(_Five years later_)
SCENE I: The Farm House. Dawn of a day in late Fall.
SCENE II: The Road. Sunrise.
BEYOND THE HORIZON
ACT ONE
SCENE ONE
_A section of country highway. The road runs diagonally from the left,
forward, to the right, rear, and can be seen in the distance winding
toward the horizon like a pale ribbon between the low, rolling hills
with their freshly plowed fields clearly divided from each other,
checkerboard fashion, by the lines of stone walls and rough snake
fences._
_The forward triangle cut off by the road is a section of a field from
the dark earth of which myriad bright-green blades of fall-sown rye are
sprouting. A straggling line of piled rocks, too low to be called a
wall, separates this field from the road._
_To the rear of the road is a ditch with a sloping, grassy bank on the
far side. From the center of this an old, gnarled apple tree, just
budding into leaf, strains its twisted branches heavenwards, black
against the pallor of distance. A snake-fence sidles from left to right
along the top of the bank, passing beneath the apple tree._
_The hushed twilight of a day in May is just beginning. The horizon
hills are still rimmed by a faint line of flame, and the sky above them
glows with the crimson flush of the sunset. This fades gradually as the
action of the scene progresses._
_At the rise of the curtain_, ROBERT MAYO _is discovered sitting on the
fence. He is a tall, slender young man of twenty-three. There is a touch
of the poet about him expressed in his high forehead and wide, dark
eyes. His features are delicate and refined, leaning to weakness in the
mouth and chin. He is dressed in gray corduroy trousers pushed into high
laced boots, and a blue flannel shirt with a bright colored tie. He is
reading a book by the fading sunset light. He shuts this, keeping a
finger in to mark the place, and turns his head toward the horizon,
gazing out over the fields and hills. His lips move as if he were
reciting something to himself._
_His brother_ ANDREW _comes along the road from the right, returning
from his work in the fields. He is twenty-seven years old, an opposite
type to_ ROBERT--_husky, sun-bronzed, handsome in a large-featured,
manly fashion--a son of the soil, intelligent in a shrewd way, but with
nothing of the intellectual about him. He wears overalls, leather boots,
a gray flannel shirt open at the neck, and a soft, mud-stained hat
pushed back on his head. He stops to talk to_ ROBERT, _leaning on the
hoe he carries_.
ANDREW. (_seeing_ ROBERT _has not noticed his presence--in a loud
shout_) Hey there! (ROBERT _turns with a start. Seeing who it is, he
smiles_) Gosh, you do take the prize for daydreaming! And I see you’ve
toted one of the old books along with you. (_He crosses the ditch and
sits on the fence near his brother_) What is it this time--poetry, I’ll
bet. (_He reaches for the book_) Let me see.
ROBERT. (_handing it to him rather reluctantly_) Look out you don’t get
it full of dirt.
ANDREW. (_glancing at his hands_) That isn’t dirt--it’s good clean
earth. (_He turns over the pages. His eyes read something and he gives
an exclamation of disgust_) Hump! (_With a provoking grin at his brother
he reads aloud in a doleful, sing-song voice_) “I have loved wind and
light and the bright sea. But holy and most sacred night, not as I love
and have loved thee.” (_He hands the book back_) Here! Take it and bury
it. I suppose it’s that year in college gave you a liking for that kind
of stuff. I’m darn glad I stopped at High School, or maybe I’d been
crazy too. (_He grins and slaps_ ROBERT _on the back affectionately_)
Imagine me reading poetry and plowing at the same time! The team’d run
away, I’ll bet.
ROBERT. (_laughing_) Or picture me plowing.
ANDREW. You should have gone back to college last fall, like I know you
wanted to. You’re fitted for that sort of thing--just as I ain’t.
ROBERT. You know why I didn’t go back, Andy. Pa didn’t like the idea,
even if he didn’t say so; and I know he wanted the money to use
improving the farm. And besides, I’m not keen on being a student, just
because you see me reading books all the time. What I want to do now is
keep on moving so that I won’t take root in any one place.
ANDREW. Well, the trip you’re leaving on tomorrow will keep you moving
all right. (_At this mention of the trip they both fall silent. There is
a pause. Finally_ ANDREW _goes on, awkwardly, attempting to speak
casually_) Uncle says you’ll be gone three years.
ROBERT. About that, he figures.
ANDREW. (_moodily_) That’s a long time.
ROBERT. Not so long when you come to consider it. You know the _Sunda_
sails around the Horn for Yokohama first, and that’s a long voyage on a
sailing ship; and if we go to any of the other places Uncle Dick
mentions--India, or Australia, or South Africa, or South
America--they’ll be long voyages, too.
ANDREW. You can have all those foreign parts for all of me. (_After a
pause_) Ma’s going to miss you a lot, Rob.
ROBERT. Yes--and I’ll miss her.
ANDREW. And Pa ain’t feeling none too happy to have you go--though he’s
been trying not to show it.
ROBERT. I can see how he feels.
ANDREW. And you can bet that I’m not giving any cheers about it. (_He
puts one hand on the fence near_ ROBERT).
ROBERT. (_putting one hand on top of_ ANDREW’S _with a gesture almost of
shyness_) I know that, too, Andy.
ANDREW. I’ll miss you as much as anybody, I guess. You see, you and I
ain’t like most brothers--always fighting and separated a lot of the
time, while we’ve always been together--just the two of us. It’s
different with us. That’s why it hits so hard, I guess.
ROBERT. (_with feeling_) It’s just as hard for me, Andy--believe that! I
hate to leave you and the old folks--but--I feel I’ve got to. There’s
something calling me---- (_He points to the horizon_) Oh, I can’t just
explain it to you, Andy.
ANDREW. No need to, Rob. (_Angry at himself_) Hell! You want to
go--that’s all there is to it; and I wouldn’t have you miss this chance
for the world.
ROBERT. It’s fine of you to feel that way, Andy.
ANDREW. Huh! I’d be a nice son-of-a-gun if I didn’t, wouldn’t I? When I
know how you need this sea trip to make a new man of you--in the body,
I mean--and give you your full health back.
ROBERT. (_a trifle impatiently_) All of you seem to keep harping on my
health. You were so used to seeing me lying around the house in the old
days that you never will get over the notion that I’m a chronic invalid.
You don’t realize how I’ve bucked up in the past few years. If I had no
other excuse for going on Uncle Dick’s ship but just my health, I’d stay
right here and start in plowing.
ANDREW. Can’t be done. Farming ain’t your nature. There’s all the
difference shown in just the way us two feel about the farm. You--well,
you like the home part of it, I expect; but as a place to work and grow
things, you hate it. Ain’t that right?
ROBERT. Yes, I suppose it is. For you it’s different. You’re a Mayo
through and through. You’re wedded to the soil. You’re as much a product
of it as an ear of corn is, or a tree. Father is the same. This farm is
his life-work, and he’s happy in knowing that another Mayo, inspired by
the same love, will take up the work where he leaves off. I can
understand your attitude, and Pa’s; and I think it’s wonderful and
sincere. But I--well, I’m not made that way.
ANDREW. No, you ain’t; but when it comes to understanding, I guess I
realize that you’ve got your own angle of looking at things.
ROBERT. (_musingly_) I wonder if you do, really.
ANDREW. (_confidently_) Sure I do. You’ve seen a bit of the world,
enough to make the farm seem small, and you’ve got the itch to see it
all.
ROBERT. It’s more than that, Andy.
ANDREW. Oh, of course. I know you’re going to learn navigation, and all
about a ship, so’s you can be an officer. That’s natural, too. There’s
fair pay in it, I expect, when you consider that you’ve always got a
home and grub thrown in; and if you’re set on traveling, you can go
anywhere you’re a mind to without paying fare.
ROBERT. (_with a smile that is half sad_) It’s more than that, Andy.
ANDREW. Sure it is. There’s always a chance of a good thing coming your
way in some of those foreign ports or other. I’ve heard there are great
opportunities for a young fellow with his eyes open in some of those new
countries that are just being opened up. (_Jovially_) I’ll bet that’s
what you’ve been turning over in your mind under all your quietness!
(_He slaps his brother on the back with a laugh_) Well, if you get to be
a millionaire all of a sudden, call ’round once in a while and I’ll pass
the plate to you. We could use a lot of money right here on the farm
without hurting it any.
ROBERT. (_forced to laugh_) I’ve never considered that practical side of
it for a minute, Andy.
ANDREW. Well, you ought to.
ROBERT. No, I oughtn’t. (_Pointing to the horizon--dreamily_) Supposing
I was to tell you that it’s just Beauty that’s calling me, the beauty of
the far off and unknown, the mystery and spell of the East which lures
me in the books I’ve read, the need of the freedom of great wide spaces,
the joy of wandering on and on--in quest of the secret which is hidden
over there, beyond the horizon? Suppose I told you that was the one and
only reason for my going?
ANDREW. I should say you were nutty.
ROBERT. (_frowning_) Don’t, Andy. I’m serious.
ANDREW. Then you might as well stay here, because we’ve got all you’re
looking for right on this farm. There’s wide space enough, Lord knows;
and you can have all the sea you want by walking a mile down to the
beach; and there’s plenty of horizon to look at, and beauty enough for
anyone, except in the winter. (_He grins_) As for the mystery and spell,
I haven’t met ’em yet, but they’re probably lying around somewheres.
I’ll have you understand this is a first class farm with all the
fixings. (_He laughs_)
ROBERT. (_joining in the laughter in spite of himself_) It’s no use
talking to you, you chump!
ANDREW. You’d better not say anything to Uncle Dick about spells and
things when you’re on the ship. He’ll likely chuck you overboard for a
Jonah. (_He jumps down from fence_) I’d better run along. I’ve got to
wash up some as long as Ruth’s Ma is coming over for supper.
ROBERT. (_pointedly--almost bitterly_) And Ruth.
ANDREW. (_confused--looking everywhere except at_ ROBERT--_trying to
appear unconcerned_) Yes, Ruth’ll be staying too. Well, I better hustle,
I guess, and---- (_He steps over the ditch to the road while he is
talking_).
ROBERT. (_who appears to be fighting some strong inward
emotion--impulsively_) Wait a minute, Andy! (_He jumps down from the
fence_) There is something I want to---- (_He stops abruptly, biting his
lips, his face coloring_).
ANDREW. (_facing him; half-defiantly_) Yes?
ROBERT. (_confusedly_) No---- never mind---- it doesn’t matter, it was
nothing.
ANDREW. (_after a pause, during which he stares fixedly at_ ROBERT’S
_averted face_) Maybe I can guess---- what you were going to say---- but
I guess you’re right not to talk about it. (_He pulls_ ROBERT’S _hand
from his side and grips it tensely; the two brothers stand looking into
each other’s eyes for a minute_) We can’t help those things, Rob. (_He
turns away, suddenly releasing_ ROBERT’S _hand_) You’ll be coming along
shortly, won’t you?
ROBERT. (_dully_) Yes.
ANDREW. See you later, then. (_He walks of down the road to the left._
ROBERT _stares after him for a moment; then climbs to the fence rail
again, and looks out over the hills, an expression of deep grief on his
face. After a moment or so_, RUTH _enters hurriedly from the left. She
is a healthy, blonde, out-of-door girl of twenty, with a graceful,
slender figure. Her face, though inclined to roundness, is undeniably
pretty, its large eyes of a deep blue set off strikingly by the
sun-bronzed complexion. Her small, regular features are marked by a
certain strength--an underlying, stubborn fixity of purpose hidden in
the frankly-appealing charm of her fresh youthfulness. She wears a
simple white dress but no hat_).
RUTH. (_seeing him_) Hello, Rob!
ROBERT. (_startled_) Hello, Ruth!
RUTH. (_jumps the ditch and perches on the fence beside him_) I was
looking for you.
ROBERT. (_pointedly_) Andy just left here.
RUTH. I know. I met him on the road a second ago. He told me you were
here. (_Tenderly playful_) I wasn’t looking for Andy, Smarty, if that’s
what you mean. I was looking for _you_.
ROBERT. Because I’m going away tomorrow?
RUTH. Because your mother was anxious to have you come home and asked me
to look for you. I just wheeled Ma over to your house.
ROBERT. (_perfunctorily_) How is your mother?
RUTH. (_a shadow coming over her face_) She’s about the same. She never
seems to get any better or any worse. Oh, Rob, I do wish she’d try to
make the best of things that can’t be helped.
ROBERT. Has she been nagging at you again?
RUTH. (_nods her head, and then breaks forth rebelliously_) She never
stops nagging. No matter what I do for her she finds fault. If only Pa
was still living---- (_She stops as if ashamed of her outburst_) I
suppose I shouldn’t complain this way. (_She sighs_) Poor Ma, Lord knows
it’s hard enough for her. I suppose it’s natural to be cross when you’re
not able ever to walk a step. Oh, I’d like to be going away some
place--like you!
ROBERT. It’s hard to stay--and equally hard to go, sometimes.
RUTH. There! If I’m not the stupid body! I swore I wasn’t going to speak
about your trip--until after you’d gone; and there I go, first thing!
ROBERT. Why didn’t you want to speak of it?
RUTH. Because I didn’t want to spoil this last night you’re here. Oh,
Rob, I’m going to--we’re all going to miss you so awfully. Your mother
is going around looking as if she’d burst out crying any minute. You
ought to know how I feel. Andy and you and I--why it seems as if we’d
always been together.
ROBERT. (_with a wry attempt at a smile_) You and Andy will still have
each other. It’ll be harder for me without anyone.
RUTH. But you’ll have new sights and new people to take your mind off;
while we’ll be here with the old, familiar place to remind us every
minute of the day. It’s a shame you’re going--just at this time, in
spring, when everything is getting so nice. (_With a sigh_) I oughtn’t
to talk that way when I know going’s the best thing for you. You’re
bound to find all sorts of opportunities to get on, your father says.
ROBERT. (_heatedly_) I don’t give a damn about that! I wouldn’t take a
voyage across the road for the best opportunity in the world of the kind
Pa thinks of. (_He smiles at his own irritation_) Excuse me, Ruth, for
getting worked up over it; but Andy gave me an overdose of the practical
considerations.
RUTH. (_slowly, puzzled_) Well, then, if it isn’t---- (_With sudden
intensity_) Oh, Rob, why _do_ you want to go?
ROBERT. (_turning to her quickly, in surprise--slowly_) Why do you ask
that, Ruth?
RUTH. (_dropping her eyes before his searching glance_) Because----
(_Lamely_) It seems such a shame.
ROBERT. (_insistently_) Why?
RUTH. Oh, because--everything.
ROBERT. I could hardly back out now, even if I wanted to. And I’ll be
forgotten before you know it.
RUTH. (_indignantly_) You won’t! I’ll never forget---- (_She stops and
turns away to hide her confusion_).
ROBERT. (_softly_) Will you promise me that?
RUTH. (_evasively_) Of course. It’s mean of you to think that any of us
would forget so easily.
ROBERT. (_disappointedly_) Oh!
RUTH. (_with an attempt at lightness_) But you haven’t told me your
reason for leaving yet?
ROBERT. (_moodily_) I doubt if you’ll understand. It’s difficult to
explain, even to myself. Either you feel it, or you don’t. I can
remember being conscious of it first when I was only a kid--you haven’t
forgotten what a sickly specimen I was then, in those days, have you?
RUTH. (_with a shudder_) Let’s not think about them.
ROBERT. You’ll have to, to understand. Well, in those days, when Ma was
fixing meals, she used to get me out of the way by pushing my chair to
the west window and telling me to look out and be quiet. That wasn’t
hard. I guess I was always quiet.
RUTH. (_compassionately_) Yes, you always were--and you suffering so
much, too!
ROBERT. (_musingly_) So I used to stare out over the fields to the
hills, out there--(_He points to the horizon_) and somehow after a time
I’d forget any pain I was in, and start dreaming. I knew the sea was
over beyond those hills,--the folks had told me--and I used to wonder
what the sea was like, and try to form a picture of it in my mind.
(_With a smile_) There was all the mystery in the world to me then about
that--far-off sea--and there still is! It called to me then just as it
does now. (_After a slight pause_) And other times my eyes would follow
this road, winding off into the distance, toward the hills, as if it,
too, was searching for the sea. And I’d promise myself that when I grew
up and was strong, I’d follow that road, and it and I would find the
sea together. (_With a smile_) You see, my making this trip is only
keeping that promise of long ago.
RUTH. (_charmed by his low, musical voice telling the dreams of his
childhood_) Yes, I see.
ROBERT. Those were the only happy moments of my life then, dreaming
there at the window. I liked to be all alone--those times. I got to know
all the different kinds of sunsets by heart. And all those sunsets took
place over there--(_He points_) beyond the horizon. So gradually I came
to believe that all the wonders of the world happened on the other side
of those hills. There was the home of the good fairies who performed
beautiful miracles. I believed in fairies then. (_With a smile_) Perhaps
I still do believe in them. Anyway, in those days they were real enough,
and sometimes I could actually hear them calling to me to come out and
play with them, dance with them down the road in the dusk in a game of
hide-and-seek to find out where the sun was hiding himself. They sang
their little songs to me, songs that told of all the wonderful things
they had in their home on the other side of the hills; and they promised
to show me all of them, if I’d only come, come! But I couldn’t come
then, and I used to cry sometimes and Ma would think I was in pain. (_He
breaks off suddenly with a laugh_) That’s why I’m going now, I suppose.
For I can still hear them calling. But the horizon is as far away and as
luring as ever. (_He turns to her--softly_) Do you understand now, Ruth?
RUTH. (_spellbound, in a whisper_) Yes.
ROBERT. You feel it then?
RUTH. Yes, yes, I do! (_Unconsciously she snuggles close against his
side. His arm steals about her as if he were not aware of the action_)
Oh, Rob, how could I help feeling it? You tell things so beautifully!
ROBERT. (_suddenly realizing that his arm is around her, and that her
head is resting on his shoulder, gently takes his arm away._ RUTH,
_brought back to herself, is overcome with confusion_) So now you know
why I’m going. It’s for that reason--that and one other.
RUTH. You’ve another? Then you must tell me that, too.
ROBERT. (_looking at her searchingly. She drops her eyes before his
gaze_) I wonder if I ought to! You’ll promise not to be angry--whatever
it is?
RUTH. (_softly, her face still averted_) Yes, I promise.
ROBERT. (_simply_) I love you. That’s the other reason.
RUTH. (_hiding her face in her hands_) Oh, Rob!
ROBERT. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I feel I have to. It can’t
matter now that I’m going so far away, and for so long--perhaps forever.
I’ve loved you all these years, but the realization never came ’til I
agreed to go away with Uncle Dick. Then I thought of leaving you, and
the pain of that thought revealed to me in a flash--that I loved you,
had loved you as long as I could remember. (_He gently pulls one of_
RUTH’S _hands away from her face_) You mustn’t mind my telling you this,
Ruth. I realize how impossible it all is--and I understand; for the
revelation of my own love seemed to open my eyes to the love of others.
I saw Andy’s love for you--and I knew that you must love him.
RUTH. (_breaking out storming_) I don’t! I don’t love Andy! I don’t!
(ROBERT _stares at her in stupid astonishment_. RUTH _weeps
hysterically_) Whatever--put such a fool notion into--into your head?
(_She suddenly throws her arms about his neck and hides her head on his
shoulder_) Oh, Rob! Don’t go away! Please! You mustn’t, now! You can’t!
I won’t let you! It’d break my--my heart!
ROBERT. (_The expression of stupid bewilderment giving way to one of
overwhelming joy. He presses her close to him--slowly and tenderly_) Do
you mean that--that you love me?
RUTH. (_sobbing_) Yes, yes--of course I do--what d’you s’pose? (_She
lifts up her head and looks into his eyes with a tremulous smile_) You
stupid thing! (_He kisses her_) I’ve loved you right along.
ROBERT. (_mystified_) But you and Andy were always together!
RUTH. Because you never seemed to want to go any place with me. You were
always reading an old book, and not paying any attention to me. I was
too proud to let you see I cared because I thought the year you had away
to college had made you stuck-up, and you thought yourself too educated
to waste any time on me.
ROBERT. (_kissing her_) And I was thinking---- (_With a laugh_) What
fools we’ve both been!
RUTH. (_overcome by a sudden fear_) You won’t go away on the trip, will
you, Rob? You’ll tell them you can’t go on account of me, won’t you? You
can’t go now! You can’t!
ROBERT. (_bewildered_) Perhaps--you can come too.
RUTH. Oh, Rob, don’t be so foolish. You know I can’t. Who’d take care of
ma? Don’t you see I couldn’t go--on her account? (_She clings to him
imploringly_) Please don’t go--not now. Tell them you’ve decided not to.
They won’t mind. I know your mother and father’ll be glad. They’ll all
be. They don’t want you to go so far away from them. Please, Rob! We’ll
be so happy here together where it’s natural and we know things. Please
tell me you won’t go!
ROBERT. (_face to face with a definite, final decision, betrays the
conflict going on within him_) But--Ruth--I--Uncle Dick----
RUTH. He won’t mind when he knows it’s for your happiness to stay. How
could he? (_As_ ROBERT _remains silent she bursts into sobs again_) Oh,
Rob! And you said--you loved me!
ROBERT. (_conquered by this appeal--an irrevocable decision in his
voice_) I won’t go, Ruth. I promise you. There! Don’t cry! (_He presses
her to him, stroking her hair tenderly. After a pause he speaks with
happy hopefulness_) Perhaps after all Andy was right--righter than he
knew--when he said I could find all the things I was seeking for here,
at home on the farm. I think love must have been the secret--the secret
that called to me from over the world’s rim--the secret beyond every
horizon; and when I did not come, it came to me. (_He clasps_ RUTH _to
him fiercely_) Oh, Ruth, our love is sweeter than any distant dream!
(_He kisses her passionately and steps to the ground, lifting_ RUTH _in
his arms and carrying her to the road where he puts her down_).
RUTH. (_with a happy laugh_) My, but you’re strong!
ROBERT. Come! We’ll go and tell them at once.
RUTH. (_dismayed_) Oh, no, don’t, Rob, not ’til after I’ve gone. There’d
be bound to be such a scene with them all together.
ROBERT. (_kissing her--gayly_) As you like--Little Miss Common Sense!
RUTH. Let’s go, then. (_She takes his hand, and they start to go off
left._ ROBERT _suddenly stops and turns as though for a last look at the
hills and the dying sunset flush_).
ROBERT. (_looking upward and pointing_) See! The first star. (_He bends
down and kisses her tenderly_) _Our_ star!
RUTH. (_in a soft murmur_) Yes. Our very own star. (_They stand for a
moment looking up at it, their arms around each other. Then_ RUTH _takes
his hand again and starts to lead him away_) Come, Rob, let’s go. (_His
eyes are fixed again on the horizon as he half turns to follow her._
RUTH _urges_) We’ll be late for supper, Rob.
ROBERT. (_shakes his head impatiently, as though he were throwing off
some disturbing thought--with a laugh_) All right. We’ll run then. Come
on! (_They run of laughing as_
(_The Curtain Falls_)
ACT ONE
SCENE TWO
_The sitting room of the Mayo farm house about nine o’clock the same
night. On the left, two windows looking out on the fields. Against the
wall between the windows, an old-fashioned walnut desk. In the left
corner, rear, a sideboard with a mirror. In the rear wall to the right
of the sideboard, a window looking out on the road. Neat to the window a
door leading out into the yard. Farther right, a black horse-hair sofa,
and another door opening on a bedroom. In the corner, a straight-backed
chair. In the right wall, near the middle, an open doorway leading to
the kitchen. Farther forward a double-heater stove with coal scuttle,
etc. In the center of the newly carpeted floor, an oak dining-room table
with a red cover. In the center of the table, a large oil reading lamp.
Four chairs, three rockers with crocheted tidies on their backs, and one
straight-backed, are placed about the table. The walls are papered a
dark red with a scrolly-figured pattern._
_Everything in the room is clean, well-kept, and in its exact place, yet
there is no suggestion of primness about the whole. Rather the
atmosphere is one of the orderly comfort of a simple, hard-earned
prosperity, enjoyed and maintained by the family as a unit._
JAMES MAYO, _his wife, her brother_, CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT, _and_ ANDREW
_are discovered_. MAYO _is his son_ ANDREW _over again in body and
face--an_ ANDREW _sixty-five years old with a short, square, white
beard_. MRS. MAYO _is a slight, round-faced, rather prim-looking woman
of fifty-five who had once been a school teacher. The labors of a
farmer’s wife have bent but not broken her, and she retains a certain
refinement of movement and expression foreign to the_ MAYO _part of the
family. Whatever of resemblance_ ROBERT _has to his parents may be
traced to her. Her brother, the_ CAPTAIN, _is short and stocky, with a
weather-beaten, jovial face and a white mustache--a typical old salt,
loud of voice and given to gesture. He is fifty-eight years old._
JAMES MAYO _sits in front of the table. He wears spectacles, and a farm
journal which he has been reading lies in his lap._ THE CAPTAIN _leans
forward from a chair in the rear, his hands on the table in front of
him_. ANDREW _is tilted back on the straight-backed chair to the left,
his chin sank forward on his chest, staring at the carpet, preoccupied
and frowning_.
_As the Curtain rises the_ CAPTAIN _is just finishing the relation of
some sea episode. The others are pretending an interest which is belied
by the absent-minded expressions on their faces._
THE CAPTAIN. (_chuckling_) And that mission woman, she hails me on the
dock as I was acomin’ ashore, and she says--with her silly face all
screwed up serious as judgment--“Captain,” she says, “would you be so
kind as to tell me where the sea-gulls sleeps at nights?” Blow me if
them warn’t her exact words! (_He slaps the table with the palm of his
hands and laughs loudly. The others force smiles_) Ain’t that just like
a fool woman’s question? And I looks at her serious as I could, “Ma’m,”
says I, “I couldn’t rightly answer that question. I ain’t never seed a
sea-gull in his bunk yet. The next time I hears one snorin’,” I says,
“I’ll make a note of where he’s turned in, and write you a letter ’bout
it.” And then she calls me a fool real spiteful and tacks away from me
quick. (_He laughs again uproariously_) So I got rid of her that way.
(_The others smile but immediately relapse into expressions of gloom
again_).
MRS. MAYO. (_absent-mindedly--feeling that she has to say something_)
But when it comes to that, where _do_ sea-gulls sleep, Dick?
SCOTT. (_slapping the table_) Ho! Ho! Listen to her, James. ’Nother one!
Well, if that don’t beat all hell--’scuse me for cussin’, Kate.
MAYO. (_with a twinkle in his eyes_) They unhitch their wings, Katey,
and spreads ’em out on a wave for a bed.
SCOTT. And then they tells the fish to whistle to ’em when it’s time to
turn out. Ho! Ho!
MRS. MAYO. (_with a forced smile_) You men folks are too smart to live,
aren’t you? (_She resumes her knitting_. MAYO _pretends to read his
paper_; ANDREW _stares at the floor_).
SCOTT. (_looks from one to the other of them with a puzzled air. Finally
he is unable to bear the thick silence a minute longer, and blurts
out_): You folks look as if you was settin’ up with a corpse. (_With
exaggerated concern_) God A’mighty, there ain’t anyone dead, be there?
MAYO. (_sharply_) Don’t play the dunce, Dick! You know as well as we do
there ain’t no great cause to be feelin’ chipper.
SCOTT. (_argumentatively_) And there ain’t no cause to be wearin’
mourning, either, I can make out.
MRS. MAYO. (_indignantly_) How can you talk that way, Dick Scott, when
you’re taking our Robbie away from us, in the middle of the night, you
might say, just to get on that old boat of yours on time! I think you
might wait until morning when he’s had his breakfast.
SCOTT. (_appealing to the others hopelessly_) Ain’t that a woman’s way
o’ seein’ things for you? God A’mighty, Kate, I can’t give orders to the
tide that it’s got to be high just when it suits me to have it. I ain’t
gettin’ no fun out o’ missin’ sleep and leavin’ here at six bells
myself. (_Protestingly_) And the _Sunda_ ain’t an old ship--leastways,
not very old--and she’s good’s she ever was.
MRS. MAYO. (_her lips trembling_) I wish Robbie weren’t going.
MAYO. (_looking at her over his glasses--consolingly_) There, Katey!
MRS. MAYO. (_rebelliously_) Well, I do wish he wasn’t!
SCOTT. You shouldn’t be taking it so hard, ’s far as I kin see. This
vige’ll make a man of him. I’ll see to it he learns how to navigate, ’n’
study for a mate’s c’tificate right off--and it’ll give him a trade for
the rest of his life, if he wants to travel.
MRS. MAYO. But I don’t want him to travel all his life. You’ve got to
see he comes home when this trip is over. Then he’ll be all well, and
he’ll want to--to marry--(ANDREW _sits forward in his chair with an
abrupt movement_)--and settle down right here. (_She stares down at the
knitting in her lap--after a pause_) I never realized how hard it was
going to be for me to have Robbie go--or I wouldn’t have considered it a
minute.
SCOTT. It ain’t no good goin’ on that way, Kate, now it’s all settled.
MRS. MAYO. (_on the verge of tears_) It’s all right for _you_ to talk.
You’ve never had any children. You don’t know what it means to be
parted from them--and Robbie my youngest, too. (ANDREW _frowns and
fidgets in his chair_).
ANDREW. (_suddenly turning to them_) There’s one thing none of you seem
to take into consideration--that Rob wants to go. He’s dead set on it.
He’s been dreaming over this trip ever since it was first talked about.
It wouldn’t be fair to him not to have him go. (_A sudden uneasiness
seems to strike him_) At least, not if he still feels the same way about
it he did when he was talking to me this evening.
MAYO. (_with an air of decision_) Andy’s right, Katey. That ends all
argyment, you can see that. (_Looking at his big silver watch_) Wonder
what’s happened to Robert? He’s been gone long enough to wheel the
widder to home, certain. He can’t be out dreamin’ at the stars his last
night.
MRS. MAYO. (_a bit reproachfully_) Why didn’t you wheel Mrs. Atkins back
tonight, Andy? You usually do when she and Ruth come over.
ANDREW. (_avoiding her eyes_) I thought maybe Robert wanted to tonight.
He offered to go right away when they were leaving.
MRS. MAYO. He only wanted to be polite.
ANDREW. (_gets to his feet_) Well, he’ll be right back, I guess. (_He
turns to his father_) Guess I’ll go take a look at the black cow,
Pa--see if she’s ailing any.
MAYO. Yes--better had, son. (ANDREW _goes into the kitchen on the
right_).
SCOTT. (_as he goes out--in a low tone_) There’s the boy that would make
a good, strong sea-farin’ man--if he’d a mind to.
MAYO. (_sharply_) Don’t you put no such fool notions in Andy’s head,
Dick--or you ’n’ me’s goin’ to fall out. (_Then he smiles_) You
couldn’t tempt him, no ways. Andy’s a Mayo bred in the bone, and he’s a
born farmer, and a damn good one, too. He’ll live and die right here on
this farm, like I expect to. (_With proud confidence_) And he’ll make
this one of the slickest, best-payin’ farms in the state, too, afore he
gits through!
SCOTT. Seems to me it’s a pretty slick place right now.
MAYO. (_shaking his head_) It’s too small. We need more land to make it
amount to much, and we ain’t got the capital to buy it. (ANDREW _enters
from the kitchen. His hat is on, and he carries a lighted lantern in his
hand. He goes to the door in the rear leading out_).
ANDREW. (_opens the door and pauses_) Anything else you can think of to
be done, Pa?
MAYO. No, nothin’ I know of. (ANDREW _goes out, shutting the door_).
MRS. MAYO. (_after a pause_) What’s come over Andy tonight, I wonder? He
acts so strange.
MAYO. He does seem sort o’ glum and out of sorts. It’s ’count o’ Robert
leavin’, I s’pose. (_To_ SCOTT) Dick, you wouldn’t believe how them boys
o’ mine sticks together. They ain’t like most brothers. They’ve been
thick as thieves all their lives, with nary a quarrel I kin remember.
SCOTT. No need to tell me that. I can see how they take to each other.
MRS. MAYO. (_pursuing her train of thought_) Did you notice, James, how
queer everyone was at supper? Robert seemed stirred up about something;
and Ruth was so flustered and giggly; and Andy sat there dumb, looking
as if he’d lost his best friend; and all of them only nibbled at their
food.
MAYO. Guess they was all thinkin’ about tomorrow, same as us.
MRS. MAYO. (_shaking her head_) No. I’m afraid somethin’s
happened--somethin’ else.
MAYO. You mean--’bout Ruth?
MRS. MAYO. Yes.
MAYO. (_after a pause--frowning_) I hope her and Andy ain’t had a
serious fallin’-out. I always sorter hoped they’d hitch up together
sooner or later. What d’you say, Dick? Don’t you think them two’d pair
up well?
SCOTT. (_nodding his head approvingly_) A sweet, wholesome couple they’d
make.
MAYO. It’d be a good thing for Andy in more ways than one. I ain’t what
you’d call calculatin’ generally, and I b’lieve in lettin’ young folks
run their affairs to suit themselves; but there’s advantages for both o’
them in this match you can’t overlook in reason. The Atkins farm is
right next to ourn. Jined together they’d make a jim-dandy of a place,
with plenty o’ room to work in. And bein’ a widder with only a daughter,
and laid up all the time to boot, Mrs. Atkins can’t do nothin’ with the
place as it ought to be done. She needs a man, a first-class farmer, to
take hold o’ things; and Andy’s just the one.
MRS. MAYO. (_abruptly_) I don’t think Ruth loves Andy.
MAYO. You don’t? Well, maybe a woman’s eyes is sharper in such things,
but--they’re always together. And if she don’t love him now, she’ll
likely come around to it in time. (_As_ MRS. MAYO _shakes her head_) You
seem mighty fixed in your opinion, Katey. How d’you know?
MRS. MAYO. It’s just--what I feel.
MAYO. (_a light breaking over him_) You don’t mean to say--(MRS. MAYO
_nods_. MAYO _chuckles scornfully_) Shucks! I’m losin’ my respect for
your eyesight, Katey. Why, Robert ain’t got no time for Ruth, ’cept as a
friend!
MRS. MAYO. (_warningly_) Sss-h-h! (_The door from the yard opens, and_
ROBERT _enters. He is smiling happily, and humming a song to himself,
but as he comes into the room an undercurrent of nervous uneasiness
manifests itself in his bearing_).
MAYO. So here you be at last! (ROBERT _comes forward and sits on_ ANDY’S
_chair_. MAYO _smiles slyly at his wife_) What have you been doin’ all
this time--countin’ the stars to see if they all come out right and
proper?
ROBERT. There’s only one I’ll ever look for any more, Pa.
MAYO. (_reproachfully_) You might’ve even not wasted time lookin’ for
that one--your last night.
MRS. MAYO. (_as if she were speaking to a child_) You ought to have worn
your coat a sharp night like this, Robbie.
SCOTT. (_disgustedly_) God A’mighty, Kate, you treat Robert as if he was
one year old!
MRS. MAYO. (_notices_ ROBERT’S _nervous uneasiness_) You look all worked
up over something, Robbie. What is it?
ROBERT. (_swallowing hard, looks quickly from one to the other of
them--then begins determinedly_) Yes, there _is_ something--something I
must tell you--all of you. (_As he begins to talk_ ANDREW _enters
quietly from the rear, closing the door behind him, and setting the
lighted lantern on the floor. He remains standing by the door, his arms
folded, listening to_ ROBERT _with a repressed expression of pain on his
face_. ROBERT _is so much taken up with what he is going to say that he
does not notice_ ANDREW’S _presence_.) Something I discovered only this
evening--very beautiful and wonderful--something I did not take into
consideration previously because I hadn’t dared to hope that such
happiness could ever come to me. (_Appealingly_) You must all remember
that fact, won’t you?
MAYO. (_frowning_) Let’s get to the point, son.
ROBERT. (_with a trace of defiance_) Well, the point is this, Pa: I’m
not going--I mean--I can’t go tomorrow with Uncle Dick--or at any future
time, either.
MRS. MAYO. (_with a sharp sigh of joyful relief_) Oh, Robbie, I’m so
glad!
MAYO. (_astounded_) You ain’t serious, be you, Robert? (_Severely_)
Seems to me it’s a pretty late hour in the day for you to be upsettin’
all your plans so sudden!
ROBERT. I asked you to remember that until this evening I didn’t know
myself. I had never dared to dream----
MAYO. (_irritably_) What is this foolishness you’re talkin’ of?
ROBERT. (_flushing_) Ruth told me this evening that--she loved me. It
was after I’d confessed I loved her. I told her I hadn’t been conscious
of my love until after the trip had been arranged, and I realized it
would mean--leaving her. That was the truth. I _didn’t_ know until then.
(_As if justifying himself to the others_) I hadn’t intended telling her
anything but--suddenly--I felt I must. I didn’t think it would matter,
because I was going away. And I thought she loved--someone else.
(_Slowly--his eyes shining_) And then she cried and said it was I she’d
loved all the time, but I hadn’t seen it.
MRS. MAYO. (_rushes over and throws her arms about him_) I knew it! I
was just telling your father when you came in--and, Oh, Robbie, I’m so
happy you’re not going!
ROBERT. (_kissing her_) I knew you’d be glad, Ma.
MAYO. (_bewilderedly_) Well, I’ll be damned! You do beat all for
gettin’ folks’ minds all tangled up, Robert. And Ruth too! Whatever got
into her of a sudden? Why, I was thinkin’----
MRS. MAYO. (_hurriedly--in a tone of warning_) Never mind what you were
thinking, James. It wouldn’t be any use telling us that now.
(_Meaningly_) And what you were hoping for turns out just the same
almost, doesn’t it?
MAYO. (_thoughtfully--beginning to see this side of the argument_) Yes;
I suppose you’re right, Katey. (_Scratching his head in puzzlement_) But
how it ever come about! It do beat anything ever I heard. (_Finally he
gets up with a sheepish grin and walks over to_ ROBERT) We’re glad you
ain’t goin’, your Ma and I, for we’d have missed you terrible, that’s
certain and sure; and we’re glad you’ve found happiness. Ruth’s a fine
girl and’ll make a good wife to you.
ROBERT. (_much moved_) Thank you, Pa. (_He grips his father’s hand in
his_).
ANDREW. (_his face tense and drawn comes forward and holds out his hand,
forcing a smile_) I guess it’s my turn to offer congratulations, isn’t
it?
ROBERT. (_with a startled cry when his brother appears before him so
suddenly_) Andy! (_Confused_) Why--I--I didn’t see you. Were you here
when----
ANDREW. I heard everything you said; and here’s wishing you every
happiness, you and Ruth. You both deserve the best there is.
ROBERT. (_taking his hand_) Thanks, Andy, it’s fine of you to---- (_His
voice dies away as he sees the pain in_ ANDREW’S _eyes_).
ANDREW. (_giving his brother’s hand a final grip_) Good luck to you
both! (_He turns away and goes back to the rear where he bends over the
lantern, fumbling with it to hide his emotion from the others_).
MRS. MAYO. (_to the_ CAPTAIN, _who has been too flabbergasted by_
ROBERT’S _decision to say a word_) What’s the matter, Dick? Aren’t you
going to congratulate Robbie?
SCOTT. (_embarrassed_) Of course I be! (_He gets to his feet and shakes_
ROBERT’S _hand, muttering a vague_) Luck to you, boy. (_He stands
beside_ ROBERT _as if he wanted to say something more but doesn’t know
how to go about it_).
ROBERT. Thanks, Uncle Dick.
SCOTT. So you’re not acomin’ on the _Sunda_ with me? (_His voice
indicates disbelief_).
ROBERT. I can’t, Uncle--not now. I wouldn’t miss it for anything else in
the world under any other circumstances. (_He sighs unconsciously_) But
you see I’ve found--a bigger dream. (_Then with joyous high spirits_) I
want you all to understand one thing--I’m not going to be a loafer on
your hands any longer. This means the beginning of a new life for me in
every way. I’m going to settle right down and take a real interest in
the farm, and do my share. I’ll prove to you, Pa, that I’m as good a
Mayo as you are--or Andy, when I want to be.
MAYO. (_kindly but skeptically_) That’s the right spirit, Robert. Ain’t
none of us doubts your willin’ness, but you ain’t never learned----
ROBERT. Then I’m going to start learning right away, and you’ll teach
me, won’t you?
MAYO. (_mollifyingly_) Of course I will, boy, and be glad to, only you’d
best go easy at first.
SCOTT. (_who has listened to this conversation in mingled consternation
and amazement_) You don’t mean to tell me you’re goin’ to let him stay,
do you, James?
MAYO. Why, things bein’ as they be, Robert’s free to do as he’s a mind
to.
MRS. MAYO. _Let him!_ The very idea!
SCOTT. (_more and more ruffled_) Then all I got to say is, you’re a
soft, weak-willed critter to be permittin’ a boy--and women, too--to be
layin’ your course for you wherever they damn pleases.
MAYO. (_slyly amused_) It’s just the same with me as ’twas with you,
Dick. You can’t order the tides on the seas to suit you, and I ain’t
pretendin’ I can reg’late love for young folks.
SCOTT. (_scornfully_) Love! They ain’t old enough to know love when they
sight it! Love! I’m ashamed of you, Robert, to go lettin’ a little
huggin’ and kissin’ in the dark spile your chances to make a man out o’
yourself. It ain’t common sense--no siree, it ain’t--not by a hell of a
sight! (_He pounds the table with his fists in exasperation_).
MRS. MAYO. (_laughing provokingly at her brother_) A fine one you are to
be talking about love, Dick--an old cranky bachelor like you. Goodness
sakes!
SCOTT. (_exasperated by their joking_) I’ve never been a damn fool like
most, if that’s what you’re steerin’ at.
MRS. MAYO. (_tauntingly_) Sour grapes, aren’t they, Dick? (_She laughs._
ROBERT _and his father chuckle_. SCOTT _sputters with annoyance_) Good
gracious, Dick, you do act silly, flying into a temper over nothing.
SCOTT. (_indignantly_) Nothin’! You talk as if I wasn’t concerned nohow
in this here business. Seems to me I’ve got a right to have my say.
Ain’t I made all arrangements with the owners and stocked up with some
special grub all on Robert’s account?
ROBERT. You’ve been fine, Uncle Dick; and I appreciate it. Truly.
MAYO. ’Course; we all does, Dick.
SCOTT. (_unplacated_) I’ve been countin’ sure on havin’ Robert for
company on this vige--to sorta talk to and show things to, and teach,
kinda, and I got my mind so set on havin’ him I’m goin’ to be double
lonesome this vige. (_He pounds on the table, attempting to cover up
this confession of weakness_) Darn all this silly lovin’ business,
anyway. (_Irritably_) But all this talk ain’t tellin’ me what I’m to do
with that sta’b’d cabin I fixed up. It’s all painted white, an’ a bran
new mattress on the bunk, ’n’ new sheets ’n’ blankets ’n’ things. And
Chips built in a book-case so’s Robert could take his books along--with
a slidin’ bar fixed across’t it, mind, so’s they couldn’t fall out no
matter how she rolled. (_With excited consternation_) What d’you suppose
my officers is goin’ to think when there’s no one comes aboard to occupy
that sta’b’d cabin? And the men what did the work on it--what’ll _they_
think? (_He shakes his finger indignantly_) They’re liable as not to
suspicion it was a woman I’d planned to ship along, and that she gave me
the go-by at the last moment! (_He wipes his perspiring brow in anguish
at this thought_). Gawd A’mighty! They’re only lookin’ to have the laugh
on me for something like that. They’re liable to b’lieve anything, those
fellers is!
MAYO. (_with a wink)_ Then there’s nothing to it but for you to get
right out and hunt up a wife somewheres for that spick ’n’ span cabin.
She’ll have to be a pretty one, too, to match it. (_He looks at his
watch with exaggerated concern_) You ain’t got much time to find her,
Dick.
SCOTT. (_as the others smile--sulkily_) You kin go to thunder, Jim Mayo!
ANDREW. (_comes forward from where he has been standing by the door,
rear, brooding. His face is set in a look of grim determination_) You
needn’t worry about that spare cabin, Uncle Dick, if you’ve a mind to
take me in Robert’s place.
ROBERT. (_turning to him quickly_) Andy! (_He sees at once the fixed
resolve in his brother’s eyes, and realizes immediately the reason for
it--in consternation_) Andy, you mustn’t!
ANDREW. You’ve made your decision, Rob, and now I’ve made mine. You’re
out of this, remember.
ROBERT. (_hurt by his brother’s tone_) But Andy----
ANDREW. Don’t interfere, Rob--that’s all I ask. (_Turning to his uncle_)
You haven’t answered my question, Uncle Dick.
SCOTT. (_clearing his throat, with an uneasy side glance at_ JAMES MAYO
_who is staring at his elder son as if he thought he had suddenly gone
mad_) O’ course, I’d be glad to have you, Andy.
ANDREW. It’s settled then. I can pack the little I want to take in a few
minutes.
MRS. MAYO. Don’t be a fool, Dick. Andy’s only joking you.
SCOTT. (_disgruntedly_) It’s hard to tell who’s jokin’ and who’s not in
this house.
ANDREW. (_firmly_) I’m not joking, Uncle Dick. (_As_ SCOTT _looks at him
uncertainly_) You needn’t be afraid I’ll go back on my word.
ROBERT. (_hurt by the insinuation he feels in_ ANDREW’S _tone_) Andy!
That isn’t fair!
MAYO. (_frowning_) Seems to me this ain’t no subject to joke over--not
for Andy.
ANDREW. (_facing his father_) I agree with you, Pa, and I tell you
again, once and for all, that I’ve made up my mind to go.
MAYO. (_dumbfounded--unable to doubt the determination in_ ANDREW’S
_voice--helplessly_) But why, son? Why?
ANDREW. (_evasively_) I’ve always wanted to go.
ROBERT. Andy!
ANDREW. (_half angrily_) You shut up, Rob! (_Turning to his father
again_) I didn’t ever mention it because as long as Rob was going I knew
it was no use; but now Rob’s staying on here, there isn’t any reason for
me not to go.
MAYO. (_breathing hard_) No reason? Can you stand there and say that to
me, Andrew?
MRS. MAYO. (_hastily--seeing the gathering storm_) He doesn’t mean a
word of it, James.
MAYO. (_making a gesture to her to keep silence_) Let me talk, Katey.
(_In a more kindly tone_) What’s come over you so sudden, Andy? You
know’s well as I do that it wouldn’t be fair o’ you to run off at a
moment’s notice right now when we’re up to our necks in hard work.
ANDREW. (_avoiding his eyes_) Rob’ll hold his end up as soon as he
learns.
MAYO. Robert was never cut out for a farmer, and you was.
ANDREW. You can easily get a man to do my work.
MAYO. (_restraining his anger with an effort_) It sounds strange to hear
you, Andy, that I always thought had good sense, talkin’ crazy like
that. (_Scornfully_) Get a man to take your place! You ain’t been
workin’ here for no hire, Andy, that you kin give me your notice to quit
like you’ve done. The farm is your’n as well as mine. You’ve always
worked on it with that understanding; and what you’re sayin’ you intend
doin’ is just skulkin’ out o’ your rightful responsibility.
ANDREW. (_looking at the floor--simply_) I’m sorry, Pa. (_After a
slight pause_) It’s no use talking any more about it.
MRS. MAYO. (_in relief_) There! I knew Andy’d come to his senses!
ANDREW. Don’t get the wrong idea, Ma. I’m not backing out.
MAYO. You mean you’re goin’ in spite of--everythin’?
ANDREW. Yes. I’m going. I’ve got to. (_He looks at his father
defiantly_) I feel I oughn’t to miss this chance to go out into the
world and see things, and--I want to go.
MAYO. (_with bitter scorn_) So--you want to go out into the world and
see thin’s! (_His voice raised and quivering with anger_) I never
thought I’d live to see the day when a son o’ mine ’d look me in the
face and tell a bare-faced lie! (_Bursting out_) You’re a liar, Andy
Mayo, and a mean one to boot!
MRS. MAYO. James!
ROBERT. Pa!
SCOTT. Steady there, Jim!
MAYO. (_waving their protests aside_) He is and he knows it.
ANDREW. (_his face flushed_) I won’t argue with you, Pa. You can think
as badly of me as you like.
MAYO. (_shaking his finger at_ ANDY, _in a cold rage_) You know I’m
speakin’ truth--that’s why you’re afraid to argy! You lie when you say
you want to go ’way--and see thin’s! You ain’t got no likin’ in the
world to go. I’ve watched you grow up, and I know your ways, and they’re
my ways. You’re runnin’ against your own nature, and you’re goin’ to be
a’mighty sorry for it if you do. ’S if I didn’t know your real reason
for runnin’ away! And runnin’ away’s the only words to fit it. You’re
runnin’ away ’cause you’re put out and riled ’cause your own brother’s
got Ruth ’stead o’ you, and----
ANDREW. (_his face crimson--tensely_) Stop, Pa! I won’t stand hearing
that--not even from you!
MRS. MAYO. (_rushing to_ ANDY _and putting her arms about him
protectingly_) Don’t mind him, Andy dear. He don’t mean a word he’s
saying! (ROBERT _stands rigidly, his hands clenched, his face contracted
by pain_. SCOTT _sits dumbfounded and open-mouthed_. ANDREW _soothes his
mother who is on the verge of tears_).
MAYO. (_in angry triumph_) It’s the truth, Andy Mayo! And you ought to
be bowed in shame to think of it!
ROBERT. (_protestingly_) Pa!
MRS. MAYO. (_coming from_ ANDREW _to his father; puts her hands on his
shoulders as though to try and push him back in the chair from which he
has risen_) Won’t you be still, James? Please won’t you?
MAYO. (_looking at_ ANDREW _over his wife’s shoulder--stubbornly_) The
truth--God’s truth!
MRS. MAYO. Sh-h-h! (_She tries to put a finger across his lips, but he
twists his head away_).
ANDREW. (_who has regained control over himself_) You’re wrong, Pa, it
isn’t truth. (_With defiant assertiveness_) I don’t love Ruth. I never
loved her, and the thought of such a thing never entered my head.
MAYO. (_with an angry snort of disbelief_) Hump! You’re pilin’ lie on
lie!
ANDREW. (_losing his temper--bitterly_) I suppose it’d be hard for you
to explain anyone’s wanting to leave this blessed farm except for some
outside reason like that. But I’m sick and tired of it--whether you want
to believe me or not--and that’s why I’m glad to get a chance to move
on.
ROBERT. Andy! Don’t! You’re only making it worse.
ANDREW. (_sulkily_) I don’t care. I’ve done my share of work here. I’ve
earned my right to quit when I want to. (_Suddenly overcome with anger
and grief; with rising intensity_) I’m sick and tired of the whole damn
business. I hate the farm and every inch of ground in it. I’m sick of
digging in the dirt and sweating in the sun like a slave without getting
a word of thanks for it. (_Tears of rage starting to his
eyes--hoarsely_) I’m through, through for good and all; and if Uncle
Dick won’t take me on his ship, I’ll find another. I’ll get away
somewhere, somehow.
MRS. MAYO. (_in a frightened voice_) Don’t you answer him, James. He
doesn’t know what he’s saying. Don’t say a word to him ’til he’s in his
right senses again. Please James, don’t----
MAYO. (_pushes her away from him; his face is drawn and pale with the
violence of his passion. He glares at_ ANDREW _as if he hated him_) You
dare to--you dare to speak like that to me? You talk like that ’bout
this farm--the Mayo farm--where you was born--you--you---- (_He clenches
his fist above his head and advances threateningly on_ ANDREW) You
damned whelp!
MRS. MAYO. (_with a shriek_) James! (_She covers her face with her hands
and sinks weakly into_ MAYO’S _chair_. ANDREW _remains standing
motionless, his face pale and set_).
SCOTT. (_starting to his feet and stretching his arms across the table
toward_ MAYO) Easy there, Jim!
ROBERT. (_throwing himself between father and brother_) Stop! Are you
mad?
MAYO. (_grabs_ ROBERT’S _arm and pushes him aside--then stands for a
moment gasping for breath before_ ANDREW. _He points to the door with a
shaking finger_) Yes--go!--go!--You’re no son o’ mine--no son o’ mine!
You can go to hell if you want to! Don’t let me find you here--in the
mornin’--or--or--I’ll _throw_ you out!
ROBERT. Pa! For God’s sake! (MRS. MAYO _bursts into noisy sobbing_).
MAYO. (_he gulps convulsively and glares at_ ANDREW) You go--tomorrow
mornin’--and by God--don’t come back--don’t dare come back--by God, not
while I’m livin’--or I’ll--I’ll---- (_He shakes over his muttered threat
and strides toward the door rear, right_).
MRS. MAYO. (_rising and throwing her arms around him--hysterically_)
James! James! Where are you going?
MAYO. (_incoherently_) I’m goin’--to bed, Katey. It’s late, Katey--it’s
late. (_He goes out_).
MRS. MAYO. (_following him, pleading hysterically_) James! Take back
what you’ve said to Andy. James! (_She follows him out._ ROBERT _and
the_ CAPTAIN _stare after them with horrified eyes_. ANDREW _stands
rigidly looking straight in front of him, his fists clenched at his
sides_).
SCOTT. (_the first to find his voice--with an explosive sigh_) Well, if
he ain’t the devil himself when he’s roused! You oughtn’t to have talked
to him that way, Andy ’bout the damn farm, knowin’ how touchy he is
about it. (_With another sigh_) Well, you won’t mind what he’s said in
anger. He’ll be sorry for it when he’s calmed down a bit.
ANDREW. (_in a dead voice_) You don’t know him. (_Defiantly_) What’s
said is said and can’t be unsaid; and I’ve chosen.
ROBERT. (_with violent protest_) Andy! You can’t go! This is all so
stupid--and terrible!
ANDREW. (_coldly_) I’ll talk to you in a minute, Rob. (_Crushed by his
brother’s attitude_ ROBERT _sinks down into a chair, holding his head in
his hands_).
SCOTT. (_comes and slaps_ ANDREW _on the back_) I’m damned glad you’re
shippin’ on, Andy. I like your spirit, and the way you spoke up to him.
(_Lowering his voice to a cautious whisper_) The sea’s the place for a
young feller like you that isn’t half dead ’n’ alive. (_He gives_ ANDY
_a final approving slap_) You ’n’ me’ll get along like twins, see if we
don’t. I’m goin’ aloft to turn in. Don’t forget to pack your dunnage.
And git some sleep, if you kin. We’ll want to sneak out extra early
b’fore they’re up. It’ll do away with more argyments. Robert can drive
us down to the town, and bring back the team. (_He goes to the door in
the rear, left_) Well, good night.
ANDREW. Good night. (SCOTT _goes out. The two brothers remain silent for
a moment. Then_ ANDREW _comes over to his brother and puts a hand on his
back. He speaks in a low voice, full of feeling_) Buck up, Rob. It ain’t
any use crying over spilt milk; and it’ll all turn out for the
best--let’s hope. It couldn’t be helped--what’s happened.
ROBERT. (_wildly_) But it’s a lie, Andy, a lie!
ANDREW. Of course it’s a lie. You know it and I know it,--but that’s all
ought to know it.
ROBERT. Pa’ll never forgive you. Oh, the whole affair is so
senseless--and tragic. Why did you think you must go away?
ANDREW. You know better than to ask that. You know why. (_Fiercely_) I
can wish you and Ruth all the good luck in the world, and I do, and I
mean it; but you can’t expect me to stay around here and watch you two
together, day after day--and me alone. I couldn’t stand it--not after
all the plans I’d made to happen on this place thinking---- (_his voice
breaks_) thinking she cared for me.
ROBERT. (_putting a hand on his brother’s arm_) God! It’s horrible! I
feel so guilty--to think that I should be the cause of your suffering,
after we’ve been such pals all our lives. If I could have foreseen
what’d happen, I swear to you I’d have never said a word to Ruth. I
swear I wouldn’t have, Andy!
ANDREW. I know you wouldn’t; and that would’ve been worse, for Ruth
would’ve suffered then. (_He pats his brother’s shoulder_) It’s best as
it is. It had to be, and I’ve got to stand the gaff, that’s all. Pa’ll
see how I felt--after a time. (_As_ ROBERT _shakes his head_)--and if he
don’t--well, it can’t be helped.
ROBERT. But think of Ma! God, Andy, you can’t go! You can’t!
ANDREW. (_fiercely_) I’ve got to go--to get away! I’ve got to, I tell
you. I’d go crazy here, bein’ reminded every second of the day what a
fool I’d made of myself. I’ve got to get away and try and forget, if I
can. And I’d hate the farm if I stayed, hate it for bringin’ things
back. I couldn’t take interest in the work any more, work with no
purpose in sight. Can’t you see what a hell it’d be? You love her too,
Rob. Put yourself in my place, and remember I haven’t stopped loving
her, and couldn’t if I was to stay. Would that be fair to you or to her?
Put yourself in my place. (_He shakes his brother fiercely by the
shoulder_) What’d you do then? Tell me the truth! You love her. What’d
you do?
ROBERT. (_chokingly_) I’d--I’d go, Andy! (_He buries his face in his
hands with a shuddering sob_) God!
ANDREW. (_seeming to relax suddenly all over his body--in a low, steady
voice_) Then you know why I got to go; and there’s nothing more to be
said.
ROBERT. (_in a frenzy of rebellion_) Why did this have to happen to us?
It’s damnable! (_He looks about him wildly, as if his vengeance were
seeking the responsible fate_).
ANDREW. (_soothingly--again putting his hands on his brother’s
shoulder_) It’s no use fussing any more, Rob. It’s done. (_Forcing a
smile_) I guess Ruth’s got a right to have who she likes. She made a
good choice--and God bless her for it!
ROBERT. Andy! Oh, I wish I could tell you half I feel of how fine you
are!
ANDREW. (_interrupting him quickly_) Shut up! Let’s go to bed. I’ve got
to be up long before sun-up. You, too, if you’re going to drive us down.
ROBERT. Yes. Yes.
ANDREW. (_turning down the lamp_) And I’ve got to pack yet. (_He yawns
with utter weariness_) I’m as tired as if I’d been plowing twenty-four
hours at a stretch. (_Dully_) I feel--dead. (ROBERT _covers his face
again with his hands_. ANDREW _shakes his head as if to get rid of his
thoughts, and continues with a poor attempt at cheery briskness_) I’m
going to douse the light. Come on. (_He slaps his brother on the back._
ROBERT _does not move_. ANDREW _bends over and blows out the lamp. His
voice comes from the darkness_) Don’t sit there mourning, Rob. It’ll all
come out in the wash. Come on and get some sleep. Everything’ll turn out
all right in the end. (ROBERT _can be heard stumbling to his feet, and
the dark figures of the two brothers can be seen groping their way
toward the doorway in the rear as_
(_The Curtain Falls_)
BEYOND THE HORIZON
ACT TWO
SCENE ONE
_Same as Act One, Scene Two. Sitting room of the farm house about half
past twelve in the afternoon of a hot, sun-baked day in mid-summer,
three years later. All the windows are open, but no breeze stirs the
soiled white curtains. A patched screen door is in the rear. Through it
the yard can be seen, its small stretch of lawn divided by the dirt path
leading to the door from the gate in the white picket fence which
borders the road._
_The room has changed, not so much in its outward appearance as in its
general atmosphere. Little significant details give evidence of
carelessness, of inefficiency, of an industry gone to seed. The chairs
appear shabby from lack of paint; the table cover is spotted and askew;
holes show in the curtains; a child’s doll, with one arm gone, lies
under the table; a hoe stands in a corner; a man’s coat is flung on the
couch in the rear; the desk is cluttered up with odds and ends; a number
of books are piled carelessly on the sideboard. The noon enervation of
the sultry, scorching day seems to have penetrated indoors, causing even
inanimate objects to wear an aspect of despondent exhaustion._
_A place is set at the end of the table, left, for someone’s dinner.
Through the open door to the kitchen comes the clatter of dishes being
washed, interrupted at intervals by a woman’s irritated voice and the
peevish whining of a child._
_At the rise of the curtain_ MRS. MAYO _and_ MRS. ATKINS _are discovered
sitting facing each other_, MRS. MAYO _to the rear_ MRS. ATKINS _to the
right of the table_. MRS. MAYO’S _face has lost all character,
disintegrated, become a weak mask wearing a helpless, doleful expression
of being constantly on the verge of comfortless tears. She speaks in an
uncertain voice, without assertiveness, as if all power of willing had
deserted her._ MRS. ATKINS _is in her wheel chair. She is a thin,
pale-faced, unintelligent looking woman of about forty-eight, with hard,
bright eyes. A victim of partial paralysis for many years, condemned to
be pushed from day to day of her life in a wheel chair, she has
developed the selfish, irritable nature of the chronic invalid. Both
women are dressed in black._ MRS. ATKINS _knits nervously as she talks.
A ball of unused yarn, with needles stuck through it, lies on the table
before_ MRS. MAYO.
MRS. ATKINS. (_with a disapproving glance at the place set on the
table_) Robert’s late for his dinner again, as usual. I don’t see why
Ruth puts up with it, and I’ve told her so. Many’s the time I’ve said to
her “It’s about time you put a stop to his nonsense. Does he suppose
you’re runnin’ a hotel--with no one to help with things?” But she don’t
pay no attention. She’s as bad as he is, a’most--thinks she knows better
than an old, sick body like me.
MRS. MAYO. (_dully_) Robbie’s always late for things. He can’t help it,
Sarah.
MRS. ATKINS. (_with a snort_) Can’t help it! How you do go on, Kate,
findin’ excuses for him! Anybody can help anything they’ve a mind to--as
long as they’ve got health, and ain’t rendered helpless like me--(_She
adds as a pious afterthought_)--through the will of God.
MRS. MAYO. Robbie can’t.
MRS. ATKINS. Can’t! It do make me mad, Kate Mayo, to see folks that God
gave all the use of their limbs to potterin’ round and wastin’ time
doin’ everything the wrong way--and me powerless to help and at their
mercy, you might say. And it ain’t that I haven’t pointed the right way
to ’em. I’ve talked to Robert thousands of times and told him how things
ought to be done. You know that, Kate Mayo. But d’you s’pose he takes
any notice of what I say? Or Ruth, either--my own daughter? No, they
think I’m a crazy, cranky old woman, half dead a’ready, and the sooner
I’m in the grave and out o’ their way the better it’d suit them.
MRS. MAYO. You mustn’t talk that way, Sarah. They’re not as wicked as
that. And you’ve got years and years before you.
MRS. ATKINS. You’re like the rest, Kate. You don’t know how near the end
I am. Well, at least I can go to my eternal rest with a clear
conscience. I’ve done all a body could do to avert ruin from this house.
On their heads be it!
MRS. MAYO. (_with hopeless indifference_) Things might be worse. Robert
never had any experience in farming. You can’t expect him to learn in a
day.
MRS. ATKINS. (_snappily_) He’s had three years to learn, and he’s
gettin’ worse ’stead of better. Not on’y your place but mine too is
driftin’ to rack and ruin, and I can’t do nothin’ to prevent.
MRS. MAYO. (_with a spark of assertiveness_) You can’t say but Robbie
works hard, Sarah.
MRS. ATKINS. What good’s workin’ hard if it don’t accomplish anythin’,
I’d like to know?
MRS. MAYO. Robbie’s had bad luck against him.
MRS. ATKINS. Say what you’ve a mind to, Kate, the proof of the puddin’s
in the eatin’; and you can’t deny that things have been goin’ from bad
to worse ever since your husband died two years back.
MRS. MAYO. (_wiping tears from her eyes with her handkerchief_) It was
God’s will that he should be taken.
MRS. ATKINS. (_triumphantly_) It was God’s punishment on James Mayo for
the blasphemin’ and denyin’ of God he done all his sinful life! (MRS.
MAYO _begins to weep softly_) There, Kate, I shouldn’t be remindin’ you,
I know. He’s at peace, poor man, and forgiven, let’s pray.
MRS. MAYO. (_wiping her eyes--simply_) James was a good man.
MRS. ATKINS. (_ignoring this remark_) What I was sayin’ was that since
Robert’s been in charge things’ve been goin’ down hill steady. You don’t
know _how_ bad they are. Robert don’t let on to you what’s happenin’;
and you’d never see it yourself if ’twas under your nose. But, thank the
Lord, Ruth still comes to me once in a while for advice when she’s
worried near out of her senses by his goin’s-on. Do you know what she
told me last night? But I forgot, she said not to tell you--still I
think you’ve got a right to know, and it’s my duty not to let such
things go on behind your back.
MRS. MAYO. (_wearily_) You can tell me if you want to.
MRS. ATKINS. (_bending over toward her--in a low voice_) Ruth was almost
crazy about it. Robert told her he’d have to mortgage the farm--said he
didn’t know how he’d pull through ’til harvest without it, and he can’t
get money any other way. (_She straightens up--indignantly_) Now what do
you think of your Robert?
MRS. MAYO. (_resignedly_) If it has to be----
MRS. ATKINS. You don’t mean to say you’re goin’ to sign away your farm,
Kate Mayo--after me warnin’ you?
MRS. MAYO.--I’ll do what Robbie says is needful.
MRS. ATKINS. (_holding up her hands_) Well, of all the foolishness!----
well, it’s your farm, not mine, and I’ve nothin’ more to say.
MRS. MAYO. Maybe Robbie’ll manage till Andy gets back and sees to
things. It can’t be long now.
MRS. ATKINS. (_with keen interest_) Ruth says Andy ought to turn up any
day. When does Robert figger he’ll get here?
MRS. MAYO. He says he can’t calculate exactly on account o’ the _Sunda_
being a sail boat. Last letter he got was from England, the day they
were sailing for home. That was over a month ago, and Robbie thinks
they’re overdue now.
MRS. ATKINS. We can give praise to God then that he’ll be back in the
nick o’ time. He ought to be tired of travelin’ and anxious to get home
and settle down to work again.
MRS. MAYO. Andy _has_ been working. He’s head officer on Dick’s boat, he
wrote Robbie. You know that.
MRS. ATKINS. That foolin’ on ships is all right for a spell, but he must
be right sick of it by this.
MRS. MAYO. (_musingly_) I wonder if he’s changed much. He used to be so
fine-looking and strong. (_With a sigh_) Three years! It seems more like
three hundred. (_Her eyes filling--piteously_) Oh, if James could only
have lived ’til he came back--and forgiven him!
MRS. ATKINS. He never would have--not James Mayo! Didn’t he keep his
heart hardened against him till the last in spite of all you and Robert
did to soften him?
MRS. MAYO. (_with a feeble flash of anger_) Don’t you dare say that!
(_Brokenly_) Oh, I know deep down in his heart he forgave Andy, though
he was too stubborn ever to own up to it. It was that brought on his
death--breaking his heart just on account of his stubborn pride. (_She
wipes her eyes with her handkerchief and sobs_).
MRS. ATKINS. (_piously_) It was the will of God. (_The whining crying of
the child sounds from the kitchen._ MRS. ATKINS _frowns irritably_) Drat
that young one! Seems as if she cries all the time on purpose to set a
body’s nerves on edge.
MRS. MAYO. (_wiping her eyes_) It’s the heat upsets her. Mary doesn’t
feel any too well these days, poor little child!
MRS. ATKINS. She gets it right from her Pa--bein’ sickly all the time.
You can’t deny Robert was always ailin’ as a child. (_She sighs
heavily_) It was a crazy mistake for them two to get married. I argyed
against it at the time, but Ruth was so spelled with Robert’s wild
poetry notions she wouldn’t listen to sense. Andy was the one would have
been the match for her.
MRS. MAYO. I’ve often thought since it might have been better the other
way. But Ruth and Robbie seem happy enough together.
MRS. ATKINS. At any rate it was God’s work--and His will be done. (_The
two women sit in silence for a moment._ RUTH _enters from the kitchen,
carrying in her arms her two year old daughter_, MARY, _a pretty but
sickly and ænemic looking child with a tear-stained face_. RUTH _has
aged appreciably. Her face has lost its youth and freshness. There is a
trace in her expression of something hard and spiteful. She sits in the
rocker in front of the table and sighs wearily. She wears a gingham
dress with a soiled apron tied around her waist_).
RUTH. Land sakes, if this isn’t a scorcher! That kitchen’s like a
furnace. Phew! (_She pushes the damp hair back from her forehead_).
MRS. MAYO. Why didn’t you call me to help with the dishes?
RUTH. (_shortly_) No. The heat in there’d kill you.
MARY. (_sees the doll under the table and struggles on her mother’s
lap_) Dolly, Mama! Dolly!
RUTH. (_pulling her back_) It’s time for your nap. You can’t play with
Dolly now.
MARY. (_commencing to cry whiningly_) Dolly!
MRS. ATKINS. (_irritably_) Can’t you keep that child still? Her racket’s
enough to split a body’s ears. Put her down and let her play with the
doll if it’ll quiet her.
RUTH. (_lifting_ MARY _to the floor_) There! I hope you’ll be satisfied
and keep still. (MARY _sits down on the floor before the table and plays
with the doll in silence_. RUTH _glances at the place set on the table_)
It’s a wonder Rob wouldn’t try to get to meals on time once in a while.
MRS. MAYO. (_dully_) Something must have gone wrong again.
RUTH. (_wearily_) I s’pose so. Something’s always going wrong these
days, it looks like.
MRS. ATKINS. (_snappily_) It wouldn’t if you possessed a bit of spunk.
The idea of you permittin’ him to come in to meals at all hours--and you
doin’ the work! I never heard of such a thin’. You’re too easy goin’,
that’s the trouble.
RUTH. Do stop your nagging at me, Ma! I’m sick of hearing you. I’ll do
as I please about it; and thank you for not interfering. (_She wipes her
moist forehead--wearily_) Phew! It’s too hot to argue. Let’s talk of
something pleasant. (_Curiously_) Didn’t I hear you speaking about Andy
a while ago?
MRS. MAYO. We were wondering when he’d get home.
RUTH. (_brightening_) Rob says any day now he’s liable to drop in and
surprise us--him and the Captain. It’ll certainly look natural to see
him around the farm again.
MRS. ATKINS. Let’s hope the farm’ll look more natural, too, when he’s
had a hand at it. The way thin’s are now!
RUTH. (_irritably_) Will you stop harping on that, Ma? We all know
things aren’t as they might be. What’s the good of your complaining all
the time?
MRS. ATKINS. There, Kate Mayo! Ain’t that just what I told you? I can’t
say a word of advice to my own daughter even, she’s that stubborn and
self-willed.
RUTH. (_putting her hands over her ears--in exasperation_) For goodness
sakes, Ma!
MRS. MAYO. (_dully_) Never mind. Andy’ll fix everything when he comes.
RUTH. (_hopefully_) Oh, yes, I know he will. He always did know just the
right thing ought to be done. (_With weary vexation_) It’s a shame for
him to come home and have to start in with things in such a topsy-turvy.
MRS. MAYO. Andy’ll manage.
RUTH. (_sighing_) I s’pose it isn’t Rob’s fault things go wrong with
him.
MRS. ATKINS. (_scornfully_) Hump! (_She fans herself nervously_) Land
o’ Goshen, but it’s bakin’ in here! Let’s go out in under the trees in
back where there’s a breath of fresh air. Come, Kate. (MRS. MAYO _gets
up obediently and starts to wheel the invalid’s chair toward the screen
door_) You better come too, Ruth. It’ll do you good. Learn him a lesson
and let him get his own dinner. Don’t be such a fool.
RUTH. (_going and holding the screen door open for them--listlessly_) He
wouldn’t mind. He doesn’t eat much. But I can’t go anyway. I’ve got to
put baby to bed.
MRS. ATKINS. Let’s go, Kate. I’m boilin’ in here. (MRS. MAYO _wheels her
out and off left_. RUTH _comes back and sits down in her chair_).
RUTH. (_mechanically_) Come and let me take off your shoes and
stockings, Mary, that’s a good girl. You’ve got to take your nap now.
(_The child continues to play as if she hadn’t heard, absorbed in her
doll. An eager expression comes over_ RUTH’S _tired face. She glances
toward the door furtively--then gets up and goes to the desk. Her
movements indicate a guilty fear of discovery. She takes a letter from a
pigeon-hole and retreats swiftly to her chair with it. She opens the
envelope and reads the letter with great interest, a flush of excitement
coming to her cheeks._ ROBERT _walks up the path and opens the screen
door quietly and comes into the room. He, too, has aged. His shoulders
are stooped as if under too great a burden. His eyes are dull and
lifeless, his face burned by the sun and unshaven for days. Streaks of
sweat have smudged the layer of dust on his cheeks. His lips drawn down
at the corners, give him a hopeless, resigned expression. The three
years have accentuated the weakness of his mouth and chin. He is
dressed in overalls, laced boots, and a flannel shirt open at the
neck_).
ROBERT. (_throwing his hat over an the sofa--with a great sigh of
exhaustion_) Phew! The sun’s hot today! (RUTH _is startled. At first she
makes an instinctive motion as if to hide the letter in her bosom. She
immediately thinks better of this and sits with the letter in her hands
looking at him with defiant eyes. He bends down and kisses her_).
RUTH. (_feeling of her cheek--irritably_) Why don’t you shave? You look
awful.
ROBERT. (_indifferently_) I forgot--and it’s too much trouble this
weather.
MARY. (_throwing aside her doll, runs to him with a happy cry_) Dada!
Dada!
ROBERT. (_swinging her up above his head--lovingly_) And how’s this
little girl of mine this hot day, eh?
MARY. (_screeching happily_) Dada! Dada!
RUTH. (_in annoyance_) Don’t do that to her! You know it’s time for her
nap and you’ll get her all waked up; then I’ll be the one that’ll have
to sit beside her till she falls asleep.
ROBERT. (_sitting down in the chair on the left of table and cuddling_
MARY _on his lap_) You needn’t bother. I’ll put her to bed.
RUTH. (_shortly_) You’ve got to get back to your work, I s’pose.
ROBERT. (_with a sigh_) Yes, I was forgetting. (_He glances at the open
letter on_ RUTH’S _lap_) Reading Andy’s letter again? I should think
you’d know it by heart by this time.
RUTH. (_coloring as if she’d been accused of something--defiantly_)
I’ve got a right to read it, haven’t I? He says it’s meant for all of
us.
ROBERT. (_with a trace of irritation_) Right? Don’t be so silly. There’s
no question of right. I was only saying that you must know all that’s in
it after so many readings.
RUTH. Well, I don’t. (_She puts the letter on the table and gets wearily
to her feet_) I s’pose you’ll be wanting your dinner now.
ROBERT. (_listlessly_) I don’t care. I’m not hungry.
RUTH. And here I been keeping it hot for you!
ROBERT. (_irritably_) Oh, all right then. Bring it in and I’ll try to
eat.
RUTH. I’ve got to get her to bed first. (_She goes to lift_ MARY _off
his lap_) Come, dear. It’s after time and you can hardly keep your eyes
open now.
MARY. (_crying_) No, no! (_Appealing to her father_) Dada! No!
RUTH. (_accusingly to_ ROBERT) There! Now see what you’ve done! I told
you not to----
ROBERT. (_shortly_) Let her alone, then. She’s all right where she is.
She’ll fall asleep on my lap in a minute if you’ll stop bothering her.
RUTH. (_hotly_) She’ll not do any such thing! She’s got to learn to mind
me! (_Shaking her finger at_ MARY) You naughty child! Will you come with
Mama when she tells you for your own good?
MARY. (_clinging to her father_) No, Dada!
RUTH. (_losing her temper_) A good spanking’s what you need, my young
lady--and you’ll get one from me if you don’t mind better, d’you hear?
(MARY _starts to whimper frightenedly_).
ROBERT. (_with sudden anger_) Leave her alone! How often have I told you
not to threaten her with whipping? I won’t have it. (_Soothing the
wailing_ MARY) There! There, little girl! Baby mustn’t cry. Dada won’t
like you if you do. Dada’ll hold you and you must promise to go to sleep
like a good little girl. Will you when Dada asks you?
MARY. (_cuddling up to him_) Yes, Dada.
RUTH. (_looking at them, her pale face set and drawn_) A fine one you
are to be telling folks how to do things! (_She bites her lips. Husband
and wife look into each other’s eyes with something akin to hatred in
their expressions; then_ RUTH _turns away with a shrug of affected
indifference_) All right, take care of her then, if you think it’s so
easy. (_She walks away into the kitchen_).
ROBERT. (_smoothing_ MARY’S _hair--tenderly_) We’ll show Mama you’re a
good little girl, won’t we?
MARY. (_crooning drowsily_) Dada, Dada.
ROBERT. Let’s see: Does your mother take off your shoes and stockings
before your nap?
MARY. (_nodding with half-shut eyes_) Yes, Dada.
ROBERT. (_taking of her shoes and stockings_) We’ll show Mama we know
how to do those things, won’t we? There’s one old shoe off--and there’s
the other old shoe--and here’s one old stocking--and there’s the other
old stocking. There we are, all nice and cool and comfy. (_He bends down
and kisses her_) And now will you promise to go right to sleep if Dada
takes you to bed? (MARY _nods sleepily_) That’s the good little girl.
(_He gathers her up in his arms carefully and carries her into the
bedroom. His voice can be heard faintly as he lulls the child to sleep._
RUTH _comes out of the kitchen and gets the plate from the table. She
hears the voice from the room and tiptoes to the door to look in. Then
she starts for the kitchen but stands for a moment thinking, a look of
ill-concealed jealousy on her face. At a noise from inside she hurriedly
disappears into the kitchen. A moment later_ ROBERT _re-enters. He comes
forward and picks up the shoes and stockings which he shoves carelessly
under the table. Then, seeing no one about, he goes to the sideboard and
selects a book. Coming back to his chair, he sits down and immediately
becomes absorbed in reading._ RUTH _returns from the kitchen bringing
his plate heaped with food, and a cup of tea. She sets those before him
and sits down in her former place._ ROBERT _continues to read, oblivious
to the food on the table_).
RUTH. (_after watching him irritably for a moment_) For heaven’s sakes,
put down that old book! Don’t you see your dinner’s getting cold?
ROBERT. (_closing his book_) Excuse me, Ruth. I didn’t notice. (_He
picks up his knife and fork and begins to eat gingerly, without
appetite_).
RUTH. I should think you might have some feeling for me, Rob, and not
always be late for meals. If you think it’s fun sweltering in that oven
of a kitchen to keep things warm for you, you’re mistaken.
ROBERT. I’m sorry, Ruth, really I am. Something crops up every day to
delay me. I mean to be here on time.
RUTH. (_with a sigh_) Mean-tos don’t count.
ROBERT. (_with a conciliating smile_) Then punish me, Ruth. Let the food
get cold and don’t bother about me.
RUTH. I’d have to wait just the same to wash up after you.
ROBERT. But I can wash up.
RUTH. A nice mess there’d be then!
ROBERT. (_with an attempt at lightness_) The food is lucky to be able to
get cold this weather. (_As_ RUTH _doesn’t answer or smile he opens his
book and resumes his reading, forcing himself to take a mouthful of food
every now and then_. RUTH _stares at him in annoyance_).
RUTH. And besides, you’ve got your own work that’s got to be done.
ROBERT. (_absent-mindedly, without taking his eyes from the book_) Yes,
of course.
RUTH. (_spitefully_) Work you’ll never get done by reading books all the
time.
ROBERT. (_shutting the book with a snap_) Why do you persist in nagging
at me for getting pleasure out of reading? Is it because---- (_He checks
himself abruptly_).
RUTH. (_coloring_) Because I’m too stupid to understand them, I s’pose
you were going to say.
ROBERT. (_shame-facedly_) No--no. (_In exasperation_) Why do you goad me
into saying things I don’t mean? Haven’t I got my share of troubles
trying to work this cursed farm without your adding to them? You know
how hard I’ve tried to keep things going in spite of bad luck----
RUTH. (_scornfully_) Bad luck!
ROBERT. And my own very apparent unfitness for the job, I was going to
add; but you can’t deny there’s been bad luck to it, too. Why don’t you
take things into consideration? Why can’t we pull together? We used to.
I know it’s hard on you also. Then why can’t we help each other instead
of hindering?
RUTH. (_sullenly_) I do the best I know how.
ROBERT. (_gets up and puts his hand on her shoulder_) I know you do. But
let’s both of us try to do better. We can both improve. Say a word of
encouragement once in a while when things go wrong, even if it is my
fault. You know the odds I’ve been up against since Pa died. I’m not a
farmer. I’ve never claimed to be one. But there’s nothing else I can do
under the circumstances, and I’ve got to pull things through somehow.
With your help, I can do it. With you against me---- (_He shrugs his
shoulders. There is a pause. Then he bends down and kisses her
hair--with an attempt at cheerfulness_) So you promise that; and I’ll
promise to be here when the clock strikes--and anything else you tell me
to. Is it a bargain?
RUTH. (_dully_) I s’pose so. (_They are interrupted by the sound of a
loud knock at the kitchen door_) There’s someone at the kitchen door.
(_She hurries out. A moment later she reappears_) It’s Ben.
ROBERT. (_frowning_) What’s the trouble now, I wonder? (In a loud voice)
Come on in here, Ben. (BEN _slouches in from the kitchen. He is a
hulking, awkward young fellow with a heavy, stupid face and shifty,
cunning eyes. He is dressed in overalls, boots, etc., and wears a
broad-brimmed hat of coarse straw pushed back on his head_) Well, Ben,
what’s the matter?
BEN. (_drawlingly_) The mowin’ machine’s bust.
ROBERT. Why, that can’t be. The man fixed it only last week.
BEN. It’s bust just the same.
ROBERT. And can’t you fix it?
BEN. No. Don’t know what’s the matter with the goll-darned thing.
’Twon’t work, anyhow.
ROBERT. (_getting up and going for his hat_) Wait a minute and I’ll go
look it over. There can’t be much the matter with it.
BEN. (_impudently_) Don’t make no diff’rence t’ me whether there be or
not. I’m quittin’.
ROBERT. (_anxiously_) You don’t mean you’re throwing up your job here?
BEN. That’s what! My month’s up today and I want what’s owin’ t’ me.
ROBERT. But why are you quitting now, Ben, when you know I’ve so much
work on hand? I’ll have a hard time getting another man at such short
notice.
BEN. That’s for you to figger. I’m quittin’.
ROBERT. But what’s your reason? You haven’t any complaint to make about
the way you’ve been treated, have you?
BEN. No. ’Tain’t that. (_Shaking his finger_) Look-a-here. I’m sick o’
being made fun at, that’s what; an’ I got a job up to Timms’ place; an’
I’m quittin’ here.
ROBERT. Being made fun of? I don’t understand you. Who’s making fun of
you?
BEN. They all do. When I drive down with the milk in the mornin’ they
all laughs and jokes at me--that boy up to Harris’ and the new feller up
to Slocum’s, and Bill Evans down to Meade’s, and all the rest on ’em.
ROBERT. That’s a queer reason for leaving me flat. Won’t they laugh at
you just the same when you’re working for Timms?