BEN. They wouldn’t dare to. Timms is the best farm hereabouts. They was

laughin’ at me for workin’ for _you_, that’s what! “How’re things up to

the Mayo place?” they hollers every mornin’. “What’s Robert doin’

now--pasturin’ the cattle in the cornlot? Is he seasonin’ his hay with

rain this year, same as last?” they shouts. “Or is he inventin’ some

’lectrical milkin’ engine to fool them dry cows o’ his into givin’ hard

cider?” (_Very much ruffled_) That’s like they talks; and I ain’t goin’

to put up with it no longer. Everyone’s always knowed me as a

first-class hand hereabouts, and I ain’t wantin’ ’em to get no different

notion. So I’m quittin’ you. And I wants what’s comin’ to me.

ROBERT. (_coldly_) Oh, if that’s the case, you can go to the devil.

You’ll get your money tomorrow when I get back from town--not before!

BEN. (_turning to doorway to kitchen_) That suits me. (_As he goes out

he speaks back over his shoulder_) And see that I do get it, or there’ll

be trouble. (_He disappears and the slamming of the kitchen door is

heard_).

ROBERT. (_as_ RUTH _comes from where she has been standing by the

doorway and sits down dejectedly in her old place_) The stupid damn

fool! And now what about the haying? That’s an example of what I’m up

against. No one can say I’m responsible for that.

RUTH. He wouldn’t dare act that way with anyone else! (_Spitefully, with

a glance at_ ANDREW’S _letter on the table_) It’s lucky Andy’s coming

back.

ROBERT. (_without resentment_) Yes, Andy’ll see the right thing to do in

a jiffy. (_With an affectionate smile_) I wonder if the old chump’s

changed much? He doesn’t seem to from his letters, does he? (_Shaking

his head_) But just the same I doubt if he’ll want to settle down to a

hum-drum farm life, after all he’s been through.

RUTH. (_resentfully_) Andy’s not like you. He likes the farm.

ROBERT. (_immersed in his own thoughts--enthusiastically_) Gad, the

things he’s seen and experienced! Think of the places he’s been! All the

wonderful far places I used to dream about! God, how I envy him! What a

trip! (_He springs to his feet and instinctively goes to the window and

stares out at the horizon_).

RUTH. (_bitterly_) I s’pose you’re sorry now you didn’t go?

ROBERT. (_too occupied with his own thoughts to hear her--vindictively_)

Oh, those cursed hills out there that I used to think promised me so

much! How I’ve grown to hate the sight of them! They’re like the walls

of a narrow prison yard shutting me in from all the freedom and wonder

of life! (_He turns back to the room with a gesture of loathing_)

Sometimes I think if it wasn’t for you, Ruth, and--(_his voice

softening_)--little Mary, I’d chuck everything up and walk down the road

with just one desire in my heart--to put the whole rim of the world

between me and those hills, and be able to breathe freely once more!

(_He sinks down into his chair and smiles with bitter self-scorn_) There

I go dreaming again--- my old fool dreams.

RUTH. (_in a low, repressed voice--her eyes smoldering_) You’re not the

only one!

ROBERT. (_buried in his own thoughts--bitterly_) And Andy, who’s had the

chance--what has he got out of it? His letters read like the diary of

a--of a farmer! “We’re in Singapore now. It’s a dirty hole of a place

and hotter than hell. Two of the crew are down with fever and we’re

short-handed on the work. I’ll be damn glad when we sail again, although

tacking back and forth in these blistering seas is a rotten job too!”

(_Scornfully_) That’s about the way he summed up his impressions of the

East.

RUTH. (_her repressed voice trembling_) You needn’t make fun of Andy.

ROBERT. When I think--but what’s the use? You know I wasn’t making fun

of Andy personally, but his attitude toward things is----

RUTH. (_her eyes flashing--bursting into uncontrollable rage_) You was

too making fun of him! And I ain’t going to stand for it! You ought to

be ashamed of yourself! (ROBERT _stares at her in amazement. She

continues furiously_) A fine one to talk about anyone else--after the

way you’ve ruined everything with your lazy loafing!--and the stupid way

you do things!

ROBERT. (_angrily_) Stop that kind of talk, do you hear?

RUTH. You findin’ fault--with your own brother who’s ten times the man

you ever was or ever will be! You’re jealous, that’s what! Jealous

because he’s made a man of himself, while you’re nothing but a--but

a---- (_She stutters incoherently, overcome by rage_).

ROBERT. Ruth! Ruth! You’ll be sorry for talking like that.

RUTH. I won’t! I won’t never be sorry! I’m only saying what I’ve been

thinking for years.

ROBERT. (_aghast_) Ruth! You can’t mean that!

RUTH. What do you think--living with a man like you--having to suffer

all the time because you’ve never been man enough to work and do things

like other people. But no! You never own up to that. You think you’re so

much better than other folks, with your college education, where you

never learned a thing, and always reading your stupid books instead of

working. I s’pose you think I ought to be _proud_ to be your wife--a

poor, ignorant thing like me! (_Fiercely_) But I’m not. I hate it! I

hate the sight of you. Oh, if I’d only known! If I hadn’t been such a

fool to listen to your cheap, silly, poetry talk that you learned out of

books! If I could have seen how you were in your true self--like you are

now--I’d have killed myself before I’d have married you! I was sorry for

it before we’d been together a month. I knew what you were really

like--when it was too late.

ROBERT. (_his voice raised loudly_) And now--I’m finding out what you’re

really like--what a--a creature I’ve been living with. (_With a harsh

laugh_) God! It wasn’t that I haven’t guessed how mean and small you

are--but I’ve kept on telling myself that I must be wrong--like a

fool!--like a damned fool!

RUTH. You were saying you’d go out on the road if it wasn’t for me.

Well, you can go, and the sooner the better! I don’t care! I’ll be glad

to get rid of you! The farm’ll be better off too. There’s been a curse

on it ever since you took hold. So go! Go and be a tramp like you’ve

always wanted. It’s all you’re good for. I can get along without you,

don’t you worry. (_Exulting fiercely_) Andy’s coming back, don’t forget

that! He’ll attend to things like they should be. He’ll show what a man

can do! I don’t need you. Andy’s coming!

ROBERT. (_they are both standing_. ROBERT _grabs her by the shoulders

and glares into her eyes_) What do you mean? (_He shakes her violently_)

What are you thinking of? What’s in your evil mind, you--you---- (_His

voice is a harsh shout_).

RUTH. (_in a defiant scream_) Yes I do mean it! I’d say it if you was to

kill me! I do love Andy. I do! I do! I always loved him. (_Exultantly_)

And he loves me! He loves me! I know he does. He always did! And you

know he did, too! So go! Go if you want to!

ROBERT. (_throwing her away from him. She staggers back against the

table--thickly_) You--you slut! (_He stands glaring at her as she leans

back, supporting herself by the table, gasping for breath. A loud

frightened whimper sounds from the awakened child in the bedroom. It

continues. The man and woman stand looking at one another in horror, the

extent of their terrible quarrel suddenly brought home to them. A pause.

The noise of a horse and carriage comes from the road before the house.

The two, suddenly struck by the same premonition, listen to it

breathlessly, as to a sound heard in a dream. It stops. They hear_

ANDY’S _voice from the road shouting a long hail_--“_Ahoy there!_”)

RUTH. (_with a strangled cry of joy_) Andy! Andy! (_She rushes and grabs

the knob of the screen door, about to fling it open_).

ROBERT. (_in a voice of command that forces obedience_) Stop! (_He goes

to the door and gently pushes the trembling_ RUTH _away from it. The

child’s crying rises to a louder pitch_) I’ll meet Andy. You better go

in to Mary, Ruth. (_She looks at him defiantly for a moment, but there

is something in his eyes that makes her turn and walk slowly into the

bedroom_).

ANDY’S VOICE. (_in a louder shout_) Ahoy there, Rob!

ROBERT. (_in an answering shout of forced cheeriness_) Hello, Andy! (_He

opens the door and walks out as_

(_The Curtain Falls_)

ACT TWO

SCENE TWO

_The top of a hill on the farm. It is about eleven o’clock the next

morning. The day is hot and cloudless. In the distance the sea can be

seen._

_The top of the hill slopes downward slightly toward the left. A big

boulder stands in the center toward the rear. Further right, a large oak

tree. The faint trace of a path leading upward to it from the left

foreground can be detected through the bleached, sun-scorched grass._

ROBERT _is discovered sitting on the boulder, his chin resting on his

hands, staring out toward the horizon seaward. His face is pale and

haggard, his expression one of utter despondency._ MARY _is sitting on

the grass near him in the shade, playing with her doll, singing happily

to herself. Presently she casts a curious glance at her father, and,

propping her doll up against the tree, comes over and clambers to his

side._

MARY. (_pulling at his hand--solicitously_) Dada sick?

ROBERT. (_looking at her with a forced smile_) No, dear. Why?

MARY. Play wif Mary.

ROBERT. (_gently_) No, dear, not today. Dada doesn’t feel like playing

today.

MARY. (_protestingly_) Yes, Dada!

ROBERT. No, dear. Dada does feel sick--a little. He’s got a bad

headache.

MARY. Mary see. (_He bends his head. She pats his hair_) Bad head.

ROBERT. (_kissing her--with a smile_) There! It’s better now, dear,

thank you. (_She cuddles up close against him. There is a pause during

which each of them looks out seaward_) (_Finally_ ROBERT _turns to her

tenderly_) Would you like Dada to go away?--far, far away?

MARY. (_tearfully_) No! No! No, Dada, no!

ROBERT. Don’t you like Uncle Andy--the man that came yesterday--not the

old man with the white mustache--the other?

MARY. Mary loves Dada.

ROBERT. (_with fierce determination_) He won’t go away, baby. He was

only joking. He couldn’t leave his little Mary. (_He presses the child

in his arms_).

MARY. (_with an exclamation of pain_) Oh! Hurt!

ROBERT. I’m sorry, little girl. (_He lifts her down to the grass_) Go

play with Dolly, that’s a good girl; and be careful to keep in the

shade. (_She reluctantly leaves him and takes up her doll again. A

moment later she points down the hill to the left_).

MARY. Mans, Dada.

ROBERT. (_looking that way_) It’s your Uncle Andy. (_A moment later_

ANDREW _comes up from the left, whistling cheerfully. He has changed but

little in appearance, except for the fact that his face has been deeply

bronzed by his years in the tropics; but there is a decided change in

his manner. The old easy-going good-nature seems to have been partly

lost in a breezy, business-like briskness of voice and gesture. There is

an authoritative note in his speech as though he were accustomed to give

orders and have them obeyed as a matter of course. He is dressed in the

simple blue uniform and cap of a merchant ship’s officer_).

ANDREW. Here you are, eh?

ROBERT. Hello, Andy.

ANDREW. (_going over to_ MARY) And who’s this young lady I find you all

alone with, eh? Who’s this pretty young lady? (_He tickles the laughing,

squirming_ MARY, _then lifts her up at arm’s length over his head_)

Upsy--daisy! (_He sets her down on the ground again_) And there you are!

(_He walks over and sits down on the boulder beside_ ROBERT _who moves

to one side to make room for him_) Ruth told me I’d probably find you up

top-side here; but I’d have guessed it, anyway. (_He digs his brother in

the ribs affectionately_) Still up to your old tricks, you old beggar! I

can remember how you used to come up here to mope and dream in the old

days.

ROBERT. (_with a smile_) I come up here now because it’s the coolest

place on the farm. I’ve given up dreaming.

ANDREW. (_grinning_) I don’t believe it. You can’t have changed that

much. (_After a pause--with boyish enthusiasm_) Say, it sure brings back

old times to be up here with you having a chin all by our lonesomes

again. I feel great being back home.

ROBERT. It’s great for us to have you back.

ANDREW. (_after a pause--meaningly_) I’ve been looking over the old

place with Ruth. Things don’t seem to be----

ROBERT. (_his face flushing--interrupts his brother shortly_) Never mind

the damn farm! Let’s talk about something interesting. This is the first

chance I’ve had to have a word with you alone. Tell me about your trip.

ANDREW. Why, I thought I told you everything in my letters.

ROBERT. (_smiling_) Your letters were--sketchy, to say the least.

ANDREW. Oh, I know I’m no author. You needn’t be afraid of hurting my

feelings. I’d rather go through a typhoon again than write a letter.

ROBERT. (_with eager interest_) Then you were through a typhoon?

ANDREW. Yes--in the China sea. Had to run before it under bare poles for

two days. I thought we were bound down for Davy Jones, sure. Never

dreamed waves could get so big or the wind blow so hard. If it hadn’t

been for Uncle Dick being such a good skipper we’d have gone to the

sharks, all of us. As it was we came out minus a main top-mast and had

to beat back to Hong-Kong for repairs. But I must have written you all

this.

ROBERT. You never mentioned it.

ANDREW. Well, there was so much dirty work getting things ship-shape

again I must have forgotten about it.

ROBERT. (_looking at_ ANDREW--_marveling_) Forget a typhoon? (_with a

trace of scorn_) You’re a strange combination, Andy. And is what you’ve

told me all you remember about it?

ANDREW. Oh, I could give you your bellyful of details if I wanted to

turn loose on you. It was all-wool-and-a-yard-wide-Hell, I’ll tell you.

You ought to have been there. I remember thinking about you at the worst

of it, and saying to myself: “This’d cure Rob of them ideas of his about

the beautiful sea, if he could see it.” And it would have too, you bet!

(_He nods emphatically_).

ROBERT. (_dryly_) The sea doesn’t seem to have impressed you very

favorably.

ANDREW. I should say it didn’t! I’ll never set foot on a ship again if I

can help it--except to carry me some place I can’t get to by train.

ROBERT. But you studied to become an officer!

ANDREW. Had to do something or I’d gone mad. The days were like years.

(_He laughs_) And as for the East you used to rave about--well, you

ought to see it, and _smell_ it! One walk down one of their filthy

narrow streets with the tropic sun beating on it would sicken you for

life with the “wonder and mystery” you used to dream of.

ROBERT. (_shrinking from his brother with a glance of aversion_) So all

you found in the East was a stench?

ANDREW. _A_ stench! Ten thousand of them!

ROBERT. But you did like some of the places, judging from your

letters--Sydney, Buenos Aires----

ANDREW. Yes, Sydney’s a good town. (_Enthusiastically_) But Buenos

Aires--there’s the place for you. Argentine’s a country where a fellow

has a chance to make good. You’re right I like it. And I’ll tell you,

Rob, that’s right where I’m going just as soon as I’ve seen you folks a

while and can get a ship. I can get a berth as second officer, and I’ll

jump the ship when I get there. I’ll need every cent of the wages

Uncle’s paid me to get a start at something in B. A.

ROBERT. (_staring at his brother--slowly_) So you’re not going to stay

on the farm?

ANDREW. Why sure not! Did you think I was? There wouldn’t be any sense.

One of us is enough to run this little place.

ROBERT. I suppose it does seem small to you now.

ANDREW. (_not noticing the sarcasm in_ ROBERT’S _voice_) You’ve no idea,

Rob, what a splendid place Argentine is. I had a letter from a marine

insurance chap that I’d made friends with in Hong-Kong to his brother,

who’s in the grain business in Buenos Aires. He took quite a fancy to

me, and what’s more important, he offered me a job if I’d come back

there. I’d have taken it on the spot, only I couldn’t leave Uncle Dick

in the lurch, and I’d promised you folks to come home. But I’m going

back there, you bet, and then you watch me get on! (_He slaps_ ROBERT

_on the back_) But don’t you think it’s a big chance, Rob?

ROBERT. It’s fine--for you, Andy.

ANDREW. We call this a farm--but you ought to hear about the farms down

there--ten square miles where we’ve got an acre. It’s a new country

where big things are opening up--and I want to get in on something big

before I die. I’m no fool when it comes to farming, and I know something

about grain. I’ve been reading up a lot on it, too, lately. (_He

notices_ ROBERT’S _absent-minded expression and laughs_) Wake up, you

old poetry book worm, you! I know my talking about business makes you

want to choke me, doesn’t it?

ROBERT. (_with an embarrassed smile_) No, Andy, I--I just happened to

think of something else. (_Frowning_) There’ve been lots of times lately

that I’ve wished I had some of your faculty for business.

ANDREW. (_soberly_) There’s something I want to talk about, Rob,--the

farm. You don’t mind, do you?

ROBERT. No.

ANDREW. I walked over it this morning with Ruth--and she told me about

things---- (_Evasively_) I could see the place had run down; but you

mustn’t blame yourself. When luck’s against anyone----

ROBERT. Don’t, Andy! It _is_ my fault. You know it as well as I do. The

best I’ve ever done was to make ends meet.

ANDREW. (_after a pause_) I’ve got over a thousand saved, and you can

have that.

ROBERT. (_firmly_) No. You need that for your start in Buenos Aires.

ANDREW. I don’t. I can----

ROBERT. (_determinedly_) No, Andy! Once and for all, no! I won’t hear of

it!

ANDREW. (_protestingly_) You obstinate old son of a gun!

ROBERT. Oh, everything’ll be on a sound footing after harvest. Don’t

worry about it.

ANDREW. (_doubtfully_) Maybe. (_After a pause_) It’s too bad Pa couldn’t

have lived to see things through. (_With feeling_) It cut me up a

lot--hearing he was dead. He never--softened up, did he--about me, I

mean?

ROBERT. He never understood, that’s a kinder way of putting it. He does

now.

ANDREW. (_after a pause_) You’ve forgotten all about what--caused me to

go, haven’t you, Rob? (ROBERT _nods but keeps his face averted_) I was a

slushier damn fool in those days than you were. But it was an act of

Providence I did go. It opened my eyes to how I’d been fooling myself.

Why, I’d forgotten all about--that--before I’d been at sea six months.

ROBERT. (_turns and looks into_ ANDREW’S _eyes searchingly_) You’re

speaking of--Ruth?

ANDREW. (_confused_) Yes. I didn’t want you to get false notions in your

head, or I wouldn’t say anything. (_Looking_ ROBERT _squarely in the

eyes_) I’m telling you the truth when I say I’d forgotten long ago. It

don’t sound well for me, getting over things so easy, but I guess it

never really amounted to more than a kid idea I was letting rule me. I’m

certain now I never was in love--I was getting fun out of thinking I

was--and being a hero to myself. (_He heaves a great sigh of relief_)

There! Gosh, I’m glad that’s off my chest. I’ve been feeling sort of

awkward ever since I’ve been home, thinking of what you two might think.

(_A trace of appeal in his voice_) You’ve got it all straight now,

haven’t you, Rob?

ROBERT. (_in a low voice_) Yes, Andy.

ANDREW. And I’ll tell Ruth, too, if I can get up the nerve. She must

feel kind of funny having me round--after what used to be--and not

knowing how I feel about it.

ROBERT. (_slowly_) Perhaps--for her sake--you’d better not tell her.

ANDREW. For her sake? Oh, you mean she wouldn’t want to be reminded of

my foolishness? Still, I think it’d be worse if----

ROBERT. (_breaking out--in an agonized voice_) Do as you please, Andy;

but for God’s sake, let’s not talk about it! (_There is a pause._ ANDREW

_stares at_ ROBERT _in hurt stupefaction._ ROBERT _continues after a

moment in a voice which he vainly attempts to keep calm_) Excuse me,

Andy. This rotten headache has my nerves shot to pieces.

ANDREW. (_mumbling_) It’s all right, Rob--long as you’re not sore at me.

ROBERT. Where did Uncle Dick disappear to this morning?

ANDREW. He went down to the port to see to things on the _Sunda_. He

said he didn’t know exactly when he’d be back. I’ll have to go down and

tend to the ship when he comes. That’s why I dressed up in these togs.

MARY. (_pointing down the hill to the left_) See! Mama! Mama! (_She

struggles to her feet._ RUTH _appears at left. She is dressed in white,

shows she has been fixing up. She looks pretty, flushed and full of

life_).

MARY. (_running to her mother_) Mama!

RUTH. (_kissing her_) Hello, dear! (_She walks toward the rock and

addresses_ ROBERT _coldly_) Jake wants to see you about something. He

finished working where he was. He’s waiting for you at the road.

ROBERT. (_getting up--wearily_) I’ll go down right away. (_As he looks

at_ RUTH, _noting her changed appearance, his face darkens with pain_).

RUTH. And take Mary with you, please. (_To_ MARY) Go with Dada, that’s a

good girl. Grandma has your dinner most ready for you.

ROBERT. (_shortly_) Come, Mary!

MARY. (_taking his hand and dancing happily beside him_) Dada! Dada!

(_They go down the hill to the left._ RUTH _looks after them for a

moment, frowning--then turns to_ ANDY _with a smile_) I’m going to sit

down. Come on, Andy. It’ll be like old times. (_She jumps lightly to the

top of the rock and sits down_) It’s so fine and cool up here after the

house.

ANDREW. (_half-sitting on the side of the boulder_) Yes. It’s great.

RUTH. I’ve taken a holiday in honor of your arrival. (_Laughing

excitedly_) I feel so free I’d like to have wings and fly over the sea.

You’re a man. You can’t know how awful and stupid it is--cooking and

washing dishes all the time.

ANDREW. (_making a wry face_) I can guess.

RUTH. Besides, your mother just insisted on getting your first dinner to

home, she’s that happy at having you back. You’d think I was planning to

poison you the flurried way she shooed me out of the kitchen.

ANDREW. That’s just like Ma, bless her!

RUTH. She’s missed you terrible. We all have. And you can’t deny the

farm has, after what I showed you and told you when we was looking over

the place this morning.

ANDREW. (_with a frown_) Things are run down, that’s a fact! It’s too

darn hard on poor old Rob.

RUTH. (_scornfully_) It’s his own fault. He never takes any interest in

things.

ANDREW. (_reprovingly_) You can’t blame him. He wasn’t born for it; but

I know he’s done his best for your sake and the old folks and the little

girl.

RUTH. (_indifferently_) Yes, I suppose he has. (_Gayly_) But thank the

Lord, all those days are over now. The “hard luck” Rob’s always blaming

won’t last long when you take hold, Andy. All the farm’s ever needed was

someone with the knack of looking ahead and preparing for what’s going

to happen.

ANDREW. Yes, Rob hasn’t got that. He’s frank to own up to that himself.

I’m going to try and hire a good man for him--an experienced farmer--to

work the place on a salary and percentage. That’ll take it off of Rob’s

hands, and he needn’t be worrying himself to death any more. He looks

all worn out, Ruth. He ought to be careful.

RUTH. (_absent-mindedly_) Yes, I s’pose. (_Her mind is filled with

premonitions by the first part of his statement_) Why do you want to

hire a man to oversee things? Seems as if now that you’re back it

wouldn’t be needful.

ANDREW. Oh, of course I’ll attend to everything while I’m here. I mean

after I’m gone.

RUTH. (_as if she couldn’t believe her ears_) Gone!

ANDREW. Yes. When I leave for the Argentine again.

RUTH. (_aghast_) You’re going away to sea!

ANDREW. Not to sea, no; I’m through with the sea for good as a job. I’m

going down to Buenos Aires to get in the grain business.

RUTH. But--that’s far off--isn’t it?

ANDREW. (_easily_) Six thousand miles more or less. It’s quite a trip.

(_With enthusiasm_) I’ve got a peach of a chance down there, Ruth. Ask

Rob if I haven’t. I’ve just been telling him all about it.

RUTH. (_a flush of anger coming over her face_) And didn’t he try to

stop you from going?

ANDREW. (_in surprise_) No, of course not. Why?

RUTH. (_slowly and vindictively_) That’s just like him--not to.

ANDREW. (_resentfully_) Rob’s too good a chum to try and stop me when he

knows I’m set on a thing. And he could see just as soon’s I told him

what a good chance it was.

RUTH. (_dazedly_) And you’re bound on going?

ANDREW. Sure thing. Oh, I don’t mean right off. I’ll have to wait for a

ship sailing there for quite a while, likely. Anyway, I want to stay to

home and visit with you folks a spell before I go.

RUTH. (_dumbly_) I s’pose. (_With sudden anguish_) Oh, Andy, you can’t

go! You can’t. Why we’ve all thought--we’ve all been hoping and praying

you was coming home to stay, to settle down on the farm and see to

things. You mustn’t go! Think of how your Ma’ll take on if you go--and

how the farm’ll be ruined if you leave it to Rob to look after. You can

see that.

ANDREW. (_frowning_) Rob hasn’t done so bad. When I get a man to direct

things the farm’ll be safe enough.

RUTH. (_insistently_) But your Ma--think of her.

ANDREW. She’s used to me being away. She won’t object when she knows

it’s best for her and all of us for me to go. You ask Rob. In a couple

of years down there I’ll make my pile, see if I don’t; and then I’ll

come back and settle down and turn this farm into the crackiest place in

the whole state. In the meantime, I can help you both from down there.

(_Earnestly_) I tell you, Ruth, I’m going to make good right from the

minute I land, if working hard and a determination to get on can do it;

and I _know_ they can! (_Excitedly--in a rather boastful tone_) I tell

you, I feel ripe for bigger things than settling down here. The trip did

that for me, anyway. It showed me the world is a larger proposition than

ever I thought it was in the old days. I couldn’t be content any more

stuck here like a fly in molasses. It all seems trifling, somehow. You

ought to be able to understand what I feel.

RUTH. (_dully_) Yes--I s’pose I ought. (_After a pause--a sudden

suspicion forming in her mind_) What did Rob tell you--about me?

ANDREW. Tell? About you? Why, nothing.

RUTH. (_staring at him intensely_) Are you telling me the truth, Andy

Mayo? Didn’t he say--I---- (_She stops confusedly_).

ANDREW. (_surprised_) No, he didn’t mention you, I can remember. Why?

What made you think he did?

RUTH. (_wringing her hands_) Oh, I wish I could tell if you’re lying or

not!

ANDREW. (_indignantly_) What’re you talking about? I didn’t used to lie

to you, did I? And what in the name of God is there to lie for?

RUTH. (_still unconvinced_) Are you sure--will you swear--it isn’t the

reason---- (_She lowers her eyes and half turns away from him_) The same

reason that made you go last time that’s driving you away again? ’Cause

if it is--I was going to say--you mustn’t go--on that account. (_Her

voice sinks to a tremulous, tender whisper as she finishes_).

ANDREW. (_confused--forces a laugh_) Oh, is that what you’re driving at?

Well, you needn’t worry about that no more---- (_Soberly_) I don’t blame

you, Ruth, feeling embarrassed having me around again, after the way I

played the dumb fool about going away last time.

RUTH. (_her hope crushed--with a gasp of pain_) Oh, Andy!

ANDREW. (_misunderstanding_) I know I oughtn’t to talk about such

foolishness to you. Still I figure it’s better to get it out of my

system so’s we three can be together same’s years ago, and not be

worried thinking one of us might have the wrong notion.

RUTH. Andy! Please! Don’t!

ANDREW. Let me finish now that I’ve started. It’ll help clear things up.

I don’t want you to think once a fool always a fool, and be upset all

the time I’m here on my fool account. I want you to believe I put all

that silly nonsense back of me a long time ago--and now--it

seems--well--as if you’d always been my sister, that’s what, Ruth.

RUTH. (_at the end of her endurance--laughing hysterically_) For God’s

sake, Andy--won’t you please stop talking! (_She again hides her face in

her hands, her bowed shoulders trembling_).

ANDREW. (_ruefully_) Seem’s if I put my foot in it whenever I open my

mouth today. Rob shut me up with almost the same words when I tried

speaking to him about it.

RUTH. (_fiercely_) You told him--what you’ve told me?

ANDREW. (_astounded_) Why sure! Why not?

RUTH. (_shuddering_) Oh, my God!

ANDREW. (_alarmed_) Why? Shouldn’t I have?

RUTH. (_hysterically_) Oh, I don’t care what you do! I don’t care! Leave

me alone! (ANDREW _gets up and walks down the hill to the left,

embarrassed, hurt, and greatly puzzled by her behavior_).

ANDREW. (_after a pause--pointing down the hill_) Hello! Here they come

back--and the Captain’s with them. How’d he come to get back so soon, I

wonder? That means I’ve got to hustle down to the port and get on board.

Rob’s got the baby with him. (_He comes back to the boulder._ RUTH

_keeps her face averted from him_) Gosh, I never saw a father so tied up

in a kid as Rob is! He just watches every move she makes. And I don’t

blame him. You both got a right to feel proud of her. She’s surely a

little winner. (_He glances at_ RUTH _to see if this very obvious

attempt to get back in her good graces is having any effect_) I can see

the likeness to Rob standing out all over her, can’t you? But there’s no

denying she’s your young one, either. There’s something about her

eyes----

RUTH. (_piteously_) Oh, Andy, I’ve a headache! I don’t want to talk!

Leave me alone, won’t you please?

ANDREW. (_stands staring at her for a moment--then walks away saying in

a hurt tone_): Everybody hereabouts seems to be on edge today. I begin

to feel as if I’m not wanted around. (_He stands near the path, left,

kicking at the grass with the toe of his shoe. A moment later_ CAPTAIN

DICK SCOTT _enters, followed by_ ROBERT _carrying_ MARY. _The_ CAPTAIN

_seems scarcely to have changed at all from the jovial, booming person

he was three years before. He wears a uniform similar to_ ANDREW’S. _He

is puffing and breathless from his climb and mops wildly at his

perspiring countenance._ ROBERT _casts a quick glance at_ ANDREW,

_noticing the latter’s discomfited look, and then turns his eyes on_

RUTH _who, at their approach, has moved so her back is toward them, her

chin resting on her hands as she stares out seaward_).

MARY. Mama! Mama! (ROBERT _puts her down and she runs to her mother._

RUTH _turns and grabs her up in her arms with a sudden fierce

tenderness, quickly turning away again from the others. During the

following scene she keeps_ MARY _in her arms_).

SCOTT. (_wheezily_) Phew! I got great news for you, Andy. Let me get my

wind first. Phew! God A’mighty, mountin’ this damned hill is worser’n

goin’ aloft to the skys’l yard in a blow. I got to lay to a while. (_He

sits down on the grass, mopping his face_).

ANDREW. I didn’t look for you this soon, Uncle.

SCOTT. I didn’t figger it, neither; but I run across a bit o’ news down

to the Seamen’s Home made me ’bout ship and set all sail back here to

find you.

ANDREW. (_eagerly_) What is it, Uncle?

SCOTT. Passin’ by the Home I thought I’d drop in an’ let ’em know I’d be

lackin’ a mate next trip count o’ your leavin’. Their man in charge o’

the shippin’ asked after you ’special curious. “Do you think he’d

consider a berth as Second on a steamer, Captain?” he asks. I was goin’

to say no when I thinks o’ you wantin’ to get back down south to the

Plate agen; so I asks him: “What is she and where’s she bound?” “She’s

the _El Paso_, a brand new tramp,” he says, “and she’s bound for Buenos

Aires.”

ANDREW. (_his eyes lighting up--excitedly_) Gosh, that is luck! When

does she sail?

SCOTT. Tomorrow mornin’. I didn’t know if you’d want to ship away agen

so quick an’ I told him so. “Tell him I’ll hold the berth open for him

until late this afternoon,” he says. So there you be, an’ you can make

your own choice.

ANDREW. I’d like to take it. There may not be another ship for Buenos

Aires with a vacancy in months. (_His eyes roving from_ ROBERT _to_ RUTH

_and back again--uncertainly_) Still--damn it all--tomorrow morning is

soon. I wish she wasn’t leaving for a week or so. That’d give me a

chance--it seems hard to go right away again when I’ve just got home.

And yet it’s a chance in a thousand---- (_Appealing to_ ROBERT) What do

you think, Rob? What would you do?

ROBERT. (_forcing a smile_) He who hesitates, you know. (_Frowning_)

It’s a piece of good luck thrown in your way--and--I think you owe it to

yourself to jump at it. But don’t ask me to decide for you.

RUTH. (_turning to look at_ ANDREW--_in a tone of fierce resentment_)

Yes, go, Andy! (_She turns quickly away again. There is a moment of

embarrassed silence_).

ANDREW. (_thoughtfully_) Yes, I guess I will. It’ll be the best thing

for all of us in the end, don’t you think so, Rob? (ROBERT _nods but

remains silent_).

SCOTT. (_getting to his feet_) Then, that’s settled.

ANDREW. (_now that he has definitely made a decision his voice rings

with hopeful strength and energy_) Yes, I’ll take the berth. The sooner

I go the sooner I’ll be back, that’s a certainty; and I won’t come back

with empty hands next time. You bet I won’t!

SCOTT. You ain’t got so much time, Andy. To make sure you’d best leave

here soon’s you kin. I got to get right back aboard. You’d best come

with me.

ANDREW. I’ll go to the house and repack my bag right away.

ROBERT. (_quietly_) You’ll both be here for dinner, won’t you?

ANDREW. (_worriedly_) I don’t know. Will there be time? What time is it

now, I wonder?

ROBERT. (_reproachfully_) Ma’s been getting dinner especially for you,

Andy.

ANDREW. (_flushing--shame-facedly_) Hell! And I was forgetting! Of

course I’ll stay for dinner if I missed every damned ship in the world.

(_He turns to the_ CAPTAIN--_briskly_) Come on, Uncle. Walk down with me

to the house and you can tell me more about this berth on the way. I’ve

got to pack before dinner. (_He and the_ CAPTAIN _start down to the

left_. ANDREW _calls back over his shoulder_) You’re coming soon, aren’t

you, Rob?

ROBERT. Yes. I’ll be right down. (ANDREW _and the_ CAPTAIN _leave_. RUTH

_puts_ MARY _on the ground and hides her face in her hands. Her

shoulders shake as if she were sobbing._ ROBERT _stares at her with a

grim, somber expression_. MARY _walks backward toward_ ROBERT, _her

wondering eyes fixed on her mother_).

MARY. (_her voice vaguely frightened, taking her father’s hand_) Dada,

Mama’s cryin’, Dada.

ROBERT. (_bending down and stroking her hair--in a voice he endeavors to

keep from being harsh_) No, she isn’t, little girl. The sun hurts her

eyes, that’s all. Aren’t you beginning to feel hungry, Mary?

MARY. (_decidedly_) Yes, Dada.

ROBERT. (_meaningly_) It must be your dinner time now.

RUTH. (_in a muffled voice_) I’m coming, Mary. (_She wipes her eyes

quickly and, without looking at_ ROBERT, _comes and takes_ MARY’S

_hand--in a dead voice_) Come on and I’ll get your dinner for you. (_She

walks out left, her eyes fixed on the ground, the skipping_ MARY

_tugging at her hand_. ROBERT _waits a moment for them to get ahead and

then slowly follows as_

(_The Curtain Falls_)

BEYOND THE HORIZON

ACT THREE

ACT THREE

SCENE ONE

_Same as Act Two, Scene One--The sitting room of the farm house about

six o’clock in the morning of a day toward the end of October five years

later. It is not yet dawn, but as the action progresses the darkness

outside the windows gradually fades to gray._

_The room, seen by the light of the shadeless oil lamp with a smoky

chimney which stands on the table, presents an appearance of decay, of

dissolution. The curtains at the windows are torn and dirty and one of

them is missing. The closed desk is gray with accumulated dust as if it

had not been used in years. Blotches of dampness disfigure the wall

paper. Threadbare trails, leading to the kitchen and outer doors, show

in the faded carpet. The top of the coverless table is stained with the

imprints of hot dishes and spilt food. The rung of one rocker has been

clumsily mended with a piece of plain board. A brown coating of rust

covers the unblacked stove. A pile of wood is stacked up carelessly

against the wall by the stove._

_The whole atmosphere of the room, contrasted with that of former years,

is one of an habitual poverty too hopelessly resigned to be any longer

ashamed or even conscious of itself._

_At the rise of the curtain_ RUTH _is discovered sitting by the stove,

with hands outstretched to the warmth as if the air in the room were

damp and cold. A heavy shawl is wrapped about her shoulders,

half-concealing her dress of deep mourning. She has aged horribly. Her

pale, deeply lined face has the stony lack of expression of one to whom

nothing more can ever happen, whose capacity for emotion has been

exhausted. When she speaks her voice is without timbre, low and

monotonous. The negligent disorder of her dress, the slovenly

arrangement of her hair, now streaked with gray, her muddied shoes run

down at the heel, give full evidence of the apathy in which she lives._

_Her mother is asleep in her wheel chair beside the stove toward the

rear, wrapped up in a blanket._

_There is a sound from the open bedroom door in the rear as if someone

were getting out of bed._ RUTH _turns in that direction, with a look of

dull annoyance. A moment later_ ROBERT _appears in the doorway, leaning

weakly against it for support. His hair is long and unkempt, his face

and body emaciated. There are bright patches of crimson over his check

bones and his eyes are burning with fever. He is dressed in corduroy

pants, a flannel shirt, and wears worn carpet slippers on his bare

feet._

RUTH. (_dully_) S-s-s-h-! Ma’s asleep.

ROBERT. (_speaking with an effort_) I won’t wake her. (_He walks weakly

to a rocker by the side of the table and sinks down in it exhausted_).

RUTH. (_staring at the stove_) You better come near the fire where it’s

warm.

ROBERT. No. I’m burning up now.

RUTH. That’s the fever. You know the doctor told you not to get up and

move round.

ROBERT. (_irritably_) That old fossil! He doesn’t know anything. Go to

bed and stay there--that’s his only prescription.

RUTH. (_indifferently_) How are you feeling now?

ROBERT. (_buoyantly_) Better! Much better than I’ve felt in ages. Really

I’m fine now--only very weak. It’s the turning point, I guess. From now

on I’ll pick up so quick I’ll surprise you--and no thanks to that old

fool of a country quack, either.

RUTH. He’s always tended to us.

ROBERT. Always helped us to die, you mean! He “tended” to Pa and Ma

and--(_his voice breaks_)--and to--Mary.

RUTH. (_dully_) He did the best he knew, I s’pose. (_After a pause_)

Well, Andy’s bringing a specialist with him when he comes. That ought to

suit you.

ROBERT. (_bitterly_) Is that why you’re waiting up all night?

RUTH. Yes.

ROBERT. For Andy?

RUTH. (_without a trace of feeling_) Somebody had got to. It’s only

right for someone to meet him after he’s been gone five years.

ROBERT. (_with bitter mockery_) Five years! It’s a long time.

RUTH. Yes.

ROBERT. (_meaningly_) To _wait_!

RUTH. (_indifferently_) It’s past now.

ROBERT. Yes, it’s past. (_After a pause_) Have you got his two telegrams

with you? (RUTH _nods_) Let me see them, will you? My head was so full

of fever when they came I couldn’t make head or tail to them.

(_Hastily_) But I’m feeling fine now. Let me read them again. (RUTH

_takes them from the bosom of her dress and hands them to him_).

RUTH. Here. The first one’s on top.

ROBERT. (_opening it_) New York. “Just landed from steamer. Have

important business to wind up here. Will be home as soon as deal is

completed.” (_He smiles bitterly_) Business first was always Andy’s

motto (_He reads_) “Hope you are all well. Andy.” (_He repeats

ironically_) “Hope you are all well!”

RUTH. (_dully_) He couldn’t know you’d been took sick till I answered

that and told him.

ROBERT. (_contritely_) Of course he couldn’t. I’m a fool. I’m touchy

about nothing lately. Just what did you say in your reply?

RUTH. (_inconsequentially_) I had to send it collect.

ROBERT. (_irritably_) What did you say was the matter with me?

RUTH. I wrote you had lung trouble.

ROBERT. (_flying into a petty temper_) You _are_ a fool! How often have

I explained to you that it’s _pleurisy_ is the matter with me. You can’t

seem to get it in your head that the pleura is outside the lungs, not in

them!

RUTH. (_callously_) I only wrote what Doctor Smith told me.

ROBERT. (_angrily_) He’s a damned ignoramus!

RUTH. (_dully_) Makes no difference. I had to tell Andy something,

didn’t I?

ROBERT. (_after a pause, opening the other telegram_) He sent this last

evening. Let’s see. (_He reads_) “Leave for home on midnight train. Just

received your wire. Am bringing specialist to see Rob. Will motor to

farm from Port.” (_He calculates_) What time is it now?

RUTH. Round six, must be.

ROBERT. He ought to be here soon. I’m glad he’s bringing a doctor who

knows something. A specialist will tell you in a second that there’s

nothing the matter with my lungs.

RUTH. (_stolidly_) You’ve been coughing an awful lot lately.

ROBERT. (_irritably_) What nonsense! For God’s sake, haven’t you ever

had a bad cold yourself? (RUTH _stares at the stove in silence_. ROBERT

_fidgets in his chair. There is a pause. Finally_ ROBERT’S _eyes are

fixed on the sleeping_ MRS. ATKINS) Your mother is lucky to be able to

sleep so soundly.

RUTH. Ma’s tired. She’s been sitting up with me most of the night.

ROBERT. (_mockingly_) Is she waiting for Andy, too? (_There is a pause._

ROBERT _sighs_) I couldn’t get to sleep to save my soul. I counted ten

million sheep if I counted one. No use! I gave up trying finally and

just laid there in the dark thinking. (_He pauses, then continues in a

tone of tender sympathy_) I was thinking about you, Ruth--of how hard

these last years must have been for you. (_Appealingly_) I’m sorry,

Ruth.

RUTH. (_in a dead voice_) I don’t know. They’re past now. They were hard

on all of us.

ROBERT. Yes; on all of us but Andy. (_With a flash of sick jealousy_)

Andy’s made a big success of himself--the kind he wanted. (_Mockingly_)

And now he’s coming home to let us admire his greatness.

(_Frowning--irritably_) What am I talking about? My brain must be sick,

too. (_After a pause_) Yes, these years have been terrible for both of

us. (_His voice is lowered to a trembling whisper_) Especially the last

eight months since Mary--died. (_He forces back a sob with a convulsive

shudder--then breaks out in a passionate agony_) Our last hope of

happiness! I could curse God from the bottom of my soul--if there was a

God! (_He is racked by a violent fit of coughing and hurriedly puts his

handkerchief to his lips_).

RUTH. (_without looking at him_) Mary’s better off--being dead.

ROBERT. (_gloomily_) We’d all be better off for that matter. (_With a

sudden exasperation_) You tell that mother of yours she’s got to stop

saying that Mary’s death was due to a weak constitution inherited from

me. (_On the verge of tears of weakness_) It’s got to stop, I tell you!

RUTH. (_sharply_) S-h-h! You’ll wake her; and then she’ll nag at me--not

you.

ROBERT. (_coughs and lies back in his chair weakly--a pause_) It’s all

because your mother’s down on me for not begging Andy for help.

RUTH. (_resentfully_) You might have. He’s got plenty.

ROBERT. How can _you_ of all people think of taking money from _him_?

RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t see the harm. He’s your own brother.

ROBERT. (_shrugging his shoulders_) What’s the use of talking to you?

Well, _I_ couldn’t. (_Proudly_) And I’ve managed to keep things going,

thank God. You can’t deny that without help I’ve succeeded in---- (_He

breaks off with a bitter laugh_) My God, what am I boasting of? Debts to

this one and that, taxes, interest unpaid! I’m a fool! (_He lies back in

his chair closing his eyes for a moment, then speaks in a low voice_)

I’ll be frank, Ruth. I’ve been an utter failure, and I’ve dragged you

with me. I couldn’t blame you in all justice--for hating me.

RUTH. (_without feeling_) I don’t hate you. It’s been my fault too, I

s’pose.

ROBERT. No. You couldn’t help loving--Andy.

RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t love anyone.

ROBERT. (_waving her remark aside_) You needn’t deny it. It doesn’t

matter. (_After a pause--with a tender smile_) Do you know Ruth, what

I’ve been dreaming back there in the dark? (_With a short laugh_) I was

planning our future when I get well. (_He looks at her with appealing

eyes as if afraid she will sneer at him. Her expression does not change.

She stares at the stove. His voice takes on a note of eagerness_) After

all, why shouldn’t we have a future? We’re young yet. If we can only

shake off the curse of this farm! It’s the farm that’s ruined our lives,

damn it! And now that Andy’s coming back--I’m going to sink my foolish

pride, Ruth! I’ll borrow the money from him to give us a good start in

the city. We’ll go where people live instead of stagnating, and start

all over again. (_Confidently_) I won’t be the failure there that I’ve

been here, Ruth. You won’t need to be ashamed of me there. I’ll prove to

you the reading I’ve done can be put to some use. (_Vaguely_) I’ll

write, or something of that sort. I’ve always wanted to write.

(_Pleadingly_) You’ll want to do that, won’t you, Ruth?

RUTH. (_dully_) There’s Ma.

ROBERT. She can come with us.

RUTH. She wouldn’t.

ROBERT. (_angrily_) So that’s your answer! (_He trembles with violent

passion. His voice is so strange that_ RUTH _turns to look at him in

alarm_) You’re lying, Ruth! Your mother’s just an excuse. You want to

stay here. You think that because Andy’s coming back that---- (_He

chokes and has an attack of coughing_).

RUTH. (_getting up--in a frightened voice_) What’s the matter? (_She

goes to him_) I’ll go with you, Rob. Stop that coughing for goodness’

sake! It’s awful bad for you. (_She soothes him in dull tones_) I’ll go

with you to the city--soon’s you’re well again. Honest I will, Rob, I

promise! (ROB _lies back and closes his eyes. She stands looking down at

him anxiously_) Do you feel better now?

ROBERT. Yes. (RUTH _goes back to her chair. After a pause he opens his

eyes and sits up in his chair. His face is flushed and happy_) Then you

_will_ go, Ruth?

RUTH. Yes.

ROBERT. (_excitedly_) We’ll make a new start, Ruth--just you and I. Life

owes us some happiness after what we’ve been through. (_Vehemently_) It

must! Otherwise our suffering would be meaningless--and that is

unthinkable.

RUTH. (_worried by his excitement_) Yes, yes, of course, Rob, but you

mustn’t----

ROBERT. Oh, don’t be afraid. I feel completely well, really I do--now

that I can hope again. Oh if you knew how glorious it feels to have

something to look forward to! Can’t you feel the thrill of it, too--the

vision of a new life opening up after all the horrible years?

RUTH. Yes, yes, but do be----

ROBERT. Nonsense! I won’t be careful. I’m getting back all my strength.

(_He gets lightly to his feet_) See! I feel light as a feather. (_He

walks to her chair and bends down to kiss her smilingly_) One kiss--the

first in years, isn’t it?--to greet the dawn of a new life together.

RUTH. (_submitting to his kiss--worriedly_) Sit down, Rob, for goodness’

sake!

ROBERT. (_with tender obstinacy--stroking her hair_) I won’t sit down.

You’re silly to worry. (_He rests one hand on the back of her chair_)

Listen. All our suffering has been a test through which we had to pass

to prove ourselves worthy of a finer realization. (_Exultingly_) And we

did pass through it! It hasn’t broken us! And now the dream is to come

true! Don’t you see?

RUTH. (_looking at him with frightened eyes as if she thought he had

gone mad_) Yes, Rob, I see; but won’t you go back to bed now and rest?

ROBERT. No. I’m going to see the sun rise. It’s an augury of good

fortune. (_He goes quickly to the window in the rear left, and pushing

the curtains aside, stands looking out._ RUTH _springs to her feet and

comes quickly to the table, left, where she remains watching_ ROBERT _in

a tense, expectant attitude. As he peers out his body seems gradually to

sag, to grow limp and tired. His voice is mournful as he speaks_) No sun

yet. It isn’t time. All I can see is the black rim of the damned hills

outlined against a creeping grayness. (_He turns around; letting the

curtains fall back, stretching a hand out to the wall to support

himself. His false strength of a moment has evaporated, leaving his face

drawn and hollow-eyed. He makes a pitiful attempt to smile_) That’s not

a very happy augury, is it? But the sun’ll come--soon. (_He sways

weakly_).

RUTH. (_hurrying to his side and supporting him_) Please go to bed,

won’t you, Rob? You don’t want to be all wore out when the specialist

comes, do you?

ROBERT. (_quickly_) No. That’s right. He mustn’t think I’m sicker than I

am. And I feel as if I could sleep now--(_Cheerfully_)--a good, sound,

restful sleep.

RUTH. (_helping him to the bedroom door_) That’s what you need most.

(_They go inside. A moment later she reappears calling back_) I’ll shut

this door so’s you’ll be quiet. (_She closes the door and goes quickly

to her mother and shakes her by the shoulder_) Ma! Ma! Wake up!

MRS. ATKINS. (_coming out of her sleep with a start_) Glory be! What’s

the matter with you?

RUTH. It was Rob. He’s just been talking to me out here. I put him back

to bed. (_Now that she is sure her mother is awake her fear passes and

she relapses into dull indifference. She sits down in her chair and

stares at the stove--dully_) He acted--funny; and his eyes looked so--so

wild like.

MRS. ATKINS. (_with asperity_) And is that all you woke me out of a

sound sleep for, and scared me near out of my wits?

RUTH. I was afraid. He talked so crazy. I couldn’t quiet him. I didn’t

want to be alone with him that way. Lord knows what he might do.

MRS. ATKINS. (_scornfully_) Humph! A help I’d be to you and me not able

to move a step! Why didn’t you run and get Jake?

RUTH. (_dully_) Jake isn’t here. He quit last night. He hasn’t been paid

in three months.

MRS. ATKINS. (_indignantly_) I can’t blame him. What decent person’d

want to work on a place like this? (_With sudden exasperation_) Oh, I

wish you’d never married that man!

RUTH. (_wearily_) You oughtn’t to talk about him now when he’s sick in

his bed.

MRS. ATKINS. (_working herself into a fit of rage_) You know very well,

Ruth Mayo, if it wasn’t for me helpin’ you on the sly out of my savin’s,

you’d both been in the poor house--and all ’count of his pigheaded

pride in not lettin’ Andy know the state thin’s were in. A nice thin’

for me to have to support him out of what I’d saved for my last

days--and me an invalid with no one to look to!

RUTH. Andy’ll pay you back, Ma. I can tell him so’s Rob’ll never know.

MRS. ATKINS. (_with a snort_) What’d Rob think you and him was livin’

on, _I_’d like to know?

RUTH. (_dully_) He didn’t think about it, I s’pose. (_After a slight

pause_) He said he’d made up his mind to ask Andy for help when he

comes. (_As a clock in the kitchen strikes six_) Six o’clock. Andy ought

to get here directly.

MRS. ATKINS. D’you think this special doctor’ll do Rob any good?

RUTH. (_hopelessly_) I don’t know. (_The two women remain silent for a

time staring dejectedly at the stove_).

MRS. ATKINS. (_shivering irritably_) For goodness’ sake put some wood on

that fire. I’m most freezin’!

RUTH. (_pointing to the door in the rear_) Don’t talk so loud. Let him

sleep if he can. (_She gets wearily from the chair and puts a few pieces

of wood in the stove_) This is the last of the wood. I don’t know who’ll

cut more now that Jake’s left. (_She sighs and walks to the window in

the rear, left, pulls the curtains aside, and looks out_) It’s getting

gray out. (_She comes back to the stove_) Looks like it’d be a nice day.

(_She stretches out her hands to warm them_) Must’ve been a heavy frost

last night. We’re paying for the spell of warm weather we’ve been

having. (_The throbbing whine of a motor sounds from the distance

outside_).

MRS. ATKINS. (_sharply_) S-h-h! Listen! Ain’t that an auto I hear?

RUTH. (_without interest_) Yes. It’s Andy, I s’pose.

MRS. ATKINS. (_with nervous irritation_) Don’t sit there like a silly

goose. Look at the state of this room! What’ll this strange doctor think

of us? Look at that lamp chimney all smoke! Gracious sakes, Ruth----

RUTH. (_indifferently_) I’ve got a lamp all cleaned up in the kitchen.

MRS. ATKINS. (_peremptorily_) Wheel me in there this minute. I don’t

want him to see me looking a sight. I’ll lay down in the room the other

side. You don’t need me now and I’m dead for sleep. (RUTH _wheels her

mother off right. The noise of the motor grows louder and finally ceases

as the car stops on the road before the farmhouse._ RUTH _returns from

the kitchen with a lighted lamp in her hand which she sets on the table

beside the other. The sound of footsteps on the path is heard--then a

sharp rap on the door._ RUTH _goes and opens it._ ANDREW _enters,

followed by_ DOCTOR FAWCETT _carrying a small black bag._ ANDREW _has

changed greatly. His face seems to have grown highstrung, hardened by

the look of decisiveness which comes from being constantly under a

strain where judgments on the spur of the moment are compelled to be

accurate. His eyes are keener and more alert. There is even a suggestion

of ruthless cunning about them. At present, however, his expression is

one of tense anxiety._ DOCTOR FAWCETT _is a short, dark, middle-aged man

with a Vandyke beard. He wears glasses_).

RUTH. Hello, Andy! I’ve been waiting----

ANDREW. (_kissing her hastily_) I got here as soon as I could. (_He

throws of his cap and heavy overcoat on the table, introducing_ RUTH

_and the_ DOCTOR _as he does so. He is dressed in an expensive business

suit and appears stouter_) My sister-in-law, Mrs. Mayo--Doctor Fawcett.

(_They bow to each other silently._ ANDREW _casts a quick glance about

the room_) Where’s Rob?

RUTH. (_pointing_) In there.

ANDREW. I’ll take your coat and hat, Doctor. (_As he helps the_ DOCTOR

_with his things_) Is he very bad, Ruth?

RUTH. (_dully_) He’s been getting weaker.

ANDREW. Damn! This way, Doctor. Bring the lamp, Ruth. (_He goes into the

bedroom, followed by the_ DOCTOR _and_ RUTH _carrying the clean lamp_.

RUTH _reappears almost immediately closing the door behind her, and goes

slowly to the outside door, which she opens, and stands in the doorway

looking out. The sound of_ ANDREW’S _and_ ROBERT’S _voices comes from

the bedroom. A moment later_ ANDREW _re-enters, closing the door softly.

He comes forward and sinks down in the rocker on the right of table,

leaning his head on his hand. His face is drawn in a shocked expression

of great grief. He sighs heavily, staring mournfully in front of him._

RUTH _turns and stands watching him. Then she shuts the door and returns

to her chair by the stove, turning it so she can face him_).

ANDREW. (_glancing up quickly--in a harsh voice_) How long has this been

going on?

RUTH. You mean--how long has he been sick?

ANDREW. (_shortly_) Of course! What else?

RUTH. It was last summer he had a bad spell first, but he’s been ailin’

ever since Mary died--eight months ago.

ANDREW. (_harshly_) Why didn’t you let me know--cable me? Do you want

him to die, all of you? I’m damned if it doesn’t look that way! (_His

voice breaking_) Poor old chap! To be sick in this out-of-the-way hole

without anyone to attend to him but a country quack! It’s a damned

shame!

RUTH. (_dully_) I wanted to send you word once, but he only got mad when

I told him. He was too proud to ask anything, he said.

ANDREW. Proud? To ask _me_? (_He jumps to his feet and paces nervously

back and forth_) I can’t understand the way you’ve acted. Didn’t you see

how sick he was getting? Couldn’t you realize--why, I nearly dropped in

my tracks when I saw him! He looks--(_He shudders_)--terrible! (_With

fierce scorn_) I suppose you’re so used to the idea of his being

delicate that you took his sickness as a matter of course. God, if I’d

only known!

RUTH. (_without emotion_) A letter takes so long to get where you

were--and we couldn’t afford to telegraph. We owed everyone already, and

I couldn’t ask Ma. She’d been giving me money out of her savings till

she hadn’t much left. Don’t say anything to Rob about it. I never told

him. He’d only be mad at me if he knew. But I had to, because--God knows

how we’d have got on if I hadn’t.

ANDREW. You mean to say---- (_His eyes seem to take in the

poverty-stricken appearance of the room for the first time_) You sent

that telegram to me collect. Was it because---- (RUTH _nods silently._

ANDREW _pounds on the table with his fist_) Good God! And all this time

I’ve been--why I’ve had everything! (_He sits down in his chair and

pulls it close to_ RUTH’S--_impulsively_) But--I can’t get it through my

head. Why? Why? What has happened? How did it ever come about? Tell me!

RUTH. (_dully_) There’s nothing much to tell. Things kept getting worse,

that’s all--and Rob didn’t seem to care. He never took any interest

since way back when your Ma died. After that he got men to take charge,

and they nearly all cheated him--he couldn’t tell--and left one after

another. Then after Mary died he didn’t pay no heed to anything any

more--just stayed indoors and took to reading books again. So I had to

ask Ma if she wouldn’t help us some.

ANDREW. (_surprised and horrified_) Why, damn it, this is frightful! Rob

must be mad not to have let me know. Too proud to ask help of _me_!

What’s the matter with him in God’s name? (_A sudden, horrible suspicion

entering his mind_) Ruth! Tell me the truth. His mind hasn’t gone back

on him, has it?

RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t know. Mary’s dying broke him up terrible--but

he’s used to her being gone by this, I s’pose.

ANDREW. (_looking at her queerly_) Do you mean to say _you’re_ used to

it?

RUTH. (_in a dead tone_) There’s a time comes--when you don’t mind any

more--anything.

ANDREW. (_looks at her fixedly for a moment--with great pity_) I’m

sorry, Ruth--if I seemed to blame you. I didn’t realize---- The sight of

Rob lying in bed there, so gone to pieces--it made me furious at

everyone. Forgive me, Ruth.

RUTH. There’s nothing to forgive. It doesn’t matter.

ANDREW. (_springing to his feet again and pacing up and down_) Thank God

I came back before it was too late. This doctor will know exactly what

to do. That’s the first thing to think of. When Rob’s on his feet again

we can get the farm working on a sound basis once more. I’ll see to

that--before I leave.

RUTH. You’re going away again?

ANDREW. I’ve got to.

RUTH. You wrote Rob you was coming back to stay this time.

ANDREW. I expected to--until I got to New York. Then I learned certain

facts that make it necessary. (_With a short laugh_) To be candid, Ruth,

I’m not the rich man you’ve probably been led to believe by my

letters--not now. I was when I wrote them. I made money hand over fist

as long as I stuck to legitimate trading; but I wasn’t content with

that. I wanted it to come easier, so like all the rest of the idiots, I

tried speculation. Oh, I won all right! Several times I’ve been almost a

millionaire--on paper--and then come down to earth again with a bump.

Finally the strain was too much. I got disgusted with myself and made up

my mind to get out and come home and forget it and really live again.

(_He gives a harsh laugh_) And now comes the funny part. The day before

the steamer sailed I saw what I thought was a chance to become a

millionaire again. (_He snaps his fingers_) That easy! I plunged. Then,

before things broke, I left--I was so confident I couldn’t be wrong. But

when I landed in New York--I wired you I had business to wind up, didn’t

I? Well, it was the business that wound me up! (_He smiles grimly,

pacing up and down, his hands in his pockets_).

RUTH. (_dully_) You found--you’d lost everything?

ANDREW. (_sitting down again_) Practically. (_He takes a cigar from his

pocket, bites the end off, and lights it_) Oh, I don’t mean I’m dead

broke. I’ve saved ten thousand from the wreckage, maybe twenty. But

that’s a poor showing for five years’ hard work. That’s why I’ll have to

go back. (_Confidently_) I can make it up in a year or so down

there--and I don’t need but a shoestring to start with. (_A weary

expression comes over his face and he sighs heavily_) I wish I didn’t

have to. I’m sick of it all.

RUTH. It’s too bad--things seem to go wrong so.

ANDREW. (_shaking off his depression--briskly_) They might be much

worse. There’s enough left to fix the farm O. K. before I go. I won’t

leave ’til Rob’s on his feet again. In the meantime I’ll make things fly

around here. (_With satisfaction_) I need a rest, and the kind of rest I

need is hard work in the open--just like I used to do in the old days.

(_Stopping abruptly and lowering his voice cautiously_) Not a word to

Rob about my losing money! Remember that, Ruth! You can see why. If he’s

grown so touchy he’d never accept a cent if he thought I was hard up;

see?

RUTH. Yes, Andy. (_After a pause, during which_ ANDREW _puffs at his

cigar abstractedly, his mind evidently busy with plans for the future,

the bedroom door is opened and_ DOCTOR FAWCETT _enters, carrying a bag.

He closes the door quietly behind him and comes forward, a grave

expression on his face._ ANDREW _springs out of his chair_).

ANDREW. Ah, Doctor! (_He pushes a chair between his own and_ RUTH’S)

Won’t you have a chair?

FAWCETT. (_glancing at his watch_) I must catch the nine o’clock back to

the city. It’s imperative. I have only a moment. (_Sitting down and

clearing his throat--in a perfunctory, impersonal voice_) The case of

your brother, Mr. Mayo, is---- (_He stops and glances at_ RUTH _and says

meaningly to_ ANDREW) Perhaps it would be better if you and I----

RUTH. (_with dogged resentment_) I know what you mean, Doctor.

(_Dully_) Don’t be afraid I can’t stand it. I’m used to bearing trouble

by this; and I can guess what you’ve found out. (_She hesitates for a

moment--then continues in a monotonous voice_) Rob’s going to die.

ANDREW. (_angrily_) Ruth!

FAWCETT. (_raising his hand as if to command silence_) I am afraid my

diagnosis of your brother’s condition forces me to the same conclusion

as Mrs. Mayo’s.

ANDREW. (_groaning_) But, Doctor, surely----

FAWCETT. (_calmly_) Your brother hasn’t long to live--perhaps a few

days, perhaps only a few hours. It’s a marvel that he’s alive at this

moment. My examination revealed that both of his lungs are terribly

affected.

ANDREW. (_brokenly_) Good God! (RUTH _keeps her eyes fixed on her lap in

a trance-like stare_).

FAWCETT. I am sorry I have to tell you this. If there was anything that

could be done----

ANDREW. There isn’t anything?

FAWCETT. (_shaking his head_) It’s too late. Six months ago there might

have----

ANDREW. (_in anguish_) But if we were to take him to the mountains--or

to Arizona--or----

FAWCETT. That might have prolonged his life six months ago. (ANDREW

_groans_) But now---- (_He shrugs his shoulders significantly_).

ANDREW. (_appalled by a sudden thought_) Good heavens, you haven’t told

him this, have you, Doctor?

FAWCETT. No. I lied to him. I said a change of climate---- (_He looks at

his watch again nervously_) I must leave you. (_He gets up_).

ANDREW. (_getting to his feet--insistently_) But there must still be

some chance----

FAWCETT. (_as if he were reassuring a child_) There is always that last

chance--the miracle. (_He puts on his hat and coat--bowing to_ RUTH)

Good-by, Mrs. Mayo.

RUTH. (_without raising her eyes--dully_) Good-by.

ANDREW. (_mechanically_) I’ll walk to the car with you, Doctor. (_They

go out of the door._ RUTH _sits motionlessly. The motor is heard

starting and the noise gradually recedes into the distance._ ANDREW

_re-enters and sits down in his chair, holding his head in his hands_)

Ruth! (_She lifts her eyes to his_) Hadn’t we better go in and see him?

God! I’m afraid to! I know he’ll read it in my face. (_The bedroom door

is noiselessly opened and_ ROBERT _appears in the doorway. His cheeks

are flushed with fever, and his eyes appear unusually large and

brilliant._ ANDREW _continues with a groan_) It can’t be, Ruth. It can’t

be as hopeless as he said. There’s always a fighting chance. We’ll take

Rob to Arizona. He’s _got_ to get well. There _must_ be a chance!

ROBERT. (_in a gentle tone_) Why must there, Andy? (RUTH _turns and

stares at him with terrified eyes_).

ANDREW. (_whirling around_) Rob! (_Scoldingly_) What are you doing out

of bed? (_He gets up and goes to him_) Get right back now and obey the

Doc, or you’re going to get a licking from me!

ROBERT. (_ignoring these remarks_) Help me over to the chair, please,

Andy.

ANDREW. Like hell I will! You’re going right back to bed, that’s where

you’re going, and stay there! (_He takes hold of_ ROBERT’S _arm_).

ROBERT. (_mockingly_) Stay there ’til I die, eh, Andy? (_Coldly_) Don’t

behave like a child. I’m sick of lying down. I’ll be more rested sitting

up. (_As_ ANDREW _hesitates--violently_) I swear I’ll get out of bed

every time you put me there. You’ll have to sit on my chest, and that

wouldn’t help my health any. Come on, Andy. Don’t play the fool. I want

to talk to you, and I’m going to. (_With a grim smile_) A dying man has

some rights, hasn’t he?

ANDREW. (_with a shudder_) Don’t talk that way, for God’s sake! I’ll

only let you sit down if you’ll promise that. Remember. (_He helps_

ROBERT _to the chair between his own and_ RUTH’S) Easy now! There you

are! Wait, and I’ll get a pillow for you. (_He goes into the bedroom._

ROBERT _looks at_ RUTH _who shrinks away from him in terror_. ROBERT

_smiles bitterly_. ANDREW _comes back with the pillow which he places

behind_ ROBERT’S _back_) How’s that?

ROBERT. (_with an affectionate smile_) Fine! Thank you! (_As_ ANDREW

_sits down_) Listen, Andy. You’ve asked me not to talk--and I won’t

after I’ve made my position clear. (_Slowly_) In the first place I know

I’m dying. (RUTH _bows her head and covers her face with her hands. She

remains like this all during the scene between the two brothers_).

ANDREW. Rob! That isn’t so!

ROBERT. (_wearily_) It _is_ so! Don’t lie to me. After Ruth put me to

bed before you came, I saw it clearly for the first time. (_Bitterly_)

I’d been making plans for our future--Ruth’s and mine--so it came hard

at first--the realization. Then when the doctor examined me, I

knew--although he tried to lie about it. And then to make sure I

listened at the door to what he told you. So don’t mock me with fairy

tales about Arizona, or any such rot as that. Because I’m dying is no

reason you should treat me as an imbecile or a coward. Now that I’m sure

what’s happening I can say Kismet to it with all my heart. It was only

the silly uncertainty that hurt. (_There is a pause._ ANDREW _looks

around in impotent anguish, not knowing what to say_. ROBERT _regards

him with an affectionate smile_).

ANDREW. (_finally blurts out_) It isn’t foolish. You _have_ got a

chance. If you heard all the Doctor said that ought to prove it to you.

ROBERT. Oh, you mean when he spoke of the miracle? (_Dryly_) I don’t

believe in miracles--in my case. Besides, I know more than any doctor on

earth _could_ know--because I _feel_ what’s coming. (_Dismissing the

subject_) But we’ve agreed not to talk of it. Tell me about yourself,

Andy. That’s what I’m interested in. Your letters were too brief and far

apart to be illuminating.

ANDREW. I meant to write oftener.

ROBERT. (_with a faint trace of irony_) I judge from them you’ve

accomplished all you set out to do five years ago?

ANDREW. That isn’t much to boast of.

ROBERT. (_surprised_) Have you really, honestly reached that conclusion?

ANDREW. Well, it doesn’t seem to amount to much now.

ROBERT. But you’re rich, aren’t you?

ANDREW. (_with a quick glance at_ RUTH) Yes, I s’pose so.

ROBERT. I’m glad. You can do to the farm all I’ve undone. But what did

you do down there? Tell me. You went in the grain business with that

friend of yours?

ANDREW. Yes. After two years I had a share in it. I sold out last year.

(_He is answering_ ROBERT’S _questions with great reluctance_).

ROBERT. And then?

ANDREW. I went in on my own.

ROBERT. Still in grain?

ANDREW. Yes.

ROBERT. What’s the matter? You look as if I were accusing you of

something.

ANDREW. I’m proud enough of the first four years. It’s after that I’m

not boasting of. I took to speculating.

ROBERT. In wheat?

ANDREW. Yes.

ROBERT. And you made money--gambling?

ANDREW. Yes.

ROBERT. (_thoughtfully_) I’ve been wondering what the great change was

in you. (_After a pause_) You--a farmer--to gamble in a wheat pit with

scraps of paper. There’s a spiritual significance in that picture, Andy.

(_He smiles bitterly_) I’m a failure, and Ruth’s another--but we can

both justly lay some of the blame for our stumbling on God. But you’re

the deepest-dyed failure of the three, Andy. You’ve spent eight years

running away from yourself. Do you see what I mean? You used to be a

creator when you loved the farm. You and life were in harmonious

partnership. And now---- (_He stops as if seeking vainly for words_) My

brain is muddled. But part of what I mean is that your gambling with the

thing you used to love to create proves how far astray---- So you’ll be

punished. You’ll have to suffer to win back---- (_His voice grows weaker

and he sighs wearily_) It’s no use. I can’t say it. (_He lies back and

closes his eyes, breathing pantingly_).

ANDREW. (_slowly_) I think I know what you’re driving at, Rob--and it’s

true, I guess. (ROBERT _smiles gratefully and stretches out his hand,

which_ ANDREW _takes in his_).

ROBERT. I want you to promise me to do one thing, Andy, after----

ANDREW. I’ll promise anything, as God is my Judge!

ROBERT. Remember, Andy, Ruth has suffered double her share. (_His voice

faltering with weakness_) Only through contact with suffering, Andy,

will you--awaken. Listen. You must marry Ruth--afterwards.

RUTH. (_with a cry_) Rob! (ROBERT _lies back, his eyes closed, gasping

heavily for breath_).

ANDREW. (_making signs to her to humor him--gently_) You’re tired out,

Rob. You better lie down and rest a while, don’t you think? We can talk

later on.

ROBERT. (_with a mocking smile_) Later on! You always were an optimist,

Andy! (_He sighs with exhaustion_) Yes, I’ll go and rest a while. (_As_

ANDREW _comes to help him_) It must be near sunrise, isn’t it?

ANDREW. It’s after six.

ROBERT. (_As_ ANDREW _helps him into the bedroom_) Shut the door, Andy.

I want to be alone. (ANDREW _reappears and shuts the door softly. He

comes and sits down on his chair again, supporting his head on his

hands. His face is drawn with the intensity of his dry-eyed anguish_).

RUTH. (_glancing at him--fearfully_) He’s out of his mind now, isn’t he?

ANDREW. He may be a little delirious. The fever would do that. (_With

impotent rage_) God, what a shame! And there’s nothing we can do but

sit and--wait! (_He springs from his chair and walks to the stove_).

RUTH. (_dully_) He was talking--wild--like he used to--only this time it

sounded--unnatural, don’t you think?

ANDREW. I don’t know. The things he said to me had truth in them--even

if he did talk them way up in the air, like he always sees things.

Still---- (_He glances down at_ RUTH _keenly_) Why do you suppose he

wanted us to promise we’d---- (_Confusedly_) You know what he said.

RUTH. (_dully_) His mind was wandering, I s’pose.

ANDREW. (_with conviction_) No--there was something back of it.

RUTH. He wanted to make sure I’d be all right--after he’d gone, I

expect.

ANDREW. No, it wasn’t that. He knows very well I’d naturally look after

you without--anything like that.

RUTH. He might be thinking of--something happened five years back, the

time you came home from the trip.

ANDREW. What happened? What do you mean?

RUTH. (_dully_) We had a fight.

ANDREW. A fight? What has that to do with me?

RUTH. It was about you--in a way.

ANDREW. (_amazed_) About _me_?

RUTH. Yes, mostly. You see I’d found out I’d made a mistake about Rob

soon after we were married--when it was too late.

ANDREW. Mistake? (_Slowly_) You mean--you found out you didn’t love Rob?

RUTH. Yes.

ANDREW. Good God!

RUTH. And then I thought that when Mary came it’d be different, and I’d

love him; but it didn’t happen that way. And I couldn’t bear with his

blundering and book-reading--and I grew to hate him, almost.

ANDREW. Ruth!

RUTH. I couldn’t help it. No woman could. It had to be because I loved

someone else, I’d found out. (_She sighs wearily_) It can’t do no harm

to tell you now--when it’s all past and gone--and dead. _You_ were the

one I really loved--only I didn’t come to the knowledge of it ’til too

late.

ANDREW. (_stunned_) Ruth! Do you know what you’re saying?

RUTH. It was true--then. (_With sudden fierceness_) How could I help it?

No woman could.

ANDREW. Then--you loved me--that time I came home?

RUTH. (_doggedly_) I’d known your real reason for leaving home the first

time--everybody knew it--and for three years I’d been thinking----

ANDREW. That I loved you?

RUTH. Yes. Then that day on the hill you laughed about what a fool you’d

been for loving me once--and I knew it was all over.

ANDREW. Good God, but I never thought---- (_He stops, shuddering at his

remembrance_) And did Rob----

RUTH. That was what I’d started to tell. We’d had a fight just before

you came and I got crazy mad--and I told him all I’ve told you.

ANDREW. (_gaping at her speechlessly for a moment_) You told Rob--you

loved me?

RUTH. Yes.

ANDREW. (_shrinking away from her in horror_) You--you--you mad fool,

you! How could you do such a thing?

RUTH. I couldn’t help it. I’d got to the end of bearing things--without

talking.

ANDREW. Then Rob must have known every moment I stayed here! And yet he

never said or showed--God, how he must have suffered! Didn’t you know

how much he loved you?

RUTH. (_dully_) Yes. I knew he liked me.

ANDREW. Liked you! What kind of a woman are you? Couldn’t you have kept

silent? Did you have to torture him? No wonder he’s dying! And you’ve

lived together for five years with this between you?

RUTH. We’ve lived in the same house.

ANDREW. Does he still think----

RUTH. I don’t know. We’ve never spoke a word about it since that day.

Maybe, from the way he went on, he s’poses I care for you yet.

ANDREW. But you don’t. It’s outrageous. It’s stupid! You don’t love me!

RUTH. (_slowly_) I wouldn’t know how to feel love, even if I tried, any

more.

ANDREW. (_brutally_) And I don’t love you, that’s sure! (_He sinks into

his chair, his head between his hands_) It’s damnable such a thing

should be between Rob and me. Why, I love Rob better’n anybody in the

world and always did. There isn’t a thing on God’s green earth I

wouldn’t have done to keep trouble away from him. And I have to be the

very one--it’s damnable! How am I going to face him again? What can I

say to him now? (_He groans with anguished rage. After a pause_) He

asked me to promise--what am I going to do?

RUTH. You can promise--so’s it’ll ease his mind--and not mean anything.

ANDREW. What? Lie to him now--when he’s dying? (_Determinedly_) No! It’s

_you_ who’ll have to do the lying, since it must be done. You’ve got a

chance now to undo some of all the suffering you’ve brought on Rob. Go

in to him! Tell him you never loved me--it was all a mistake. Tell him

you only said so because you were mad and didn’t know what you were

saying! Tell him something, anything, that’ll bring him peace!

RUTH. (_dully_) He wouldn’t believe me.

ANDREW. (_furiously_) You’ve got to make him believe you, do you hear?

You’ve got to--now--hurry--you never know when it may be too late. (_As

she hesitates--imploringly_) For God’s sake, Ruth! Don’t you see you owe

it to him? You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.

RUTH. (_dully_) I’ll go. (_She gets wearily to her feet and walks slowly

toward the bedroom_) But it won’t do any good. (ANDREW’S _eyes are fixed

on her anxiously. She opens the door and steps inside the room. She

remains standing there for a minute. Then she calls in a frightened

voice_) Rob! Where are you? (_Then she hurries back, trembling with

fright_) Andy! Andy! He’s gone!

ANDREW. (_misunderstanding her--his face pale with dread_) He’s not----

RUTH. (_interrupting him--hysterically_) He’s gone! The bed’s empty. The

window’s wide open. He must have crawled out into the yard!

ANDREW. (_springing to his feet. He rushes into the bedroom and returns

immediately with an expression of alarmed amazement on his face_) Come!

He can’t have gone far! (_Grabbing his hat he takes_ RUTH’S _arm and

shoves her toward the door_) Come on! (_Opening the door_) Let’s hope to

God---- (_The door closes behind them, cutting off his words as_

(_The Curtain Falls_)

ACT THREE

SCENE TWO

_Same as Act One, Scene One--A section of country highway. The sky to

the east is already alight with bright color and a thin, quivering line

of flame is spreading slowly along the horizon rim of the dark hills.

The roadside, however, is still steeped in the grayness of the dawn,

shadowy and vague. The field in the foreground has a wild uncultivated

appearance as if it had been allowed to remain fallow the preceding

summer. Parts of the snake-fence in the rear have been broken down. The

apple tree is leafless and seems dead._

ROBERT _staggers weakly in from the left. He stumbles into the ditch and

lies there for a moment; then crawls with a great effort to the top of

the bank where he can see the sun rise, and collapses weakly._ RUTH

_and_ ANDREW _come hurriedly along the road from the left._

ANDREW. (_stopping and looking about him_) There he is! I knew it! I

knew we’d find him here.

ROBERT. (_trying to raise himself to a sitting position as they hasten

to his side--with a wan smile_) I thought I’d given you the slip.

ANDREW. (_with kindly bullying_) Well you didn’t, you old scoundrel, and

we’re going to take you right back where you belong--in bed. (_He makes

a motion to lift_ ROBERT).

ROBERT. Don’t, Andy. Don’t, I tell you!

ANDREW. You’re in pain?

ROBERT. (_simply_) No. I’m dying. (_He falls back weakly._ RUTH _sinks

down beside him with a sob and pillows his head on her lap._ ANDREW

_stands looking down at him helplessly. ROBERT moves his head restlessly

on_ RUTH’S _lap_) I couldn’t stand it back there in the room. It seemed

as if all my life--I’d been cooped in a room. So I thought I’d try to

end as I might have--if I’d had the courage--alone--in a ditch by the

open road--watching the sun rise.

ANDREW. Rob! Don’t talk. You’re wasting your strength. Rest a while and

then we’ll carry you----

ROBERT. Still hoping, Andy? Don’t. I know. (_There is a pause during

which he breathes heavily, straining his eyes toward the horizon_) The

sun comes so slowly. (_With an ironical smile_) The doctor told me to go

to the far-off places--and I’d be cured. He was right. That was always

the cure for me. It’s too late--for this life--but---- (_He has a fit of

coughing which racks his body_).

ANDREW. (_with a hoarse sob_) Rob! (_He clenches his fist in an impotent

rage against Fate_) God! God! (RUTH _sobs brokenly and wipes_ ROBERT’S

_lips with her handkerchief_).

ROBERT. (_in a voice which is suddenly ringing with the happiness of

hope_) You mustn’t feel sorry for me. Don’t you see I’m happy at

last--free--free!--freed from the farm--free to wander on and

on--eternally! (_He raises himself on his elbow, his face radiant, and

points to the horizon_) Look! Isn’t it beautiful beyond the hills? I can

hear the old voices calling me to come---- (_Exultantly_) And this time

I’m going! It isn’t the end. It’s a free beginning--the start of my

voyage! I’ve won to my trip--the right of release--beyond the horizon!

Oh, you ought to be glad--glad--for my sake! (_He collapses weakly_)

Andy! (ANDREW _bends down to him_) Remember Ruth----

ANDREW. I’ll take care of her, I swear to you, Rob!

ROBERT. Ruth has suffered--remember, Andy--only through sacrifice--the

secret beyond there---- (_He suddenly raises himself with his last

remaining strength and points to the horizon where the edge of the sun’s

disc is rising from the rim of the hills_) The sun! (_He remains with

his eyes fixed on it for a moment. A rattling noise throbs from his

throat. He mumbles_) Remember! (_And falls back and is still._ RUTH

_gives a cry of horror and springs to her feet, shuddering, her hands

over her eyes._ ANDREW _bends on one knee beside the body, placing a

hand over_ ROBERT’S _heart, then he kisses his brother reverentially on

the forehead and stands up_).

ANDREW. (_facing_ RUTH, _the body between them--in a dead voice_) He’s

dead. (_With a sudden burst of fury_) God damn you, you never told him!

RUTH. (_piteously_) He was so happy without my lying to him.

ANDREW. (_pointing to the body--trembling with the violence of his

rage_) This is your doing, you damn woman, you coward, you murderess!

RUTH. (_sobbing_) Don’t, Andy! I couldn’t help it--and he knew how I’d

suffered, too. He told you--to remember.

ANDREW. (_stares at her for a moment, his rage ebbing away, an

expression of deep pity gradually coming over his face. Then he glances

down at his brother and speaks brokenly in a compassionate voice_)

Forgive me, Ruth--for his sake--and I’ll remember---- (RUTH _lets her

hands fall from her face and looks at him uncomprehendingly. He lifts

his eyes to hers and forces out falteringly_) I--you--we’ve both made a

mess of things! We must try to help each other--and--in time--we’ll come

to know what’s right---- (_Desperately_) And perhaps we---- (_But_ RUTH,

_if she is aware of his words, gives no sign. She remains silent, gazing

at him dully with the sad humility of exhaustion, her mind already

sinking back into that spent calm beyond the further troubling of any

hope_).

(_The Curtain Falls_)

* * * * *

_The Plays by_

EUGENE O’NEILL

_in this series are_:

THE EMPEROR JONES 75c.

BEYOND THE HORIZON 75c.

WHERE THE CROSS IS MADE 55c.

IN THE ZONE 35c.

ILE 35c.

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