_Scene_--PETER HARGRAVE'S _apartment. Door R. Exit L. Narrow hall U. R.
with door L. An old-fashioned bell rope overhead; double desk, two
chairs, and a Venus on the wall. Enter_ JACK _escorting_ HARGRAVE _by
the arm_.
JACK. If it were my own father, he could not have acted in a more
gentlemanly manner. Your every movement marks you the gentleman. You
have a gentleman's happy faculty for doing the wrong thing at the right
time. I have always feared that some day I should meet a gentleman, but
never, never suspected you. (_They come down stage together._) Dill
said his brother was a gentleman, but no one believes Dill, no one but
myself. (HARGRAVE _is doing his best to overlook_ JACK'S _frivolity_.)
HARGRAVE. I must confess that I am glad my brother has been found out.
What did you say his social standing was?
JACK (_using Venus as a mirror_). A butler, father. The standing is on
a par with petty theft.
HARGRAVE. A butler! A thief!
JACK. Yes, a menial, father, a form of man. It owes its origin to
menus.
HARGRAVE (_rubbing his hands_). I haven't told you before, my boy, and
an announcement of this kind should really proceed from the young lady
in question, but I believe that I am engaged.
JACK. Of course, you are, father. I'm attending to that.
HARGRAVE. Then Kathryn has told you?
JACK. Kathryn? This is the last straw, father. (_Pulls quill pen from
hat._) You shall be unfrocked, sir. (_Sits down at desk._) I'll write a
brief to the Archbishop to that effect. (_Does not write._) I had long
seen the advisability of such action, and had you been my real father
would have attended to it long ago. (HARGRAVE _glares at him_.) When
would you be unfrocked, father? In the morning? I'll respect any
preference you see fit to name. Well, some morning! Most any morning
will do. Letters have to travel like other people. They would not be
well read otherwise.
HARGRAVE (_at other end of the desk_). You shall go to jail, sir.
(_Writes furiously._) Or maybe there are many charitable organizations
only too glad to take you off my hands.
JACK. That remark was cowardly, Mr. Kent. You know very well that I am
not rich enough to go to jail, and that both influence and position are
required today for a jail career. (_Snatches pen away._) For the past
fortnight a jail has been my prime ambition. I have a genius for jails,
and I need not tell you, Mr. Kent, that I need rest and affection.
HARGRAVE. Hargrave, Jack, Hargrave! And until tonight I must be known
by no other name.
JACK. Please don't call me Jack, father. It sounds so unartificial. And
to think that I who have always perceived the immense superiority of a
number, should have been endowed with a monosyllable like that.
HARGRAVE. You had a number once, Jack.
JACK. A number! Is it true, father, or do my ears deceive me?
HARGRAVE (_piously_). I shall endeavor to spare your feelings as far as
possible. A young man tasting too soon of the bitter fruits of life is
apt to form a very wrong impression of this world of ours, and the
inhabitants above it.
JACK. Oh, people are above everything in this world, father, and in the
next too, I guess. But have I got a number?
HARGRAVE. How little you understand! You think that I refer to some
social distinction, some news of your misguided parents. I refer to
your real parents, Jack. An immoral longing I have never had.
JACK. Oh, everyone's as moral and immoral as he knows how to be,
father.
HARGRAVE (_expostulating_). Jack! Jack!
JACK. How often must I tell you not to call me that, sir. Even John
were better.
HARGRAVE (_devoutly_). It was no desire of mine to dig up the past, to
unearth that which belonged rightly to the dead. Your conduct, however,
has made the telling inevitable.
JACK. A telling speech, father. But tell me, have I got a number?
HARGRAVE (_bitterly_). You have, sir! You have! Allow me to tell you,
sir, that you once were, and I have no doubt still are, undutifully
registered at Crapsey Hall, Canterbury, under the charge of an
abominable brute by that name, as John--plain John, Disciple No. 1, in
an evil establishment known as a School for Socialism.
JACK (_embracing him wildly_). Father! I forgive you! Everything!
(_Kissing him._) Turn the other cheek, father. Oh, such luck, such
luck! I'll return at once. My fortune and future are assured now.
(_Tosses his cap into the air._) And to think that of all numbers, I
should have been No. 1.
HARGRAVE (_kindly_). You are surely an odd number, Jack.
JACK. Dear Crapsey! I wonder how he came to give me that particular
number, or if he knew that I thought of no one but myself?
HARGRAVE. I stole you from that heathen Hell--
JACK. Yes, yes, father.
HARGRAVE. And you were the first, last, and only little devil ever
entered there.
JACK (_crushed_). Oh!
HARGRAVE. So come, let's to more serious things. You said my brother
was getting married?
JACK. It's a man's malady, father.
HARGRAVE (_suddenly_). Jack! I have a thought! (_Steps forward._) Could
it be possible?
JACK. You slight yourself, father.
HARGRAVE (_meditating_). He is not marrying out of love. No! My brother
would never do that. He must be marrying out of his--
JACK. Out of his senses, father. All men do that.
HARGRAVE (_gyrating in circles_). The will! the will! Oh, he must know,
he must! The estate was left to him on condition that he was married,
and that's why he's marrying now. (_Pulls large pair of colored glasses
from his pocket._) The will! Show me the will!
JACK. I knew you hadn't lost them. The old rarely lose anything. They
have nothing to lose.
HARGRAVE (_teeming with excitement_). The will! the will!
JACK (_reaching in hip pocket, coat pocket, hip pocket_). Yes, father.
(_Repeats the experiment._) No, father. (_Subsides into chair._)
HARGRAVE. Oh, Jack! He has found it--we are lost.
JACK (_springing to his feet_). No, it's not lost. I remember, you
remember, it is under the tree. I left it in the Park this morning.
HARGRAVE. No!
JACK. Yes. (_Makes for door--returns deliberately._) You agree to
behave in my absence, father? I am very popular these days, and if Jane
or Kathryn should happen in--
HARGRAVE. Jane! Did you say Jane! I have a particular aversion to that
name, Jack. I trust that no woman named Jane bears any relationship to
Kathryn?
JACK. Only her mother.
HARGRAVE. Her mother? Her name, please! Even now I trace a resemblance,
a terrible resemblance. Tell me her name!
JACK. Her name's the same as Kathryn's, of course. I only ask you to
leave the whole family alone hereafter. They did not even know you
existed until this afternoon. You were a creation of my fancy and had
form, color and expression. And now you have ruined it all. All,
father, because you will not wear your glasses.
HARGRAVE. I don't know Kathryn's name. She never told me and I never
asked.
JACK. Kathryn's name is Kathryn Gibbs, her aunt's name is Gloria Gibbs,
and her mother's name is Jane Gibbs. Jane's a jewel, Gloria's an idiot,
and Kathryn's mine. Have you learned all that you want now, or must I
tell you more?
HARGRAVE (_in a most melancholy voice_). Jack, this is terrible. I had
never expected that. Jane Gibbs!
JACK. The name's no worse than Jack, father. Too bad Jane's not a
socialist, and could exchange for a number.
HARGRAVE. She is a socialist, Jack. Oh, a horrible, horrible socialist!
Did I never tell you of a woman? whose views of life--
JACK. Are not so antiquated as your own, sir? (_There comes a tinkle of
the bell, a second and a third._) But come, father, one should always
give in to the inevitable, and I have chosen Jane as your most likely
spouse.
HARGRAVE. I will not marry that woman! I will not! (JACK _throws open
the door and_ JANE _enters. She has on a gown of many colors and a hat
of many heights._)
JACK. Ah, Jane! So glad to see you! I've just been speaking to father
about that matter we discussed and he's quite interested already. Fact
is, father's always interested, though interesting he is not. I've
taken him to task about that blunder, though. Father's a bull for
blunders. In the morning I've suggested that he be unfrocked. You'll be
there of course? Great sight. (_Facing about._) Why don't you say
something, father! Or should fathers be seen and not heard? But perhaps
you desire an introduction. Jane--my father. My father--Jane Gibbs.
(_Each are about to shake hands, but_ JACK'S _body intervenes and he
rambles on_.) The family problem is the most important product of this
age, and ranks even higher than the servant question. Of course,
fathers were fashionable at one time, or I never should have had one.
It's a great fault, though, I admit.
JANE (_loosening wrap_). My faults are my fortune, Jack. Some people
are even famous for them.
JACK. Ravishing, Jane, ravishing! (_Plays with dress, avoiding_
HARGRAVE.) But perhaps I should go.
JANE. Probably you should go, Jack.
HARGRAVE. It is not problematical at all. It is obvious, sir. (JACK
_runs around the table_.) My son has a roving nature, Jane; it is
almost poetical. I've just advised an interview with a certain tree, a
rather poetical tree. He is a near poet, you know.
JACK (_bowing_). A minor poet only, not yet being of age.
JANE. Do not make fun of the minor poets, Jack. Leave that to the
newspapers. They foster them.
HARGRAVE (_apologetic_). My son had good intentions.
JACK. Heaven is filled with good intentions, father. (_To_ JANE.)
Chesterton says that poets are a trouble to their families. But then
Chesterton is always wrong. If the families of real poets are anything
like mine, the trouble rests with them.
JANE. Hurry, Jack, the tree may be gone. (_Crosses L. and seats herself
in the armchair._)
JACK. My interview will prove a very short one. (_Pulls out watch._)
Before long, father, I shall expect you to have arranged everything.
HARGRAVE (_in a conciliatory manner_). You said that her sister was an
idiot, did you not?
JACK. I did, father.
HARGRAVE (_writing on cuff_). It may prove of importance. (_Shuts door
on him. A whistling sound is heard as_ JACK _leisurely descends the
stairs_. HARGRAVE _returns to_ JANE. _Her taking the larger chair
upsets him very much. There is a moment's lapse in which they look at
each other._)
JANE. How very still it is here, Peter. I feel almost as if I were in
the country--in the country that we both knew so well before our hearts
had learned to beat.
HARGRAVE (_rising to the sentimentality of the occasion_). My heart is
bigger than its beat, Jane.
JANE. Ah, but you have been in this country many days, and you never
once wrote to tell me. We should have been glad to see you, all of us,
even Dill--that's my butler--but he's almost one of the family.
HARGRAVE (_scowling_). I came to America from a sense of duty, Jane,
and it has completely absorbed my time. I came to find my brother.
JANE. You never told me you had a brother. You left that for your son
to do.
HARGRAVE. Then Jack has told you.
JANE. Yes.
HARGRAVE. The fact is, Jane, that I have never spoken very much of my
brother to anyone. The poor fellow eloped just before I met you, and
our recollection of him has always been a sad one. Sadder still has
been my present duty to investigate and find that he is dead.
JANE (_ironically_). The Peter Kent that I knew had very little sense
of duty. Often I thought that he had none at all. But he was not the
Peter Hargrave that I see now. He was not a minister, and he did not
lie. He was not a hypocrite and he did not masquerade under a false
name to swindle his own brother, his living brother whom he pretended
to think dead.
HARGRAVE (_surprised and sullen_). It is not true.
JANE. It is true! Your son told me.
HARGRAVE. Jack is not my son. He is only mine by adoption.
JANE. He told me that too, but he also told me about your brother. You
met him this very morning in the Park.
HARGRAVE. I admit that. But till this very morning I believed my
brother was dead, as dead as my own father is today. And now how does
he show himself! As a man with whom one would care to associate? (_With
sudden inspiration._) No, as a thief, an unrepentant, petty thief; and
Jack will tell you that also.
JANE (_a little taken aback_). How did you happen to call him Jack,
Peter? I think John were infinitesimally nicer.
HARGRAVE. Jack would hardly have had a name at all if it hadn't been
for me. He might have had nothing but a number.
JANE. A number?
HARGRAVE. Yes, a number! I found him the very morning after you sailed,
Jane, a babe in arms, bound heart and soul to a School for Socialism.
JANE (_eagerly_). A School for Socialism! Where, Peter?
HARGRAVE (_complacently_). At Canterbury, under the direction of--
JANE (_beside herself with excitement_). Of a most eminent man, a
charming gentleman by the name of--
HARGRAVE. Under the direction of a wholly worthless, degraded rascal,
who has dogged my footsteps from that day to this, who has even
threatened my life, and who has been the one and only cause of my
assuming the name of Hargrave.
JANE. His name?
HARGRAVE. His name is Crapsey! And he has even followed me to this
country.
JANE. Oh! (_Sinks into chair._)
HARGRAVE. When I stole him from that pernicious place, his sole mark of
identification was John, plain John, Disciple No. 1, in Crapsey's
School for Socialism. (_Bell rings overhead._)
JANE. You stole him, Peter, and your act was as free to censure as any
committed by your brother.
HARGRAVE. Ssh!
JANE. I won't be still. I want to tell you right now.
HARGRAVE (_terrified_). There's someone at the door.
JANE. I don't care. They can hear too if they want to. (_Gets up._)
HARGRAVE. Consider my position, Jane. I couldn't really ... I couldn't
have a woman in my rooms. There, there, now! (_Takes her arm._) You are
all flushed--and the rouge is beginning to come off. (JANE _instantly
subsides_.) This is my son's room. You may rest here for a while ... or
at least until my visitors have gone. (_Bowing complacently._) Love
lingers in the spring and doubtless they are only some happy couple
tasting for the first time that desire for the fruits of marriage which
is the divine purport of our youth. (_Shuts door securely on her. Sighs
with relief and wipes his glasses carefully. Then after a moment's
conflict with his vanity, returns and places them on the table. This
done he tiptoes to the door and apparently observing but one person,
shouts down the stairs._) Come in, sir! (DILL'S _head appears
immediately through the opening, quite startling_ HARGRAVE _who
retreats before it_. DILL _still wears knickerbockers and a wondrous
black cape falls from his massive shoulders. On second appearance he is
followed by_ GLORIA, _dressed in her very best and carrying a large
colored satchel. She is somewhat out of sorts at the delay and is
coaxed and fondled by_ DILL.)
HARGRAVE (_bowing_). Ah, two strolling minstrels, I perceive.
DILL (_punctiliously_). No, sir. No, sir. We understood that you were a
minister, sir.
HARGRAVE (_his hands clasped behind his back_). My heart and home are
ever at the disposal of my flock.
GLORIA. (_motioning_ DILL _to be still_). You'll excuse the nature of
our visit, sir, but you see my husband (_blushes a little_)--or rather
I should have said the man who is to be my husband--
DILL (_to_ GLORIA). Both, my love, both.
GLORIA (_bluntly_). There was no time to be lost and we must get
married.
HARGRAVE. Ah, love is a tender thing, and her call is always urgent.
DILL. I overheard your son observe that you are to be unfrocked,
sir--and so we just thought we'd take you while there was still time.
(_Aside._) There's only one time for marriage, and that's when the lady
gives her consent.
HARGRAVE (_now scowling and suspicious_). My son?
GLORIA. Dillingham, you are always rendering the most unpleasant
surprises. (_At mention of his brother's name_, HARGRAVE _stands
stupefied, then with a fleeting glance over his shoulder, rushes back
to the table and adjusts his glasses_.) Perhaps Mr. Hargrave does not
care to acknowledge that he has a son, and what you said about being
unfrocked was ungentlemanly. (HARGRAVE _glares at_ DILL _and stations
himself in front of_ JANE'S _door_.)
HARGRAVE (_trembling with emotion_). Do I understand, sir, that you
trespass upon my hearth entertaining visions of matrimony? (DILL _and_
GLORIA _are stupefied by_ HARGRAVE'S _peculiar behavior_.)
DILL (_very sweetly_). That's it, sir.
HARGRAVE. Then I take pleasure to inform you, sir, that it cannot be
done.
DILL. But it must be done, sir. I have made a careful canvass of the
ministry, and I find them all to be extinct at present, sir. They're
like the birds and butterflies, sir, and are forever migrating at this
season of the year. You're the only one that hasn't wings at present,
sir.
GLORIA. Be quiet, Dill. It's love that makes the world go around, Mr.
Hargrave.
HARGRAVE. It's love that makes the world stand still, I say. Besides,
in this country at least marriage is illegal. The Constitution
expressly provides that no man shall be deprived of the right of
health, happiness, and the pursuit of freedom.
GLORIA. That's why we are going to change the Constitution, Mr.
Hargrave.
HARGRAVE. Anyway there's no room here. A correct marriage requires
space for tears and relatives.
DILL (_in the corner_). I think we might try it here, sir.
HARGRAVE (_superciliously_). I am not in favor of trial marriages.
Marriage itself is responsible for the alarming decrease in the
birth-rate so prevalent throughout the world.
GLORIA (_sweetly_). I think Mr. Hargrave is superstitious, dear.
HARGRAVE (_snatching at the straw_). I am. I am.
DILL. I always try to harbor superstitions in the heart, sir, and to
remove them as far from the mind as possible.
HARGRAVE (_advancing with a crafty smile_). Ah, well! So be it then. My
own experience with marriage is limited. However I will say this much
for it. If it weren't for marriage a man could not honorably part with
a woman.
GLORIA (_in a low voice_). I said Mr. Hargrave was the proper person to
apply to, Dill.
HARGRAVE. We will first examine the license.
GLORIA. License?
HARGRAVE (_in the most insulting manner_). All women are not licensed
in this country I am sorry to say. In that the continental custom is
far better. However, before they are married they must be licensed. At
any rate do you think we should have them running around at large?
DILL. Here is the license, sir.
HARGRAVE (_examining it critically_). I don't see your ages here.
DILL. We are both forty. (GLORIA _is about to remonstrate_.)
HARGRAVE. Hm--really, sir, I must object to that. I myself am forty and
should not dream of marrying yet. You are both far too young.
DILL. If you insist, sir, I am a little over forty.
HARGRAVE (_squinting_). And your names are?
GLORIA. Gloria Gibbs.
DILL. Sir John Dillingham Kent.
HARGRAVE. Do I infer that you are a gentleman?
DILL. Oh, yes, sir. Even my brother was that.
HARGRAVE. And your social standing?
GLORIA (_whispering loudly_). Bart, Dill, Bart!
DILL. Br ... butler.
HARGRAVE. That settles it. I cannot marry a butler posing as a
gentleman. (_Acts as if about to show them out._)
GLORIA. There is nothing in the Bible which says anything against
marrying a butler, Mr. Hargrave. Pharaoh's chief adviser was a butler,
as you yourself know. (_There is no Bible to be seen and she stares at_
HARGRAVE _deprecatingly_.)
HARGRAVE (_eyeing_ DILL _as if choking would be a pleasure_). And
Pharaoh hung him by the neck, if I am not mistaken.
DILL. The baker, sir, the baker. Very mixing indeed, sir.
HARGRAVE. As God is my baker--I mean my maker--I swear that I will have
nothing further to do with the case. Under the most favorable
conditions I can imagine my marrying a butler, or even a baker, for
that matter, but with due respect to you, Miss Gibbs, I must (_glances
at cuff_) decline to marry a butler, or even Pharaoh himself, to an
idiot. The laws of hygiene govern that.
DILL. Sir!
HARGRAVE. My son has already informed me, Miss Gibbs, that you are an
idiot, and I for one refuse to perform at any ceremony in which you are
the principal.
GLORIA (_opening satchel_). Mediocrity may be the foundation of my
family, sir, but idiocy is not. However, I was prepared for that. I
have found your son something of a clever idiot himself, and first
accurate deductions led me to the belief that his father would be also.
(_Pulls out paper._) I have here complete and accurate credentials to
certify that I have never suffered from Christian Science, Mental
Science, Physical Science, Woman Suffrage, Eugenics, or any of the
other seven deadly diseases so prevalent amongst my sex. I have also
fully recorded a memorandum of the character and chief events of my
life, including ventilation, vivisection, vaccination, marriage--
HARGRAVE. Marriage! (_He gazes profoundly at them._)
GLORIA. This is my second marriage, Mr. Hargrave.
DILL (_apologetically_). We have both been married before, sir. You
see, sir--
HARGRAVE. I see. Are you calling attention to my glasses?
DILL. The fact is that we have each been married to each other, sir.
HARGRAVE (_drawing himself haughtily together_). Am I to gather that
that is any evidence of her sanity? I say it's absurd. Any scientist in
the country will tell you that a perfectly sane, healthy,
well-organized marriage must end somewhere. All things do, and
marriages have the habit, good or otherwise, of ending in divorce. It's
their affinity.
DILL. Ah! But our marriage was annulled, sir. (_Looks about him
confident that victory is won._)
HARGRAVE. To you, sir, I owe an apology. When I informed Miss Gibbs of
my decision in this important case, I had entirely overlooked you. Your
marriage was annulled, you say?
DILL. I do, sir.
HARGRAVE. And you are starting proceedings all over again?
DILL (_now dubious of his mastery of the situation_). Yes, sir.
HARGRAVE. In that event I substantially alter my original assertion. I
said she was an idiot, did I not?
GLORIA. And I can prove to the contrary, Mr. Hargrave.
HARGRAVE. Any man or woman, not willing, but eager--as you have both
shown yourselves to be--to repeat so dangerous an experiment, is
clearly removed from that extremity of the body which we call mind. It
is not a question of one idiot--you are both idiots.
DILL. Is not that a bit of an exaggeration, sir?
HARGRAVE. I think not.
DILL. I am sorry that Mr. Hargrave's son is not here, love. I know he
would marry us.
GLORIA. It's no use, Dill. Show Mr. Hargrave the will, and explain why
we must be married. (_Sound of_ JACK _on the stairs_.)
HARGRAVE. Yes, the will! Show me the will! (_Reaches out for it._)
JACK. Father! I cannot find it! The will is lost! (_Bursts upon them._)
GLORIA (_after a painful pause_). What will, Mr. Hargrave? You seem
extremely nervous. Can there be any relation between your will and
ours? (HARGRAVE _looks very faint_.)
DILL. I don't know if there is any relation between the wills, my dear,
but Mr. Jack said that his father took me for his brother. Of course
Mr. Hargrave didn't know that my name was Kent. However, I had an uncle
named Hargrave, and in case my brother is dead, one half of the estate
shall be his.
HARGRAVE (_buoyant at this turn of affairs_). I am Peter Kent, your
brother, your long missing brother! (_Embraces him._)
GLORIA. When a woman does not change her name for love she does so for
money. It is true sometimes of a man. I see now why Mr. Hargrave
changed his name and why he refuses to marry us. He shall not get a
cent. (_To_ DILL.) I think that you knew all the while that Mr.
Hargrave was your brother, and that you chose to be married by a thief.
(HARGRAVE'S _expression has changed_.)
JANE (_stepping out_). Mr. Hargrave changed his name solely for my
sake. We are going to be married, and I preferred Hargrave to Kent.
That may be remedied, however. As for his brother--he did think him
dead for he told me so himself.
JACK. You have done this for my sake?
GLORIA. For whoever's sake you did it, Jane, I am glad you have got a
husband at last--even if you did it for your own. Come, Dill.
DILL. I should like to spend a few moments with my brother, my own.
GLORIA. Well, not more than a very few moments. (_To_ JANE.) The two
dears look absolutely alike, and when you get tired of yours we might
change them around a bit.
JANE. Are you coming, Jack?
JACK. I'm tired of all this moving around, Jane. I haven't sat down for
five minutes.
JANE. Well, just to the door. (_They go out._ DILL _seats himself
comfortably in the big chair_.)
DILL. Charming little artificial nook here. Shaw says--
HARGRAVE. Do not jest about artificial things, sir. Browne avers that
all things are artificial, nature being only the art of God.
DILL. Browne! Browne! No relation to Browning, sir? Pardon me. Of
course; Browning's the diminutive, Browne naturally the father.
HARGRAVE. Of no relationship whatever. I had reference to Sir Thomas
Browne.
DILL. Ah! A man with a title. One of God's favorites, sir, and possibly
some relation of my own. (_Enter_ KATHRYN. _She is very much out of
breath and holds an open letter in her hand._)
KATHRYN (_between gasps_). Of course, I always knew I had a father.
Every young girl has, and it would be considered most unnatural not to.
(_She is shielded by the angle of the room from_ DILL.) And I always
knew he was a horrid, horrid, man, too. Aunt Gloria confessed that.
(DILL, _hearing_ KATHRYN'S _voice, has risen_.) But at least I thought
he was a gentleman (DILL _takes a step toward her_), and I never, never
dreamed it could be Dill. (_They come face to face._) Oh! (_Turns
away._)
HARGRAVE (_turning threateningly_). What is your social standing, Dill,
I forget?
DILL (_abashed and discomforted_). A butler, sir.
HARGRAVE. Don't cry, dear, Dill is only a butler after all, and not at
all responsible for what he does. (KATHRYN _had not thought of
crying--but_ HARGRAVE _thought she should have_.) It is your mother who
is to blame--your mother! That will do, Dill. (_Forcing him back._)
This is the servant's exit.
DILL (_absolutely unhappy_). Miss Kathryn, let me explain!
HARGRAVE. You may explain to Miss Gibbs, Dill; perhaps she will defer
marrying you now. (_Pushes him out._ DILL _carries a wounded look away
with him_.)
DILL (_clattering down the stairs_). My brother was a gentleman. (JANE
_and_ JACK _enter leisurely by the front_.)
JACK (_taking in situation at a glance_). Is this your work, sir? Have
you proposed to her again, or what?
HARGRAVE (_to_ JANE). Kathryn is for the first time aware of her
father. I need not say that neither butler nor baker is considered the
thing in a family way. To find such a man one's brother is indeed an
unpleasant surprise, but to find him one's father must be a tragedy. We
both feel the blow more deeply than you think.
KATHRYN (_very haughtily_). You need not feel the blow at all, Mr.
Hargrave. I am already half resigned to my parent, and by tomorrow I
have no doubt that he will be in good standing again. My only regret
from the first was that you cannot take his place, and that Dill can
now be nothing more than a father to me.
JACK (_taking her arm_). There, there, my dear! All fathers are
terrible, and I know yours could never be as bad as mine. (_He regards
no one but her._) I positively never think of anything he says unless
by accident, nor must you either. And should the very worst come to
pass you must always console yourself by remembering that we are none
of us responsible for the species, either adopted or otherwise. (_They
go out._)
HARGRAVE. Kathryn took her father very nicely. (_Sets himself for a
scene._) I am sorry I do not share her strength.
JANE. One-half of strength is weakness.
HARGRAVE. And the other half?
JANE. That is weakness.
HARGRAVE. It is obvious, Jane, that you are incorrigible. Your daughter
did not bid you good-bye. Can you blame her? This social evil, Jane, is
far more than a harmless pleasure, as you once expressed it.
JANE (_languidly_). Kathryn is not my daughter. She is my adopted
daughter. Gloria is her mother.
HARGRAVE (_beside her_). Jane, forgive me! How could I have guessed?
JANE. You are far too serious, Peter. Perhaps it is something that you
eat.
HARGRAVE. I swallowed a whole tooth yesterday. I don't know just what
the consequences are going to be.
JANE. You may get a tooth-ache, Peter. And again you may go to the
dentist's.
HARGRAVE. I'd rather go to the dogs, Jane. I have already a hundred
holes in my head that were made by those fellows.
JANE (_running her hands through his hair_). Your hair is long, Peter;
far too long for married life. I have a marvellous tonic. It was
recommended to me by no less than three physicians, and is guaranteed
to make your hair fall out so quickly that you will positively never
have to have it cut.
HARGRAVE. I remember it all now, Jane--the fields that we wandered
together--and the Convolvulus, that little white flower that we picked
and loved.
JANE. Recite that about the lilies of the field, and the birds of the
sky, will you, Peter? It was always my favorite.
HARGRAVE. I didn't suppose you knew so much about the Bible, Jane.
JANE. I know something of birds, Peter.
HARGRAVE. You have always been my Convolvulus, Jane. Can you believe
that?
JANE. It's a funny thing, Peter, but in love one never doubts, and the
loved one never tells the truth.
HARGRAVE (_suddenly_). How beautiful you are, Jane! You look just as
you did in the days of old--with your little hands and feet.
JANE (_jumping up and covering them_). Oh, my feet have grown, Peter.
HARGRAVE. I remember, Jane; in the olden days you would do anything but
marry me.
JANE. Now that is the only thing I will do for you. (_Puts chair
between them._)
CURTAIN.