Chapter XXXII: Prologue (1)

Enter GLADYS wearing linen duster and dragging a big rope to which is attached a case of beer with about eight empty bottles in it. She stops C.

GLADYS: (Tearfully.) At last I am almost home. Eleven miles walk from the sweat shop here, and that's some hoofing it, believe me. (Sways.) Oh, I am faint (Looks over shoulder at beer case.), faint for the want of my Coca-Cola. (Enter ALGERNON R. I--wears slouch hat, heavy moustache, red shirt and high boots. She is facing L.) Oh, I have a hunch I'm being shadowed--flagged by a track-walker! But I mustn't think of that. (Starts to drag case L.) I must get home to my dying child. He needs me--he needs me. (Exits L. I.)

ALGERNON: (Goes L. C. and looks after her.) It is Gladys--found at last! (Enter BIRDIE L. I. She is in bright red with white plumes and is a beautiful, radiant adventuress. )

BIRDIE: Did you get a good look at her?

ALGERNON: Yes--it's Gladys and she's down and out--(Both together:) Curse her!

ALGERNON: Now I can begin pursuing her again.

BIRDIE: Yes, and I can gloat over her misery--and gloating's the best thing I do.

ALGERNON: Come (fiercely!) We are wasting time.

BIRDIE: She'll never know me with this dark hair and no make-up on.

ALGERNON: (At L. I--still more fiercely.) Can that junk! Come! (Exits L. I.)

BIRDIE: (Going to L. I.) He has me in his power. I must follow him. Curse him! (Exits after ALGERNON. Enter MOE REISS in bum evening-clothes and opera hat. Carries cane.)

MOE REISS: (Reading from back of envelope.) Down this street and turn into the alley full of ash cans! I'm on the right track at last. Once more I shall see my wife and my little boy! Of course, she'll be sore because I ran away and deserted her, leaving her no alimony except the dying che-ild. But I must produce a real wife and child from somewhere or I'll lose the $9.75 my uncle left me. (Goes L. musingly.) Why do I love money so? Ay, that's the question. (Looking up at gallery.) And what's the answer? (Points off L. with cane--dramatically.) We shall see--we shall see. (Dashes off L.)

The lights go out, and the Drop in One takes all the time that the clock strikes sixteen or seventeen to go up, so it is timed very slowly.

FULL STAGE SCENE

THE WRETCHED HOME OF GLADYS

A Mott Street Garret--everything of the poorest description. Old table down stage R., with chair on either side and waste paper basket in front. Cot bed down stage L. Old cupboard up stage C. Small stand at head of cot.

PHONSIE lies in cot, head up stage, covered up. He should weigh over two hundred pounds. He wears Buster Brown wig and nightie that buttons up the back. GLADYS is seated at table d. s. R., sewing on a tiny handkerchief. She is magnificently dressed and wears all the jewelry she can carry. Pile of handkerchiefs at back of table within reach and a waste basket in front of table where she can throw handkerchiefs when used.

As curtain rises, the clock off stage slowly strikes for the sixteenth or seventeenth time.

GLADYS: Five o'clock and my sewing still unfinished. Oh, it must be done to-night. There's the rent--six dollars. To-day is Friday--bargain day--I wonder if the landlord would take four ninety-eight.

(Business. PHONSIE snores.) And my child needs more medicine. The dog biscuits haven't helped him a bit, and his stomach is too weak to digest the skin foods. (Wood crash off stage.) How restless he is, poor little tot!!!! Fatherless and deserted, sick and emaciated--eight years have I passed in this wretched place, hopeless, hapless, hipless. At times the struggle seems more than I can bear, but I must be brave for my child, my little one. (Buries face in hands.) (Business. Sews.)

PHONSIE: (Business.) Mommer! Mommer! Are you there? (Blows pea blower at her.)

GLADYS: (Hand to cheek where he hit her.) Yes, dolling, mommer is here.

PHONSIE: Say, mommer, am I dying? (Loud and toughly.)

GLADYS: (Sadly.) I am afraid _not_, my treasure.

PHONSIE: Why not, mommer?

GLADYS: You are too great a pest to die, sweetheart.

PHONSIE: But the good always die young, don't they, mommer?

GLADYS: (Still sewing.) But you were not speaking about the good--you were speaking of yourself, my precious.

PHONSIE: Ain't I good, mommer, don't you think?

GLADYS: (Business.) Oh, I don't dare to think!!!! (Moves up stage.)

PHONSIE: Don't think if it hurts you, mommer.

GLADYS: (At dresser.) But come, it is time for your medicine. (Shows enormous pill.)

PHONSIE: (Scared.) What is that, mommer?

GLADYS: Just a horse pill, baby. (Puts it in his mouth.) There, that will help cure mother's little man. (At table.)

PHONSIE: Gee! That tasted fierce. (Business. Knock.) Some one is knocking, mommer.

GLADYS: They're always knocking mommer. (At door.)

VOICE: Have yez th' rint?

GLADYS: I haven't.

VOICE: Much obliged.

GLADYS: You're welcome.

PHONSIE: Who was that, mommer?

GLADYS: That was only the landlord for the rent. Alas, I cannot raise it.

PHONSIE: Then if you can't raise the rent, raise me, mommer. Can't I have the spot-light to die with?

GLADYS: Why certainly you shall have one. Mr. Electrician, will you kindly give my dying child a spot-light? (Business.) There, dearest, there's your spot-light.

PHONSIE: (Laughs.) Oh, that's fine. Mommer, can I have visions?

GLADYS: Why surely, dear, you can have all the visions you want. (Shoves opium pipe in his mouth and lights it.) Now tell mommer what you see, baby!

PHONSIE: Oh, mommer, I see awful things. I can see the Gerry society pinching me. And oh, mommer, I can see New York, [1] and there ain't a gambling house in the town.

[1] Substitute name of any big city.

GLADYS: He's blind!!!! My child's gone blind!!!! (PHONSIE snores.) He sleeps at last, my child, my little dying child!!!! (Enter ALGERNON and BIRDIE.)

GLADYS: (Discovers ALGERNON.) You!!!! (ALGERNON turns to Orchestra and conducts Chord with cane.) (GLADYS Left, ALGERNON C., BIRDIE R.)

ALGERNON: (Chord.) Yes, Gladys Dressuitcase, once more we meet!!!!!

GLADYS: And the lady with the Brooklyn [1] gown!! Ah, you will start, but I know you in spite of your disguise, Birdie Bedslatz.

[1] Substitute name of the local gag town.

BIRDIE: Disguise! What disguise?

GLADYS: Woman, you cannot deceive me. You've been to the dry-dock and had your face scraped.

BIRDIE: So, you still want war?

GLADYS: No, I want justice!!!! (ALGERNON conducts Chord.) You have tracked me like sleuthhounds. You have hunted me down after all these years. You have robbed me of home, husband, honor and friends. What then is left me? (L.)

BIRDIE: (Menacingly.) There is always the river.

GLADYS: What, you dare suggest that, you with your past!

BIRDIE: How dare you mention that to me! I am now writing Sunday stories for the New York "American." [2] (Crosses to left and sits.)

[2] Substitute name of the local sensational newspaper.

GLADYS: (Stunned.) Sophie Lyons, now I see it all.

ALGERNON: (Center.) I have here a mortgage.

GLADYS: A mortgage!!!! What is it on?

ALGERNON: I don't know. What difference does that make? It is a mortgage. That's all that's necessary.

GLADYS: Can it be a mortgage on the old farm?

ALGERNON: (Moves over to R.) Certainly, on the old farm!!!! The dear old homestead in New Hampshire. (Takes paper from pocket. Crosses over to GLADYS.) I have also the paper that always goes with the mortgage. Sign this paper and the mortgage shall be yours, refuse--and--do you mind my coming closer so that I can hiss this in your ear?

GLADYS: Not at all, come right over.

ALGERNON: (Close to GLADYS.) Refuse (Hiss), I say, and you and your child shall be thrown into the streets to starve. (Hiss.)

GLADYS: (Crosses R.) Oh, I must have time to drink--I mean think. But this is infamous. The landlord will--

ALGERNON: I am the landlord. Now will you sign the papers?

GLADYS: No, a thousand times no!!!!! (Chord.) (ALGERNON conducts Chord.) No!!!!

BIRDIE: (Hand to ear.) Good gracious, don't scream so, where do you think you are?

ALGERNON: You won't sign?

GLADYS: No, do your worst, throw me into the street with my child. He is sick, dying!!!!

ALGERNON: What's the matter with him? (Goes to bed.) (PHONSIE is heaving and whistling.) Great heavens, he has the heaves. (Goes R.)

BIRDIE: What are you doing for him?

GLADYS: Trying the hot air treatment.

BIRDIE: I should think you would be expert at that.

GLADYS: The doctor says he has grey matter in his brain.

BIRDIE: (Comes down L.) I am sorry, very sorry.

ALGERNON: Sorry! Bah, this is a cheap play for sympathy! (To GLADYS:) Will you sign the papers?

GLADYS: Never, I defy you: (To BIRDIE.) As for you, beautiful fiend that you are, you came between me and my husband; you stole him from me with your dog-faced beauty; I mean doll-faced. But I can see your finish, I can see you taking poison in about fifteen minutes.

BIRDIE: (Over to ALGERNON.) Put me wise, is this true?

ALGERNON: No, 'tis false, false as hell!!!!! (Points up.)

GLADYS: It's true, as true as heaven. (Points down.) I swear it.

ALGERNON: (Crosses up to GLADYS.) Why, curse you, I'll--

GLADYS: (With pistol.) Stand back!!!!! I'm a desperate woman!!!!!

ALGERNON: (Center.) Foiled, curse the luck, foiled by a mere slip of a girl.

BIRDIE: What's to be done?

ALGERNON: (Yells.) Silence!!!! (Business.) Once aboard the lugger the girl must and shall be mine!!!!

BIRDIE: But how do you propose to _lug her_ there? (ALGERNON moves up to door.)

GLADYS: Oh, I see it all. You have brought this she-devil here to work off her bad gags on me. Man, have you no heart?

ALGERNON: (Comes down C.) Of course I have a heart. I have also eyes, ears, nose, tongue and--

BIRDIE: Brains, calves' brains--breaded.

ALGERNON: That will be about all from you. Go, leave us!

BIRDIE: Alone?

ALGERNON: Alone!

GLADYS: Alone!

PHONSIE: (In sepulchral tone.) Oh, Gee!

BIRDIE: But it's hardly decent. You need a tamer.

ALGERNON: Go! (Crosses to R.) Go, I say, before it is too late.

BIRDIE: Oh, there's no hurry. Every place is open.

ALGERNON: Don't sass me, Birdie Bedslatz, but clear out, scat!!!!

BIRDIE: Ain't he the awful scamp? (Starts to door.)

GLADYS: (Clinging to her.) No, you cannot, must not go. Don't leave me alone with that piano mover.

BIRDIE: I must go. I have poison to buy. (At door.) Ah, Algernon O'Flaherty, if there was more men in the world like you, there'd be less women like me--I just love to say that. Ta--ta. (PHONSIE blows pea-shooter at her as she Exits. She screams and grabs cheek.)

ALGERNON: (To GLADYS back.) So, proud beauty, at last we are alone!

GLADYS: Inhuman monster!!! What new villainy do you propose?

ALGERNON: None, it's all old stuff. Listen, Gladys. When I see you again, all the old love revives and I grow mad, mad.

GLADYS: You dare to speak of love to me? Why, from the first moment I saw you, I despised you. And now I tell you to your face that I hate and loathe you, for the vile, contemptible wretch that you are.

ALGERNON: (Center.) Be careful, girl! I can give you wealth, money, jewels--jewels fit for a king's ransom.

GLADYS: (Runs into his arms.) Oh, you can--Where are they?

ALGERNON: They are in hock for the moment, but see, here are the tickets. I shall get them out, anon.

GLADYS: Dastardly wretch!!!!! With your pawn tickets to try and cop out a poor sewing girl. (Up at door.) There is the door, go! (Points other way.)

ALGERNON: (Up to her.) Why curse you, I'll--

GLADYS: Strike, you coward! (Chord.) (ALGERNON conducts Chord.)

ALGERNON: Coward!!!! (He conducts same Chord an Octave higher.)

GLADYS: Yes, coward. . . . Now go, and never cross this threshold again!!

ALGERNON: (Going up stage.) So, I'm fired with the threshold gag? Very well, I go, but I shall return. . . . I shall return! (Exits.)

PHONSIE: (Blows pea-blower after him.) Who was that big stiff, mommer, the instalment man?

GLADYS: No, darling, he is the floor-walker in a slaughter house.

PHONSIE: Mommer, when do I eat?

GLADYS: Alas, we cannot buy food, we are penniless.

PHONSIE: If you would only put your jewels in soak, mommer.

GLADYS: What, hock me sparks? Never! I may starve, yes, but I'll starve like a lady in all my finery!

PHONSIE: Mommer, I want to eat.

GLADYS: What shall I do? My child hungry, dying, without even the price of a shave! Oh, my heart is like my brother on the railroad, breaking--breaking--breaking--(Weeps.)

PHONSIE: Ah, don't cry, mommer. You'll have the whole place damp. You keep on sewing and I'll keep on dying.

GLADYS: Very well. (Drying eyes.) But first I'll go out and get a can of beer. Thank goodness, we always have beer money.

PHONSIE: Oh yes, mommer, do rush the growler. Me coppers is toastin'. And don't forget your misery cape and the music that goes with you, will you, mommer?

GLADYS: I'll get those.

PHONSIE: And you'd better take some handkerchiefs. You may want to cry. But don't cry in the beer, mommer, it makes it flat.

GLADYS: Thank you, baby, I do love to weep. Oh, if we only had a blizzard, I'd take you out in your nightie. But wait, sweetheart, wait till it goes below zero. Then you shall go out with mommer, bare-footed.

PHONSIE: Don't stand chewing the rag with the bartender, will you, mommer?

GLADYS: Only till he puts a second head on the beer. (Exit R.)

PHONSIE: Gee, it's fierce to be a stage child and dying. I wonder where my popper is? I want my popper--I want my popper. (Bawls.)

MOE REISS: (Enters.) Why, what is the matter, my little man?

PHONSIE: Oh, I'm so lonely, I want my popper.

MOE REISS: And where is your popper?

PHONSIE: Mommer says he is in Philadelphia. (Sniffles.)

MOE REISS: (Lifts hat reverently.) Dead, and his child doesn't know. And where is your mama?

PHONSIE: Oh, she's went out to chase the can.

MOE REISS: And what is your name, my little man?

PHONSIE: Alphonso. Ain't that practically the limit?

MOE REISS: Alphonso? I once had a little boy named Alphonso, who might have been about your age.

PHONSIE: And what prevented him?

MOE REISS: (Sighs.) Alas, I lost him!

PHONSIE: That was awful careless of you. You oughtn't to have took him out without his chain. (Sniffs.)

MOE REISS: What's the matter with your nose?

PHONSIE: I have the glanders--and the heaves. I get all the horse diseases. Father was a race track tout.

MOE REISS: A race track tout? What is your last name?

PHONSIE: Dressuitcase, Alphonso Dressuitcase.

MOE REISS: Dressuitcase? And have you heavy shingle marks on your person, great blue welts?

PHONSIE: You bet I have, and my popper put them there, too.

MOE REISS: Why, it's my boy, Phonsie, my little Phonsie. Don't you know me? It's popper. (Slams him in face hard with open hand.)

PHONSIE: Well, your style is familiar, but you don't need to show off!

GLADYS: (Enters. Carrying Growler carefully.) Moe! Moe! My husband! (Buries face in can.)

MOE REISS: Gladys! Gladys! My wife! (Takes can from GLADYS.)

PHONSIE: (Comes between them.) Here, I want to have my fever reduced. (Back to bed.)

GLADYS: Where have you been all these years, Moe?

MOE REISS: Just bumming around, just bumming around. When I deserted you and copped out Birdie Bedslatz, I went from bad to worse, from Jersey City to Hoboken. [1] When my senses returned, I was insane.

[1] Local.

GLADYS: My poor husband, how you must have suffered!

MOE REISS: At heart, I was always true to you and our little boy, and I want to come back home.

GLADYS: But tell me, Moe, how are you fixed? (Tries to feel his vest pocket.)

MOE REISS: Fine, I am running a swell gambling joint.

GLADYS: Splendid! Now, Phonsie shall have proper nourishment.

MOE REISS: He shall have all the food he can eat. (Up to bed.)

GLADYS: Yes, and all the beer he can drink.

MOE REISS: Great heavens, I could never pay for that.

GLADYS: Ah, then he will have to cut out his souse. Dear little chap; he loved to get tanked up. Oh look at him, Moe, he is the living image of you. I think if he lives, he will be a great bull fighter. (PHONSIE has finished the beer, and is sucking at a nipple on large bottle marked "Pure Rye.")

MOE REISS: Then he does take after me--dear little chap. (Hits him.)

GLADYS: Indeed he does. But is it safe for you to come here, Moe?

MOE REISS: Not with Whitman [1] on my trail. You know, Gladys, in the eyes of the world, I am guilty.

[1] Local District Attorney.

GLADYS: Then the world lies. (Chord. ALGERNON comes on from R. I and conducts and then Exits.) I still trust you, my husband, though the police want you for stealing moth balls. (Crash off.) What's that? (Runs to door.) Oh, it's the health department. They have come with the garbage wagon to arrest you. Quick, in there. (Points to door R.)

MOE REISS: No, let them come. I am here to see my wife and here I shall remain.

GLADYS: But for our child's sake. See, he holds up his little hands and pleads for you to go. (PHONSIE in pugilistic attitude.)

PHONSIE: Say, pop, if you don't get a wiggle on and duck in there, there'll be something doing. (Business.)

MOE REISS: My boy, I can refuse you nothing. (Exits.)

GLADYS: (At door C.) They are sneaking up, on rubbers! (To PHONSIE.) Lie down, Fido. (Guarding door R. Enter ALGERNON and BIRDIE, Door C.)

ALGERNON: There's some hellish mystery here!

BIRDIE: You can search me.

ALGERNON: (Sees GLADYS.) Aha! Now will you sign those papers?

GLADYS: Never. (Bus.) I'll sign nothing. (Down R.)

ALGERNON: (Takes carrot from his hip pocket.) You won't? There, curse you, take that. (Hits her in neck with carrot.)

GLADYS: In the neck! In the neck, where I always get it!

ALGERNON: (Center.) Quick, Birdie, seize the child and run.

BIRDIE: (Left, looks scornfully at PHONSIE.) You've got your nerve. He weighs a ton!!

PHONSIE: Oh! She's going to kidnap me!! Assistance!!

ALGERNON: Silence!! Enough!! (To GLADYS.) I have just come from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

GLADYS: Well?

ALGERNON: I have reported to them that your child has the heaves.

GLADYS: Well?

ALGERNON: The Society is sending a horse ambulance to take him to the dump.

GLADYS: Dump? To the dump?!!! No, no, it's a cruel, hideous jest! Take away my little dying boy? It would kill him, you understand, it would kill him!!

PHONSIE: (Toughly.) Sure, it would kill me!! (Bites off big chew of Tobacco.)

ALGERNON: Nevertheless, in five minutes the horse ambulance will be here.

GLADYS: Oh no! no! no! What if my child should die?

ALGERNON: Then they will make glue out of his carcass.

GLADYS: Glue. Aw! (Shakes snow on herself from box hanging over the table L.)

PHONSIE: I don't want to be no glue, mommer, I'd be all stuck up.

GLADYS: (Goes C. to PHONSIE.) Why this fiendish plot? What have I done that you thus pursue me?

ALGERNON: (R. C.) You repulsed my hellish caresses.

GLADYS: Oh, I will do anything to save my child. I'll try to love you. . . . I will love! See? (Business.) (Into his arms.) I love you now!

MOE REISS: (Enter, center.) What's this? My wife in that man's arms? Oh! (Crosses L.)

GLADYS: (At right, to MOE REISS.) Oh, Moe, I can explain. (Grabs his throat and shakes him.)

MOE REISS: (To GLADYS.) Explain!!! How? I go away and desert you for eight years. (Turns from her and goes L.) In that short absence you forget your husband. (Turns to her.) I return to find you in his arms, before my very nose. (Smashes PHONSIE in face.) (Business.) (He sees BIRDIE.) You, Birdie!

BIRDIE: Yes, I, little Birdie--Birdie on the spot.

MOE REISS: Ah, you she-fiend, you lady demon! (Kisses her.)

GLADYS: (Screams.) No, no! (Runs to him.) It's all a plot! A hideous plot to part us! This man has complained to the S. P. C. A. that our little Phonsie has the heaves. They are sending a horse ambulance to take him to the dump! They'll make _glue_ out of his carcass! (To ALGERNON.) You see what you have done! (Beats him on back.) Tell my husband, you devil, tell him the truth!!!

ALGERNON: (To MOE REISS) (C.) Well, if you must know the truth, your wife loves me and was forcing her caresses upon me when you entered.

MOE REISS: It's true then, it's true?

PHONSIE: (Sits up.) No, popper, it's false, and I can prove it.

ALGERNON: The child is delirious from the heaves!

PHONSIE: I'll heave you out of here in a minute. Listen, popper, mommer's done the best she could. It ain't easy to nurse a dying child who is liable to croak at any moment. But she's done that, popper, she's often went without her dill pickle so I could have my spavin cure. She thought I might get well and strong and maybe get a job as a safe mover. But I've been so busy dying I couldn't go to work. (Shakes fist at ALGERNON.) Don't believe that man, popper; I'm dying, cross my heart if I ain't dying, so I couldn't tell a lie. (Back to bed.)

MOE REISS: Oh, my boy! My boy! (heart-brokenly.) (Hits PHONSIE.)

GLADYS: Dh, Moe Reiss, don't you believe him?

ALGERNON: (Left of C.) Of course not, he saw you with your arms around my neck.

MOE REISS: Yes, I saw it, I seen it.

BIRDIE: I can swear to it, if necessary.

PHONSIE: I can swear too, popper, want to hear me?

MOE REISS: No, I have heard enough. Now I intend to act. (Throws off coat, L.)

ALGERNON: What do you mean?

MOE REISS: I mean that either you or I will never leave this place alive. For I tell you plainly, as sure as there is a poker game above us, I mean to kill you!

ALGERNON: (Throws off coat and hat.) Well, if it's a roughhouse you're looking for, I'm right there with the goods. (Struggle.)

PHONSIE: Give him an upper cut, popper, soak him!!!

BIRDIE: Knife him, Algernon, knife him! (Has out her hat pin.) (During struggle, PHONSIE shoots three times.) (As they struggle to window, ALGERNON turns back, and PHONSIE sees [after third shot] his vest is a target and fires three times. Bell on each shot.) Curse you, you've got me. Here are your three cigars. (Falls dead, C.)

MOE REISS: (Kneels and feels heart.) Dead!!! Who could have done this?

PHONSIE: Father, I cannot tell a lie, I done it with my little hatchet. (Shows big gun and a picture of George Washington. All the others lift American flags and wave them.) (PHONSIE L. waving flag, MOE and GLADYS C. BIRDIE dead in chair R.)

STAR SPANGLED BANNER, FF, AS CURTAIN FALLS

THE LOLLARD A SATIRICAL COMEDY

BY EDGAR ALLAN WOOLF Author of "Youth," "Little Mother," "Mon Desir," "The Locks at Panama," "Lady Gossip," Etc., Etc.

THE LOLLARD

CHARACTERS

ANGELA MAXWELL HARRY MAXWELL
FRED SALTUS MISS CAREY

SCENE: The apartment of Miss Carey, a hardworking modiste about 45 years of age, rather sharp in manner, very prudish and a hater of men.

TIME: About 2 A.M.

When the curtain rises, the stage is dark. First, "feminine snores" are heard, then a sharp ringing of bell. Then MISS CAREY from her bed in next room (curtained off, but partly visible) calls out:

MISS CAREY: Who is it?

VOICE: (Off stage.) It's me. Open!

MISS CAREY: (Poking her night-capped head out of curtains.) Well, who are you?

VOICE: (Off stage.) You don't know me. But that's all right. Please let me in--hurry! Hurry!

MISS CAREY: (Rising and getting into a kimono.) Well--whoever you are--what do you mean by waking me at two in the morning? I'll report this to the janitor. (She turns up light and opens door. ANGELA MAXWELL rushes in--in fluffy peignoir--her hair in pretty disorder--her hands full of wearing apparel, etc., as if she just snatched same up in haste. An opera coat, a pair of slippers, etc.)

ANGELA: (Rushing in--closing door after her and silencing MISS CAREY by the mysterious way she seizes her by the wrist.) Listen, you don't know me, but I've just left my husband.

MISS CAREY: (Sharply.) Well, that's no reason why I should leave my bed.

ANGELA: (Reassuringly.) You can go right back again, dear--in fact, I'll go with you and we'll talk it over there.

MISS CAREY: I don't wish to talk it over anywhere, and--

ANGELA: Well, surely, you don't think it was wrong of me to leave Harry--now do you?

MISS CAREY: I never blame any woman for leaving any man.

ANGELA: See, I knew it. After I fired the Wedgewood vase at him--and just for doing it he was brute enough to call me "Vixen,"-- I snatched up as much as I could that was worth taking, and left him _forever_. (Suddenly, as she sees dress on model.) Oh, what a lovely little frock. (Back to other tone.) Yes, forever; and it was only when I stood out in the cold hall that I realized it would have been better to have left him forever when I was all dressed in the morning. (Beginning to shiver and weep.) Take my advice, dear, if you ever leave your husband, never do it on a _cold night_.

MISS CAREY: (Sharply.) I'm not married.

ANGELA: (Weeping copiously and shivering.) Well, then, you needn't bother, dear, about the weather, 'cause you never will be married.

MISS CAREY: No, I never will--catch me selling my freedom to any selfish brute of a man.

ANGELA: (As before.) See, I knew it. I said to myself, that little lady on the second floor who makes dresses with a long, thin nose--

MISS CAREY: (Outraged.) Makes dresses with a long, thin nose?

ANGELA: Yes--she's the only one in the whole apartment house I can go to--she's the only one won't give Harry right.

MISS CAREY: No man is ever right.

ANGELA: I'm commencing to believe all men are brutes.

MISS CAREY: Of course they are. (Commencing to thaw.) Have a cup of tea. (She goes to table to prepare tea things.)

ANGELA: Thanks--I brought my own tea with me. (Takes a little paper bag of tea out of one of the slippers and crosses to MISS CAREY.) If I had struck him with the vase, I could understand his calling me "Vixen" (Beginning to weep again.)--but I only flung it at him, 'cause I cracked it by accident in the morning, and I didn't want him to find it out. He was always calling me "butter-fingers." (Sits at opposite side of table.)

MISS CAREY: Oh, he was always calling you names.

ANGELA: No, that's all he ever called me--"Butter-fingers." (Cries again.)

MISS CAREY: (Pouring tea.) Oh, he's the kind that just loves to stay home and nag.

ANGELA: I'd like to catch any husband I ever get, nag.

MISS CAREY: Oh, a pouter--I know that kind.

ANGELA: Oh, no. Why, every time I insulted him he kissed me--the brute. (After a second's pause.) But--excuse me--how do you know so many kinds of men if you've never been married?

MISS CAREY: (Quickly.) Boarders--to make ends meet, I've always had to have a male boarder since I was left an orphan. (She rises--turns her back to audience--gives a touch to her pigtail, during the laugh to this line. This business always builds laugh.)

ANGELA: (Absent-mindedly.) Well, I've heard that male boarders are very nice.

MISS CAREY: I've never had a nice one yet, but I've named nearly all the style male brutes there are. What kind of a brute have you? (She sips tea.)

ANGELA: Why, I don't know--I've often wondered--you might call Harry a "lollard."

MISS CAREY: A lollard?

ANGELA: Yes, I invented the word, and believe me, a woman suffers with a lollard. (At this, MISS CAREY lets her spoon fall in cup.)

MISS CAREY: I should think she would. How did a sweet young thing like you ever meet such a type of a vertebrate?

ANGELA: At a military ball, and oh Mrs.--

MISS CAREY: _Miss_ Carey.

ANGELA: Miss Carey--he was the handsomest specimen. His hair looked so spick--his shoulders were so big and broad--his teeth so white--and his skin, well, Miss Carey, if you'd seen him, I'll bet you'd have just gone crazy to kiss him yourself. (MISS CAREY, who is drinking tea, nearly chokes on this--coughing on the tea which goes down the wrong way.)

MISS CAREY: (After the business.) How did he lose his looks?

ANGELA: By becoming a lollard. Listen! (They pull chairs in front of table together, teacups in hand.) It happened on the honeymoon-- on the train--as we sat hand in hand, when all at once, the wind through the window, started to blow his hair the wrong way, and oh, Miss Carey, what do you think I discovered?

MISS CAREY: He had been branded on the head as a criminal.

ANGELA: Oh nothing so pleasant as that--but the hair that I thought grew so lovely and plentifully, had been coaxed by a wet brush from the back over the front, and from the east over to the west. (Indicates by imitating action on her own head.)

MISS CAREY: Oh, a lollard is a disappointment of the hair.

ANGELA: No, Miss Carey, no. Listen. I said, "Oh, Harry, your hair which I thought grew so evenly and plentifully all over your head really only grows in patches." He only answered, "Yes, and now that we're married, Angela, I don't have to fool you by brushing it fancy anymore." In despair, I moaned "Yes, Harry--fool me--go on love, fool me and brush it fancy."

MISS CAREY; (Rising and crossing R.) That was your first mistake. No woman should ever call any man "love."

ANGELA: Oh, I didn't know what I said--I was so busy the whole journey pulling his hair from the back to the front and the east to the west (Same business of illustrating.)--and then, oh Miss Carey, what do you think was the next thing I discovered?

MISS CAREY: (In horror.) His _teeth_ only grew in patches.

ANGELA: No, but I had fallen in love with a pair of tailor's shoulder-pads--yes--when he took off his coat that night, he shrunk so, I screamed (Pause--as laugh comes here.)--thinking I was in a room with a strange man--but all he muttered was "Angie, I can loll about in easy things now, I'm married"--and that's how gradually his refined feet began to look like canal-boats--his skin only looked kissable the days he shaved--twice a week--his teeth became tobacco stained--and to-night--to-night, Miss Carey, he stopped wearing hemstitched pajamas and took to wearing canton flannel night shirts. (In depth of woe after the big laugh this gets.) Miss Carey, have you ever seen a man in a canton flannel night shirt?

MISS CAREY: (After an expression of horror.) I told you I am not married.

ANGELA: (Innocently.) Oh, excuse me, I was thinking of your boarders. (MISS CAREY screams "what" and shows herself insulted beyond words.) Is it any wonder my love for him has grown cold? Men expect a woman to primp up for them--we must always look our best to hold their love--but once they wheedle us into signing our names to the marriage contract--they think (Suddenly, seeing dress again.)--Oh Miss Carey, what do you charge for a frock like that?

MISS CAREY: I have no night rates for gowns, Mrs.--

ANGELA: Just call me Angie--'cause I probably will live with you now. (Slips her arm through MISS CAREY'S, laying her head on the older woman's shoulder.)

MISS CAREY: (Disengaging her.) We'll talk that over in the morning-- if you want, you may sleep upon that couch--I'll put out the light. (She does so.) I'm going to bed--I must get a little rest. (She gives a sharp turn and goes to her room. Blue light floods stage. Through the half open curtain she is seen having trouble with her bed covers--getting them too high up, then too far down, etc. Big laughs on this business.)

ANGELA: (Taking down hair.) Miss Carey, you said you were an orphan--I'm an orphan, too. (There is no answer.) I can't tell you how I appreciate your insisting on my staying--let me make your breakfast in the morning, Miss Carey. (No answer.) Harry might at least try to find me. Aren't men brutes, Miss Carey?

MISS CAREY: (Loudly from within.) They certainly are.

ANGELA: (Lets peignoir slip off her shoulders, is in pretty silk pajamas.) In the morning, I must think how I can earn my own living. (She lies down as snores come from next room.) Miss Carey, are you asleep? (Snore.) Oh dear, she's asleep before I am--she might have waited. (A key is heard in the door--Angela sits up in alarm--as key turns, she screams.) Oh Miss Carey, wake up--someone's at the door--wake up. (Miss Carey jumps up and out of bed.)

MISS CAREY: Good Lord--what is it now? (Puts up light--the door opens, and immaculately dressed, handsome young man in evening clothes, white gloves, etc., enters--FRED SALTUS.)

ANGELA: Burglars! (She runs behind curtain of MISS CAREY'S room.)

MISS CAREY: You simpleton. I told you I had a male boarder. This is it, Mr. Saltus.

FRED: Oh, Miss Carey, pardon me--I'd have come in by the back door, but I didn't know you were entertaining company.

MISS CAREY: I'm not entertaining anyone--I'm trying to get a little rest before it's time for me to get up--and young lady, if you'll come out of my room and let me in, I'll beg of you not to disturb me again. (She shoves ANGELA out in her pajamas, unintentionally knocking her into MR. SALTUS, and goes back to bed.) (Ad. lib. talk.)

ANGELA: (Embarrassed and rushing behind the frock on the dressmaker's figure.) I've made her awfully cross--but I thought it must be a burglar--'cause, you see, I never knew boarders were allowed out so late at night.

FRED: (Recognizing her.) What are you doing here?

ANGELA: (Forced to confess.) I've left my husband. (He gives a whistle of surprise.) You know he's the man on the floor below--you may have seen me with him--once in a great while.

FRED: I've seen you often (Delighted.)--and so you've left him, eh?

ANGELA: Yes--and I'm really quite upset about it--naturally he's the first husband I've ever left--and you can imagine how a woman feels if _you've_ left _your_ husband--that is your wife. (All in one breath.) Are you married?

FRED: No indeed--not a chance.

ANGELA: (Quickly fishes her opera cloak off couch--slips it over her and goes to couch.) Then come here and sit down. (He does so.) I should think the girls would all be crazy about you.

FRED: Oh--they are--are you boarding here too now?

ANGELA: Yes, but Miss Carey doesn't know it yet.

FRED: Tell me, have you ever noticed me coming in or going out of the building?

ANGELA: Oh yes, indeed--I used to point you out to Harry and show him how you always looked so immaculate and dapper--just as he used to look before we were married. (Starting to weep.)

FRED: Oh, you'll go back to your home to-morrow.

ANGELA: No--I'll never enter it again--never again--except for lunch.

FRED: Then you're planning a divorce?

ANGELA: (As it dawns on her--with a smile.) I suppose it would be well to get something like that.

FRED: Is he in love with another woman?

ANGELA: (Indignantly.) My Harry--I guess not. (His hand is stretched toward her--in anger she slaps it.)

FRED: Then you'll never get it (Making love to her.) unless you fall in love with another man and let your husband get the divorce.

ANGELA: (Innocently.) I think I'd like that better--I'll tell Miss Carey (She approaches curtain--a snore makes her change her mind.)--I'll tell her later.

FRED: I'm awfully glad I'm a fellow boarder here. (He advances to her--as he is about to put his arm about her--suddenly a pounding on door and a gruff voice without:) Open--open!

ANGELA: (In terror.) Oh, it's my husband--it's Harry.

FRED: Don't talk, or he'll hear you.

ANGELA: I'll hide--and you open, or he'll break down the door.

FRED: I'll have nothing to do with this mixup.

HARRY: (Loudly, without.) Open, or I'll bang--down--the--door.

ANGELA: If you don't open, he'll do it--he's a regular "door-banger."

FRED: Well, I'll not.

ANGELA: Then I'll get Miss Carey. (Up to curtains again.) Miss Carey--Miss Carey--get up.

MISS CAREY: (Sticking her head out of curtains.) My Gawd, what is it now?

ANGELA: (After struggle as to how to explain.) My husband is here to see us.

MISS CAREY: Confound your husband.

HARRY: (Outside.) I want my wife.

ANGELA: (Pleading.) Oh, Miss Carey, the poor man wants his wife-- tell him I'm not here.

MISS CAREY: (Jumping up--to FRED.) You go to your room, Mr. Saltus--I'll bet you were afraid to open the door. (FRED goes to his room.) And you go into my bed--if he sees you, I'll never get any sleep.

ANGELA: Don't hurt my Harry's feelings, Miss Carey--he's awfully sensitive. (She goes behind curtains.)

MISS CAREY: No, I won't hurt his feelings--(Opening door fiercely for HARRY.) What do you want?

HARRY: (Pushing her aside as he rushes in.) My wife--she's in here.

MISS CAREY: (Following him down.) She's not here--and you get out--what do you mean by waking me up at this hour?

HARRY: I've waked up everybody else in the building--why should _you_ sleep?

MISS CAREY: I've never seen you before, but now that I have, I don't wonder your wife left you.

HARRY: Madam, you look like a woman who could sympathize with a man.

MISS CAREY: With a man? Never--now get out.

HARRY: (Making a tour of the room--she following.) Not till I've searched your place--my wife must be here.

MISS CAREY: I don't know your wife--and I don't want to.

HARRY: Why, madam--I'm crazy about her--suppose I'm the only man in the world who would be, but she's my doll.

MISS CAREY: Well, you've lost your doll--good night.

HARRY: Oh, I'll get her back again--but a change has seemed to come over her of late, and to-night she broke out in a fury and hit me violently over the head with a Wedgewood vase.

ANGELA: (Rushing out--ready to slap him again.) Oh Harry, I did not--it never touched you.

MISS CAREY: (Throwing up her hands.) Now I'll never get to sleep.

HARRY: (Turning on MISS CAREY.) Oh, I understand it all--it's you who've come between us--you designing, deceitful homebreaker.

MISS CAREY: You leave my apartment--you impertinent man.

HARRY: Not without my wife.

ANGELA: Then you'll stay forever--'cause I'm not going with you. (She sits right of little table.)

MISS CAREY: See here--you argue this out between you--but I'm going to bed--but don't you argue above a whisper or I'll ring for the police--the idea of you two galavanting about my apartments. (Going behind curtains.)

(A funny scene ensues between husband and wife--they start their argument in whispered pantomime--she shakes her finger at him--he shakes back at her--it finally grows slightly louder and louder until they are yelling at each other.)

ANGELA: (Screaming.) If you say the vase hit you--you're a wicked--

HARRY: I don't care anything about the vase--you're coming downstairs with me. (He pulls her off chair and swings her R.)

ANGELA: (Falling on couch.) I'm not.

HARRY: (Grabbing her again.) You are.

ANGELA: I'm not. (He tries to pull her to door--she bites his finger, and breaking away, runs up to curtains again.) Miss Carey, Miss Carey, wake up, he bit me. (MISS CAREY dashes out in fury, ANGELA hangs to her.) Oh, Miss Carey, you're the only one I have in all the world to keep me from this monster. Oh, Miss Carey, pity me, make believe you're my mother.

MISS CAREY: I told you I'm not married.

ANGELA: Well, think how you'd feel if you were and I were your own little girl and a wicked man was ill-treating me, etc. (She finally touches the mother vein in MISS CAREY.)

MISS CAREY: (Affected.) Go into my room, dear. (She leads her up to bed behind curtains. After Angela disappears behind curtains, MISS CAREY turns--facing HARRY.) I'll settle with this viper. (Coming down.) Aren't you ashamed of yourself?

HARRY: Why should I'be ashamed?

MISS CAREY: (Resolutely.) Because you're a lollard.

HARRY: I'm what?

MISS CAREY: You're one of those vile creatures whose hair grows from east to west. (Dramatically.) Where are your refined feet now? )

HARRY: (Thinking she's mad.) What on earth are you talking about?

MISS CAREY: The man she fell in love with and married was spick and span--his shoulders were big and broad--his teeth were white--and his skin--well, if he were standing before me now, I'd be just crazy to kiss him myself.

HARRY: I was all that you say when I married her--that's how I won her.

MISS CAREY: And now you're _not_ all that I say--that's how you _lost_ her. You can't blame a little woman if she thinks she's getting a man of gold and she finds she's got a gold brick.

HARRY: Why, I'm not different now than I was then--only before I was married I was like all men, I did everything to appear at my best-- to fool her.

MISS CAREY: Fool her now--we women love to be fooled. We want to be proud of our husbands. Most of us get gold bricks, but we don't want anyone else to know it.

HARRY: By George, there may be something in all this. How did you come to know it?

MISS CAREY: I'm an old maid, and old maids know more about men than anyone--that's why they stay old maids. What were you wearing the first time you met?

HARRY: (Reminiscently.) A suit of regimentals.

MISS CAREY: (Hurrying up to door.) Quick, go downstairs and put 'em on and come up as quick as you can.

HARRY: (Looks at himself in glass near door.) By George--you're right. Oh, Miss Carey, I am a lollard. (He runs off.)

MISS CAREY: You're a lollard, all right. Now young woman--get your things together and get ready to go--young woman, do you hear me? (She goes up to curtains, and opens them--there lies ANGELA cozily huddled in a heap, fast asleep.) Well, if the little fluff hasn't fallen asleep. Here--wake up--the idea.

ANGELA: (In her sleep.) Harry, be gentle with Miss Carey--she can't help it. (MISS CAREY shakes her so she jumps up.) Oh Miss Carey-- hello.

MISS CAREY: Now get your things together--your husband is coming for you in a minute.

ANGELA: (A la Ibsen.) I shall never return to Harry again-- I've left him for life.

MISS CAREY: You'll not stay here all that time.

ANGELA: (As she comes down, dreamily.) No, I intend to marry another--and oh, Miss Carey, his hair is so spick--his shoulders so broad--his teeth are so white.

MISS CAREY: Good Lord, woman, now you're commencing with another. Who is it?

ANGELA: Surely you must have foreseen my danger--I'm in love with your boarder.

MISS CAREY: Why, you must be crazy--girl--I won't let you enter into such a madness.

ANGELA: (In horror.) Oh Miss Carey, don't tell me you're in love with him yourself. (MISS CAREY sinks in chair.) But you'll not get him.

MISS CAREY: Why, my dear, I wouldn't have him for a birth-day present and neither will you. (After an ad lib. argument.) We'll see. (She calls off in next room.) Fire! Fire!! Fire!!!

(ANGELA gets scared and starts to run one way as FRED runs in--in canton flannels without toupee, etc., etc. ANGELA flops. After audience has seen FRED'S condition, he realizes presence of ladies and rushes back to door--sticking his head out.)

FRED: Where? Where's the fire?

MISS CAREY: Go back to your bed, Mr. Saltus. (With a look at ANGELA.) There was a fire.

ANGELA: (Disgusted.) But Miss Carey--has--put--it--out.

(On word "out" she gestures him out of room and out of her life. FRED closes door as he withdraws head.)

ANGELA: Oh Miss Carey, what an awful lollard _that_ is. (There is a ring at bell.)

(Music commences sweet melody.)

MISS CAREY: (Knowing it is HARRY.) Open the door and see who it is.

(ANGELA opens the door--HARRY stands there in regimentals--handsome, young and dapper. ANGELA falls back in admiration.)

HARRY: Angela.

ANGELA: Oh, Harry darling!

MISS CAREY: He does look good!

ANGELA: (As she picks up her belongings.) I'm going home with you.

MISS CAREY: (As ANGELA goes up to HARRY.) Don't forget your tea dress. (Hands her the little bag.)

ANGELA: I'm so tired, Harry--take me home. (He lifts his tired little wife up in his arms and as he goes out, she mutters:) You're not such a bad lollard after all.

MISS CAREY: (Going to put out light.) Now, thank Gawd, I'll get a little sleep.

CURTAIN FALLS

BLACKMAIL A ONE-ACT PLAY BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS

Author of "Van Bibber Stories," "Soldiers of Fortune," The Playlets, "The Littlest Girl," played by Robert Hilliard for ten years, "Miss Civilization," etc., and many full-evening plays.

BLACKMAIL

CHARACTERS

RICHARD FALLON, a millionaire mine owner. "LOU" MOHUN, a crook. KELLY, a Pinkerton detective. MRS. HOWARD:

SCENE

The scene shows the interior of the sitting room of a suite in a New York hotel of the class of the Hotel Astor or Claridge. In the back wall a door opens into what is the bedroom of the suite. The hinges of this door are on the right, the door knob on the left. On the wall on either side of the door is hung a framed copy of a picture by Gibson or Christy. In the left wall, half way down, is a door leading to the hall. Higher up against the wall is a writing desk on which are writing materials and a hand telephone. Above this pinned to the wall is a blue-print map. In front of the desk is a gilt chair without arms. Above and to the right of the gilt chair is a Morris chair facing the audience. In the seat of the chair is a valise; over the back hangs a man's coat.

In the right wall are two windows with practical blinds. Below them against the wall, stretches a leather sofa. On it is a suitcase, beside it on the floor a pair of men's boots. Below the sofa and slightly to the left stands a table, sufficiently heavy to bear the weight of a man leaning against it. On this table are magazines, a man's sombrero, a box of safety matches, a pitcher of ice water and a glass, and hanging over the edge of the table, in view of the audience, are two blue prints held down by pieces of ore. The light that comes through the two windows is of a sunny day in August.

WHEN THE CURTAIN RISES

RICHARD FALLON is discovered at table arranging the specimens of ore upon the blue prints. He is a young man of thirty-five, his face is deeply tanned, his manner is rough and breezy. He is without a coat, and his trousers are held up by a belt. He is smoking a cigar.

FALLON crosses to Morris chair, opens valise, turns over papers, clothing, fails to find that for which he is looking and closes the valise. He recrosses to suit case which is at lower end of the sofa. He breaks it open and searches through more papers, shirts, coats. Takes out another blue print, tightly rolled. Unrolls it, studies it, and apparently satisfied, with his left hand, places it on table.

In attempting to close the suit case the half nearer the audience slips over the foot of the sofa, and there falls from it to the floor, a heavy "bull dog" revolver. FALLON stares at it, puzzled, as though trying to recall when he placed it in his suit case. Picks it up. Looks at it. Throws it carelessly into suit case and shuts it. His manner shows he attaches no importance to the revolver. He now surveys the blue prints and the specimens of ore, as might a hostess, who is expecting guests, survey her dinner table. He crosses to hand telephone.

FALLON: (To 'phone.) Give me the room clerk, please. Hello? This is Mr. Fallon. I'm expecting two gentlemen at five o'clock. Send them right up. And, not now, but when they come, send me up a box of your best cigars and some rye and seltzer. Thank you. (Starts to leave telephone, but is recalled.) What? A lady? I don't know any. I don't know a soul in New York! What's her name? What--Mrs. Tom Howard? For heaven's sake! Tell her I'll be there in one second! What? Why certainly! Tell her to come right up. (He rises, muttering joyfully.) Well, well, well!

(Takes his coat from chair and puts it on. Lifts valise from chair and places it behind writing desk. Kicks boots under sofa. Places cigar on edge of table in view of audience. Looks about for mirror and finding none, brushes his hair with his hands, and arranges his tie. Goes to door L. and opens it, expectantly.)

MRS. HOWARD enters. She is a young woman of thirty. Her face is sweet, sad, innocent. She is dressed in white--well, but simply. Nothing about her suggests anything of the fast, or adventuress type.

Well, Helen! This is fine! God bless you, this is the best thing that's come my way since I left Alaska. And I never saw you looking better.

MRS. HOWARD: (Taking his hand.) And, it's good to see you, Dick. (She staggers and sways slightly as though about to faint.) Can I sit down? (She moves to Morris chair and sits back in it.)

FALLON: (In alarm.) What is it? Are you ill?

MRS. HOWARD: No, I'm--I'm so glad to find you--I was afraid! I was afraid I wouldn't find you, and I _had_ to see you. (Leaning forward, in great distress.) I'm in trouble, Dick--terrible trouble.

FALLON: (Joyfully.) And you've come to me to help you?

MRS. HOWARD: Yes.

FALLON: That's fine! That's bully. I thought, maybe, you'd just come to talk over old times. (Eagerly.) And that would have been fine, too, understand--but if you've come to me because you're in trouble, then I know you're still my good friend, my dear old pal. (Briskly.) Now, listen, you say you're in trouble. Well, you knew me when I was down and out in San Francisco, living on free lunches and chop suey. Now, look at me, Helen, I'm a bloated capitalist. I'm a millionaire.

MRS. HOWARD: (Nervously.) I know, Dick, and I'm so glad! That's how I knew you were here, I read about you this morning in the papers.

FALLON: And half they said is true, too. See those blue prints? Each one of them means a gold mine, and at five, I'm to unload them on some of the biggest swells in Wall Street. (Gently.) Now, all that that means is this: I don't know what your trouble is, but, if money can cure it, you _haven't got any trouble_.

MRS. HOWARD: Dick, you're just as generous and kind. You haven't changed in any way.

FALLON: I haven't changed toward you. How's that husband of yours? (Jokingly.) I'd ought to shot that fellow.

MRS. HOWARD: (In distress.) That's why I came, Dick. Oh, Dick--

FALLON: (Anxiously, incredulously.) Don't tell me there's any trouble between you and Tom? Why, old Tom he just worships you. He loves you like--

MRS. HOWARD: That's it. And I want to _keep_ his love.

FALLON: (Laughingly.) Keep his love? Is that all you've got to worry about? (Throughout the following scene, Mrs. Howard speaks in a fateful voice, like a woman beaten and hopeless.)

MRS. HOWARD: Dick, did you ever guess why I didn't marry you?

FALLON: No, I knew. You didn't marry me because you didn't love me, and you _did_ love Tom.

MRS. HOWARD: No, I didn't know Tom then. And I thought I loved you, until I met Tom. But I didn't marry you, because it wouldn't have been honest--because, three years before I met you, I had lived with a man--as his wife.

FALLON: Helen! (His tone is one of amazement, but not of reproach. In his astonishment, he picks the cigar from the table, puffs at it standing and partly seated on the table.)

MRS. HOWARD: (In the same dead level, hopeless voice.) I was seventeen years old. I was a waiter girl at one of Fred Harvey's restaurants on the Santa Fe. I was married to this man before a magistrate. (Fallon lifts his head.) Three months later, when he'd grown tired of me, he told me the magistrate who had married us was not a magistrate but a friend of his, a man named Louis Mohun, and he brought this man to live with us. I should have left him then, that was where I did wrong. That was all I did that was wrong. But, I couldn't leave him, I couldn't, because I was going to be a mother--and in spite of what he had done--I begged him to marry me.