Chapter I: Act I

_The scene is a room scrupulously neat and clean and plainly
furnished. The walls are painted green, the woodwork, white. In
the rear at the left an open doorway leads into a hall. Its bare,
green wall and white baseboard are all that can be seen of it. It
leads into the other rooms of the flat. In the centre of the rear
wall of the room is a window. It is shut. The white sash curtains
are pushed to right and left as far as they will go. The green
shade is rolled up to the top. Through the window can be seen the
red bricks of a house wall, and the tops of a couple of trees
moving now and then in the wind. Within the window, and just
below the sill, is a shelf upon which are a few potted plants.
Between the window and the door is a bookcase full of books and
above it, hanging on the wall, a simply framed, inexpensive copy
of Millet’s “The Reapers.” There is a run extending from the
right center to just below the right upper entrance. It is the
vestibule of the flat. Its open doorway faces the left wall.
In the right wall near the front is another window. Here the
sash curtains are drawn together and the green shade is partly
lowered. The window is up from the bottom. Through it street
noises can be heard. In front of this window is an open, threaded
sewing-machine. Some frail, white fabric is lying upon it. There
is a chair in front of the machine and at the machine’s left a
small table covered with a green cloth. In the rear of the left
wall and directly opposite to the entrance to the flat is the
doorway leading into the kitchenette, dishes on shelves can be
seen behind glass doors._

_In the center of the left wall is a fireplace with a grate in
it for coals; over this is a wooden mantel painted white. In
the center is a small clock. A pair of vases, green and white
in coloring, one at each end, complete the ornaments. Over the
mantel is a narrow mirror; and over this, hanging on the wall,
Burne-Jones’ “Golden Stairs,” simply framed. Against the front
end of the left wall is an upright piano with a stool in front
of it. On top is music neatly piled. Hanging over the piano is
Raphael’s “Sistine Madonna.” In the center of the floor is a
green rug, and in the center of this, a rectangular dining-room
table, the long side facing front. It is covered with a green
table-cloth. Three dining-room chairs are at the table, one at
either end and one at the rear facing front. Above the table is
a chandelier with four gas jets enclosed by glass globes. At the
right front center is a rather shabby arm-chair upholstered in
green._

Left and right from the spectator’s point of view.

_Before the sewing-machine, Mrs. Loving is seated. She looks
worried. She is sewing swiftly and deftly by hand upon a waist
in her lap. It is a white, beautiful thing and she sews upon it
delicately. It is about half-past four in the afternoon; and the
light is failing. Mrs. Loving pauses in her sewing, rises and
lets the window-shade near her go up to the top. She pushes the
sash-curtains to either side, the corner of a red brick house
wall being thus brought into view. She shivers slightly, then
pushes the window down at the bottom and lowers it a trifle from
the top. The street noises become less distinct. She takes off
her thimble, rubs her hands gently, puts the thimble on again,
and looks at the clock on the mantel. She then reseats herself,
with her chair as close to the window as possible and begins
to sew. Presently a key is heard, and the door opens and shuts
noisily. Rachel comes in from the vestibule. In her left arm she
carries four or five books strapped together; under her right, a
roll of music. Her hat is twisted over her left ear and her hair
is falling in tendrils about her face. She brings into the room
with her the spirit of abounding life, health, joy, youth. Mrs.
Loving pauses, needle in hand, as soon as she hears the turning
key and the banging door. There is a smile on her face. For a
second, mother and daughter smile at each other. Then Rachel
throws her books upon the dining-room table, places the music
there also, but with care, and rushing to her mother, gives her a
bear hug and a kiss._

RACHEL: Ma dear! dear, old Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING: Look out for the needle, Rachel! The waist! Oh, Rachel!

RACHEL (_On her knees and shaking her finger directly under her
mother’s nose._): You old, old fraud! You know you adore being
hugged. I’ve a good mind....

MRS. LOVING: Now, Rachel, please! Besides, I know your tricks. You
think you can make me forget you are late. What time is it?

RACHEL (_Looking at the clock and expressing surprise_): Jiminy Xmas!
(_Whistles_) Why, it’s five o’clock!

MRS. LOVING (_Severely_): Well!

RACHEL (_Plaintively_): Now, Ma dear, you’re going to be horrid and
cross.

MRS. LOVING (_Laughing_): Really, Rachel, that expression is not
particularly affecting, when your hat is over your ear, and you
look, with your hair over your eyes, exactly like some one’s pet
poodle. I wonder if you are ever going to grow up and be ladylike.

RACHEL: Oh! Ma dear, I hope not, not for the longest time, two long,
long years at least. I just want to be silly and irresponsible, and
have you to love and torment, and, of course, Tom, too.

MRS. LOVING (_Smiling down at Rachel_): You’ll not make me forget,
young lady. Why are you late, Rachel?

RACHEL: Well, Ma dear, I’m your pet poodle, and my hat is over my
ear, and I’m late, for the loveliest reason.

MRS. LOVING: Don’t be silly, Rachel.

RACHEL: That may sound silly, but it isn’t. And please don’t “Rachel”
me so much. It was honestly one whole hour ago when I opened the
front door down stairs. I know it was, because I heard the postman
telling some one it was four o’clock. Well, I climbed the first
flight, and was just starting up the second, when a little shrill
voice said, “’Lo!” I raised my eyes, and there, half-way up the
stairs, sitting in the middle of a step, was just the clearest,
cutest, darlingest little brown baby boy you ever saw. “’Lo!
yourself,” I said. “What are you doing, and who are you anyway?”
“I’m Jimmy; and I’m widing to New York on the choo-choo tars.”
As he looked entirely too young to be going such a distance by
himself, I asked him if I might go too. For a minute or two he
considered the question and me very seriously, and then he said,
“’Es,” and made room for me on the step beside him. We’ve been
everywhere: New York, Chicago, Boston, London, Paris and Oshkosh.
I wish you could have heard him say that last place. I suggested
going there just to hear him. Now, Ma dear, is it any wonder I am
late? See all the places we have been in just one “teeny, weeny”
hour? We would have been traveling yet, but his horrid, little
mother came out and called him in. They’re in the flat below, the
new people. But before he went, Ma dear, he said the “cunningest”
thing. He said, “Will you tum out an’ p’ay wif me aden in two
minutes?” I nearly hugged him to death, and it’s a wonder my hat is
on my head at all. Hats are such unimportant nuisances anyway!

MRS. LOVING: Unimportant nuisances! What ridiculous language you do
use, Rachel! Well, I’m no prophet, but I see very distinctly what
is going to happen. This little brown baby will be living here
night and day. You’re not happy unless some child is trailing along
in your rear.

RACHEL (_Mischievously_): Now, Ma dear, whose a hypocrite? What? I
suppose you don’t like children! I can tell you one thing, though,
it won’t be my fault if he isn’t here night and day. Oh, I wish he
were all mine, every bit of him! Ma dear, do you suppose that “she
woman” he calls mother would let him come up here until it is time
for him to go to bed? I’m going down there this minute. (_Rises
impetuously_).

MRS. LOVING: Rachel, for Heaven’s sake! No! I am entirely too busy
and tired today without being bothered with a child romping around
in here.

RACHEL (_Reluctantly and a trifle petulantly_): Very well, then.
(_For several moments she watches her mother, who has begun to sew
again. The displeasure vanishes from her face_). Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING: Well.

RACHEL: Is there anything wrong today?

MRS. LOVING: I’m just tired, chickabiddy, that’s all.

RACHEL (_Moves over to the table. Mechanically takes off her hat
and coat and carries them out into the entryway of the flat. She
returns and goes to the looking glass over the fireplace and tucks
in the tendrils of her hair in rather a preoccupied manner. The
electric doorbell rings. She returns to the speaking tube in the
vestibule. Her voice is heard answering_): Yes!--Yes!--No, I’m not
Mrs. Loving. She’s here, yes!--What? Oh! come right up! (_Appearing
in the doorway_). Ma dear, it’s some man, who is coming for Mrs.
Strong’s waist.

MRS. LOVING (_Pausing and looking at Rachel_): It is probably her
son. She said she would send for it this afternoon. (_Rachel
disappears. A door is heard opening and closing. There is the sound
of a man’s voice. Rachel ushers in Mr. John Strong._)

STRONG (_Bowing pleasantly to Mrs. Loving_): Mrs. Loving? (_Mrs.
Loving bows, puts down her sewing, rises and goes toward Strong_).
My name is Strong. My mother asked me to come by and get her waist
this afternoon. She hoped it would be finished.

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Mr. Strong, it is all ready. If you’ll sit down a
minute, I’ll wrap it up for you. (_She goes into hallway leading to
other rooms in flat_).

RACHEL (_Manifestly ill at ease at being left alone with a stranger;
attempting, however, to be the polite hostess_): Do sit down, Mr.
Strong. (_They both sit_).

RACHEL (_Nervously after a pause_): It’s a very pleasant day, isn’t
it, Mr. Strong?

STRONG: Yes, very. (_He leans back composedly, his hat on his knee,
the faintest expression of amusement in his eyes_).

RACHEL (_After a pause_): It’s quite a climb up to our flat, don’t
you think?

STRONG: Why, no! It didn’t strike me so. I’m not old enough yet to
mind stairs.

RACHEL: (_Nervously_): Oh! I didn’t mean that you are old! Anyone
can see you are quite young, that is, of course, not too young,
but,--(_Strong laughs quietly_). There! I don’t blame you for
laughing. I’m always clumsy just like that.

MRS. LOVING (_Calling from the other room_): Rachel, bring me a
needle and the sixty cotton, please.

RACHEL: All right, Ma dear! (_Rummages for the cotton in the machine
drawer, and upsets several spools upon the floor. To Strong_): You
see! I can’t even get a spool of cotton without spilling things
all over the floor. (_Strong smiles, Rachel picks up the spools
and finally gets the cotton and needle_). Excuse me! (_Goes out
door leading to other rooms. Strong left to himself, looks around
casually. The “Golden Stairs” interests him and the “Sistine
Madonna.”_)

RACHEL (_Reenters, evidently continuing her function of hostess_):
We were talking about the climb to our flat, weren’t we? You
see, when you’re poor, you have to live in a top flat. There is
always a compensation, though; we have bully--I mean nice air,
better light, a lovely view, and nobody “thud-thudding” up and
down over our heads night and day. The people below have our
“thud-thudding,” and it must be something _awful_, especially when
Tom and I play “Ivanhoe” and have a tournament up here. We’re
entirely too old, but we still play. Ma dear rather dreads the
climb up three flights, so Tom and I do all the errands. We don’t
mind climbing the stairs, particularly when we go up two or three
at a time,--that is--Tom still does. I can’t, Ma dear stopped me.
(_Sighs_). I’ve got to grow up it seems.

STRONG (_Evidently amused_): It is rather hard being a girl, isn’t
it?

RACHEL: Oh, no! It’s not hard at all. That’s the trouble; they won’t
let me be a girl. I’d love to be.

MRS. LOVING (_Reentering with parcel. She smiles_): My Chatterbox, I
see, is entertaining you, Mr. Strong. I’m sorry to have kept you
waiting, but I forgot, I found, to sew the ruching in the neck. I
hope everything is satisfactory. If it isn’t, I’ll be glad to make
any changes.

STRONG (_Who has risen upon her entrance_): Thank you, Mrs. Loving,
I’m sure everything is all right. (_He takes the package and bows
to her and Rachel. He moves towards the vestibule, Mrs. Loving
following him. She passes through the doorway first. Before
leaving, Strong turns for a second and looks back quietly at
Rachel. He goes out too. Rachel returns to the mirror, looks at
her face for a second, and then begins to touch and pat her hair
lightly and delicately here and there. Mrs. Loving returns_).

RACHEL (_Still at the glass_): He _was_ rather nice, wasn’t he, Ma
dear?--for a man? (_Laughs_). I guess my reason’s a vain one,--he
let me do all the talking. (_Pauses_). Strong? Strong? Ma dear, is
his mother the little woman with the sad, black eyes?

MRS. LOVING (_Resuming her sewing; sitting before the machine_). Yes.
I was rather curious, I confess, to see this son of hers. The whole
time I’m fitting her she talks of nothing else. She worships him.
(_Pauses_). It’s rather a sad case, I believe. She is a widow. Her
husband was a doctor and left her a little money. She came up from
the South to educate this boy. Both of them worked hard and the boy
got through college. Three months he hunted for work that a college
man might expect to get. You see he had the tremendous handicap of
being colored. As the two of them had to live, one day, without her
knowing it, he hired himself out as a waiter. He has been one now
for two years. He is evidently goodness itself to his mother.

RACHEL (_Slowly and thoughtfully_): Just because he is _colored_!
(_Pauses_). We sing a song at school, I believe, about “The land of
the free and the home of the brave.” What an amusing nation it is.

MRS. LOVING (_Watching Rachel anxiously_): Come, Rachel, you haven’t
time for “amusing nations.” Remember, you haven’t practised any
this afternoon. And put your books away; don’t leave them on the
table. You didn’t practise any this morning either, did you?

RACHEL: No, Ma dear,--didn’t wake up in time. (_Goes to the table and
in an abstracted manner puts books on the bookcase; returns to the
table; picks up the roll of sheet music she has brought home with
her; brightens; impulsively_) Ma dear, just listen to this lullaby.
It’s the sweetest thing. I was so “daffy” over it, one of the girls
at school lent it to me. (_She rushes to the piano with the music
and plays the accompaniment through softly and then sings, still
softly and with great expression, Jessie Gaynor’s “Slumber Boat”_)--

Baby’s boat’s the silver moon;
Sailing in the sky,
Sailing o’er the sea of sleep,
While the clouds float by.

Sail, baby, sail,
Out upon that sea,
Only don’t forget to sail
Back again to me.

Baby’s fishing for a dream,
Fishing near and far,
His line a silver moonbeam is,
His bait a silver star.

Sail, baby, sail, etc.

Listen, Ma dear, right here. Isn’t it lovely? (_Plays and sings very
softly and slowly_):

“Only don’t forget to sail
Back again to me.”

(_Pauses; in hushed tones_) Ma dear, it’s so beautiful--it--it
hurts.

MRS. LOVING (_Quietly_): Yes, dear, it is pretty.

RACHEL (_For several minutes watches her mother’s profile from the
piano stool. Her expression is rather wistful_): Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Rachel.

RACHEL: What’s the matter?

MRS. LOVING (_Without turning_): Matter! What do you mean?

RACHEL: I don’t know. I just _feel_ something is not quite right with
you.

MRS. LOVING: I’m only tired--that’s all.

RACHEL: Perhaps. But--(_Watches her mother a moment or two longer;
shakes her head; turns back to the piano. She is thoughtful; looks
at her hands in her lap_). Ma dear, wouldn’t it be nice if we could
keep all the babies in the world--always little babies? Then they’d
be always little, and cunning, and lovable; and they could never
grow up, then, and--and--be bad. I’m so sorry for mothers, whose
little babies--grow up--and--and--are bad.

MRS. LOVING (_Startled; controlling herself, looks at Rachel
anxiously, perplexedly. Rachel’s eyes are still on her hands.
Attempting a light tone_): Come, Rachel, what experience have you
had with mothers whose babies have grown up to be bad? You--you
talk like an old, old woman.

RACHEL (_Without raising her eyes, quietly_): I know I’m not old;
but, just the same I know that is true. (_Softly_) And I’m so sorry
for the mothers.

MRS. LOVING (_With a forced laugh_): Well, Miss Methuselah, how do
you happen to know all this? Mothers whose babies grow up to be bad
don’t, as a rule, parade their faults before the world.

RACHEL: That’s just it--that’s _how_ you know. They don’t talk at all.

MRS. LOVING (_Involuntarily_): Oh! (_Ceases to sew; looks at Rachel
sharply; she is plainly worried. There is a long silence. Presently
Rachel raises her eyes to Raphael’s “Madonna” over the piano. Her
expression becomes rapt; then, very softly, her eyes still on the
picture, she plays and sings Nevin’s “Mighty Lak A Rose”_)--

Sweetest li’l feller,
Ev’rybody knows;
Dunno what to call him,
But he mighty lak’ a rose!
Lookin’ at his Mammy
Wid eyes so shiny blue,
Mek’ you think that heav’n
Is comin’ clost ter you!

W’en his dar a sleepin’
In his li’l place
Think I see de angels
Lookin’ thro’ de lace.
W’en de dark is fallin’,
W’en de shadders creep,
Den dey comes on tip-toe,
Ter kiss him in his sleep.

Sweetest li’l feller, etc.

(_With head still raised, after she has finished, she closes her
eyes. Half to herself and slowly_) I think the loveliest thing of
all the lovely things in this world is just (_almost in a whisper_)
being a mother!

MRS. LOVING (_Turns and laughs_): Well, of all the startling
children, Rachel! I am getting to feel, when you’re around as
though I’m shut up with dynamite. What next? (_Rachel rises, goes
slowly to her mother, and kneels down beside her. She does not
touch her mother_). Why so serious, chickabiddy?

RACHEL (_Slowly and quietly_): It is not kind to laugh at sacred
things. When you laughed, it was as though you laughed--at God!

MRS. LOVING (_Startled_): Rachel!

RACHEL (_Still quietly_): It’s true. It was the best in me that
said that--it was God! (_Pauses_). And, Ma dear, if I believed
that I should grow up and not be a mother, I’d pray to die now.
I’ve thought about it a lot, Ma dear, and once I dreamed, and a
voice said to me--oh! it was so real--“Rachel, you are to be a
mother to little children.” Wasn’t that beautiful? Ever since
I have known how Mary felt at the “Annunciation.” (_Almost in
a whisper_) _God spoke to me through some one, and I believe._
And it has explained so much to me. I know now why I just can’t
resist any child. I have to love it--it calls me--it--draws me. I
want to take care of it, wash it, dress it, live for it. I want
the feel of its little warm body against me, its breath on my
neck, its hands against my face. (_Pauses thoughtfully for a few
moments_). Ma dear, here’s something I don’t understand: I love
the little black and brown babies best of all. There is something
about them that--that--clutches at my heart. Why--why--should they
be--oh!--pathetic? I don’t understand. It’s dim. More than the
other babies, I feel that I must protect them. They’re in danger,
but from what? I don’t know. I’ve tried so hard to understand,
but I can’t. (_Her face radiant and beautiful_). Ma dear, I think
their white teeth and the clear whites of their big black eyes and
their dimples everywhere--are--are (_Breaks off_). And, Ma dear,
because I love them best, I pray God every night to give me, when
I grow up, little black and brown babies--to protect and guard.
(_Wistfully_). Now, Ma dear, don’t you see why you must never laugh
at me again? Dear, dear, Ma dear? (_Buries her head in her mother’s
lap and sobs_).

MRS. LOVING (_For a few seconds, sits as though dazed, and then
instinctively begins to caress the head in her lap. To herself_)
And I suppose my experience is every mother’s. Sooner or later--of
a sudden she finds her own child a stranger to her. (_To Rachel,
very tenderly_) Poor little girl! Poor little chickabiddy!

RACHEL (_Raising her head_): Why do you say, “Poor little girl,” like
that? I don’t understand. Why, Ma dear, I never saw tears in your
eyes before. Is it--is it--because you know the things I do not
understand? Oh! it _is_ that.

MRS. LOVING (_Simply_): Yes, Rachel, and I cannot save you.

RACHEL: Ma dear, you frighten me. Save me from _what_?

MRS. LOVING: Just life, my little chickabiddy!

RACHEL: Is life so terrible? I had found it mostly beautiful. How can
life be terrible, when the world is full of little children?

MRS. LOVING (_Very sadly_): Oh, Rachel! Rachel!

RACHEL: Ma dear, what have I said?

MRS. LOVING (_Forcing a smile_): Why, the truth, of course,
Rachel. Life is not terrible when there are little children--and
you--and Tom--and a roof over our heads--and work--and food--and
clothes--and sleep at night. (_Pauses_). Rachel, I am not myself
today. I’m tired. Forget what I’ve said. Come, chickabiddy, wipe
your eyes and smile. That’s only an imitation smile, but it’s
better than none. Jump up now, and light the lamp for me, will you?
Tom’s late, isn’t he? I shall want you to go, too, for the rolls
and pie for supper.

RACHEL (_Rises rather wearily and goes into the kitchenette. While
she is out of the room Mrs. Loving does not move. She sits staring
in front of her. The room for some time has been growing dark.
Mrs. Loving can just be seen when Rachel reenters with the lamp.
She places it on the small table near her mother, adjusts it, so
the light falls on her mother’s work, and then lowers the window
shades at the windows. She still droops. Mrs. Loving, while Rachel
is in the room, is industrious. Rachel puts on her hat and coat
listlessly. She does not look in the glass_). Where is the money,
Ma dear? I’m ready.

MRS. LOVING: Before you go, Rachel, just give a look at the meat and
see if it is cooking all right, will you, dearie?

RACHEL (_Goes out into the kitchenette and presently returns_): It’s
all right, Ma dear.

MRS. LOVING (_While Rachel is out of the room, she takes her
pocket-book out of the machine-drawer, opens it, takes out money
and gives it to Rachel upon her return_): A dozen brown rolls,
Rachel. Be sure they’re brown! And, I guess,--an apple pie. As you
and Tom never seem to get enough apple pie, get the largest she
has. And here is a quarter. Get some candy--any kind _you_ like,
Chickabiddy. Let’s have a party tonight, I feel extravagant. Why,
Rachel! why are you crying?

RACHEL: Nothing, dear Ma dear. I’ll be all right when I get in the
air. Goodbye! (_Rushes out of the flat. Mrs. Loving sits idle.
Presently the outer door of the flat opens and shuts with a bang,
and Tom appears. Mrs. Loving begins to work as soon as she hears
the banging door_).

TOM: ’Lo, Ma! Where’s Sis,--out? The door’s off the latch. (_Kisses
his mother and hangs hat in entryway_).

MRS. LOVING (_Greeting him with the same beautiful smile with which
she greeted Rachel_): Rachel just went after the rolls and pie.
She’ll be back in a few minutes. You’re late, Tommy.

TOM: No, Ma--you forget--it’s pay day. (_With decided shyness and
awkwardness he hands her his wages_). Here, Ma!

MRS. LOVING (_Proudly counting it_): But, Tommy, this is every bit of
it. You’ll need some.

TOM: Not yet! (_Constrainedly_) I only wish--. Say, Ma, I hate to see
you work so hard. (_Fiercely_) Some day--some day--. (_Breaks off_).

MRS. LOVING: Son, I’m as proud as though you had given me a million
dollars.

TOM (_Emphatically_): I may some day,--you see. (_Abruptly changing
the subject_): Gee! Ma, I’m hungry. What’s for dinner? Smell’s good.

MRS. LOVING: Lamb and dumplings and rice.

TOM: Gee! I’m glad I’m living--and a pie too?

MRS. LOVING: Apple pie, Tommy.

TOM: Say, Ma, don’t wake me up. And shall “muzzer’s” own little boy
set the table?

MRS. LOVING: Thank you, Son.

TOM (_Folds the green cloth, hangs it over the back of the arm-chair,
gets white table-cloth from kitchenette and sets the table. The
whole time he is whistling blithely a popular air. He lights one of
the gas jets over the table_): Ma!

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Son.

TOM: I made “squad” today,--I’m quarterback. Five other fellows tried
to make it. We’ll all have to buy new hats, now.

MRS. LOVING (_With surprise_): Buy new hats! Why?

TOM (_Makes a ridiculous gesture to show that his head and hers are
both swelling_): Honest, Ma, I had to carry my hat in my hand
tonight,--couldn’t even get it to perch aloft.

MRS. LOVING (_Smiling_): Well, I for one, Son, am not going to say
anything to make you more conceited.

TOM: You don’t _have_ to say anything. Why, Ma, ever since I told
you, you can almost look down your own back your head is so high.
What? (_Mrs. Loving laughs. The outer door of the flat opens and
shuts. Rachel’s voice is heard_).

RACHEL (_Without_): My! that was a “drefful” climb, wasn’t it? Ma,
I’ve got something here for you. (_Appears in the doorway carrying
packages and leading a little boy by the hand. The little fellow
is shy but smiling_). Hello, Tommy! Here, take these things for
me. This is Jimmy. Isn’t he a dear? Come, Jimmy. (_Tom carries the
packages into the kitchenette. Rachel leads Jimmy to Mrs. Loving_).
Ma dear, this is my brown baby. I’m going to take him right down
stairs again. His mother is as sweet as can be, and let me bring
him up just to see you. Jimmy, this is Ma dear. (_Mrs. Loving turns
expectantly to see the child. Standing before her, he raises his
face to hers with an engaging smile. Suddenly, without word or
warning, her body stiffens; her hands grip her sewing convulsively;
her eyes stare. She makes no sound_).

RACHEL (_Frightened_): Ma dear! What is the matter? Tom! Quick! (_Tom
reenters and goes to them_).

MRS. LOVING (_Controlling herself with an effort and breathing
hard_): Nothing, dears, nothing. I must be--I am--nervous
tonight. (_With a forced smile_) How do-you-do, Jimmy? Now,
Rachel--perhaps--don’t you think--you had better take him back to
his mother? Good-night, Jimmy! (_Eyes the child in a fascinated
way the whole time he is in the room. Rachel, very much perturbed,
takes the child out_). Tom, open that window, please! There! That’s
better! (_Still breathing deeply_). What a fool I am!

TOM (_Patting his mother awkwardly on the back_): You’re all pegged
out, that’s the trouble--working entirely too hard. Can’t you stop
for the night and go to bed right after supper?

MRS. LOVING: I’ll see, Tommy dear. Now, I must look after the supper.

Tom: Huh! Well, I guess not. How old do you think Rachel and I are
anyway? I see; you think we’ll break some of this be-au-tiful
Hav-i-land china, we bought at the “Five and Ten Cent Store.”
(_To Rachel who has just reentered wearing a puzzled and worried
expression. She is without hat and coat_). Say, Rachel, do you
think you’re old enough?

RACHEL: Old enough for what, Tommy?

TOM: To dish up the supper for Ma.

RACHEL (_With attempted sprightliness_): Ma dear thinks nothing
can go on in this little flat unless she does it. Let’s show her
a thing or two. (_They bring in the dinner. Mrs. Loving with
trembling hands tries to sew. Tom and Rachel watch her covertly.
Presently she gets up._)

MRS. LOVING: I’ll be back in a minute, children. (_Goes out the door
that leads to the other rooms of the flat. Tom and Rachel look at
each other_).

RACHEL (_In a low voice keeping her eyes on the door_): Why do you
suppose she acted so strangely about Jimmy?

TOM: Don’t know--nervous, I guess,--worn out. I wish--(_Breaks off_).

RACHEL (_Slowly_): It may be that; but she hasn’t been herself this
afternoon. I wonder--. Look out! Here she comes!

TOM (_In a whisper_): Liven her up. (_Rachel nods. Mrs. Loving
reenters. Both rush to her and lead her to her place at the right
end of the table. She smiles and tries to appear cheerful. They sit
down, Tom opposite Mrs. Loving and Rachel at the side facing front.
Mrs. Loving asks grace. Her voice trembles. She helps the children
bountifully, herself sparingly. Every once in a while she stops
eating and stares blankly into her plate; then, remembering where
she is suddenly, looks around with a start and goes on eating. Tom
and Rachel appear not to notice her_).

TOM: Ma’s “some” cook, isn’t she?

RACHEL: Is she! Delmonico’s isn’t in it.

TOM (_Presently_): Say, Rachel, do you remember that Reynolds boy in
the fourth year?

RACHEL: Yes. You mean the one who is flat-nosed, freckled, and who
squints and sneers?

TOM (_Looking at Rachel admiringly_): The same.

RACHEL (_Vehemently_): I hate him!

MRS. LOVING: Rachel, you do use such violent language. Why hate him?

RACHEL: I do--that’s all.

TOM: Ma, if you saw him just once, you’d understand. No one likes
him. But, then, what can you expect? His father’s in “quod” doing
time for something, I don’t know just what. One of the fellows says
he has a real decent mother, though. She never mentions him in any
way, shape or form, he says. Hard on her, isn’t it? Bet I’d keep my
head shut too;--you’d never get a yap out of me. (_Rachel looks up
quickly at her mother; Mrs. Loving stiffens perceptibly, but keeps
her eyes on her plate. Rachel catches Tom’s eye; silently draws his
attention to their mother; and shakes her head warningly at him_).

TOM (_Continuing hastily and clumsily_): Well, anyway, he called me
“Nigger” today. If his face isn’t black, his eye is.

RACHEL: Good! Oh! Why did you let the other one go?

TOM (_Grinning_): I knew he said things behind my back; but today he
was hopping mad, because I made quarter-back. He didn’t!

RACHEL: Oh, Tommy! How lovely! Ma dear, did you hear that? (_Chants_)
Our Tommy’s on the team! Our Tommy’s on the team!

TOM (_Trying not to appear pleased_): Ma dear, what did I say about
er--er “capital” enlargements?

MRS. LOVING (_Smiling_): You’re right, Son.

TOM: I hope you got that “capital,” Rachel. How’s that for Latin
knowledge? Eh?

RACHEL: I don’t think much of your knowledge, Tommy dear; but
(_continuing to chant_) Our Tommy’s on the team! Our Tommy’s on the
team! Our--(_Breaks off_). I’ve a good mind to kiss you.

TOM (_Threateningly_): Don’t you dare.

RACHEL (_Rising and going toward him_): I will! I will! I will!

TOM (_Rising, too, and dodging her_): No, you don’t, young lady. (_A
tremendous tussle and scuffle ensues_).

MRS. LOVING (_Laughing_): For Heaven’s sake! children, do stop
playing and eat your supper. (_They nod brightly at each other
behind her back and return smiling to the table_).

RACHEL (_Sticking out her tongue at Tom_): I will!

TOM (_Mimicking her_): You won’t!

MRS. LOVING: Children! (_They eat for a time in silence_).

RACHEL: Ma dear, have you noticed Mary Shaw doesn’t come here much
these days?

MRS. LOVING: Why, that’s so, she doesn’t. Have you two quarreled?

RACHEL: No, Ma dear. (_Uncomfortably_). I--think I know the
reason--but I don’t like to say, unless I’m certain.

TOM: Well, I know. I’ve seen her lately with those two girls who have
just come from the South. Twice she bowed stiffly, and the last
time made believe she didn’t see me.

RACHEL: Then you think--? Oh! I was afraid it was that.

TOM (_Bitterly_): Yes--we’re “niggers”--that’s why.

MRS. LOVING (_Slowly and sadly_): Rachel, that’s one of the things
I can’t save you from. I worried considerably about Mary, at
first--you do take your friendships so seriously. I knew exactly
how it would end. (_Pauses_). And then I saw that if Mary Shaw
didn’t teach you the lesson--some one else would. They don’t want
you, dearies, when you and they grow up. You may have everything in
your favor--but they don’t _dare_ to like you.

RACHEL: I know all that is generally true--but I had hoped that
Mary--(_Breaks off_).

TOM: Well, I guess we can still go on living even if people don’t
speak to us. I’ll never bow to _her_ again--that’s certain.

MRS. LOVING: But, Son, that wouldn’t be polite, if she bowed to you
first.

TOM: Can’t help it. I guess I can be blind, too.

MRS. LOVING (_Wearily_): Well--perhaps you are right--I don’t know.
It’s the way I feel about it too--but--but I wish my son always to
be a _gentleman_.

TOM: If being a _gentleman_ means not being a _man_--I don’t wish to
be one.

RACHEL: Oh! well, perhaps we’re wrong about Mary--I hope we are.
(_Sighs_). Anyway, let’s forget it. Tommy guess what I’ve got.
(_Rises, goes out into entryway swiftly, and returns holding up a
small bag_). Ma dear treated. Guess!

TOM: Ma, you’re a thoroughbred. Well, let’s see--it’s--a dozen dill
pickles?

RACHEL: Oh! stop fooling.

TOM: I’m not. Tripe?

RACHEL: Silly!

TOM: Hog’s jowl?

RACHEL: Ugh! Give it up--quarter-back.

TOM: Pig’s feet?

RACHEL (_In pretended disgust_): Oh! Ma dear--send him from the
table. It’s CANDY!

TOM: Candy? Funny, I never thought of that! And I was just about to
say some nice, delicious chitlings. Candy! Well! Well! (_Rachel
disdainfully carries the candy to her mother, returns to her own
seat with the bag and helps herself. She ignores Tom_).

TOM (_In an aggrieved voice_): You see, Ma, how she treats me. (_In
affected tones_) I have a good mind, young lady to punish you,
er--er corporeally speaking. Tut! Tut! I have a mind to master
thee--I mean--you. Methinks that if I should advance upon you,
apply, perchance, two or three digits to your glossy locks and
extract--aha!--say a strand--you would no more defy me. (_He
starts to rise_).

MRS. LOVING (_Quickly and sharply_): Rachel! give Tom the candy
and stop playing. (_Rachel obeys. They eat in silence. The old
depression returns. When the candy is all gone, Rachel pushes her
chair back, and is just about to rise, when her mother, who is
very evidently nerving herself for something, stops her_). Just a
moment, Rachel. (_Pauses, continuing slowly and very seriously_).
Tom and Rachel! I have been trying to make up my mind for some time
whether a certain thing is my duty or not. Today--I have decided it
is. You are old enough, now,--and I see you ought to be told. Do
you know what day this is? (_Both Tom and Rachel have been watching
their mother intently_). It’s the sixteenth of October. Does that
mean anything to either of you?

TOM and RACHEL (_Wonderingly_): No.

MRS. LOVING (_Looking at both of them thoughtfully, half to
herself_): No--I don’t know why it should. (_Slowly_) Ten years
ago--today--your father and your half-brother died.

TOM: I do remember, now, that you told us it was in October.

RACHEL (_With a sigh_): That explains--today.

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Rachel. (_Pauses_). Do you know--how they--died?

TOM and RACHEL: Why, no.

MRS. LOVING: Did it ever strike you as strange--that they--died--the
same day?

TOM: Well, yes.

RACHEL: We often wondered, Tom and I; but--but somehow we never quite
dared to ask you. You--you--always refused to talk about them, you
know, Ma dear.

MRS. LOVING: Did you think--that--perhaps--the reason--I--I--wouldn’t
talk about them--was--because, because--I was ashamed--of them?
(_Tom and Rachel look uncomfortable_).

RACHEL: Well, Ma dear--we--we--did--wonder.

MRS. LOVING (_Questioningly_): And you thought?

RACHEL (_Haltingly_): W-e-l-l--

MRS. LOVING (_Sharply_): Yes?

TOM: Oh! come, now, Rachel, you know we haven’t bothered about it at
all. Why should we? We’ve been happy.

MRS. LOVING: But when you have thought--you’ve been ashamed?
(_Intensely_) Have you?

TOM: Now, Ma, aren’t you making a lot out of nothing?

MRS. LOVING (_Slowly_): No. (_Half to herself_) You evade--both--of
you. You _have_ been ashamed. And I never dreamed until today you
_could_ take it this way. How blind--how almost criminally blind, I
have been.

RACHEL (_Tremulously_): Oh! Ma dear, don’t! (_Tom and Rachel watch
their mother anxiously and uncomfortably. Mrs. Loving is very
evidently nerving herself for something_).

MRS. LOVING (_Very slowly, with restrained emotion_): Tom--and Rachel!

TOM: Ma!

RACHEL: Ma dear! (_A tense, breathless pause_).

MRS. LOVING (_Bracing herself_): They--they--were lynched!!

TOM and RACHEL (_In a whisper_): Lynched!

MRS. LOVING (_Slowly, laboring under strong but restrained emotion_):
Yes--by Christian people--in a Christian land. We found out
afterwards they were all church members in good standing--the best
people. (_A silence_). Your father was a man among men. He was a
fanatic. He was a Saint!

TOM (_Breathing with difficulty_): Ma--can you--will you--tell
us--about it?

MRS. LOVING: I believe it to be my duty. (_A silence_). When I
married your father I was a widow. My little George was seven years
old. From the very beginning he worshiped your father. He followed
him around--just like a little dog. All children were like that
with him. I myself have never seen anybody like him. “Big” seems to
fit him better than any other word. He was big-bodied--big-souled.
His loves were big and his hates. You can imagine, then, how the
wrongs of the Negro--ate into his soul. (_Pauses_). He was utterly
fearless. (_A silence_). He edited and owned, for several years,
a small negro paper. In it he said a great many daring things. I
used to plead with him to be more careful. I was always afraid for
him. For a long time, nothing happened--he was too important to
the community. And then--one night--ten years ago--a mob made up
of the respectable people in the town lynched an innocent black
man--and what was worse--they knew him to be innocent. A white man
was guilty. I never saw your father so wrought up over anything: he
couldn’t eat; he couldn’t sleep; he brooded night and day over it.
And then--realizing fully the great risk he was running, although
I begged him not to--and all his friends also--he deliberately and
calmly went to work and published a most terrific denunciation of
that mob. The old prophets in the Bible were not more terrible
than he. A day or two later, he received an anonymous letter, very
evidently from an educated man, calling upon him to retract his
words in the next issue. If he refused his life was threatened. The
next week’s issue contained an arraignment as frightful, if not
more so, than the previous one. Each word was white-hot, searing.
That night, some dozen masked men came to our house.

RACHEL (_Moaning_): Oh, Ma dear! Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING (_Too absorbed to hear_): We were not asleep--your father
and I. They broke down the front door and made their way to our
bedroom. Your father kissed me--and took up his revolver. It was
always loaded. They broke down the door. (_A silence. She continues
slowly and quietly_) I tried to shut my eyes--I could not. Four
masked men fell--they did not move any more--after a little.
(_Pauses_). Your father was finally overpowered and dragged out.
In the hall--my little seventeen-year-old George tried to rescue
him. Your father begged him not to interfere. He paid no attention.
It ended in their dragging them both out. (_Pauses_). My little
George--was--a man! (_Controls herself with an effort_). He never
made an outcry. His last words to me were: “Ma, I am glad to go
with Father.” I could only nod to him. (_Pauses_). While they were
dragging them down the steps, I crept into the room where you were.
You were both asleep. Rachel, I remember, was smiling. I knelt down
by you--and covered my ears with my hands--and waited. I could not
pray--I couldn’t for a long time--afterwards. (_A silence_). It was
very still when I finally uncovered my ears. The only sounds were
the faint rustle of leaves and the “tap-tapping of the twig of a
tree” against the window. I hear it still--sometimes in my dreams.
_It was the tree--where they were._ (_A silence_). While I had
knelt there waiting--I had made up my mind what to do. I dressed
myself and then I woke you both up and dressed you. (_Pauses_). We
set forth. It was a black, still night. Alternately dragging you
along and carrying you--I walked five miles to the house of some
friends. They took us in, and we remained there until I had seen my
dead laid comfortably at rest. They lent me money to come North--I
couldn’t bring you up--in the South. (_A silence_). Always remember
this: There never lived anywhere--or at any time--any two whiter
or more beautiful souls. God gave me one for a husband and one for
a son and I am proud. (_Brokenly_) You--must--be--proud--too. (_A
long silence. Mrs. Loving bows her head in her hands. Tom controls
himself with an effort. Rachel creeps softly to her mother, kneels
beside her and lifts the hem of her dress to her lips. She does not
dare touch her. She adores her with her eyes_).

MRS. LOVING (_Presently raising her head and glancing at the clock_):
Tom, it’s time, now, for you to go to work. Rachel and I will
finish up here.

TOM (_Still laboring under great emotion goes out into the entryway
and comes back and stands in the doorway with his cap. He twirls
it around and around nervously_): I want you to know, Ma, before I
go--how--how proud I am. Why, I didn’t believe two people could be
like that--and live. And then to find out that one--was your own
father--and one--your own brother.--It’s wonderful! I’m--not much
yet, Ma, but--I’ve--I’ve just got to be something now. (_Breaks
off_). (_His face becomes distorted with passion and hatred_). When
I think--when I think--of those devils with white skins--living
somewhere today--living and happy--I--see--red! I--I--good-bye!
(_Rushes out, the door bangs_).

MRS. LOVING (_Half to herself_): I was afraid--of just that. I
wonder--if I did the wise thing--after all.

RACHEL (_With a gesture infinitely tender, puts her arms around her
mother_): Yes, Ma dear, you did. And, hereafter, Tom and I share
and share alike with you. To think, Ma dear, of ten years of
this--all alone. It’s wicked! (_A short silence_).

MRS. LOVING: And, Rachel, about that dear, little boy, Jimmy.

RACHEL: Now, Ma dear, tell me tomorrow. You’ve stood enough for one
day.

MRS. LOVING: No, it’s better over and done with--all at once. If I
had seen that dear child suddenly any other day than this--I might
have borne it better. When he lifted his little face to me--and
smiled--for a moment--I thought it was the end--of all things.
Rachel, he is the image of my boy--my George!

RACHEL: Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING: And, Rachel--it will hurt--to see him again.

RACHEL: I understand, Ma dear. (_A silence. Suddenly_) Ma dear,
I am beginning to see--to understand--so much. (_Slowly and
thoughtfully_) Ten years ago, all things being equal, Jimmy might
have been--George? Isn’t that so?

MRS. LOVING: Why--yes, if I understand you.

RACHEL: I guess that doesn’t sound very clear. It’s only getting
clear to me, little by little. Do you mind my thinking out loud to
you?

MRS. LOVING: No, chickabiddy.

RACHEL: If Jimmy went South now--and grew up--he might be--a George?

MRS. LOVING: Yes.

RACHEL: Then, the South is full of tens, hundreds, thousands
of little boys, who, one day may be--and some of them with
certainty--Georges?

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Rachel.

RACHEL: And the little babies, the dear, little, helpless babies,
being born today--now--and those who will be, tomorrow, and all
the tomorrows to come--have _that_ sooner or later to look forward
to? They will laugh and play and sing and be happy and grow up,
perhaps, and be ambitious--just for _that_?

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Rachel.

RACHEL: Then, everywhere, everywhere, throughout the South, there are
hundreds of dark mothers who live in fear, terrible, suffocating
fear, whose rest by night is broken, and whose joy by day in
their babies on their hearts is three parts--pain. Oh, I know
this is true--for this is the way I should feel, if I were little
Jimmy’s mother. How horrible! Why--it would be more merciful--to
strangle the little things at birth. And so this nation--this
white Christian nation--has deliberately set its curse upon
the most beautiful--the most holy thing in life--motherhood!
Why--it--makes--you doubt--God!

MRS. LOVING: Oh, hush! little girl. Hush!

RACHEL (_Suddenly with a great cry_): Why, Ma dear, _you know. You
were a mother, George’s mother._ So, this is what it means. Oh, Ma
dear! Ma dear! (_Faints in her mother’s arms_).

ACT II