Chapter II: Act I

SCENE. _The scene is that of the summer country ranch house of_ MRS. WILLIAMS, _a friend of_ LAURA MURDOCK'S, _and a prominent society woman of Denver, perched on the side of Ute Pass, near Colorado Springs. The house is one of unusual pretentiousness, and, to a person not conversant with conditions as they exist in this part of Colorado, the idea might be that such magnificence could not obtain in such a locality. At the left of stage the house rises in the form of a turret, built of rough stone of a brown hue, two stories high, and projecting a quarter of the way out on the stage. The door leads to a small elliptical terrace built of stone, with heavy benches of Greek design, strewn cushions, while over the top of one part of this terrace is suspended a canopy made from a Navajo blanket. The terrace is supposed to extend almost to the right of stage, and here it stops. The stage must be cut here so that the entrance of_ JOHN _can give the illusion that he is coming up a steep declivity or a long flight of stairs. There are chairs at right and left, and a small table at left. There are trailing vines around the balustrade of the terrace, and the whole setting must convey the idea of quiet wealth. Up stage is supposed to be the part of the terrace overlooking the cañon, a sheer drop of two thousand feet, while over in the distance, as if across the cañon, one can see the rolling foot-hills and lofty peaks of the Rockies, with Pike's Peak in the distance, snow-capped and colossal. It is late in the afternoon, and, as the scene progresses, the quick twilight of a cañon, beautiful in its tints of purple and amber, becomes later pitch black, and the curtain goes down on an absolutely black stage. The cyclorama, or semi-cyclorama, must give the perspective of greater distances, and be so painted that the various tints of twilight may be shown_.

AT RISE. LAURA MURDOCK _is seen leaning a bit over the balustrade of the porch and shielding her eyes with her hand from the late afternoon sun, as she seemingly looks up the Pass to the left, as if expecting the approach of someone. Her gown is simple, girlish and attractive, and made of summery, filmy stuff. Her hair is done up in the simplest fashion, with a part in the centre, and there is about her every indication of an effort to assume that girlishness of demeanour which has been her greatest asset through life_. WILLARD BROCKTON _enters; he is a man six feet or more in height, stocky in build, clean-shaven and immaculately dressed. He is smoking a cigar, and upon entering takes one step forward and looks over toward_ LAURA _in a semi-meditative manner_.

WILL. Blue?

LAURA. No.

WILL. What's up?

LAURA. Nothing.

WILL. A little preoccupied.

LAURA. Perhaps.

WILL. What's up that way?

LAURA. Which way?

WILL. The way you are looking.

LAURA. The road from Manitou Springs. They call it the trail out here.

WILL. I know that. You know I've done a lot of business west of the Missouri.

LAURA. [_With a half-sigh_.] No, I didn't know it.

WILL. Oh, yes; south of here in the San Juan country. Spent a couple of years there once.

LAURA. [_Still without turning_.] That's interesting.

WILL. It was then. I made some money there. It's always interesting when you make money. Still--

LAURA. [_Still leaning in an absent-minded attitude_.] Still what?

WILL. Can't make out why you have your eyes glued on that road. Someone coming?

LAURA. Yes.

WILL. One of Mrs. Williams' friends, eh? [_Will crosses, and sits on seat_.

LAURA. Yes.

WILL. Yours too?

LAURA. Yes.

WILL. Man?

LAURA. Yes, a _real_ man.

WILL. [_Catches the significance of this speech. He carelessly throws the cigar over the balustrade. He comes down and leans on chair with his back to_ LAURA. _She has not moved more than to place her left hand on a cushion and lean her head rather wearily against it, looking steadfastly up the Pass_.] A real man. By that you mean--

LAURA. Just that--a real man.

WILL. Any difference from the many you have known?

LAURA. Yes, from all I have known.

WILL. So that is why you didn't come into Denver to meet me to-day, but left word for me to come out here?

LAURA. Yes.

WILL. I thought that I was pretty decent to take a dusty ride half-way across the continent in order to keep you company on your way back to New York, and welcome you to our home; but maybe I had the wrong idea.

LAURA. Yes, I think you had the wrong idea.

WILL. In love, eh?

LAURA. Yes, just that,--in love.

WILL. A new sensation.

LAURA. No; the first conviction.

WILL. You have had that idea before. Every woman's love is the real one when it comes. [_Crosses up to_ LAURA.] Do you make a distinction in this case, young lady?

LAURA. Yes.

WILL. For instance, what?

LAURA. This man is poor--absolutely broke. He hasn't even got a [_Crosses to armchair, leans over and draws with parasol on ground_.] good job. You know, Will, all the rest, including yourself, generally had some material inducement.

WILL. What's his business? [_Crosses to table and sits looking at magazine_.

LAURA. He's a newspaper man.

WILL. H'm-m. Romance?

LAURA. Yes, if you want to call it that,--romance.

WILL. Do I know him?

LAURA. How could you? You only came from New York to-day, and he has never been there.

_He regards her with a rather amused, indulgent, almost paternal expression, in contrast to his big, bluff, physical personality, with his iron-gray hair and his bulldog expression_. LAURA _looks more girlish than ever. This is imperative in order to thoroughly understand the character_.

WILL. How old is he?

LAURA. Twenty-seven. You're forty-five.

WILL. No, forty-six.

LAURA. Shall I tell you about him? Huh?

[_Crosses to_ WILL, _placing parasol on seat_.

WILL. That depends.

LAURA. On what?

WILL. Yourself.

LAURA. In what way?

WILL. If it will interfere in the least with the plans I have made for you and for me.

LAURA. And have you made any particular plans for me that have anything particularly to do with you?

WILL. Yes, I have given up the lease of our apartment on West End Avenue, and I've got a house on Riverside Drive. Everything will be quiet and decent, and it'll be more comfortable for you. There's a stable near by, and your horses and car can be kept over there. You'll be your own mistress, and besides I've fixed you up for a new part.

LAURA. A new part! What kind of a part?

WILL. One of Charlie Burgess's shows, translated from some French fellow. It's been running over in Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, and all those places, for a year or more, and appears to be an awful hit. It's going to cost a lot of money. I told Charlie he could put me down for a half interest, and I'd give all the money providing you got an important rôle. Great part, I'm told. Kind of a cross between a musical comedy and an opera. Looks as if it might stay in New York all season. So that's the change of plan. How does it strike you?

[LAURA _crosses to door, meditating; pauses in thought_.

LAURA. I don't know.

WILL. Feel like quitting? [_Turns to her._

LAURA. I can't tell.

WILL. It's the newspaper man, eh?

LAURA. That would be the only reason.

WILL. You've been on the square with me this summer, haven't you? [_Crosses to table_.

LAURA. [_Turns, looks at_ WILL.] What do you mean by "on the square?"

WILL. Don't evade. There's only one meaning when I say that, and you know it. I'm pretty liberal. But you understand where I draw the line. You've not jumped that, have you, Laura?

LAURA. No, this has been such a wonderful summer, such a wonderfully different summer. Can you understand what I mean by that when I say "wonderfully different summer?"

[_Crossing to WILL_.

WILL. Well, he's twenty-seven and broke, and you're twenty-five and pretty; and he evidently, being a newspaper man, has that peculiar gift of gab that we call romantic expression. So I guess I'm not blind, and you both think you've fallen in love. That it?

LAURA. Yes, I think that's about it; only I don't agree to the "gift of gab" and the "romantic" end of it. [_Crosses to table_.] He's a man and I'm a woman, and we both have had our experiences. I don't think, Will, that there can be much of that element of what some folks call hallucination.

[_Sits on chair; takes candy-box on lap; selects candy_.

WILL. Then the Riverside Drive proposition and Burgess's show is off, eh?

LAURA. I didn't say that.

WILL. And if you go back on the Overland Limited day after to-morrow, you'd just as soon I'd go to-morrow of wait until the day after you leave? [LAURA _places candy-box back on table_.

LAURA. I didn't say that, either.

WILL. What's the game?

LAURA. I can't tell you now.

WILL. Waiting for him to come? [_Crosses, sits on seat_.

LAURA. Exactly.

WILL. Think he is going to make a proposition, eh?

LAURA. I know he is.

WILL. Marriage?

LAURA. Possibly.

WILL. You've tried that once, and taken the wrong end. Are you going to play the same game again?

LAURA. Yes, but with a different card.

[_Picks up magazine off table_.

WILL. What's his name?

LAURA. Madison--John Madison.

[_Slowly turning pages of magazine_.

WILL. And his job?

LAURA. Reporter.

WILL. What are you going to live on,--the extra editions?

LAURA. No, we're young, there's plenty of time. I can work in the meantime, and so can he; and then with his ability and my ability it will only be a matter of a year or two when things will shape themselves to make it possible.

WILL. Sounds well--a year off.

LAURA. If I thought you were going to make fun of me, Will, I shouldn't have talked to you.

[_Throws down magazine, crosses to door of house_.

WILL. [_Crossing down in front of table_.] I don't want to make fun of you, but you must realize that after two years it isn't an easy thing to be dumped with so little ceremony. Maybe you have never given me any credit for possessing the slightest feeling, but even I can receive shocks from other sources than a break in the market.

LAURA. [_Crosses to_ WILL.] It isn't easy for me to do this. You've been awfully kind, awfully considerate, but when I went to you it was just with the understanding that we were to be pals. You reserved the right then to quit me whenever you felt like it, and you gave me the same privilege. Now, if some girl came along who really captivated you in the right way, and you wanted to marry, it would hurt me a little,--maybe a lot,--but I should never forget that agreement we made, a sort of two weeks' notice clause, like people have in contracts.

WILL. [_Is evidently very much moved. Walks up stage to right end of seat, looks over the cañon_. LAURA _looks after him_. WILL _has his back to the audience. Long pause_.] I'm not hedging, Laura. If that's the way you want it to be, I'll stand by just exactly what I said [_Turns to_ LAURA.], but I'm fond of you, a damn sight fonder than I thought I was, now that I find you slipping away; but if this young fellow is on the square [LAURA _crosses to_ WILL, _taking his right hand_.] and he has youth and ability, and you've been on the square with him, why, all right. Your life hasn't had much in it to help you get a diploma from any celestial college, and if you can start out now and be a good girl, have a good husband, and maybe some day good children [LAURA _sighs_.], why, I'm not going to stand in the way. Only I don't want you to make any of those mistakes that you made before.

LAURA. I know, but somehow I feel that this time the real thing has come, and with it the real man. I can't tell you, Will, how much different it is, but everything I felt before seems so sort of earthly--and somehow this love that I have for this man is so different. It's made me want to be truthful and sincere and humble for the first time in my life. The only other thing I ever had that I cared the least bit about, now that I look back, was your friendship. We have been good pals, haven't we?

[_Puts arms about_ WILL.

WILL. Yes, it's been a mighty good two years for me. I was always proud to take you around, because I think you one of the prettiest things in New York [LAURA _crosses and girlishly jumps into armchair._], and that helps some, and you're always jolly, and you never complained. You always spent a lot of money, but it was a pleasure to see you spend it; and then you never offended me. Most women offend men by coming around looking untidy and sort of unkempt, but somehow you always knew the value of your beauty, and you always dressed up. I always thought that maybe some day the fellow would come along, grab you, and make you happy in a nice way, but I thought that he'd have to have a lot of money. You know you've lived a rather extravagant life for five years, Laura. It won't be an easy job to come down to cases and suffer for the little dainty necessities you've been used to.

LAURA. I've thought all about that, and I think I understand.

[_Facing audience; leaning elbows on lap._

WILL. You know if you were working without anybody's help, Laura, you might have a hard time getting a position. As an actress you're only fair.

LAURA. You needn't remind me of that. That part of my life is my own. [_Crosses up to seat._] I don't want you to start now and make it harder for me to do the right thing. It isn't fair; it isn't square; and it isn't right. You've got to let me go my own way. [_Crosses to_ WILL; _puts right hand on his shoulder._] I'm sorry to leave you, in a way, but I want you to know that if I go with John it changes the spelling of the word comradeship into love, and mistress into wife. Now please don't talk any more. [_Crosses to post; takes scarf off chair._

WILL. Just a word. Is it settled?

LAURA. [_Impatiently._] I said I didn't know. I would know to-day--that's what I'm waiting for. Oh, I don't see why he doesn't come. [WILL _turns up to seat looking over Pass._

WILL. [_Pointing up the Pass._] Is that the fellow coming up here?

LAURA. [_Quickly running toward the balustrade of seat, saying as she goes_:] Where? [_Kneels on seat_.

WILL. [_Pointing_.] Up the road there. On that yellow horse.

LAURA. [_Looking_.] Yes, that's John. [_She waves her handkerchief, and putting one hand to her mouth cries_:] Hello!

JOHN. [_Off stage with the effect as if he was on the road winding up toward the house_.] Hello yourself!

LAURA. [_Same effect_.] Hurry up, you're late.

JOHN. [_Same effect, a little louder_.] Better late than never.

LAURA. [_Same effect_.] Hurry up.

JOHN. [_Little louder_.] Not with this horse.

LAURA. [_To_ WILL, _with enthusiastic expression_.] Now, Will, does he look like a yellow reporter?

WILL. [_With a sort of sad smile_.] He _is_ a good-looking chap.

LAURA. [_Looking down again at_ JOHN.] Oh, he's just simply more than that. [_Turns quickly to_ WILL.] Where's Mrs. Williams?

WILL. [_Motioning with thumb toward left side of ranch house_.] Inside, I guess, up to her neck in bridge.

LAURA. [_Goes hurriedly over to door_.] Mrs. Williams! Oh, Mrs. Williams!

MRS. WILLIAMS. [_Heard off stage_.] What is it, my dear?

LAURA. Mr. Madison is coming up the path.

MRS. WILLIAMS. [_Off stage_.] That's good.

LAURA. Sha'n't you come and see him?

MRS. WILLIAMS. [_Same_.] Lord, no! I'm six dollars and twenty cents out now, and up against an awful streak of luck.

LAURA. Shall I give him some tea?

MRS. WILLIAMS. [_Same_.] Yes, do, dear; and tell him to cross his fingers when he thinks of me.

_In the meantime_ WILL _has leaned over the balustrade, evidently surveying the young man, who is supposed to be coming up the, path, with a great deal of interest. Underneath his stolid, businesslike demeanour of squareness, there is undoubtedly within his heart a very great affection for_ LAURA. _He realizes that during her whole career he has been the only one who has influenced her absolutely. Since the time they lived together, he has always dominated, and he has always endeavoured to lead her along a path that meant the better things of a Bohemian existence. His coming all the way from New York to Denver to accompany_ LAURA _home was simply another example of his keen interest in the woman, and he suddenly finds that she has drifted away from him in a manner to which he could not in the least object, and that she had been absolutely fair and square in her agreement with him._ WILL _is a man who, while rough and rugged in many ways, possesses many of the finer instincts of refinement, latent though they may be, and his meeting with_ JOHN _ought, therefore, to show much significance, because on his impressions of the young man depend the entire justification of his attitude in the play._

LAURA. [_Turning toward_ WILL _and going to him, slipping her hand involuntarily through his arm, and looking eagerly with him over the balustrade in almost girlish enthusiasm._] Do you like him?

WILL. [_Smiling_.] I don't know him.

LAURA. Well, do you think you'll like him?

WILL. Well, I hope I'll like him.

LAURA. Well, if you hope you'll like him you ought to think you like him. He'll turn the corner of that rock in just a minute and then you can see him. Do you want to see him?

WILL. [_Almost amused at her girlish manner._] Why, yes--do you?

LAURA. Do I? Why, I haven't seen him since last night! There he is. [_Waves her hand._] Hello, John!

[_Gets candy-box, throws pieces of candy at_ JOHN.

JOHN. [_His voice very close now_.] Hello, girlie! How's everything?

LAURA. Fine! Do hurry.

JOHN. Just make this horse for a minute. Hurry is not in his dictionary.

LAURA. I'm coming down to meet you.

JOHN. All--right.

LAURA. [_Turns quickly to_ WILL.] You don't care. You'll wait, won't you?

WILL. Surely.

LAURA _hurriedly exits._ WILL _goes down centre of the stage. After a short interval_ LAURA _comes in, more like a sixteen-year-old girl than anything else, pulling_ JOHN _after her. He is a tall, finely built type of Western manhood, a frank face, a quick, nervous energy, a mind that works like lightning, a prepossessing smile, and a personality that is wholly captivating. His clothes are a bit dusty from the ride, but are not in the least pretentious, and his leggins are of canvas and spurs of brass, such as are used in the Army. His hat is off, and he is pulled on to the stage, more like a great big boy than a man. His hair is a bit tumbled, and he shows every indication of having had a rather long and hard ride_.

LAURA. Hello, John!

JOHN. Hello, girlie!

_Then she suddenly recovers herself and realizes the position she is in. Both men measure each other for a moment in silence, neither flinching the least bit. The smile has faded from_ JOHN'S _face, and the mouth droops into an expression of firm determination._ LAURA _for a moment loses her ingenuousness. She is the least bit frightened at finally placing the two men face to face, and in a voice that trembles slightly from apprehension_:

LAURA. Oh, I beg your pardon! Mr. Madison, this is Mr. Brockton, a friend of mine from New York. You've often heard me speak of him; he came out here to keep me company when I go home.

JOHN. [_Comes forward, extends a hand, looking_ WILL _right in the eye._] I am very glad to know you, Mr. Brockton.

WILL. Thank you.

JOHN. I've heard a great deal about you and your kindness to Miss Murdock. Anything that you have done for her in a spirit of friendliness I am sure all her friends must deeply appreciate, and I count myself in as one.

WILL. [_In an easy manner that rather disarms the antagonistic attitude of_ JOHN.] Then we have a good deal in common, Mr. Madison, for I also count Miss Murdock a friend, and when two friends of a friend have the pleasure of meeting, I dare say that's a pretty good foundation for them to become friends too.

JOHN. Possibly. Whatever my opinion may have been of you, Mr. Brockton, before you arrived, now I have seen you--and I'm a man who forms his conclusions right off the bat--I don't mind telling you that you've agreeably surprised me. That's just a first impression, but they run kind o' strong with me.

WILL. Well, young man, I size up a fellow in pretty short order, and all things being equal, I think you'll do.

LAURA. [_Radiantly._] Shall I get the tea?

JOHN. Tea!

LAURA. Yes, tea. You know it must be tea--nothing stronger.

[_Crosses to door._

JOHN. [_Looking at_ WILL _rather comically._] How strong are you for that tea, Mr. Brockton?

WILL. I'll pass; it's your deal, Mr. Madison.

JOHN. Mine! No, deal me out this hand.

LAURA. I don't think you're at all pleasant, but I'll tell you one thing--it's tea this deal or no game.

[_Crosses up stage to seat, picks up magazine, turns pages._

WILL. No game then [_Crosses to door._], and I'm going to help Mrs. Williams; maybe she's lost nearly seven dollars by this time, and I'm an awful dub when it comes to bridge. [_Exit._

LAURA. [_Tossing magazine on to seat, crosses quickly to_ JOHN, _throws her arms around his neck in the most loving manner._] John!

_As the Act progresses the shadows cross the Pass, and golden light streams across the lower hills and tops the snow-clad peaks. It becomes darker and darker, the lights fade to beautiful opalescent hues, until, when the curtain falls on the act, with_ JOHN _and_ WILL _on the scene, it is pitch dark, a faint glow coming out of the door. Nothing else can be seen but the glow of the ash on the end of each man's cigar as he puffs it in silent meditation on their conversation._

JOHN. Well, dear?

LAURA. Are you going to be cross with me?

JOHN. Why?

LAURA. Because he came?

JOHN. Brockton?

LAURA. Yes.

JOHN. You didn't know, did you?

LAURA. Yes, I did.

JOHN. That he was coming?

LAURA. He wired me when he reached Kansas City.

JOHN. Does he know?

LAURA. About us?

JOHN. Yes.

LAURA. I've told him.

JOHN. When?

LAURA. To-day.

JOHN. Here?

LAURA. Yes.

JOHN. With what result?

LAURA. I think it hurt him.

JOHN. Naturally.

LAURA. More than I had any idea it would.

JOHN. I'm sorry. [_Sits in armchair_.

LAURA. He cautioned me to be very careful and to be sure I knew my way.

JOHN. That was right.

LAURA _gets a cushion in each hand off seat; crosses down to left of armchair, throws one cushion on ground, then the other on top of it, and kneels beside his chair. Piano in house playing a Chopin Nocturne_.

LAURA. John.

JOHN. Yes.

LAURA. We've been very happy all summer.

JOHN. Very.

LAURA. [_Rises, sits on left arm of chair, her arm over back_.] And this thing has gradually been growing on us?

JOHN. That's true.

LAURA. I didn't think that, when I came out here to Denver to play in a little stock company, it was going to bring me all this happiness, but it has, hasn't it?

JOHN. Yes.

LAURA. [_Changing her position, sits on his lap, arms around his neck_.] And now the season's over and there is nothing to keep me in Colorado, and I've got to go back to New York to work.

JOHN. I know; I've been awake all night thinking about it.

LAURA. Well?

JOHN. Well?

LAURA. What are we going to do?

JOHN. Why, you've got to go, I suppose.

LAURA. Is it good-bye?

JOHN. For a while, I suppose--it's good-bye.

LAURA. What do you mean by a while?

[LAURA _turns_ JOHN'S _face to her, looks at him searchingly_.

JOHN. Until [_Piano plays crescendo, then softens down_.] I get money enough together, and am making enough to support you, then come and take you out of the show business and make you Mrs. Madison.

LAURA _tightens her arm around his neck, her cheek goes close to his own, and all the wealth of affection the woman is capable of at times is shown. She seems more like a dainty little kitten purring close to its master. Her whole thought and idea seem to be centred on the man whom she professes to love._

LAURA. John, that is what I want above everything else.

JOHN. But, Laura, we must come to some distinct understanding before we start to make our plans. We're not children.

LAURA. No, we're not.

JOHN. Now in the first place [LAURA _rises, crosses to centre._] we'll discuss you, and in the second place we'll discuss me. We'll keep nothing from each other [LAURA _picks up cushions, places them on seat._], and we'll start out on this campaign [LAURA _turns back to centre, facing audience._] of decency and honour, fully understanding its responsibilities, without a chance of a come-back on either side.

LAURA. [_Becoming very serious._] You mean that we should tell each other all about each other, so, no matter what's ever said about us by other people, we'll know it first?

JOHN. [_Rising._] That's precisely what I'm trying to get at.

LAURA. Well, John, there are so many things I don't want to speak of even to you. It isn't easy for a woman to go back and dig up a lot of ugly memories and try to excuse them. [_Crosses to front of table, picks up magazine, places it on table_.

JOHN. I've known everything from the first; how you came to San Francisco as a kid and got into the show business, and how you went wrong, and then how you married, still a kid, and how your husband didn't treat you exactly right, and then how, in a fit of drunkenness, he came home and shot himself. [LAURA _buries her head in her hands, making exclamations of horror._ JOHN _crosses to her as if sorry for hurting her; touches her on shoulder._] But that's all past now, and we can forget that. And I know how you were up against it after that, how tough it was for you to get along. Then finally how you've lived, and--and that you and this man Brockton have been--well--never mind. I've known it all for months, and I've watched you. Now, Laura, the habit of life is a hard thing to get away from. You've lived in this way for a long time. If I ask you to be my wife you'll have to give it up; you'll have to go back to New York and struggle on your own hook until I get enough to come for you. I don't know how long that will be, but it _will_ be. Do you love me enough to stick out for the right thing?

LAURA _crosses to him, puts her arms around him, kisses him once very affectionately, looks at him very earnestly_.

LAURA. Yes. I think this is my one great chance. I do love you and I want to do just what you said.

JOHN. I think you will. I'm going to make the same promise. Your life, dear girl, has been an angel's compared with mine. I've drank whiskey, played bank, and raised hell ever since the time I could develop a thirst; and ever since I've been able to earn my own living I've abused every natural gift God gave me. The women I've associated with aren't good enough to touch the hem of your skirt, but they liked me, and [JOHN _crosses to armchair, turns up stage, then faces her_.] well--I must have liked them. My life hasn't been exactly loose, it's been all in pieces. I've never done anything dishonest. I've always gone wrong just for the fun of it, until I met you. [_Crosses to her, takes her in his arms_.] Somehow then I began to feel that I was making an awful waste of myself.

LAURA. John!

JOHN. Some lovers place a woman on a pedestal and say, "She never has made a mistake." [_Taking her by each arm he playfully shakes her_.] Well, we don't need any pedestals. I just know you never will make a mistake.

LAURA. [_Kissing him_.] John, I'll never make you take those words back. [_Arms around his neck_.

JOHN. That goes double. You're going to cut out the cabs and cafés, and I'm going to cut out the whiskey and all-night sessions [LAURA _releases him; he backs slightly away_.]; and you're going to be somebody and I'm going to be somebody, and if my hunch is worth the powder to blow it up, we're going to show folks things they never thought were in us. Come on now, kiss me.

_She kisses him; tears are in her eyes. He looks into her face with a quaint smile_.

JOHN. You're on, ain't you, dear?

LAURA. Yes, I'm on.

JOHN. Then [_Points toward door with his left arm over her shoulder_.] call him.

LAURA. Brockton?

JOHN. Yes, and tell him you go back to New York without any travelling companion this season.

LAURA. Now?

JOHN. Sure.

LAURA. You want to hear me tell him?

JOHN. [_With a smile_.] We're partners, aren't we? I ought to be in on any important transaction like that, but it's just as you say.

LAURA. I think it would be right you should. I'll call him now.

JOHN. All right. [_Crossing to stairway_. LAURA _crosses to door; twilight is becoming very much more pronounced_.

LAURA. [_At door_.] Mr. Brockton! Oh, Mr. Brockton!

WILL. [_Off stage_.] Yes.

LAURA. Can you spare a moment to come out here?

WILL. Just a moment.

LAURA. You must come now.

WILL. All right. [_She waits for him and after a reasonable interval he appears at door_.] Laura, it's a shame to lure me away from that mad speculation in there. I thought I might make my fare back to New York if I played until next summer. What's up?

LAURA. Mr. Madison wants to talk to you, or rather I do, and I want him to listen.

WILL. [_His manner changing to one of cold, stolid calculation_.] Very well. [_Comes down off step of house_.

LAURA. Will.

WILL. Yes?

LAURA. I'm going home day after to-morrow on the Overland Limited.

WILL. I know.

LAURA. It's awfully kind of you to come out here, but under the circumstances I'd rather you'd take an earlier or a later train.

WILL. And may I ask what circumstances you refer to?

LAURA. Mr. Madison and I are going to be married. [_Pause_.] He [Will _looks inquiringly at_ JOHN.] knows of your former friendship for me, and he has the idea that it must end.

WILL. Then the Riverside Drive proposition, with Burgess's show thrown in, is declared off, eh?

LAURA. Yes; everything is absolutely declared off.

WILL. Can't even be friends any more, eh?

JOHN _crosses, and, taking_ LAURA'S _arm, passes her over to seat; his back is partly to audience_.

JOHN. You could hardly expect Miss Murdock to be friendly with you under the circumstances. You could hardly expect me to [LAURA _puts scarf across her shoulders_.] sanction any such friendship.

WILL. I think I understand your position, young man, and I perfectly agree with you, that is--if your plans come out successfully.

JOHN. Thank you.

LAURA. Then everything is settled [_Crossing in front of_ JOHN _and facing_ WILL, _back to audience_.] just the way it ought to be--frankly and aboveboard?

WILL. Why, I guess so. If I was perfectly confident that this new arrangement was going to result happily for you both, I think it would be great, only I'm somewhat doubtful, for when people become serious and then fail, I know how hard those things hit, having _been_ hit once myself.

JOHN. So you think we're making a wrong move and there isn't a chance of success!

WILL. No, I don't make any such gloomy prophecy. If you make Laura a good husband, and she makes you a good wife, and together you win out, I'll be mighty glad. As far as I am concerned I shall absolutely forget every thought of Laura's friendship for me.

LAURA. I thought you'd be just that way.

[_Crosses to_ WILL, _shakes hands_.

WILL. [_Rising_.] And now I must be off. [_Takes her by both hands and shakes them_.] Good-bye, girlie! Madison, good luck. [_Crosses to_ JOHN. _Shakes_ JOHN'S _hands; looks into his eyes_.] I think you've got the stuff in you to succeed if your foot don't slip.

JOHN. What do you mean by my foot slipping, Mr. Brockton?

WILL. You want me to tell you?

JOHN. I sure do.

WILL. [_Turns to Laura_.] Laura, run into the house and see if Mrs. Williams has won another quarter. [LAURA _sinks fearfully into chair_.] Madison and I are going to smoke a cigar and have a friendly chat, and when we get through I think we'll both be better off.

LAURA. You are sure that everything will be all right?

WILL. Sure.

LAURA _looks at_ JOHN _for assurance, and exits; he nods reassuringly_.

WILL. Have a cigar?

[SERVANT _places lamp on table inside house_.

JOHN. No, I'll smoke my own.

[_Crosses down right; sits in armchair_.

WILL. What is your business? [_Crosses up to seat centre; sits_.

JOHN. What's yours?

WILL. I'm a broker.

JOHN. I'm a reporter, so I've got something on you.

WILL. What kind?

JOHN. General utility, dramatic critic on Sunday nights.

WILL. Pay you well?

JOHN. [_Turns, looking at_ WILL.] That's pretty fresh. What's the idea?

WILL. I'm interested. I'm a plain man, Mr. Madison, and I do business in a plain way. Now, if I ask you a few questions and discuss this matter with you in a frank way, don't get it in your head that I'm jealous or sore, but simply I don't want either of you people to make a move that's going to cost you a lot of pain and trouble. If you want me to talk sense to you, all right. If you don't we'll drop it now. What's the answer?

JOHN. I'll take a chance, but before you start I want to tell you that the class of people that you belong to I have no use for--they don't speak my language. You are what they call a manipulator of stocks; that means that you're living on the weaknesses of other people, and it almost means that you get your daily bread, yes, and your cake and your wine, too, from the production of others. You're a "gambler under cover." Show me a man who's dealing bank, and he's free and aboveboard. You can figure the percentage against you, and then, if you buck the tiger and get stung, you do it with your eyes open. With your financiers the game is crooked twelve months of the year, and, from a business point of view, I think you are a crook. Now I guess we understand each other. If you've got anything to say, why, spill it.

WILL _rises, comes down toward_ JOHN, _showing anger in his tones_.

WILL. We are not talking business now, but women. How much money do you earn?

[_Crosses to chair left of table; gets it_.

JOHN. Understand I don't think it is any of your damn business, but I'm going through with you on this proposition, just to see how the land lays. But take my tip, you be mighty careful how you speak about the girl if you're not looking for trouble.

WILL. All right, but how much did you say you made?

[_Crosses over to centre of stage, carrying chair; sits_.

JOHN. Thirty dollars a week.

WILL. Do you know how much Laura could make if she just took a job on her own merits?

JOHN. As I don't intend to share in her salary, I never took the trouble to inquire.

WILL. She'd get about forty dollars.

JOHN. That laps me ten.

WILL. How are you going to support her? Her cabs cost more than your salary, and she pays her week's salary for an every-day walking-hat. She's always had a maid; her simplest gown flirts with a hundred-dollar note; her manicurist and her hair-dresser will eat up as much as you pay for your board. She never walks when it's stormy, and every afternoon there's her ride in the park. She dines at the best places in New York, and one meal costs her more than you make in a day. Do you imagine for a moment that she's going to sacrifice these luxuries for any great length of time?

JOHN. I intend to give them to her.

WILL. On thirty dollars a week?

JOHN. I propose to go out and make a lot of money.

WILL. How?

JOHN. I haven't decided yet, but you can bet your sweet life that if I ever try and make up my mind that it's got to be, it's got to be.

WILL. Never have made it, have you?

JOHN. I have never tried.

WILL. Then how do you know you can?

JOHN. Well, I'm honest and energetic. If you can get great wealth the way you go along, I don't see why I can't earn a little.

WILL. There's where you make a mistake. Money-getting doesn't always come with brilliancy. I know a lot of fellows in New York who can paint a great picture, write a good play, and, when it comes to oratory, they've got me lashed to a pole; but they're always in debt. They never get anything for what they do. In other words, young man, they are like a sky-rocket without a stick,--plenty of brilliancy, but no direction, and they blow up and fizzle all over the ground.

JOHN. That's New York. I'm in Colorado, and I guess you know there is a difference.

WILL. I hope you'll make your money, because I tell you frankly that's the only way you can hold this girl. She's full of heroics now, self-sacrifice, and all the things that go to make up the third act of a play, but the minute she comes to darn her stockings, wash out her own handkerchiefs and dry them on the window, and send out for a pail of coffee and a sandwich for lunch, take it from me it will go Blah! [_Rises, crosses to front of table with chair, places it with back to him, braces his back on it, facing_ JOHN.] You're in Colorado writing her letters once a day with no checks in them. That may be all right for some girl who hasn't tasted the joy of easy living, full of the good things of life, but one who for ten years has been doing very well in the way these women do is not going to let up for any great length of time. So take my advice if you want to hold her. Get that money quick, and don't be so damned particular how you get it either.

JOHN'S _patience is evidently severely tried. He approaches_ WILL, _who remains impassive_.

JOHN. Of course you know you've got the best of me.

WILL. How?

JOHN. We're guests.

WILL. No one's listening.

JOHN. 'Tisn't that. If it was anywhere but here, if there was any way to avoid all the nasty scandal, I'd come a shootin' for you, and you know it.

WILL. Gun-fighter, eh?

JOHN. Perhaps. Let me tell you this. I don't know how you make your money, but I know what you do with it. You buy yourself a small circle of sycophants; you pay them well for feeding your vanity; and then you pose,--pose with a certain frank admission of vice and degradation. And those who aren't quite as brazen as you call it manhood. Manhood? [_Crossing slowly to armchair, sits._] Why, you don't know what the word means. It's the attitude of a pup and a cur.

WILL. [_Angrily_.] Wait a minute [_Crosses to_ JOHN.], young man, or I'll--

JOHN _rises quickly. Both men stand confronting each other for a moment with fists clenched. They are on the very verge of a personal encounter. Both seem to realize that they have gone too far_.

JOHN. You'll what?

WILL. Lose my temper and make a damn fool of myself. That's something I've not done for--let me see--why, it must be nearly twenty years--oh, yes, fully that.

[_He smiles_; JOHN _relaxes and takes one step back_.

JOHN. Possibly it's been about that length of time since you were human, eh?

WILL. Possibly--but you see, Mr. Madison, after all, you're at fault.

JOHN. Yes?

WILL. Yes, the very first thing you did was to lose your temper. Now people who always lose their temper will never make a lot of money, and you admit that that is a great necessity--I mean now--to you.

JOHN. I can't stand for the brutal way you talk. [_Crosses up to seat, picks up newspaper, slams it down angrily on seat, and sits with elbow on balustrade_.

WILL. But you have got to stand it. The truth is never gentle. [_Crosses up and sits left of_ JOHN.] Most conditions in life are unpleasant, and, if you want to meet them squarely, you have got to realize the unpleasant point of view. That's the only way you can fight them and win.

JOHN [_Turns to_ WILL.] Still, I believe Laura means what she says, in spite of all you say and the disagreeable logic of it. I think she loves me. If she should ever want to go back to the old way of getting along, I think she'd tell me so. So you see, Brockton, all your talk is wasted, and we'll drop the subject.

[_Crosses down and sits in armchair_.

WILL. And if she should ever go back and come to me, I am going to insist that she let you know all about it. It'll be hard enough to lose her, caring for her the way you do, but it would hurt a lot more to be double-crossed.

JOHN. [_Sarcastically_.] That's very kind. Thanks!

WILL. Don't get sore. It's common sense and it goes, does it not?

JOHN. [_Turns to_ WILL.] Just what goes?

WILL. If she leaves you first, you are to tell me, and if she comes to me I'll make her let you know just when and why.

JOHN _is leaning on arm, facing_ WILL; _his hand shoots out in a gesture of warning to_ WILL.

JOHN. Look out!

WILL. I said common sense.

JOHN. All right.

WILL. Agreed? [_A pause_.

JOHN. You're on.

_By this time the stage is black and all that can be seen is the glow of the two cigars. Piano in the next room is heard_. JOHN _crosses slowly and deliberately to door, looks in, throws cigar away over the terrace, exits into house, closes doors, and, as_ WILL _is seated on terrace, puffing cigar, the red coal of which is alone visible, a slow curtain_.

CURTAIN.