You forget that we must be married.
DILL. Is it really to come true, love?
GLORIA. Of course, Dill. And now are you quite ready?
DILL. Quite, my love.
GLORIA. Are your hands clean?
DILL (_taking hers in his_). No man's could be cleaner.
GLORIA (_smoothing his hair_). I don't think you brushed your hair,
Dill.
DILL. It's a pleasure to hear you say that, dear. I have always noticed
that when men and women tire of each other they become very careless of
each other's appearance.
GLORIA. Then you do love me, Dill?
DILL. Oh, my love. (_Embraces her passionately._)
CURTAIN.