Chapter XVIII: Part 18

SETH [_raising his right hand_]. I swear. 'Cause if I kin't have Pa's old place, no one kin.

LON. Got matches?

SETH. Yes. An' Pa's kerosene-can's got 'bout a pint in it. [_Takes the can from the bottom shelf._]

LON. I may as wall take these papers along with me. [_Picks up the newspapers._]

[_Seth moves to the table. Begins to fill his pipe. Lon takes his
corncob from his pocket and coughs. Seth looks at Lon, meditates,
then speaks._]

SETH. Heve a smoke, Lon?

LON. Maybe I will.

[_Lon fills his pipe.--Seth strikes a match, lights his own pipe
first, then hands the match to Lon._]

SETH. We're brothers.

LON. The same flesh an' blood has got t' treat each other right.

[_Lon starts to put Seth's tobacco-pouch in his pocket, but Seth
stops him._]

SETH. An' we wouldn't be treatin' each other right if we let Pa's property come into Ma's hands.

[_Seth carries the kerosene, Lon the papers. They go out the back
door and disappear. Thus, in disgust and rage, the brothers are
united. Then Seth's voice is heard._]

SETH [_in the yard_]. Wait a minute, Lon.

[_Seth returns. He picks up Pa's tobacco-pouch, knife and
scissors, glances toward the door to see that Lon isn't watching,
and sticks them into his pocket._]

LON [_in the yard_]. What yuh doin', Seth? [_Appears at the door._]

SETH. I thought I left somethin' valuable. But I ain't. [_He leaves._]

[_Lon and Seth pass out of sight._]

[_Curtain._]

IN THE MORGUE

A PLAY

BY SADA COWAN

Copyright, 1920, by Stewart & Kidd Company.
All rights reserved.

IN THE MORGUE is reprinted from "The Forum" by special permission of
Miss Sada Cowan. Application for right of performing IN THE MORGUE
must be made to Miss Sada Cowan, The Authors' League, New York City.

IN THE MORGUE

A PLAY BY SADA COWAN

[PLACE: _In the morgue of a foreign city_.]

[SCENE: _A small almost empty room with the rear wall of glass.
Before this glass black curtains are drawn. An old man ... Caren
... sits at a low table, well forward, sorting and arranging
papers, writing from time to time. A lamp upon the table, is so
shaded as to concentrate the light and throws Caren's wicked face
into sharp relief. The room conveys a feeling of unfriendliness,
coldness and gloom. Caren is old, so old he is somewhat decrepit
... hard, shrill and tottering. His features are sharp, his
fingers are as talons. He seems almost as a vulture ... perhaps
for hovering too long among the unbeloved dead._]

CAREN [_calling to some one behind the black curtain_]. What was the number of that last one?

HELPER [_putting out his head_]. Thirteen. [_He disappears._]

CAREN [_writes and repeats_]. Thirteen....

VOICES [_are heard, rough and harsh, from in back of the curtains_]. Shove that stiff up! He's got more room than what's coming to him.

CAREN [_calling, without rising_]. Who is it you're moving?

VOICE. Thirteen. Any reason why he should sprawl?

CAREN. Not a bit. Shove him along.

[_The curtains part. There is a swift vision of brilliant light
within, and bodies laid out upon tables of ice._]

KRAIG [_a man, scarcely more than a boy, over-wrought and hysterical, with his hands pressed close to his throbbing temples, bursts out_]. Oh.... Oh! Let me stay here just a moment away from that horror.

CAREN [_glancing up from his writing and smiles_]. You're all the same the first day.

KRAIG. Oh.... Oh!

CAREN. That last one got you ... eh?

KRAIG [_bitterly_]. So young ... so young!

CAREN. Must have been a good looker. Much as you can tell the way his face is banged up. I'll bet his own mother wouldn't know him.

KRAIG [_turning aside_]. Don't!

CAREN [_titters_]. He ... he ... he! Number thirteen...! I hope he ain't superstitious.

KRAIG. He has nothing more to fear.

CAREN [_with dread_]. There's no tellin'.

KRAIG. He's dead.... [_Enviously._] ... Dead!

CAREN [_angry_]. Fool!

KRAIG [_watching through the glass at the placid figure, enviously_]. Dead!

CAREN [_exasperated_]. Bah!

KRAIG [_suddenly has a hideous thought and turns swiftly to Caren_]. You think it was fair...? He went of his own free will?

CAREN. Eh...? What put that into your head?

KRAIG. No clothes ... naked!

CAREN. A lot of them do that when they take the plunge. It ain't so easy to identify them. It saves a lot of bother, too. We stick 'em on the slabs a while and then....

KRAIG [_shuddering_]. Don't! It makes me cold ... cold! [_Again he parts the curtains and looks through the glass._] He's so calm ... so still. I wonder if he suffered first! [_With a clutch of hatred in his voice._] I wonder if--he starved!

CAREN. That soft white kitten? Not much. Did you get a squint at his hands? He's never even tied his own tie.

KRAIG [_laughs_]. And he's here!

CAREN [_looking at Kraig_]. This is a funny job for a kid like you to pick.

KRAIG [_turning away_]. I'm not as young as I look. I've got three little ones already. [_With deep anguish._] And another on the way.

CAREN. It's a queer hang out for a kid like you, just the same.

KRAIG [_hysterically, almost beside himself_]. I tell you ... there's another on the way.

CAREN. What do you mean by that?

KRAIG. Nothing! [_A pause, then bitterly._] Oh there's one joy down here. You can burrow and hide like a rat from it all. The damn carriages don't roll by before your eyes. The women don't!... Oh, those women, how I hate them. Their silks, their jewels, their soft white skins. Fed! Clothed! Housed!... [_Clenching his fists._] While Martha starves! Oh, God! They drive by laughing and I could choke them! Listen what happened. [_He comes closer to Caren and speaks fanatically._] Yesterday in the park I stood there ... shivering ... wondering! And all at once the mad hate came into my heart and I felt that I could kill. [_Caren looks alarmed._] And then.... Ha ... ha ... ha! Then.... The King.... The King drove by. [_Laughing bitterly, and with a great flourish._] And off came my hat! [_Making fun of himself._] My hat came off my head, Old Man, and I bowed and cringed [_vehemently_] WITH THE HATE IN MY HEART. I could have torn the warm furs from his throat and wrapped my fingers in their place [_his hands clench spasmodically_]. Ugh!

CAREN [_thoroughly alarmed_]. Hush.... Hush! You mustn't talk so of our King. A nice young boy he is.

KRAIG. Oh the hate ... the hate. Perhaps it will leave me here in this hall of the dead. [_Glancing about._] It all seems so level here. So level.

CAREN [_with the first faint touch of sympathy_]. You're right. Here's the one spot on earth where you get fair play. That's what I like. There ain't no rich and there ain't no poor. And there ain't no class nor nothing. Every man gets a square deal here ... a square deal.

KRAIG. Perhaps that's worth dying for--a square deal.

CAREN. Dying ... bah! Wait until you've seen a few more of them slung on the slabs. You'll lose your longing for death. I'm an old man, but....

KRAIG. If only I can see more of it. If only I can bear it.

CAREN. The pay's not bad?

KRAIG. It would be bad at any price.

CAREN [_shaking his finger childishly_]. Tut ... tut! We're fair here ... fair. There ain't no flowers ... he ... he ... he ... and there ain't no song [_he chuckles_], but....

KRAIG [_with intense passion, pacing to and fro, and never pausing, while he speaks very rapidly_]. If only the living could have what is spent on the dead. All the waste ... the hateful waste. Flowers wilting in dead hands. Stones weighing down dead hearts. While living bodies famish and living eyes burn for the sight of beauty. Oh, I wonder the dead don't scream out at our madness. I wonder the graves don't burst with the pain of it all.

CAREN. Have they shut me up with a maniac? Have you gone stark out of your mind?

[_There is a loud knocking on the door, to the right._]

CAREN [_opens it a crack and peeps out cautiously_]. What do you want?

VOICE. Let me in.

CAREN. Get away.

VOICE [_piteously, clamoring_]. Let me look once ... just once.

CAREN [_harshly_]. Got a pass?

VOICE. No ... no. Oh, let me in.

CAREN [_bangs the door shut_]. Get away.

VOICE [_brokenly_]. Let me look once ... just once. [_Caren opens the door a crack._] Are there any ... women?

CAREN. Women? Of course, there's women ... always women. What is it you've craving? The sight of the beauties or the smell of their stinking flesh? Go on ... get out. This isn't a bawdy house. [_He slams the door to and walks away._]

KRAIG. What is it he wants?

CAREN. A peep at the stiffs. Probably looking for his girl. [_He passes out of sight, behind the black curtain._]

KRAIG. Oh! [_Cautiously he peeps after Caren, then opens the door a crack and calls in a whisper_]. Man!... You can see the new ones through the panel there. Lift up the curtain. There's two. A blond haired girl and a boy. [_He turns swiftly as the curtains part and Caren reenters. Softly he shuts the door, then stands watching into the hallway through a glass partition._] Poor soul!

CAREN [_mumbles as he returns_]. There's something queer about that last young stiff.

KRAIG. Number thirteen?

CAREN. Yes, number thirteen. You may have been right after all. Perhaps it wasn't fair play to put him in the river. There's some mystery ... something wrong. [_Tittering._] He ... he ... he! Not number thirteen for nothing.

KRAIG [_watching outside_]. How do you know there's anything wrong?

CAREN. That's telling, Sonny. [_With deep meaning._] But you get wise quick ... looking at the dead.

KRAIG. Ugh!

CAREN. People are telephoning and messengers are on the way. Pah ... things like this are a nuisance. They keep one late. What are you watching?

KRAIG. That man who was here at the door. He doesn't go away. I wonder what keeps him here.

CAREN. Conscience! Scared to death he'll find his girl. Afraid not to look for her.

KRAIG. You mean?...

CAREN. Oh, there's just two things drives people into the water. The men ... 'cause they've got too little inside 'em.... The women....

KRAIG [_furious_]. Stop!

CAREN [_alarmed, yet brazen ... scratching his head_]. He ... he ... he! Pretty clever little joke. He ... he!

[_Kraig begins to pace the room, his hands pressed to his temples._]

CAREN. I must tell that to the boys inside. [_He starts to go._] Pretty clever little joke!...

KRAIG [_watching, excitedly_]. There's something wrong with the fellow. I'd better see.

CAREN [_pausing_]. You'd better shut your eyes and see nothing.

KRAIG. He is staggering.

CAREN. Let him stagger.

KRAIG. He may be ill. He may be--starving.

CAREN. He's come to a good place to lose his appetite.

KRAIG. Oh, let me see what's wrong with him ... please.

CAREN. You go out that door and you don't come back. [_A pause._] I guess you'll stay.

KRAIG [_looks his hatred_]. Just as you say.

[_Outside the door there is a short, sharp scream._]

VOICE. Maria!

KRAIG. He's fallen.

CAREN. He'll get up.

KRAIG. I wonder what happened.

CAREN. Perhaps he got a peep at the new blonde. [_There is now a violent banging on the door._]

KRAIG. He's here.

[_Caren opens the door cautiously a crack._]

VOICE [_outside_]. My woman!... Maria!

CAREN. If you can identify her shut up your racket. Go to the first door at the right and make arrangements to take her away.

VOICE [_crushed and broken_]. Maria.

CAREN. Shut up! Bottle the tears until you get home. The first door to the right.

VOICE [_pleading_]. Cover her. For the love of the Lord ... cover her. Don't let her lie like that.

CAREN. Ain't she covered enough to suit you?

VOICE. Cover her ... cover her.

CAREN. Afraid she'll catch cold? Go on ... get out! [_He slams the door._]

KRAIG [_walks to the black curtains and parts them slightly_]. His woman ... his LOVE. [_Sighing and glancing towards the door_.] Poor devil!

CAREN. What's the matter with you, Softy?

KRAIG. Nothing. I was just thinking.

CAREN. Don't be a fool.

KRAIG [_again walking back and looking at the woman_]. Couldn't we cover her just a little? The sheet seems to have slipped.

CAREN. And no harm done. Meat's meat.

KRAIG [_dreamily_]. Her hair would cover her like a mantle. How soft and white she is. And how happy she seems. I wonder just when that look came into her face. It surely wasn't there when she plunged into the river.

CAREN [_annoyed_]. You ought to be nurse maid to a doll baby. What are you anyway?

KRAIG [_indifferently_]. A dreamer ... a creator ... a starver!

CAREN. Well, you're the wrong sort for in here. This is one place where you get down to facts; truth. No lies, no frills, no dreams. Dreams don't count [_banging his fist for emphasis_]. Money don't count. Power don't count ... beauty don't count. Nothing counts.

KRAIG [_hotly_]. Then it's not truth if beauty and dreams don't count. That's what we starved for, Martha and I.

CAREN [_softening a little_]. Well, you won't starve here. It's a fair place ... fair. The King himself wouldn't be treated no different than a beggar. The man with brains and the man without.... [_The curtains part and a helper enters._]

HELPER. Some one wants to blink at number thirteen. He's got two swell dames with him. Can they go in?

CAREN. If their permit's all right. Yes. Bring them in.

HELPER. They won't come in here. They want to go in the private way.

CAREN. I know there's some mystery about number thirteen....

HELPER. Yes, there is. He's a swell ... a big one. I shouldn't wonder if....

CAREN. Go on. Get out. [_The helper goes._]

KRAIG. Aren't you going to cover the boy before you let them enter?

CAREN. If they can't see him how are they going to know him? He ain't a tailor's dummy.

KRAIG. It all seems horrible.

CAREN. I guess you'll never see a second day at this.

KRAIG. Oh.... Oh, I don't know.

CAREN. You think I'm going to tuck on a few extras just because he's a swell. [_Yelling._] Don't I keep telling you 'til there's not a breath left in my body, that there ain't no class here? [_The helper reenters and hears the last words. He stands breathless._] Tramp or gentleman, they're all alike. Now get that into your head and let it grow.

HELPER [_has been stammering trying to speak_]. I oughtn't to tell. They'd kill me if they knew. It's to be kept a secret, but....

CAREN. What's the matter?

HELPER. Number thirteen.... [_Stammering._] He ... he....

CAREN. Well, what about him?

HELPER. He ain't a loafer. He ain't a tramp. He ain't even a gentleman. He....

CAREN. Who is he? Quick!

HELPER. Our.... [_Exultantly._] Our King!

CAREN [_open-mouthed, aghast_]. Our ... King!

KRAIG [_laughing triumphantly_]. Ha ... ha ... ha ... ha--HERE! [_He clasps his hands together._]

CAREN [_excited_]. Are you mad, Boy, mad? Our King! Oh!

[_Kraig laughs. Both men stare at him horrified._]

HELPER [_to Caren_]. Ain't you got a flag or something ... some little mark of respect to cover his nibs?

CAREN [_to Kraig_]. Run upstairs and get that big silk flag that.... [_as Kraig does not move_]. Go.

KRAIG [_immovable, abruptly ceasing to laugh_]. No.

CAREN [_threateningly_]. What do you mean? No?

KRAIG [_hysterically_]. This is one place in the world where all are treated fair. Dreams don't count. POWER don't count. There's no rich, no poor....

CAREN. Shut up and get that flag.

KRAIG. You're going to cover him ... but she.... Oh! [_Both men disappear behind the curtains, cringing and bowing to people within. Caren, with his back to the curtains, does not realize that he is alone._] Even death can't level. No ... not even death. [_For a second he stares ahead of him piercingly into space, standing taut and rigid. Then commences to laugh in pure hysteria as_

[_The Curtain Slowly Falls._]

A DEATH IN FEVER FLAT

A PLAY

BY GEORGE W. CRONYN

Copyright, 1919, by Shadowland.
Copyright, 1920, by George W. Cronyn.

All rights reserved.

Reprinted from _Shadowland_, a magazine, by permission of the
publishers and the author. The professional and amateur stage rights
of this play are strictly reserved by the author. Applications for
permission to produce this play should be made to Frank Shay, Care
Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.

SCENE: _In the great Far West, i. e., far from the "Movie" West_.

CHARACTERS

HANK [_proprietor of the Good Hope Roadhouse_].
LON PURDY [_about whom the play is concerned_].
MIZPAH [_his wife, called "Padie"_].
THE STAGE DRIVER.
THE GHOST OF HARVEY MACE.
THE GHOST OF THE OTHER MAN.

THE TIME _is the present, about 11 P. M._

This is not a Bret Harte play, nor is it designed for W. S. Hart.
And it should be performed with none of that customary and specious
braggadoccio of western plays.

A DEATH IN FEVER FLAT

A PLAY BY GEORGE W. CRONYN

[_THE SCENE is laid in the so-called dining-room of one of those
forlorn hostelries of the great Plains, which goes by the name of
Mace's Good Hope Roadhouse, a derisive title evidently intended to
signify the traveler's hope of early escape from its desiccated
hospitality._

_This room is sometimes reluctantly frequented by a rare guest,
usually a passenger on his way via auto stage, to some place else,
whom delays en route have reduced to this last extremity of
lodging for the night. The room is a kind of lumber yard of
disused cheap hotel furniture._

_Nothing can be drearier._

_Most of this junk is heaped along the left (stage) wall, and it
has a settled look of confusion which the processes of gradual
decay will, apparently, never disturb. Tables tip crazily against
the plaster of the greasy wall. Chairs upturned on these, project
thin legs, like the bones of desert places, toward a ceiling
fantastically stained. One table smaller than the rest, sees
occasional use, for it stands somewhat out of the debris and has
about it three chairs reasonably intact. A pack of cards and
several dirty glasses adorn the top._

_A stairway rises along the right wall, beginning at the rear, and
attaining to a rickety landing, supported by a single post of
doubtful strength, to which is affixed a glass lamp in a bracket.
(Inasmuch as the stairway is turned away from the audience, those
who ascend are completely hidden until their heads top the last
riser.) At the right front, between the landing and the
proscenium, a door (now shut) leads to the Bar, the one spot of
brightness in this lump, the shining crack at its sill bespeaking
the good cheer beyond. And that crack is the only illumination to
this morgue of defunct appetites, for the moonlight, which enters
by way of a small window at the right, is rather an obscuration,
inasmuch as it heightens the barren mystery of the room's
entombing shadows._

_Double doors center of rear wall lead to the outside. A window on
either side of the door._

_So much for the melancholy set._

_From the Bar percolates the lubricated melodiousness of the few
regular customers who constitute the population of Fever Flat,
with the exception of three worn-out women folks, two haggard cows
and three hundred or so variegated dogs. The female element are to
home, the dogs, astray and astir, with lamentable choruses._

_Sounds from the Bar, samples only._]

A JOLLY SOUL [_hoarsely_]. Pitch into her, boys! Tune up your gullets! [_With quavering pathos._] "She was born in old Kentucky"--

ANOTHER SUCH [_with peeve_]. Aw, shet up, that's moldy! Giv's that Tennessee warble, Hank!

VOICE OF HANK [_rather rich and fine_].

"When your heart was mine, true love,
And your head lay on my breast,
You could make me believe
By the falling of your arm
That the sun rose up in the west--"

[_There is a momentary pause, filled in by--_

A VOICE. Y'oughter go courtin' with that throat o' yourn, Hank.

Mace [_as if misanthrope_]. Aw, women--

[_During the laugh that follows, an auto horn blares outside and a
bright shaft is visible through the rear windows._]

VOICES. Stage's come! Stage's come!

[_There are sounds indicating the rapid evacuation of the Bar,
and a moment later one of the rear doors is jerked open and the
Stage Driver enters, dragging in two heavy suitcases which he
deposits near the small table with appropriate grunts, meanwhile
encouraging the passengers to enter._]

STAGE DRIVER. Uh! perty lumpy bags--come in, folks, come in! Seems like you might be carryin' all your b'longings.

[_The two passengers enter; the man, quickly, nervously, almost
furtively; the woman, with that weariness which ignores everything
except its own condition._]

STAGE DRIVER. Come in and set, lady; don't be skeered. Looks a little spooky, but Hank'll have a glim fer ye in two shakes. [_Places a chair for her._] Here, I know you're plumb tuckered. Make y'self t'home. [_Looking around at the drear surroundings._] 'S fer 's yer able.

THE MAN. I thought the stage went through to Hollow Eye to-night?

DRIVER. Well, sir, she do, but this time she don't. I've been havin' to run ten miles on low already and I jest don't _dast_ take her across that thirty miles of sand the way she is. She'll drink water like a thusty hoss and like as not lay down and die on us half way out. Then where'd we be? No sir; you folks'll just have to camp here at Fever Flat till I kin do a tinkerin' job to-morrow mornin'. So I'll step into the Bar and tell Hank you're here. [_At the door to the Bar._] Hank'll do the best he kin fer ye. He's a squ'ar man. Good-night to ye! [_Goes out, leaving the door half open._]

THE MAN [_briefly_]. Good-night. [_Looking about._] What a hole! Like somebody died here and they'd gone off and left it all stand just the way it was. [_He goes to the open door at the rear and stares at the naked moonlit buttes._] Them hills gits my goat. They're nothin' but blitherin skeletons, and this bunch of shacks they call Fever Flat looks like no more'n a damn bone yard to me. [_Shutting the door._] Ugh! it's cold in here. Feel like I was sittin' on my own grave's edge.

THE WOMAN [_scarcely raising her head, and speaking with no emotion, in a dead dry voice._] You didn't use to be so pernickety, when you was punchin' on the range, Lon.

LON [_waspishly_]. And you didn't use to look like a hag, neither, Padie.

PADIE [_with a momentary flash_]. Drink's poisoning your tongue, too.

LON [_viciously_]. Who's drinking? Cain't I take a thimbleful now'n then without all this jawin'?

PADIE. You ain't takin' thimblefuls. You're just soakin' it up. You'll be gettin' snakes if you keep on. 'n then, what'll _I_ do? [_Resuming her air of weary indifference._] Not that I care so much what you do with yourself--or what becomes of me. Nothing matters.

LON [_petulent and aggrieved_]. There you go, actin' abused. How 'bout _my_ rights 'n pleasures? Ain't got none, I s'pose.

PADIE. Oh, shut up, you make me sick.

[_Hank enters; a ruddy, vigorous, young man, strangely out of
place among all this rubbish. He wears a barkeeper's apron and
speaks cordially._]

HANK. Howdyedo, folks! Howdye do! Well, this is a kinda rough lay-out fer you-all. Y'see the Stage is due here at five, and stops fer grub, then makes Hollow Eye by about nine, but here 'tis ... [_pulls out watch_] half an hour of midnight an' I s'pose you ain't et, yet, eh? [_Lights the glass lamp._]

PADIE. Thanks. We've had sandwiches, but maybe my husband'd like something.

LON [_significantly_]. Wet.

[_Padie shrugs indifferently, and fixes her hair. As she turns
toward Hank, the light for the first time falls full on his face.
Padie stares fixedly at him, and half rises, with a little cry._]

LON [_with a quick, startled glance at Hank, speaks to her in a sharp, threatening voice_]. Padie! Sit down! Are you gittin' plumb loco drivin' out so late in autymobiles? [_To Hank, apologetically._] You kinda flustered us, mister, cause you have a little the look a friend of ourn that died suddint. Mournful case. Pardner o'mine. No, you're not much like. He was tall, heavy-built and lighter complected. Must a been consid'ble older, too.

PADIE [_almost in a whisper_]. No.

LON. Older, I say. My wife's kinda wrought up by this here little spell of travelin'.

HANK [_sympathetically_]. Oh, you're not used to it, eh?

PADIE [_slowly and deliberately_]. We've been at it--[_draws out the word into a burden_] years.

LON [_impatiently_]. That is, off'n on, m'dear. Only off'n on.

PADIE [_monotonously_]. All the time.

HANK [_trying to be a little jocose to break the oppressive atmosphere_]. Should think you might hanker after yer own nest, lady.

PADIE [_rising rudely_]. Well, just keep your thoughts!

HANK [_completely abashed_]. Yes, ma'am. Your room is just at the top of the landin'. I'll make ye a light. [_He hustles away upstairs to cover his embarrassment, taking the suitcases with him._]

LON [_irritably_]. You're always tryin' to belittle me in public. Is that any way fer a wife to act? I wanta know.

PADIE. What do you always lie so fer?

LON [_with rising voice_]. That's my business. I'll do as I damn please. And don't you go too fer, crossin' me. I won't stand it. Some day I'll up, an--

PADIE [_contemptuously_]. Beat me. That's all that's left to _you_, wife-beater.

[_Lon raises his hand as though to strike her, but lets it fall as
Hank reappears on the landing._]

HANK. Excuse me, m'am. Have you your own towels by you? Ourn is pretty scaly. It's been so long since we've had in women folks, at least, ladies.

PADIE [_moving toward the stair_]. Thanks, we have some.

[_Lon to Padie as Hank, hidden from audience, descends._]

LON. You might as well be decent, Padie. You ain't got none other but me.

PADIE [_bitterly_]. Yes, you've took me from 'em. We've been trapsin and trapsin till I'm plumb sick. Yes, I'm--

[_Her voice breaks and she runs blindly toward the stair,
almost into the arms of Hank, which further increases his
consternation._]

HANK [_holding her off_]. Stidy, stidy. There's the ladder, m'am. Can't I fetch you somethin'? Toddy?

[_Padie shakes her head, runs up, and slams her door._]

HANK [_to Lon in friendly fashion_]. Women folks is cur'us, cur'us.

LON [_surlily_]. Take my advice and keep free from 'em.

HANK. It was a woman did fer my brother.

LON [_with increased interest_]. Oh, you've got a brother, eh?

HANK [_simply_]. Had.

LON. Where is he?

HANK. Down at Laguna Madre, Arizony.

LON [_leaning forward and gripping the edge of the table_]. Ranchin'?

HANK. Buried.

LON [_haltingly_]. How--what were you saying--about a woman?

HANK. A woman done fer him. That's what they said, I don't know. I didn't git there fer a long time. There was a mix-up.

LON. Well, well. That's strange.

HANK [_eagerly_]. I s'pose you heard of it? It was in all the papers. It even got as fer as Denver.

LON. No, I don't remember. But I've read of similar cases.

HANK. You've been to Arizony, I s'pose.

LON. No, not quite. I've been all around them parts, but never Arizony.

HANK. 'Tain't what you'd call a perty country, but it's mighty satisfyin'. Too blame cold up here.

LON. Why don't you move?

HANK. I'm agoin' to, but you see my brother had half interest in this here tavern and there was some litigation about it. Case's just finished. I been here three years, ever since he went. But I'm pullin' my stakes, you bet. I wouldn't be _buried_ here! Would you?

LON [_dryly_]. I'd rather not.

HANK. So she took me fer a friend that'd croaked, eh? That's cur'us.

LON. Eh? What's that? Who?

HANK. Your wife.

LON. Oh, yes. Well, he was a good ten years older. And dark-complected.

HANK. Thought you said he was light.

LON. Mebbe I did. Well, he mought have been a trifle lighten'n you, but then, size him up by the average, he was dark. Let's fergit him. Bring us a bottle of your best--and see that the glass is clean.

HANK. To be sure. [_Goes out._]

[_Lon sits with his head between his hands, brooding. The voice of
Hank rises from the Bar, rendering the second verse of the
Tennessee "warble."_]

HANK [_in the Bar_].

There's many a girl can go all round about
And hear the small birds sing.
And many a girl that stays at home alone,
And rocks the cradle and spins.

[_As the song ends, the door at the rear opens soundlessly,
revealing the vast expanse of moonlit plains and desolate buttes.
Lon shivers and turns up his coat collar, finally facing about to
discover the cause of the chill. Observing the open door, he goes
to it, closes and locks it, the click of the key being distinctly
audible. He then returns and sits as before, and again the song
comes._]

HANK [_in the Bar_].

There's many a star shall jangle in the west;
There's many a leaf below.
There's many a damn that will light upon the man
For treating a poor girl so.

[_Now both of the double doors swing open, without sound. Lon
shivers, then, looking over his shoulder, suddenly gets up, glares
about him and makes hastily for the door to the Bar, where he
almost collides with Hank entering with bottle and glass._]

HANK. Here, mister, I was just comin'.

LON. What the devil's the matter with your doors?

HANK. Them? Oh, the lock's no good. When the wind's southwest they fly right open. Got to be wedged with a shingle.

[_He goes over to the doors, slams them shut, picks up a shingle
from the floor and inserts firmly between them._]

LON [_relieved_]. H'm. Well, that's all right.

HANK. Now it's blame cur'us the way old places gits. You'll hear these floor boards creak at times like as if som'un was sneakin' over 'em b'ar-foot. Feller told me onct it was made by contrapshun and temper'ture. Mebbe so, but I reckon [_knowingly_] there's more goes on around than we give credit fer.

[_Hank dusts off the table and puts bottle and glass down. Lon
seizes them eagerly and begins drinking._]

LON [_after a couple of glasses_]. You mean--spirits?

HANK. Well, I dunno as you'd call 'em that. But it's a fact, there's more liquor goes over the Bar than gits paid for. 'Tain't _stole_ either. It just _goes_.... As old Pete Gunderson used to say, "I'm a hell of a th'usty p'uson, and when I croak I'll be a hell of a th'usty spirit." I sometimes wonder--

[_Padie appears above, in a loose dressing sack, her hair hanging
in a great wavy mass, and holding a pitcher._]

PADIE. Lon, please fetch some water.

LON [_not moving_]. I don't dast go out in the night. I've caught a kind of chill from to-day's drive.

HANK [_going up the stairs_]. I'll fetch it you, m'am.

[_She comes down to meet him and the two are momentarily hidden
from the audience. Lon continues to drink steadily, pouring down
one glass after another. Hank reappears, treading with a certain
gayety, and goes out rear, whistling the Tennessee "warble."_]

PADIE [_leaning out of the shadow of the stairway toward her husband_]. Ain't you comin' up soon, Lon?

LON [_ignoring the query_]. Scarcely no resemblance whatever.

PADIE [_with sudden fierceness_]. You lie!

[_She ascends to the top of the landing. Outside a pump cranks
dismally._]

PADIE [_relenting a little_]. You'll be seein' things, Lon, if you keep it up.

LON [_rising, perfectly steady_]. Mind your business. Wish to hell I had a newspaper.

[_He goes out through the door to the Bar, while Padie runs a comb
reflectively through the exuberant tumult of her dark hair. Hank
enters and stops a moment, half blinded by the light, then looks
up, and shading his eyes, smiles._]

PADIE [_coyly_]. Is it the light in your eyes, mister?

HANK [_daringly_]. It's you, ma'am, are blinding them. [_He runs up the stairs with the pitcher._]

PADIE [_bending toward him as he comes near the top steps_]. You'd better reach it to me. Maybe the landing'll not hold the two of us.

HANK. It'll hold two that have such light hearts as we.

PADIE. Ah, you don't know mine, mister.

HANK [_reaching her the pitcher_]. There, the clumsy mut I am! Spillt the cold water on your pretty bare toes!

[_As she leans over to take the pitcher her hair falls suddenly
about his head, almost covering his face._]

PADIE [_drawing it back, with a deft twirl_]. I've most smothered you!

HANK. I wouldn't want a sweeter death.

PADIE [_looking down into his eyes_]. Indeed, you're the picture of--an old lover of mine.

HANK. I'd rather be the picture of the new.

[_He makes as if to clasp her about the ankles, but she puts a
hand on his shoulder and pushes him gently back._]

PADIE. You've been very kind to a wanderer--from Arizony. Don't spoil it. Good-night!

HANK [_turning about, mutters_]. Good-night.

[_He clatters loudly down the stairs as Lon reenters, studying a
newspaper. Lon seats himself, still absorbed. Hank favors him with
a glare of positive hatred._]

HANK [_with a sneer_]. All fixed fer the night, eh?

LON [_grunting_]. G'night.

HANK. Well, I hope you like this country better'n Arizony.

LON [_starting out of the news_]. The hell you say!

HANK. Your wife was wishing herself back there.

LON [_settling back to his paper and bottle_]. Well, that's where she come from. I don't. Women allus want what they ain't got.

HANK [_retiring_].

When your heart was mine, true love,
And your head lay on my breast,

[_He goes out, closing the door._]

You could make me believe by the falling of your arm
That the sun rose in the west.

[_During the singing of this last stanza, the double doors swing
wide as before, revealing a Figure standing motionless outside,
bathed in moonlight. At the same time the flame in the glass lamp
begins to flicker and wane. Lon holds the paper closer to his
face, finally almost buries his nose in it, as if conscious of the
Presence, but stubbornly resolved to ignore it. The Figure moves,
and as it crosses the threshold the feeble light expires. Lon,
however, still sits, as if absorbed in the newspaper, pretending
to sip from the glass. The Figure in a thin mocking voice, echoes
the song of the other, standing just behind Lon's chair._]

THE FIGURE [_a thin echo_].

You could make me believe by the falling of your arm
That the sun rose up in the west.--

[_Lon picks up the soiled pack of cards from the table and begins
to shuffle them mechanically, nor does he once turn toward the
apparition._]

LON [_in a hoarse whisper_]. And what'r _you_ doin' here?

[_The Figure sits down nonchalantly in a chair a little to one
side of Lon's. He is dressed in the western style, that is,
without style, corduroys, heavy boots, flannel shirt. In fact, he
looks almost natural. But there is a curious dark mark in the
center of his forehead--or is it a round, dark hole?_]

LON [_petulantly_]. Cain't you stay where you was put--with a heap o' rocks on top o' ye?

THE FIGURE [_thinly ironical_]. Can't seem to give up the old habits, y' know.

LON [_thickly, tossing the pack down_]. What's the hell's a corpse got to do with habits?

GHOST [_unmoved_]. You pore fool, you'll _learn_ when you come over.

LON [_huskily_]. Come over--wh'ar?

GHOST [_significantly_]. Where I am. [_Sings in a quavering voice._]

There's many a girl can go all round about
And hear the small birds sing--

LON [_snarling_]. Dry up on them corpse tunes o' yourn, Harvey Mace.

GHOST [_leering_]. Oh, you recognize me, eh? You recognize your old friend and pardner, do you, Lon Purdy?

LON [_sullenly_]. I _knowed_ you'd come.

GHOST [_triumphantly_]. And you believe in me, eh? Well, that's good, too.

LON [_stubbornly_]. Believe? Well! I knowed I'd be seein' things soon, what with the booze. I knowed it'd be the snakes or you. Padie told me I'd be seein' things.

GHOST [_maliciously_]. So you believe in _her_, anyway. Well, how's Padie--and the children?

LON. You know damn well we ain't had none.

GHOST. What, no children! How unfortunate! The house of love not to be graced with fruit ... sterile, sterile.

LON [_belligerently_]. Er you referrin' to me?

GHOST. To your spiritual union only, my friend. Physically, I know, nothing was wanting for a perfect match,--female form divine to mate with big blond beast. A race of superpeople!

LON. What the hell 'r' you gabbin'? You allus had a lot of talky-talk. That's what made a hit with Padie, before, before--

GHOST. Before the Other Man came along and cut us both out. [_Sings._]

And many a girl that stays at home alone
And rocks the cradle and spins.

GHOST [_reflectively_]. Yes, I'm afraid we both stood up pretty poorly alongside him. I had the words, the brain, the idea. I could charm her, tantalize her, quicken her mind, arouse her imagination. That's why I cut you out with her.

LON [_sneeringly_]. Gab!

GHOST. Yes, gab. It was one better to her than mere brute--guts! You personified strength. You didn't have nerves enough to be afraid of anything. You had endurance, cheek, deviltry, and a kind of raw good nature. These took with the gay, immature girl she was, until I came. You had--Guts; I had--Gab.

LON. And the Other Feller?

GHOST. He had the Gift.

LON. What you mean?

GHOST. He was a full man. His personality exuded from him like incense. It wrapped and enfolded you and warmed you, and yet it was not a grain feminine, but deeply, proudly masculine. You tolerated him, I--loved him. I had the fine passion for Padie, but when I first saw the two of them together I _knew_ she was his, or [_with a keen, stern look at Lon_] _ought_ to be ... and she _has_ been, always.

LON [_jumping to his feet, and knocking over his chair_]. You lie like hell! She's mine! She's been mine all these three years! I won her and I own her! What little of love she ever had fer you or him is buried down in Laguna Madre with the bones of both of ye! And all hell can't take her from me!

GHOST [_rising tall and pale_]. _He_ kin, and he's done it! You _thought_ you'd got her. But he's had her, or rather, she's had _him_ in her heart ever since they took the rope from his neck and pronounced him legally dead, and justice vindicated, and laid him away in the desert. All that time since, he's belonged to her. When you laid by her side nights, it was _his_ arm she felt about her waist, not yours; his breath was on her cheek, and his heart was beating against hers. Oh you poor, poor fool!

LON [_throwing his glass straight at the ghost_]. You lyin' pup!

GHOST [_bursting into a gale of eerie laughter_]. Ha! ha! ha! you _poor_ fool! _Now_ you believe in me!

[_Lon whips out his revolver and aims at the ghost, then slowly
returns it to the holster, as he realizes the futility of the
move._]

GHOST. Go on, my boy! Let's have another one here. [_He points to the dark hole in his forehead._]

[_Lon, wiping his own face with the back of his hand, and
shuddering, slumps down into his seat and stares vacantly at the
table._]

GHOST. Another one, just like the last--for your friend and pardner. [_He stresses the words with intense irony._] Do you remember the _last_ time you pulled that trick? What a foxy one it was! How astutely planned! _Planned_, my friend. I remember when we two went up the canyon together, just such a shining night as this, I asked you why you had borrowed--the Other Man's horse, and you said, yours was a little lame. Oh! excellent dissembler! Most crafty of liars! You _stole_ that horse. You stole that horse to put a rope around the Other Man's neck! You knew the pinto was shod different from any pony in those parts. You knew where they'd track him to, when they found the job you'd done. Then we sat down to smokes and cards. And I remember the curious glitter in your eyes. I was dealing. [_The Ghost shuffles the cards on the table, then lays down the pack in front of Lon._] Cut!

[_Lon mechanically obeys._]

GHOST [_dealing_]. And after several hands, you brought up the subject of Padie. And I told you I was out of the race--and that you'd better get out too, because the best man already had her. And then--and then I sensed you were going to draw, and when I had my gun out, it was empty. Clever boy! You had it fixed right. And so you plugged me square. And the moon and stars went out for me and I dropped into the black gulf.

[_Lon, throwing his hand down, buries his face in his hands,
groaning._]

GHOST [_pitilessly_]. You left me with my face to the stars for the coyotes to find. Then, very coolly, you turned the Other Man's horse toward home and sent him off cracking. And you jumped to a pinon log that led off to a ledge of lava where your footprints wouldn't show. And you turned up in half an hour with the boys in town. Then you inquired casually where the Other Man was. You _knew_, you devil! You knew they'd never get an alibi from him for that night, 'cause--Padie was with him. Padie had her dear arms about his neck while you, clever dog! were out fixing to put a rope there. And you done it, too! _Won_ her? Yes, you did--like hell! After the trial was all over, and the dead buried, me and him, you passed a dirty whisper around town about her, and then married her, to save her good name. That's how you won her.

[_There is an immense silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of
Lon, which comes in rattling gasps._]

GHOST [_sings_].

There's many a star shall jangle in the west,
There's many a leaf below,
There's many a damn that will light upon the man
For treating a poor girl so.

GHOST. But I ain't forgot all you done for me. Neither has the Other Man, [_with deep solemnity_] and he's come--to settle too--

LON [_staggering up_]. No! I don't believe in you! You're nothin' at all! There ain't no--

[_Lon sways and catches at the table; as he swings around, the
figure of Another stands outside the door, a tall figure with
something white twisted about its neck. Lon with a cry of horror
puts out his arms as if to ward off the apparition and backs
slowly toward the left wall._]

FIRST GHOST [_coming toward him_]. Murderer! betrayer! We've come to settle!

LON [_screaming_]. No! no! no! I don't believe--

[_He falls, and the pile of rubbishy furniture topples over on to
him with a crash. The two apparitions vanish. The door to the bar
is flung open and Hank leaps in, at the same moment that Padie
appears above, whitely clad._]

PADIE. Lon! Lon! What's the matter?

HANK [_going toward the pile of stuff_]. Go back! It's something terrible.

[_He heaves the heavy pieces from the body and drags it out, as
Padie, with a long cry, flies down the stairs. He feels the breast
quickly and rises before Padie reaches the table._]

HANK. I'm afraid he's done for.

PADIE [_drawing a deep quivering breath_]. Oh.

HANK. He must 'a' fell.

PADIE. I knew--drink'd do fer him.

HANK. Did you--love him--so much?

PADIE [_very low_]. Once--a little. [_With sudden, fierce joy._] I don't care! Now--I kin--live!

HANK [_looking out over the desert where the dawn begins to show_]. Both of us.

[_Curtain._]

THE SLAVE WITH TWO FACES

AN ALLEGORY

BY MARY CAROLYN DAVIES

Copyright, 1918, by Egmont Arens.
All rights reserved.

Reprinted from No. 6, of the "Flying Stag Plays," published by Egmont
Arens, by special permission of Miss Davies. The professional and
amateur stage rights on this play are strictly reserved by the author.
Applications for permission to produce this play should be made to
Egmont Arens, 17 West 8th Street, New York.

THE SLAVE WITH TWO FACES was first produced in New York City by the
Provincetown Players, on January 25th, 1918, with the following cast:

LIFE, THE SLAVE _Ida Rauh._
FIRST GIRL _Blanche Hays._
SECOND GIRL _Dorothy Upjohn._
A WOMAN _Alice MacDougal._
A MAN _O. K. Liveright._
A YOUNG MAN _Hutchinson Collins._
A WORKMAN _O. K. Liveright._
_And Others._

Scene designed by Norman Jacobsen. Produced under the direction of
Nina Moise. Incidental music written by Alfred Kreymborg.

THE SLAVE WITH TWO FACES

AN ALLEGORY BY MARY CAROLYN DAVIES

[_THE SCENE is a wood through which runs a path. Wild rose bushes
and other wood-things border it. On opposite sides of the path
stand two girls waiting. They have not looked at each other. The
girls wear that useful sort of gown which, with the addition of a
crown, makes a queen--without, makes a peasant. The first girl
wears a crown. The second carries one carelessly in her hand._]

FIRST GIRL [_looking across at the other_]. For whom are you waiting?

SECOND GIRL. I am waiting for Life.

FIRST GIRL. I am waiting for Life also.

SECOND GIRL. They said that he would pass this way. Do you believe that he will pass this way?

FIRST GIRL. He passes all ways.

SECOND GIRL [_still breathing quickly_]. I ran to meet Life.

FIRST GIRL. Are you not afraid of him?

SECOND GIRL. Yes. That is why I ran to meet him.

FIRST GIRL [_to herself_]. I, too, ran to meet him.

SECOND GIRL. Ah! he is coming!

FIRST GIRL. No. It is only the little quarreling words of the leaves, and the winds that are always urging them to go away.

SECOND GIRL. The leaves do not go.

FIRST GIRL. Some day they will go. And that the wind knows.

FIRST GIRL. Why are you not wearing your crown?

SECOND GIRL. Why should we wear crowns? [_She places the crown upon her head._]

FIRST GIRL. Do you not know?

SECOND GIRL. No.

FIRST GIRL. That is all of wisdom--the wearing of crowns before the eyes of Life.

SECOND GIRL. I do not understand you.

FIRST GIRL. Few understand wisdom--even those who need it most--

SECOND GIRL. He is coming! I heard a sound.

FIRST GIRL. It was only the sound of a petal dreaming that it had fallen from the rose-tree.

SECOND GIRL. I have waited--

FIRST GIRL. We all long for him. We cry out to him. When he comes, he hurts us, he tortures us. He kills us, unless we know the secret.

SECOND GIRL. What is the secret?

FIRST GIRL. That he is a slave. He pretends! He pretends! But always he knows in his heart that he is a slave. Only of those who have learned his secret is he afraid.

SECOND GIRL. Tell me more!

FIRST GIRL. Over those who are afraid of him he is a tyrant. He obeys--Kings and Queens!

SECOND GIRL. Then that--

FIRST GIRL. --Is why we must never let him see us without our crowns!

SECOND GIRL. How do you know these things?

FIRST GIRL. They were told me by an old wise man, who sits outside the gate of our town.

SECOND GIRL. How did he know? Because he was one of those who are kings?

FIRST GIRL. No. Because he was one of those who are afraid.

SECOND GIRL [_dreamily_]. I have heard that Life is very beautiful. Is he so? I have heard also that he is supremely ugly; that his mouth is wide and grinning, that his eyes slant, and his nostrils are thick. Is he so?--or is he--very beautiful?

FIRST GIRL. Perhaps you will see--for yourself--Ah!

SECOND GIRL.

[_As Life saunters into view at the farthest bend of the path. He
walks like a conqueror. But there is something ugly in his
appearance. Life sees the girls just as a sudden sun-ray catches
the jewels of their crowns. He cringes and walks like a hunchback
slave. He is beautiful now._]

FIRST GIRL. He has seen our crowns!

SECOND GIRL. Ah!

FIRST GIRL. Remember! You are only safe--as long as you remain his master. Never forget that he is a slave, and that you are a queen.

SECOND GIRL [_to herself_]. I must never let him see me without my crown.

FIRST GIRL. Hush! He is coming!

SECOND GIRL. He is very beautiful--

FIRST GIRL. While he is a slave.

SECOND GIRL [_not hearing_]. He is--very beautiful--

FIRST GIRL. Life!

[_Life bows to the ground at her feet._]

SECOND GIRL [_in delight_]. Ah!

FIRST GIRL. Life, I would have opals on a platter.

[_Life bows in assent._]

SECOND GIRL. Oh-h!

FIRST GIRL. And pearls!

[_Life bows._]

SECOND GIRL. Ah!

FIRST GIRL. And a little castle set within a hedge.

[_Life bows._]

SECOND GIRL. Yes--

FIRST GIRL. I would have a fair prince to think tinkling words about me. And I would have a strawberry tart, with little flutings in the crust. Go, see that these things are made ready for me.

[_Life bows in assent and turns to go._]

SECOND GIRL. Ah!

FIRST GIRL. See? It is so that one must act. It is thus one must manage him. So and not otherwise it is done. Now--do you try. [_She plucks a rose from a bush beside her, and twirls it in her fingers._]

SECOND GIRL. Life! [_Life kneels._] I have a wish for a gown of gold. [_Life bows._]

FIRST GIRL. Yes!

[_And over his bowed head, the two laugh gayly at the ease of his
subjection._]

SECOND GIRL. And a little garden where I may walk and think of trumpets blowing.

[_Life bows._]

SECOND GIRL. It is a good rule.

FIRST GIRL [_calling slave back as he is leaving_]. I have a wish for a gray steed. [_Life bows._] Bring me a little page, too. With golden hair. And with a dimple.

[_Life acquiesces, and starts to leave._]

FIRST GIRL [_calling him back with a gesture_]. Life! [_An important afterthought._] With two dimples!

SECOND GIRL. And an amber necklace! Bring me an amber necklace!

FIRST GIRL [_tossing away the rose she has just plucked_]. And a fresh rose.

[_Life bows; turns to obey. The two are convulsed with mirth at the
adventure and its success._]

FIRST GIRL. Life!

[_Life halts._]

SECOND GIRL. What are you going to do?

FIRST GIRL. Come here!

[_Life comes to her. With a quick movement she snatches one of the
gold chains from about his neck._]

SECOND GIRL [_frightened_]. How can you dare?

FIRST GIRL. What you see you must take. [_She seizes his wrist and pulls from it a bracelet._]

SECOND GIRL [_frightened_]. Ah!

FIRST GIRL. Go!

[_Exit Life._]

SECOND GIRL. But why--

FIRST GIRL. He does not like beggars, Life. You see, he is a slave himself.

SECOND GIRL. He is so beautiful.

FIRST GIRL. Do not forget that he is your slave.... This rosebush [_touches it_] is a queen who forgot.

SECOND GIRL. Ah!

FIRST GIRL [_pointing to bones that seemed part of bushes along roadside_]. Those are the bones of others who forgot.

SECOND GIRL. But he is beautiful!

FIRST GIRL. Only so long as you are his master.

SECOND GIRL. But he is kind!

FIRST GIRL. Only so long as you are not afraid of him.

SECOND GIRL. But you snatched--

FIRST GIRL. Life is the only person to whom one should be rude.

[_They hear sounds of moaning and cries and a harsh voice menacing
some unseen crowd._]

SECOND GIRL. What is that?

FIRST GIRL. Come! We must not be seen! [_Pulls her companion behind bush at side of stage._]

SECOND GIRL. What will be done to us?

FIRST GIRL. Hush! If he should see you! He is always watching for the first sign of fear.

SECOND GIRL. What is the first sign of fear?

FIRST GIRL. It is a thought--

SECOND GIRL. But can he see one's thoughts--

FIRST GIRL. Only thoughts of fear.

SECOND GIRL. If one hides them well even from oneself?

FIRST GIRL. Even then. But words are more dangerous still. If we say we are afraid we will be more afraid, because whatever we make into words makes itself into our bodies.

VOICES OFF STAGE. Oh, master! Mercy, master!

FIRST GIRL. It spoils him, this cringing. It spoils a good servant. As long as he is kept in his place--

[_A man enters and kneels, looking at Life off stage, in fear._]

FIRST GIRL [_steals to man and says_]. But he is only a slave. Do you not see that he is a slave?

MAN. How can you say that? Look at his terrible face. Who that has seen his face can doubt that he is a master, and a cruel one?