A MESSAGE FROM
MARS
_A FANTASTIC COMEDY IN THREE ACTS_
BY
RICHARD GANTHONY
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY RICHARD GANTHONY
COPYRIGHT, 1927 (IN RENEWAL) BY BONITA L. GANTHONY
REWRITTEN AND REVISED, 1923, BY RICHARD GANTHONY
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY RICHARD GANTHONY
_All Rights Reserved_
CAUTION:—Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that “A
MESSAGE FROM MARS,” being fully protected under the copyright
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of the Copyright Union is subject to a royalty, and anyone
presenting the play without the consent of the owners or their
authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law
provided. Applications for the Professional and Amateur acting
rights must be made to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New
York, N. Y.
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A MESSAGE FROM MARS
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Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3.
A MESSAGE FROM MARS
CHARACTERS
HORACE PARKER
AUNT MARTHA (MISS PARKER)
MINNIE TEMPLAR, _Adopted sister to HORACE_
ARTHUR DICEY
BELLA, _Servant at the PARKERS’_
A TRAMP
A MESSENGER FROM MARS
MRS. CLARENCE
SIR EDWARD VIVIAN, _An Astronomer_ }
1ST GENTLEMAN } _Guests of MRS. CLARENCE_
2ND GENTLEMAN }
OTHER LADIES AND GENTLEMEN }
FOOTMAN, _At MRS. CLARENCE’S_
DR. CHAPMAN
A WOMAN OUTCAST
A POLICEMAN
A NEWSBOY
A WOUNDED MAN }
POLLY, _his wife_ }
1ST MAN } _Crowd in Street Accident_
2ND MAN }
AMBULANCE DOCTOR }
OTHER MEN AND WOMEN }
1ST WORKING MAN }
1ST WORKING WOMAN }
2ND WORKING WOMAN } _Refugees from a fire_
GIRL MOTHERING A BABY }
AN OLD COUPLE }
OTHER WORKING PEOPLE AND BABIES }
SCENE: London.
TIME: The Present.
ACT I. A room in HORACE PARKER’S house. 9 p.m.
ACT II. (A Dream) Outside MRS. CLARENCE’S house.
ACT III. Same as Act I. The same evening.
A MESSAGE FROM MARS
ACT I
_HORACE PARKER’S house, London, W. A living room with doors R.
and L. Large window C. with curtains to draw. A sofa in front
of window. A coat rack, or closet with curtain, containing
three overcoats of HORACE’S and golf caps and sticks, L. Table
L. on which are whiskey bottle, syphons, glasses, and jar of
biscuits. On R. is a fireplace with fire burning. Up of fire
is small stand. Below is a chair. A table in front of fire
with armchair between it and fire. Another chair L. of table.
A large standing oil lamp near table R. with red shade. This
should have a greenish figure on a classical style, represented
as holding or steadying the lamp standard. This figure is
supposed to become the MESSENGER FROM MARS in the dream, only
enlarged. The figure can, however, be omitted._
AT RISE: _Enter BELLA R. Lights lamp or turns it up. Draws
curtains. Attends to fire, and exits L. Enter MINNIE TEMPLAR,
dressed for a ball, followed by AUNT MARTHA R._
MINNIE. (_Looking about her_) He’s not here!
AUNT. Not here?
MINNIE. No. Where can he be?
AUNT. (_At fire_) Extraordinary!
MINNIE. Auntie, we shall be late. Do you hear? We shall be late.
AUNT. Yes, dear, I think you will.
MINNIE. He promised to go, didn’t he?
AUNT. Yes, dear, he certainly did.
MINNIE. I do call it a shame. Horace is the meanest, most selfish——
AUNT. Quite right, dear, he is.
MINNIE. He thinks of nothing but his books, and his papers, and his
horrid little stars.
AUNT. Quite true, dear, he does.
MINNIE. Then why do you let him do it?
AUNT. I?
MINNIE. Yes, you. You know he is engaged to me, and yet you allow him to
treat me as if we had been married for years. (_Up to window._)
AUNT. My dear Minnie—(_Sits L. of table_)—if Horace is a little
thoughtless, surely it isn’t my fault. I suppose he has forgotten all
about the dance——
MINNIE. Forgotten! (_Comes C._) I’ll tell you what it is. Aunt Martha,
you will have to go instead. (_Goes to fire._)
AUNT. Minnie, I can’t. You know, dear, it is quite impossible.
MINNIE. Impossible? Why?
AUNT. Well, dear, you know that horrid Louise hasn’t sent home my dress.
MINNIE. Nonsense, Aunt Martha. You’ve lots of dresses.
AUNT. Not one fit to be seen. You know that perfectly well.
MINNIE. There’s your plum-colored silk——
AUNT. My dear child. I wore that all last winter.
MINNIE. Only about three times. Then there’s your yellow satin.
AUNT. You know I look a perfect fright in that. Yellow doesn’t suit me.
MINNIE. Nothing suits you to-night. I declare you are as bad as Horace!
I suppose I shall have to give up the dance. It is a shame!
AUNT. My dear, I would have gone with pleasure if that odious Louise
hadn’t disappointed me. But you wouldn’t have me make an exhibition of
myself. One must have some pride.
MINNIE. Pride? You’re all pride. I do believe if the house were on fire,
and you cut off in a top room, you’d decline the fire-escape unless you
were dressed in the latest Paris fashion. (_Goes up to window._)
AUNT. Well, upon my word, dear, you are not very polite. I must say that
I am very sorry that you should be disappointed about your dance, but I
don’t believe you’d have cared so very much if you hadn’t known you were
wearing a particularly pretty frock.
MINNIE. It isn’t that at all.
AUNT. But it is—a very pretty frock. And it suits you quite wonderfully.
MINNIE. Does it, Auntie? (_Coming to AUNT._) What I meant was I go for
the dancing—principally. I do love dancing. Auntie, don’t you think you
could manage? (_Kisses her. Front door heard to slam._) Ah, that must be
Horace.
(_Enter HORACE R. in fur coat. MINNIE runs to him and kisses him. HORACE
puts copy of “The Astronomer” on table._)
MINNIE. Oh, Horace!
HORACE. Beastly cold. (_Goes to fire._)
MINNIE. Horace, I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve been waiting such a time.
HORACE. Waiting? What for?
MINNIE. Why, for you.
AUNT. Have you got a cab?
HORACE. Cab? What for?
AUNT. Well, you know the horses are coughing.
HORACE. Coughing. No wonder—everybody’s coughing, this beastly weather.
I’m coughing—— (_Coughs._)
MINNIE. (_At top of table_) Poor dear. How good of you to go out. When
will it be here?
HORACE. What?
MINNIE. The cab.
HORACE. I don’t know what you are talking about.
AUNT. That odious Louise hasn’t sent home my dress. But there, you two
will be all right without me.
HORACE. Without you? Oh, yes, we’ll manage. (_Taking off coat—puts it
down on chair R. below fireplace._)
MINNIE. Oh, Auntie, he isn’t dressed yet.
AUNT. Horace, you’ll be late. You’ll miss ever so many dances.
HORACE. What on earth are you talking about?
AUNT. Aren’t you going to the Clarences’ dance?
HORACE. Certainly not.
MINNIE. Oh, Horace!
AUNT. But you are not going to disappoint Minnie!
MINNIE. Horace, please.
AUNT. Mrs. Clarence will be offended if none of us go.
HORACE. Well, then, go, by all means. There’s nothing to prevent you.
AUNT. But Minnie can’t go without you.
HORACE. Why not?
MINNIE. Auntie’s dress hasn’t come from Louise’s, so she can’t go.
AUNT. You promised to take her.
HORACE. I’m not going out again to-night.
MINNIE. Oh, Horace, how unkind!
AUNT. I call it perfectly mean.
HORACE. It is much too cold. Besides, I want to read.
AUNT. I never knew anyone as selfish as you, Horace.
HORACE. Well, what keeps you? Why don’t you go?
AUNT. You know I can’t. I haven’t got a dress.
HORACE. Well, go without it.
AUNT. Horace!
HORACE. I mean, you can easily find one that will do.
AUNT. I think men are perfect fools. One that will do, indeed. Now don’t
speak to me any more.
HORACE. Kindly listen to me. In spite of my frightful cough—(_Slight
cough_)—I’ve been out in the bitter snow to get this copy of the
“Astronomer.” It contains an article on life on the planet Mars, in
which you know I am much interested. And you ask me to put on thin dress
clothes and go out again, and run tremendous risks with my delicate
throat and supersensitive lungs, and all for what? To see a lot of fools
capering about and making idiots of themselves until four or five in the
morning. I think you are most inconsiderate—
AUNT. Horace——
HORACE.—and unreasonable, and selfish.
AUNT. The impertinence of the man.
MINNIE. Oh, never mind. I didn’t understand that you had anything in
particular to do.
HORACE. Now, there’s a sensible little girl.
MINNIE. Sit down here—(_Armchair_)—and make yourself thoroughly
comfortable.
HORACE. (_Sitting down, but feeling in all his pockets_) One who realizes
that one cannot always be running about from place to place, neglecting
the serious interests of life.
MINNIE. What is it? What are you looking for?
HORACE. My cigar case. I fancy I must have left it in my room. (_MINNIE
runs L. to get it._) Wait a minute. Did I put it down as I came through
the hall? (_MINNIE runs R._) Wait, wait, I’m not certain I took it out
with me at all this morning, in which case it surely will be in my study.
(_MINNIE runs L._) Now, don’t run about. You make me giddy. Do not run
about. Have a thorough search. (_Exit MINNIE L._)
AUNT. Horace, you are going too far.
HORACE. Not I. I am stopping at home.
AUNT. You know what I mean. With Minnie.
HORACE. Ah, she’s a dear little girl.
AUNT. She’s one in a thousand.
HORACE. She is.
AUNT. She’s much too good for you.
HORACE. I don’t know about that. She’s quite good enough.
AUNT. You are perfectly detestable.
HORACE. Think so?
AUNT. Yes, and you’re growing worse every day. (_Goes L._) You are simply
wrapped up in selfishness, and egotism, and conceit.
HORACE. Merely because I prefer a quiet evening to myself and my books?
Because I prefer scientific discovery to heartless frivolity? Absurd.
AUNT. You are forgetting your duty to the girl you are going to make your
wife. You seem to think because she was adopted by your mother you have
the right to order her about as if she were a servant.
HORACE. You know you are talking absolute rot.
AUNT. You make her feel her dependent position, and I think that very
unfair.
HORACE. But, hang it all, she is not dependent. My mother provided for
her sufficiently.
AUNT. Yes, I know, but everything comes from our family, and you never
allow her to forget the fact. She considers she owes you a debt of
gratitude.
HORACE. If it comes to that—well, she does.
AUNT. You ought never to let her feel that. You should try to win her
heart.
HORACE. Oh, bother. I have won her heart. We are engaged.
AUNT. Then try to deserve it.
HORACE. But I do deserve it.
AUNT. Indeed! And pray, when are you going to marry her?
HORACE. Oh, that’s all right. There’s no hurry about that.
AUNT. No hurry? Horace, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
HORACE. (_AUNT goes L._) Now, my dear Aunt, don’t you think you are very
unwise to try and precipitate matters? You have heard that people who
marry in haste very often——
AUNT. (_Returning to table_) You’ll have plenty of leisure for repentance
shortly, but it will be for quite a different reason. Minnie will wake up
presently and see you as you really are. She is a most attractive girl.
You’ll feel pretty miserable when you have lost her.
HORACE. Ridiculous. Minnie knows when she is well off. Hullo. I could
have sworn I felt in that pocket! (_Finds cigar case._)
AUNT. What is it? (_Sees case. Aside_) Hopeless, hopeless.
HORACE. That’s a bit of bad luck, isn’t it?
AUNT. Bad luck?
HORACE. I might have been smoking all this time. (_Lights up._) There’s
nothing like a good cigar, after all.
AUNT. There’s nothing like a good wife.
HORACE. Well, of course I don’t know anything about that.
AUNT. I believe you prefer the cigar.
HORACE. To women? In some respects I think I do.
AUNT. Oh, do you?
HORACE. For one thing, a cigar doesn’t talk. And when you have finished
with one, you can begin another.
(_Enter MINNIE L._)
MINNIE. I can’t find your cigar case anywhere. You’ve found it!
HORACE. In my pocket all the time.
MINNIE. (_Goes to him and places cushions in chair_) There, now. Are you
nice and comfortable?
HORACE. No. Not at all.
AUNT. Don’t speak to him, dear. He isn’t worth it.
MINNIE. Now, Auntie dear, I must make my boy cosy, and then I think I
shall go to bed.
AUNT. What? Give up the dance?
MINNIE. Oh, never mind about that.
AUNT. Horace, I ask you, have you the heart to let Minnie sacrifice her
pleasure for you in this way?
MINNIE. But, Auntie, it doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t.
AUNT. I’m very angry with him.
HORACE. I am not sacrificing her pleasure, it’s you. Why don’t you go?
AUNT. You know I can’t.
HORACE. There’s nothing to prevent you, except your absurd vanity.
MINNIE. For shame, Horace!
AUNT. Vanity indeed! How dare you?
HORACE. It’s perfectly true. It’s just your nonsense about a dress.
AUNT. Very well, then, you shall see. I will go. I don’t care how I look.
HORACE. And I am sure I don’t, either.
AUNT. Minnie shan’t be deprived of her evening. I’ll put on my yellow
satin and look a perfect fright.
HORACE. I’ll believe you when I see you.
MINNIE. I have quite given up the idea, Auntie.
AUNT. But I haven’t. You shall see, Horace, I keep my word.
HORACE. Oh, devil doubt you!
AUNT. Whatever it costs me, I’ll do my duty.
MINNIE. I don’t want to inflict this on you, Auntie dear. I’m quite
content to go to bed.
AUNT. Content. Oh, yes, I understand your content. But you shall go, my
dear, to as many balls and parties as possible. You shall go to Ascot
and Henley and Goodwood and Cowes. We’ll find escorts easily enough. You
shall see plenty of new faces. I’ll take care of that. Vanity, indeed!
I’ll teach him to call me vain! (_Starts to exit L. when BELLA enters R.
with box._)
BELLA. From Madame Louise, ma’m.
AUNT. The dress?
BELLA. Yes, ma’m.
AUNT. What a relief!
HORACE. What a relief!
MINNIE. Auntie, isn’t that splendid luck?
BELLA. Madame Louise hopes it will be in time.
AUNT. Just in time. Take it up to my room at once. (_Exit BELLA L._) I
won’t keep you waiting any longer than I can help. You’ll find Horace
such a delightful companion, so witty and entertaining. Oh, don’t speak
to him, then you won’t get any uncivil answers. (_Exit L._)
HORACE. (_After a pause, looks up from his paper_) Got the jumps.
MINNIE. You must have said something to upset her. She isn’t often like
that.
HORACE. I should hope not.
MINNIE. She’ll be all right to-morrow.
HORACE. That’s the worst of women, they’re so illogical, aren’t they?
MINNIE. I suppose they are.
HORACE. You know, she thinks I ought to have gone with you to-night.
That’s because she only looks at it from her own standpoint. Can’t take a
broad view of the case.
MINNIE. Is yours the broad view?
HORACE. Naturally.
MINNIE. How did you acquire this breadth of mind?
HORACE. Can hardly say that. Just seems to belong to the masculine
intellect. Men see all round a subject. Women don’t. They’re
circumscribed. Can’t see over the hedge.
MINNIE. Could you teach me to see over the hedge?
HORACE. I might be able to a certain extent.
MINNIE. Will you begin by explaining your broad view to-night?
HORACE. That was quite simple. Aunt Martha wanted me to go because she
didn’t want to go herself. The only view she could take.
MINNIE. And you?
HORACE. Of course my viewpoint was very different. I had already been
out in the snow once to get this month’s “Astronomer,” and there wasn’t
any reason why I should go out again. There is a discussion about life
on Mars this month, which I am following closely. It wouldn’t have done
Aunt Martha any good to stop at home and read the article, because, being
practically devoid of brains, she wouldn’t have understood a word about
it. Then again, women ought to go to dances, which are got up entirely
for their benefit. Whereas men hate that kind of frivolity. So it was
obviously her duty to go.
MINNIE. I see.
HORACE. You see, Aunt Martha couldn’t take in all these points because
her mind isn’t broad enough to grasp them. The consequence was her view
was very narrow and rather selfish.
MINNIE. You certainly put it very clearly.
HORACE. I am glad you can appreciate my reasoning.
MINNIE. Oh, I can. But one thing I see very plainly, and that is that you
both are putting yourselves to inconvenience on my account.
HORACE. No, dear, I assure you I am not.
MINNIE. That’s true. Thank you for reminding me. But I hate to think I
should be so much trouble to you both. Of course I know I have no real
claim upon you. It isn’t as if I were your very own sister.
HORACE. I should think not, indeed. You’re going to be my wife. Just
think of that.
(_MINNIE goes to him above table L._)
MINNIE. Horace, tell me. Do you love me? Really, really love me? Or are
you going to marry me because it was your mother’s wish? (_HORACE kisses
her hand._) You mustn’t be angry with me. Perhaps I expect too much, but
I think I should be happier if you were just a little bit more—ah, more
loving in your manner. Oh, Horace, Horace, I don’t want you to marry me
out of pity!
HORACE. My dear child, don’t be silly! (_Takes her hand._) I do love you!
I love you most awfully, but I am not what is called a demonstrative man.
Few scientific men are, I fancy.
MINNIE. Do you know, I’m almost sorry you are such a scientific man.
HORACE. (_MINNIE takes his left hand_) Minnie!
MINNIE. Love and science don’t seem to agree.
HORACE. Oh, yes, they do. But you don’t understand. I love you in a
scientific way.
MINNIE. I think I like the old way best. But I suppose I am silly and
narrow minded like Aunt Martha. (_Kisses him._) There, we won’t say any
more about it. Are you comfortable?
HORACE. No, not at all. You might get another pillow.
MINNIE. (_Does so._) Shall I put you out the whiskey?
HORACE. Um—yes—you may as well. (_MINNIE gets whiskey from table L. and
two syphons and jar of biscuits. Aside_) Dear little girl. How she does
love me! I must get her a ring, or a pin, or a thimble to-morrow. That
will make her perfectly happy.
MINNIE. I’ll pour you out a glass. Say when.
HORACE. Upon my word, you are a perfect treasure!
MINNIE. Oh, Horace, do you really mean it? (_Pauses in pouring._)
HORACE. Of course I mean it—but go on pouring, don’t stop. Now.
MINNIE. Don’t sit up too late, dear. You mustn’t work too hard. You’ll
strain your eyes.
HORACE. No danger, but I shall want some more oil in the lamp. Will you
please tell Bella.
MINNIE. Certainly. Now promise me you won’t tire yourself. (_Kisses
him._) Promise.
HORACE. All right, dear, I promise.
MINNIE. For my sake.
(_HORACE kisses her with a touch of finality._)
MINNIE. Now I’ll see how Auntie is getting on. (_Goes to door L._)
HORACE. Minnie.
MINNIE. (_Returning, expecting a caress_) Yes?
HORACE. I was going to say——
MINNIE. Yes, darling?
HORACE. (_Changing his mind_) You won’t forget about the oil?
(_Enter AUNT in new dress, followed by BELLA with wraps, which are put on
sofa up stage. Exit BELLA R._)
AUNT. Here I am, dear. Quite ready. Haven’t I been quick?
MINNIE. Oh, Auntie, you are a picture! You ought to be framed.
HORACE. (_Aside_) And hung.
AUNT. You little flatterer. I think it is rather nice myself. Put on your
cloak, dear. Is the cab ready?
MINNIE. I don’t know—I don’t think that——
AUNT. What? Do you mean to say he hasn’t ordered a cab? Horace! Horace!
MINNIE. Don’t disturb him. He is reading the “Astronomer.”
AUNT. The “Astronomer,” indeed! I’ll make him see stars! Horace! Horace!
(_At table. MINNIE L._)
HORACE. Oh, what is it? What is it?
AUNT. Have you ordered a cab?
HORACE. I’ve ordered nothing but a little peace and quiet which doesn’t
come at my call.
AUNT. Well, why not? Horace, why have you not ordered a cab?
HORACE. Oh, bother! Don’t interrupt, for goodness’ sake!
AUNT. (_Snatches his paper away and throws it over her shoulder_) Why
haven’t you ordered a cab?
HORACE. Why should I order a cab?
AUNT. It is the very least you could do. Go and order one at once, please.
HORACE. Where are the servants?
AUNT. Bella is not engaged to run errands outside the house. I daren’t
ask cook, and Jane has company.
HORACE. Well, give her company a bob and let him go.
AUNT. Her company, as it happens, is not a he. You must go.
HORACE. Please, and clearly understand, I am not going out in the
cold again to-night. You seem to forget that I am in a very delicate
state of health, and if I were to venture out on a night like this the
consequences might be most serious.
MINNIE. Perhaps I could go.
AUNT. It’s abominable of him!
(_Enter BELLA with note._)
BELLA. A note, ma’m.
AUNT. For me?
BELLA. Yes, ma’m.
AUNT. (_Reading note_) “Dear Miss Parker. May I have the pleasure of
taking you and Miss Templar to Mrs. Clarence’s dance this evening”—
HORACE. Capital! There is your escort.
AUNT. “My car is quite at your disposal.”
HORACE. And there’s your cab. Sublime Providence!
AUNT. Did the gentleman come himself?
BELLA. Yes, ma’m. He is waiting in the hall.
(_MINNIE looks over letter._)
AUNT. Show him in at once here.
HORACE. Don’t bring him in here. He can stay in the hall.
AUNT. Certainly not. Show him in here, Bella.
(_Exit BELLA R._)
HORACE. Well, who is my blessed preserver?
AUNT. Mr. Dicey.
HORACE. What, Arthur Dicey? That Stock Exchange fellow?
AUNT. A charming young man.
HORACE. A brainless idiot!
AUNT. A perfect gentleman, and besides, I hear he is enormously rich.
MINNIE. How kind and thoughtful of him! He always seems to be doing the
right thing just at the right moment.
HORACE. Minnie, I don’t at all care that you should go with this fellow
to-night. He is not at all the kind of man I wish you to be seen going
about with.
MINNIE. He is always so attentive.
HORACE. I dare say he is. I don’t choose that you go with him.
AUNT. What dog-in-the-manger attitude is this? You won’t take her
yourself nor let anyone else.
HORACE. I have expressed my wish on the matter and I propose to have my
way, so——
(_Enter BELLA, showing in MR. DICEY R._)
BELLA. Mr. Dicey.
AUNT. This is a most opportune kindness you are showing us, Mr. Dicey. We
gladly accept your escort. (_Shakes hands._)
MINNIE. (_Shaking hands_) You can hardly guess how much obliged we are to
you. Thank you for thinking of us.
DICEY. The pleasure is doubled if I am of real service.
MINNIE. Somehow or other, we had forgotten to order a cab.
AUNT. Yes. _We_ had forgotten!
HORACE. I was just getting ready to run down the street after one.
AUNT. So of course my nephew is very grateful to you. Aren’t you, Horace?
Now he will be able to pursue his scientific studies without fear of
interruption.
DICEY. Aren’t you coming with us, Mr. Parker?
HORACE. Well, I had not thought of doing so.
MINNIE. If it had not been for you, Mr. Dicey, I doubt whether any of us
would have gone. We were very nearly giving up going.
DICEY. Have I really saved the situation for you? That is jolly good
luck. May I claim an extra number of dances on the strength of it?
MINNIE. As many as you wish.
(_DICEY helps AUNT with her cloak._)
DICEY. Thank you so much.
MINNIE. Won’t you come, Horace? I hardly care to go without you.
HORACE. Your dances are all booked, it seems. You have none left.
MINNIE. Oh, yes, I have, for those who have the grace to ask for them.
Mr. Dicey will have his fair share. He dances beautifully and our steps
suit each other to perfection.
HORACE. By which you mean to say you dance beautifully, too?
MINNIE. No, I leave it to others to say that. (_Turns away L._)
DICEY. And I wish to be the first to say it.
HORACE. My aunt is ready, I see. If you will take her, we will follow a
little later.
DICEY. I thought you were out of town, or I should not have come. But
there is plenty of room in the car. Won’t you and your sister come with
us?
HORACE. Miss Templar is not my sister.
DICEY. Your adopted sister, I should have said.
HORACE. And my intended wife. (_Aside_) That’s a nasty one for Master
Dicey.
DICEY. Pardon me. That I did not know. May I offer my congratulations?
MINNIE. Thank you, Mr. Dicey, but it is a little early for
congratulations. We laugh it over between ourselves sometimes in a
brotherly-sisterly sort of way without much serious consideration what
marriage means. There’s nothing settled yet. Will you see Auntie to the
car while I get my wrap?
AUNT. Good night, Horace.
HORACE. Good night, Aunt.
DICEY. Good-night, Mr. Parker.
HORACE. Good night, sir.
(_Exeunt AUNT and DICEY R._)
MINNIE. (_Coming to L. of table and taking off her engagement ring_) I
think you will understand me when I say, “Here is your ring.” You have
given me a glimpse of such a love-cheapening life that I have grown
afraid. I believed in you, Horace, though I was never blind to your
faults. I had hoped I might help you to conquer them, but I realize
now the task is beyond me. A stronger spirit would have to be invoked.
Without your love I should fail, and I see now you have none to offer me.
The devotion of your life is for yourself and yourself alone.
HORACE. And all this fuss because I don’t want you to go with a silly ass
to a dance to-night.
MINNIE. No. For your utter lack of consideration. I might hurt my dear
friend, Kitty Clarence, by not going to her dance. Oh, that was nothing!
Disappoint Auntie—nothing—give up my own pleasure—nothing—insult a
visitor—nothing, nothing at all. Here it is, Horace. (_Puts ring on
table._) I cannot wear it. The gold seems to have gone out of it. (_Exit
R._)
HORACE. And that’s the girl I’ve been talking to about broad views!
(_Working round table to paper on the floor._) Well, I’ve met some
narrow-minded people in my life, but she is far and away the most
narrow-minded of the lot. (_Picks up paper._) It’s very disappointing,
that’s what it is, very disappointing. Women are all alike. No
liberality, no generosity. You think you have found an exception, you
pour out all the wealth of your priceless love upon her, and the moment
the shoe pinches—there you are. I suppose she will want to make it up
to-morrow, then I shall have to put down my foot and come to a thorough
understanding. Confound that fellow Dicey! It’s all his fault. I never
ought to have allowed him to take her. I ought to have gone myself. Damn
Dicey! Now for this article. I suppose I’d better read it. Don’t feel a
bit like it. However, it may act as a sedative. (_Settles down to read._)
BELLA. (_Entering R._) Please, sir, there’s a man wants to see you.
HORACE. A what wants to what?
BELLA. A man to see you, sir.
HORACE. What does he want?
BELLA. I don’t know, sir. He says he has a letter for you, sir.
HORACE. Why didn’t he give it to you?
BELLA. He wouldn’t trust it out of his hand, sir. He says he must give it
to you himself.
HORACE. What sort of a man?
BELLA. Well, sir, he seems to think he is a respectable sort of a man,
but he’s what I should call a tramp.
HORACE. A tramp? Well, I can’t see him, then. I can’t see him. Tell him
to come again in the morning.
BELLA. I told him that, sir.
HORACE. Well, what did he say?
BELLA. Well, sir, he said he was a persevering kind of man, but he’s what
I should call obstinate.
HORACE. What do you mean?
BELLA. He said he wouldn’t go away till he had seen you—and I don’t think
he will.
HORACE. It is too maddening. I can’t have one moment to myself. Very
well, show him in. Show him in. (_Exit BELLA._) First of all Aunt Martha,
then that fool Dicey, then Minnie and now a tramp.
(_Enter BELLA with TRAMP. Exit BELLA R._)
HORACE. Well, what is it? What is it? What do you want?
TRAMP. Mr. Brampton told me to give you this. (_Hands letter._)
HORACE. Mr. Brampton—of Coventry?
TRAMP. Yes, sir.
HORACE. (_Reading_) “—might be able to give him some work.” I haven’t any
work to give you. “Clever workman—seen better days.”
TRAMP. That’s true enough. I never see any worse than what I’m getting
now.
HORACE. I’m afraid I cannot help you.
TRAMP. Don’t be hard, Guv’ner. I’m cold and tired. I’ve walked all the
way from Coventry.
HORACE. Walked? Why, Mr. Brampton says here he has given you the money
for your railway fare.
TRAMP. So he did, sir. I had a bit of bad luck with that.
HORACE. What? Lost it, I suppose. (_Half laughing._)
TRAMP. Not exactly, sir.
HORACE. What then?
TRAMP. Spent it.
HORACE. How? Drink?
TRAMP. Yes, drink and meat. There’s no crime in that, is there? Even a
tramp must eat.
HORACE. Yes, and drink. Well, and when the money was gone——
TRAMP. I had to walk. That’s all.
HORACE. Well, that’s what you will have to do now. I can’t help you.
TRAMP. Just my luck! (_Going._) Beg pardon, Guv’ner, do you feel like
standing me a drink before I go, just to keep out the cold?
HORACE. (_Shrugs his shoulders_) Help yourself.
TRAMP. (_Drinks glass of whiskey MINNIE had poured out_) Ah, that’s good!
That brings back old times. You wouldn’t think, Guv’ner, that I was a
prosperous man once. (_HORACE indicates that whiskey is responsible._)
No, it wasn’t drink that ruined me. Drink may have kept me down, but it
didn’t throw me. I’m an engineer by trade—leastways, I was, but I ain’t
worked at it now these five years. Thank you kindly for the whiskey. Good
night, sir.
HORACE. Care to take another?
TRAMP. Thank you, sir, I would. (_Helps himself._) Your health, Guv’ner!
You wouldn’t think there was much of the inventor about me? Would you?
But I’ve got some ideas, good uns too, only I ain’t got the capital, see?
HORACE. I see.
TRAMP. I’ll let you into one of my ideas, Guv’ner, if you’ll take it up.
It’ll make your fortune.
HORACE. Thanks. I have all the money I require.
TRAMP. Have you, now? I haven’t, that’s the difference. Feels pretty
comfortable, doesn’t it? I was doing very well once, over there in the
States.
HORACE. America?
TRAMP. Yes. They’re pretty smart there, but I showed them I was as good
as they. I made a steam valve that’s on most boilers to-day. Yes, I
did. Just me. I got ten thousand dollars down before I got my papers
out. But my partner got ahead of me. I never saw another cent. I fought
him as long as the money lasted. But it didn’t go far in the Courts of
_Justice_. It was the Law as downed me, Guv’ner. Drink?—only damned me.
HORACE. Too bad. You must try again.
TRAMP. Not much chance of that. One can’t do anything without a little
capital, and who’s going to trust me? No, I’ll pick up a living how I can.
HORACE. How do you pick up a living?
TRAMP. Anyhow. Running after cabs.
HORACE. Surely to goodness, nobody pays you for doing that?
TRAMP. If I’m lucky I gets the job of lifting down the luggage.
HORACE. Oh, that’s it.
TRAMP. There’s a lovely fall of snow to-night.
HORACE. Cold comfort for you, I should have thought.
TRAMP. I may get a job shovelling it in the morning—if I am in luck.
HORACE. Why don’t you go back to your old trade?
TRAMP. Why don’t I go back to my old trade? Why don’t I? Who’s going to
take me on? Who’ll give me a job? Will you?
HORACE. I told you I can’t do anything for you.
TRAMP. Then what’s the good of asking? But it don’t matter. I’ve got
nothing to live for now. Nothing to save for. The Law broke me up, killed
the missus.
HORACE. You were married, then?
TRAMP. Yes.
HORACE. Any children?
TRAMP. One. God forgive me. (_Affected._)
HORACE. Care to take another? Some biscuits if you like.
TRAMP. I ain’t proud. Thank you, Guv’ner. You’re a good un. I worked my
way back to England only to find my missus dead and the little un gone.
HORACE. Gone? How gone?
TRAMP. The people she had been with had left, and I never could find out
what had become of her. Poor little Minnie!
HORACE. Minnie!
TRAMP. That was her name, sir.
HORACE. Minnie? (_Rising and his manner hardening._)
TRAMP. Everything gone. Why should I care? Care! I beg pardon, sir. The
whiskey set me talking. My story can’t interest you. Good night, sir.
Perhaps if I come back in a day or two you might know of a job.
HORACE. No. Quite useless. I can do nothing for you. Get along, now.
TRAMP. Good night, sir. (_Exit TRAMP R._)
HORACE. Minnie! Minnie! How dare he mention her name? Of course she
couldn’t possibly have anything to do with him. But it did give me a
turn. Poor devil, I suppose I was rather rough on him. Never mind, serves
him right. I dare say he deserved it. Anyhow, it will prevent him coming
back again to-morrow. (_About to drink._) Confound him, he has used my
glass! (_Fetches another from table L._) It seems to me I am curiously
unlucky. I can’t think why people are so unfair to me. I’m such a good
sort. I don’t know anyone who has a better temper or a more generous,
open disposition. I expect that is the secret of it. (_Puts whiskey,
glasses and biscuits on small table above fireplace._) Other people are
so mean, and selfish, and unfair. (_Sits in armchair._) Now let me get
on with it. (_Reads “Astronomer.”_) Where was I? Ah, yes, here we are.
(_Reads._) “Latest observations have revealed strange lights which some
astronomers believe to be signals put out in the hope of an answer from
Earth.” I don’t believe a word of it. It may be possible, though. If
Mars is inhabited, I wonder what they are like. Are they savages, or are
they ahead of us? (_Lamp flickers a little._) Confound it! The lamp’s
going out. Minnie never told her. Forgets all about a poor fellow left
alone in the dark. Most selfish of her. (_Turns over page and reads by
firelight as lamp fails more and more._) Ah, just the end. (_Reads._)
“The advent of a messenger or an army from Mars should not seem to us
of the twentieth century a greater marvel than did the shining sails of
Columbus to the aborigines of America. What an unfolding of wisdom would
their coming yield. What problems could they solve, what new ones set
us. The mind fails in contemplation. Too vast—vast.” (_Lamp goes out.
HORACE falls asleep. Enter A MESSENGER FROM MARS._)
(N.B. _If the lamp has the classical figure suggested,
this will now be removed while the stage is dark and a
proportionately larger one substituted in which an actor takes
the place of the small figure. The lamp-shade will now be
approximately four feet in diameter. If the figure does not
form a part of the lamp ornamentation in the first instance it
will remain simply as a lamp, and the actor takes up a position
about C. while stage is dark, and the lights growing bring him
slowly into view. A good effect is obtained by blacking out all
the stage except the small part R. showing HORACE asleep in
his chair, with the firelight playing upon him. A gentle roll
of thunder should announce the arrival of the MESSENGER. The
following is HORACE’S dream._)
MESSENGER. Man! Man of Earth! Give heed for the good of your kind.
HORACE. Hullo. Who are you? (_Drowsily._)
MESSENGER. I am a Messenger from Mars.
HORACE. Don’t believe a word of it.
MESSENGER. I am a Messenger from Mars. (_Sternly._)
HORACE. Are you really? Won’t you sit down?
MESSENGER. No.
HORACE. Have a drink, then?
MESSENGER. Worm!
HORACE. Meaning me? I note that politeness is at a discount in Mars.
MESSENGER. We are not upon that planet now.
HORACE. I thank my stars.
MESSENGER. Know you why I am here?
HORACE. No more than why the other tramp bothered me. You have come
rather farther—you may stay a little longer. From the venturesome spirit
that prompted this visit I conclude you are of the greatest of your race.
MESSENGER. I am the poorest gifted, most unhappy, lowest fallen, and
easiest spared. I am a criminal, and therefore condemned to make this
journey.
HORACE. What had you been up to? Do tell.
MESSENGER. I sinned in vanity. A dear companion and myself had composed a
hymn of praise. He died, and I gave it forth as entirely my own.
HORACE. (_Gleefully_) Did you make much out of it?
MESSENGER. It was chanted by many.
HORACE. Then it paid pretty well?
MESSENGER. In Mars we do not write for gain. For five days I endured the
bitterest remorse when I confessed my crime, and was sentenced to make
this journey.
HORACE. Doubtless you have learnt that I am interested in your world and
quite rightly expected a sympathetic welcome from me?
MESSENGER. No. But of all countries yours seemed the most promising
field——
HORACE. Bravo! Rule, Britannia!
MESSENGER. Of all cities, this London, the greatest, and most intense——
HORACE. Good old London!
MESSENGER. And of all its citizens yourself the most striking
example—(_HORACE bows_)—of the Greed and Egoism of the age.
HORACE. (_Staggering to his feet and about to rush at MESSENGER_) Hullo!
I’ll not stand for this! Get out of my——
(_MESSENGER raises his arm and HORACE receives an electric shock which
reels him back into his chair. The furniture may be arranged to shake and
rock about as if under the same influence. MESSENGER refrains and HORACE
slowly recovers himself._)
MESSENGER. Are you properly impressed, or shall I——?
HORACE. No, no! Don’t do it again, please! It hurts!
MESSENGER. Good! Now listen with heart and mind. You have learnt that
Mars has a planetary lifetime brief compared with Earth, and yet we
Martians are to you as are you to the cattle that you breed.
HORACE. As bad as that?
MESSENGER. Triflers of Time, learn the cause. Self—_Self_ is the Miasm
of the world you live in; a soul plague blotching Earth’s body over with
its petty spites, outraged homes, labor riots, revolutions, civil wars,
carnivals of blood, marring the Grand Purpose. No war has ever wasted
Mars, nor could it. There have been no rushings back, no buried epochs,
no sleeping centuries, for Self was unmasked at the beginning.
HORACE. Mask? What mask?
MESSENGER. Self wears a thousand, making a counterfeit of every virtue.
The soldier’s glory, the painter’s touch, the statesman’s aim, the poet’s
dream hide something still of self behind them. Even your children are
becoming egoists—the saddest sign of all.
HORACE. Very sad and quite true, but why tell me all this?
MESSENGER. You are the chosen subject.
HORACE. But why?
MESSENGER. Considering your opportunities, you are the basest, the most
selfish of men.
HORACE. My opportunities?
MESSENGER. In your house is one whose impulses are fully half unselfish,
the maid Minnie. You couldn’t spare one evening to make her happy.
HORACE. She took such a narrow view.
MESSENGER. Shame on you! Shame! Then there is your aunt——
HORACE. Oh, she is awfully narrow, too.
MESSENGER. Silence!
HORACE. If you’d lived in the house as long as I have with Aunt——
MESSENGER. Silence! Too lazy to call a cab.
HORACE. You don’t make any allowance.
MESSENGER. You deserve none. Again, there was that poor unfortunate who
in a weak moment confided to you his life’s tragedy.
HORACE. You can’t make me responsible for that dirty tramp’s condition.
MESSENGER. You might have saved him. You would have been blessed a
thousandfold if you had.
HORACE. How do you mean?
MESSENGER. In what a hideous Pretence you live. There, before you, stood
a man of genius. You drove him out to die. An Inventor perishing in the
hey-day of Invention-Worship.
HORACE. Do you really think that fellow’s ideas are good for anything?
MESSENGER. You a man of science! You know nothing at all. There is more
in his little finger than your whole body.
HORACE. Look here. If you’ll guarantee him—and with your inside knowledge
of things generally—I might hunt him up to-morrow and set him going.
MESSENGER. You will?
HORACE. Yes. Of course, you do guarantee him?
MESSENGER. For whose benefit would you do this?
HORACE. I should expect to come in, of course—
MESSENGER. Hypocrite! Beyond belief hypocrite! You train your dogs with
hunger and a whip. It seems I must try that system upon you. Get up!
HORACE. What are you going to do now?
MESSENGER. You must come with me.
HORACE. Not out into the snow?
MESSENGER. Yes, into the snow and the night.
HORACE. Do let me explain. The fact is I am in rather a delicate state
of health, and if I were to venture out on a night like this, the
consequences might be most serious.
MESSENGER. You are wasting your breath. Come.
HORACE. You can’t really mean it?
MESSENGER. I do.
HORACE. You will let me put on my coat and hat?
MESSENGER. Put them on. We may find them useful. Hurry!
HORACE. (_Putting on his coat and muffler slowly_) You don’t give me time.
MESSENGER. Make haste, I say.
HORACE. I’m not starting out with any comfort at all. I really don’t
think I should be wise to venture out to-night. It is so very sharp
outside.
MESSENGER. Do you hear me? Come!
HORACE. No. I’m damned if I do! (_MESSENGER raises his arm, and again
HORACE is electrified and the furniture thrown into a commotion. HORACE
sinks to his knees in front of MESSENGER in terror._) I’ll come! I’ll
come!
MESSENGER. On to your schooling! (_MESSENGER leading HORACE away._)
CURTAIN