THE BIRTH MARK
SKETCH BY JACK LONDON written for Robert and Julia Fitzsimmons
SCENE--One of the club rooms of the West Bay Athletic Club. Near centre
front is a large table covered with newspapers and magazines. At left a
punching-bag apparatus. At right, against wall, a desk, on which rests a
desk-telephone. Door at rear toward left. On walls are framed pictures
of pugilists, conspicuous among which is one of Robert Fitzsimmons.
Appropriate furnishings, etc., such as foils, clubs, dumb-bells and
trophies.
[Enter MAUD SYLVESTER.]
[She is dressed as a man, in evening clothes, preferably a Tuxedo. In
her hand is a card, and under her arm a paper-wrapped parcel. She peeps
about curiously and advances to table. She is timorous and excited,
elated and at the same time frightened. Her eyes are dancing with
excitement.]
MAUD. [Pausing by table.] Not a soul saw me. I wonder where everybody
is. And that big brother of mine said I could not get in. [She reads
back of card.] "Here is my card, Maudie. If you can use it, go ahead.
But you will never get inside the door. I consider my bet as good as
won." [Looking up, triumphantly.] You do, do you? Oh, if you could see
your little sister now. Here she is, inside. [Pauses, and looks about.]
So this is the West Bay Athletic Club. No women allowed. Well, here I
am, if I don't look like one. [Stretches out one leg and then the other,
and looks at them. Leaving card and parcel on table, she struts around
like a man, looks at pictures of pugilists on walls, reading aloud their
names and making appropriate remarks. But she stops before the portrait
of Fitzsimmons and reads aloud.] "Robert Fitzsimmons, the greatest
warrior of them all." [Clasps hands, and looking up at portrait
murmurs.] Oh, you dear!
[Continues strutting around, imitating what she considers are a man's
stride and swagger, returns to table and proceeds to unwrap parcel.]
Well, I'll go out like a girl, if I did come in like a man. [Drops
wrapping paper on table and holds up a woman's long automobile cloak and
a motor bonnet. Is suddenly startled by sound of approaching footsteps
and glances in a frightened way toward door.] Mercy! Here comes
somebody now! [Glances about her in alarm, drops cloak and bonnet on
floor close to table, seizes a handful of newspapers, and runs to large
leather chair to right of table, where she seats herself hurriedly. One
paper she holds up before her, hiding her face as she pretends to read.
Unfortunately the paper is upside down. The other papers lie on her
lap.]
[Enter ROBERT FITZSIMMONS.]
[He looks about, advances to table, takes out cigarette case and is about
to select one, when he notices motor cloak and bonnet on floor. He lays
cigarette case on table and picks them up. They strike him as profoundly
curious things to be in a club room. He looks at MAUD, then sees card on
table. He picks it up and reach it to himself, then looks at her with
comprehension. Hidden by her newspaper, she sees nothing. He looks at
card again and reads and speaks in an aside.]
FITZSIMMONS. "Maudie. John H. Sylvester." That must be Jack
Sylvester's sister Maud. [FITZSIMMONS shows by his expression that he is
going to play a joke. Tossing cloak and bonnet under the table he places
card in his vest pocket, selects a chair, sits down, and looks at MAUD.
He notes paper is upside down, is hugely tickled, and laughs silently.]
Hello! [Newspaper is agitated by slight tremor. He speaks more loudly.]
Hello! [Newspaper shakes badly. He speaks very loudly.] Hello!
MAUD. [Peeping at him over top of paper and speaking hesitatingly.] H-h-
hello!
FITZSIMMONS. [Gruffly.] You are a queer one, reading a paper upside
down.
MAUD. [Lowering newspaper and trying to appear at ease.] It's quite a
trick, isn't it? I often practise it. I'm real clever at it, you know.
FITZSIMMONS. [Grunts, then adds.] Seems to me I have seen you before.
MAUD. [Glancing quickly from his face to portrait and back again.] Yes,
and I know you--You are Robert Fitzsimmons.
FITZSIMMONS. I thought I knew you.
MAUD. Yes, it was out in San Francisco. My people still live there. I'm
just--ahem--doing New York.
FITZSIMMONS. But I don't quite remember the name.
MAUD. Jones--Harry Jones.
FITZSIMMONS. [Hugely delighted, leaping from chair and striding over to
her.] Sure. [Slaps her resoundingly on shoulder.]
[She is nearly crushed by the weight of the blow, and at the same time
shocked. She scrambles to her feet.]
FITZSIMMONS. Glad to see you, Harry. [He wrings her hand, so that it
hurts.] Glad to see you again, Harry. [He continues wringing her hand
and pumping her arm.]
MAUD. [Struggling to withdraw her hand and finally succeeding. Her
voice is rather faint.] Ye-es, er . . . Bob . . . er . . . glad to see
you again. [She looks ruefully at her bruised fingers and sinks into
chair. Then, recollecting her part, she crosses her legs in a mannish
way.]
FITZSIMMONS. [Crossing to desk at right, against which he leans, facing
her.] You were a wild young rascal in those San Francisco days.
[Chuckling.] Lord, Lord, how it all comes back to me.
MAUD. [Boastfully.] I was wild--some.
FITZSIMMONS. [Grinning.] I should say! Remember that night I put you
to bed?
MAUD. [Forgetting herself, indignantly.] Sir!
FITZSIMMONS. You were . . . er . . . drunk.
MAUD. I never was!
FITZSIMMONS. Surely you haven't forgotten that night! You began with
dropping champagne bottles out of the club windows on the heads of the
people on the sidewalk, and you wound up by assaulting a cabman. And let
me tell you I saved you from a good licking right there, and squared it
with the police. Don't you remember?
MAUD. [Nodding hesitatingly.] Yes, it is beginning to come back to me.
I was a bit tight that night.
FITZSIMMONS. [Exultantly.] A bit tight! Why, before I could get you to
bed you insisted on telling me the story of your life.
MAUD. Did I? I don't remember that.
FITZSIMMONS. I should say not. You were past remembering anything by
that time. You had your arms around my neck--
MAUD. [Interrupting.] Oh!