Chapter I: Part 1

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GLADYS: DO YOU CALL THAT MUSIC?]

PLAYS
FOR SMALL STAGES

BY
MARY ALDIS

_Mrs. Pat and the Law_—_The Drama Class_
_Extreme Unction_—_The Letter_
_Temperament_

NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1915

Copyright, 1915, by MARY ALDIS

_All Rights Reserved_

TO MY BOYS

NOTE

The author desires to express gratitude for assistance in the preparation and presentation of these plays to Mr. and Mrs. Charles Atkinson, Mr. Benjamin Carpenter, Mr. Arthur Davison Ficke, Mr. Hobart Chatneld-Taylor, and many others of that sympathetic group of players, authors, and audiences who have together made The Playhouse possible.

LAKE FOREST, ILLINOIS]

CONTENTS

PAGE

PREFACE xiii

MRS. PAT AND THE LAW 1

THE DRAMA CLASS OF TANKAHA, NEVADA 29

EXTREME UNCTION 47

THE LETTER 67

TEMPERAMENT 85

ILLUSTRATIONS

HUGH: MY BELOVED! } _Frontispiece_
GLADYS: DO YOU CALL THAT MUSIC? }

PAT: WHAT DID THEY DO THEN? WELL, THEY LOOKED AND
LOOKED FER A YEAR AN’ A DAY, IVERY MAN O’ THIM
IN A DIFFERENT COUNTHREE _Facing p._ 14

MRS. STEDMAN: THERE IS A FAR MORE IMPORTANT REASON
FOR BREVITY THAN CONSTRUCTION. EVEN A ONE-ACT PLAY
MAY BE ONE ACT TOO LONG ” 32

THE GIRL: I’M SO TIRED! I’D LIKE SOMETHING NICER ” 52

TANNER: YOU FORGET THAT I AM A NOVELIST ” 80

PREFACE

No one can deny the present Dramatic Renaissance. Plays profitable and unprofitable, popular and unpopular, proper and improper, plays priggish and plays profane, are being presented, read, discussed, revised, written about and quarrelled over. The Drama is furiously to the fore and, in spite of the “Movies,” continues to hold the absorbed interest of an increasing number of people.

In the midst of all this dramatic stir, this unrest of expression, certain ones, weary of being onlookers, arise and announce, “We too will act,” and others cry out, “We too will write.” So the Amateur providing his own cue, makes his entrance, and after being regarded a bit askance by “The Profession” is allowed to play his part.

In the Spring of 1911 I cast an affectionate and calculating eye upon a small frame house next door. It was shortly acquired; partitions and ceilings were pulled out, the lean-to kitchen became the stage; dressing-rooms were added and a miniature theatre which we called The Playhouse was ready.

In the five Summers since, a group of amateur players have presented some fifty one-act plays to the great pleasure and interest of themselves and the alternate, sometimes mingled, amusement, surprise, disapproval and horror of their neighbors.

Many of the plays given were written by the players themselves or adapted from short stories. Others were translated from the French, German or Italian. All were experimental, undertaken in a spirit of adventure with the simple motive of amusing the players and their friends. The five plays in this book were written for production at “The Playhouse.” They have all gained in rehearsal by suggestions from the actors. In the comedies much is left to the interpretation of the players. Often amusing lines or “business” comes to a player from the response of the audience, but he and his fellows must be quick of wit that such improvisation may seem entirely natural.

Amateurs have one great advantage, they give a play only once or twice and so attain a freshness and spontaneity that it would take years of technical training to enable them to keep up through a long run. H. T. Parker, commenting in _The Boston Transcript_ upon a performance of the “Lake Forest Players” on a dramatic visit to the Toy Theatre in Boston says:

“Time and again amateurs attain simplicity because they do not
suspect intricacy, and truth because they see it and embody it
in their acting with no veils of habit, method or precedent.
Given histrionic instinct, aptitude and observation, they act
with ease, freedom and variety, and with full self-surrender to
their parts. If the means are not the professional means they
do their office which is to bring the personages to life in the
terms of the play. Acting for themselves and in their own way,
they are not weighted with self-consciousness, tradition or
imitative effort.”

The word self-consciousness is the key-note. “Drop self-consciousness and get under the skin of the character you portray” might be considered the theory of amateur acting.

Occasionally efforts have been made at The Playhouse to select a stage director, but as each participant takes advice and direction in inverse ratio to the firmness with which he is able to maintain his own views the plan has not proved effective. Our composite results are obtained by a process of mutual suggestion and recrimination, and if these simple means fail it is never from any shyness on the part of a fellow-actor in expressing an honest opinion.

There are two rules posted in the Green Room:

KEEP YOUR TEMPER
AND
RETURN YOUR MANUSCRIPTS.

The second is imperative, the first variable in application.

In selecting plays we have departed radically from the amateur tradition of resuscitating “plays with a punch,” which have fared well in the hands of professionals. In the established “tricks of the trade” of course the amateur cannot compete with the professional. This is the true significance of the well-known Green Room hoot that “The worst professional is better than the best amateur.”

We generally try to give our audiences something they have not heard before, and seek plays in which the expressed word, the mental attitude and the interplay of character are of more importance than the physical action. Here, if anywhere, although such plays may seem difficult, lies the amateur’s opportunity. So we are not afraid of plays with little action and much talk, for is not the most intense drama of all, the drama of the soul, the struggle between mind and mind, heart and heart? There lies all the pain, the joy, the perplexity of life. It is in talk, low and intense, gay and railing, bitter and despairing, as the case may be, that we moderns carry on our drama of life, the foundation for the drama of the stage.

MARY ALDIS.

_Lake Forest, Illinois. July, 1915._

MRS. PAT AND THE LAW

_Played for the first time on September 14, 1913, by Mr. BENJAMIN CARPENTER, Mrs. ARTHUR ALDIS, Miss POLLY CHASE, Miss ISABEL MCBIRNEY, and Mr. CHAS. ATKINSON._

MRS. PAT AND THE LAW.

CHARACTERS:

PATRICK O’FLAHERTY.
NORA O’FLAHERTY, _his wife_.
JIMMIE, _his crippled son, aged about eight or ten years_.
MISS CARROLL, _the Visiting Nurse_.
JOHN BING, _a Policeman_.

SCENE: _A small, poor room in a tenement flat. Cook-stove,
back; shabby lounge, front; at left, kitchen table with a faded
flower in a bottle; a wash-tub on bench, centre left, back near
door. At left, door to bedroom. At right, door to hallway._

_When the curtain rises NORA O’FLAHERTY is discovered at the
wash-tub. She is a large woman, with a worn, sweet face, across
her forehead an ugly red cut. The room is untidy, and so is
NORA. The stove is blazing hot. After stirring the clothes in
the boiler NORA wipes her face with the back of her hand and
sighs wearily as she puts a fresh lot into the tub of suds._

JIMMIE.

[_Speaking from bedroom._]

Maw, what time is it?

NORA.

Most tin, Jimmie-boy.

JIMMIE.

Whin’ll Miss Carroll come?

NORA.

Well, now, I shouldn’t wonder if she’d be comin’ along the shtreet and oup the shtairs and right in at that door about the time the clock gits ’round to half past tin, or maybe it’s sooner she’ll be. Do you think it’s a flower she’ll be bringin’ today, Jimmie-boy?

JIMMIE.

To-day’s Tuesday, ain’t it?

NORA.

Shure!

JIMMIE.

There’s no tellin’. Sometimes she says there ain’t enough to go ’round.

[_A pause._]

NORA.

[_Sorting out clothes._]

Sakes alive—the wash that’s on me! I’ll niver git through.

[_A short silence._]

JIMMIE.

Maw, what time is it now?

NORA.

Well, I couldn’t rightly say, the steam bein’ in me eyes like. Faith, ye must bear in mind there’s many that’s needin’ her. Maybe at this very minute it’s a new-born baby just come into the world she’s tendin’, or an ould man just goin’ out of it! She’ll be comin’ soon now, I’ll warrant ye.

JIMMIE.

But, Maw, me leg hurts, and Paw takes all the room in the bed, he’s sleepin’ so noisy!

NORA.

Och, Jimmie darlin’, have a little patience! Me name’s not Nora O’Flaherty if Miss Carroll don’t bring us a flower this day, or if there ain’t enough to go ’round, shure it’s the bright happy worrd or the little joke or plan she’ll have in her mind for ye ’ull hearten the day as well as a flower.

[_Another pause._]

JIMMIE.

Maw! Ain’t it half past tin yit?

NORA.

Oh, laddie, an’ I hadn’t the great wash on me hands I’d dance a jig t’ amuse ye! Shure many’s the song I’ve sung an’ the jig I’ve danced whin I was a slip o’ a gurrl back in the ould counthree, afore I had the four of yiz and yer Paw to look afther! Now it’s me arrms have need to move livelier than me legs, I’m thinkin’. Listen, now, an’ I’ll see if I can call to mind a little song for ye. [_Sings, keeping time with the wash-board._]

There was a lady lived at Rhin,
A lady very stylish, man—But
she snapped her fingers at all her kin
And—she fell in love wid an Irishman.
A wild tremenjous Irishman,
A rampin’, stampin’ Irishman,
A devil-may-take-’em—Bad as you make ’em—
Fascinatin’ Irishman!

Oh, wan o’ his een was bottle green
And the tother wan was out, me dear,
An’ the calves o’ his wicked twinklin’ legs
Were two feet ’round about, me dear.
Oh—the slashin’, dashin’ Irishman—
The blatherin’, scatherin’ Irishman,
A whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy,
Brandy, dandy Irishman!

An’ that was the lad the lady loved
Like all the gurrls o’ quality.
He’d smash all the skulls o’ the men o’ Rhin
Just by the way o’ jollity.
Oh, the ratlin’, battlin’ Irishman!
The thumpin’, bumpin’ Irishman,
The great he-rogue, wid his roarin’ brogue!
The laughin’, quaffin’ Irishman![1]

There’s a song fer ye now! Ha, Jimmie-boy, I’m thinkin’ that song ’u’d had more sense an’ it told what she did wid her rampin’, roarin’ Irishman wanst she got married to him.

[_Knock on the hall door._]

JIMMIE.

Ah, that’s her!

NORA.

There! Didn’t I tell ye? [_NORA wipes her hands and hurries to open the door, admitting MISS CARROLL._] Ah! Miss Carroll dear, it’s welcome ye are this day. Jimmie’s been watchin’ and wearyin’ for ye since the daylight dawned. How are ye?

[_She has turned away as MISS CARROLL enters so as to conceal
her head, but MISS CARROLL catches sight of it and, taking hold
of her arm, turns her around._]

MISS CARROLL.

Why, Mrs. O’Flaherty, what an awful cut! You look as if you had been hit with an axe!

NORA.

Oh, git along with ye!

MISS CARROLL.

How did it happen?

NORA.

Shure, ’twas nothin’ at all but his boot, and he that unstiddy he couldn’t aim shtraight! It’s ’most well now. [_She turns to tub._]

MISS CARROLL.

[_Taking off her coat and opening her satchel._]

It isn’t “’most well.” It’s a fresh wound and a bad, deep cut. As I’ve told you before, I’ve no patience with you for putting up with such treatment. Don’t you know the law would protect you? You ought to swear out a warrant for your husband’s arrest on the grounds of personal violence. That might teach him a lesson. This is the third time now in a month he’s struck you. It’s outrageous! Has he got a job yet?

JIMMIE.

Ain’t you comin’, Miss Carroll? Me leg hurts awful.

MISS CARROLL.

Yes, Jimmie-boy, in a minute. [_She has been getting hot water from the stove, preparing cotton gauze, etc., for dressing. She stops a moment in her work and regards MRS. O’FLAHERTY._] Has he got a job yet?

NORA.

He had work last week.

MISS CARROLL.

For how long?

NORA.

For three days—an’ a part o’ four.

MISS CARROLL.

And then he got drunk and got turned off, eh? And you gave him your wash money, too, I suppose, as usual.

NORA.

No, no, Miss Carroll dear, I didn’t do that at all. I only give him the half of it, and niver any of it would he have had but—well—knowin’ it was in the house, it was coaxin’ me mornin’ and night he was with that wheedlin’, soft way o’ him, and the silly loverin’ talk till the heart just ran melty within me. [_MISS CARROLL regards her with her lips pursed._] I know it’s an ould fool you’re thinkin’ me, but jest let you be listenin’ to his talk wanst and see what you’d do, and him tellin’ stories to Jimmie the while so kind and lovely.

MISS CARROLL.

[_Stopping at entrance to bedroom, basin in hand._]

“Kind and lovely” indeed! When he takes your wages and hurts and abuses you, and Jimmie hasn’t a decent place to live in because his father’s a lazy—[_She stops in amazement on the threshold as she sees PAT asleep in the room within._] Well, I never! [_Comes back into the room._] Mrs. O’Flaherty, you must make Pat get up and get out of there while I take care of Jimmie.

[_MRS. O’FLAHERTY looks injured, but wipes her hands and does
as she is bid. MISS CARROLL stands watching at the door._]

NORA.

[_Within bedroom._]

Pat! Pat! Wake up, will ye! [_PAT groans._] My, but you’re sleepin’ hard! Pat! Miss Carroll says ye’re to git oup and git out o’ here while she takes care o’ Jimmie. Come along, now! That’s right, Jimmie-boy, give him a good thump! Are ye oup on yer legs now? Mind what yer doin’. There ye are!

PAT.

[_Entering, yawning._]

Wha’ for Miss Carroll says git oup and git out?

[_MISS CARROLL glares at PAT. PAT, turning, catches her eye and
smiles sweetly ere she vanishes into the bedroom._]

NORA.

Well, Pat O’Flaherty, I’m thinkin’ Miss Carroll ain’t so awful admirin’ o’ your ways! Sometimes I’m thinkin’ she sees ’em clearer nor your lovin’ wife does!

[_PAT picks up one of his shoes, sits down on the sofa and
looks around for the other; pays no heed to NORA’S talk._]

PAT.

Where’s me other shoe? [_Gets down on hands and knees and looks under the sofa._] Shure I had the two of ’em on me feet yesterday. [_Laughs gaily._] Maybe I wore wan on ’em out lookin’ for that job that I didn’t git!

[_NORA watches him a moment, then hands him the shoe she has
picked up near the stove._]

NORA.

Here’s your shoe.

PAT.

Ah! That’s the darlin’; thank ye kindly. I’d be losin’ me head some day if ’twern’t for you, Nora gurrl.

NORA.

[_At tub while PAT slowly puts on shoes._]

Oh, Pat, ye will thry and git some worrk today, won’t ye, man? Thry harrd. If they don’t take ye on at the first place, go on an’ don’t git discouraged. Ye know ye’re the grand workman whin ye thry, and ye must git a stiddy job soon. Ye really must, Pat. I’m shtrong; I don’t mind the washin’ fer me own sake. I’d do anythin’ fer you and the childer, but whin Jimmie frets at me to play with him, an’ the others come rushin’ in from school a-wantin’ thur maw to do this and that fer ’em, shure it comes harrd an’ I dassn’t take me arrms from the suds to ’tend on ’em and comfort ’em and cook ’em thur meals nice like that visitin’ housekeepin’ lady told me to.

[_PAT has not been listening very attentively, but has taken in
the drift of NORA’S plea._]

PAT.

[_Pulling himself together and putting on hat and coat._]

Ah, Nora gurrl, I’ll be gettin’ a good job today shure. [_Suddenly catches sight of her forehead._] Wha’s that on your head?

NORA.

[_Startled._]

Me head, is it? Miss Carroll was sayin’ just now it was “personal violence and breakin’ the law.” I was thinkin’ afore that ’twas only the heel o’ an ould boot walked around daytimes on Pat O’Flaherty, lookin’ for a job.

[_PAT regards her uneasily, meditating speech, but appreciates
he is too befuddled for argument, so begins to whistle as he
gets himself out and down-stairs, leaving the door open. NORA
goes to shut it, and stands a moment reflecting, looking after
PAT, then returns to the tub near the bedroom door, evidently
thinking. Short pause._]

JIMMIE.

[_Within bedroom._]

Say, Miss Carroll, d’ye think I’ll ever git it?

MISS CARROLL.

Christmas is coming, Jimmie-boy.

JIMMIE.

Huh! So’s Fourth o’ July.

MISS CARROLL.

We’ll see what we can do.

JIMMIE.

The other lady you told about me brung me a suit, but some cove lots bigger ’n me wore it all out first. I don’ like it. Gee! but I wisht I had a bran’-new suit just wanst.

[_NORA makes a little yearning gesture towards the room._]

MISS CARROLL.

Now, Jimmie-boy, come along. It won’t hurt much. When you’re all fixed up on the lounge in there I’ve got something pretty for you.

JIMMIE.

Another flower? What kind is it?

MISS CARROLL.

We’ll see. Now lean on me.

[_They enter._]

NORA.

That’s the lad. Are ye all fixed up now? He’s gettin’ lots better, ain’t he, Miss Carroll?

[_JIMMIE is a pale, emaciated child with a wan little face of
great sweetness of expression. His clothes are much too large
for him. He holds up one bandaged leg and hobbles on crutches.
MISS CARROLL helps him onto the lounge, produces from a paper
by her satchel two pink roses, holding them up._]

JIMMIE.

Gee! ain’t they pretty! Can I keep ’em both?

MISS CARROLL.

Both for you, Jimmie-boy, and we’ll see what can be done about the suit. Perhaps we can find one somewhere that’s bran’ new. [_She gets a book from the shelf._] See if you can learn all the new words on this page before I come tomorrow, will you? That’s a dear old boy! Now, Mrs. O’Flaherty, let’s see about that forehead. Sit down here. [_MISS CARROLL places a chair, front stage._]

NORA.

[_Washing._]

Oh, what’s the use botherin’ about me head? It’ll git well of itself. It always does. Don’t be mindin’ me.

MISS CARROLL.

But, Mrs. O’Flaherty, you really must let me see to it. It’s a bad cut.

NORA.

[_Wiping her hands._]

Oh well, you’re so good to Jimmie I’ll have to oblige you. I suppose you haven’t had many persons with holes in their heads made by boots to tind to? But you’re young, Miss Carroll dear, you’re young yit. [_She seats herself with a sigh._] I’m talkin’ silly, Miss Carroll, but there’s no room for a joke in me heart this day. I’ve been thinkin’—about what you said afore you wint in to Jimmie.

MISS CARROLL.

[_Binding up the injured head._]

Yes?

NORA.

You were tellin’ me to git out a warrant ’gainst Pat. Do you think it would keep him from drinkin’ just for a bit till we git caught up on the rint and the furniture? Do you think it would?

MISS CARROLL.

Mrs. O’Flaherty, you know it’s a shame and an outrage the way Pat’s behaving. He’s wearing you out. He’ll do you harm some day and then what will become of Jimmie? He ought to be taught a good lesson.

NORA.

Would they do any hurt to him, do you think, an’ they locked him up? Would they care for him kindly, and he maybe helpless like?

MISS CARROLL.

They certainly would care for him. Now, Mrs. O’Flaherty, you go over to the Maxwell Street Station and show them your forehead, and say you want Pat “took up” for a day or so just for a lesson, do you understand?

NORA.

Yes, I understand. Oh, it seems an awful thing to be doin’ to your own man, don’t it? After all them things I said when we got married? No, no, I niver could do it, niver! [_Goes back to tub._]

MISS CARROLL.

Well, then, tell Pat you may do it, anyway. It will make him respect you. But you’re such a softy, of course you’ll do nothing. I must go now. Mrs. Flaherty, you must not let Pat sleep with Jimmie. It is not good for him.

NORA.

[_While MISS CARROLL is packing satchel and getting on bonnet
and coat._]

Shure now, Miss Carroll, you’re down on Pat for everythin’. He’s a good, lovin’ paw to Jimmie-boy he is—makin’ him happy and pleasin’ him like nobody else can. Everybody’s kind to Jimmie and nobody’s kind to Pat—and they’re just alike—two childer they are—both on ’em foolish and lovin’ and helpless like, and I love ’em both. Oh, I love ’em! If you’d hear ’em together an’ you wid your eyes shut, it’s hard set you’d be to say which was the man and which was the child. Sometimes I can’t ’tind to me washin’ fer listenin’ to the funny talk o’ the two o’ them. Wan time they’ll be settin’ on the high moon for a throne, with the little shtars to wait on ’em and shootin’-shtars to run errands; another, they’ll be swimmin’ along through the deep green sea, a-passin’ the time o’ day an’ makin’ little jokes to the fishes. Ah, ye ought to hear ’em go on!

MISS CARROLL.

Well, I’m glad he amuses Jimmie when he’s at home, but he ought to be at work, a great strong man like him! He needs a good lesson, Pat does. Good-bye, Jimmie-boy. Be sure and have the new words learned. [_She gives him a little pat, and with a wave of the hand goes out. NORA is unheeding JIMMIE’S call of “Maw.” JIMMIE has not listened to the conversation between NORA and MISS CARROLL._]

JIMMIE.

[_Raising himself and looking around._]

Maw! She said she’d try and git me a bran’-new suit. Say, Maw, d’ye think she’ll pay out her money fer it? I don’t want her to do that. She just gets wages same as Paw. She told me how it was. Say, Maw, why don’t Paw bring home no more wages?

NORA.

[_Coming to him, then taking sudden decision._]

Jimmie-boy, Maw’s goin’ out. [_Hastily gets out a very queer bonnet and mantle while she speaks and arrays herself, putting bonnet on crooked to partially conceal bandage._] You just lie quiet there like a good boy, an’ a lamb’s tail couldn’t whisk itself three times till I’ll be back again. I’m not goin’ to be a fool softy no longer, and Paw’ll bring home some more wages afther that lesson he’s needin’. Are ye all right now? Ye won’t be needin’ anything? [_Pats him on the head, then leans over and kisses him fiercely, protectingly._]

JIMMIE.

Where you goin’?

NORA.

I’m goin’ to git the law to help us if it can. [_She goes out and bangs the door._]

[_JIMMIE, left alone, is very bored and listless. He turns over
the book, then lets it fall, twists himself wearily. Suddenly
his whole face brightens happily at a step outside. PAT’S gay
whistle is heard coming up-stairs._]

PAT.

[_Entering._]

Hi, Jimmie-boy! There’s the great lad for ye! All shtuffed full and a-runnin’ over he is wid fine learnin’ out of books. Did ye ever see the loike o’ him? Sittin’ up dressed like folks! Faith, it’s the proud Pat I am this day! Let’s see what great thing about the wide worrld is a-hidin’ itself inside o’ this yere. [_Picks up book._]

JIMMIE.

I’m tired o’ that. Tell me a story.

PAT.

A shtory, is it? An’ me to be sittin’ here tellin’ a young lad shtories at the high noon of the day, and the job takin’ itself wings to fly off, I might be catchin’ and holdin’ down and I to go afther it instid! [_Sitting down by JIMMIE._] Where’s your Maw?

JIMMIE.

I dunno. She said she wasn’t going to be no fool softy no more, and then she went out quick like. What’s a fool softy?

[_PAT is very uneasy. He does not answer, then goes to the
door, looks out, comes back slowly._]

JIMMIE.

Paw, me leg hurts awful today. Tell me a story.

PAT.

All right, lad, I’ll tell ye a story. [_Sits down near sofa._] Did I ever tell you about the king of Ireland and his siven sons? No? Once upon a time there was a great, high-up, noble king reigned over Ireland with a golden crown on his noble head an’ a rulin’ shtick in his hand—Whin’ll your Maw be back?

JIMMIE.

I dunno. Go on with the story.

PAT.

Well, this grand king had siven sons, all fair and beautiful they were in armour of silver and shteel, an’ on their heads helmets covered with precious stones dug up out o’ the earth that would make your eyes blink for the shinin’. Bye-and-bye the siven lads grew up strong and mighty, and whin the king saw that they were gettin’ to man’s eshtate he got him together all of the workmen out of a job there were in the kingdom of Ireland, and he sets ’em to buildin’ siven great castles, each wan on a different high-up mountain-top, so high that the peaks and shpires of some of them made holes right through the blue sky, do ye mind? Well, whin the castles were all grand and ready he called his siven sons together, an’ he stood ’em all up in a glitterin’ row and he said to ’em, “Now, me byes, it’s no end of a foine time ye’ve been havin’ a-skylarkin’ ’round me kingdom, but it’s siven high castles I’ve built for ye now and ye’d better be gettin’ yourselves wives and some bits of furniture on the installment plan, maybe, and settlin’ down. Go forth now through all the world and find ye siven beautiful princesses, and the wan of ye that gits the beautifullest shall have the biggest castle.”

[_NORA enters, grim. PAT notes her demeanor, but concludes
comment is unwise. She takes off her bonnet and shawl and goes
to her tub, listening to PAT._]

JIMMIE.

Go on, Paw, what did they do thin?

PAT.

[_Keeping a weather eye on NORA._]

What did they do thin? Well, they looked and looked fer a year and a day, ivery one o’ them in a different counthry, but whiniver one of the siven would be findin’ a princess who seemed handsome and likely, whin he looked again careful like, he’d be feared one of his brothers would be findin’ a handsomer one, so he’d let her go and move on.

JIMMIE.

An’ all the beautiful princesses, weren’t there any anywhere no more?

PAT.

[_Slapping his leg in the joy of a sudden inspiration._]

Faith, Jimmie-boy, it’s just comin’ into me head what was the throuble! Shure the siven grand princes must ’a’ looked in the church window the day I married your Maw, and seein’ her that wanst o’ course no princess could plaze ’em afther. It was green-eyed envy filled their siven souls that day, I’m thinkin’, for Pat O’Flaherty gettin’ such a jewell and nobody left beautiful enough for them at all!

JIMMIE.

Paw, quit yer jokin’! Git along with the story.

PAT.

Jimmie darlin’, it’s not jokin’ I am. Your Maw’s a jewell, a rael beautiful jewell, and that’s the truth. I don’t deserve her, I don’t. [_Suddenly breaks down and sobs._]

JIMMIE.

Aw, Paw, don’t do that—don’t.

[_He begins to whimper. NORA starts to comfort him when a knock
is heard. PAT shakes himself together and opens the door, and
JOHN BING, a policeman, enters._]

PAT.

[_To NORA._]

A policeman!

JOHN BING.

[_Glancing at paper in his hand._]

Does Patrick O’Flaherty live here?

PAT.

Faith, he does that, an’ what would the majestic arrm o’ the law be wantin’, if ye please, intrudin’ in a peaceful man’s house?

JOHN BING.

I’ve a warrant here for the arrest of Patrick O’Flaherty on the ground of repeated violence towards his wife.

PAT.

Howly Saints! An’ who shwore out that warrant?

JOHN BING.

[_Glancing at paper._]

Nora O’Flaherty. [_Looking at NORA._] I guess it’s true, all right. Come along.

PAT.

Nora! You niver did that to your own man? [_NORA makes no reply but a sniffle._] Nora!

JOHN BING.

Well, hurry up. Better come quietly.

JIMMIE.

Paw, what’s the matter? What’s he come for? Make him go ’way.

PAT.

[_Taking BING’S coat lapel confidentially._]

Mr. Officer—you see the little lad there? He’s—well—well, he’ll never walk no more. Perhaps you got childer yourself? Would you mind just waitin’ a bit of a minute, or maybe two, till I finish a shtory I was tellin’ him? He’ll let me go aisier so.

JOHN BING.

[_Looking at his watch._]

Five minutes, then.

PAT.

Thank ye kindly. [_Returns to JIMMIE, giving his lounge a little push so JIMMIE will not see JOHN BING._] Now, me lad, where were we in the shtory?

JIMMIE.

About the beautiful princesses.

PAT.

Shure, I’m thinkin’ it’s mortal weary them siven princes will be lookin’ for their beautiful princesses all this time, when right here in this room with us two all so happy an’ lovin’-like is your Maw, out o’ their reach. [_JIMMIE suddenly laughs out merrily, the first time he has done more than smile wanly._] So what do you think they did next?

JIMMIE.

I dunno.

PAT.

Guess.

[_Here NORA, who has been weeping and washing harder and
harder, makes a dash and throws open the door to the hall,
grabbing the warrant meanwhile out of the hand of JOHN BING._]

NORA.

Mr. Officer, you walk right out o’ here and down them shtairs and don’t you be waitin’ no more for Patrick O’Flaherty. He ain’t goin’ with you. He’s goin’ to git a job stiddy and shtay here.

JOHN BING.

You withdraw the charge? I’ll have to report it at the station.

NORA.

Charge nothin’! You git out o’ here.

JOHN BING.

[_Stopping to gaze at her a moment._]

Well, what do you think of that? The next time one of them suffragist ladies asks me what I think, I’ll tell her I think women is fools, that’s what I’ll tell her. Yep, all fools! [_He goes out._]

[_PAT has sat discreetly silent, twirling his thumbs rapidly
and looking in front of him._]

JIMMIE.

Paw! What’s Maw talkin’ about? What ’u’d he want?

PAT.

Niver you mind, Jimmie-boy. It was just payin’ the O’Flaherty family a call he was, nice and friendly like. Your Maw invited him, but when she saw how dishturbin’ his august prisence was in our happy home, she invited him out again. Ain’t that it, Nora darlin’?

[_He holds out his hand to NORA. NORA weakly approaches,
sniffling, then falls on his neck._]

NORA.

Oh, Pat, Pat! I niver meant to do that awful thing—I niver did. I dunno what made me. It was that nurse a-talkin’ at me. She put a spell on me, she did. Oh Pat, oh Pat!

PAT.

[_Patting her._]

Niver mind, niver mind. I know ye didn’t. It’s all right. Niver mind, gurrl.

[_A knock at the door. NORA pulls herself free and opens the
door to MISS CARROLL._]

PAT.

[_Retreating._]

It’s that dam’ nurse! She’ll be the death o’ me yit.

MISS CARROLL.

[_Coming quickly forward towards JIMMIE._]

I can’t stop a second. I just ran in to tell Jimmie-boy I’ve been telephoning and it’s all fixed. The bran’-new suit’s going to happen next Saturday. It’s my half-holiday and I’ll come for you in a taxi and we’ll go down-town and we’ll buy it all bran’ new to fit, made just for Jimmie.

JIMMIE.

Aw! ’tain’t so. You’re kiddin’ me!

MISS CARROLL.

’Tis so, honor bright! Cross my heart and hope to die. Well, I must run. [_Suddenly appreciating NORA’S aspect._] Why, Mrs. O’Flaherty, what’s the matter?

NORA.

The matter is you’re a wicked, interferin’ woman, a-makin’ me do them awful things to me pore man there! Look at him, so sweet and gentle like! Ain’t ye ’shamed o’ yourself, a-plottin’ and workin’ to put apart them as God has j’ined together in the howly estate of matrimony? It’s a bad, wicked woman I am to be listenin’ to your terrible talk. That there horrid big officer in his shiny buttons, lookin’ so fat and so satisfied, waitin’ there at the door to grab up me pore man hasn’t a coat to his back hardly!

MISS CARROLL.

What about the boot, Mrs. O’Flaherty?

NORA.

The boot, is it? Shure it’s the careless woman I am, happenin’ in the way whin he was takin’ ’em off and he with a bit of the creature in him made him excited like.

MISS CARROLL.

All right, Mrs. O’Flaherty, I’m sorry. I won’t give any more advice. It’s against the rules. I shouldn’t have said anything. [_She looks at PAT, who has been regarding her quizzically while NORA holds forth, and now, catching her eye, has the impertinence to wink. MISS CARROLL struggles hard not to respond to his grin, but can’t quite keep her gravity._] You see, I haven’t any man of my own, so I suppose it’s hard for me to understand married life. Good-bye till tomorrow. [_She waves her hand to JIMMIE, accomplishes one severe look at PAT, and vanishes. PAT waves her off gaily._]

PAT.

Goo’-bye, Miss Carroll, goo’-bye! Goo’-bye! [_He gets his hat and coat, chuckling to himself._]

JIMMIE.

Did ye hear that, Maw? A bran’-new suit made just for me. Nobody else never wore it at all, an’ we’ll go in a taxi to buy it on Saturday. Gee! Ain’t it nice?

PAT.

[_Sidling up to NORA at the tub._]

Nora darlin’, I’m thinkin’ it’s a foine job I’ll be gettin’ this day for the askin’; the heart’s that big in me for gratitude, it’ll shine right out through me two eyes and make me hopeful and stiddy-lookin’, so that some boss’ll think he’s got a grand man to work for him. I’d better be startin’ along now, I suppose, er some other chap’ll git there before me. Say, Nora, it’s only about twinty cints I do be needin’ for carfare.

NORA.

Pat, twinty cents is a lot. Where you goin’?

PAT.

Well, maybe fifteen cints would do if I walk the wan way where there ain’t no transfer. Shure it’s hard on the poor when the shtreet-car companies git mad at each other. Say, Nora, I know a place where a good job is waitin’ for Pat O’Flaherty, but the great city lies between us. Cruel long and wide it is, and hard stones all the way. It’s too weary and sad like I’d look on arrivin’, an’ I couldn’t ride on the cars to git there. Oh, come across with the fifteen cents!

[_NORA dubiously gets down an old china teapot from the shelf
and takes out five cents, which she gives him gravely. She then
gets five cents from another secret place._]

PAT.

[_As she is getting the money._]

Faith, there’s money all over the place.

[_NORA then gets five pennies from the depths of her pocket and
slowly counts out the fifteen cents into his hand._]

PAT.

[_Kissing her._]

Oh! That’s the shweetest wife ever blessed a bad, bad spalpeen of a husband. Good-bye, gurrl! ’Bye, Jimmie-boy. Be thinkin’ what the siven princes could do, they havin’ seen your Maw through the church window, and I’ll finish the shtory tomorrow.

[_PAT exits, whistling, NORA watching him at the door._]

JIMMIE.

Maw, what’s a fool softy?

[_NORA wilts._]

CURTAIN.

THE DRAMA CLASS OF TANKAHA, NEVADA

(Written in collaboration with Harriet Calhoun Moss)

_Played for the first time on October 23 and 24, 1914, by Mrs. CHAS. ATKINSON, Mrs. CHAS. HUBBARD, Mrs. SAMUEL CHASE, Mrs. HOWARD SHAW, Mrs. LAIRD BELL, Mrs. SAMUEL INSULL, Miss EVELYN SHAW, Mrs. ARTHUR ALDIS, Mr. CHAS. ATKINSON, Mr. DORR BRADLEY, and Mrs. HENRY HUBBARD._

THE DRAMA CLASS OF TANKAHA, NEVADA.

THE PROLOGUE.

CHARACTERS:

MRS. BENNETT, _Hostess of the Class for the Day, a recent arrival
in Tankaha, young, well-dressed, progressive._
MRS. FESSENDEN, _Chairman of the Drama Class, a firm lady, native
of Tankaha, with Standards._
MISS JENNINGS, _Secretary of the Class, unwed and emotional._
MRS. STEDMAN, _a Mother, pre-eminently._
MRS. BROKMORTON, _an Aspirant of Culture._
MISS FESSENDEN, _daughter of MRS. FESSENDEN, the Chairman, a young
woman struggling under difficulties towards Modernity._
MRS. BENNETT’S MAID.

_Characters of the Play within the Play_:

PAOLO Mr. Algernon Manning
ANNA, _his wife_ Miss Sibyl Carrington
MARIO, _his brother_ Mr. Emil Konrad
MADDELENA, _an old family servant_ Miss Frances Nellis

(Taken by members of a theatrical company playing a week’s engagement at the Tankaha Opera House.)

SCENE: _The sitting-room of the hostess of the day—MRS.
BENNETT. A tastefully furnished apartment, modern; at left
(from audience) a desk or writing-table; at right a sofa; back,
a fireplace; entrance at R. and L.; a few books, photographs,
flowers, etc._

_When the curtain rises MRS. BENNETT, with the MAID, is
discovered completing the arrangements to receive the Drama
Class. She puts a small table with paper and pencil in the
middle of the room and counts six seats, three on each side,
glances at the clock. MRS. and MISS FESSENDEN enter; usual
greetings._

MRS. BENNETT.

How do you do! How do you do! I can’t help feeling a little nervous, entertaining the class for the first time—a new-comer, you know.

MRS. FESSENDEN.

[_Taking off things._]

Oh, no need; no need.

MRS. BENNETT.

But you’re all so clever, you seem to know just how to look up everything. Now I—[_She breaks off to greet new-comers, MISS JENNINGS and MRS. STEDMAN._] How do you do! How do you do! Do take off your things, etc., etc. [_Bustle of taking off wraps, which maid takes away while MRS. BENNETT speaks to MRS. FESSENDEN._]

MRS. BENNETT.

Madam Chairman, you’ve no idea the trouble I’ve had trying to find out about Giacosa for the class today. There wasn’t anything about him or by him to be found in Tankaha. At the library they said the only Italian writer that they had was Longfellow’s translation of Dante. They told me one of the members of the Board of Trustees had once wanted to buy some of D’Annunzio’s plays, but as his resignation was sent in immediately after making the proposal, nothing had been done. [_MRS. BROKMORTON enters._] Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Brokmorton? [_Glances around._] I think we are all here, Madam Chairman.

MRS. FESSENDEN.

[_Taking the Chair and picking up gavel._]

Will the meeting please come to order? We will listen to the minutes of the previous meeting.

[_MISS JENNINGS rises and clears her throat._]

MISS JENNINGS.

[_Reading._]

The Drama and Poetry Class of Tankaha Culture Club met on Tuesday, January 10th, at the residence of Mrs. Brokmorton, Mrs. Fessenden, the Chairman, presiding. The minutes of the previous meeting were read and approved, then followed the program for the day, subject, Omar Khayyam, essayist, Mrs. Brokmorton. The paper thoughtfully considered the work of the Persian poet from the standpoint of its influence in the home. Discussion followed:

Mrs. Stedman said that whereas she appreciated the beauty of many of the lines and was glad the Drama Class had chosen it as a subject, she thought it would be unwise to place this poem in the hands of young people.

Miss Fessenden said she thought young people should be allowed to read beautiful literature, no matter what the subject.

Mrs. Bennett thought the philosophy inconclusive, quoting the line “But evermore, came out by the same door wherein I went.”

Mrs. Brokmorton, the essayist, said the more she had studied the beautiful quatrains the more she had been convinced that it was extremely difficult for us in America to appreciate and understand the poet’s point of view.

Mrs. Fessenden, the Chairman, said it did not surprise her that the poem was sad, when the poet evidently had no religious faith. She then announced the subject of the next meeting—a paper on the Italian dramatist Giacosa, by Mrs. Bennett, the meeting to be held at the home of the essayist of the day on January 24th. On motion the meeting adjourned.

MRS. FESSENDEN.

If there are no objections the minutes will stand approved. They are approved. Are you ready, Mrs. Bennett?

MRS. BENNETT.

[_Rising._]

Madam Chairman, I started to tell you that I found it very difficult to ascertain anything about Giacosa in Tankaha. Yesterday I learned that one of the members of the company now playing at the Opera House knew of a play by Giacosa. I called on her at the hotel with the result that I have a surprise for you. Four of the members of the company are going to give us this afternoon a short play by Giacosa called “Sacred Ground” right here in this room. [_She stops and looks around for encouragement. Stir of excitement and surprise in the class. MRS. BENNETT hurries on to explain._] They said they didn’t need any scenery, and told me how to arrange the room. We are to go into the dining-room. I thought it was much nicer than writing a paper on an author I didn’t know anything about.

[_MRS. FESSENDEN and MRS. STEDMAN both glance protectingly at
MISS FESSENDEN._]

MRS. FESSENDEN.

That is very interesting, a surprise indeed. Do you—er—know anything about the play? It would have been wiser, perhaps, to consult—

MISS FESSENDEN.

Oh, mamma, it’s such a nice plan! [_To MRS. BENNETT._] Are they here now? Right here in this house? The actors and actresses?

MRS. BENNETT.

Yes, they are waiting up-stairs.

MRS. FESSENDEN.

Well, I suppose it is all right, quite a surprise— [_She rises, as do they all._]

MRS. BENNETT.

Now please sit there near the doorway.

[_The ladies step down in front, off stage, some a little
dubiously, MISS FESSENDEN and MISS JENNINGS enthusiastically._]

MRS. BENNETT.

Minnie! [_The MAID enters._] Here, quickly, help me move these things the way I showed you. [_They move chairs off, tables back, etc._]

[_The MAID disappears. MRS. BENNETT steps down and joins
others._]

_Play follows—“Sacred Ground.”_

_The story is briefly as follows: ANNA has remained true to
PAOLO, her husband, in spite of her love for the latter’s
cousin LUCIANO, who has committed suicide just before the play
opens, because of her resistance. PAOLO discovers the reason
for LUCIANO’S death through ANNA’S letters which he finds on
the body and reads. He tries to probe to the depths of his
wife’s soul. She warns him to desist, finally cries out that
she loved LUCIANO, and ends by leaving PAOLO._[2]

EPILOGUE.

_After the Giacosa play ANNA, PAOLO, MARIO and MADDELENA come
out to bow to the applause of the Drama Class. The ladies step
up on the stage again. MISS JENNINGS is sniffling; MRS. BENNETT
and MISS FESSENDEN rush up enthusiastically, the others more
slowly. MRS. FESSENDEN has paper and pencil in her hand. MRS.
BENNETT introduces the players—“Miss Jennings, Mr. Algernon
Manning, Miss Sibyl Carrington, Mrs. Fessenden, our Chairman,”
etc. Congratulations and general flutter._

MISS CARRINGTON.

You’re very kind. Pleasure to play to you! Such a sympathetic audience! So comprehending! It was nothing to “put it over” to you! [_Turns to MR. MANNING, snuggling up to him._] Poor darling! I do treat you atrociously, don’t I? But you know I don’t mean it! [_Affectionate business between “ANNA” and “PAOLO” as they disappear._]

MRS. FESSENDEN.

[_Through her lorgnons._]

Are they man and wife?

MRS. BENNETT.

I think that—well— Perhaps they’re—they’re engaged—

MRS. FESSENDEN.

Ladies, the meeting will please come to order for the purpose of discussing the play. [_They move quickly the chairs and tables to their former positions, as in the prologue, and take their places._] I think we are agreed as to our indebtedness to the essayist of the day, Mrs. Bennett, for arranging the play. We do not need to pass a formal vote of thanks. Our hostess cannot fail to have seen our evident—er—interest. A discussion of the play is now in order. To facilitate this I have jotted down a few questions which occurred to me during the presentation of this—er—unusual play. Here is the first question. [_Reads._] “Is it to be regretted that Giacosa compressed the material for a rare psychological development into the narrow frame of a single act?”

MRS. BROKMORTON.

[_Rising._]

Madam Chairman, it seems to me the volcanic character of the problem presented calls for brevity rather than prolixity. The eruption was sudden, torrential, devastating, and does not need, nay, does not permit of elaboration. What would have been gained had we had a preceding act, for instance? Nothing. Had we witnessed the despair and suicide of Luciano the situation would not have been developed more clearly than it was by Paolo’s explanation to Mario about the letters. It seems to me this play is a masterpiece of construction; I consider one act is sufficient.

MRS. STEDMAN.

[_Rising very slowly._]

There is a far more important reason for brevity than construction. Even a one-act play may be one act too long. For a mixed audience, or for innocent young minds, I should suggest the less the better of this sort of food. [_Sits down hard._]

MRS. FESSENDEN.

I think that this play is strong mental pabulum for any age! We will consider one act is sufficient. [_Picks up paper._] Here is the second question: “Are Paolo’s nature and the quality of his love for Anna above or below those of the average well-bred gentleman of our acquaintance?”

MISS FESSENDEN.

Well, I don’t think a well-bred gentleman ought to pry like that.

MISS JENNINGS.

I haven’t any husband, of course, but I should think a husband would want to know whether—

MRS. BENNETT.

But she’d done all she could! She’d been faithful, hadn’t she? She couldn’t help what she felt. What right had he to force her confession?

MRS. FESSENDEN.

Let us put the question in another form first. “Should a wife have a secret of any sort from her husband?”

MRS. STEDMAN.

[_Rising slowly again and commanding attention from her majesty
of demeanor._]

Never! A true wife’s mind should be as clear, as transparent as glass, permitting her husband to read every thought. Paolo, the husband, had the right to know!

MRS. BENNETT.

But—but—

MRS. STEDMAN.

Paolo had the right!

MRS. BENNETT.

But the question was—

MISS FESSENDEN.

Yes, yes—whether Paolo— He tormented her—

MRS. BENNETT.

He had no right—

MRS. BROKMORTON.

But let us consider the play as a play. This is a drama class—what matter whether he had or he hadn’t—

MISS JENNINGS.

It seems to me—

MRS. STEDMAN.

When you are considering a play, such questions as these are the first to be dealt with!

[_Each interrupted lady mutters the end of her remark, but not
so as to prevent the next one’s being heard. An air of excited
confusion prevails, no one listening much to what any one
says._]

MRS. FESSENDEN.

[_Rapping._]

Order! We will proceed to the next question. [_Reads._] “Do Latin dramatists give greater importance to—er—what is called—sex problems [_she brings out the awful word with a distinct effort_] than those of Teutonic nations?”

MRS. BENNETT.

[_Hopping up and instantly beginning. One or two others try to
speak, but vainly._]

Isn’t it a question of attitude rather than importance? The attitude of the Teutonic dramatists, with the exception of Bernard Shaw and his type, is always one of disapproval, implied or expressed, of all passion, whether licit or illicit. They ignore it, or when they can’t ignore it they despise it, whereas the Latin dramatist treats of passion openly and joyously without self-consciousness, as the most exquisite joy—to be grasped whenever and wherever it can be reached. In this instance the author clearly sympathizes with Anna in her regret for her renunciation. Don’t you see his play is a protest against the situation in which she finds herself which obliges her to renounce? We may not agree with the author [_somebody exclaims devoutly “I should hope not!”_], but we might at least try to understand his point of view?

[_She speaks passionately. As she sits down MISS FESSENDEN, who
is on the edge of her chair, all eagerness, claps her hands
softly together in scared approbation. There is a general stir
of surprise._]

MRS. BROKMORTON.

[_Rising._]

You mean, of course, merely understanding the point of view, not sympathizing with it?

MISS FESSENDEN.

But if you understand it—how can you help sympathizing? If she loved—

MRS. FESSENDEN.

[_Interrupting._]

My child! We are getting far from the question [_consults paper_] which related to Latin and Teutonic dramatists. However, let us drop it and proceed to the next, which is important and timely. [_Rapping._] Here is my next question. [_Reads._] “Is Anna’s attitude towards her husband absolutely right?” “How is it possible that the love of years should have changed to hate in this brief twenty-four hours?”

MISS JENNINGS.

She never loved her husband! She loved Luciano. She not only confessed it, she gloried in it. Don’t you remember she said to Paolo, “Couldn’t you see I was longing to tell you?” There was no love to change to hate.

MRS. FESSENDEN.

No love? Then why, pray, did she write “I love my husband, I LOVE MY HUSBAND!”

MISS JENNINGS.

But when she wrote that she had not broken the fetters, she was struggling. She loved Luciano, she felt herself yielding, she knew danger was near and so she lied to protect herself, can’t you understand?

MRS. BENNETT.

Oh yes, don’t you see? It seems to me so clear—

MISS FESSENDEN.

Oh, mother, I understand her feeling perfectly! She had been repressed so long! She did not dare tell the truth, so she lied hard!

MISS JENNINGS.

But don’t you see—

[_General confusion—everybody talks at once and excitedly—each
one true to type—remarks similar to previous ones. MRS.
STEDMAN is heard darkly murmuring, “The morals of the youth of
Tankaha!”_]

MRS. FESSENDEN.

[_Raps._]

Order! This question does not admit of discussion. She loved her husband. Here is the last question. [_Reads._] “When Anna quits the conjugal home for reasons which move us do these reasons also convince us?” Kindly speak one at a time.

MISS JENNINGS.

They convince me! When love is dead—how could she stay? Don’t you remember those beautiful lines:

“The night has a thousand eyes and the day but one,
Yet the light of the whole world dies with the setting sun.

“The mind has a thousand eyes and the heart but one,
Yet the light of the whole life dies when love is done.”

MISS FESSENDEN.

Mother, I will speak! I know she never loved her husband—I know she always loved Luciano. I only wish she had gone to him. It would have been a higher standard of morality. There! [_She drops into her chair. MRS. FESSENDEN opens her mouth, but finds no words._]

MISS JENNINGS.

Goodness!

MRS. STEDMAN.

[_To MRS. FESSENDEN._]

That’s—what—comes! Maria Fessenden, didn’t I tell you two years ago not to let her go to Hindle Wakes?

MRS. BROKMORTON.

But what has all this got to do with the discussion of the play as a play? This is a drama class, not a mothers’ meeting.

MRS. BENNETT.

[_A good deal scared, as she knows it is her previous remarks
that have inspired MISS FESSENDEN to her outburst._]

To defend and ask comprehension for the attitude of Latin dramatists is a very different thing from—

[_As before each lady continues her views, the separate
sentences rising as a bugle-note sounds out above an
orchestra._]

MRS. FESSENDEN.

[_Raps._]

Ladies, orderly discussion is impossible unless you speak one at a time. My daughter has uttered an extraordinary statement of her views. I should like to ask each member of the class separately whether she agrees with these views. [_Her expression says “dares to agree.”_]

MRS. BROKMORTON.

Pardon me, Madam Chairman, but it seems to me your daughter’s views as to whether Anna should have gone with Luciano or not are wholly irrelevant. They do not concern us. They are unimportant. Now, Giacosa—

MRS. FESSENDEN.

Pardon me, Mrs. Brokmorton, you may be right technically, but I am a mother first, chairman of this class second. There is a far higher question involved than consideration of a play. I shall put the question to each one! [_She fixes MISS JENNINGS with her eye._] Miss Jennings, do you?

MISS JENNINGS.

[_With a gulp. She has been weeping off and on from the general
intensity and the difficulty of keeping her minutes._]

No.

MRS. FESSENDEN.

Mrs. Stedman, do you?

MRS. STEDMAN.

No!!

MRS. FESSENDEN.

Mrs. Brokmorton, do you?

MRS. BROKMORTON.

Of course not; but it doesn’t matter—

MRS. BENNETT.

[_Badly scared, feeling she has precipitated the row. She wants
to say “No,” and almost does so, then, recalling she must stand
by MISS FESSENDEN, she murmurs_:]

I don’t think so.

MRS. FESSENDEN.

You don’t think so! That means you agree at heart, but don’t dare say so? Am I right?

MRS. BENNETT.

No, no! Oh, dear!

MRS. FESSENDEN.