Chapter II: Part 2

It isn't that, with me. I can't write.... I had one splendid teacher. He used to talk about things right in class. He said that most educated people think that intellect is a matter of making fine distinctions--of seeing as two separate points what the unintelligent would believe was one point; but that this idea was _finicky_. He wanted us to see that intelligence might also be a matter of seeing the connection between two things so far apart that most people would think they were always separate. I like that. It made education _mean_ something, because it made it depend on imagination instead of grubbing. And then he told us about the history of our subject--grammar. How it began as poetry, when every word was an original creation; and then became philosophy, as people had to arrange speech with thought; and then science, with more or less exact, laws. I could _see_ it--the thing became alive. And he said all knowledge passed through the same stages, and there isn't anything that can't eventually be made scientific. That made me think a good deal. I wondered if somebody couldn't work out a way of preventing anybody from being poor. It seems so unnecessary, with so much work being done. That's what I want to do. Thanks to you, I--

THE MAN

Here's Rex! Rex, know my good friend. I know you will like him. Rex always cares for the people I do, don't you, Rex?

THE BOY

Of course, I see one thing: it's the people nearest one that make the most difference. Mother, now, she will understand.... You don't believe in marrying, though, do you?

THE MAN

I certainly do!

THE BOY

But I thought--

THE MAN

You thought because I left one woman and hadn't found another that I didn't care for women? Others believe that, too, but it isn't so. On the contrary. You see, I didn't so much leave her as get away from my own failure. Of course, there is such a thing as the wrong woman. She makes a man a fraction. The better she is in herself, the less she leaves him to live by. One twentieth is less than one half. But the right woman! She multiplies a man....

THE BOY

Oh!

THE MAN

Why, you might have told from my poems how I believe in love.

THE BOY

I don't remember any love poems.

THE MAN

Bless your heart! Every one of them was a love poem. Not the old-fashioned kind, about fading roses and tender hearts.... I sent that book out as a cry for the mate. It is charged with the fulness of love. That's why I could write about trees and storms.

THE BOY

I suppose if I had been older....

THE MAN

It isn't one's age but one's need. _She_ will understand. Look, the sun has gone round the corner of the house. Is that lunch you have in the parcel?

THE BOY

Yes.

THE MAN

Would you like to make it a picnic? I'll get something from the house, and then we can walk to the woods.

THE BOY

I'd love to!

THE MAN

All right, I'll be ready in no time. Come, Rex!

SURVIVAL

_The garden of a home in the suburbs. A man is walking up and down alone at dusk, occasionally stopping to water a plant, but more often falling into deep thought, unconscious of his surroundings. About the place there is an air of newness and prosperity._

_A young woman enters the garden from the lawn next door._

MARGARET

Look here, Roger, you can't keep this up!

ROGER

No, I can't keep this up. Besides, it's going to rain to-morrow.

MARGARET

What do you mean?

ROGER

Watering the plants. Isn't that what you meant?

MARGARET

You aren't watering the plants. I've been watching you for half an hour. If you only would! But you keep forgetting what you are at.

ROGER

I wish it were only forgetting--it's remembering.

MARGARET

Oh Roger, don't I know? But you mustn't!

ROGER

I suppose not. I suppose not.

MARGARET

I knew all along, and I kept away. How you felt, I mean. I ought to have come over a week ago. You haven't anybody to talk to--that's the trouble, Roger, really. I know. Now let's have the whole thing out. Come. And don't be afraid of me. Why, I could tie you all up in bandages if you needed it. And not flinch.

ROGER

Yes, I guess you could.... It's, it's absurd how well I keep!

MARGARET

Hm. Isn't it? You ought to be wilting away like a rose. But no, you keep your splendid strength and go on with two or three men's work! What would your mother think if she heard you talking like that? Don't you know that you couldn't please her better than by going on as you are?

ROGER

That's so. Of course. But that really isn't what I was thinking of. I was thinking how queer this whole business is. Take our family. As far back as I know we were always struggling along with many children and few means. I am the first one who could really make money. And just when I could make mother comfortable and easy ... besides, I'm all alone.

MARGARET

Ah, Roger, of course you feel that way! But you don't really appreciate that wonderful mother of yours. Do you think her happiness depended on having a new house, and a car?

ROGER

No....

MARGARET

Didn't she round out her life beautifully? Wasn't she repaid for her struggles by seeing you succeed? Didn't she pass away as quietly as going to sleep? And wasn't her marriage happy? You don't know how much a woman will meet with, if she's happy!

ROGER

That part of it I can face all right, though I suppose it's hard for the ordinary selfish man to realize that love like mother's is its own reward. But toward the end she suffered--she worried....

MARGARET

I know she did. She told me.

ROGER

She told you? I didn't know that.

MARGARET

We were good friends, your mother and I--and women. That's why she told me. And I think I reassured her.

ROGER

Oh! She did seem to get mightily comforted, just at the last. I never understood why.

MARGARET

I thank heaven I really did that!--And when I looked out the window and saw you standing here, I had to come over. I knew it wasn't your mother's death that was hurting you, but--but your brother's.

ROGER

Arthur ... I'm glad the accident happened after _she_ died.

MARGARET

Yes. But there's something else. Something that hurts. You've got to tell me. Everything. Don't be afraid. Face it.

ROGER

I have faced it. I--I've made up my mind.

MARGARET

There's still pain somewhere. Is it in the way you have made up your mind?

ROGER

How could that be?

MARGARET

It depends. But tell me what you thought--I mean during this last year or so. It didn't come to you all at once.

ROGER

Well.... Of course, I always took it for granted about his music. He seemed to be wonderful at that. And mother believed so in him. It really began when he left college, I found he had debts.

MARGARET

Debts?

ROGER

Yes. Not just clothes and living--other things. I paid up, but I didn't like it. I didn't like the things. But I thought it was just a boy's foolishness. I thought he would be all right after that, but--he wasn't.

MARGARET

He wasn't....

ROGER

No. After a couple of years I had to straighten it out again. I came down on him flat. He promised to cut it.

MARGARET

But he was doing such wonderful work!

ROGER

Yes, everybody began to say so. If he had only been that alone, the musician! But--

MARGARET

But afterward?

ROGER

Well, a year ago I began to hear things said again. And then I found letters and bills. It was the same thing all over. He hadn't kept his word.

MARGARET

But what did _he_ say?

ROGER

I let it go for weeks, hoping he would say something. But never a word.

MARGARET

He loved you so. How he must have suffered!

ROGER

Yes, I suppose he did suffer. But if he cared so for me why did he try to keep it hidden, the one thing I would hate most?

MARGARET

That was his way. It made him ashamed.

ROGER

Well, he couldn't keep it dark forever. Mother almost found out.

MARGARET

Almost found out?

ROGER

Yes. So of course I stepped in. We had a frightful row.

MARGARET

When was that?

ROGER

Six months ago. I got him clear. It was hard--this time the woman almost got him.

MARGARET

Oh!

ROGER

I helped him. But I did it on one condition--that he go to work.

MARGARET

Work? What about his music?

ROGER

That's what he said. But I asked him if he had thought about his music when he got into these scrapes. He couldn't say a word. So it was all arranged for him to go into my office, right under my eye, when mother was taken sick. Then she wanted him to stay near her, so.... And then she died. And the accident. Well I don't see what more I could have done.

MARGARET

No.... Of course, it wasn't as if you turned against him. And the office--he was to pay you back that way?

ROGER

Pay me back? Why, if he could, naturally; but that wasn't my idea, that was only incidental. My idea was to get him into the habit of hard work.

MARGARET

But he always _did_ work!

ROGER

Oh, he worked hard enough. At least he turned out a good deal. But that was spasmodic--night and day for weeks, and then loafing for weeks more. That's how he always got into trouble: loafing in between.

MARGARET

Don't you remember how splendid he was the day he had just finished something? He seemed to have passed out of himself into a shining humility. It was said of Shelley: _"Sun-treader!"_... Don't you remember?

ROGER

Yes.... Oh hang it! Why couldn't he have been only that! Yes, I remember. I hoped that six months or so at the office--but no. Anyhow, it's all over now.

MARGARET

What were you going to say?

ROGER

I suppose I might as well say it: I don't believe the office would have changed him, after all. That is, permanently. He'd have done his best for a while, and then--. No, nothing could help him.

MARGARET

Is that what you have made up your mind about?

ROGER

Oh, that. Yes, that's what started me thinking. Everybody has difficulties, troubles, and I believe in helping a fellow every time. Life piles up too high against one sometimes, but a little shove from the other side will move it away. I never believed in the devil take the hindmost, at all. But this was different.

MARGARET

Different, how? What do you mean?

ROGER

I mean that as long as a fellow's difficulties are outside him you can help him, because as soon as they are removed he's himself again; but when they are inside, part of the man himself, there's nothing you can do. Nothing. You can save a person from the world, but not from himself. That's where the devil comes in. I see it now. I believe in the devil.

MARGARET

Oh! But _Arthur_....

ROGER

I know you think I'm a brute for speaking of Arthur in connection with the devil, but it wasn't the old-fashioned devil I meant. I meant the devil of unfitness. Arthur wasn't _fit_. He had every chance. We can't get away from what life is. Life shoves people to the wall every day. I've had to fight hard myself. I admit things aren't fair all round, but Arthur had his chance, two or three chances, and he just--dropped out. He couldn't _survive_. And it seems to me that for those who loved him it may be a good thing after all that he didn't have to go on.

MARGARET

Roger! You shan't say that! You shan't!

ROGER

I don't want to, Margaret, but that's what life itself says. We can't get behind life. We can't beat evolution and the law of survival.

MARGARET

But his talent, his fine talent--and his exquisite nature!

ROGER

I know. But there it is. It's kinder in the long run to be cruel, if the truth is cruel. We've got to be true to things as they are.

MARGARET

But take things as they are! He wasn't vicious about--about women, he was like a child. Of course they got his money, but even so, they weren't all mere schemers. Some of them were very decent. Why, one of them--

ROGER

What the deuce do _you_ know about them? What about one of them?

MARGARET

She cried. She said she knew it wasn't right, that he couldn't marry her, but she did like him, and she had children of her own.... I'm sure she was very tender to him.

ROGER

Who told you? Where did you see her?

MARGARET

_There._

ROGER

There! In my own house?

MARGARET

Yes.

ROGER

How did _she_ get there?

MARGARET

Your mother sent for her.

ROGER

My mother sent for her? Then she knew?

MARGARET

Yes. She knew everything.

ROGER

How?

MARGARET

_He_ told her--Arthur did.

ROGER

Good Lord! I never heard a word of it.

MARGARET

No. They were afraid--afraid you wouldn't understand.

ROGER

Afraid _I_ wouldn't understand? Why, _I_ understood only too well. It was mother that wouldn't have understood. I'd have cut my hand off rather than tell her.

MARGARET

Well, she did understand. She understood better than you did. She understood that part of him hadn't grown up. He was like a boy. He just walked into things....

ROGER

How did he ever come to tell _her_?

MARGARET

Once when he was sick. Your mother was taking care of him. He blurted it all out, like a homesick boy.

ROGER

And _she_ understood? Didn't break her heart, and all that?

MARGARET

Oh, it was a shock, naturally. But they talked it all over, and your mother sent for this woman. I knew. Arthur knew I knew....

ROGER

And mother packed her away without telling me?

MARGARET

Oh, she didn't pack her away. That is, right off.

ROGER

He kept on seeing her? With mother's knowledge?

MARGARET

Yes. Your mother liked her.

ROGER

Well, if women aren't the strangest things!

MARGARET

Yes, they are. Some of them. Fortunately. But you see how wrong you were, Roger?

ROGER

How was I wrong?

MARGARET

About this unfitness--this survival.

ROGER

On the contrary. It only proves it.

MARGARET

No, it doesn't. I've been thinking, too ... about saving people from themselves, and all that. You say it's the law of life, and we can't go beyond life.

ROGER

No, we can't. I still say it.

MARGARET

Then what about your mother? What about all women who--

ROGER

About mother?

MARGARET

Yes. Wasn't her love a part of life? And didn't she keep on loving him in spite of everything? Is that love blind and foolish--something for your old evolution to get rid of?

ROGER

I never thought of it. No, of course we don't want to get rid of _that_--but even so, she didn't save him.

MARGARET

She didn't know about it until lately--thanks to you. If she had known sooner--and anyhow, you don't know--Of course, she couldn't have saved him directly. But indirectly ... through another woman--

ROGER

Through another woman?

MARGARET

I mean, supposing there was another woman who loved him--one who could be to him all he needed, who would understand, and who was all right. One he could marry.

ROGER

Yes, but--

MARGARET

And supposing this other woman had heard things about Arthur, and was terribly hurt, and Arthur knew she was, and that's why he kept away; but your mother talked with her for a long while, and made her understand. Even sent for _that_ woman--you know. And then this woman, the right one, did understand, and was ready to marry Arthur....

ROGER

Margaret, are you crying? Are you crying, Margaret? _Margaret, was it you?_

THE TELEGRAM

_Perron, a stout, middle-aged figure, is seated in front of his watchmaker's establishment near the Place St. Sulpice. The awning sags, and the shop wears an air of sober discouragement. Whatever expression the years have left Perron's round face capable of is concentrated upon the changing scenes cinematographed to his mind's eye by some strong and unusual emotion. Alexandre, a tall, stooped man, with a flowing black tie, bows in passing with old-fashioned punctiliousness to Perron, who apparently is unaware of his presence. Suddenly Perron starts, rubs his eyes, and glares about._

PERRON

Alexandre! Alexandre!

ALEXANDRE

Good day, my friend. You seem distraught.

PERRON

Distraught! It was the strangest thing! But sit here with me. Do. I have something to tell you.

ALEXANDRE

I regret exceedingly, but a stupid engagement.... Later, perhaps--

PERRON

No! No! I insist! Only a great mind like yours can explain the strange thing which has happened.

ALEXANDRE

Ah, in that case--what is a mere business affair compared with divine philosophy? Far from being pressé, friend Perron, I have an eternity at your service.

PERRON

First of all, tell me the exact date!

ALEXANDRE

That I can do, and not on my own authority, which in such details is often unreliable. This morning my concierge announced with great delicacy and feeling that to-day is Friday, the fifteenth July, and my rent is once more due. My rent, which--

PERRON

Friday the fifteenth! Impossible!

ALEXANDRE

Alas. My concierge is of a precision the most meticulous. For all legal, financial and military affairs, throughout the French Republic at least, to-day is Friday the fifteenth. But why should this seem impossible to you, a scientist and a watchmaker?

PERRON

Only listen, and you will understand why I am tempted to doubt the calendar of the Church itself. Two weeks ago my wife announced to me that she had reason to expect the due arrival of a son. She said there could be no question it will be a son because in her mother's family for three generations it has been the same, three daughters followed by a son.

Eh bien, although I have always desired a son to follow me in this honorable and scientific profession, nevertheless I received the news with a certain consternation. In short, my affairs have not gone too well of late, and without my wife's assistance by her needle....

That evening I thought much how I might increase my funds, and so for two weeks--two weeks, mon ami--I have omitted my customary café after dejeuner, which all these years I have not failed to take with a serious group of friends at the Trois Arts, and even have I smoked no cigarettes. True, this has not added much to our wealth, though it has been some satisfaction to realize I have done my possible. My health has suffered somewhat--I have grown absent-minded, and in the morning my head feels strange. However, that may not be due entirely to my unnatural abstinence.

However, on Friday the fifteenth July, at three o'clock precisely, as I sat here in meditation having finished a small work, I saw a telegraph boy hurry toward me down the street. Then had I a premonition. My heart beat as it has not these twenty years. In an instant I was reading the message: my brother, who long ago ran away on adventure to Indo-China, had just died and left me a fortune in tea.

That was on Friday the fifteenth. And do you know what has happened since? I have lived two separate lives. Yes, two existences have unrolled before me. In one I saw myself as I would have been without the telegram. My business fell away; my son was born a daughter, to my wife's indignation and my own dismay; and having sold my little shop I sought work in a cursed factory. Ah me, it was terrible! But the other picture. With my brother's fortune I made aggrandisements and eventually moved to the Rue de la Paix. My scientific genius was at last appreciated, and my watches and clocks became the pride of the haute monde. My son grew into a fine man, much resembling myself, and after learning the profession opened a branch office at Buenos Ayres. I won the ribbon. In short, nothing lacked to make life agreeable and meritorious.

But then it was, just at that point, I came to myself and looking up recognized my friend the philosopher. Years seemed to have passed--two separate life times--and startled at finding myself seated in the same chair and wearing the same clothes, I demanded of you what day it was. And you answered Friday the fifteenth. How can such a thing be possible?

ALEXANDRE

To think that you, a watchmaker and a petit bourgeois, should experience what many a saint has died without realizing! I salute you, mystic, descendent of prophets and seers!

PERRON

But what was it then?

ALEXANDRE

What was it? A mystical experience, an experience of the highest order, like unto Saint Therese, though in symbols of mundane things. But that is the fault of the age more than yourself. With more practise your mind will exhibit even greater power. You must continue in the path. Who knows what you could do after years of self-denial, when a mere two weeks without cigarettes have brought you this vision?

PERRON

And without coffee. Don't forget the café! And now that I am rich I shall never go without it again. No, on the contrary, I shall have at least two, and on a silver tray.

ALEXANDRE

Do you mean to say you really believe?--But it doesn't matter. Whether or not the telegram came, the important fact is that you had the vision. It is for this you must be grateful.

PERRON

Can a philosopher really be such a fool? Of course the telegram came! And I am grateful!

ALEXANDRE

No. You are the most ungrateful of men. But why mention the telegram? What matters is whether your vision arose from seeing the telegram or seeing the telegraph boy? The philosophic truth is the same.

PERRON

Mon dieu! What difference does it make? But I swear I have the telegram, and it reads just as I told you!

ALEXANDRE

But no! You are ungrateful, and for that I despise you!

PERRON

But yes! And after reading it four times I locked it in my safe. Do I not _know_ I entered my shop and locked it up?

ALEXANDRE

Yes, and do you not know also that you moved to the Rue de la Paix?

PERRON

Oh! Could it have been--Then I am ruined, and my brother is the most selfish of men!

ALEXANDRE

But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. In the path shall you grow steadfast and contented.

PERRON

It doesn't matter!

ALEXANDRE

Not at all. And when you have become reasonable and grateful, I shall return and speak further with you. I shall devise for you such sacrifice as shall make the saints but as little children. Au revoir.

(_He turns away. The clock of St. Sulpice tones the half hour. The watchmaker listens to it with open mouth, and trembling violently, darts through the door of his shop._)

RAIN

PERSONS

CHARLES EVERITT MARY, his wife WALTER, seventeen ALICE, fifteen HAROLD, five

_The scene shows a hotel "parlor" in the White Mountains. Beneath the flashy ugliness of its modern wall paper and upholstery, a certain refinement persists from an older generation. The room itself is well proportioned, with a very good hearth. The parlor might once have been the ball room in a squire's mansion._

_It is about seven o'clock of an August evening, the room feebly lighted by a flickering acetylene burner. One feels the commencement of rain. A door to the rear opens and the Everitts enter, the younger children first._

HAROLD

She didn't give me any toast. I want some toast!

WALTER

A rotten supper!

MRS. EVERITT

Never mind, Harold, you had two cups of that beautiful milk.

ALICE

Of course it was rotten. Everything's second rate here. Ugh! what a musty smell!

WALTER

I told father we ought to go ahead. The car could have done another six miles easily. And we'd have reached the Mountain Inn.

ALICE

I'm sure there's a dance there to-night!

EVERITT

The car could _not_ have done the six miles. We were lucky to make that last hill. You might have had to walk the whole way.

ALICE

Well, we always start too soon or too late. For goodness sake let's at _least_ have some light. There's no use having it as dark inside as out. (_Everitt goes about lighting all the burners_)

HAROLD

Hear the rain, rain, rain!

WALTER

It _is_ coming down. I never heard it make so much noise.

MRS. EVERITT

That's because city people never have a roof over their heads!

ALICE

Why, mother, the rain makes your voice vibrate like--

WALTER

Like a fire engine. I stood right by one, once.

MRS. EVERITT

Come, Harold, sit on my lap.

EVERITT

Shall I close the blinds?

ALICE

Yes.

MRS. EVERITT

No, don't. Nobody's about on a night like this.

HAROLD

Wish I could see rain. What it like?

EVERITT

What's what like?

HAROLD

Rain--rain.

ALICE

Like shower baths.

HAROLD

Oh. Mother, tell me story about rain. I _like_ rain! (_Everitt feels about for his cigar case. A letter falls from his pocket which he picks up hurriedly_)

EVERITT

I'm going for a cigar.

WALTER

It's like being in a submarine!

HAROLD

Mother, tell me story!

MRS. EVERITT

Once upon a time--

WALTER

I'm going out for a minute.

ALICE

I wish....

HAROLD

Once on a time!

MRS. EVERITT

Oh, yes. Once there was a little girl who lived in the country.

HAROLD

What country?

MRS. EVERITT

A country something like this. She and her mother lived in a little house beside a brook. The little girl loved to listen to the brook outside her window at night. One day she asked her mother where the brook went to. She didn't want _her_ brook to run away. And what do you suppose her mother said?

HAROLD

What her mother say?

MRS. EVERITT

She said the brook didn't really run away, when it got out of sight across the fields it turned into rain. So then the little girl was glad whenever it rained, because she knew it was the little brook coming back to her.

HAROLD

Oh. And is _this_ rain the brook coming back? The little girl's brook?

MRS. EVERITT

The little girl grew up and went away. But it's _some_ little girl's brook. (_Walter comes in with sticks_)

WALTER

I thought we'd have a fire.

ALICE

Good! Make a big one.

MRS. EVERITT

Now, Harold, mother is going to put you in a nice bed, right under the roof where the rain-drops whisper and sing. (_She takes Harold out_)

ALICE

Where'd father go?

WALTER

He said he wanted a cigar.

ALICE

He's been a long time.

WALTER

Perhaps he's gone to look at the engine.

ALICE

Walter, what's the matter with them? Last night....

WALTER

I don't know. I heard them, too. It isn't the first time they have quarreled.

ALICE

It's terrible!

WALTER

Father's got a rotten temper, lately.

ALICE

I thought she wanted him--

WALTER

She did, but he had no business to get so angry about it.

ALICE

But why did she want to change our plans at the last minute and go into Connecticut? Everything was arranged to come here.

WALTER.

She said he had arranged it without speaking to her. She said--there's something about it I don't understand.

ALICE

I don't either. I--(_Mrs. Everitt enters_)

WALTER

Did he go to sleep?

MRS. EVERITT

No. He is talking to the rain. I never heard him say such odd things. I hated to leave him. It seemed as if he heard voices....

WALTER

Sit down, mother. It's very jolly here.

MRS. EVERITT

Thank you, Walter. How many years since I've enjoyed a real fire, like this!

WALTER

Oh, there isn't enough wood. Just a minute--(_He goes out_)

ALICE

You look tired.

MRS. EVERITT

I'm all right, dear.

ALICE

No you're not. Why won't you tell me?

MRS. EVERITT

But Alice, there's nothing to tell. I do feel a little tired, but then, I shall be all right in the morning.

ALICE

I wish--(_Walter enters with more wood_)

WALTER

Well, Alice, are you still thinking about that dance?

ALICE

Why no, I'd forgotten all about it. Who could dance in such a rain? It would make the music seem artificial. I'm getting tired of boys, too. They don't really _feel_ things--like rain, and fire.

MRS. EVERITT

What's that noise,--Harold?

WALTER

No. It's the men in the bar room.

MRS. EVERITT

I'm sure it's Harold.

ALICE

I'll go see. (_She goes out_)

WALTER

Mother.

MRS. EVERITT

What, Walter?

WALTER

I must be an awful coward--

MRS. EVERITT

Why, what do you mean?

WALTER

I mean that when I really want something, and ought to say so, I go along without saying it. I don't mean that I'm _really_ afraid to say it, but I always feel somehow that other people ought to know what I want, and save me the trouble of asking it. No, not _trouble_ exactly--but you know what I mean.

MRS. EVERITT

Yes, Walter, I'm afraid I know exactly what you mean. Lots of us are cursed with the same instinct. I am, and sometimes I believe your father is, too. It ought to be that when one sees a thing clearly in his own mind, and knows it is best, others--at least those near to him--should somehow be aware of it. But they usually are not.

WALTER

No. And it's those nearest one that it's hardest to say things to. But to-night, somehow, I don't feel that way.

MRS. EVERITT

Tell me.

WALTER

It's this architecture. You remember when I used to play with water colors all the while, and say I was going to be an artist?

MRS. EVERITT

Yes, but--

WALTER

Father always said I would get over it. But when I didn't, then it occurred to him that if I learned architecture I could help him in his building.... I thought architecture would be the same. But it isn't. I can't see any art in it at all--it's nothing but engineering.

MRS. EVERITT

But Walter, you haven't gone far enough in it. The art will come later.

WALTER

No it won't! At least not with father. He never builds anything that lets me _imagine_. You don't know how I hate those blue prints. I've been worrying along so far because I didn't want to disappoint father, though every day I hoped he would see what I really felt. But to-night I know I can't go on any longer without having it out. If he will let me follow my own idea he will be better pleased in the end than if I stick at this business of his. It will require one good fight, and then I shall be free to show what I can do.

MRS. EVERITT

But Walter, what is it exactly you want to do?

WALTER.

I suppose I ought to say that I want to be an artist rather than a builder's draughtsman, but that isn't really it. I mean that behind the brain I think with every day there is another brain, bigger and wiser, that keeps asking the chance to show the rest of me what and how to act. In ordinary things the everyday mind gets along by itself all right, but I feel the other self there all the while, wanting me to begin something different, something to let it escape from dreaming to doing. And it keeps threatening that some day it will he too late. Only begin, begin!... Yes, I have worried along so far, but just to-night, for some reason or other, I seem to be standing on the brink. I won't go another step. It's in the rain now--I hear it. Oh, the pictures I could paint if we lived in the country!

MRS. EVERITT

In the country!

WALTER

Yes. It comes over me here how much these hills mean. Oh! and there's another thing, mother.... I thought I was born in New York, I thought we always lived there, but just a while ago I ran onto your old family Bible, and it had the records in it. I--

MRS. EVERITT

Oh, Walter!

WALTER

It seems queer that neither of you said anything about it, if I was really born in this very town.... I might never have thought much about it, but to-night everything seems to be stirred up. Tell me, mother--

MRS. EVERITT

We lived here only a little while. We didn't like it, so your father sold his farm and we went away to New York.

WALTER

Yes, but why wasn't something said about it when we came here this afternoon? It seems funny, not to.

MRS. EVERITT

Dear, there was a little family trouble, long ago, which is best forgotten.

WALTER

Oh.

ALICE (_entering_)

It wasn't Harold, after all, but I just had to stay and listen to him. He tried over and over to tell me something. I couldn't make out what it was until he showed me with his hands--you know that funny little way he has--and what do you suppose it was?

MRS. EVERITT

The dear child. What was it?

ALICE

Why, he remembered the big drum he saw once in a parade, and he was trying to explain that he was _inside_ a drum. The rain, you know.

EVERITT (_entering_)

We had to jack up the car. The barn is flooding with water.

MRS. EVERITT

Is that where you were?

EVERITT

Yes.... How strange you look in that light, Alice! I never saw you look like that before. (_He kisses her_)

ALICE

Oh!

MRS. EVERITT

What is it, Alice?

ALICE

Why ... I thought his cigar was going to burn me.

MRS. EVERITT

Oh.

EVERITT

Alice, you jumped because you didn't like my breath. I'm sorry, I did take a drink, and I shouldn't have kissed you, only....

WALTER

Only what?

EVERITT

She looked just as Mary did when I first knew her. It startled me.

ALICE

Do I?

MRS. EVERITT

Was I like that?

EVERITT

Of course you were.

ALICE

Oh, I'm glad!

MRS. EVERITT

Thank you, dear, but you're not half so glad as I am.

EVERITT

It's queer, there used to be a fine old stock up in this country. It seems to have died out. The people here don't half appreciate the place.

MRS. EVERITT

But you haven't seen many of them, have you?

EVERITT

No, I talked with some in the bar room.

ALICE

Oh, the bar room?

EVERITT

Yes, I know. One can't judge from that. A filthy place--it made me ashamed of drinking. I only went in hoping to see some of the people I used to know.

MRS. EVERITT

Oh!

WALTER

Where's my portfolio?

MRS. EVERITT

In the office, with those hand bags we decided not to open.

WALTER

I'm going to get it. I just had an idea.... (_He goes out_)

EVERITT

It's only ten o'clock, but it seems like midnight.

ALICE

So it does. Are we going on to-morrow? Will the car be all right?

EVERITT

George says so. To-morrow? I suppose so.

ALICE

Well, I'm going to bed.

MRS. EVERITT

I hope Harold is asleep. Good night, dear.

EVERITT

Good night, Mary.

ALICE

You said "Mary."

EVERITT

Did I? Well, you might be, for all that.

ALICE (_leaving_)

Good night.

EVERITT

If she had on that blue dress you used to wear, your own mother couldn't tell you apart.

MRS. EVERITT

Charles.

EVERITT

What?

MRS. EVERITT

Walter knows he was born here. He wants to know why we didn't mention it to-day.

EVERITT

So do I! So do I want to know why we didn't mention it! It's been between us all these years! (_Walter enters with his portfolio. He stands unnoticed at the door_)

MRS. EVERITT

You want to know? You know very well yourself! It's I who ought to ask what the matter is!

EVERITT

You? Good heavens! Wasn't it you who suddenly made up your mind we had to leave this town, and insisted and insisted until I sold the house? Didn't I do that to please you, because you went into hysterics about it, and I had to think of Walter? I didn't want to go. It isn't every man who would change his whole life for a woman's unreasonable whim!

MRS. EVERITT

Whim! It isn't every wife who--Oh! Oh!

EVERITT

Yes whim! And haven't I stayed away all these years from my people because you wouldn't hear to our coming back even for a visit?

MRS. EVERITT

No you didn't stay away! You sneaked up here the very next year when you made that trip to Boston. And you can't deny it, because Janet Richardson wrote me.

EVERITT

Sneaked up here! Deny it! Are you mad? The only reason I didn't mention it was because I never understood your positive hatred for the place. What harm was there in coming back for a day or two? On every other subject you are all right, but whenever we get within a mile of mentioning this town I feel your hysteria, so I have kept still. But if there's anything you can say to explain yourself, for goodness sake say it! This nightmare has been between us long enough.

MRS. EVERITT

Yes, it has! Too long! And I like your way of saying you had to think of Walter! It was I had to think of my baby! If it hadn't been for Walter, I wouldn't have lived with you another day! I kept on at first so that he might be born with a father to look out for him, and then I kept on so that he needn't grow up in the shame of a divorce. But oh, the pain of it! To keep silent, year after year!

EVERITT

Look here, are we both crazy? Out with it!

MRS. EVERITT

_Annie Pratt!_

EVERITT

What? Who?

MRS. EVERITT

Annie Pratt!

EVERITT

Who the devil's Annie Pratt? What's she got to do with it?

MRS. EVERITT

Ha! Not faithful even to her! Or are you trying to lie out of it? You can't, _because I've still got the letter_.

EVERITT

What letter? I'm not going to stand these hysterics any longer!

MRS. EVERITT

You needn't. But you've got to stand the truth, do you hear me? I found the letter in your pocket. We hadn't been married a year. I was so happy! Oh! Oh!

EVERITT

So was I happy, Oh! Oh!

MRS. EVERITT

Hypocrite! "Dearest Charlie: You said it is I who am your wife really, because it's I who make you happy." Vile cat!

EVERITT

Annie Pratt, Annie Pratt. I remember her....

MRS. EVERITT

I should think you would! But any man who will--

EVERITT

Look here! I've got the whole thing! You found that letter in my pocket?

MRS. EVERITT

Yes I did.

EVERITT

Well, do you remember my quarrel with Charlie Fisher?

MRS. EVERITT

Yes. Why?

EVERITT

Because, you poor child, that letter was written to him.

MRS. EVERITT

To him!

EVERITT

Yes, Charlie Fisher. I found that he was going with Annie Pratt and I had it out with him one day in the barn. I told him if he didn't quit his foolishness I'd tell his people. We nearly came to blows--he was drinking too much, too--and I found that letter on the floor afterwards. I meant to burn it up, but I forgot it. And you thought I was the Charlie!

MRS. EVERITT

God forgive me!

EVERITT

But why on earth didn't you come right out with it?

MRS. EVERITT

Oh! You can't realize how crushed I felt. I wanted only to run away, like a wounded animal.... And then I couldn't bear to quarrel, for the sake of Walter. So it's been festering in me all this time.

EVERITT

So that's it. Well, thank heaven! (_He starts to embrace her_)

MRS. EVERITT

But that letter you picked up so quickly to-night--was that from somebody else?

EVERITT

Lord, I'd almost forgotten it.

MRS. EVERITT

There! And I was almost happy!

EVERITT

For goodness sake, read it!

MRS. EVERITT

From your bank.... I don't understand it.

EVERITT

It's simple enough. They won't make me another loan.

MRS. EVERITT

Well?

EVERITT

Between the unions and the new inspection--well, I can't finish the Broadway contract on time, and I'm done.

MRS. EVERITT

Done?

EVERITT

Done. Smashed. I might save ten thousand dollars, that's all. My life's work....

MRS. EVERITT

You mean money?

EVERITT

I mean the lack of it.

MRS. EVERITT

Is that all? Thank heaven!

EVERITT

All! But do you realize it means giving up the house, and beginning all over again on ten thousand dollars?

MRS. EVERITT

I don't care. I was never happy there anyhow. And now I could be happy doing my own work in a tenement.

EVERITT

I think I could be happy as a carpenter again by the day. But the children. It's going to be hard for them. Walter's architecture.

WALTER

Father!

EVERITT

Good gracious! Where did you come from?

WALTER

I came back from the office.... I heard what you were saying. So that's all right. But you needn't worry about my architecture. I was telling mother to-night. I don't like it--it isn't my work. I only wanted you to feel as I do about it. Just feel that I really want to paint--to be an artist. Even if I have to work at something else for a long time, I'll feel easier, knowing you realize what I want. I love color so. And I want to let my imagination _go_. I'll help in any way I can, naturally. I'm glad too. I mean, I had rather live in the country like this than in New York.

EVERITT

Good Lord! (_Alice appears in the doorway holding Harold_)

WALTER

It seems to me that none of us has been really satisfied, so it isn't so bad after all. We can begin on something real to us all. Mother said she would be happy in a tenement. Well, maybe she would, but why not come up here?

MRS. EVERITT

Oh, _Charles_!

EVERITT

Well ... but Alice.

ALICE

Mother.

MRS. EVERITT

You, too! What is it? What's the matter with Harold?

ALICE

Nothing. He wouldn't go to sleep, and wouldn't. He said he wanted to sit in your lap. I never saw him so. I had to bring him.

MRS. EVERITT

Give him to me, dear.

ALICE

And I knew something was going on down here... I could _feel_ it. I don't know what it was, but there's one thing I do know.

MRS. EVERITT

What?

ALICE

Why, ever since father said I looked as you used to I've been thinking about what you must have been like as a girl, and it came over me how _useless_ I am. I've never done anything. And you must have done a lot.

EVERITT

I should say she did!

WALTER

There! Say, Alice, how'd you like to live in that white house we passed, the one with the orchard?

ALICE

Really? And _do_ things?

MRS. EVERITT

Charles!

EVERITT

This is the most extraordinary night I ever heard of. Here I was, feeling like a condemned criminal because I'd lost my business, afraid to tell Mary and you children, and now you all seem positively glad of it. I expected all kinds of trouble, and all at once.... _What the deuce is it?_

HAROLD

Rain--rain.... Mother, why can't the brook come back to the _same_ little girl?

PICTURES

_A studio on the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. There is a small entrance hall, kitchenette, and a balcony before which curtains are drawn. It is a winter afternoon, and a young man is busy at an easel placed close beside the north light. A young woman arranges tea things on the table._

SILVIA

Joe.

JOE

Um.

SILVIA

Joe!

JOE

Um--um! _(She walks over, draws his watch from his pocket and shows him the time)_

SILVIA

It's nearly four o'clock.

JOE

Just a minute--the light's fine, and I want to finish.

SILVIA

Yes, I know, but he may be here any minute.

JOE

Tea on?

SILVIA

Yes.

JOE

Well, that'll keep him while I get ready. That's mostly what they came for, anyhow.

SILVIA

But he's different. He isn't a Cook's tourist--

JOE

No, he's a relative!

SILVIA

You wouldn't say that if one of _your_ family dropped in. Besides, I've never even seen him. And he's something of a collector, Joe. He _buys_ pictures.

JOE

So I hear. The last thing he bought was a Bougereau!

SILVIA

Well, he's a _relative_ ... and when he sees your last things!

JOE

Um.... There, it's all done.

SILVIA

I'm crazy to see it, Joe, but run up and get ready. _Sh!_ (_A knock at the door. Joe runs upstairs to the balcony. Silvia opens the door and admits Mr. Wentworth, rather stout and with gold spectacles_)

MR. WENTWORTH

Mrs. Carson?

SILVIA

Yes. This is Mr. Wentworth? Joe and I have been expecting you. Let me take your coat. The studio's rather upset just now--

MR. WENTWORTH

Delightful! How I love the atmosphere of work in a studio! I used to paint a bit myself, you know.

SILVIA

Did you? Father never mentioned that.

MR. WENTWORTH

Oh, I guess everybody has forgotten it by now. An early adventure with life! Goodness only knows what might have happened, though, if the business hadn't fallen on me to look out for. I might have been a great artist. Ha!

SILVIA

I'm sure you would, Mr. Wentworth. You've always been interested in art, haven't you?

MR. WENTWORTH

Yes indeed. Of course I have been very busy, until lately. But I always followed the best English magazines.

SILVIA

My husband's upstairs getting the paint off his hands. He will be down in a minute. Then we'll have some tea.

MR. WENTWORTH

You don't paint, do you, Silvia? I may call you Silvia, may I not?

SILVIA

Of course. No, I don't paint. I just fly around amongst the artists and see what's going on. Are you staying in Paris very long?

MR. WENTWORTH

A couple of weeks more, at least. I am revelling in the galleries and museums here.

SILVIA

Here comes Joe. Joe, I want you to meet my cousin, Mr. Wentworth. Mr. Wentworth--Mr. Carson.

JOE

Very glad to meet you, Mr. Wentworth.

MR. WENTWORTH

It's a great pleasure for me to meet a real artist, Mr. Carson.

SILVIA

Excuse me a moment. I'll bring on the tea.

JOE

Oh, as for that--I'm working along. Sometimes I hit it--

MR. WENTWORTH

_Ars longa, vita brevis_ you know! I want to see your pictures very much. I was just telling Silvia how I delight in the Louvre. I go there with a class for lectures every morning. I suppose you often copy the old masters?

JOE

Copy the old masters? I should say not. I'm not out to be a camera. It's all I can do to work out my own impressions.

MR. WENTWORTH

Oh, I see. But--

SILVIA

The tea's ready. Joe, bring up that chair for Mr. Wentworth. Mr. Wentworth, do you take cream and sugar?

MR. WENTWORTH If you please. Yes, two lumps. There's nothing like the atmosphere of a studio, is there? I love it. I feel I have missed so much. Still, the instinct for beauty, fragile as it is, does persist.... I was surprised to feel so many of my old emotions awake on coming to Paris. So much that hasn't been real to me for years! I have gained much inspiration for planning my new house.

SILVIA

You are building a new house? I have heard father talk about your collection of Japanese prints.

MR. WENTWORTH

A really delightful thing, Japanese prints. Yes, I intend building on Long Island. And my new interest in pictures ... I shall have a gallery especially for them.

JOE

Americans haven't done any too much for art so far.

MR. WENTWORTH

Oh, I assure you! I know many men who are continually buying the best on the market.

JOE

Oh, _that_....

SILVIA

Another cup, Mr. Wentworth? Joe, pass the cake.

MR. WENTWORTH

No, thank you, Silvia. Yes, the cake if you please. Why, it's real English plumcake!

SILVIA

English things are getting very popular over here. Joe, won't you show us the new picture? He finished it just before you came, Mr. Wentworth.

MR. WENTWORTH

Indeed! I should like to see it very much.

JOE

There isn't very much light.

SILVIA

No, the light is poor. But even so--and your colors will stand out, Joe.

MR. WENTWORTH

Really, Mr. Carson, I counted on seeing some of your work. I have heard, nice things about you.

JOE

There. If you stand just here....

SILVIA

Oh, _Joe_!

JOE

What?

SILVIA

It's our little cottage! I'm so glad! That's where we lived last summer, Mr. Wentworth. I always wanted Joe to paint it. Joe, it's splendid! Don't you think so, Mr. Wentworth?

MR. WENTWORTH

Yes.... Yes. _Very_ interesting....

SILVIA

Don't you love the bright colors and the firm, flowing lines?

MR. WENTWORTH

Of course, it isn't exactly what I have been accustomed to.... I have heard that some of the younger Frenchmen and Russians are painting in a new way, but--

SILVIA

Joe, it's so _alive_! I _feel_ it, every inch of it! You've no idea, Mr. Wentworth, how Joe's painting has changed me. I used to be such a little New Englander, _afraid_ of life, but now--

JOE

It isn't only what you call the "younger Frenchmen and Russians" who are learning how to paint--the modern movement has spread all over.

MR. WENTWORTH

Of course, I don't pretend to be an artist myself, but I have always studied and loved pictures, and when you say "learning _how_ to paint"--

JOE

That's exactly what it is. Learning _how_ to paint. Learning what art is. Getting _life_ into it instead of abstract ideas.

MR. WENTWORTH

Art? But art is beauty! Eternal beauty. You can't change art over night, like a fashion!

SILVIA

But that picture's beautiful!

JOE

Art changes as life changes. Art has always changed. If it didn't, why isn't your Japanese art just like Greek art? And Greek art like the Italian?

MR. WENTWORTH

Oh, in that way, of course. But all the great masters obey the eternal laws of beauty!

JOE

There aren't any eternal _laws_ of beauty! There's only the eternal impulse to create. Every artist has to express himself in his own way. What you call the "eternal laws" are merely the particular expressions your own favorite painters happened to work out in their time. If they had lived in another time--

MR. WENTWORTH

A master would always be a master. There's no change possible in the vision of the soul.

SILVIA

You see, Mr. Wentworth, what I have learned these last two years from living among artists is that the painter with an original vision is always opposed by the schools. That is, at first. But when he wins out, then the schools merely take over his technic and use it as a club to put down the next creator. And so it goes.

MR. WENTWORTH

Naturally, the great artist suffers hardship. But if we once admit there are no _laws_, where are we? Anarchy!

JOE

The laws are contained in the impulses themselves. They come _with_ the vision, not before it! If any one thinks this modern art is just an easy way of painting--

SILVIA

Indeed it isn't! Joe works much harder than the students who go to the schools. Of course, he doesn't paint by the clock.

MR. WENTWORTH

But the Louvre! All those beautiful pictures, those priceless treasures! What about the Louvre?

JOE

The Louvre? It's a _museum_.

MR. WENTWORTH

What do you mean by "it's a _museum_"?

JOE

I mean that it's the place to put pictures in when they are dead.

MR. WENTWORTH

_Dead?_ A great masterpiece _dead_?

JOE

Of course. No man lives forever. Nobody that was ever born was useful enough to live forever. The bigger a man is the longer his influence is creative, in art and everything else, but the time always comes when his value is spent. When the world needs a new influence.

SILVIA

It's really wonderful, Mr. Wentworth, how knowing the truth about art shows one the truth about other things. When I remember what I used to believe!

MR. WENTWORTH

But see here, young man, you wouldn't do away with the _Louvre_, would you? Why, what would happen if these ideas were carried out....

JOE

No, I wouldn't do away with it. Why should I? If to burn it down would wake people up to _life_, I'd do it in a minute. But it wouldn't. They would only sanctify the superstition and make it immortal. No, leave the Louvre as it is. It's really quite useful.

MR. WENTWORTH

But good gracious! _Useful?_

JOE

Yes. Like history. To do away with the Louvre would be to destroy a part of history. There's no good doing that. We need history--it cranks up life--but we've got to recognize that after all it is only history, not life itself--not art.

MR. WENTWORTH

But what _is_ art, if the Louvre _isn't_?

SILVIA