SCENE.--_Office of MR. AMOS HILL._
(_AMOS seated in office chair, tipped back, soliloquizing._)
AMOS. Valentine’s Day once more! Strange I can’t get it out of my head!
Just forty years since Polly jilted me! Why, I wonder? I never did
understand. I was so sure that she cared for me--but there! Womankind is
fickle. She never married, though, nor I either, big fool that I was!
I couldn’t seem to help comparing every girl I met with her, and they
suffered by comparison, and so here I am, a bachelor of sixty, wanting
nothing but the one thing I never shall have--a wife and home of my own.
(_Puts a card photograph, such as were taken forty years ago, back into
desk._) There, little Polly, go back to your resting-place, while I go
back to work and try to forget you. (_Does not close drawer, but looks
up as knock is heard._) Eh? What? Come in, whoever you are. (_PAULINE
enters._) Polly! (_Gazes in surprise at her._) Who in the world are you?
PAULINE. Oh, I’m Polly, just as you said, though most folks call me
Pauline.
AMOS. But who are you? I thought----
PAULINE. You thought I was Aunt Polly? Do I look like her?
AMOS. Is Miss Polly Dennison your aunt?
PAULINE. My great-aunt.
AMOS. Then you’re Angie Dennison’s girl?
PAULINE. Yes, I’m Pauline Waldron, and I’m visiting at Aunt Polly’s.
AMOS. But what brings you here?
PAULINE. I’m playing Cupid. (_Catches sight of picture._) Oh, is that
Aunt Polly? What a dear, old-fashioned little girl! May I see it closer?
AMOS (_passing it rather reluctantly_). Won’t you sit down?
PAULINE (_seating herself_). What a sweet little face! How old was she?
AMOS. Eight, I believe!
PAULINE. What beautiful wavy hair! And so long! But what a narrow ribbon
she had on top!
AMOS. Yes, little girls didn’t have more ribbon than hair in those days.
She had fine eyes, too.
PAULINE. Yes, and has yet. But what a queer little dress, with its
plaited trimmings, and a lace bib! And the sash is wide enough to make up
for the hair ribbon, I’m sure. Oh, do give it to me!
AMOS (_taking it hastily_). Certainly not. It’s a keep-sake. And now, my
young lady, you will oblige me by forgetting that you have seen it.
PAULINE. Oh, I couldn’t forget it, it’s so quaint and dear!
AMOS. I don’t see as it is so quaint. A dainty little girl, in a very
pretty frock, I think. Much prettier than little girls wear nowadays.
Please forget it.
PAULINE. You shouldn’t use slang, Mr. Hill.
AMOS. I didn’t, I assure you. I only implore that you will not mention
having seen what was never intended for your eyes.
PAULINE. I won’t, indeed. You liked Aunt Polly, then?
AMOS. Certainly. We were playmates and schoolmates from that time on.
That was taken just after she came to this town. You look very like her
at your age, my dear.
PAULINE. So much so that you called me Polly.
AMOS. Did I? Excuse me. And now, my dear little girl--I mean young lady,
what can I do for you?
PAULINE. Just answer a few questions. This is Valentine’s Day; you know,
and I’ve been playing Cupid.
AMOS. Indeed? And what did you wish to ask me? If it was ever legal to
play Cupid, I think it is on Valentine’s Day.
PAULINE. If--if any one finds a letter that was evidently intended to be
mailed, and it hasn’t been, is it right for that person to mail it?
AMOS. Why, certainly. It’s the proper thing to do, my dear.
PAULINE. Even if it has been lost a long time?
AMOS. I should think so. You see, you have no right to open it, so you
would not know the writer, and thus could not return it to him, so the
only thing to do is to mail it.
PAULINE. So I thought. But you see, this one has been lost for forty
years.
AMOS. Forty years? Are you sure? Perhaps the one to whom it was addressed
has moved, or is dead. It is a long time, my dear.
PAULINE. No, he hasn’t, and she isn’t, so I mailed it. But I think I know
the writer. Ought I to tell him about it, too?
AMOS. Why, it might be well to do so. It is an unusual occurrence, to get
a letter that was written to one forty years ago. I think you had better
tell me the whole story.
PAULINE. I believe I will. I was showing my valentines to Auntie to-day.
Oh, do you know, I believe that letter was a valentine. Did you ever lose
one?
AMOS. Never. A valentine forty years old will be rather stale, I fear.
Perhaps the lady--I believe you said it was a lady--may have been married
for years to some other man. She may be a grandmother now, and may laugh
at the effusion of the callow youth of the olden time.
PAULINE. She won’t, I’m sure. And she isn’t a grandmother, for she never
married. She has been faithful to a faithless lover all these years, and
I believe that lost valentine is at the bottom of the whole trouble.
AMOS. Indeed, just how, may I ask?
PAULINE. Why, he had always sent her one, every year, since they were
children, but that year he was mad about something, and he didn’t send
her any. That is, she has always thought he didn’t, but I believe he did,
and that that’s the letter I found to-day.
AMOS. And where did you find a letter forty years old, that had never
been mailed? It may cause strange misunderstandings now, child. Perhaps
it would have been better to have asked my advice before you mailed it.
PAULINE. I’m asking it now. Mr. Hill, did you send Aunt Polly a valentine
forty years ago? Think back carefully, and see if you can remember.
AMOS. I can remember quite distinctly, my dear. I did send your aunt one
that day--the last one I ever sent her. I have reason to remember it
quite plainly, my dear, on account of the answer I received.
PAULINE. The answer? But you couldn’t have got any answer, for she thinks
the last one you sent her was forty-one years ago. She never got that
other one, so how could she answer it?
AMOS. I certainly thought she did, and negatively, at that. But--my dear,
do you mean that you think you have found that letter--that valentine,
which I never knew had been lost? Where, and how?
PAULINE. Why, Auntie let me see her old valentines, and when I’d put them
away, I found I had dropped one. And the drawer stuck when I tried to
open it, and I jerked it, and somehow knocked down a little drawer that
must have been above it, and in it lay the letter I told you of. It was
addressed to Aunt Polly, and sealed, and had a three-cent stamp on it,
but it had never been opened.
AMOS. Because she didn’t care to open it, my dear. I happen to know that
she got it, for her grandmother took it from my hand that morning, and
said she would give it into her own hand. And you see, she must have had
it, for it was in her own secret drawer.
PAULINE. I don’t think she knew about the drawer. And I know she didn’t
get it, for she told me so to-day, and her eyes were full of tears.
AMOS. Polly cried?
PAULINE. Yes. She loved you, I’m sure, and thought you were angry with
her because she went over to Wrentham with her cousin.
AMOS. With Tim! Good land, child, I shouldn’t have been jealous of Tim!
But why didn’t she explain? Good gracious! If she didn’t get it, there
was nothing to explain!
PAULINE. And you went away next day, and she didn’t see you for a year.
AMOS. Yes, but--oh, what a hopeless, foolish tangle! And you mailed that
letter, child? Has she got it yet?
PAULINE. No, I shall go to the office before I go back. Oh, I believe she
was going to the milliner’s this afternoon, so probably she’ll get it
herself.
AMOS. And she’ll read it--for the first time--after forty years! See
here, little girl, I’ll be over to-night for the answer, but don’t you
tell her I’m coming.
PAULINE. But you never go there.
AMOS. I did once, and I’m coming again. To-night, you understand, and I
want you to give me a clear coast for half an hour or so, will you?
PAULINE. Of course.
AMOS. Maybe I’m an old fool for my pains, but that letter asked her a
question--_the_ question, and told her I would come that evening for my
answer, and I’m coming. If she gets it to-day, to-night is the night to
call, and I’m coming, if I get turned down for my pains. I thought she
went away to get out of having to say no. And to think I wasted forty
years! Well, there’s no fool like an old fool, and Polly’s got to answer
that question. Wish me luck, little girl.
PAULINE. Indeed I do! And Aunt Polly does care, I know. I’m glad I
meddled.
AMOS. So am I. Though I can’t understand about that letter. Going? Well,
you look in the office this evening, and you’ll find the finest valentine
this town affords, addressed to Cupid. Good-afternoon.
PAULINE. Good-afternoon.
(_Goes out. He takes out the little picture again, and gazes at
it._)
AMOS. Love is eternal. Love is always young. Maybe I’ll end my days in a
home of my own, after all! Dear little Polly!
CURTAIN