Chapter II: The Technic of the One-Act Play (8)

NELI. An' remember where the tobacco is, for this is the day Tom Morris the Sheep comes in.

HUGH. Aye, in the glass jar.

NELI. Good-by. I will return soon.

HUGH. [_Indifferently._] Good-by.

[NELI _leaves by door at back centre. Immediately_ HUGH _steals
toward the shelves where she hid the book_.

NELI. [_Thrusting head back in._] Mind, Hughie lad, no readin'--nay, not even any theology!

HUGH. [_Stepping quickly away from shelves and repeating parrotlike._] Nay, nay, no readin', no sermons, not even any theology!

NELI. An' no salvation till I come back!

[_She smiles, withdraws head, and is gone._ HUGH _starts forward,
collides clumsily with the counter in his eagerness, knocks the
basket of eggs with his elbow, upsetting it. Several eggs break. He
shakes his head ruefully at the mess and as ruefully at the
counter. He finds book and hugs it greedily to him._

HUGH. [_Mournfully._] Look at this! What did I say but that there was no salvation sellin' groceries! If Neli could but see those eggs! [_He goes behind counter and gets out a box of eggs, from which he refills the basket. The broken eggs he leaves untouched upon the floor. He opens his volume of sermons and seats himself by a little three-legged table near the fire. He sighs in happy anticipation. Hearing a slight noise, he looks suspiciously at door, gets up, tiptoes across floor to street door, and locks it quietly. An expression of triumph overspreads his face._] Da, if customers come, they will think no one is at home whatever, an' I can read on! [_He seats himself at little three-legged table, opens volume, smooths over its pages lovingly, and begins to read slowly and halting over syllables._] The smoke of Ba-by-lon was hot--scorchin' hot. An' 'twas filled with Ba-ba-ba-baal stones, slimy an' scorchin' hot also----

[_There is the sound of feet coming up the shop steps, followed by
a hand trying the door-knob._ HUGH _looks up from his sermons, an
expression of innocent triumph on his face. The door-knob is tried
again, the door rattled._

[_Then some one rings the shop door-bell._

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Calling._] Mrs. Williams, mum, have ye any soap? [_No answer. Calling._] Mrs. Williams! Mrs. Williams!

[HUGH _nods approvingly and lifts his volume to read_.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Where are they all whatever? I will just look in at the window, [_A large, kindly face is anxiously flattened against the window. At that_ HUGH _drops in consternation under the three-legged table_.] Uch, what's that shadow skippin' under the table? No doubt a rat after the groceries. Mrs. Williams, mum, Mrs. Williams! Well, indeed, they're out.

[_She pounds once more on the door with a heavy fist, rings, and
then goes. Suddenly the door back centre opens, and_ NELI WILLIAMS
_appears_.

NELI. [_She does not see_ HUGH _and peers around for him_.] What is all that bell-ringing about?

[HUGH _crawls out from under the table_.

HUGH. Hush, she's gone!

NELI. [_Amazed, and whispering to herself._] Under the table!

HUGH. [_Rising and putting up his hand as a sign for her to keep silent._] Nay, 'twas Mrs. Jones the Wash come to buy her soap whatever!

NELI. Aye, well, why didn't she come in whatever?

HUGH. [_Whispering._] I locked the door, Neli, so I could finish readin' those essays whatever! An' then she looked in at the window, an' I had to get under the table.

NELI. [_Indignantly._] Locked the door against a customer, an' after all I said! An' crawled under a table! Hugh Williams, your wits are goin' quite on the downfall!

HUGH. [_In a whisper._] Aye, but Neli, those essays--an' I thought ye had gone to market.

NELI. I had started, but I came back for my purse. Put down that book!

HUGH. Aye, but, Neli----

NELI. [_Angrily._] Much less of heaven an' much more of earth is what I need in a husband! Ye have sent away a customer; very like Mrs. Jones the Wash after soap will go elsewhere.

HUGH. Aye, but Neli....

[_Steps are heard approaching._

NELI. Get up! Some one is coming.

[HUGH _gets up very unwillingly_.

HUGH. [_Whispering still._] Aye, but Neli....

NELI. [_Angrily._] Put down that book, I say! [_She crunches over some eggshells._] Eggs? Broken?

HUGH. [_Putting down book._] Aye, Neli, my elbow an' the eggs in Babylon....

NELI. [_Sarcastically._] Aye, I see beasts in Babylon here together--doleful creatures smearin' one an' sixpence worth of eggs all over the floor. An' a half-dozen eggs gone last week. [_Wiping up eggs._] An' I'm to suppose Babylon had something to do with that half-dozen eggs, too? They were put in the basket after Mrs. Jones the Wash had left whatever, an' before Deacon Roberts came.

HUGH. Neli, I did not say----

NELI. [_Still angrily._] Well, indeed, unlock that door!

HUGH. [_Going to unlock door._] But, Neli....

NELI. [_Disappearing through door back centre._] Not a word! Your mind has gone quite on the downfall--lockin' doors against your own bread and butter an' soap.

HUGH. [_Unlocking door sullenly._] But, Neli, salvation an' soap....

NELI. [_Snappily._] Salvation an' soap are as thick as thieves.

HUGH. But, Neli, a man is his own master.

NELI. Yiss, I see he is!

[NELI _goes out, slamming door noisily_.

HUGH. Dear anwyl, she seems angry!

[HUGH _opens street door left just as_ NELI _goes out through
kitchen, by door back centre_. DEACON ROBERTS _enters the door_
HUGH _has unlocked. He looks at_ HUGH, _smiles, and goes over to
counter in a businesslike way. He is a stout man, dressed in a
black broadcloth cutaway coat, tight trousers, a drab vest, high
collar and stock, woollen gloves, a muffler wound about his neck
and face, and a tall Welsh beaver hat. Under his arm he carries a
book._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Speaking affectionately, pulling off his gloves, putting down book on counter, and beginning eagerly to touch the various groceries._] Essays on Babylon to-day, Hughie lad?

HUGH. [_Looking about for_ NELI _and speaking fretfully_.] Nay.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unwinding his muffler._] Ye look as if ye had been in spiritual struggle.

HUGH. [_Drearily._] I have.

DEACON ROBERTS. Well, indeed, Hughie, 'tis neither the angel nor the archfiend here now, nor for me any struggle except the struggle to both live an' eat well--ho! ho! _an'_ eat well, I say--in Bala. [_Laughs jovially._] Ho! ho! not bad, Hughie lad--live _an'_ eat in Bala!

HUGH. [_Patiently._] With that muffler around your head, deacon, ye are enough to frighten the devil out of Babylon.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unwinding last lap of muffler._] Yiss, yiss, Hughie lad. But I dunno but ye will understand better if I call myself, let us say the angel with the sickle--ho! ho!--not the angel of fire, Hughie, but the angel with the sharp sickle gatherin' the clusters of the vines of the earth. [_Sudden change of subject._] Where is Neli?

HUGH. [_Vacantly._] I dunno--yiss, yiss, at market.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Chuckling._] Dear, dear, at market--a fine day for marketing! An' my essays on the Flamin' Wickedness of Babylon, Hughie lad, how are they? Have ye finished them?

HUGH. Nay, not yet.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Looking over counter, touching one article after another as he mentions it._] Pickled herrin'--grand but wet! Pickles--dear me, yiss, Neli's--an' good! Butter from Hafod-y-Porth--sweet as honey! [_He picks up a pat of butter and sniffs it, drawing in his breath loudly. He smiles with delight and lays down the butter. He takes off his hat and dusts it out inside. He puts his hat back on his head, smiles, chuckles, picks up butter, taps it thoughtfully with two fingers, smells it and puts down the pat lingeringly. He lifts up a loaf of_ NELI WILLIAMS'S _bread, glancing from it to the butter_.] Bread! Dear me! [_His eyes glance on to codfish._] American codfish [_picks up package and smacks his lips loudly_], dear _anwyl_, with potatoes--[_reads_] "Gloucester." [_Reaches out and touches eggs affectionately._] Eggs--are they fresh, Hugh?

HUGH. [_Dreamily._] I dunno. But I broke some of them. They might be! [_Looks at floor._

DEACON ROBERTS. _Were_ they fresh?

HUGH. I dunno.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Sharply._] Dunno? About _eggs_?

[_Picks up egg._

HUGH. [_Troubled._] Neli's hens laid them.

DEACON ROBERTS. I see, Neli's hens laid 'em, an' you broke 'em! Admirable arrangement! [_Putting down the egg and turning toward the cheese, speaks on impatiently._] Well, indeed then, were the hens fresh?

HUGH. [_More cheerful._] Yiss, I think. Last week the basket was grand an' full of fresh eggs, but they disappeared, aye, they did indeed.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Starts._] Where did they go to?

HUGH. [_Injured._] How can I say? I was here, an' I would have told her if I had seen, but I did not whatever. Neli reproves me for too great attention to visions an' too little to the groceries.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Chuckling._] Aye, Hughie lad, such is married life! Let a man marry his thoughts or a wife, for he cannot have both. I have chosen my thoughts.

HUGH. But the cat----

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Briskly._] Aye, a man can keep a cat without risk.

HUGH. Nay, nay, I mean the cat took 'em. I dunno. That's it--{SPACE}[HUGH _clutches his head, trying to recall something_.] Uch, that's it! Neli told me to remember to ask ye if ye thought eggs could steal a cat whatever.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Puzzled._] Eggs steal a cat?

HUGH. [_Troubled._] Nay, nay, cats steal an egg?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Startled and looking suspiciously at_ HUGH.] Cats? What cats?

HUGH. [_With solemnity._] Aye, but I told Neli I'm no carin' about cats with heaven starin' me in the face. Deacon Roberts, those essays are grand an' wonderful.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Relieved._] Yiss, yiss! Hughie lad, theology is a means to salvation an' sometimes to other ends, too. But there's no money in theology. [_Sighs._] And a man must live! [_Points to corroded dish of pickled herring, sniffing greedily._] Dear people, what beautiful herrin'! [_Wipes moisture away from corners of his mouth and picks up a fish from dish, holding it, dripping, by tail._] Pickled?

HUGH. [_Looking at corroded dish._] Tuppence.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Shortly._] Dear to-day.

HUGH. [_Eyeing dish dreamily._] I dunno. Neli----

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Eyes glittering, cutting straight through sentence and pointing to cheese._] Cheese?

HUGH. A shillin', I'm thinkin'.

DEACON ROBERTS. A shillin', Hugh? [DEACON ROBERTS _lifts knife and drops it lightly on edge of cheese. The leaf it pares off he picks up and thrusts into his mouth, greedily pushing in the crumbs. Then he pauses and looks slyly at_ HUGH.] Was it sixpence ye said, Hugh?

HUGH. [_Gazing toward the fire and the volume of essays._] Yiss, sixpence, I think.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Sarcastically._] Still too dear, Hugh!

HUGH. [_Sighing._] I dunno, it might be dear. [_With more animation._] Deacon, when Babylon fell----

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Wipes his mouth and, interrupting_ HUGH, _speaks decisively_.] No cheese. [_He removes his tall Welsh beaver hat, mops off his bald white head, and, pointing up to the shelves, begins to dust out inside of hatband again, but with a deliberate air of preparation._] What is that up there, Hughie lad?

HUGH. [_Trying to follow the direction of the big red wavering forefinger._] Ye mean that? A B C In-fants' Food, I think.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Giving his hat a final wipe._] Nay, nay, not for me, Hughie lad! Come, come, brush the smoke of burnin' Babylon from your eyes! In a minute I must be goin' back to my study, whatever. An' I have need of food!

[HUGH _takes a chair and mounts it. The_ DEACON _looks at_ HUGH'S
_back, puts his hand down on the counter, and picks up an egg from
the basket. He holds it to the light and squints through it to see
whether it is fresh. Then he turns it lovingly over in his fat
palm, makes a dexterous backward motion and slides it into his
coat-tail pocket. This he follows with two more eggs for same
coat-tail and three for other--in all half a dozen._

HUGH. [_Dreamily pointing to tin._] Is it Yankee corn?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_To Hugh's back, and slipping in second egg._] Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad, that tin above!

HUGH. [_Absent-mindedly touching tin._] Is it ox tongue?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in third egg and not even looking up._] Ox tongue, lad? Nay, nuthin' so large as that.

HUGH. [_Dreamily reaching up higher._] American condensed m-m-milk? Yiss, that's what it is.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in fourth egg._] Condensed milk, Hughie? Back to infants' food again.

HUGH. [_Stretching up almost to his full length and holding down tin with tips of long white finger._] Kippert herrin'? Is it that?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in fifth egg._] Nay, nay, a little further up, if you please.

HUGH. [_Gasping, but still reaching up and reading._] Uto--U-to-pi-an Tinned Sausage. Is it that?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in sixth egg with an air of finality and triumph, and lifting his hat from the counter._] Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad. Why do ye not begin by askin' me what I want? Ye've no gift for sellin' groceries whatever.

HUGH. [_Surprised._] Did I not ask ye?

DEACON ROBERTS. Nay.

HUGH. What would Neli say whatever? She would never forgive me.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Amiably._] Well, I forgive ye, Hughie lad. 'Tis a relish I'm needin'!

HUGH. [_Relieved._] Well, indeed, a relish! We have relishes on that shelf above, I think. [_Reaches up but pauses helplessly._] I must tell Neli that these shelves are not straight.

[_Dizzy and clinging to the shelves, his back to the_ DEACON.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Picking up a pound of butter wrapped in print paper._] Is it up there?

HUGH. No, I think, an' the shelves are not fast whatever. I must tell Neli. They go up like wings. [_Trying to reach to a bottle just above him._] Was it English or American?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Putting the pound of butter in his hat and his hat on his head._] American, Hughie lad.

[_At that instant there is a noise from the inner kitchen, and_
NELI WILLIAMS _opens the door. The_ DEACON _turns, and their
glances meet and cross. Each understands perfectly what the other
has seen._ NELI WILLIAMS _has thrown off her red cloak and taken
off her Welsh beaver hat. She is dressed in a short full skirt,
white stockings, clogs on her feet, a striped apron, tight bodice,
fichu, short sleeves, and white cap on dark hair._

NELI. [_Slowly._] Uch! The deacon has what he came for whatever!

HUGH. [_Turning to contradict his wife._] Nay, Neli--{SPACE}[_Losing his balance on chair, tumbles off, and, with arm flung out to save himself, strikes dish of pickled herring. The herring and brine fly in every direction, spraying the_ DEACON _and_ HUGHIE; _the bowl spins madly, dipping and revolving on the floor. For a few seconds nothing is audible except the bowl revolving on the flagstones and_ HUGHIE _picking himself up and sneezing behind the counter_.] Achoo! Achoo! Dear me, Neli--Achoo!

NELI. [_Going quickly to husband and beginning to wipe brine from husband's forehead and cheeks; at the same time has her back to the_ DEACON _and forming soundless letters with her lips, she jerks her head toward the_ DEACON.] B-U-T-T-E-R!

HUGH. [_Drearily._] Better? Aye, I'm better. It did not hurt me whatever.

NELI. [_Jerking head backwards toward_ DEACON ROBERTS _and again forming letters with lips_.] B-U-T-T-E-R!

HUGH. What, water? Nay, I don't want any water.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Coughing, ill at ease and glancing suspiciously at bowl that has come to rest near his leg._] Ahem! 'Tis cold here, Mrs. Williams, mum, an' I must be movin' on.

NELI. [_Savagely to_ DEACON.] Stay where ye are whatever!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unaccustomed to being spoken to this way by a woman._] Well, indeed, mum, I could stay, but I'm thinkin' 'tis cold an'--I'd better go.

NELI. [_Again savagely._] Nay, stay! Stay for--for what ye came for whatever!

[NELI _looks challengingly at the_ DEACON. _Then she goes on wiping
brine carefully from husband's hair and from behind his ears. The_
DEACON _coughs and pushes bowl away with the toe of his boot_.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Smiling._] 'Tis unnecessary to remain then, mum.

NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] What did he get?

HUGH. [_Sneezing._] N--n--Achoo!--nothin'!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_With sudden interest, looking at the floor._] Well, indeed!

NELI. [_Suspiciously._] What is it?

[_He reaches down with difficulty to a small thick puddle on the
floor just beneath his left coat-tail. He aims a red forefinger at
it, lifts himself, and sucks fingertip._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Smiling._] Ahem, Mrs. Williams, mum, 'tis excellent herrin' brine! [_From the basket on the counter he picks up an egg, which he tosses lightly and replaces in basket._] A beautiful fresh egg, Mrs. Williams, mum. I must be steppin' homewards.

HUGH. [_Struggling to speak just as_ NELI _reaches his nose, wringing it vigorously at she wipes it_.] Aye, but Neli, I was just tellin' ye when I fell that I could not find the deacon's relish--uch, achoo! achoo!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_With finality, tossing the egg in air, catching it and putting it back in basket._] Well, indeed, mum, I must be steppin' homewards now.

[NELI'S _glance rests on fire burning on other side of room_. _She
puts down wet cloth. She turns squarely on the_ DEACON.

NELI. What is your haste, Mr. Roberts? Please to go to the fire an' wait! I can find the relish.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] Nay, nay, mum. I have no need any more--[_Coughs._] Excellent herrin' brine.

[_Goes toward door._

NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] Take him to the fire, Hugh. 'Tis a cold day whatever! [_Insinuatingly to_ DEACON.] Have ye a reason for wantin' to go, Mr. Roberts?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Going._] Nay, nay, mum, none at all! But, I must not trouble ye. 'Tis too much to ask, an' I have no time to spare an'----

NELI. [_Interrupting and not without acerbity._] Indeed, Mr. Roberts, sellin' what we _can_ is our profit. [_To_ HUGH, _who obediently takes_ DEACON _by arm and pulls him toward fire_.] Take him to the fire, lad. [_To_ DEACON.] What kind of a relish was it, did ye say, Mr. Roberts?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Having a tug of war with_ HUGH.] 'Tis an Indian relish, mum, but I cannot wait.

HUGH. [_Pulling harder._] American, ye said.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] Yiss, yiss, American Indian relish, that is.

NELI. Tut, 'tis our specialty, these American Indian relishes! We have several. Sit down by the fire while I look them up. [_Wickedly._] As ye said. Mr. Roberts, 'tis cold here this morning.

DEACON ROBERTS. There, Hughie lad, I must not trouble ye. [_Looks at clock._] 'Tis ten minutes before twelve, an' my dinner will be ready at twelve. [_Pulls harder._

NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] Keep him by the fire, lad.

DEACON ROBERTS. There, Hughie lad, let me go!

[_But_ HUGH _holds on, and the_ DEACON'S _coat begins to come off_.

NELI. [_Sarcastically._] The relish--American Indian, ye said, I think--will make your dinner taste fine and grand!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Finding that without leaving his coat behind he is unable to go, he glowers at_ HUGH _and speaks sweetly to_ NELI.] 'Tis a beautiful clock, Mrs. Williams, mum. But I haven't five minutes to spare.

NELI. [_Keeping a sharp lookout on the rim of the_ DEACON'S _hat_.] Well, indeed, I can find the relish in just one minute. An' ye'll have abundance of time left.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Trapped, and gazing at clock with fine air of indifference._] 'Tis a clever, shinin' lookin' clock whatever, Mrs. Williams, mum.

NELI. Have ye any recollection of the name of the maker of the relish, Mr. Roberts?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Putting his hands behind him anxiously and parting his freighted coat-tails with care; then, revolving, presenting his back and one large, well-set, bright-colored patch to the fire._] Nay, I have forgotten it, Mrs. Williams, mum.

NELI. Too bad, but I'm sure to find it. [_She mounts upon chair. At this moment the shop door-bell rings violently, and there enters_ MRS. JONES THE WASH, _very fat and very jolly. She is dressed in short skirt, very full, clogs on her feet, a bodice made of striped Welsh flannel, a shabby kerchief, a cap on her head, and over this a shawl._ NELI _turns her head a little_.] Aye, Mrs. Jones the Wash, in a minute, if you please. Sit down until I find Deacon Roberts's relish whatever.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Sits down on chair by door back centre and folds her hands over her stomach._] Yiss, yiss, mum, thank you. I've come for soap. I came once before, but no one was in.

NELI. Too bad!

MRS. JONES THE WASH. An' I looked in at the window an' saw nothin' but a skippin' shadow looked like a rat. Have ye any rats, Mrs. Williams, mum, do ye think?

NELI. Have I any rats? Well, indeed, 'tis that I'm wantin' to know, Mrs. Jones the Wash!

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Well, I came back, for the water is eatin' the soap to-day as if 'twere sweets--aye, 'tis a very meltin' day for soap! [_Laughs._

DEACON ROBERTS. 'Tis sweet to be clean, Mrs. Jones the Wash.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Laughing._] Yiss, yiss, Deacon Roberts, there has many a chapel been built out of a washtub, an' many a prayer risen up from the suds!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Solemnly._] Aye, Mrs. Jones the Wash, 'tis holy work, washin' is very holy work.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Touched._] Yiss, yiss, I thank ye, Deacon Roberts.

DEACON ROBERTS. Well, I must be steppin' homeward now.

NELI. [_Firmly._] Nay, Mr. Roberts. I am searchin' on the shelf where I think that American Indian relish is. Ye act as if ye had some cause to hurry, Mr. Roberts. Wait a moment, if you please.

DEACON ROBERTS. Well, indeed, but I am keepin' Mrs. Jones the Wash waitin'!

NELI. [_To_ MRS. JONES.] Ye are in no haste?

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Thoroughly comfortable and happy._] Nay, mum, no haste at all. I am havin' a rest, an' 'tis grand an' warm here whatever.

NELI. [_Maliciously to_ DEACON.] Does it feel hot by the fire?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Experiencing novel sensations on the crown of his bald head._] Mrs. Williams, mum, 'tis hot in Y Gegin, but as with Llanycil Churchyard, Y Gegin is only the portal to a hotter an' a bigger place where scorchin' flames burn forever an' forever. Proverbs saith, "Hell an' destruction are never full." What, then, shall be the fate of women who have no wisdom, Mrs. Williams, mum?

NELI. [_Searching for relish._] Aye, what? Well, indeed, the men must know.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Nodding her head appreciatively at_ HUGH.] Such eloquence, Mr. Williams! Aye, who in chapel has such grand theology as Deacon Roberts!

[_She sighs. The bell rings violently again, and_ TOM MORRIS THE
SHEEP _enters. He is dressed in gaiters, a shepherd's cloak, etc.,
etc. He carries a crook in his hand. He is a grizzle-haired,
rosy-faced old man, raw-boned, strong, and awkward, with a
half-earnest, half-foolish look._

NELI. [_Looking around._] Aye, Tom Morris the Sheep, come in an' sit down. I am lookin' out an American Indian relish for the deacon.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, mum. I am wantin' to buy a little tobacco, mum. 'Tis lonely upon the hillsides with the sheep, whatever.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] I must go now, Mrs. Williams, mum, an' ye can wait on Tom Morris.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Nay, nay, Mr. Roberts, sir, there is no haste.

NELI. [_To_ TOM MORRIS.] Sit down there by the door, if you please.

[TOM MORRIS _seats himself on other side of door by back centre_.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, mum. [_Touches his forelock to_ MRS. JONES THE WASH.] A grand day for the clothes, Mrs. Jones, mum.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss, an' as I was just sayin' 'tis a meltin' day for the soap!

NELI. [_Significantly._] An' perhaps 'tis a meltin' day for somethin' besides soap! [_She looks at_ DEACON.

HUGH. [_Earnestly._] Yiss, yiss, for souls, meltin' for souls, I am hopin'. [_Picking up the book from the little three-legged table, and speaking to the_ DEACON.] They are enlargin' the burial ground in Llanycil Churchyard--achoo! achoo!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slyly moving a step away from fire._] They're only enlargin' hell, Hughie lad, an' in that place they always make room for all. [_He casts a stabbing look at_ NELI.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Nodding head._] True, true, room for all! [_Chuckling._] But 'twould be a grand place to dry the clothes in!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Severely._] Mrs. Jones, mum, hell is paved with words of lightness.

HUGH. [_Looking up from book, his face expressing delight._] Deacon Roberts, I have searched for the place of hell, but one book sayeth one thing, an' another another. Where is hell?

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, where is hell?

[_The bell rings violently. All start except_ NELI. MRS. JENKINS
THE MIDWIFE _enters. She is an old woman, white-haired, and with a
commanding, somewhat disagreeable expression on her face. She wears
a cloak and black Welsh beaver and walks with a stick._

NELI. Yiss, yiss, Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife, I am just lookin' out a relish for the Deacon. Sit down by the fire, please.

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Seating herself on other side of fire._] Aye, mum, I've come for pins; I'm in no haste.

NELI. is it Jane Elin's baby?

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Aye, Jane Elin's, an' 'tis my sixth hundredth birth.

HUGH. We're discussing the place of hell, Mrs. Jenkins, mum.

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Well, indeed, I have seen the place of hell six hundred times then. [_Coughs and nods her head up and down over stick._] Heaven an' hell I'm thinkin' we have with us here.

HUGH. Nay, nay, how could that be? Tell us where is the place of hell, Deacon Roberts.

[_All listen with the most intense interest._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Nodding._] Aye, the place of hell-- [_stopping suddenly, a terrified look on his face, as the butter slides against the forward rim of his hat, almost knocking it off, then going on with neck rigid and head straight up_] to me is known where is that place--their way is dark an' slippery; they go down into the depths, an' their soul is melted because of trouble.

NELI. [_Pausing sceptically._] Aye, 'tis my idea of hell whatever with souls meltin', Mr. Roberts!

HUGH. [_Tense with expectation._] Tell us where is that place!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Neck rigid, head unmoved, and voice querulous._] Yiss, yiss. [_Putting his hand up and letting it down quickly._] Ahem! Ye believe that it rains in Bala?

HUGH. [_Eyes on_ DEACON, _in childlike faith_.] I do.

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Yiss, yiss, before an' after every birth whatever!

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss, who would know better than I that it rains in Bala?

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, amen, it rains in Bala upon the hills an' in the valleys.

DEACON ROBERTS. Ye believe that it can rain in Bala both when the moon is full an' when 'tis new?

HUGH. [_Earnestly._] I do.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Wearily._] Yiss, any time.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, all the time.

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE.. Yiss, yiss, it rains ever an' forever!

NELI. [_Forgetting the relish search._] Well, indeed, 'tis true it can rain in Bala at any time an' at all times.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Paying no attention to Neli._] Ye believe that Tomen-y-Bala is Ararat?

HUGH. [_Clutching his book more tightly and speaking in a whisper._] Yiss.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Aye, 'tis true.

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE.. Yiss, the Hill of Bala is Ararat.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, I have driven the sheep over it whatever more than a hundred times.

NELI. [_Both hands on counter, leaning forward, listening to_ DEACON'S _words_.] Aye, Charles-y-Bala said so.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Still ignoring_ NELI _and lowering his coat-tails carefully_.] Ye believe, good people, that the Druids called Noah "Tegid," an' that those who were saved were cast up on Tomen-y-Bala?

HUGH. Amen, I do!

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Nodding her old head._] Aye, 'tis true.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Amen, 'tis so.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Moving a few steps away from the fire, standing sidewise, and lifting hand to head, checking it in midair._] An' ye know that Bala has been a lake, an' Bala will become a lake?

HUGH. Amen, I do!

NELI. [_Assenting for the first time._] Yiss, 'tis true--that is.

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Dear anwyl, yiss!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_With warning gesture toward window._] Hell is out there--movin' beneath Bala Lake to meet all at their comin'. [_Raises his voice suddenly._] Red-hot Baal stones will fall upon your heads--Baal stones. Howl ye! [_Shouting loudly._] Meltin' stones smellin' of the bullocks. Howl, ye sinners! [_Clasping his hands together desperately._] Scorchin' hot--Oo--o--o--Howl ye!--howl ye! [_The_ DEACON'S _hat sways, and he jams it down more tightly on his head. Unclasping his hands and as if stirring up the contents of a pudding-dish._] 'Round an' round like this! Howl, ye sinners, howl!

[_All moan and sway to and fro except_ NELI.

NELI. [_Sceptically._] What is there to fear?

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Groaning._] Nay, but what is there not to fear?

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Aye, outermost darkness. Och! Och!

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Have mercy!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Shouting again._] Get ready! Lift up your eyes! [_Welsh beaver almost falls off and is set straight in a twinkling._] Beg for mercy before the stones of darkness burn thee, an' there is no water to cool thy tongue, an' a great gulf is fixed between thee an' those who might help thee!

NELI. [_Spellbound by the_ DEACON'S _eloquence and now oblivious to hat, etc._] Yiss, yiss, 'tis true, 'tis very true!

[_She steps down from chair and places hands on counter._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_His face convulsed, shouting directly at her._] Sister, hast thou two eyes to be cast into hell fire?

NELI. [_Terrified and swept along by his eloquence._] Two eyes to be burned?

[_All lower their heads, groaning and rocking to and fro._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_The butter trickling down his face, yelling with sudden violence._] Hell is here an' now. Here in Bala, here in Y Gegin, here with us! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners!

[_All moan together._

HUGH. [_Whispering._] Uch, here!

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Yiss, here!

MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. [_Terrified._] Aye. Amen! Yiss!

NELI. [_Whispering._] Here in Y Gegin!

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Clapping his hands to his face._] Stones of Baal, stones of darkness, slimy with ooze, red-hot ooze, thick vapors! Howl ye, howl, ye sinners! [_All moan and groan. Takes a glance at clock, passes hand over face and runs on madly, neck rigid, eyes staring, fat red cheeks turning to purple._] Midday, not midnight, is the hour of hell; its sun never sets! But who knows when comes that hour of hell?

NELI. [_Taking hands from counter and crossing them as she whispers._] Who knows?

ALL. [_Groaning._] Who knows?

HUGH. [_Voice quavering and lifting his Welsh essays._] Who knows?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Big yellow drops pouring down his face, his voice full of anguish._] I will tell ye when is the hour of hell. [_He points to the clock._] Is one the hour of hell? Nay. Two? Nay. Three? No, not three. Four? Four might be the hour of hell, but 'tis not. Five? Nor five, indeed. Six? Nay. Seven? Is seven the hour, the awful hour? Nay, not yet. Eight? Is eight the hour--an hour bright as this bright hour? Nay, eight is not. [_The_ DEACON _shouts in a mighty voice and points with a red finger at the clock_.] 'Tis comin'! 'Tis comin', I say! Howl ye, howl! Only one minute more! Sinners, sinners, lift up your eyes! Cry for mercy! [_All groan._] Cry for mercy! When the clock strikes twelve, 'twill be the hour of hell! Fix your eyes upon the clock! Watch! Count! Listen! 'Tis strikin'. The stroke! The hour is here!

[_All dropped on their knees and turned toward the clock, their
backs to the street door, are awaiting the awful stroke. The book
has fallen from_ HUGH'S _hands_. NELI'S _hands are clenched_. MRS.
JENKINS THE MIDWIFE _is nodding her old head_. MRS. JONES THE WASH
_on her knees, her face upturned to the clock, is rubbing up and
down her thighs, as if at the business of washing_. TOM MORRIS THE
SHEEP _is prostrate and making a strange buzzing sound between his
lips. The wheels of the clever old timepiece whir and turn. Then in
the silent noonday the harsh striking begins: One, Two, Three,
Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve._

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Yelling suddenly in a loud and terrible voice._] Hell let loose! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners! [_All cover their eyes. All groan or moan. The clock ticks, the flame in the grate flutters_, NELI'S _bosom rises and falls heavily_.] Lest worse happen to ye, sin no more!

[_The_ DEACON _looks at them all quietly. Then he lifts his hands
in sign of blessing, smiles and vanishes silently through street
door. All remain stationary in their terror. Nothing happens. But
at last_ NELI _fearfully, still spellbound by the_ DEACON'S
_eloquence, lifts her eyes to the clock. Then cautiously she turns
a little toward the fire and the place of_ DEACON ROBERTS.

NELI. Uch! [_She stands on her feet and cries out._] The Deacon is gone!

HUGH. [_Raising his eyes._] Uch, what is it? Babylon----

NELI. Babylon nothing! [_She wrings her hands._

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Groaning._] Is he dead? Is he dead?

NELI. [_With sudden plunge toward the door._] Uch, ye old hypocrite, ye villain! Uch, my butter an' my eggs, my butter an' my eggs!

[NELI _throws open the door and slams it to after her as she
pursues the_ DEACON _out into the bright midday sunshine_.

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Well, indeed, what is it? Has she been taken?

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Getting up heavily._] Such movin' eloquence! A saintly man is Deacon Roberts!

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, a saintly man is Deacon Roberts!

HUGH. [_Picking up his book and speaking slowly._] Aye, eloquence that knoweth the place of hell even better than it knoweth Bala whatever!

MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Very businesslike._] Aye, 'twas a treat--a rare treat! But where's my pins now?

MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Very businesslike._] Yiss, yiss, 'twas a grand an' fine treat. But I'm wantin' my soap now.

TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Have ye any tobacco, Hughie lad?

CURTAIN

WHERE BUT IN AMERICA

BY

OSCAR M. WOLFF

_Where But In America_ is reprinted by special permission of the author and of the _Smart Set Magazine_, in which this play was first printed. For permission to perform address the author at Room 1211, 105 Monroe Street, Chicago, Illinois.

OSCAR M. WOLFF

Oscar M. Wolff was born July 13, 1876. After graduation from Cornell University he completed his law course in the University of Chicago. In addition to his interest in law, which he has practised and taught, he has done considerable writing and editing. He has published a legal text-book, and his articles on legal subjects have appeared both in law journals and in magazines of general interest. During the war he was connected with the United States Food Administration at Washington. At present he lives in Chicago, Illinois.

In addition to some stories, he has written several one-act plays: _Where But in America_, _The Claim for Exemption_, and _The Money-Lenders_.

_Where But in America_ is an excellent play of situation, as well as a delicate satire on a certain aspect of American social life.

CAST

MRS. ESPENHAYNE
MR. ESPENHAYNE
HILDA

WHERE BUT IN AMERICA[J]

SCENE: _The Espenhayne dining-room._

_The curtain rises on the Espenhayne dining-room. It is furnished
with modest taste and refinement. There is a door, centre, leading
to the living-room, and a swinging door, left, leading to the
kitchen._

_The table is set, and_ ROBERT _and_ MOLLIE ESPENHAYNE _are
discovered at their evening meal. They are educated, well-bred
young Americans._ ROBERT _is a pleasing, energetic business man of
thirty_; MOLLIE _an attractive woman of twenty-five. The bouillon
cups are before them as the curtain rises._

BOB. Mollie, I heard from the man who owns that house in Kenilworth. He wants to sell the house. He won't rent.

MOLLIE. I really don't care, Bob. That house was too far from the station, and it had only one sleeping-porch, and you know I want white-enamelled woodwork in the bedrooms. But, Bob, I've been terribly stupid!

BOB. How so, Mollie?

MOLLIE. You remember the Russells moved to Highland Park last spring?

BOB. Yes; Ed Russell rented a house that had just been built.

MOLLIE. A perfectly darling little house! And Fanny Russell once told me that the man who built it will put up a house for any one who will take a five-year lease. And she says that the man is very competent and they are simply delighted with their place.

BOB. Why don't we get in touch with the man?

MOLLIE. Wasn't it stupid of me not to think about it? It just flashed into my mind this morning, and I sat down at once and sent a special-delivery letter to Fanny Russell. I asked her to tell me his name at once, and where we can find him.

BOB. Good! You ought to have an answer by to-morrow or Thursday and we'll go up north and have a talk with him on Saturday.

MOLLIE. [_With enthusiasm._] Wouldn't it be wonderful if he'd build just what we want! Fanny Russell says every detail of their house is perfect. Even the garage; they use it----

BOB. [_Interrupting._] Mollie, that's the one thing I'm afraid of about the North Shore plan. I've said repeatedly that I don't want to buy a car for another year or two. But here you are, talking about a garage already.

MOLLIE. But you didn't let me finish what I was saying. The Russells have fitted up their garage as a playroom for the children. If we had a garage we could do the same thing.

BOB. Well, let's keep temptation behind us and not even talk to the man about a garage. If we move up north it must be on an economy basis for a few years; just a half-way step between the apartment and the house we used to plan. You mustn't get your heart set on a car.

MOLLIE. I haven't even thought of one, dear. [BOB _and_ MOLLIE _have now both finished the bouillon course and lay down their spoons. Reaching out her hand to touch the table button, and at the same time leaning across the table and speaking very impressively._] Bob, I'm about to ring for Hilda!

BOB. What of it?

MOLLIE. [_Decidedly and with a touch of impatience._] You know very well, what of it. I don't want Hilda to hear us say one word about moving away from the South Side!

BOB. [_Protesting._] But Mollie----

MOLLIE. [_Interrupting hurriedly and holding her finger to her lips in warning._] Psst!

[_The next instant_ HILDA _enters, left. She is a tall, blonde
Swedish girl, about twenty-five years old. She is very pretty and
carries herself well and looks particularly charming in a maid's
dress, with white collars and cuffs and a dainty waitress's apron.
Every detail of her dress is immaculate._

MOLLIE. [_Speaking the instant that_ HILDA _appears and talking very rapidly all the time that_ HILDA _remains in the room. While she speaks_ MOLLIE _watches_ HILDA _rather than_ ROBERT, _whom she pretends to be addressing_.] In the last game Gert Jones was my partner. It was frame apiece and I dealt and I bid one no trump. I had a very weak no trump. I'll admit that, but I didn't want them to win the rubber. Mrs. Stone bid two spades and Gert Jones doubled her. Mrs. Green passed and I simply couldn't go to three of anything. Mrs. Stone played two spades, doubled, and she made them. Of course, that put them out and gave them the rubber. I think that was a very foolish double of Gert Jones, and then she said it was my fault, because I bid one no trump.

[_As_ MOLLIE _begins her flow of words_ BOB _first looks at her in
open-mouthed astonishment. Then as he gradually comprehends that_
MOLLIE _is merely talking against time he too turns his eyes to_
HILDA _and watches her closely in her movements around the table.
Meanwhile_ HILDA _moves quietly and quickly and pays no attention
to anything except the work she has in hand. She carries a small
serving-tray, and, as_ MOLLIE _speaks_, HILDA _first takes the
bouillon cups from the table, then brings the carving-knife and
fork from the sideboard and places them before_ ROBERT, _and then,
with the empty bouillon cups, exits left_. BOB _and_ MOLLIE _are
both watching_ HILDA _as she goes out. The instant the door swings
shut behind her_, MOLLIE _relaxes with a sigh, and_ ROBERT _leans
across the table to speak_.

BOB. Mollie, why not be sensible about this thing! Have a talk with Hilda and find out if she will move north with us.

MOLLIE. That's just like a man! Then we might not find a house to please us and Hilda would be dissatisfied and suspicious. She might even leave. [_Thoughtfully._] Of course, I must speak to her before we sign a lease, because I really don't know what I'd do if Hilda refused to leave the South side. [_More cheerfully._] But there, we won't think about the disagreeable things until everything is settled.

BOB. That's good American doctrine.

MOLLIE. [_Warningly and again touching her finger to her lips._] Psst!

[HILDA _enters, left, carrying the meat plates, with a heavy napkin
under them_.

MOLLIE. [_Immediately resuming her monologue._] I think my last year's hat will do very nicely. You know it rained all last summer and I really only wore the hat a half a dozen times. Perhaps not that often. I can make a few changes on it; put on some new ribbons, you know, and it will do very nicely for another year. You remember that hat, don't you dear?

[BOB _starts to answer, but_ MOLLIE _rushes right on_.

Of course you do, you remember you said it was so becoming. That's another reason why I want to wear it this summer.

[HILDA, _meanwhile, puts the plates on the table in front of_ BOB,
_and goes out, left_. MOLLIE _at once stops speaking_.

BOB. [_Holding his hands over the plates as over a fire and rubbing them together in genial warmth._] Ah, the good hot plates! She never forgets them. She _is_ a gem, Mollie.

MOLLIE. [_In great self-satisfaction._] If you are finally convinced of that, after three years, I wish you would be a little bit more careful what you say the next time Hilda comes in the room.

BOB. [_In open-mouthed astonishment._] What!

MOLLIE. Well, I don't want Hilda to think we are making plans behind her back.

BOB. [_Reflectively._] "A man's home is his castle." [_Pauses._] It's very evident that the Englishman who first said that didn't keep any servants.

[_Telephone bell rings off stage._

MOLLIE. Answer that, Bob.

BOB. Won't Hilda answer it?

MOLLIE. [_Standing up quickly and speaking impatiently._] Very well, I shall answer it myself. I can't ask Hilda to run to the telephone while she is serving the meal.

BOB. [_Sullenly, as he gets up._] All right! All right!

[BOB _exits, centre. As he does so_ HILDA _appears at the door,
left, hurrying to answer the telephone_.

MOLLIE. Mr. Espenhayne will answer it, Hilda.

[HILDA _makes the slightest possible bow of acquiescence, withdraws
left, and in a moment reappears with vegetable dishes and small
side dishes, which she puts before_ MRS. ESPENHAYNE. _She is
arranging these when_ BOB _re-enters, centre_.

BOB. Somebody for you, Hilda.

HILDA. [_Surprised._] For me? Oh! But I cannot answer eet now. Please ask the party to call later.

[HILDA _speaks excellent English, but with some Swedish accent. The
noticeable feature of her speech is the precision and great care
with which she enunciates every syllable._

MOLLIE. Just take the number yourself, Hilda, and tell the party you will call back after dinner.

HILDA. Thank you, Messes Aispenhayne.

[HILDA _exits, centre_. BOB _stands watching_ HILDA, _as she leaves
the room, and then turns and looks at_ MOLLIE _with a bewildered
expression_.

BOB. [_Standing at his chair._] But I thought Hilda couldn't be running to the telephone while she serves the dinner?

MOLLIE. But this call is for Hilda, herself. That's quite different, you see.

BOB. [_Slowly and thoughtfully._] Oh, yes! Of course; I see! [_Sits down in his chair._] That is--I don't quite see!

MOLLIE. [_Immediately leaning across the table and speaking in a cautious whisper._] Do you know who it is?

[BOB _closes his lips very tightly and nods yes in a very important
manner_.

MOLLIE. [_In the same whisper and very impatiently._] Who?

BOB. [_Looking around the room as if to see if any one is in hiding, and then putting his hand to his mouth and exaggerating the whisper._] The Terrible Swede.

MOLLIE. [_In her ordinary tone and very much exasperated._] Robert, I've told you a hundred times that you shouldn't refer to--to--the man in that way.

BOB. And I've told you a hundred times to ask Hilda his name. If I knew his name I'd announce him with as much ceremony as if he were the Swedish Ambassador.

MOLLIE. [_Disgusted._] Oh, don't try to be funny! Suppose some day Hilda hears you speak of him in that manner?

BOB. You know that's mild compared to what you think of him. Suppose some day Hilda learns what you think of him?

MOLLIE. I think very well of him and you know it. Of course, I dread the time when she marries him, but I wouldn't for the world have her think that we speak disrespectfully of her or her friends.

BOB. "A man's home is his castle."

[MOLLIE'S _only answer is a gesture of impatience_. MOLLIE _and_
BOB _sit back in their chairs to await_ HILDA'S _return. Both sit
with fingers interlaced, hands resting on the edge of the table in
the attitude of school children at attention. A long pause._ MOLLIE
_unclasps her hands and shifts uneasily_. ROBERT _does the same_.
MOLLIE, _seeing this, hastily resumes her former attitude of quiet
waiting_. ROBERT, _however, grows increasingly restless. His
restlessness makes_ MOLLIE _nervous and she watches_ ROBERT, _and
when he is not observing her she darts quick, anxious glances at
the door, centre_. BOB _drains and refills his glass_.

MOLLIE. [_She has been watching_ ROBERT _and every time he shifts or moves she unconsciously does the same, and finally she breaks out nervously_.] I don't understand this at all! Isn't to-day Tuesday?

BOB. What of it?

MOLLIE. He usually calls up on Wednesdays and comes to see her on Saturdays.

BOB. And takes her to the theatre on Thursdays and to dances on Sundays. He's merely extending his line of attack.

[_Another long pause--then Bob begins to experiment to learn
whether the plates are still hot. He gingerly touches the edges of
the upper plate in two or three places. It seems safe to handle. He
takes hold of upper and lower plates boldly, muttering, as he does
so, "Cold as--" Drops the plates with a clatter and a smothered
oath. Shakes his fingers and blows on them. Meanwhile_ MOLLIE _is
sitting very rigid, regarding_ BOB _with a fixed stare and beating
a vigorous tattoo on the tablecloth with her fingers. Bob catches
her eye and cringes under her gaze. He drains and refills his
glass. He studies the walls and the ceiling of the room, meanwhile
still nursing his fingers._ BOB _steals a sidelong glance at_
MOLLIE. _She is still staring at him. He turns to his water goblet.
Picks it up and holds it to the light. He rolls the stem between
his fingers, squinting at the light through the water. Reciting
slowly as he continues to gaze at the light._

BOB. Starlight! Starbright! Will Hilda talk to him all night!

MOLLIE. [_In utter disgust._] Oh, stop that singing.

[BOB _puts down his glass, then drinks the water and refills the
glass. He then turns his attention to the silverware and cutlery
before him. He examines it critically, then lays a teaspoon
carefully on the cloth before him, and attempts the trick of
picking it up with the first finger in the bowl and the thumb at
the point of the handle. After one or two attempts the spoon shoots
on the floor, far behind him._ MOLLIE _jumps at the noise_. BOB
_turns slowly and looks at the spoon with an injured air, then
turns back to_ MOLLIE _with a silly, vacuous smile. He now lays all
the remaining cutlery in a straight row before him._

BOB. [_Slowly counting the cutlery and silver, back and forth._] Eeny, meeny, miney, mo. Catch a--[_Stops suddenly as an idea comes to him. Gazes thoughtfully at_ MOLLIE _for a moment, then begins to count over again_.] Eeny, meeny, miney, mo; Hilda's talking to her beau. If we holler, she may go. Eeny, mee----

MOLLIE. [_Interrupting and exasperated to the verge of tears._] Bob, if you don't stop all that nonsense, I shall scream! [_In a very tense tone._] I believe I'm going to have one of my sick headaches! [_Puts her hand to her forehead._] I know it; I can feel it coming on!

BOB. [_In a soothing tone._] Hunger, my dear, hunger! When you have a good warm meal you'll feel better.

MOLLIE. [_In despair._] What do you suppose I ought to do?

BOB. Go out in the kitchen and fry a couple of eggs.

MOLLIE. Oh! be serious! I'm at my wits' end! Hilda never did anything like this before.

BOB. [_Suddenly quite serious._] What does that fellow do for a living, anyhow?

MOLLIE. How should I know?

BOB. Didn't you ever ask Hilda?

MOLLIE. Certainly not. Hilda doesn't ask me about your business; why should I pry into her affairs?

BOB. [_Taking out his cigarette case and lighting a cigarette._] Mollie, I see you're strong for the Constitution of the United States.

MOLLIE. [_Suspiciously._] What do you mean by that?

BOB. The Constitution says: "Whereas it is a self-evident truth that all men are born equal"--[_With a wave of the hand._] Hilda and you, and the Terrible Swede and I and----

MOLLIE. [_Interrupting._] Bob, you're such a _heathen_! _That's not in the Constitution._ That's in the Bible!

BOB. Well, wherever it is, until this evening I never realized what a personage Hilda is.

MOLLIE. You can make fun of me all you please, but I know what's right! Your remarks don't influence me in the least--not in the least!

BOB. [_Murmurs thoughtfully and feelingly._] How true! [_Abruptly._] Why don't they get married? Do you know that?

MOLLIE. All I know is that they are waiting until his business is entirely successful, so that Hilda won't have to work.

BOB. Well, the Swedes are pretty careful of their money. The chances are Hilda has a neat little nest-egg laid by.

MOLLIE. [_Hesitating and doubtfully._] That's one thing that worries me a little. I think Hilda puts money--into--into--into the young man's business.

BOB. [_Indignantly._] Do you mean to tell me that this girl gives her money to that fellow and you don't try to find out a thing about him? Who he is or what he does? I suppose she supports the loafer.

MOLLIE. [_With dignity._] He's not a loafer. I've seen him and I've talked with him, and I know he's a gentleman.

BOB. Mollie, I'm getting tired of all that kind of drivel. I believe nowadays women give a good deal more thought to pleasing their maids than they do to pleasing their husbands.

MOLLIE. [_Demurely._] Well, you know, Bob, your maid can leave you much easier than your husband can--[_pauses thoughtfully_] and I'm sure she's much harder to replace.

BOB. [_Very angry, looking at his watch, throwing his napkin on the table and standing up._] Mollie, our dinner has been interrupted for fifteen minutes while Hilda entertains her [_with sarcasm_] gentleman friend. If you won't stop it, I will.

[_Steps toward the door, centre._

MOLLIE. [_Sternly, pointing to_ BOB'S _chair_.] Robert, sit down!

[BOB _pauses, momentarily, and at the instant_ HILDA _enters,
centre, meeting_ BOB, _face to face. Both are startled._ BOB, _in a
surly manner, walks back to his place at the table_. HILDA
_follows, excited and eager_. BOB _sits down and_ HILDA _stands for
a moment at the table, smiling from one to the other and evidently
anxious to say something_. BOB _and_ MOLLIE _are severe and
unfriendly. They gaze at_ HILDA _coldly. Slowly_ HILDA'S
_enthusiasm cools, and she becomes again the impassive servant_.

HILDA. Aixcuse me, Meeses Aispenhayne, I am very sorry. I bring the dinner right in. [_Hilda exits left._

BOB. It's all nonsense. [_Touches the plates again, but this time even more cautiously than before. This time he finds they are entirely safe to handle._] These plates are stone cold now.

[HILDA _enters, left, with meat platter. Places it before_ BOB. _He
serves the meat and_ MOLLIE _starts to serve the vegetables_. HILDA
_hands_ MOLLIE _her meat plate_.

MOLLIE. Vegetables? [BOB _is chewing on his meat and does not answer_. MOLLIE _looks at him inquiringly. But his eyes are on his plate. Repeating._] Vegetables? [_Still no answer from_ BOB. _Very softly, under her breath._] H'mm.