Chapter XXVIII: Part 28

THIEF. Certainly. I'm not telling you to sell them as relics. You couldn't in the first place, except to a home for the aged and indigent blind. But I know a man who needs them. They'd rejoice his heart. They'd be things of beauty to him. I wish I could help you pick out something with your money. But I don't dare risk seeing you again.

CLARA [_reentering, with the picture tied_]. Why not? There's honor among thieves.

THIEF. There _is_. If you were thieves, I'd know just how far to trust you. Now, I'd be willing to trust Charles as man to man. Gentleman's agreement. But [_looking at Clara_] I don't know--

CHARLES. Clara is just as honest as we are--with her own class. But your profession puts you outside the pale with her; you're her natural enemy. You haven't any rights. But you've been a liberal education for us both.

THIEF. I've been liberal. You meet me--listen!--there are footsteps on the porch. I--I've waited too long. Here I've stood talking--

CHARLES. Well, stop it now, can't you? I don't see how you've ever got anywhere. Hide!

THIEF. No, it can't be done. If you'll play fair, I'm safe enough here in this room, safer than anywhere else. Pretend I'm a friend of yours. You will? Gentleman's agreement? [_He shakes hands with Charles._]

CHARLES. Gentleman's agreement. My word of honor.

CLARA [_offers her hand as Charles starts for the door_]. Gentleman's agreement, but only in this. I haven't forgiven you for what you've said. If I ever get you in a tight place--look out.

THIEF [_taking her hand_]. Don't tell more than one necessary lie. It's so easy to get started in that sort of thing. Stick to it that I'm a friend of the family and that I've been spending the evening. God knows I have!

CLARA. I'll try to stick to that. But can't I improvise a little? It's such fun!

THIEF. Not a bit. Not one little white lie.

CHARLES [_entering with a young man behind him_]. It's a man from the _News_. He says he was out here on another story and he's got a big scoop. There's been some artistic burglary in the neighborhood and he's run onto it. I told him we hadn't lost anything and that we don't want to get into the papers; but he wants us to answer a few questions.

REPORTER. Please do. I need some stuff about the neighborhood.

CLARA. I don't know, Charles, but that it's our duty. [_She smiles wickedly at the thief._] Something we say may help catch the thieves. Perhaps we owe it to law and order.

REPORTER. That's right. Would you object if I used your name?

[_Charles and the thief motion to Clara to keep still, but
throughout the rest of the conversation she disregards their
frantic signals, and sails serenely on._]

CLARA. I don't know that we should mind if you mention us nicely. Will the Hempsteds be in? I shan't mind it, if they don't.

REPORTER. Good for you. Now, have you--

CLARA. We have missed something. We haven't had time to look thoroughly, but we do know that one of our pictures is gone.

[_The men are motioning to her, but she goes on sweetly._]

REPORTER. A-a-ah! Valuable picture. He hasn't taken anything that wasn't best of its class. Remarkable chap. Must be the same one that rifled the Pierpont collection of illuminated manuscripts. Culled the finest pieces without a mistake.

THIEF [_interested_]. He made one big mistake. He--[_stops short_].

REPORTER. Know the Pierponts?

THIEF. Er--ye-es. I've been in their house. [_Retires from the conversation. Clara smiles._]

REPORTER. Well, believe me, if he's taken anything, your reputation as collectors is made. Picture, eh? Old master, I suppose?

CLARA. A family portrait. We treasured it for that. Associations, you know.

REPORTER. Must have been valuable, all right. Depend on him to know. He doesn't run away with any junk. Who was the artist?

CLARA. We don't know--definitely.

REPORTER. Never heard it attributed to anybody?

CLARA. We don't care to make any point of such things. But there have been people who have thought--it was not--a--a Gilbert Stuart.

CHARLES. Clara!

CLARA. I don't know much about such things myself. But our friend [_nods toward the thief_], Mr.--Mr. Hibbard--who has some reputation as a collector, has always said that it was--not. In spite of that fact, he had offered to take it off our hands.

CHARLES. Clara, you're going too far--

REPORTER. She's quite right. You're wrong, Mr. Hibbard. You may be good, but this fellow KNOWS. Too bad you didn't take it while the taking was good. This fellow never sells. Of course he can't exhibit. Just loves beautiful things. No, sir, it was real.

THIEF [_between his teeth_]. It wasn't. Of all the--

CLARA [_smiling_]. You take your beating so ungracefully, Mr. Hibbard. The case, you see, is all against you.

THIEF. Be careful. The picture may be found at any minute. Don't go too far.

CLARA. I hardly think it will be found unless the thief is caught. And I have such perfect confidence in his good sense that I don't expect that.

REPORTER. Lots of time for a getaway. When was he here?

CLARA. He was gone when we came from the theater. But we must almost have caught him. Some of our finest things were gathered together here on the table ready for his flight. How he must have hated to leave them, all the miniatures and the cloisonne. I almost feel sorry for him.

CHARLES. I do.

CLARA. You see, we went to the Garrick for the Granville Barker show. Mr. Hibbard took us [_she smiles sweetly at him_]. I'm devoted to the best in drama and I always insist that Charles and Mr. Hibbard shall take me only to the finest things. And now we come home to find our--you're sure it was a Gilbert Stuart?--gone.

THIEF. I've got to be getting out of here! Can't stay a minute longer! Charles, I wish you luck in that reform we were speaking of, but I haven't much hope [_looking at Clara_]. There is such a thing as total depravity. Oh, here! [_taking package from under his arm_]. What am I thinking of? I was running away with your package [_hands it to Clara_].

CLARA [_refusing it_]. Oh, but it's yours, Mr. Hibbard. I couldn't think of taking it. Really, you must keep it to remember us by. Put it among your art treasures at home, next to your lovely illuminated manuscripts, and whenever you look at it remember us and this delightful evening, from which we are all taking away so much. You must keep it--that's part of the bargain, isn't it? And now are we even?

THIEF. Even? Far from it. I yield you your woman's right to the last word, and I admit it's the best [_stoops and kisses her hand_]. Good-night, Clara. [_To the reporter._] May I give you a lift back to town?

REPORTER. Thanks. As far as the Hempsteds' corner. Good-night. Thank you for this much help. [_Exeunt._]

CHARLES. Thank goodness, they've gone. What relief! That pace is too rapid for me. You had me running round in circles. But he's got the picture, and we're safe at last. But don't you think, Clara, you took some awful risks. You goaded him pretty far.

CLARA. I had to. Did you hear him call me Clara?

CHARLES [_chuckling_]. He doesn't know our name. But he wasn't a bad fellow, was he? I couldn't help liking him in spite of his impudence.

CLARA. You showed it. You took sides with him against me all the time the reporter was here. But, you know, he was right about our house. It's all wrong. The Hempsteds would see it in a minute. I believe I'll clear out this cabinet and have this room done over in mahogany.

CHARLES. Too expensive this winter.

CLARA. Birch will do just as well--nobody knows the difference. Listen! is he coming back?

REPORTER [_in the doorway_]. Excuse me--listen. Mr. Hibbard says you've given him the wrong package. He says you need this to go with the picture of your grandmother. And he says, sir, that you need to get wise to your own family. He's waiting for me. Good-night! [_Exit._]

CHARLES [_angrily_]. Get wise to my own family? He may know all about art [_undoing the picture_], but I guess I know my own relatives. [_Holds up picture so that audience can see it, but he can't._] And if that isn't a picture of my own cousin Paul, I'll eat--[_sees Clara laughing_]. What the devil! [_Looks at picture, which represents George Washington._] Clara! you did that! [_laughs uproariously_]. You little cheat!

[_Curtain._]

THE MEDICINE SHOW

A COMEDY

BY STUART WALKER

Copyright, 1917, by Stewart & Kidd Company.
All rights reserved.

THE MEDICINE SHOW was first produced by Stuart Walker's Portmanteau
Theatre, with the following cast:

LUT'ER _Williard Webster_.
GIZ _Edgar Stehli_.
DR. STEV'N VANDEXTER _Lew Medbury_.

CHARACTERS

LUT'ER.
GIZ.
DR. STEV'N VANDEXTER.

_THE SCENE is on the south bank of the Ohio River. An old soap box,
a log and a large stone are visible. The river is supposed to flow
between the stage and the audience. In the background, at the lop of
the "grade," is the village of Rock Springs._

Reprinted from "Portmanteau Plays" published by Stewart & Kidd
Company, Cincinnati, Ohio, by special permission of Stewart and Kidd.
The professional and amateur stage rights are strictly reserved by
Mr. Stuart Walker.

THE MEDICINE SHOW

A COMEDY BY STUART WALKER

[_PROLOGUE: This is only a quarter of a play. Its faults are many.
Come, glory in them with us._

_You are a little boy once more lying on your rounded belly on the
cool, damp sands beside the beautiful river. You are still young
enough to see the wonder that everywhere touches the world; and
men are in the world--all sorts of men. But you can still look
upon them with the shining eyes of brotherhood. You can still feel
the mystery that is true understanding. Everywhere about you men
and things are reaching for the infinite, each in his own way, be
it big or little, be it the moon or a medicine show; and you
yourself are not yet decided whether to reach for the stars or go
a-fishing. Brother!_

_Lut'er enters or rather oozes in._

_He is a tall, expressionless, uncooerdinated person who might be
called filthy were it not for the fact that the dirt on his skin
and on his clothes seems an inherent part of him. He has a wan
smile that--what there is of it--is not displeasing. Strangely
enough, his face is always smooth-shaven. He carries a fishing
pole made from a tree twig and equipped with a thread knotted
frequently and a bent pin for hook._

_Lut'er looks about and his eyes light on the stone. He attempts
to move it with his bare foot to the water's edge, but it is too
heavy for him. Next he looks at the log, raises his foot to move
it, then abandons the attempt because his eyes rest on the lighter
soap box. This he puts in position, never deigning to touch it
with his hands. Then he sits calmly and drawing a fishing worm
from the pocket of his shirt fastens it on the pin-hook and casts
his line into the water. Thereafter he takes no apparent interest
in fishing._

_After a moment Giz enters._

_Giz is somewhat dirtier than Lut'er but the dirt is less
assimilated and consequently less to be condoned. Besides he
is fuzzy with a beard of long standing. He may have been shaved
some Saturdays ago--but quite ago._

_Giz doesn't speak to Lut'er and Lut'er doesn't speak to Giz, but
Lut'er suggests life by continued chewing and he acknowledges the
proximity of Giz by spitting and wiping his lips with his hand.
Giz having tried the log and the rock finally chooses the rock and
acknowledges Lut'er's salivary greeting by spitting also; but he
wipes his mouth on his sleeve._

_After a moment he reaches forward with his bare foot and touches
the water._]

GIZ. 'Tis warm as fresh milk.

[_Lut'er, not to be wholly unresponsive, spits. A fresh silence
falls upon them._]

GIZ. 'S Hattie Brown came in?

[_Lut'er spits and almost shakes his head negatively._]

She's a mighty good little steam-boat.

LUT'ER. She's water-logged.

GIZ. She ain't water-logged.

LUT'ER. She is.

GIZ. She ain't.

LUT'ER. She is.

GIZ. She ain't.

[_The argument dies of malnutrition. After a moment of silence Giz
speaks._]

GIZ. 'S river raisin'?

LUT'ER. Nup!

[_Silence._]

GIZ. Fallin'?

LUT'ER. Nup!

GIZ. Standin' still?

LUT'ER. Uh!

[_The conversation might continue if Giz did not catch a mosquito on
his leg._]

GIZ. Gosh! A galler-nipper at noonday!

[_Lut'er scratches back of his ear warily._]

GIZ. An' look at the whelp!

[_Giz scratches actively, examines the wound and anoints it with
tobacco juice._

_The Play would be ended at this moment for lack of varied action
if Dr. Stev'n Vandexter did not enter._

_He is an eager, healthy-looking man with a whitish beard that
long washing in Ohio River water has turned yellowish. He wears
spectacles and his clothes and general appearance are somewhat an
improvement upon Lut'er and Giz. Furthermore he wears what were
shoes and both supports of his suspenders are fairly intact. He is
whittling a piece of white pine with a large jack-knife._

_Seeing Lut'er and Giz he draws the log between them and sits._

_After a moment in which three cuds are audibly chewed, Dr. Stev'n
speaks._]

DOCTOR. What gits me is how they done it.

[_For the first time Lut'er turns his head as admission that some
one is there. Giz looks up with a dawn of interest under his
beard. Silence._]

DOCTOR. I traded a two-pound catfish for a box of that salve: an' I don't see how they done it.

[_Lut'er having turned his head keeps it turned. Evidently Dr.
Stev'n always has something of interest to say._]

GIZ. Kickapoo?

DOCTOR. Ye'. Kickapoo Indian Salve. I don't think no Indian never seen it.

[_He looks at Giz for acquiescence._]

GIZ. Y'ain't never sure about nothin' these days.

[_Dr. Stev'n looks at Lut'er for acquiescence also, and Lut'er
approving turns his head forward and spits assent._]

DOCTOR. I smelled it an' it smelled like ker'sene. I biled it an' it biled over an' burnt up like ker'sene.... I don't think it was nothin' but ker'sene an' lard.

GIZ. Reckon 't wuz common ker'sene?

DOCTOR. I don't know whether 't wuz common ker'sene but I know 't wuz ker'sene.... An' I bet ker'sene'll cure heaps o' troubles if yer use it right.

GIZ. That air doctor said the salve ud cure most anything.

LUT'ER [_as though a voice from the grave, long forgotten_]. Which doctor?

GIZ. The man doctor--him with the p'inted musstash.

LUT'ER. I seen him take a egg outer Jimmie Weldon's ear--an' Jimmie swore he didn't have no hen in his head.

DOCTOR. But the lady doctor said it warn't so good--effie-cacious she called it--withouten you took two bottles o' the buildin' up medicine, a box o' the liver pills an' a bottle o' the hair fluid.

GIZ. She knowed a lot. She told me just how I felt an' she said she hated to trouble me but I had a internal ailment. An' she said I needed all their medicine jus' like the Indians used it. But I told her I didn't have no money so she said maybe the box o' liver pills would do if I'd bring 'em some corn for their supper.

DOCTOR. Y' got the liver pills?

GIZ. Uh-huh.

LUT'ER. Took any?

GIZ. Nup, I'm savin' 'em.

LUT'ER. What fur?

GIZ. Till I'm feelin' sicker'n I am now.

DOCTOR. Where are they?

GIZ. In m' pocket.

[_They chew in silence for a minute._]

DOCTOR. Yes, sir! It smelled like ker'sene ter me--and ker'sene 't wuz.... Ker'sene'll cure heaps o' things if you use it right.

[_He punctuates his talk with covert glances at Giz. His thoughts
are on the pills._]

DOCTOR. Which pocket yer pills in, Giz?

GIZ [_discouragingly_]. M' hip pocket.

[_Again they chew._]

DOCTOR. The Family Medicine Book where I learned ter be a doctor said camphor an' ker'sene an' lard rubbed on flannel an' put on the chest 'ud cure tizic, maybe. [_He looks at Giz._]

DOCTOR. An' what ud cure tizic ought ter cure anything, I think.... I'd 'a' cured m' second wife if the winder hadn't blowed out an' she got kivered with snow. Atter that she jus' wheezed until she couldn't wheeze no longer. An' so when I went courtin' m' third wife, I took a stitch in time an' told her about the camphor an' ker'sene an' lard. [_Ruefully._] She's a tur'ble healthy woman. [_His feelings and his curiosity having overcome his tact, he blurts out._] Giz, why'n th' hell don't yer show us yer pills!

GIZ. Well--if yer wanner see 'em--here they air.

[_He takes the dirty, mashed box out of his hip pocket and hands
it to the Doctor. The Doctor opens the box and smells the pills._]

DOCTOR. Ker'sene.... Smell 'em, Lut'er. [_He holds the box close to Luter's nose._]

LUT'ER [_with the least possible expenditure of energy_]. Uh!

DOCTOR. Ker'sene!... Well, I guess it's good for the liver, too.... Gimme one, Giz?

GIZ. I ain't got so many I can be givin' 'em ter everybody.

DOCTOR. Jus' one, Giz.

GIZ. She said I ought ter take 'em all fer a cure.

LUT'ER. What yer got, Giz? [_Calling a man by name is a great effort for Lut'er._]

GIZ. Mostly a tired feelin' an' sometimes a crick in th' back. [_Lut'er displays a sympathy undreamed of._]

LUT'ER. Gimme one, Giz.

GIZ. Gosh! You want th' whole box, don't yer?

LUT'ER. Keep yer pills. [_He spits._]

DOCTOR. What's ailin' _you_, Lut'er?

LUT'ER. Oh, a tired feelin'. [_There is a long moment of suspended animation, but the Doctor knows that the mills of the gods grind slowly--and he waits for Lut'er to continue._] An' a crick in m' back.

DOCTOR. I'll cure yer, Lut'er. [_Lut'er just looks._] If that Kickapoo doctor with the p'inted muss-tash kin cure yer, I guess I can.

GIZ [_who has been thinking pretty hard_]. Got any terbaccer, Doc?

DOCTOR. Yep.

GIZ. Well, here's a pill fer a chaw. [_He and the Doctor rise._]

[_Giz takes a pill out of the box and the Doctor takes his tobacco
from his pocket, reaches out his hand for the pill and holds out
the tobacco, placing his thumb definitely on the plug so that Giz
can bite off so much and no more. Giz bites and the Doctor takes
over the pill. Lut'er not to be outdone takes a battered plug of
tobacco from his pocket and bites of an unlimited "chaw." The
Doctor takes his knife from his pocket and cuts the pill, smelling
it._]

DOCTOR. Ker'sene! [_He tastes it._] Ker'sene! Now I been thinkin' things over, Lut'er and Giz.... [_He tastes the pill again._] Ker'sene, sure! [_He sits down on the log once more, spits carefully and crosses his legs._] I got a business proposition to make. [_Silence. Lut'er spits and crosses his legs, and Giz just spits._]

DOCTOR. There ain't enough home industry here in Rock Springs. We got a canning fact'ry and a stea'mill; but here comes a medicine show from Ioway--a Kickapoo Indian Medicine Show from Ioway! Now--what we need in Rock Springs is a medicine show! [_He waits for the effect upon his audience._]

LUT'ER [_after a pause_]. How yer goin' ter git it?

DOCTOR. Well, here's my proposition. Ain't we got as much horse sense as them Ioway Indians?

LUT'ER. A damn sight more. [_That is the evident answer to the Doctor, but Lut'er develops a further idea._] We got the country from the Indians.

GIZ [_after a moment of accumulating admiration_]. By Golly, Lut'er, yer right.

DOCTOR. Now, I got some medicine science. I'd 'a' cured my second wife if it hadn't been for that busted winder.

GIZ. Yeh, but what come o' yer first wife?

DOCTOR. I could 'a' cured her, too, only I hadn't found the Family Medicine Book then.

LUT'ER. Well, what I wanter know is--what's yer proposition.... I'm in a hurry.... Here comes the Hattie Brown.

[_The Hattie Brown and the whistle of the steam-mill indicate
noon. Lut'er takes in the line--removes the fishing worm and puts
it in his pocket._]

DOCTOR. Well, I'll make the salve an' do the talkin'; Giz'll sort o' whoop things up a bit and Lut'er'll git cured.

LUT'ER. What'll I get cured of?

DOCTOR. Oh, lumbago an' tired feelin' ... crick in the back and tizic.

LUT'ER. But who'll take a egg out o' somebody's ear?

DOCTOR. Giz'll learn that.

LUT'ER [_with a wan smile that memory illuminates._] An' who'll play the pianny?

DOCTOR. Besteena, my daughter.

LUT'ER. Where we goin'?

DOCTOR. We'll go ter Lavanny first.

LUT'ER. How'll we git there?

DOCTOR. Walk--unless somebody give us a tote.

GIZ. We kin go in my John-boat.

LUT'ER. Who'll row? [_There is fear in his voice._]

GIZ. We'll take turns. [_Lut'er looks with terror upon Giz._]

LUT'ER. How fur is it?

DOCTOR. Three an' a half mile.... Will you go, Lut'er?

LUT'ER [_evidently thinking deeply_]. How fur is it?

GIZ. Three an' a half mile.

DOCTOR. Will yer go, Lut'er?

LUT'ER. Uh-h.

DOCTOR. Huh?

GIZ. He said, uh-huh.

[_Lut'er chews in silence._]

DOCTOR. I thought he said uh-uh.

GIZ. He said uh-huh.

DOCTOR. He didn't say nothin' o' the sort--he said uh-uh.

[_They turn to Lut'er questioningly. He is chewing intensely._]

LUT'ER [_after a pause_]. How fur did yer say it wuz?

DOCTOR. Three an' a half mile.

[_Silence._]

GIZ. We'll each take a oar.

[_Silence. A stentorian voice is heard calling "Stee'vun." The
Doctor rises, hastily._]

DOCTOR. What d'yer say, Lut'er?

LUT'ER. It's three an' a half mile ter Lavanny--an' three an' a half mile back.... Pretty fur.

DOCTOR. We kin come back on the current.

LUT'ER. Three an' a half mile air three an' a half mile--current or no current.

[_Again the masterful female voice calls "Stee'vun." There is no
mistaking its meaning. The Doctor is torn between home and
business. Lut'er takes up his rod, rebaits the hook with the
fishing-worm from his pocket and casts his line into the river._]

LUT'ER. I'll think it over ... but I ain't givin' yuh no hope.... Three an' a half mile one way air pretty fur ... but two ways--it's turruble.

DOCTOR. Come on, Giz. We'll talk it over.

[_The Doctor and Giz leave Lut'er to his problem. Lut'er is
undecided. He is at a crisis in his life. He spits thoughtfully
and looks after the retreating Doctor and Giz._]

LUT'ER. Three an' a half mile.... [_He takes in his line and removes the fishing-worm. He rises and looks again after the Doctor and Giz. He hesitates._] ... two ways.... [_He starts in the opposite direction, as he justifies himself to his inner self._] Rock Springs is fur enough fur me! [_When he disappears the play is over._]

[_Curtain._]

FOR ALL TIME

A PLAY

BY RITA WELLMAN

Copyright, 1918, by Rita Wellman.
All rights reserved.

CHARACTERS

MONSIEUR ROBERT.
NANETTE.
DIANE BERTRAL.
MADAME LE BARGY.

TIME: _France, 1915_.

Dedicated to
MAURICE MAETERLINCK,

Whose essay in
"The Wrack of the Storm"
inspired this play.

Application for the right of performing FOR ALL TIME must be
made to Rita Wellman, 142 East 18th Street, New York.

FOR ALL TIME

A PLAY BY RITA WELLMAN

[_SCENE: Sitting room in the house of Madame le Bargy. Furnished
in excellent taste. Main entrance center, this leads into a hall.
Another entrance left, back. French window right near back, near
this stands a large wing chair. Couch left, well forward. Chairs
near this. Nanette comes from the entrance left as Monsieur Robert
comes into the room from entrance center. Nanette is a European
old maid. Her dark eyes are full of fire and her lips are bitter.
She speaks quickly and sharply and is always on the defensive.
Monsieur Robert is well groomed, gentle, weak and likable. Nanette
is in deep mourning. Monsieur Robert carries a small bunch of
flowers which he holds awkwardly and fussily as if they
embarrassed him._]

NANETTE. Monsieur Robert....

ROBERT [_coming forward_]. Nanette.... How are you, Nanette! You look thinner.

NANETTE. Yes, it's the mourning. It's unbecoming.

ROBERT. I shouldn't say that, Nanette. How is Madame? Tell me. [_Nanette gives an eloquent shrug._] I haven't dared to come before. You know how I hate anything--anything like a scene.

NANETTE [_sitting left_]. Sit down, Monsieur Robert. [_He sits in a chair forward right._] It was cowardly of you not to come to see Madame.

ROBERT. Yes, I know. I am such a coward. I cannot imagine how I came to be such a coward, Nanette. I am afraid to do anything any more. Yet my mind keeps so active. How do you account for that? It's my imagination. It seems to run ahead and do things in my place. In these times I am all over the world at once. Nanette, will you believe it, that I suffer actually with every man in the trenches?

NANETTE [_contemptuously_]. Oh, I daresay.

ROBERT. You don't understand my case. I am fifty-five. I have lived for my work always. Why should I give it up now that the world has gone mad? Some one must stay behind and keep things together. Some one must conduct the dull march of everyday life. We can't all be heroes.

NANETTE. Your work!

ROBERT. Well, to be at the head of a big charity. That is something. Countless lives, numberless families are in my care. I am sort of a father to them all, Nanette.

NANETTE. They could have a mother as well.

ROBERT [_with pained eagerness_]. Do you really think that?

NANETTE. I know it. There are many women as well fitted for your post as you--better fitted, in fact.

ROBERT. Oh, surely not. I have had the experience of years. I love my work so. I love my little people.

NANETTE. You have made a pleasure out of what should be only your duty. It isn't the poor who couldn't get along without you, Monsieur Robert. It's you who couldn't get along without the poor.

ROBERT. Well, are we all to live merely to do our duty? Is that what the Germans are going to teach us--to be machines like themselves?

NANETTE. I suppose after all, you are better off where you are.

ROBERT. How do you mean, Nanette?

NANETTE. You are more of a woman than a man after all.

ROBERT. You were always bitter against me, Nanette.

NANETTE. You were always superior with me, because I was not beautiful like Madame nor young like Maurice.

ROBERT. How did you say she was, Nanette?

NANETTE. You will find her greatly changed.

ROBERT. I wanted to come to her as soon as she came, from Aix les Bains. When she went to recover the body.

NANETTE [_in a tone of deep feeling_]. Yes, when we went hoping to find Maurice.

ROBERT [_softly_]. Tell me about his death.

NANETTE. There were terrible days in which we could learn nothing certain. Several times they gave up hope. What hope! It only made certainty more unbearable.

ROBERT. They found him at last.

NANETTE. Yes, they found Maurice.

ROBERT. The French. That was good.

NANETTE. No, the Germans.

ROBERT. But Madame wrote me....

NANETTE. That was a lie she told you. The Germans found him. It was they who had the privilege of putting him away to his final rest. He had just won his cross.

ROBERT. He won the cross!

NANETTE. Yes, didn't you hear? That very week. [_Almost overcome with emotion she rises._] We have it now. [_She goes out back a moment and returns with a small black box which she opens reverently._] Here is all that we have left of Maurice. [_She hands him a picture post card._] This was taken only the day before.... [_She hands him a letter._] This was the last letter ... you can see the date.... He was never so confident or full of life.... There is even a joke about me. He was always making fun of me. I don't know why. [_She hands him a revolver._] Here is his revolver. [_She takes out the small box with the cross of war and hesitates to give it to him._] This--this is what we have left in place of Maurice. [_With a violent look she opens the box and then suddenly hands it to him._]

ROBERT. You mustn't look on it in that way, Nanette.

NANETTE. I can't help it.

ROBERT [_reading_]. Maurice Paul le Bargy. Little Maurice! He was never meant for action either. Do you remember how we used to tease him? He hated to make any decision. He loved life's dreams and nuances.

NANETTE. He was nothing but a dreamer. Madame and I were talking only yesterday of his garden--did we ever tell you of the garden he had when he was a boy?

ROBERT [_handing her the box very carefully_]. No. Tell me about the garden.

NANETTE. He made himself a garden, everything in it was arranged as if for people only an inch high.

ROBERT. But there are no such people.

NANETTE. Of course not. That is why every one made fun of him. But he went on building it just the same. It was scaled so that he was a giant in it. There were little houses and little walks and little boats sailing on lakes two feet across. The geraniums were great trees, his pet turtle was like a prehistoric monster, and the hollyhocks pierced heaven itself. When people told him that no one could really enjoy such a garden he said that the ants could, and they ought to appreciate a little beauty because they were always so busy.

ROBERT. That was like Maurice. How vast the sky must have seemed to him who loved minute shadowy things!

NANETTE. He was always timid. Everything violent frightened him. They made him positively ill. And how he dreaded the sea! Do you remember how Madame tried to get him to swim?

ROBERT. But he did learn to swim finally.

NANETTE. Yes. But he told me one day--"Nanette, when I hear the surf my whole body shakes with fear. I feel as if some terrible giant were calling me. I hate the great sea."

ROBERT. And he fell into the sea, didn't he?

NANETTE. Two thousand feet.

ROBERT. What he must have endured all alone!

NANETTE. No one can know.

[_After a pause._]

ROBERT. You say Madame has changed?

NANETTE [_looking toward left before speaking_]. Yes.

ROBERT. Why do you look around like that? Is there anything wrong?

NANETTE. Yes, there is.

ROBERT. What do you mean? Is Madame very ill?

NANETTE. There has been a change.

ROBERT. What kind of a change?

NANETTE. Madame has changed. You wouldn't know her, Monsieur Robert.

ROBERT. You mean she has grown old? Madame was always so beautiful. Has her hair turned white?

NANETTE. No, it isn't that.

ROBERT. You mean she is so stricken she can't talk with me? She won't see me?

NANETTE. She will see you. But for your own peace of mind I advise you to go away. I will tell her that you came. That will be the best way.

ROBERT. A change, you say? You mean she has altered so....

NANETTE. Yes. The truth is, it is Madame's mind.

ROBERT. Her mind! No, no, don't tell me that. That is the worst of all. Do you mean that she is not clear in her mind? She wouldn't know me? She wouldn't be able to remember? Nanette, I can't believe it. I can't believe that this great and beautiful woman could give in like that. Everywhere you see the small ones breaking down. But the great spirits like hers--oh they must keep up. What else is there left for us if they give up, too?

NANETTE. If you could hear her talk, Monsieur Robert. The things she says.... Sometimes I have to run away and lock my door. I am afraid of her.

ROBERT. I cannot stay now, Nanette. I couldn't bear it. It was hard enough for me before. What can I say to her, Nanette, when my own grief finds no comfort? Maurice was like my own son. He was the fruit of my own soul. Into him went all the spiritual love I had for Madame, the love which for fourteen years....

NANETTE. Monsieur Robert!

ROBERT. Oh, Nanette, forget your piety for once and let me speak my heart out.

NANETTE [_with her strange, bitter coldness_]. No, Monsieur Robert, I can never forget what you call my--piety.

ROBERT. No, you never can. That is why I have never been able to talk to you. Your heart is closed to all but Maurice.

NANETTE. Yes, that is true. My heart has been like one of those vases of domestic use which the ancients buried with the dead in their tombs. All that was warm and beautiful in me is closed away forever with Maurice. Although I was never more to him than a familiar object which was a part of his everyday life. Only his old nurse.

ROBERT. How did he come to inspire such love in every one who came near him?

NANETTE. Because he was young and beautiful.

ROBERT. But that is simply a temporary state.

NANETTE. Maurice would always have been young and beautiful.

ROBERT. Yes, he made you believe that. When he talked with you you felt glad and young as if you'd heard music.

NANETTE. He loved life.

ROBERT. Yet he was a coward.

NANETTE. But he always dared to do what he was afraid to do.

ROBERT. Yes, that is where he was different from me. That is what I have never been able to do--to dare as far as I could imagine.

[_He goes slowly toward the back._]

NANETTE [_rising_]. You are going?

ROBERT. Yes. I can't see her. You see the state I am in. What could I say to her? I had better go.

NANETTE. Yes, it is the best way for you both.

[_Robert hesitates at the chair right. He tentatively puts a hand
out to touch the arm of it, and regards it curiously._]

NANETTE [_unsteadily_]. What are you doing?

ROBERT. It is strange.... [_Suddenly he falls into the chair and buries his head in the cushions, sobbing and calling._] Maurice! Maurice!

NANETTE [_hoarsely_]. Monsieur Robert. [_As he does not answer--sharply and frightened._] Monsieur Robert!

ROBERT [_rises slowly, a little dazed, but calm_]. Yes, yes, I know. I am trying your nerves. Forgive me. I am going now, Nanette. Here--I was forgetting--The flowers I brought for Madame. You will give them to her, Nanette.

NANETTE. Monsieur Robert, why did you act in that way just now? Why did you go to that chair?

ROBERT. I don't know.

NANETTE. When we came home from Aix les Bains I thought Madame would go wild. She tore her clothes. She went striding about the house from room to room calling at the top of her voice--Maurice, Maurice. She went into all the rooms, into his room, looking into the closets--everywhere--Then she came running down here. She went back into the back sitting room where she is now--then back into this room. At last she came to that chair.

ROBERT. To that chair, Nanette? Are you sure?

NANETTE. To that very chair. Then she flung herself down into it and cried. That was the first time she had cried. I went away. When I came back she was still there. And then this strange and terrible change came over her.

ROBERT. How do you mean?

NANETTE. A peculiar quiet, an awful calm like death--only more terrible.

ROBERT. Yes, that is how I felt.

NANETTE. Just now in that chair?

ROBERT. Yes, just now.

NANETTE. A calm, you say?

ROBERT. Yes, like a hand pressed over my heart.

NANETTE. But you seemed happier, Monsieur Robert.

ROBERT. I am happier, Nanette. [_He goes toward back._] I am going.

[_He goes out at center. Nanette watches him dumbfounded. She then
gets the black box, carefully puts away her keepsakes, and takes
the box out center, returning almost at the same time that Diane
Bertral enters. Diane Bertral is a beautiful woman of about
twenty-eight. She is nervous and ill at ease, almost hysterical._]

DIANE. Does Madame le Bargy live here?

NANETTE. Yes, she does. Where can Julie be? Did the maid let you in?

DIANE. No, the gentleman who just went out ... he left the door open for me. He evidently thought I was a friend.

NANETTE. Did you want to see Madame le Bargy?

DIANE. Yes, very much. Could I see her, do you think?

NANETTE. She is back in her own sitting room. She isn't to be disturbed.

DIANE. No, I suppose not. I shouldn't have come.

NANETTE. If you wished to speak with her about anything important I can take the message.

DIANE [_absently_]. No--no....

NANETTE [_regarding her suspiciously_]. You know Madame le Bargy personally?

DIANE. No, no, I don't.

NANETTE. I thought not.

[_Sitting._]

DIANE. May I sit down here for a moment? I am so tired. I have walked all the way, or rather I have run most of it. I am all out of breath.

NANETTE. If you will let me know your message at once.... Otherwise there is a seat down at the concierge. I am very busy.

[_She goes toward back, with her lips set._]

DIANE [_rising_]. The truth is.... I can't tell you. It is something personal.

NANETTE. Something personal? Perhaps you are mistaken in the Madame le Bargy ... this is Madame Jeanne le Bargy--the writer....

DIANE. Yes, yes, I know. Mightn't I speak with her for a moment?

NANETTE. That is impossible. Since the death of her son Madame le Bargy has seen no one. No one at all.

DIANE. I might have known. Let me think. My mind has been so confused lately. I have been in such a state of mind--I don't know what to do. I came running here without any idea in my head. I felt that I would be all right if I could only see Madame le Bargy.

NANETTE [_tersely_]. Perhaps Mademoiselle had better see the doctor. At the end of the street--number 27--you will find an excellent physician.

DIANE. No physician on earth can cure me.

NANETTE [_after giving her an uneasy, distrustful look_]. Well, since you cannot see Madame le Bargy, and since you have no message for her, I must ask you please to excuse me. I am busy.

[_She stands waiting for Diane to go, regarding her with undisguised
hostility._]

DIANE. Yes, I will go. Why did I ever come? It was a mad idea. I see now that the things which seem so simple and easy in the heat of your own mind are the hardest of all to accomplish when you meet the coldness of other minds. Don't trouble about me. I am going. I didn't come to harm you or Madame in any way.

[_As she goes toward the door she passes the chair at right and stops. She goes toward it curiously, then hopefully. Finally she flings herself into it as Robert has done, and sobs the name--"Maurice! Maurice!"_]

NANETTE [_horrified_]. Mademoiselle!

[_Diane rises slowly, looking about her in a dazed way. Then she
suddenly leaves the chair._]

DIANE [_quietly_]. Forgive me. I will go quietly now.

NANETTE [_trembling_]. Mademoiselle. Just now--you spoke a name....

DIANE. Yes.

NANETTE. Was it--Maurice?

DIANE. Yes.

NANETTE [_drawing away, her face going black_]. I see.

DIANE [_going up to her curiously_]. Who are you?

NANETTE [_drawing herself up, showing the utmost contempt, hatred and fear of Diane_]. Who are _you_?

DIANE. My name is Diane Bertral.

NANETTE. Who _are_ you?

DIANE. Just that.

NANETTE [_as before_]. I see.

DIANE [_passionately_]. Madame, listen to me....

NANETTE. Mademoiselle....

DIANE. Mademoiselle--are you--Nanette?

NANETTE [_who seems to grow small with dread_]. Those who know me well call me that.

DIANE. He often spoke of you. He told me of you. You were his old nurse. You were very dear to him. He always said he was the only person to reach your heart. [_Seizing Nanette's hand._] Nanette! Let me call you Nanette! Let me touch you. Let me know that heart which he could waken. I am so in need of help. I am so in need of love.

NANETTE [_drawing away_]. Mademoiselle!

DIANE. You have lost Maurice. You know what I feel. Only you can know. Help me. Let us help each other! We can never be strangers for our hearts bear the same sorrow.

NANETTE. I don't understand. [_Growing stern with the realization._] Maurice! Can it be that Maurice.... No, that is impossible. He was not like that.

DIANE. Nanette. I loved Maurice. He loved me.

NANETTE [_recoiling as if at a great obscenity_]. Oh!

DIANE. Why do you speak like that? What could there be in our love for each other that was wrong? If you only knew what we were to each other. If you only knew, Nanette....

NANETTE [_hoarsely_]. Maurice.... I can scarcely believe it.

DIANE. Let me talk to you about him. Let me tell you about us. [_She sits on the couch left, and feverishly begins to talk._] I am an actress. We met at a supper party after the theater. You know how shy Maurice was. He was afraid of most people. I saw that. I drew him to one side and got him to talk. He was like a child when any one took a real interest in him. He told me all about himself at once, about you, and about Madame le Bargy....

NANETTE [_passionately_]. Oh, keep still!

DIANE [_not noticing Nanette's hostility_]. And about your house in the country, and his garden and books and his piano and all the things he loved. Then he went on and told me about his work, and how he wanted to be a great writer, how he wanted to carry on what was best in the French theater. He promised to show me his play.

NANETTE. His play!

DIANE. I told him to come to my house and read it to me. He came the next day. It was the twenty-first of March. I remember the date perfectly.

NANETTE. We always left town on that day, but we could not get Maurice to go, so we had to leave him behind. Now I understand.

DIANE. Yes. He stayed to lunch with me, and that afternoon I had him read his play to me. Do you remember how beautiful his voice was? It started in a sort of sing song, like a child singing itself to sleep, but as he went on his voice grew deeper and stronger, all your senses melted into his voice and he carried you along as if on a great wave of emotion, of ecstasy. Monsieur Laugier came later. He was my manager then. I had Maurice read the play to him. And later some other people came, and every one urged Monsieur Laugier to take the play. I begged him to read it. I will never forget it. It seemed to me the most important thing in the world. Well, as you know, Monsieur Laugier did produce Maurice's play. And, although they wouldn't let me be in it, I always considered it my play, too.

NANETTE. Then the story he told us of his meeting with Monsieur Laugier--that wasn't true?

DIANE. No. I invented that for him to tell you.

NANETTE. He lied to us!

DIANE. You would never have understood.

NANETTE. Let me think--Maurice's play was produced in September, 1913. That is two years ago. Two years.... Maurice lived here with us--day after day--saying nothing--telling us nothing--We never suspected. We never dreamed that he would deceive us.

DIANE. He did not deceive you. Not even the closest hearts can reveal everything.

NANETTE. But to continue to see you ... all that time! It is unthinkable.

DIANE. How could he explain what he didn't understand himself? How could he tell you of what was a mystery to him? From the first moment we met we lived and thought and felt as one being.

NANETTE [_vehemently_]. No! With us he was like that! He was like that with us.

DIANE. With me!

NANETTE. To think of it! A common actress!

DIANE [_jumping up_]. How could you?

NANETTE. If I had known of this affair I would have gone straight to you.

DIANE. And what could you have done?

NANETTE [_significantly_]. I could have found a way.

DIANE. You are a terrible old woman.

NANETTE. Am I terrible? I had to fight my way when I was your age--because I was not pretty. I had the choice of being a free drudge or some man's slave. So I chose to toil alone. In order to get along alone I had to stifle every drop of humanity in my being. I had to bind up my human instincts as they bind up the breasts of mothers who flow too bounteously with life-blood long after their babes have need of it. I had to become sharp and bitter because sweetness and softness get crushed under in the battle to live. I learned to fight and I forgot to feel. Then, when I was used up and hard I met Madame le Bargy and she took me into her house because I had one valuable thing left. I had learned that it is wiser to be honest. I was there when Maurice was born.

DIANE. You were with him from the very beginning then.

NANETTE. I was an old maid of thirty-five. I had always lived alone. I hadn't ever had a dog to care for. Then all at once I had this baby, this little baby. I had his baby cries to call me. I had his tiny hands to kiss. I used to press my lips against his throbbing head, against the soft fissure where life and death meet, and I would say to myself, "Here, with one pressure I can crush away life. Here, with one pressure is where immortal life must have entered."

DIANE. Then later--when he grew up....

NANETTE. Day by day I watched over him. Madame was busy. Even after her husband died she was in the world. She had her writing. She had her friends. Her heart was fed in a hundred different ways. While I--I had only Maurice.

DIANE. I understand.

NANETTE. I lived only for Maurice. When I saw that it was raining I thought of Maurice. When I saw that the sun shone I thought of Maurice. If I was awakened suddenly in the night his name was on my lips. It seemed to me I could not take a deep breath for fear of disturbing his image against my heart.

DIANE. Nanette! Can you believe that I have felt that way too?

NANETTE. You!

DIANE. Yes, yes, I have. Nanette, when he was little, when he was a boy growing up, did you never think of me?

NANETTE. Of you!

DIANE. Yes, of the woman who would eventually take your place. Didn't you think of what she would be like, didn't you plan her, didn't you pray that she might be fine and great and beautiful? I know you did. You must have! Well, I tried to mold myself that way. I tried to be worthy of every dream you could have had for him, that his mother could have had. That is how I loved him.

NANETTE. Do you know what I thought of when the idea of a woman for Maurice came into my mind? I thought that when she came--if she ever did--

[_She pauses, looking ahead of her._]

DIANE. Yes?

NANETTE [_turning and looking at Diane vindictively_]. I would kill her!

DIANE. Nanette, I would have killed myself rather than harm Maurice.

NANETTE. Then why did you allow him to throw himself away?

DIANE. Throw himself away! Nanette, I never knew what love was until Maurice came. I was older than he. I knew life better. I knew myself better. I had struggled. You say that you had to struggle because you weren't pretty. I had to struggle because I was. You can't know what it is to have every other man you meet want to possess you, not because he loves you, but because your face suggests love to him and he hasn't learned to know the difference. He finds that out later, and then he reproaches you for being beautiful.

NANETTE. To think that Maurice should fall so low!

DIANE. But I came to know things. I was determined to find love. From man to man, Nanette, I climbed up and up, picking my way, falling and getting up again. Only the truly educated can love. I loved Maurice with all the wisdom I had accumulated in years of suffering. I gave him a perfect gift I had molded in pain.

NANETTE. You! What had _you_ to give?

DIANE. Then the war broke out.

NANETTE. Yes, the war. Maurice was one of the first. He made up his mind at once.

DIANE. No, he did _not_ make up his mind at once.

NANETTE [_with a dreadful realization_]. Then it was....

DIANE. I made up his mind for him.

NANETTE [_vehemently_]. You did it! It was you then! You sent Maurice to war. After they excused him! After they gave him a post at home! You sent him to his death. Oh, I hated you before, but now....

DIANE. His mother and you clung to him. There was one excuse after the other. You made him believe that he was too delicate and sensitive. You used all of your influence. Madame le Bargy tried in every way to keep him. She even testified officially that Maurice was weak from birth and had dizzy spells and an unaccountable fear of the sea. And you testified under oath to a long and dangerous illness he had had in childhood.

NANETTE. I did that. And it was all a lie.

DIANE. But all the time I was urging him to go. We three women fought for mastery. But you see who won! I did! When he came to me at nights--in the country--to my little house where we had been so happy, there, there, in the very room where we were nearest, then I persuaded him. With my kisses, Nanette, with my arms, with all the power I had over him--then was when I thrust him away.

NANETTE [_triumphantly_]. You didn't love him then!

DIANE [_passionately_]. Could I love Maurice and see him stay behind? Could I really want him to save his body for me when thousands were giving theirs for France?

NANETTE. For France.... But what of us?

DIANE. Oh, the selfishness of those who have never really loved!

NANETTE. Never loved! How can you say that I have never loved?

DIANE. What can you know of my loss? Your love was a habit. It was the love you could have lavished on a dog, or a horse or anything. But with me--now that he is gone, I have lost everything. I have no place to turn. I haven't even memory, as you have. Your love always took on the color of memory, but mine was a living, flaming thing, necessary as food and drink--as life itself!

NANETTE [_white with passion_]. But my love was pure and yours was not. [_She crosses the room._] Good God, to think that this thing should ever have happened to us in this house! [_She covers her face with her hands and runs out back._]

[_After a moment Madame le Bargy enters, left. She is a handsome
woman of fifty or more. She wears a long loose gown of white silk.
Her voice is perfectly modulated and beautiful. There is about her
a gentleness and nobility of perfect spiritual strength. She looks
at Diane curiously for a moment, and then goes to her with hand
outstretched. During the following the day is fast becoming dark,
and the sun's setting is seen from the French window._]

MADAME LE BARGY. I heard Nanette's voice. She has a habit of keeping people from me, although I am always glad to see any one. May I know your name?

DIANE. My name is Diane Bertral.

MADAME LE BARGY. Diane Bertral. I have never heard of you.

DIANE. No. I am an actress. But I am not so very well known. Are you Madame le Bargy?

MADAME LE BARGY. Yes. Won't you sit down on the couch there? Why did you come to see me, Mademoiselle?

[_She sits at right forward._]

DIANE [_embarrassed_]. I came.... I don't know why I came, Madame le Bargy.

MADAME LE BARGY. You know some one I know, perhaps--some friend of us both.

DIANE. Yes, that is it. Some one we have both--lost.

MADAME LE BARGY [_with a quick look at Diane_]. A _dear_ friend?

DIANE. Yes, a very dear friend.

MADAME LE BARGY. Do you mean--Maurice?

DIANE. Yes.

MADAME LE BARGY. You knew him well?

DIANE. I loved him.

MADAME LE BARGY. Yes, I know.

DIANE [_astonished_]. You know!

MADAME LE BARGY. Yes, Maurice has told me.

DIANE. No, no; that I am sure of. I am sure he never has. He has never told a soul. That was our agreement. We were to keep it secret and sacred. Not even you were to know, not as long as we lived.