Chapter II: Act II

TIME: _October sixteenth, four years later; seven o’clock in the
morning_.

SCENE: _The same room. There have been very evident improvements
made. The room is not so bare; it is cosier. On the shelf, before
each window, are potted red geraniums. At the windows are green
denim drapery curtains covering fresh white dotted Swiss inner
curtains. At each doorway are green denim portieres. On the wall
between the kitchenette and the entrance to the outer rooms of
the flat, a new picture is hanging, Millet’s “The Man With the
Hoe.” Hanging against the side of the run that faces front is
Watts’s “Hope.” There is another easy-chair at the left front.
The table in the center is covered with a white table-cloth.
A small asparagus fern is in the middle of this. When the
curtain rises there is the clatter of dishes in the kitchenette.
Presently Rachel enters with dishes and silver in her hands.
She is clad in a bungalow apron. She is noticeably all of four
years older. She frowns as she sets the table. There is a set
expression about the mouth. A child’s voice is heard from the
rooms within._

JIMMY (_Still unseen_): Ma Rachel!

RACHEL (_Pauses and smiles_): What is it, Jimmy boy?

JIMMY (_Appearing in rear doorway, half-dressed, breathless and
tremendously excited over something. Rushes toward Rachel_): Three
guesses! Three guesses! Ma Rachel!

RACHEL (_Her whole face softening_): Well, let’s see--maybe there is
a circus in town.

JIMMY: No siree! (_In a sing-song_) You’re not right! You’re not
right!

RACHEL: Well, maybe Ma Loving’s going to take you somewhere.

JIMMY: No! (_Vigorously shaking his head_) It’s--

RACHEL (_Interrupting quickly_): You said I could have three guesses,
honey. I’ve only had two.

JIMMY: I thought you had three. How many are three?

RACHEL (_Counting on her fingers_): One! Two! Three! I’ve only had
one! two!--See? Perhaps Uncle Tom is going to give you some candy.

JIMMY (_Dancing up and down_): No! No! No! (_Catches his breath_) I
leaned over the bath-tub, way over, and got hold of the chain with
the button on the end, and dropped it into the little round place
in the bottom. And then I runned lots and lots of water in the
tub and climbed over and fell in splash! just like a big stone;
(_Loudly_) and took a bath all by myself alone.

RACHEL (_Laughing and hugging him_): All by yourself, honey? You ran
the water, too, boy, not “runned” it. What I want to know is, where
was Ma Loving all this time?

JIMMY: I stole in “creepy-creep” and looked at Ma Loving and she was
awful fast asleep. (_Proudly_) Ma Rachel, I’m a “nawful,” big boy
now, aren’t I? I are almost a man, aren’t I?

RACHEL: Oh! Boy, I’m getting tired of correcting you--“I am almost a
man, am I not?” Jimmy, boy, what will Ma Rachel do, if you grow up?
Why, I won’t have a little boy any more! Honey, you mustn’t grow
up, do you hear? You mustn’t.

JIMMY: Oh, yes, I must; and you’ll have me just the same, Ma Rachel.
I’m going to be a policeman and make lots of money for you and Ma
Loving and Uncle Tom, and I’m going to buy you some trains and
fire-engines, and little, cunning ponies, and some rabbits, and
some great ’normous banks full of money--lots of it. And then, we
are going to live in a great, big castle and eat lots of ice cream,
all the time, and drink lots and lots of nice pink lemonade.

RACHEL: What a generous Jimmy boy! (_Hugs him_). Before I give you
“morning kiss,” I must see how clean my boy is. (_Inspects teeth,
ears and neck_). Jimmy, you’re sweet and clean enough to eat.
(_Kisses him; he tries to strangle her with hugs_). Now the hands.
Oh! Jimmy, look at those nails! Oh! Jimmy! (_Jimmy wriggles and
tries to get his hands away_). Honey, get my file off of my bureau
and go to Ma Loving; she must be awake by this time. Why, honey,
what’s the matter with your feet?

JIMMY: I don’t know. I thought they looked kind of queer, myself.
What’s the matter with them?

RACHEL (_Laughing_): You have your shoes on the wrong feet.

JIMMY (_Bursts out laughing_): Isn’t that most ’normously funny? I’m
a case, aren’t I--(_pauses thoughtfully_) I mean--am I not, Ma
Rachel?

RACHEL: Yes, honey, a great big case of molasses. Come, you must
hurry now, and get dressed. You don’t want to be late for school,
you know.

JIMMY: Ma Rachel! (_Shyly_) I--I have been making something for
you all the morning--ever since I waked up. It’s awful nice.
It’s--stoop down, Ma Rachel, please--a great, big (_puts both arms
about her neck and gives her a noisy kiss. Rachel kisses him in
return, then pushes his head back. For a long moment they look at
each other; and, then, laughing joyously, he makes believe he is a
horse, and goes prancing out of the room. Rachel, with a softer,
gentler expression, continues setting the table. Presently, Mrs.
Loving, bent and worn-looking, appears in the doorway in the rear.
She limps a trifle._)

MRS. LOVING: Good morning, dearie. How’s my little girl, this
morning? (_Looks around the room_). Why, where’s Tom? I was certain
I heard him running the water in the tub, sometime ago. (_Limps
into the room_).

RACHEL (_Laughing_): Tom isn’t up yet. Have you seen Jimmy?

MRS. LOVING: Jimmy? No. I didn’t know he was awake, even.

RACHEL (_Going to her mother and kissing her_): Well! What do you
think of that! I sent the young gentleman to you, a few minutes
ago, for help with his nails. He is very much grown up this
morning, so I suppose that explains why he didn’t come to you.
Yesterday, all day, you know, he was a puppy. No one knows what
he will be by tomorrow. All of this, Ma dear, is preliminary to
telling you that Jimmy boy has stolen a march on you, this morning.

MRS. LOVING: Stolen a march! How?

RACHEL: It appears that he took his bath all by himself and, as a
result, he is so conceited, peacocks aren’t in it with him.

MRS. LOVING: I heard the water running and thought, of course, it
was Tom. Why, the little rascal! I must go and see how he has left
things. I was just about to wake him up.

RACHEL: Rheumatism’s not much better this morning, Ma dear.
(_Confronting her mother_). Tell me the truth, now, did you or did
you not try that liniment I bought you yesterday?

MRS. LOVING (_Guiltily_): Well, Rachel, you see--it was this way, I
was--I was so tired, last night,--I--I really forgot it.

RACHEL: I thought as much. Shame on you!

MRS. LOVING: As soon as I walk around a bit it will be all right.
It always is. It’s bad, when I first get up--that’s all. I’ll
be spry enough in a few minutes. (_Limps to the door; pauses_)
Rachel, I don’t know why the thought should strike me, but how
very strangely things turn out. If any one had told me four years
ago that Jimmy would be living with us, I should have laughed at
him. Then it hurt to see him; now it would hurt not to. (_Softly_)
Rachel, sometimes--I wonder--if, perhaps, God--hasn’t relented a
little--and given me back my boy,--my George.

RACHEL: The whole thing was strange, wasn’t it?

MRS. LOVING: Yes, God’s ways are strange and often very beautiful;
perhaps all would be beautiful--if we only understood.

RACHEL: God’s ways are certainly very mysterious. Why, of all the
people in this apartment-house, should Jimmy’s father and mother be
the only two to take the smallpox, and the only two to die. It’s
queer!

MRS. LOVING: It doesn’t seem like two years ago, does it?

RACHEL: Two years, Ma dear! Why it’s three the third of January.

MRS. LOVING: Are you sure, Rachel?

RACHEL (_Gently_): I don’t believe I could ever forget that, Ma dear.

MRS. LOVING: No, I suppose not. That is one of the differences
between youth and old age--youth attaches tremendous importance to
dates,--old age does not.

RACHEL (_Quickly_): Ma dear, don’t talk like that. You’re not old.

MRS. LOVING: Oh! yes, I am, dearie. It’s sixty long years since I was
born; and I am much older than that, much older.

RACHEL: Please, Ma dear, please!

MRS. LOVING (_Smiling_): Very well, dearie, I won’t say it any more.
(_A pause_). By the way,--how--does Tom strike you, these days?

RACHEL (_Avoiding her mother’s eye_): The same old, bantering,
cheerful Tom. Why?

MRS. LOVING: I know he’s all that, dearie, but it isn’t possible for
him to be really cheerful. (_Pauses; goes on wistfully_) When you
are little, we mothers can kiss away all the trouble, but when you
grow up--and go out--into the world--and get hurt--we are helpless.
There is nothing we can do.

RACHEL: Don’t worry about Tom, Ma dear, he’s game. He doesn’t show
the white feather.

MRS. LOVING: Did you see him, when he came in, last night?

RACHEL: Yes.

MRS. LOVING: Had he had--any luck?

RACHEL: No. (_Firmly_) Ma dear, we may as well face it--it’s
hopeless, I’m afraid.

MRS. LOVING: I’m afraid--you are right. (_Shakes her head sadly_)
Well, I’ll go and see how Jimmy has left things and wake up Tom, if
he isn’t awake yet. It’s the waking up in the mornings that’s hard.
(_Goes limping out rear door. Rachel frowns as she continues going
back and forth between the kitchenette and the table. Presently Tom
appears in the door at the rear. He watches Rachel several moments
before he speaks or enters. Rachel looks grim enough_).

TOM (_Entering and smiling_): Good-morning, “Merry Sunshine”! Have
you, perhaps, been taking a--er--prolonged draught of that very
delightful beverage--vinegar? (_Rachel, with a knife in her hand,
looks up unsmiling. In pretended fright_) I take it all back,
I’m sure. May I request, humbly, that before I press my chaste,
morning salute upon your forbidding lips, that you--that you--that
you--er--in some way rid yourself of that--er--knife? (_Bows as
Rachel puts it down_). I thank you. (_He comes to her and tips her
head back; gently_) What’s the matter with my little Sis?

RACHEL (_Her face softening_): Tommy dear, don’t mind me. I’m getting
wicked, I guess. At present I feel just like---- like curdled milk.
Once upon a time, I used to have quite a nice disposition, didn’t
I, Tommy?

TOM (_Smiling_): Did you, indeed! I’m not going to flatter you. Well,
brace yourself, old lady. Ready, One! Two! Three! Go! (_Kisses her,
then puts his hands on either side of her face, and raising it,
looks down into it_). You’re a pretty, decent little sister, Sis,
that’s what T. Loving thinks about it; and he knows a thing or two.
(_Abruptly looking around_) Has the paper come yet?

RACHEL: I haven’t looked, it must have, though, by this time. (_Tom,
hands in his pockets, goes into the vestibule. He whistles. The
outer door opens and closes, and presently he saunters back,
newspaper in hand. He lounges carelessly in the arm-chair and looks
at Rachel_).

TOM: May T. Loving be of any service to you?

RACHEL: Service! How?

TOM: May he run, say, any errands, set the table, cook the breakfast?
Anything?

RACHEL (_Watching the lazy figure_): You look like working.

TOM (_Grinning_): It’s at least--polite--to offer.

RACHEL: You can’t do anything; I don’t trust you to do it right.
You may just sit there, and read your paper--and try to behave
yourself.

TOM (_In affectedly meek tones_): Thank you, ma’am. (_Opens the
paper, but does not read. Jimmy presently enters riding around the
table on a cane. Rachel peeps in from the kitchenette and smiles.
Tom puts down his paper_). ’Lo! Big Fellow, what’s this?

JIMMY (_Disgustedly_): How can I hear? I’m miles and miles away yet.
(_Prances around and around the room; presently stops near Tom,
attempting a gruff voice_) Good-morning!

TOM (_Lowering his paper again_): Bless my stars! Who’s this? Well,
if it isn’t Mr. Mason! How--do--you--do, Mr. Mason? That’s a
beautiful horse you have there. He limps a trifle in his left,
hind, front foot, though.

JIMMY: He doesn’t!

TOM: He does!

JIMMY (_Fiercely_): He doesn’t!

TOM (_As fiercely_): I say he does!

MRS. LOVING (_Appearing in the doorway in the rear_): For Heaven’s
sake! What is this? Good-morning, Tommy.

TOM (_Rising and going toward his mother, Jimmy following astride
of the cane in his rear_): Good-morning, Ma. (_Kisses her; lays
his head on her shoulder and makes believe he is crying; in a high
falsetto_) Ma! Jimmy says his horse doesn’t limp in his hind, front
right leg, and I say he does.

JIMMY (_Throws his cane aside, rolls on the floor and kicks up his
heels. He roars with laughter_): I think Uncle Tom is funnier than
any clown in the “Kickus.”

TOM (_Raising his head and looking down at Jimmy; Rachel stands in
the kitchenette doorway_): In the _what_, Jimmy?

JIMMY: In the “kickus,” of course.

TOM: “Kickus”! “Kickus”! Oh, Lordy! (_Tom and Rachel shriek with
laughter; Mrs. Loving looks amused; Jimmy, very much affronted,
gets upon his feet again. Tom leans over and swings Jimmy high in
the air_). Boy, you’ll be the death of me yet. Circus, son! Circus!

JIMMY (_From on high, soberly and with injured dignity_): Well, I
thinks “Kickus” and circus are very much alike. Please put me down.

RACHEL (_From the doorway_): We laugh, honey, because we love you so
much.

JIMMY (_Somewhat mollified, to Tom_): Is that so, Uncle Tom?

TOM: Surest thing in the world! (_Severely_) Come, get down, young
man. Don’t you know you’ll wear my arms out? Besides, there is
something in my lower vest pocket, that’s just dying to come to
you. Get down, I say.

JIMMY (_Laughing_): How can I get down? (_Wriggles around_).

TOM: How should I know? Just get down, of course. (_Very suddenly
puts Jimmy down on his feet. Jimmy tries to climb up over him_).

JIMMY: Please sit down, Uncle Tom?

TOM (_In feigned surprise_): Sit down! What for?

JIMMY (_Pummeling him with his little fists, loudly_): Why, you said
there was something for me in your pocket.

TOM (_Sitting down_): So I did. How forgetful I am!

JIMMY (_Finding a bright, shiny penny, shrieks_): Oh! Oh! Oh!
(_Climbs up and kisses Tom noisily_).

TOM: Why, Jimmy! You embarrass me. My! My!

JIMMY: What is ’barrass?

TOM: You make me blush.

JIMMY: What’s that?

MRS. LOVING: Come, come, children! Rachel has the breakfast on the
table. (_Tom sits in Jimmy’s place and Jimmy tries to drag him
out_).

TOM: What’s the matter, now?

JIMMY: You’re in _my_ place.

TOM: Well, can’t you sit in mine?

JIMMY (_Wistfully_): I wants to sit by my Ma Rachel.

TOM: Well, so do I.

RACHEL: Tom, stop teasing Jimmy. Honey, don’t you let him bother you;
ask him please prettily.

JIMMY: Please prettily, Uncle Tom.

TOM: Oh! well then. (_Gets up and takes his own place. They sit as
they did in Act I. only Jimmy sits between Tom, at the end, and
Rachel_).

JIMMY (_Loudly_): Oh, goody! goody! goody! We’ve got sau-sa-ges.

MRS. LOVING: Sh!

JIMMY (_Silenced for a few moments; Rachel ties a big napkin around
his neck, and prepares his breakfast. He breaks forth again
suddenly and excitedly_): Uncle Tom!

TOM: Sir?

JIMMY: I took a bath this morning, all by myself alone, in the
bath-tub, and I ranned, no (_Doubtfully_) I runned, I think--the
water all in it, and got in it all by myself; and Ma Loving thought
it was you; but it was _me_.

TOM (_In feignedly severe tones_): See here, young man, this won’t
do. Don’t you know I’m the only one who is allowed to do that here?
It’s a perfect waste of water--that’s what it is.

JIMMY (_Undaunted_): Oh! no, you’re not the only one, ’cause Ma
Loving and Ma Rachel and me--alls takes baths every single morning.
So, there!

TOM: You ’barrass me. (_Jimmy opens his mouth to ask a question; Tom
quickly_) Young gentleman, your mouth is open. Close it, sir; close
it.

MRS. LOVING: Tom, you’re as big a child exactly as Jimmy.

TOM (_Bowing to right and left_): You compliment me. I thank you, I
am sure.

(_They finish in silence._)

JIMMY (_Sighing with contentment_): I’m through, Ma Rachel.

MRS. LOVING: Jimmy, you’re a big boy, now, aren’t you? (_Jimmy nods
his head vigorously and looks proud._) I wonder if you’re big
enough to wash your own hands, this morning?

JIMMY (_Shrilly_): Yes, ma’am.

MRS. LOVING: Well, if they’re beautifully clean, I’ll give you
another penny.

JIMMY (_Excitedly to Rachel_): Please untie my napkin, Ma Rachel!
(_Rachel does so._) “Excoose” me, please.

MRS. LOVING AND RACHEL: Certainly. (_Jimmy climbs down and rushes out
at the rear doorway._)

MRS. LOVING (_Solemnly and slowly; breaking the silence_): Rachel, do
you know what day this is?

RACHEL (_Looking at her plate; slowly_): Yes, Ma dear.

MRS. LOVING: Tom.

TOM (_Grimly and slowly_): Yes, Ma.

(_A silence._)

MRS. LOVING (_Impressively_): We must never--as long--as we
live--forget this day.

RACHEL: No, Ma dear.

TOM: No, Ma.

(_Another silence._)

TOM (_Slowly; as though thinking aloud_): I hear people talk about
God’s justice--and I wonder. There, are you, Ma. There isn’t a
sacrifice--that you haven’t made. You’re still working your fingers
to the bone--sewing--just so all of us may keep on living. Rachel
is a graduate in Domestic Science; she was high in her class; most
of the girls below her in rank have positions in the schools.
I’m an electrical engineer--and I’ve tried steadily for several
months--to practice my profession. It seems our educations aren’t
of much use to us: we aren’t allowed to make good--because our
skins are dark. (_Pauses_) And, in the South today, there are
white men--(_Controls himself_). They have everything; they’re
well-dressed, well-fed, well-housed; they’re prosperous in
business; they’re important politically; they’re pillars in the
church. I know all this is true--I’ve inquired. Their children
(our ages, some of them) are growing up around them; and they are
having a square deal handed out to them--college, position, wealth,
and best of all, freedom, without galling restrictions, to work
out their own salvations. With ability, they may become--anything;
and all this will be true of their children’s children after
them. (_A pause_). Look at us--and look at them. We are destined
to failure--they, to success. Their children shall grow up in
hope; ours, in despair. Our hands are clean;--theirs are red with
blood--red with the blood of a noble man--and a boy. They’re
nothing but low, cowardly, bestial murderers. The scum of the earth
shall succeed.--God’s justice, I suppose.

MRS. LOVING (_Rising and going to Tom; brokenly_): Tom, promise
me--one thing.

TOM (_Rises gently_): What is it, Ma?

MRS. LOVING: That--you’ll try--not to lose faith--in God. I’ve been
where you are now--and it’s black. Tom, we don’t understand God’s
ways. My son, I know, now--He is beautiful. Tom, won’t you try to
believe, again?

TOM (_Slowly, but not convincingly_): I’ll try, Ma.

MRS. LOVING (_Sighs_): Each one, I suppose, has to work out his own
salvation. (_After a pause_) Rachel, if you’ll get Jimmy ready,
I’ll take him to school. I’ve got to go down town shopping for
a customer, this morning. (_Rachel rises and goes out the rear
doorway; Mrs. Loving, limping very slightly now, follows. She
turns and looks back yearningly at Tom, who has seated himself
again, and is staring unseeingly at his plate. She goes out. Tom
sits without moving until he hears Mrs. Loving’s voice within and
Rachel’s faintly; then he gets the paper, sits in the arm-chair and
pretends to read_).

MRS. LOVING (_From within_): A yard, you say, Rachel? You’re
sure that will be enough. Oh! you’ve measured it. Anything
else?--What?--Oh! all right. I’ll be back by one o’clock, anyway.
Good-bye. (_Enters with Jimmy. Both are dressed for the street. Tom
looks up brightly at Jimmy_).

TOM: Hello! Big Fellow, where are you taking _my_ mother, I’d like to
know? This is a pretty kettle of fish.

JIMMY (_Laughing_): Aren’t you funny, Uncle Tom! Why, I’m not taking
her anywhere. She’s taking me. (_Importantly_) I’m going to school.

TOM: Big Fellow, come here. (_Jimmy comes with a rush_). Now, where’s
that penny I gave you? No, I don’t want to see it. All right. Did
Ma Loving give you another? (_Vigorous noddings of the head from
Jimmy_). I wish you to promise me solemnly--Now, listen! Here,
don’t wriggle so! not to buy--Listen! too many pints of ice-cream
with my penny. Understand?

JIMMY (_Very seriously_): Yes, Uncle Tom, cross my “tummy”! I promise.

TOM: Well, then, you may go. I guess that will be all for the
present. (_Jimmy loiters around looking up wistfully into his
face_). Well?

JIMMY: Haven’t you--aren’t you--isn’t you--forgetting something?

TOM (_Grabbing at his pockets_): Bless my stars! what now?

JIMMY: If you could kind of lean over this way. (_Tom leans
forward_). No, not that way. (_Tom leans toward the side away from
Jimmy_). No, this way, this way! (_Laughs and pummels him with his
little fists_). This way!

TOM (_Leaning toward Jimmy_): Well, why didn’t you say so, at first?

JIMMY (_Puts his arms around Tom’s neck and kisses him_): Good-bye,
dear old Uncle Tom. (_Tom catches him and hugs him hard_). I likes
to be hugged like that--I can taste--sau-sa-ges.

TOM: You ’barrass me, son. Here, Ma, take your boy. Now remember all
I told you, Jimmy.

JIMMY: I ’members.

MRS. LOVING: God bless you, Tom. Good luck.

JIMMY (_To Tom_): God bless you, Uncle Tom. Good luck!

TOM (_Much affected, but with restraint, rising_): Thank
you--Good-bye. (_Mrs. Loving and Jimmy go out through the
vestibule. Tom lights a cigarette and tries to read the paper. He
soon sinks into a brown study. Presently Rachel enters humming. Tom
relights his cigarette; and Rachel proceeds to clear the table. In
the midst of this, the bell rings three distinct times_).

RACHEL and TOM: John!

TOM: I wonder what’s up--It’s rather early for him.--I’ll go. (_Rises
leisurely and goes out into the vestibule. The outer door opens
and shuts. Men’s voices are heard. Tom and John Strong enter.
During the ensuing conversation Rachel finishes clearing the table,
takes the fern off, puts on the green table-cloth, places a doily
carefully in the centre, and replaces the fern. She apparently pays
no attention to the conversation between her brother and Strong.
After she has finished, she goes to the kitchenette. The rattle of
dishes can be heard now and then_).

RACHEL (_Brightly_): Well, stranger, how does it happen you’re out so
early in the morning?

STRONG: I hadn’t seen any of you for a week, and I thought I’d come
by, on my way to work, and find out how things are going. There is
no need of asking how you are, Rachel. And the mother and the boy?

RACHEL: Ma dear’s rheumatism still holds on.--Jimmy’s fine.

STRONG: I’m sorry to hear that your mother is not well. There isn’t
a remedy going that my mother doesn’t know about. I’ll get her
advice and let you know. (_Turning to Tom_) Well, Tom, how goes it?
(_Strong and Tom sit_).

TOM (_Smiling grimly_): There’s plenty of “go,” but no “git there.”
(_There is a pause_).

STRONG: I was hoping for better news.

TOM: If I remember rightly, not so many years ago, you tried--and
failed. Then, a colored man had hardly a ghost of a show;--now he
hasn’t even the ghost of a ghost. (_Rachel has finished and goes
into the kitchenette_).

STRONG: That’s true enough. (_A pause_). What are you going to do?

TOM (_Slowly_): I’ll do this little “going act” of mine the rest of
the week; (_pauses_) and then, I’ll do anything I can get to do. If
necessary, I suppose, I can be a “White-wing.”

STRONG: Tom, I came--(_Breaks off; continuing slowly_) Six years ago,
I found I was up against a stone wall--your experience, you see, to
the letter. I couldn’t let my mother starve, so I became a waiter.
(_Pauses_). I studied waiting; I made a science of it, an art. In
a comparatively short time, I’m a head-waiter and I’m up against
another stonewall. I’ve reached my limit. I’m thirty-two now, and
I’ll die a head-waiter. (_A pause_). College friends, so-called,
and acquaintances used to come into the restaurant. One or two at
first--attempted to commiserate with me. They didn’t do it again. I
waited upon them--I did my best. Many of them tipped me. (_Pauses
and smiles grimly_). I can remember my first tip, still. They
come in yet; many of them are already powers, not only in this
city, but in the country. Some of them make a personal request
that I wait upon them. I am an artist, now, in my proper sphere.
They tip me well, extremely well--the larger the tip, the more
pleased they are with me. Because of me, in their own eyes, they’re
philanthropists. Amusing, isn’t it? I can stand their attitude now.
My philosophy--learned hard, is to make the best of everything you
can, and go on. At best, life isn’t so very long. You’re wondering
why I’m telling you all this. I wish you to see things exactly
as they are. There are many disadvantages and some advantages in
being a waiter. My mother can live comfortably; I am able, even, to
see that she gets some of the luxuries. Tom, it’s this way--I can
always get you a job as a waiter; I’ll teach you the art. If you
care to begin the end of the week--all right. And remember this, as
long as I keep my job--this offer holds good.

TOM: I--I--(_Breaks off_) Thank you. (_A pause; then smiling wryly_)
I guess it’s safe enough to say, you’ll see me at the end of the
week. John you’re--(_Breaking off again. A silence interrupted
presently by the sound of much vigorous rapping on the outer door
of the flat. Rachel appears and crosses over to the vestibule_).
Hear the racket! My kiddies gently begging for admittance. It’s
about twenty minutes of nine, isn’t it? (_Tom nods_). I thought
so. (_Goes into the entryway; presently reappears with a group
of six little girls ranging in age from five to about nine. All
are fighting to be close to her; and all are talking at once.
There is one exception: the smallest tot is self-possessed and
self-sufficient. She carries a red geranium in her hand and gives
it her full attention_).

LITTLE MARY: It’s my turn to get “Morning kiss” first, this morning,
Miss Rachel. You kissed Louise first yesterday. You said you’d
kiss us “alphebettically.” (_Ending in a shriek_). You promised!
(_Rachel kisses Mary, who subsides_).

LITTLE NANCY (_Imperiously_): Now, me. (_Rachel kisses her, and then
amid shrieks, recriminations, pulling of hair, jostling, etc., she
kisses the rest. The small tot is still oblivious to everything
that is going on_).

RACHEL (_Laughing_): You children will pull me limb from limb; and
then I’ll be all dead; and you’ll be sorry--see, if you aren’t.
(_They fall back immediately. Tom and John watch in amused silence.
Rachel loses all self-consciousness, and seems to bloom in the
children’s midst_). Edith! come here this minute, and let me tie
your hair-ribbon again. Nancy, I’m ashamed of you, I saw you trying
to pull it off. (_Nancy looks abashed but mischievous_). Louise,
you look as sweet as sweet, this morning; and Jenny, where did you
get the pretty, pretty dress?

LITTLE JENNY (_Snuffling, but proud_): My mother made it. (_Pauses
with more snuffles_). My mother says I have a very bad cold.
(_There is a brief silence interrupted by the small tot with the
geranium_).

LITTLE MARTHA (_In a sweet, little voice_): I--have--a--pitty--’ittle
flower.

RACHEL: Honey, it’s beautiful. Don’t you want “Morning kiss” too?

LITTLE MARTHA: Yes, I do.

RACHEL: Come, honey. (_Rachel kisses her_). Are you going to give the
pretty flower to Jenny’s teacher? (_Vigorous shakings of the head
in denial_). Is it for--mother? (_More shakings of the head_). Is
it for--let’s see--Daddy? (_More shakings of the head_). I give up.
To whom are you going to give the pretty flower, honey?

LITTLE MARTHA (_Shyly_): “Oo.”

RACHEL: You, darling!

LITTLE MARTHA: Muzzer and I picked it--for “oo.” Here ’tis. (_Puts
her finger in her mouth, and gives it shyly_).

RACHEL: Well, I’m going to pay you with three big kisses. One! Two!
Three!

LITTLE MARTHA: I can count, One! Two! Free! Tan’t I? I am going to
school soon; and I wants to put the flower in your hair.

RACHEL (_Kneels_): All right, baby. (_Little Martha fumbles and
Rachel helps her_).

LITTLE MARTHA (_Dreamily_): Miss Rachel, the ’ittle flower loves
you. It told me so. It said it wanted to lie in your hair. It is
going to tell you a pitty ’ittle secret. You listen awful hard--and
you’ll hear. I wish I were a fairy and had a little wand, I’d turn
everything into flowers. Wouldn’t that be nice, Miss Rachel?

RACHEL: Lovely, honey!

LITTLE JENNY (_Snuffling loudly_): If I were a fairy and had a wand,
I’d turn you, Miss Rachel, into a queen--and then I’d always be
near you and see that you were happy.

RACHEL: Honey, how beautiful!

LITTLE LOUISE: I’d make my mother happy--if I were a fairy. She cries
all the time. My father can’t get anything to do.

LITTLE NANCY: If I were a fairy, I’d turn a boy in my school into a
spider. I hate him.

RACHEL: Honey, why?

LITTLE NANCY: I’ll tell you sometime--I hate him.

LITTLE EDITH: Where’s Jimmy, Miss Rachel?

RACHEL: He went long ago; and chickies, you’ll have to clear out,
all of you, now, or you’ll be late. Shoo! Shoo! (_She drives them
out prettily before her. They laugh merrily. They all go into the
vestibule_).

TOM (_Slowly_): Does it ever strike you--how pathetic and tragic a
thing--a little colored child is?

STRONG: Yes.

TOM: Today, we colored men and women, everywhere--are up against
it. Every year, we are having a harder time of it. In the South,
they make it as impossible as they can for us to get an education.
We’re hemmed in on all sides. Our one safeguard--the ballot--in
most states, is taken away already, or is being taken away.
Economically, in a few lines, we have a slight show--but at what
a cost! In the North, they make a pretence of liberality: they
give us the ballot and a good education, and then--snuff us out.
Each year, the problem just to live, gets more difficult to solve.
How about these children--if we’re fools enough to have any?
(RACHEL _reenters. Her face is drawn and pale. She returns to the
kitchenette._)

STRONG (_Slowly, with emphasis_): That part--is damnable! (_A
silence._)

TOM (_Suddenly looking at the clock_): It’s later than I thought.
I’ll have to be pulling out of here now, if you don’t mind.
(_Raising his voice_) Rachel! (_Rachel still drawn and pale,
appears in the doorway of the kitchenette. She is without her
apron_). I’ve got to go now, Sis. I leave John in your hands.

STRONG: I’ve got to go, myself, in a few minutes.

TOM: Nonsense, man! Sit still. I’ll begin to think, in a minute,
you’re afraid of the ladies.

STRONG: I am.

TOM: What! And not ashamed to acknowledge it?

STRONG: No.

TOM: You’re lots wiser than I dreamed. So long! (_Gets hat out in the
entry-way and returns; smiles wryly._) “Morituri Salutamus”. (_They
nod at him--Rachel wistfully. He goes out. There is the sound of an
opening and closing door. Rachel sits down. A rather uncomfortable
silence, on the part of Rachel, ensues. Strong is imperturbable._)

RACHEL (_Nervously_): John!

STRONG: Well?

RACHEL: I--I listened.

STRONG: Listened! To what?

RACHEL: To you and Tom.

STRONG: Well,--what of it?

RACHEL: I didn’t think it was quite fair not to tell you. It--it
seemed, well, like eavesdropping.

STRONG: Don’t worry about it. Nonsense!

RACHEL: I’m glad--I want to thank you for what you did for Tom. He needs you, and will need you. You’ll help him?

STRONG: (_Thoughtfully_): Rachel, each one--has his own little
battles. I’ll do what I can. After all, an outsider doesn’t help
much.

RACHEL: But friendship--just friendship--helps.

STRONG: Yes. (_A silence_). Rachel, do you hear anything encouraging
from the schools? Any hope for you yet?

RACHEL: No, nor ever will be. I know that now. There’s no more chance
for me than there is for Tom,--or than there was for you--or for
any of us with dark skins. It’s lucky for me that I love to keep
house, and cook, and sew. I’ll never get anything else. Ma dear’s
sewing, the little work Tom has been able to get, and the little
sewing I sometimes get to do--keep us from the poorhouse. We live.
According to your philosophy, I suppose, make the best of it--it
might be worse.

STRONG (_Quietly_): You don’t want to get morbid over these things,
you know.

RACHEL (_Scornfully_): That’s it. If you see things as they are,
you’re either pessimistic or morbid.

STRONG: In the long run, do you believe, that attitude of mind--will
be--beneficial to you? I’m ten years older than you. I tried your
way. I know. Mine is the only sane one. (_Goes over to her slowly;
deliberately puts his hands on her hair, and tips her head back. He
looks down into her face quietly without saying anything_).

RACHEL (_Nervous and startled_): Why, John, don’t! (_He pays no
attention, but continue to look down into her face_).

STRONG (_Half to himself_): Perhaps--if you had--a little more fun in
your life, your point of view would be--more normal. I’ll arrange
it so I can take you to some theatre, one night, this week.

RACHEL (_Irritably_): You talk as though I were a--a jellyfish.
You’ll take me, how do you know _I’ll_ go?

STRONG: You will.

RACHEL (_Sarcastically_): Indeed! (STRONG _makes no reply_). I wonder
if you know how--how--maddening you are. Why, you talk as though my
will counts for nothing. It’s as if you’re trying to master me. I
think a domineering man is detestable.

STRONG (_Softly_): If he’s, perhaps, _the_ man?

RACHEL (_Hurriedly, as though she had not heard_): Besides, some of
these theatres put you off by yourself as though you had leprosy.
I’m not going.

STRONG (_Smiling at her_): You know I wouldn’t ask you to go, under
those circumstances. (_A silence_). Well, I must be going now.
(_He takes her hand, and looks at it reverently. Rachel, at first
resists; but he refuses to let go. When she finds it useless,
she ceases to resist. He turns his head and smiles down into her
face_). Rachel, I am coming back to see you, this evening.

RACHEL: I’m sure _we’ll_ all be very glad to see you.

STRONG (_Looking at her calmly_): I said--_you_. (_Very deliberately,
he turns her hand palm upwards, leans over and kisses it; then
he puts it back into her lap. He touches her cheek lightly_).
Good-bye--little Rachel. (_Turns in the vestibule door and looks
back, smiling_). Until tonight. (_He goes out. Rachel sits for
some time without moving. She is lost in a beautiful day-dream.
Presently she sighs happily, and after looking furtively around the
room, lifts the palm John has kissed to her lips. She laughs shyly
and jumping up, begins to hum. She opens the window at the rear of
the room and then commences to thread the sewing-machine. She hums
happily the whole time. A light rapping is heard at the outer door.
Rachel listens. It stops, and begins again. There is something
insistent, and yet hopeless in the sound. Rachel looking puzzled,
goes out into the vestibule.... The door closes. Rachel, a black
woman, poorly dressed, and a little ugly, black child come in.
There is the stoniness of despair in the woman’s face. The child is
thin, nervous, suspicious, frightened_).

MRS. LANE (_In a sharp, but toneless voice_): May I sit down? I’m
tired.

RACHEL (_Puzzled, but gracious; draws up a chair for her_): Why,
certainly.

MRS. LANE: No, you don’t know me--never even heard of me--nor I
of you. I was looking at the vacant flat on this floor--and saw
your name--on your door,--“Loving!” It’s a strange name to come
across--in this world.--I thought, perhaps, you might give me some
information. (_The child hides behind her mother and looks around
at Rachel in a frightened way_).

RACHEL (_Smiling at the woman and child in a kindly manner_): I’ll be
glad to tell you anything, I am able Mrs.--

MRS. LANE: Lane. What I want to know is, how do they treat the
colored children in the school I noticed around the corner? (_The
child clutches at her mother’s dress_).

RACHEL (_Perplexed_): Very well--I’m sure.

MRS. LANE (_Bluntly_): What reason have you for being sure?

RACHEL: Why, the little boy I’ve adopted goes there; and he’s very
happy. All the children in this apartment-house go there too; and I
know they’re happy.

MRS. LANE: Do you know how many colored children there are in the
school?

RACHEL: Why, I should guess around thirty.

MRS. LANE: I see. (_Pauses_). What color is this little adopted boy
of yours?

RACHEL (_Gently_): Why--he’s brown.

MRS. LANE: Any black children there?

RACHEL (_Nervously_): Why--yes.

MRS. LANE: Do you mind if I send Ethel over by the piano to sit?

RACHEL: N--no, certainly not. (_Places a chair by the piano and goes
to the little girl holding out her hand. She smiles beautifully.
The child gets farther behind her mother_).

MRS. LANE: She won’t go to you--she’s afraid of everybody now but her
father and me. Come Ethel. (_Mrs. Lane takes the little girl by the
hand and leads her to the chair. In a gentler voice_) Sit down,
Ethel. (_Ethel obeys. When her mother starts back again toward
Rachel, she holds out her hands pitifully. She makes no sound_).
I’m not going to leave you, Ethel. I’ll be right over here. You
can see me. (_The look of agony on the child’s face, as her mother
leaves her, makes Rachel shudder_). Do you mind if we sit over here
by the sewing-machine? Thank you. (_They move their chairs_).

RACHEL (_Looking at the little, pitiful figure watching its mother
almost unblinkingly_): Does Ethel like apples, Mrs. Lane?

MRS. LANE: Yes.

RACHEL: Do you mind if I give her one?

MRS. LANE: No. Thank you, very much.

RACHEL (_Goes into the kitchenette and returns with a fringed napkin,
a plate, and a big, red apple, cut into quarters. She goes to the
little girl, who cowers away from her; very gently_). Here, dear,
little girl, is a beautiful apple for you. (_The gentle tones have
no appeal for the trembling child before her_).

MRS. LANE (_Coming forward_): I’m sorry, but I’m afraid she won’t
take it from you. Ethel, the kind lady has given you an apple.
Thank her nicely. Here! I’ll spread the napkin for you, and put the
plate in your lap. Thank the lady like a good little girl.

ETHEL (_Very low_): Thank you. (_They return to their seats. Ethel
with difficulty holds the plate in her lap. During the rest of the
interview between Rachel and her mother, she divides her attention
between the apple on the plate and her mother’s face. She makes
no attempt to eat the apple, but holds the plate in her lap with
a care that is painful to watch. Often, too, she looks over her
shoulder fearfully. The conversation between Rachel and her mother
is carried on in low tones_).

MRS. LANE: I’ve got to move--it’s _Ethel_.

RACHEL: What is the matter with that child? It’s--it’s heartbreaking
to see her.

MRS. LANE: I understand how you feel,--I don’t feel anything, myself,
any more. (_A pause_). My husband and I are poor, and we’re ugly
and we’re black. Ethel looks like her father more than she does
like me. We live in 55th Street--near the railroad. It’s a poor
neighborhood, but the rent’s cheap. My husband is a porter in a
store; and, to help out, I’m a caretaker. (_Pauses_). I don’t know
why I’m telling you all this. We had a nice little home--and the
three of us were happy. Now we’ve got to move.

RACHEL: Move! Why?

MRS. LANE: It’s Ethel. I put her in school this September. She stayed
two weeks. (_Pointing to Ethel_) That’s the result.

RACHEL (_In horror_): You mean--that just two weeks--in school--did
that?

MRS. LANE: Yes. Ethel never had a sick day in her life--before. (_A
brief pause_). I took her to the doctor at the end of the two
weeks. He says she’s a nervous wreck.

RACHEL: But what could they have done to her?

MRS. LANE (_Laughs grimly and mirthlessly_): I’ll tell you what they
did the first day. Ethel is naturally sensitive and backward.
She’s not assertive. The teacher saw that, and, after I had left,
told her to sit in a seat in the rear of the class. She was alone
there--in a corner. The children, immediately feeling there was
something wrong with Ethel because of the teacher’s attitude,
turned and stared at her. When the teacher’s back was turned they
whispered about her, pointed their fingers at her and tittered. The
teacher divided the class into two parts, divisions, I believe,
they are called. She forgot all about Ethel, of course, until the
last minute, and then, looking back, said sharply: “That little
girl there may join this division,” meaning the group of pupils
standing around her. Ethel naturally moved slowly. The teacher
called her sulky and told her to lose a part of her recess. When
Ethel came up--the children drew away from her in every direction.
She was left standing alone. The teacher then proceeded to give a
lesson about kindness to animals. Funny, isn’t it, _kindness_ to
_animals_? The children forgot Ethel in the excitement of talking
about their pets. Presently, the teacher turned to Ethel and said
disagreeably: “Have you a pet?” Ethel said, “Yes,” very low. “Come,
speak up, you sulky child, what is it?” Ethel said: “A blind
puppy.” They all laughed, the teacher and all. Strange, isn’t it,
but Ethel loves that puppy. She spoke up: “It’s mean to laugh at a
little blind puppy. I’m glad he’s blind.” This remark brought forth
more laughter. “Why are you glad,” the teacher asked curiously.
Ethel refused to say. (_Pauses_). When I asked her why, do you know
what she told me? “If he saw me, he might not love me any more.”
(_A pause_). Did I tell you that Ethel is only seven years old?

RACHEL (_Drawing her breath sharply_): Oh! I didn’t believe any one
could be as cruel as that--to a little child.

MRS. LANE: It isn’t very pleasant, is it? When the teacher found out
that Ethel wouldn’t answer, she said severely: “Take your seat!” At
recess, all the children went out. Ethel could hear them playing
and laughing and shrieking. Even the teacher went too. She was
made to sit there all alone--in that big room--because God made
her ugly--and black. (_Pauses_). When the recess was half over the
teacher came back. “You may go now,” she said coldly. Ethel didn’t
stir. “Did you hear me?” “Yes’m.” “Why don’t you obey?” “I don’t
want to go out, please.” “You don’t, don’t you, you stubborn child!
Go immediately!” Ethel went. She stood by the school steps. No one
spoke to her. The children near her moved away in every direction.
They stopped playing, many of them, and watched her. They stared as
only children can stare. Some began whispering about her. Presently
one child came up and ran her hand roughly over Ethel’s face. She
looked at her hand and Ethel’s face and ran screaming back to the
others, “It won’t come off! See!” Other children followed the
first child’s example. Then one boy spoke up loudly: “I know what
she is, she’s a nigger!” Many took up the cry. God or the devil
interfered--the bell rang. The children filed in. One boy boldly
called her “Nigger!” before the teacher. She said, “That isn’t
nice,”--but she smiled at the boy. Things went on about the same
for the rest of the day. At the end of school, Ethel put on her hat
and coat--the teacher made her hang them at a distance from the
other pupils’ wraps; and started for home. Quite a crowd escorted
her. They called her “Nigger!” all the way. I _made_ Ethel go the
next day. I complained to the authorities. They treated me lightly.
I was determined not to let them force my child out of school. At
the end of two weeks--I had to take her out.

RACHEL (_Brokenly_): Why,--I never--in all my life--heard
anything--so--pitiful.

MRS. LANE: Did you ever go to school here?

RACHEL: Yes. I was made to feel my color--but I never had an
experience like that.

MRS. LANE: How many years ago were you in the graded schools?

RACHEL: Oh!--around ten.

MRS. LANE (_Laughs grimly_): Ten years! Every year things are getting
worse. Last year wasn’t as bad as this. (_Pauses._) So they treat
the children all right in this school?

RACHEL: Yes! Yes! I know that.

MRS. LANE: I can’t afford to take this flat here, but I’ll take it.
I’m going to have Ethel educated. Although, when you think of
it,--it’s all rather useless--this education! What are our children
going to do with it, when they get it? We strive and save and
sacrifice to educate them--and the whole time--down underneath, we
know--they’ll have no chance.

RACHEL (_Sadly_): Yes, that’s true, all right.--God seems to have
forgotten us.

MRS. LANE: God! It’s all a lie about God. I know.--This fall I
sent Ethel to a white Sunday-school near us. She received the
same treatment there she did in the day school. Her being there,
nearly broke up the school. At the end, the superintendent called
her to him and asked her if she didn’t know of some nice colored
Sunday-school. He told her she must feel out of place, and
uncomfortable there. That’s your Church of God!

RACHEL: Oh! how unspeakably brutal. (_Controls herself with an
effort; after a pause_) Have you any other children?

MRS. LANE (_Dryly_): Hardly! If I had another--I’d kill it. It’s
kinder. (_Rising presently_) Well, I must go, now. Thank you,
for your information--and for listening. (_Suddenly_) You aren’t
married, are you?

RACHEL: No.

MRS. LANE: Don’t marry--that’s my advice. Come, Ethel. (_Ethel gets
up and puts down the things in her lap, carefully upon her chair.
She goes in a hurried, timid way to her mother and clutches her
hand_). Say good-bye to the lady.

ETHEL (_Faintly_): Good-bye.

RACHEL _(Kneeling by the little girl--a beautiful smile on her
face_) Dear little girl, won’t you let me kiss you good-bye? I
love little girls. (_The child hides behind her mother; continuing
brokenly_) Oh!--no child--ever did--that to me--before!

MRS. LANE (_In a gentler voice_): Perhaps, when we move in here,
the first of the month, things may be better. Thank you, again.
Good-morning! You don’t belie your name. (_All three go into the
vestibule. The outside door opens and closes. Rachel as though
dazed and stricken returns. She sits in a chair, leans forward, and
clasping her hands loosely between her knees, stares at the chair
with the apple on it where Ethel Lane has sat. She does not move
for some time. Then she gets up and goes to the window in the rear
center and sits there. She breathes in the air deeply and then goes
to the sewing-machine and begins to sew on something she is making.
Presently her feet slow down on the pedals; she stops; and begins
brooding again. After a short pause, she gets up and begins to pace
up and down slowly, mechanically, her head bent forward. The sharp
ringing of the electric bell breaks in upon this. Rachel starts and
goes slowly into the vestibule. She is heard speaking dully through
the tube_).

RACHEL: Yes!--All right! Bring it up! (_Presently she returns with
a long flower box. She opens it listlessly at the table. Within
are six, beautiful crimson rosebuds with long stems. Rachel looks
at the name on the card. She sinks down slowly on her knee and
leans her head against the table. She sighs wearily_) Oh! John!
John!--What are we to do?--I’m--I’m--afraid! Everywhere--it is
the same thing. My mother! My little brother! Little, black,
crushed Ethel! (_In a whisper_) Oh! God! You who I have been
taught to believe are so good, so beautiful how could--You
permit--these--things? (_Pauses, raises her head and sees the
rosebuds. Her face softens and grows beautiful, very sweetly_).
Dear little rosebuds--you--make me think--of sleeping, curled
up, happy babies. Dear beautiful, little rosebuds! (_Pauses;
goes on thoughtfully to the rosebuds_) When--I look--at you--I
believe--God is beautiful. He who can make a little exquisite thing
like this, and this can’t be cruel. Oh! He can’t mean me--to give
up--love--and the hope of little children. (_There is the sound of
a small hand knocking at the outer door. Rachel smiles_). My Jimmy!
It must be twelve o’clock. (_Rises_). I didn’t dream it was so
late. (_Starts for the vestibule_). Oh! the world can’t be so bad.
I don’t believe it. I won’t. I _must_ forget that little girl. My
little Jimmy is happy--and today John--sent me beautiful rosebuds.
Oh, there are lovely things, yet. (_Goes into the vestibule. A
child’s eager cry is heard; and Rachel carrying Jimmy in her arms
comes in. He has both arms about her neck and is hugging her. With
him in her arms, she sits down in the armchair at the right front_).

RACHEL: Well, honey, how was school today?

JIMMY (_Sobering a trifle_): All right, Ma Rachel. (_Suddenly sees
the roses_) Oh! look at the pretty flowers. Why, Ma Rachel, you
forgot to put them in water. They’ll die.

RACHEL: Well, so they will. Hop down this minute, and I’ll put them
in right away. (_Gathers up box and flowers and goes into the
kitchenette. Jimmy climbs back into the chair. He looks thoughtful
and serious. Rachel comes back with the buds in a tall, glass vase.
She puts the fern on top of the piano, and places the vase in the
centre of the table_). There, honey, that’s better, isn’t it?
Aren’t they lovely?

JIMMY: Yes, that’s lots better. Now they won’t die, will they?
Rosebuds are just like little “chilyun,” aren’t they, Ma Rachel?
If you are good to them, they’ll grow up into lovely roses, won’t
they? And if you hurt them, they’ll die. Ma Rachel do you think
all peoples are kind to little rosebuds?

RACHEL (_Watching Jimmy shortly_): Why, of course. Who could hurt
little children? Who would have the heart to do such a thing?

JIMMY: If you hurt them, it would be lots kinder, wouldn’t it, to
kill them all at once, and not a little bit and a little bit?

RACHEL (_Sharply_): Why, honey boy, why are you talking like this?

JIMMY: Ma Rachel, what is a “Nigger”?

(_Rachel recoils as though she had been struck_).

RACHEL: Honey boy, why--why do you ask that?

JIMMY: Some big boys called me that when I came out of school just
now. They said: “Look at the little nigger!” And they laughed. One
of them runned, no ranned, after me and threw stones; and they all
kept calling “Nigger! Nigger! Nigger!” One stone struck me hard in
the back, and it hurt awful bad; but I didn’t cry, Ma Rachel. I
wouldn’t let them make me cry. The stone hurts me there, Ma Rachel;
but what they called me hurts and hurts here. What is a “Nigger,”
Ma Rachel?

RACHEL (_Controlling herself with a tremendous effort. At last she
sweeps down upon him and hugs and kisses him_): Why, honey boy,
those boys didn’t mean anything. Silly, little, honey boy! They’re
rough, that’s all. How _could_ they mean anything?

JIMMY: You’re only saying that, Ma Rachel, so I won’t be hurt. I
know. It wouldn’t ache here like it does--if they didn’t mean
something.

RACHEL (_Abruptly_): Where’s Mary, honey?

JIMMY: She’s in her flat. She came in just after I did.

RACHEL: Well, honey, I’m going to give you two big cookies and two to
take to Mary; and you may stay in there and play with her, till I
get your lunch ready. Won’t that be jolly?

JIMMY (_Brightening a little_): Why, you never give me but one at a
time. You’ll give me two?--One? Two? (_Rachel gets the cookies and
brings them to him. Jimmy climbs down from the chair_). Shoo! now,
little honey boy. See how many laughs you can make for me, before I
come after you. Hear? Have a good time, now. (_Jimmy starts for the
door quickly; but he begins to slow down. His face gets long and
serious again. Rachel watches him_).

RACHEL (_Jumping at him_): Shoo! Shoo! Get out of here quickly,
little chicken. (_She follows him out. The outer door opens and
shuts. Presently she returns. She looks old and worn and grey;
calmly. Pauses_). First, it’s little, black Ethel--and then’s
it’s Jimmy. Tomorrow, it will be some other little child. The
blight--sooner or later--strikes all. My little Jimmy, only
seven years old poisoned! (_Through the open window comes the
laughter of little children at play. Rachel, shuddering, covers
her ears_). And once I said, centuries ago, it must have been:
“How can life be so terrible, when there are little children in
the world?” Terrible! Terrible! (_In a whisper, slowly_) That’s
the reason it is so terrible. (_The laughter reaches her again;
this time she listens_). And, suddenly, some day, from out of the
black, the blight shall descend, and shall still forever--the
laughter on those little lips, and in those little hearts. (_Pauses
thoughtfully_). And the loveliest thing--almost, that ever happened
to me, that beautiful voice, in my dream, those beautiful words:
“Rachel, you are to be the mother to little children.” (_Pauses,
then slowly and with dawning surprise_). Why, God, you were making
a mock of me; you were laughing at me. I didn’t believe God could
laugh at our sufferings, but He can. We are accursed, accursed!
We have nothing, absolutely nothing. (_Strong’s rosebuds attract
her attention. She goes over to them, puts her hand out as if to
touch them, and then shakes her head, very sweetly_) No, little
rosebuds, I may not touch you. Dear, little, baby rosebuds,--I
am accursed. (_Gradually her whole form stiffens, she breathes
deeply; at last slowly_). You God!--You terrible, laughing God!
Listen! I swear--and may my soul be damned to all eternity,
if I do break this oath--I swear--that no child of mine shall
ever lie upon my breast, for I will not have it rise up, in the
terrible days that are to be--and call me cursed. (_A pause, very
wistfully; questioningly_). Never to know the loveliest thing in
all the world--the feel of a little head, the touch of little
hands, the beautiful utter dependence--of a little child? (_With
sudden frenzy_) You can laugh, Oh God! Well, so can I. (_Bursts
into terrible, racking laughter_) But I can be kinder than You.
(_Fiercely she snatches the rosebuds from the vase, grasps them
roughly, tears each head from the stem, and grinds it under her
feet. The vase goes over with a crash; the water drips unheeded
over the table-cloth and floor_). If I kill, You Mighty God, I kill
at once--I do not torture. (_Falls face downward on the floor. The
laughter of the children shrills loudly through the window_).

ACT III