PS 3523 .A522P6 1900 L„ • • • \ > ..• A %.^* ^^0^ ,40, ^^ r . • • • ^^'% .^^^vO. .ft %'-^"'\o' v*':^-y'' 'V*^'"'"»°' \ ■' .^J-'V .* ^^"vr, ♦• -& ^ Cbe Playwridbt M Ris Partner's Ulife I 11 ■ ^^ By Ceonard Candes (a4wiiJ ^miii. THE PLAYWRIGHT A COMEDY In Four Acts I By LEONARD LANDBS Author of ''His Partner's Wife,'" and " Mr. Roch of Rochester'' Chanibrrs Priftf, Publish f>-s 27 Neiv C)t ambers Street Nezv York 23000 ONE COPY REOEIVet ?5 3^^?^ 1 Library ol Congres«j Two CoPfES Received \ ^ JUL 21 moo Copyright entry 2 ]-:lmont I A leading man, a leading lady, members of Dan Fulton's stock company; messenger boy, etc., etc. FIRST ACT. At Mr. Robert Mockart's Home, East Second Street, New York. September. SECOND ACT. At Prof. Wii^i.iam Powers' Home, Madison Ave., New York. October. THIRD ACT. At Dr. Mockart's Home. November. FOURTH ACT. On the Stage of a New York Theatre. December. Period — iSgo. Cbe Playwrigbt ACT FIRST. The Scene represents a room in Doctor MockarVs house. The room is neatly furnished, indicating people in moderate circumstances. In the centre and left is a door, and on the right another door leading out to the study of Doctor Mockart. Both of these doors are furnished with portieres. I7i the centre of the room is a table, on the left there are chairs, and on the right of the room a sofa. Mr. M0E1.NER {a short, stout, prosperous-appearing business man, quite corpulent, with iron-gray hair and white moustache, apparently about fifty-five years of age), enters follozued by Mrs. Mockart, the mother of the Doctor [a slim zuoman, with hair tinged with gray, about forty-seven to foi'ty-nine years of age, appearaiice indicating a very nervous temperament). They enter at left door. Mr, Moelner* So — that is why ^-ou sent for me ? Mrs. Mockart. {Appealingly.) For whom should I send? You know I have no one else to whom I can appeal — ask advice of — or speak my mind to. Robert does not listen to me ; he does not see that he is doing injustice to us— and injury to himself— so I sent for you to speak to him — to explain, to show him his mistakes — where he is wrong. Perhaps he may take your advice and change. Mr. Moelner. Where is he now ? 2 THE PLAYWRICxHT, Act I. Mrs. Mockart. {Pointing with her finger to right door.) There, there — study- ing unknown worlds, wasting his time on illusions and imaginary people — of no earthly use to himself, to us or to anybody. {Turn- ing to Moelner. ) Ah — is it not a pity for a young man for whom we have waited anxiously and patiently for so many years — we almost counted the days before he was graduated, and how hard we worked to help him finish his medical education ; and after- wards, when we expected from him assistance — advice — and to be of some use to us — to himself — he takes such impossible, im- practicable, foolish ideas into his head — to become a dramatist, a playwright — a poet. Mr. Moelner. But he has w^ritten so many things. What has become of them ? Mrs. Mockart. Nothing — absolutely nothing ! Only the other day he sent one of his plays to a manager, who kept it for a long time, and we really thought that something would come of it. In the end Robert received a letter from the manager saying that the play was very cleverly written, but he was sorry he could not use it. By a mark which I had previously made in the bundle, we found that the manager had not even opened the manuscript. Mr. Moelner. And what did Robert say to that ? Mrs. Mockart. He coolly said : "That does not show anything. I will write another plaj- and send it to the same manager." Mr. Moelner. {Astonished.) Impossible! You cannot call it ambition. The boy must be mad — madly ambitious. Mrs. Mockart. {Interrupting.) Study and the theatre — the theatre and study — these are his life, he exclaimed. So, you see, he has lost entirely all interest in his profession, that cost him so many years of labor, and has undertaken a task that he is incompetent, incapable to accomplish. {Appealingly.) Is it not madness? Madness in the last degree ? THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act /. 3 Mr. Moelner. {Xodding his head.) Pity! pity! pity! that a boy without vices, with a golden profession, with life and a brilliant career before him should be ruined by a nonsensical idea. Mrs* Mockart The worst of it is this: lately, in the library, he met a Mr. Lee — a literary hack — who introduced him to a certain Professor Powers; and now, all that Robert thinks of or cares about is this literary hack and this professor. He imagines that this professor will dis- cover in his writings an unknown talent, a genius, and through him he will become known — popular — and his writings famous. Mr, Moelner. Yes ; youthful illusions. Sweet dreams of the young that never reach realization. Mrs* Mockart. ]\Ir. Lee writes him : "You are the coming man," and the pro- fessor tells him : " You are a promising writer." Mr. Moelner, You ought to ask them where do all the promising writers go to ? Mrs. Mockart. But you cannot ask them ; you cannot talk to them. I do not know — haven't the slightest idea — how I shall get him out of this difficulty. Mr. Moelner. I believe that the only thing that would make him drop this nonsense and take an interest in his profession would be an in- crease of his practice. Mrs. Mockart. Yes ; it is the only thing that will dispel his foolish ideas. But, as I told you before, the chances of success in his practice in this locality are very small. He needs a better neighborhood, where he can make friends — acquaintances — and, principally, he needs some one to encourage in him, to stimulate in him a love for his profession. Mr. Moelner. As bad an uncle as Robert considers me to be, I will open an 4 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. office for him near my house, as I promised you, that I and my friends will do all in our power to help him ; but, to tell the candid truth, I believe it will be of no use as long as there is no stimulus within himself. Mrs. Mockart. I admit that; but sometimes it is necessary to apply to a man a stimulus from without {quickly) besides, you don't understand me, (/;/ a different tone) Albert, is it not of ten the case that though a man is a total failure alone — he wins success — through the aid of a woman ? Mr. Moclner. {Interrupts.) Yes — many a man owes his success in life — to a woman. Mrs. Mockart. I mean, Robert needs the encouragement of a good and sensible woman. Mr, Moelner. {Lauohiiig.) Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! But, a sensible woman is such a rare being. Mrs. Mockart. They are rare, but they do exist, and surely your daughter Lucy is good and sensible. Mr, Moelner. {Inquiringly. ) My daughter Lucy ? Mrs. Mockart. Lucy thinks a great deal of Robert, you have often remarked. Mr. Moclncr. Yes, Freda. That was our plan, even before he was graduated, and I often told you so ; but after his graduation he never came near us, never listened to me, kept aloof from us all because I refused to consent that he should enter any other career than his profession. Now, look at the result. What has he accomplished? What has he to show for so niau}^ years of work? Nothing, actually nothing. I am not a millionaire, to give my daughter a private fortune ; even if I could, I would not do it— and we should like Lucy, if she does marry, to have, if not more at least as much as she has been accustomed to. I admit that he is clever, and perhaps talented, but from a practical standpoint, he has THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad- 1. 5 nothing to show. Had he not wasted so many years for nothing, things would have been different. Mrs* Mockart. But, he has all the material in him that makes a man succeed : he needs onl}^ to be shown the wa}-, and with your influence be- hind him it would not take him long to establish himself. Mr, Moelnet. He has all the material, no doubt. The trouble is, he is so obstinate ; it is a question if he would listen. Mrs. Mockart. ( Emphatically-) Listen he must — and change he shall ! (/;/ a dijferent tone) and why should he not change— he will be in differ- ent society, different surroundings, and with the help of a woman like your Lucy, he cannot but change Mr. Moelner. For the present leave Lucy out. I don't say Yes or No. We will see how things shape themselves. Call Robert. Say I am here ; I want to speak to him. Mrs. Mockart. [Goes. to Right door and calls) Robert — Robert — Robert. {From inside ) I am busy, Mrs. Mockart. Uncle Albert is here. Robert. {Surprised.) Uncle Albert ? Uncle Albert you say— ? {Robert enters light door.) (Robert is a man about thirty — slightly, yet firmly built-, ivith regular features, face pale, though uot unhealthy. He has dark brown eyes and abundant hair, and beard brown in color, suggesting the artistic type rather than the medical man ) Robert. Uncle, this is a surprise. If I remember rightly you have never been in our home since we lived here. I thought you and your 6 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. family never ventured into this neighborhood, and why should you? Think what a different part of the city this is— the Foreign Quarter— the tenement district they call it. How far apart the people here are from the people who live in your locality — the same men and women — but like the inhabitants of two different worlds. Are you not afraid of the dangers of contamination and contagion in this foreign atmosphere, Uncle ? Mr. Moelner. {Quietly. ) I did not come here. Your mother sent for me. Robert. Oh, I see, she sent for you. No doubt, to tell you what a bad son I am, and to beg you to try to make something good out of this very, very bad son. Mr. Moclner. As far as I can see, she was not telling me an}^ untruth. After so many years of work, I understand you have very little to show. Robert. If you mean from a financial standpoint, perhaps {reflectively) ' ' Yes. ' ' Mrs. Mockart. In what other way can you measure a man's success? Robert. Ha ! There are a good many other ways, mother. A man can be financially a failure, and yet a great_success as a man. Mrs. Mockart. For such men I care very little. Their success is theoretical and not practical. Mr. Moelner. The fact remains, you did not succeed in this locality, and perhaps after all, it is not so much your fault; you have no friends or acquaintances around here to help you along, and, naturally, you were discouraged and neglected your profession, and, fasci- nated by your ideals, you became an enthusiast — a dreamer. Robert. Uncle, there is a certain satisfaction in dreaming. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. 7 Mrs, Mockart* Dreaming is only dreaming after all, for when you dream, you do not live. Mr* Moelner. Robert, your mother is right. Leave dreaming to sleep — for we will sleep longer than we will live — and while we have life, let us live. Robeft. You call me dreamer, but I am not a dreamer. I want to live, and give life to my ideals. Mr, Moelner. Leave your ideals to the future, for the present let us talk what you can do now, to live. Your mother proposes that I should take you up into my locality and open an office for you there. I will give you my moral and financial support, and I promise you it will not be long before you will be well established, if you only give up your nonsensical notions and attend to your profession. Robert* What do you mean ? Mr, Moelner* I mean that you did not have the opportunity to succeed in this locality, so I offer to open an office for you in my neighborhood. My friends and I will use all our influence to help you along — if you promise me to give up your foolish ideas of making plays. Robert. ( Emphatically. ) No. Mrs* Mockart. {Surprised.) No? Robert. {Firmly and positively.) No. Never. Mr. Moelner. And why not ? Robert. I am satisfied with what I am, with what I have, and where I am — Mrs. Mockart. You are very easily satisfied, indeed — for you have nothing — you are nothing. 8 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad /. Robert. Now, uncle. If you are really sincere and want to do something for me, to help me along — something that I cannot and will not forget all my life ; and besides, if you want to save me anxiety, worrimeiit — and sleepless nights — for months— perhaps for years to come — lend me your assistance and I will find someone who will produce one of my plays. Mn Moelner. Oh, no — I have no money to invest in experiments. Robert. Call it an experiment, if you like, but you will find out my writ- ings are of some value. Mr. Moelner. {Shakes his head and Diotioiis ivith his hand.) Oh, no, I don't believe in experiments, they don't pay. They are unprofitable. ^Robert. {Laughingly. ) Oh, I understand. If you were sure to make as much money out of my plays as you do out of buttons, you would produce them. Mr. Moelner. Why do not the people who know how to judge produce them ? Robert. {Crying out.) They will, they will. It is only a question of time. Mr. Moelner. Time? There is a time when all men must die. When? is the question. Robert. [Refleetively.') Ah, yes. When? When, is a bitter question to answer, to the man who knows "come" it must — but when will it come? — is full of agony, suffering anxiety and torturing pain. But, uncle, the man who does not understand the word "pain," never knows what " pleasure " means. Mr. Moelner. I hope you will succeed, but 3'our chances of success are very small indeed. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. 9 Robert* The smaller the better. If a man is bigger than his chances, the chances must become greater — and the man greater still. Mfs, Mockart* But, to fight a man must have ammunition — and you have nothing — even your physical strength will give out under this pressure. Robert, The satisfaction of some day having my dream realized, will give me strength to stand anything— everything — even my own moth- er's reproaches — my family's enmity — my friends' laughter. Come what may, I know what I am capable of doing, and nothing will discourage me. Mrs. Mockart* It is simply ridiculous, among seventy million people, a young man — whom we may say is a foreigner in this country — is not acquainted among the people, not even having the language well, wants to write plays. A play is life — and you wish to write of people whose lives you know nothing of. Robert* I may not know them, but I see them and feel them in my soul. Mr* Moelner. Robert, you are an enthusiast and you speak like a dreamer. If you would spend as much energy and determination in your pro- fession, you would be better off. Robert. Perhaps I would be better off, but I can do nothing else than do the work I love — to do. Mr. Moelner. To do the work you love to do is right, but do not attempt a task you are incapable of accomplishing. Robert. Whether I am capable remains to be seen ; for the present I have only one way to go. Mr. Moelner. Go your way. No ouq objects to that ; but first do 3-our duty lo THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act J. and fulfil your oblij^ations to your family — not to your family, if you like — but to the people who believed you, trusted you — and helped you out. A man can go according to his inclination if he can afford to, but you are actually indebted to your mother — your sister— yes, to yourself. After you have done your duty and ful- filled your obligations, then you can go your way and then only. Robert, I am doing the best service for my family, for m3'self and every- body else, when I do the work I love to do. I always make the necessaries of life in some way or other. I do not denv that I have some obligations to my family, but as long as I am willing to fulfil them it does not matter when it comes; besides, I have some people who have interested themselves in me, and who knows, the time may be at hand and at hand very soon. Mrs. Mockart. {Sarcastically. ) You mean the professor again. Robert. Yes, the professor. Mrs. Mockart. And you have forgotten to mention your friend, the literary hack from the library. Robert. Yes ; I have forgotten to mention my friend from the library — Mr. Lee. Mr. Moelner. And on these men you build your future ? Robert. No ; I build the future myself. They are only interested in the building of it. Mrs. Mockart. And may I ask if the professor's daughter is not also interested in this building? Robert. {Interrupts sternly.) Mother! Mrs. Mockart. The professor has a daughter; that is nothing to be ashamed of THE PI.AYWRIGHT, Act I. ii Roberta {In auger.) Mother! Mrs* Mockart. What have I said that is so terrible ? I simply mentioned that the professor's daughter also takes an interest in the building of your future, as you put ic. Robert* Mother, I see it gives you pleasure to pain me. If I could pay you back my obligations with my own blood, I would do so, for only that would satisfy you, and you would leave me alone. Uncle, good night. (Exits right door.) Mrs* Mockart* {Weeping. ^ I did not know that when my poor husband died, everything died with him. Yes; he is trying in every shape and manner to tear himself from us — everything he was accustomed to — everybody whom he knew seems no longer to be in his sphere. He thinks that he knows more than anybody, and he is more than anybody. Mr* Moelner* Patience, Freda, patience. All years do not pass in one day. Mrs. Mockart. Ah ! You don't know. You cannot understand what it is to struggle year after year for the bare necessities of life, and you know well that I am not used to it. I did not have it in my father's house, and I knew nothing of it — until my poor husband died.- Mr. Moelner* Patience, patience. Mrs* Mockart* {Bitterly.) I would be patient, and would be satisfied with anything, if that boy would only listen to me and not consider me his enemy. Mr* Moelner* He is suffering from the fever of enthusiasm. He will cool down in time and everything will be all right. {In different tone.) Freda, you never mentioned to me that the professor's daughter took an interest in Robert's future, {A pause. Softly.) Is she beautiful ? 12 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad I. Mrs* Mockart, {Abruptly.) She is not 1)eautiful, nor even fair — although I have never seen her. Mr. Moelner. But he was so indignant when you mentioned her name. Mrs* Mockart. Naturally. They turn his head by telling him how clever he is — their flattery makes him think that they are in earnest. "These are the people who understand me" he says, "They know my value. They do not care for the mere material side of life, but for nobler, higher aims ; and if through my writings, I have only succeeded in making them my friends, I have accomplished enough, I am satisfied " — and he plainly shows that he is simply infatuated with them. Mf. Moelncr. So ! So ! The professor's daughter has interested him ? Mrs. Mockart. Interested him? He does nothing but think of her. Mr. Moelner. So — Then it is not the professor he really means, but that genile- man's daughter? Mrs. Mockart. He does not know what he means, nor what he wants. This boy will drive me to an early grave. He has simply taken my whole life's work, torn it into pieces and thrown it into the fire ! Mr. Moelner. Really, Freda, it is not so discouraging as 3'ou make it, and the best way is, do not oppose him; just let him have his way, and things will come out all right. I am sorry I did not know of what was going on here for the last few years; otherwise I should have tried to help you, but it is not yet too late; it is not yet too late. [ will find a way by which we shall bring this boy gradually around to his senses. Mrs. Mockatt. But you are such a busy man. We see you so seldom ; I dare say you are almost a stranger. As for your family, they have THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. 13 completely forgotten that pay husband was, though only a step- brother to you, still your brother, Mf. Moelnci*. I promise you I will come oftener now, and the girls, too, will come and see you. Mrs. Mockart, The girls are most welcome ; but I do wish that you would help me, Mr. Moelncr. I will — I will. Come and see me some morning at my office and we will talk it over. {Bell rings ; enter at left door Etta, a bright-appearing blonde girl of sixteen^ daughter of Wrs>. Mockart.) Etta. Still here, Uncle? Mr. Moelncf. I am just going. Etta. Don't forget your promise — about the box of candy, and re- member to bring down Lucy and Lena, as you said. ( Bell rings aga in.) Mr. Moelncr. Well, good-by, Freda. Have patience. I have taken the mat- ter in hand, and you know that whatever I take in hand I gener- ally carry through. You may expect the girls to-morrow. (Mr. Moei^ner exits, middle door, follozved by Etta, Mrs. Mockart exits left door. Room remains empty for a moment. {Reenter 'B,T'i:A, followed by Mr. Lee.) {Mr. Lee is a slendennan of literary appearance, walking with a slight stoop, and rvsaring clothes zuhich indicate a disregard for the dictates of fashion; he is apparently about fifty, and his hair is sprinkled zvith gray). Etta. {Calling at right door. ) Your friend, Mr. Lee is here. Robert. {Rushing in excitedly.) Hello, Mr. Lee. What news? What news ? 14 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. Mn Lee. I have just come from Prof. Powers, He has read your play, and he may come to see you to-night. Robert* Yes? Is he favorably impressed with it? Mr* Lee* He did not express his opinion. But from his actions I could judge that he found something of value in it. Furthermore, he said: "Tell the doctor I will call and see him to-night to give him mv opinion." Robert* The professor, you say, may call here to-night? Mr. Lee* Yes, the professor, and he said it, in the presence of his wife and daughter. Robert. And how did they like the play ? Mr. Lee. I asked them, but they only smiled and said: "The professor will tell the doctor all about it himself . ' ' Robert* What did Miss Powers say ? Mr* Lee* She did not want to commit herself, but, like a clever woman, she let me into a secret, namely, that it was her intention to sug- gest to her father that in case you should not succeed in finding a manager for your play, to give an evening at home and invite a few friends — managers and prominent newspaper critics, and have you read it before them ; thus, perhaps, through the newspapers, the play may secure a partial but immediate recognition. Robert. That is not like all "clever" women, but a good suggestion from a z'ery clever woman. Mr. Lee. Ah, oh, yes. [Chajigino^ his tone.) A very clever woman THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. 15 indeed. {A pause. ^ But Robert, your intonation leads me to understand, that you meant to say, not only " she is clever, but a beauty, an angel, a goddess." Robert. She is one indeed — A fair goddess. Mr. Lcc. Why, Robert, I am astonished. (/;/ a changed tone.) You don't mean to say that you are in love. Robert. What nonsense, Mr. Lee — What nonsense. Mr. Lee. But vou talk that w^av. Robert. No, her presence simply inspires me. You told me j^ourself that every movement of hers expressed loveliness ; that her voice sounded like the most harmonious music. I am not in love, but slie is love itself, and truly, she is an ideal — my ideal of a woman. Mr. Lee. Yes, she is fair and lovely, and a thousand times more than you say, but that is dangerous ground for you to tread upon. You must avoid such things for the present. You have something to ac- complish — to work at — and success requires unceasing work. Robert. WJiy, Mr. Lee, the day I see her the most beautiful thoughts come to me, and that very day I do twice as much work. Mr. Lee. I am beginning to regret that I introduced you to the professor. You don't intend to repay us for all our trouble by stealing his daughter ? Robert. No, Mr. Lee ; I might be foolish, but I don't think that I am ungrateful. Mr. Lee. Please understand me, Robert ; I don't mean that you do not deserve the professor's daughter, but I fear for the success of your future work. i6 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. Robert- {Enip/iaiical/y. ) My life is my work, and my work is my life> Mr* Lee* That I thought at one time myself. I will tell you something that occurred in my life that I never told any one before. During my 3'ounger years I undertook a literary work which I considered would be the work of my life. While I was engaged in this work, I met a woman whom I considered the embodiment of my ideal. I was infatuated, I was enchanted, I was inspired with her manner and her presence ; her movements charmed me, her glance bewil- dered me,;her voice delighted me. I thought I had met some one who would share the humble and simple life I intended to pass in this world ; but after a time my ideal began to fade and van- ished away. She belonged to a different world. To my despair and disappointment my whole inspiration and courage for my work disappeared. You may call it superstition, but I tell you this because I fear lest you should meet the same fate. Robert* Oh, no ! It is nothing but superstition on your part, Mr. Lee. That cannot and will not happen in my case. Mr* Lee. And why not? Are you so different from other men ? Robert* No, not that ; but I look at the meaning of the word ideal from a different standpoint than you. What is an ideal, I ask ? An illusion, a conception of our imagination, that we see and give life to in our dreams ; and this creation of our fancy by some chance suddenly and unexpectedly appears before our eyes in real flesh and blood. Naturally we are enchanted when we meet — as we think — this real embodiment of the lovely vision of our imag- ination, and painfully disappointed and despairing when we find that it has shown itself only to fade and vanish away. {C/ia}i^(re of tone. ) Did it ever happen to you, Mr. Lee, to wake up after a dream that was full of beauty, delight and magnificence to find to 5'our disappointment that it was not reality, but only a vision of your sleep? Now, should you, because this dream is not real, give way to disappointment and despair ? or, rather, sa}- to yourself : THE PI.AY WRIGHT, Act I. 17 "If I live and wait, I may yet realize this beautiful hope ; if I give up to despair, I shall realize nothing." Now, see, Mr. Lee, you wrecked your life for a disappointment. Mr* Lcc* Ah ! it is not so easy in life to conquer our disappointments, and a man is a very happy man who can do it. Robert, By effort we can do more than we think. — As long as I have known you, Mr. Lee, I have felt that some great disappointment has passed through your life. — Would it not have been better if you had made the effort to forget your loss, and have tried to con- quer a new field ? Mr* Lee* {Regretfully.) It would have been better — I often regretted that I did not try ; — but now, it is too late, it is too late.— My best years have passed, the spirit of my life has burnt out — [hell rings again) I see you will be busy, I will go. — Robert* Wait a minute, wait a minute, we shall see first who it is. Mr* Lee* Come down and see me in the library, you have not been there for some time ; there are some new and very interesting things for you. — A new poetic drama by Hauptmann — there is Rostand's play, a new play by Ibsen and Sudermann, and a new comedy by Maeterlink. Robert* So, so, Maeterlink has written a comedy, this is interesting. Mr. Lee* Besides, it is very cleverly written too, and on different lines — he has dropped the allegorical and followed more the realistic school. {Enter Etta, centre door. ) Etta* Robert, your friends Dr. Mandel and Mr. Schaeffer are here. Mr. Lee* Well, I'll better go. Robert* You know them, you met my friends Dr. Mandel and Mr. i8 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. Schaeffer before ; don't you remember how you criticized them, " that the one had more money than brains, and the other more education than common sense ? " ( They both laugh.) Mr, Lee* Yes, yes, I remember. {Enter Dr. Mandel and Mr. Schaeffer.) Dn MandcL Ah ! you are at home. Mr, Schaeffer, What do you expect — a man who aspires some day to be a Sardou — a Sudermann — or a Shakespeare, would be anything but at home ? Dr, MandeL Robert, we came here to take you out to dinner, and have an important proposition to make to you. Mr, Lee, [About to retire.) Perhaps it is private? Dr, Mandel, No ! Mr. Lee, there is nothing private. On the contrary, I am glad that we found you here. Robert, Mandel, I am sorry, I cannot go with you to dinner, although I would no doubt enjoy it, but would be happy to hear your pro- position . Schaeffer, Oh, no ! If you cannot go to dinner with us — we will make no proposition. Dr, Mandel, Now be still — be quiet. The proposition is mine, the invitation to dinner is yours. Robert, So ! It is Schaeffer' s invitation to dinner. Schaeffer, you seem very anxious to blow in all the money your father left you. Schaeffer, You see, I must make up for my father's economy, and there- fore I practice di s-o^conomy. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. 19 Mr* Lee* It's a very good way of getting even with a foolish father. Robert. What is the proposition, Mandel ? Dr. MandeL You know, that a wave of political reform will pass over our city at this coming election, and the general committee of this movement has requested our district to send in some name that would be desirable to nominate for our assembly district. Robert. And you intend to propose my name ? Of course ! Schaeffcr. Certainly, and why not ? Even I, Schaeffer, indorse the plan ! Robert. I thank you for the honor you offer me, but the task I am at present engaged in, makes it impossible for me to accept. Schaeffer. Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! He cannot accept ! Really, he cannot accept ! How do you expect a man who aspires to be some day a play- wright, a dramatist, a poet, to stoop to political office ? No ! No ! No ! Why, Mandel, he may consider it an insult. The great man he expects some day to be. Dr. Mandel. Robert, it is not only a nomination, but this year it means sure election. Robert. It makes no difference. First of all I am not a reformer, at least not a political reformer, and truly I don't care to enter such a career, I have outlined a work for my life, and it is the only one I can devote myself to. Not to be partial, if I had any voice in the matter, I would suggest your name, Mandel. Schaeffer. It is not a bad suggestion, Robert. Mandel could very well use the salarv, if not the office. He had two patients in his office 20 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. to-day. One "brought him a bill — the other wanted to sell him some books. ( They all lauo;h. ) Dn MandeL ( To Mr. Lee. ) What do you think, Mr. Lee ? Is he not wrong in not accepting this offer? For this is an assured thing, while the success of his writings is only a possibility. Mr* Lcc* A man cannot do two things at the same time and do them right. In my opinion the success of his writings is not a possi- bility — but a certainty. Dr« MandcL A certainty? Indeed ! And here we laugh, joke and make fun of him and his aspirations; and who can tell? Some morning we may wake up and find our friend Robert famous, renowned and all the critics may sa}^ : " Last night a new play was produced by a new author, and those who say there is nothing new in dramatic life found out last night they were mistaken, for new blood and a new generation bring forth new ideas. It was original in imagin- ation and execution — it was a success, a triumph — and we are happy that such a young man was discovered, and most happy to help him and to encourage him to future efforts." Mr. Lcc. {Shaking RoberVs hand.) I hope, Robert, I may live to see Mandel's prophecy fulfilled ! Schaeffer* Mandel's prophecy is rather too partial, gentlemen. The disap- pointment will be too great if the play should prove a failure. I hope it will not be so ; but it is also possible that the papers may say: "A new play was produced, and truly by a new man, but with old ideas and with other people's thoughts. No imagin- ation and no execution. We admit that the young man has some talent, but 5 per cent, of talent and 95 per cent, of water, makes water}^ talent, but no play. It was neither dramatic nor tragic, but a mixture of nonsense and talk. It was neither funny nor farcical, but a complete failure. The audience laughed where they should have wept, and wept where they should have laughed. It was a new play by a new man, but there was nothing new in the play, and surely nothing new in the man." THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act /. 21 Robert, Yes, Schaeffer, you are right. It is more likely they will punish me than praise me, for most of us prefer to give others pain rather than pleasure. T>t. MandeL Don't mind what Schaeffer says, Robert — he generally speaks rubbish. Besides, the critics themselves sometimes say one thing, and the people just the other, but, at any rate, we all hope to see your play produced. Won't it be a treat to hear the people applaud, their interest, and their enthusiasm aroused. Why, even now I can hear them cry out: "Author! Author! Speech! Speech ! " And then flowers, roses thrown at you. Who knows, who can tell. It is possible, yes probable, that even yet we may witness such a grand night. Schaeffer* [Laughing.) It is possible, but hardly probable. What foolish- ness can dwell in man's imagination, Mandel! However, if our imaginations were as disappointing as our realizations, there would be mighty little happiness left for us. So, Mandel, I enjoy the success you predict for Robert, even though Robert himself would be satisfied with less than flowers and roses, and would be happy if they threw nothing else at him. As for applause, they may flatter him, they may cry out : " Author ! Author ! " But speech, no, no ! Speech, no, no ! Mr, Lee, Do not flatter yourself, Mr. Schaeffer, you will never be honored by the flattery of applause or by shouts to speak. Robert, Don't take it seriously, Mr. Lee, you know he is only joking. Schaeffer, A joke oftentimes becomes a reality. Dr Mandel, Never mind ! In spite of everything, Robert will yet be pointed out: "There goes a clever man ; he struggled, suffered, but he won. Bravo ! Bravo ! That is a man and a writer ! " 22 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad I. Schaeffer. O, yes ! He is a writer. But he wiites something that is beyond his powers, and no one can understand him, except himself. He is ambitious. We admire his courage, but, after all, he is only a fool. Dr. MandeL Come, now, we have wasted too much time. Mr. Lee, Robert, come with us to dinner, and we will discuss the matter further. Robert. Really, I cannot go, but take Mr. Lee with you. Mr. Lee* I will go with them in order that you may get rid of them. Schaeffer. Now, come, Robert, 5^ou must come along. Robert. I would be only too glad to go, but I expect somebody, Schaeffer. Ha ! ha ! He expects somebody. Really, did you ever hear of such a thing ? A poet actually expecting somebody. What is it — a he — or a she ? Robert. A he. Schaeffer. Important ? Robert. Very. Mandel. About your play ? Robert. Yes. Mandel. Come, let us go, Mr. Lee. And you, Schaeffer. Schaeffer. So, really you cannot go ? You cannot go because you will not go, and you will not go because you cannot go. How is that for dialogue, old chap ? You might use it in one of your plays THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. 23 Isn't that brilliant? Ha! ha! Who can tell? Some day, some day. We are going — going-gone ! Ha! ha! Come, Mandel, come, Mr. Lee. (Mrs. Mockart (f;//<^;-5 left door, unnoticed by the others, and remains standing by the door.) Dr. MandeU Come, Mr. Lee. Dr. Mandel and Schaef fcf« ( Together at door. ) Good-by ! Good afternoon ! Good even- ing 1 Who can tell ? Some day we may see — we may hear — of your popularity. Fame — flowers — roses — applause — success — speech — or speech not. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Mf» Lcc* You are two fools — and some day you will be two idiots. Schacffer^ {Surprised.) What? Yes, yes; you're right. Ha! ha I Some day. iSCHAEFFER, Mandei. a7id Lke cxit centre door. ) Mrs. Mockart. {After a long silence.) Was I not right when I told you that your own friends laughed at you and your foolish work ? Robert- {Laughing it off.) Ah, they're only joking. Mrs* Mockart* Their jokes were too funny — to be jokes. Robert. You don't know them, mother ; they were only making fun. Besides, what do I care what they say? They don't know any- thing about such things, and don't amount to much when they want to judge me as a writer. The man who does know did not laugh. Mrs. Mockart. You mean Mr. Lee, of course . Robert. Yes, certainly. He kno7us. 24 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad I. Mrs* Mockart* Yes, he knows. But you call Mr. Lee a man ? Why, he hasn't even a pair of shoes. Robert That makes no difference. But he knows — he can judge. Mrs. Mockart Of course, he knows. But see what his knowledge brought him to. He was so fond of his companionable books that he fell asleep among them, and I fear that the same thing will happen to you, that you will dream and dream and live in your illusionary world, till finally 3^ou wake up some morning and find your best years gone. Robert, Oh, well, you fear a good many things, and, strange to say, you always associate me with failure; never with success. You never see anything good in me — only my faults and failures. Mrs, Mockart. {Sarcastically. ) You mean I must not class you with Mr. Lee, for you not only take in the knowledge of others, but you are an inventor — a creator of neiu ideas, as you put it. {Bell is heard ringing, Etta enters left door, out of breath.) Etta. Mother, there is a carriage at the door ! Mrs, Mockart. {Surprised.) A carriage? Robert, ( Turns on all the lights.) It must be the professor. Etta* No, I saw from the window. There are two ladies. Robert. {To Etta. ) Two ladies ? No one else? Etta, That's all I have seen. {Bell rings again.) THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. 25 Robert. Why don't you open the door, Etta ? (Etta, confused, runs first to left door, tJien to rigiit, and finally exits ceiitre door.) Mrs. Mockart. Who can it be? Is it possible Uncle Moelner has returned with his family ? Robert. It is more likely that it is the Professor with his wife and daughter. Mrs. Mockart. {In surprise.) The Professor! His wife and daughter! To see you ! Robert. Yes, to see me. The professor has read my play and they have all come along to let me know their opinion. Mrs. Mockart. {Sai'casticallv.) A good excuse — a fine idea. Clever — ver}^ ■clever indeed. {E.rits left door.) Mrs. Powers and Daughter enter at centre door. Mrs. Powers is sliort, stout and middle aged, tiair is sprinlzled luitti gray, Jias regular features and refined bearing. Miss Powers is rattier tall, of fine erect figure, oval face, blond and about tiventy-two or ttiree.) Mrs. Powers. {Offering tier tiands.) How do you do, Doctor? Robert. V^ry well indeed, thank you. Miss Powers. How are you, Doctor Mockart ? {Ttiey sfiatae tiands in a very friendly manner.) Robert. I am quite well. {Pointing to ctiairs.) Won't you be seated? {Tliey ta1:e seats.) 26 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad I. Robert. Is the Professor coming ? Mfs. Powers. No. Robert. {Disappointed. ) No? — He is coming later? Mrs. Powers. No, I am sorry to say. A special meeting of the trustees of the college was called, and he was obliged to attend ; but as he pro- mised to call on you to-night and give you his opinion of your play, he has sent us instead. Robert. And I am impatiently waiting to hear his verdict. Mrs. Powers. It is more than favorable. Robert* {Hopefully.) Yes? Mrs. Powers. The Professor followed your play with great interest from scene to scene — from act to act, while Emily was reading it to him. (Robert turns ivith a smile of delight to MisS Powers. ) Miss Powers. It gave me as much pleasure to read it, as papa to listen. Mrs. Powers. He was unrestrained in the expression of his admiration for the play. Robert. ( Overjoyed. ) Indeed ? Miss Powers. He praised the originality of the idea — the skill of execution, the cleverness of the dialogue. In short, he predicted for the author a great future. Robert. {Aside. In ecstacy.) This is the first ray of light, the first encouragement after manj- a day of gloom and despair ; this is balm on my wounded feelings, inflicted by ignorance and avarice. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act /. 27 ( To Mrs. Powers.) This encouragement is unexpected ; it is as welcome — as it is valuable. Miss Powers, We all firmly believe in your ultimate success, and I am con- vinced that possible reverses at the beginning will onl}- serve to strengthen your perseverance, and will not in the least affect your iron will and indomitable courage. Robert, Yes, indeed, if five of my plays were total failures one after the other, that would not in the least discourage me to continue writ- ing the sixth, twelfth and even the thirteenth, if necessary. Miss Powers, We hope that will not be the case. You know, Doctor, mana- gers are generally very superstitious, and I doubt whether if a man wrote twelve failures, they w^ould care to try the thirteenth. Robert. I am not a genius, Mrs. Powers, but the more I write I think the better I write ; and if I keep at it, the managers will be forced some day to listen to me, to recognize me. Miss Powers, I have always been wondering how one mind can be productive of so many different ideas. Where do you get the material for so many plays ? Robert, They come naturally, of themselves. I read or hear of a simple incident which impresses me ; this impression in time begins to develope into ideas in my imagination, characters spring up of themselves, a plot begins to form and all this finally shapes itself into a drama. Miss Powers. A mere incident ? Robert. Why, a mere sentence The p'ay which I have submitted to the Professor had its origin from a few head lines that I saw in a newspaper. I read: *'.-/;/ innocent man condemned.'" This simple sentence brought a picture before my eyes. I could see a man with a bended head, on his knees, with the earth below him 28 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. and the sky above him ; I could hear him weeping and crying out "I am innocent! I am innocent!" in a tone that was so sad that it was heard in every corner of the world. The central oppos- ing forces of the play were conceived when I read that this man's condemnation was brought about by the fraud, forgery and false- hood of his own military comrades and teachers. Mrs* Powers. You built your drama then on the mere facts you read ? Robert. Yes, but the facts are only the model for my canvas, the work- manship is the invention of my own imagination. For example, in one of his trial scenes, the accused sees and feels that no matter what evidence is brought before his judges, their minds are made up to condemn him ; that they laugh at his patriotism and since- rity, and call them mere schemes and shamming. In an outburst of passion that thrilled even the atmosphere of the court room, he cried out: " Gentlemen, I am a soldier, if you doubt ; my sincerity and patriotism as such, put me to the test. Send me for the benefit of my country on an errand where there is sure and certain death, and see if I will not cheerfully give my life if my country demands it. I want to die as a soldier and not be execu- ted as a traitor ! " But to all his appeals they said it was mere argument, not facts — and condemned him. All these things be- gan and developed from a few suggestive sentences that I read in a newspaper. Miss Powers* Wonderful ! And you say that you have never had any stage experience. Robert- Never. Mrs. Powers. It is a natural gift, that cannot be learned on the stag^e or behind the curtain. It is born with the man. Miss Powers. Oh ! What a pity it would be if you should fail in getting recognition. Robert. I shall not fail. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act I. 29 Mrs. Powers. Now, let us come back to our original conversation. The Pro- fessor's idea is that before you give a manager your play to read, he will invite a few critics, some managers, a few literary men and some personal friends, to our usual " at home," and have you read the play to them, and possibU' your work may interest some manager present and so lead to its production. Robert. Yes ; the Professor is right. To ask a manager to read a play by an unknown writer is an invitation to torture. Mrs. Powers. So you agree to this proposition ? Robert. I agree to anything that the Professor suggests. Mrs. Powers. Then let us hope that the plan will prove a success. Mrs. and Miss Powers. ( Together.) Yes, let us hope. Mrs. Powers. {Aside, to her daughter.) Emily, it is late. Miss Powers. Yes, Mamma. {They bid Robert ^ood-night and go to the cen- tre door. Mrs. Powers passes out, but Miss Powers remains inside after her mother has g07ie. Cordially shaking hands agaifi ivith Robert.) Good-night, and I hope to see you soon again. This will remain a memorable evening, for an important step has been decided upon that may be decisive of your future, and I feel happy that I have been in a way — though insignificant — instru- mental in bringing about this result. Robert. (/;/ a tone of exultation.) My future is now assured, for no more shall I feel that I am alone. Heretofore I was like a child in a crowd, who, full of anxiety, is looking for a lost parent. Tortured by fear she watches every passer-by, only to be racked 30 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act /. with disappointment. At last the parent suddenly appears. A glance, a look, and all again is joy and happiness. So I have found the parent; in the relentless, merciless crowd the Professor's kind sympathy and interest shall henceforth be my anchor of hope — his judgment my guiding star on the long road that is still before me. Forward now, with renewed zeal and vigor, I must surely in the end reach the goal of my ambition. Miss Powers. Yes ; I have often dreamt of the possibilities of your future, of that one night's success that will turn all your anxiety into joy and will bring peace to your soul and happiness to your mind. Your name will be on everybody's lips — your fame will spread like wildfire — and the applause of the multitude will re-echo in the heart that will rejoice over your achievements. May that moment be near for you — for us. [Shakes his hand again.') Good-night. [Exits centre door. ) END OF THE FIRST ACT, THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad II. 31 ACT SECOND. Reception room in Professor Powers' New York house. Room is tastefully furjiished and brightly illuminated. In the back of the room, two large book cases. Folding doors on the left, opening into a further room. On the right side hangs a paint- ing of the Professor, also a companion picture of his daughter when very young. Another door on the right. In right back corner, a large table zuith punch-bozul, glasses, refreshments, etc. In the left back corner, a piano. As the curtain rises, first loud laughter, then applause is heard, Wilwam a7id Hannah, tzvo servants of Professor Powers are seen peep- ing in on the left. William* {Pointing with finger. ) Hannah — who is that man with the long hair, sitting in the right hand corner? Hannah* Why that is the great critic — Webster. William* He looks as if he needed a haircut. Who is that tall slim man sitting near him ? Hannah. That is the great German critic, Phillips. William* He looks as if he had had nothing to eat for a year and was dying of starvation. Hannah* William, see how attentive Miss Emily is to the reader. She is swallowing every word he says. " William* Yes ; I heard the Professor remark at dinner to-day : " What a 32 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IL fine young fellow Dr. Mockart is. He'll be heard of some day." What is he reading ? A play ; his own play ? Hannah. Of course, his own play. It cannot be somebody else's play. William* That he reads it, does not show it is his own. Hannah. Mind your own business. {Applause is heard, coming from the room to the left, W11.1.IAM applauds.) Hannah* William — what are you doing, William ? William* Applauding. I am supposed to be an usher — and ushers must always applaud — that's what they are in a theatre for. Hannah* Hush — Hu-sh-sh ! Mrs. Powers is coming. {Runs over to table and begins to straighten and arrange glasses.) William — be quick — they are coming. {Laud laughter— prolonged applause — and cries of Good — good — heard from the adjoining room.) {Enter f'om left Webster, Phii,t^ips, Dean and Beemont) (Webster is short and stout, ivith long zvhite hair and beard. ) (Phieeips is a tall slim man, ivith bald head and luhat hair remains is quite long.) (Dean short, about thirty-five, slightly bald, ivith a limp, ivears eyeglasses.) (Beemont is smooth-faced, except the moustache ; hair sprinkled zvith gray.) (Phieeips enters with WEBSTER, the others following.) Phillips. {As he enters, nodding his head.) What do you think of the play, Webster? THE PI.AYWRIGHT, Act II. 33 Webster* It is very clever. Of course there are a good many things for the young man yet to learn, but as a whole it is pretty good — very good for a beginner. Phillips. It is a question if Tom, Dick and Harry will like such a play. Webster. For that I care very little. I like it. There is something novel about it that refreshes the mind. Dean. There is something that this young man has brought out that I have never seen in any other American play. In it he has amal- gamated our foreign and native elements into one substance — and shown us as a nation. Webster. And how neatly he has done it — and yet so naturall3\ Phillips. Yes ; it is clever, neat and natural — but you can see that it is written by the hand of a novice. Belmont. Yes, and a novice who has only combined plays he has seen, into his own drama. Phillips. ( To Belmont.) Belmont, who is this Mockart, anyway ? What is he ? I never heard of him before. Belmont. {S/irugs stioulders. ) Oh, some young physician, who from lack of patients and patience took, I suppose", to play w^riting. Dean. Belmont — there you are very much mistaken. This young man has not "just taken a notion to write a play," but it has cost him a great many years of conscientious work, and it is not lack of professional practice, but his great love of the drama which led him to write — and that will surely give him success. 34 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act II. Webster. Now, gentlemen, it makes no difference who he is — what he is or where he comes from. We must not consider whether he has virtues or vices, but only judge him as a writer, and as such he deserves a hearing and encouragement. Belmont. But still, I would not care to take the responsibility of advising a manager to produce this play, Webster. {Sarcastically.) Don't fear, Belmont. The manager would not take your advice anyway. (Prof. Powers, a good-natured looking man, about 55 years of age, luith gray side whistlers, tall and well built, and zvitti an elastic, energetic ivatlz, enters at the left door. Prof. Powers. Well, gentlemen, what do you think of the play? Phillips. {Shrugging.) It's pretty good, but it might be better. Webster. I think it is very good. Dean. Yes, and original. Belmont. There is nothing new in it. Prof. Powers. However that may be, you must admit that it is written in a novel way, and, besides, it deals with healthy matter. He hasn't taken as a subject a woman with a past — or a man with a future — and the characters he describes are not so good that they could be found only in heaven, or so bad that they could exist only in hell {pointing doiunward) but they are human, and we meet them every day in flesh and blood — and only a man with great love for his f ellowmen could describe such characters. ( Mr. Lee enters, left. ) Mr. L,ee, some of the gentlemen think that Mockart's play is not original. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IL 35 Mr. Lee. No ! — no ! — I have seen the way that the writer worked up this play — step by step, and not only that, I know how the subject of the work suggested itself to him. One night we went together to see a German play which dealt with the struggles of an unknown composer, and he thought that it would be a good scheme to describe his own struggles as a dramatist. (Enter Robert, and Mr. Fui^Ton, a theatrical manager. ) (^Mr. Fui^Ton is a tall, slim man zuith beard and bald head, about forty years of age, and of refined appearance, and walks with erect carriage ; as they enter at left door, the critics walk over to them and congratulate Robert. ) Phillips* {With enthusiasm.) I congratulate you, Mr. Mockart. {Very suavely.) I hope that it will not be long before I may have the pleasure of seeing your play from an orchestra chair. Robert* Thank You. (Phii,i,ips joins Mr. FuIvTon on the right, and the other critics form a group around Robert in the centre. ) Mr. Fulton* ( To Phillips. ) I think this a work that will take, and with proper management, it will be a money-maker. Of course you cannot tell. Most of the successes that came under my hands I did not think much of as manuscripts, and some of the manu- scripts that I was enthusiastic over and had the greatest confidence in proved utter failures. Phillips* The play reads well, but, as you said, a good one may read badly and a bad one may read well ; from reading alone you can- not tell. Mr* Fulton* And from playing you cannot tell. It depends upon the tem- perament {jocularly), temperature and taste of the public. Webster* No — no. It is all right, even from a financial standpoint. It is 36 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act II. written in an enthusiastic manner, and he has — unconsciously — shown that he already knows the tricks of the trade. (Webster, Robert, the Manager and Phii.ijps y^/;/ the group in the centi'e. ) Webster. Have you any particular method of working, Mr. Mockart ? Robert. No. I sometimes carry the material for a play for years, and the best ideas will suggest themselves to me just in a moment. At other times takes weeks and months. The characters that I have portrayed in this play — their manner and behavior — were suggested to me by an At Home to which I was invited. I met there the principal characters I describe. (Mrs. Powers and her daughter enter, followed by guests.) Mrs* Powers* Gentlemen, won't you have some punch? {^As the servants serve the lunch, the lady visitors surround Mr. Mockart congratulating him. ) First Lady. It was delightful. Second Lady. It was just lovel}'. I am longing to see it played. Third Lady. It was charming. Fourth Lady. Really, your play was most enjoyable, Mr. Mockart. Miss Powers. {Aside, to her another.) Wasn't it grand ? Is'nt he talented? His reading is just as fine as his writing. Mrs. Powers. Yes, dear ; he is undoubtedly a gifted man. Miss Powers. Might we not now, before the people start to leave, ask Mr. Mills to sing my song and Mrs. Janeux to accompany him. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad IL 37 Mrs* Powers. Certainly. ( Zb Mr. Mills ) Mr. Mills won't 5'ou favor us? ( To Mrs. Janeux. ) Mrs. Janeux, I know, will accompany you. (Mr. Mills and Mrs. Janeux go to the piano.) Friends, Mr. Mills is going to sing a modest effort of my daughter's, in honor of the " Play wright, " entitled "Success," and Mrs. Janeux has kindly consented to accompany him. {Guests applaud. After the music the guests applaud, and they all rise and begin leaving. As they pass out a Dowager says to Robert— ) Dowager* Now, Mr. Mockart, don't forget. I expect you at my At Home next Tuesday, and you will meet there people from our oldest and (/;/ confiding tone) wealthiest families. Robert* Delighted, lam sure. (Laughingly.) But, you know, I pos- sess neither blue blood, nor red millions. Dowa§fcr* That makes no difference. You will be all the more welcome. A Lady* [To Robert. ) And don't fail, Mr. Mockart, to honor us with your presence at our "Tea'" next Wednesday. Robert* I shall be present — circumstances permitting — although I am not much of a tea-drinker. Lady* Don't mind the tea. There will be more time given to gossip than tea. ( Exeunt guests, followed by Miss Powers, right door. The critics also prepare to leave ; as they do so, IVIrs. Powers says to the professor, aside. ) Mrs* Powers* ( To Prof. Powers ) Mr. Fulton appears to be interested in the play Why not take him and Mr. Lee into the dining-room 38 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act II. and I will serve a little lunch, and then you can talk it over privately. Robert. ( To the critics, as tlicy go out. ) Gentlemen : I bid you all good night. Whenever you speak of my play, speak of it as it is. I shall try next time to do better. You will overlook my anxiety, for you know better than anyone else how much labor there is in such a work as this, and you will pardon me, I am sure, for hoping you may {laugtii?ig) — " Let me down easy" — as the politicians say {All langti.) Critics* {All. ) Good night. {Exeunt right door. ) Professor Powers, Mr Fui.ton a)id Mr. Lee exeunt left door followed by Mrs. Powers. As they do so Mock- art finding himself alone, goes over and stands look- ing at Miss Powers' portrait. Miss Powers re-enters right door. Miss Powers. Would you recognize me in that picture ? Robert. {Nodding.) Hum-um. Yes, that is just why I am looking at it. Miss Powers. It was a present from my aunt on my tenth birthday. Robert. It bears a strong resemblance. Miss Powers. Do you think so? {A moment of silence.) But to change the subject, Doctor ; from the enthusiastic good night that the critics bade me at the door, I am certain they feel favorably disposed toward you. Robert. It matters not, Miss Powers. Their praise will not spoil me, any more than their condemnation will discourage me ; whether I have succeeded or failed to-night, the appreciation of yourself and your father is sufficient reward. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act II. 39 Miss Powers* Now, it occurred to me — of course, I don't know, and it ma}- be that I am wrong — but, the most essential thing in modem plays is love — is it not? [Laughingly. ) Of course, perhaps you may not believe in it, but it seems to me that you have not made it a suf- ficiently prominent factor in your play. Robert* Why, Miss Powers. I tried to infuse love not only into my play — but into every sentence — for that which is without love, man dislikes ; neither can the world exist without it — but it all depends upon what you mean by love. There is the love to do right — love for your fellow-men — love for companionship — and love for love's sake. Miss Powers* Yes, there are a thousand different kinds of love, I suppose ; but what I mean is — " true love. ' ' Robert* True love ? There must be truth in every love ; otherwise, it is not love. But perhaps what you mean by true love, is the love between man and woman. Miss Powers* (Quickly. ) Then you believe in that ? Robert* And why not ? Miss Powers* I thought poets are so different from other men. Robert* But they are men — and man is man — all the time — and every time. Miss Powers* {Laughingly^ So — then you believe in love. Robert* Yes. — In the full sense of the word, I do. But that is only the great love of companionship — and for love's sake — and since I have known you, I begin to believe that the greatest love in the world is that — particular kind of love. 40 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act 11. Miss Powers* Yes? Robert- Yes, my love for you. Miss Powers* {Blushing.) For me? Robert* For you— the guardian angel of my hope and ambition — for you, whose noble and pure heart has ever inspired me with courage, enthusiasm and faith in the work that I have undertaken {cai'essiugly) For you — and You alone. Miss Powers* {Feelingly. ) Who would not glory in the possession of your noble heart — who could withstand the charm of your intellect — the influence of your powerful mind — the beauty of your ideals — but, no, no, you must not think of that — that would be premature, Robert* Why? Miss Powers* Why ? Because I am afraid it may interfere with your life's ambition. Roberta There is no higher ambition for me than to be loved by you. Miss Powers. That is just what I feared. All 3'our zeal and energy and de- votion ought to be directed towards your art. Robert* As a playwright, I can devote all my energy to writing, but as a man I devote all my heart to you — and your love will only serve to inspire me with all the more energy in my undertaking. Miss Powers* Then you think that my love will encourage you? Robert* Your very presence inspires me— and your love will be the guiding light on my road to siiccej^s. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act II. 41 Miss Powers. Then I shall no more try to resist the impulse of my heart — which has belonged to you from the moment I met you. You have my heart — my love — my life, Robert. {Embracing her.) Without you, my life would be empty and barren. Your love will add lustre to my dreams, light to my life — and value to my achievements. Miss Powers. Hush — Father is coming. ( 77?.? ProfeSvSOR — Mr. Fui.1'on— ^7/(7' Mr. Lke enter — left door.) Mr. Fulton. * {As they walfi in.) Of course I cannot give a definite answer now, but I will take the manuscript home with me to read it over carefully. The matter needs consideration. I am impressed with the play, but it will be a very expensive production and will require the best talent I can get. Otherwise a play like that would be a failure; it reaches the better class of people, and they want the best. Prof. Powers. Yes, read it over — slowly and carefully — and consider it. Mr. Lee. I would advise you Mr. Fulton to read the play twice. Mr. Fulton. People don't go to see a play twice. If they don't like it the first time, they never will like it. Mn Lee. Some of the greatest successes have proved failures at first. Mr. Fulton Those are but rare exceptions to the rule Miss Powers. {Aside, to the Professor.) See that Robert does not go yet, papa. 42 THE PLAYWRICzHT, Act II. Mr. Fulton* {To MOCKART.) Mr. Mockart, I shall take the manuscript of your play with me and shall read it over, and in due time I shall call upon you and give you my definite answer. Robert. I hope that the decision will be in my favor. Mr. Fulton. Well, we'll see. Good-night, gentlemen. Mr. Lee. ( To Mr. Fulton. ) Wait — I'll be along with you. Prof. Powers. Don't be in a hurry, Mr. Lee. I want you to talk it over with the Doctor and me alone. (Mr. FUI.TON bows and goes out right door.) Prof. Powers. Come Doctor. Robert. Isn't it rather late, Professor? Prof. Powers. That's all right. Come — come. ( The Professor, Robert a7id Mr. Lee go out, left door. Miss Powers seeing others go— runs to right door and calls Mr. Fui^Ton hack.) Miss Powers. Mr. Fulton — Mr. Fulton. (Mr. FuIvTON ir-enters right door 2uith his coat on his ann.) Well, what are you going to do with it, Mr. Fulton ? Mr. Fulton. {^Stirprised. ) It is my coat — why I am going to put it on. Miss Powers. {Disappointedly.) Oh, I meant— What are you going to do about the/>/rt'j'. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act II. 43 Mr. Fulton* I beg your pardon ; I thought you meant — what was I going to do with the coat. Miss Powers. Oh, no. I am anxious to know if you are going to produce the play ? Mr* Fulton* I told your father I wanted to consider it. I want to read it over quietly, alone. Miss Powers* Yes, that is all right, but are you going to read it over with the intention of producing it, even if you do like it? Mr* Fulton* I don't know. I shall see. Miss Powers* Mr. Fulton, from your manner in speaking to my father, I inferred that you might read the manuscript, but even if you do like it you may not produce it. Mr* Fulton* That is true. It is an expensive production, and requires so many characters, it is a question if it will pay. Miss Powers* So ! — I see ! — It is a question of money — not whether the play is good or bad. Mr. Fulton* No ; if the play is good, money is no object, for a good play brings big returns. Miss Powers* But, you heard the critics say it was clever, and they were enthusiastic over it. Everybody says it is good — and some say it is great. Mr* Fulton. {Laughing sarcastically.) Yes, the critics — the}' can write — talk and give advice ; but just ask them to put up the cash and see if they will not think it over twice. 44 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act II. Miss Powers. So, the whole question is money — money. Mr* Fulton. No, Miss Powers, you don't understand. A written play is like an inventor's model. It appears original and good, and you think it will take, but you cannot tell whether the invention is of any practical value until you have made a working test before the people, for they are the ones who are going to pay for it and make practical use of it. Now, a play is like an invention — the manu- script is the model ; to put the invention to a practical test we must put the play before the public, for they are the real judges — and to make such an experiment is, naturally, a question of con- siderable expense. Miss Powers. So, I see. You mean if some one would stand the expense you would make the practical test and produce the play. Mr. Fulton. Not exactly that, but it is more likely that the play would be produced. Miss Powers. {Musingly. ) I have a proposition I should like to make to you. Now, you seem to be impressed with Mr. Mockart's manuscript, but as I understand you are not ready to take the risk of produc- ing the play. Well? I have a little money of my own, and if you promise me that the matter will only be between us two, I will stand the expense of the production. Mr. Fulton. Of course, it is not necessary to mention that I shall regard the matter as strictly confidential. Miss Powers. Now, then, Mr. Fulton, it is settled that the play will be pro- duced ? Mr. Fulton. No, I don't say that yet, for I must read it and think it over. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act II. 4^ Miss Powers* Read it over, and look for all the good points in it — {growing intensely earnest) — for (Miss PowKRS i-uns to left door and looks off to see if anyone can overhear them, then quickly returns to Fui^TON, and in a suppj^essed but very emphatic voice says:) the play must be produced. Mr. Fulton* Then it shall be produced. (Miss Powkrs quickly offers her hand to Fui^Ton in expres- sion of'gi'atitude.) END OF SECOND ACT. 46 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad III. ACT THIRD. The scene represents a front room at Dr. Mockart's house, open- ing through folding doors ifito a back parlor. The room is neatly but not expensively ftirnished. There is a door on the left, also 07ie on the right ; on the left there is a mantel and a pa7dor stove brightly burning , In the upper left hand corner there is a large old-fashioned book-case containing a large num- ber of books, manuscripts and clippings. Tozvards the right a sofa, in centime a table, chairs, etc. As the curtain rises, Mrs. Mockart and Mr. MobIvNKR are seen 171 earnest conversation at left front ; at the right, on sofa, the two daughters of Mr. Moei^ner are sittiiig ; opposite them Dr. MandeIv and Mr. Schaeffer occupy chairs ; the young ladies are both well dressed, and dressed alike ; they are brun- ettes, with round faces, black hair and eyes, and ni7ieteen and tiventy-tzvo years respectively, and resemble each other strongly. Etta, {Entering left door.) Mama, I cannot find Robert. He must have gone out. Mrs. Mockart, See if he is in his room. Etta, No, he is not there. Schacffer. {To Miss Lucy Moki^ner.) That is a nice way to entertain friends . When they come he goes out. Miss Moelncf ♦ It is the eccentricity of genius. Schaeffet, I call it the eccentricity of bad manners. Miss Moelner. {Slightly surprised.) Oh— Mr. vSchaeifer, you have evidently forgotten that Robert is my cousin. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. 47 Schaeffcr* Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Moelner. He is your cousin, but that does not imply that he is a genius. Miss Moelnen Well, that is what the papers say about him. Schaeffcf* Oh, the papers ! They call him a genius, to-day, but to-morrow they may say he is a fool. Miss Moelner, At any rate, he is talented. He has accomplished something that not everybody can do, and under such circumstances that he deserves great credit. Schaeffer, What he has accomplished — an3"body can accomplish. It is only a question of time and perseverance, and if a man possesses that, with a little intelligence — he can do it — anybody can do it. Miss Moelnen Ah ! — patience and perseverance are great virtues in themselves {in a different tone) But, if you think it is so easy to write, why don't you try it, Mr. Schaeffer? Schacffer, I might try a good many things. Miss Moelner. The trouble with me is that I don't believe in try-ing. Miss Moelner, Oh, I see, you mean that your father has done all the trying for you. Schaeffer* My father worked so hard — that it is a pity that I should do any work. He saved me the trouble. They continue their conversation in to ic tone. Mr, Moelner, {Aside to Mrs. Moctzart.) No. I don't think Mr. Fulton is going to produce the play on the mere recommendation of a few scribes. The papers say he only took it home for consideration, though I heard that some material support was promised Mr. Fulton in case he decided to produce the play. 48 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. Mrs, Mockart^ But I understood Mr. Fulton has positively accepted the play. Mf» Moelner, Ivucy — read over the criticisms on Robert's play again. {Lucy takes up a number of neiuspapers from tJie table.) Lwcy. {Picking up a neivspaper and reading.) "At a recent 'At Home,' a Madison Avenue hostess, noted for her agreeable recep- tions, cleverly succeeded in ' killing two birds with one stone. ' For not only did she afford her guests a rarely enjoyable enter- tainment, but succeeded in giving an as yet unknown playwright a professional introduction through the reading of his own work. That the play made an impression on the very friendly audience there is no doubt; the author has unquestionably shown talent. We do not care to vSay much, but when such a manager as Mr. Dan Fulton takes a play home with him for consideration, it is evident that it has some merits." Mr. Moelner. Just as I told you, Freda — only for ' consideration.' Mrs. Mockart. Dr. Mandel, you read the German papers. What have they to say about Robert's play ? Dr. Mandel. The leading German paper simply says a few words. It hasn't a high opinion of Robert's originality. And, of course, if it finds nothing original in a new writer, it doesn't think it worth while to encourage him, and gives him the advice the poet gave to the shoemaker — " to stick to his last." Ltjcy. But, Robert says, that the critic of this paper, although he is a critic, is not so very original himself ; now another, who is not so prominent, but has a very good reputation, differs from this paper entirely. He says : " Very skillful, very. " He admits, however, that "the writer is not yet a master of his art, though he has shown a clever handling of the subject and a thorough knowledge of the technique of the drama," THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad III. 49 Mu Moelner. {Sneeringly.) But isn't this critic a personal friend of our Pro- fessor. Schaeffer. {Picking up paper.) Here's a critic who advises him to go and learn proper English instead of trying to write plays. Miss Lena Moclnen {Picking up paper.) The Mercury says: {reads) "Not only those who pay to see diamonds and silks on the stage will like such a play, but the true lover of the drama will also appreciate it, ' ' and adds : ' ' Why do not some of these ' independents ' hunt out young writers like Mockart and produce their pla3's, instead of wasting time on dramas that only a small minority care for?" — There you are Mr. Schaeffer, one critic contradicts the other. Ml". Moelnen {To Mrs. Mockart.) So, you see, Freda, he has not made such a great success after all by his reading, and such recognition as he has obtained is only reading matter — of no value whatever — it is all on paper. Mrs. Mockart. I only wish the reading had been a complete failure, for then he would have given up this unfounded ambition of his and de- voted himself to enlarging his practice. Mr. Moelner. Yes, of course, it would have been better, but now the plan must be carried out as we decided. I'll put up the money to pro- duce the play. Of course, the plaj^ won't make much of a success, but, at any rate, his eyes will be opened to the fact that he isn't a writer, and that will cool down his enthusiasm, I fancy. Mrs. Mockart. Just as you say, Albert — just as you think is best. I will do anything to tear him awa}^ from this professor and his family, and show him that his best friend is his mother, and only his mother. Mr. Moelner. {In a different tone.) Freda, was it not rather ungrateful on 50 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. Robert's part, when he read his play at the Professor's house, not to have invited me, or at least asked Lucy and Lena? Mrs, Mockart. He is as ungrateful to his mother as he is to his uncle. Why, he did not even take the trouble to tell me that he was going to read his play to anyone ! I heard it only through the newspapers. Mr* Moclner* Luc\' felt awfully bad. However, I will do my best for my brother's son, and for the sake of my brother's wife. I will take him in hand and see that his play is produced. If it succeeds — very well and good. If not, it will bring him to his senses, and show him what a fool he has made of himself for so many years. But, for all you can tell, all of our plans may be fruitless, for possibly these few lines of notice may have turned his head so that he will accept none of my offers. Mrs. Mockart* x\ccept ? Of course he will. He may not listen to any sugges- tions, but when you offer to produce his play he will be delighted, and, as you said, no manager will produce his play without financial support, and who can, who will, give him financial sup- port ? You know the saying is — " Everybody is a friend until the pocket ." Mr. Moelner. [Reflecting.) Yes. Who can give him financial support ? {zvit/i change of voice,) They say that this professor's daughter inherited quite a fortune from her aunt, not long ago, and you know that this daughter has rather charmed him. It was her idea that he should read his play, and at her home, and it is even rumored that it is she who promised financial assurance to Mr. Fulton, in case he decided to produce the play. Mrs. Mockart. What nonsense. These people are very nice, and very kind and all that ; they may introduce him ; they may give him a chance to become known to them and their friends. They ma}^ do everything for him, but when it comes to a question of money — they will stop and think about it twice — even if it is a scientific professor who has a great love for art. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IlL 51 Mr, Moelncf. Where is Robert, anyway? I should like to hear what he has to say on the matter. Mrs, Mockart. ( Goes to boolz-case at left upper corner and opens it. ) His note- books are here. He must be up-stairs. {Pointing to contents of case. ) See, Albert, this rubbish represents six years of work. Mr. Moelner. And, so far, it is only good for the waste-basket. Mrs. Mockart. I feel like taking it all and throwing it into the fire. Mr. Moelner. No, you mustn't do that. Mrs. Mockart. Yes, I shall have to do it some day. (Mrs. MoQi^A.^'i goes out at left, foil ocued by Mr. Moei^ner. ) ( Lena goes over to Lucy. ) (Mr. Schakffer crosses over to Mr. Mandei..) Lena. Lucy, Dr. Mandel says that he would be most happy to join our Thanksgiving Day excursion to Old Point Comfort. May I in- vite him ? Lucy. You may, if 5'ou like. Lena. He is so nice — and Mr. Schaeffer ? Lucy. I am afraid that Mr. Schaeffer would not care to join us. He is such a self-satisfied man. , Lena. But he is so rich. Doctor Mandel says that his father left him about a million. Lucy. Only a million. Why, I hear that he was worth two millions before he was introduced to me. 52 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad III Lena,* {Looking at Lucv. ) So you mean that I ought to iuvite himr" Lucy* Just as you like. He would no doubt be a great attraction to our friends. Lena. A million would be an attraction to any girl. I would invite both Dr. Mandel and Mr. Schaeffer. They are both jolly good company. ( They continue their conversation in low tone. ) Dr. MandeL ( To Mr. Schakffer.) The deuce — but hasn't Robert got two charming cousins? Schaeffer. Charming is no name — they are really beautiful. What sort of a man this Robert is, I don't understand ; why, he never men- tioned to us that he had two such lovely cousins. Dr. Mandel. I knew it. I knew them when they were two little bits of girls — and used to live in this neighborhood — and my father remem- bers when Mr. Moelner and Robert's father started business in a small room in a rear tenement house. Schaeffer. Yes, and now he is the greatest man in his line. Dr. Mandel. He has to thank Robert's father for that — for he was the man- ager and the brains of the firm. But, poor man, he is dead and buried; his family has none of the enormous wealth of which he laid the foundation ; — Moelner has it all. • Schaeffer. That's often the case — one man does the work and the others get the profits. Please don't tell them that / am rich. Dr. Mandel. I am sorry, but I have made that fatal mistake already. THE PIvAYWRIGHT, Act III. 53 Schaeffcr, Then, I suppose everybody will first introduce my money, and then myself. Dn MandeL These are girls who do not care for money — they have social aspirations. Schaeffen Social aspirations? Yes? "Where do your social aspirations come in without money— when the first requisite to enter that private circle is money — and plenty of it too. And when your money dies — you may be sure of a social burial. Lucy. ( To Dr. MandkI/. ) Have 3-ou known my cousin Robert long, Dr. Mandel ? Dr. MandeL . As long as I have known 3'ou. Lttcy. (/;/ surprise. ) Really ? I thought I had never met you before. Df. Mandel. Indeed? I remember 3^ou when 3'ou were a little bit of a girl and lived right across the street here, where those high red houses are. Lena. {Astonished. ) You mean those tenement-houses ? Df. Mandcl. Yes, — there were small houses then — and when more people came, they built these larger ones, and they called them tenements. Lena. It must have been quite a different neighborhood at that time, Df. Mandel. Yes, it was different in a wa3', but as more emigrants came here the3^ built larger houses. Lena. Wh3^ only the foreign element lives in these houses now. 54 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. Dr« MandeL For that matter, we are all foreigners, except those who have Indian blood. (Robert enters teft door. ) Lena* Where have you been, cousin Robert? Robert* For a walk. Lucy* In such weather? Robert* Such weather gives a man respiration — aspiration— and inspira- tion ! Schaeffer* You disappeared without even an excuse. Robert* Ah, excuse — excuses are only empty explanations, my dear Schaeffer. (Robert takes off gloves, coat and hat.) (Lucy hangs the coat and hat on a hook in upper right cornier. ) ( Robert /'rty^^^ notes and papers ont of several pockets and puts them in book-case. ) Schaeffer* Ah, you are again depositing more of your work in your work- shop. Lucy* Where did you write it ? Robert* On the street— now you can call the street my workshop, if you like. Dr* Mandel* So, the street is your workshop. {Ironically.) Then the air must be your inspiration — the sun 3'our guide — the earth your companion . Schaeffer, And the sky your world — the moon your neighbor, and the stars vour friends. THE PI^AY WRIGHT, Ad III. 55 Robert No — Schaeffer, there you are wrong — my friends are not stars, but fools. ^ All la ugh . ) (Robe;rt goes over to the stove and ivarins his hands, ScHAEFFKR goes over and joins Robert at stove. ) Schaeffer* {Aside to Robert.) I wish that I had such a fair cousin, and as devoted as she seems to be to you. Robert, {Laughs. ) Well, it does astonish me. I cannot account for it ; for this same fair cousin, when I called on her at her home not long ago, received me with cold indifference. Schaeffer, But now 3^ou are on the point of success — and, you know — men are judged by their success. Robert, {Laughs. ) Success is a very poor thing to judge by, my dear Schaeffer, for it spoils more men than failure. . Schaeffer, Please don't tell them that my success .spoiled me. Robert, Oh, no, fear not; you have done nothing in which to succeed or fail. Schaeffer, Then , what am I ? Nothing ? Robert, You are a continuation of another generation. Lena, {Appi'oaching them.) Robert, your friends think that while some of your critics praise you, others have been unjust and sim- ply ridiculed your play. Robert, I can't help that. There is in the drama as in politics a class of chronic kickers. (Mr. M0E1.NER and Mrs. Mockart enter right door. ) 56 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. Mr. Moelner. . Ah, here he is. {(lOcs over to RobkrT. ) Mrs. Mockart. We were looking for you, Robert. [Goes to Robert and Mr. Moelnp:r.) Df* MandeL ( To SCHAEFFER.) Had we not better go? I think they want to talk over some family matters. ( They prepare to leaz'e. ) Lena. {Aside to her father.) Papa, invite Robert's friends to call on us. Mr. Moelner. {As they go tozvards left door.) Gentlemen: we are at home every Frida}-, and we should be pleased to have you call, if op- portunity presents itself. Mandel and Schaeffer. {Both. ) Thanks. We should be most happy to do so. Dr. MandeL I hope that before long we shall all meet together in a box to see Robert's play produced. Schaeffer. {Laughingly.) Mandel, 3^ou mean in a wooden box? [All laugh. ) (Mandei. and Schaeffer both exit left door.) Mr. Moelner. {Aside to Lucy. ) Go and tell Robert how glad you are that he is on the road to success. ( Change of voice. ) Incidentalh% ask him whether he has seen your magazine article. Lticy. Yes, Papa. Mr. Moelner. Be nice and cordial — although not too forward. Yet a little flattery and praise sometimes do a great deal of good. Men are so conceited, you know. THE PI.AYWRIGHT, Act III. 57 Lucy* I think it will be of little use, papa. I fear he will never forgive us for having ignored him so long. Mr. Moelner. {Angrily. ) Make no explanations. Do as I tell you. Mrs* Mockart. ( To Robert, aside. ) Be nice and good. I think uncle will do a great deal for you if you know how to take him. Robert. I cannot be more nice than I am, or more good than I always have been. Mrs. Mockarf. You know he is a rich and successful man. They have powef and they want to be respected. Robert. Every man desires to be respected, but they who want respect must show consideration for others and not misuse their advanta- ges. Mrs. Mockart. [Agitatedly.) Now — now — now. Don't begin again Robert. We have not seen them for years, and chance has again brought us together. It is always better to make a friend than an enemy, especially in your own family. Robert. I don't want to make an enemy of anybody. I know what he is here for, but that can never be. Mrs. Mockart. Cannot be ? And why not ? He is after your welfare. Robert. Yes? I understand his scheme. But I got along without his assistance for a long time, and I can surely get along without him now. I am bound to win my battle alone — win, I say, mother ! Mr. Moelner. ( To Robert, loud. ) Robert, did you see Lucy's article in the current magazine ? Robert. {Surprised.) Lucy's Article? Magazine? What was it? In what magazine? 58 THE PLAYWRICxHT, Act III. Mr* Moclncr. I quite forget. What magazine was it, Lucy ? Lucy* It was a criticism on the late Horse Show — and it appeared in a magazine called "The Doings of the Horse." Robert. Oh ! About horses. I thought it might be about something else ; but I am not a horse ; I am a man, and care to read only of the doings of men — not horses. Lucy* But the horse — the Horse Show is so fashionable nowadays. Robert. Fashion is sometimes facetious. Lucy. But, it is nice— stylish, you know. Robert. Style is stupidity oftentimes. Lena. ( To Mrs. Mockart.) I think our cousin Robert is ill-tempered and ill-humored to-day. Mrs. Mockart. No, it is the strain— the constant strain — the suspense that is killing him. Lucy. But papa is going to help him. Mrs. Mockart. Your papa has not spoken to him yet. Lucy. Papa, why don't you tell Robert the object of your visit to-day ? Mr. Moelner. Be patient ; I wall. Etta. ( 7t> Robert, aside.) Robert, look at our cousins Lucy's and Lena's dresses. How nice ! Aren't they rich ? And how expen- sive they must be — perfectl}' lovely ! THE PIvAYWRIGHT, Ad III. 59 Robert. To look at. Etta. If 3'our play is accepted — and produced, and you make a lot of money, you must get me just such an identical dress as theirs. {Fei'Z'ently. ) Oh, it is nice to have nice things ! Robert. But nicer yet is that which you have got and other people can not get. Etta. But if you make a lot of mone}^, you can get them. Robert. Oh, yes, get them ; what was money made for but to get them ? Mr. Moelner. [Aloud. ) Robert, have you heard anything yet from Mr. Fulton ? Robert. No, not yet. He promised that if he liked my pla}^ he would call and see me personally. I may, though, hear from him to- night. Mr. Moelner. You expect to have a favorable answer from him, no doubt. Robert. Not more than from any other manager. There is nothing sure yet. You are not sure wnth any manager, even if he does accept your play. Mr. Moelner. So, even acceptance may not mean that he will produce ir, Robert. Yes. I shall have to be patient, that is all, but some day it shall be produced. Mr. Moelner. Robert, if I should offer you, in behalf of the family, to give you financial assistance, and produce the play at once, what would you say ? Robert. I should simply say you are too late. 6o THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. Mr. Moelner. ( /;/ surprise. ) Too late ? Robert, Yes. Mrs, Mockart. Why too late ? Robert. There was a time when I asked uncle for help and his answer was that he had no money to invest in experiments ; that they do not pay and are not profitable. He advised me to go to people who can judge plays. I followed his advice — and his offer is now too late. Mrs. Mockart. No, it is not too late, Mr. Moelner. Don't imagine, Robert, if I offer to produce the play, that I believe it worth anything. I only do it to show you that you are no writer, and to bring you to your senses, so that you will waste no more time, but will go about your work — your profession. Robert. I know that — and still you are " too late." Mr. Moelner. Then you have assurance that the pla}- will be produced ? Robert. No. Mrs* Mockart. (/;/ surprise. ) No ? Why, then, do you refuse to accept uncle's assistance? Robert. Because I have confidence in myself. Mr. Moelner. How do you expect that your play will be produced? Robert. On its merits. Mr. Moelner. [With sarcasm.) On its merits'? — "Merits" is such a mis- eading word, when it is not helped along with mone}'. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. 6i Mrs. Mockart. Then you depend for the production of 3'our pla}- on the strength of the few lines of notice you received ? Robert. No — but I have hope. Mrs, Mockart. But what a bitter word hope is — without help. Robert. Hope is a grand word to me. Mr. Moelner. Then you have evidently hope that somebody will give you financial assistance — and you prefer that strangers should have the benefit of your work rather than your own family ? Robert. {Cool, sarcastic manner.) Ah, you now speak of "my work" — " my work '' uncle. You have evidenth" forgotten yourself — and you already speak of "benefits" — "benefits." You fear that someone else may reap those benefits. Mr. Moelner. Ah, your " work " — " rubbish '' ! Mrs. Mockart. Robert — it is my wish, and I beg of you as your mother that this play should be produced by the help of your family, if it is to be produced at all. Robert. {Indignantly. ) Mother, when the lash of want was upon me, with a force that tore my flesh, the family did not offer me help to heal my wounds. Now my wounds begin to heal, and I want no help that is forced upon me ! Mrs. Mockart. But, it is your mother's wish. Robert. Even a mother may be wrong. Mrs. Mockart. Ungrateful son ! You talk to me like that — to me, your mother. 62 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. who gave you life. Do you know that your very blood belongs to me. Mr. Moelncr. Freda — there is no use talking to him. You are speaking to a man with a " swelled head "! Robert. Before — I had a "foolish'" head — now I have a "swelled" head. But, no matter what head I have ; it is my own. Mr* Moelner. The few lines of notice that the critics gave you will be your ruin ! Remember, critics are only to criticise. Your success, so far, is on paper, and on paper only. The real judges are the people ; and wait, you will yet come begging to me to give you a chance for a hearing before the public ! Robert. I assure you, I will not. The one thing that makes me feel more than anything else that I shall succeed is your offer to help me ; for where you offer to help, there must be an assurance of coming benefits— benefits. Mr. Moelner. [In disgust. ) I see now, there is no use of talking with you ! — L/Ucy ! — Lena ! — Get ready ! We will go ! Mrs. Mockart. (E.rcitedty.) Wait, Albert !— Albert— wait ! Be patient. It does not concern you alone- it concerns me as well — for if he will not give in, I will have to go too. I have suffered long enough — I cannot stand it any longer. Mr. Moelner. What does he care — this obstinate, ungrateful son. Robert. You say I am ungrateful. Can you state a single instance ? In what am I ungrateful ? Mr. Moelner. Yes — I will give you an instance. [Quietly.) Robert, what- ever you may say against me, I have helped you time and time THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. 63 again. When you read your play at the professor's house — when you took so decided a step — why did you not invite me and my family ? Robert* Because — you don't belong to that class. Mr* Moelner. {Lifuriated. ) I don't belong to that class ? — and a beggar like you belongs to it? Robert, You don't mean that, uncle ? Mr. Moelner. I mean every word that I say — you are a beggar — and if it had not been for me, you would have been starving. You are a beg- gar- Robert. {Infuriated.^ Take those words back, uncle — take that word back — the very air of this room ought to strangle you. You know very well yourself that it is a lie. I have been honestly and patiently working for a certain purpose for many years — and the help you gave me was not yours — but mine — mine — The very clothes you wear — the house you possess — and everything you have — belongs to me. For, with your cheating and lies, you took away the work on which my father had spent twenty years. If it had not been for my father you would have been to-day a beggar — and morally you are nothing but a beggar anyway — Mrs. Mockart. Robert !— Robert '.—What is that talk for? What is the use? Why bring in your father ? What has he to do with it. That affair has long been forgotten. Robert. I shall never forget it ! And I want to let him know that he is a cheat and a lie. That he has not sense enough to acquire anything — not to speak of wealth. That what help he gave us, should have been willingly and freely given — not have been thrown in our faces. Mrs. Mockart, Now, keep still. You have lost your senses. You don't know 64 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. what you are talking about. He came here to help you, and you have done nothing but deliberately insult and offend him. (Mr. MoeIvNEr motions to the girts to get their wraps froui the next room.) ( The girls go into the back parlor, there is a long silence; the girls return with their zuraps, and Etta helps them to put them on.) Mr* Moelnen I would not care to argue with a man who has a temper, and is at the same time a fool. But it seems rather queer, that people w^hom only a few months ago you had never heard of— nor seen before — should be preferred as friends — advisers — to your own family. But, I want to warn you, with all your cleverness, these people who only a few months ago, were perfect strangers, may, by the slightest misunderstanding, in a still shorter time throw you over and forget the mere fact of your existence Robert* I am sure that will not be the case — for they are people who live a life for life's sake and not for mere material existence ; and besides, as it happens, they were the first to volunteer to help me and I am bound to stand by them, no matter what happens or how much they may change. Mr. Moelner. {Emphatically.) It seems to me, that what keeps you so sud- denly — strangely and inexplicably tied to them must undoubtedly be not so much the Professor, as the Professor's daughter's petti- coat. {Prolonged silence. Robert ^c)*?^ and rests left hand on the table, -with his back to the others and cuith boived head. ) Robert. {Sloruly, quietly and emphatically.) Uncle — if it were not for the presence of your daughters — and respect for my mother — I should turn you out of the house. (Mr. MorIvNER opens ri^ht door, and motioning to his daughters to go ont, folloivs them and slams the door. Robert sinks into a chair. Btta goes and kneels by him^ and, leaning against him, weeps. Mrs. Mock- art, on the other side of the room, sits as if bewildered and in deep pain and thought. ) THE PI.AYWRIGHT, Ad III. 65 Robert. Etta — Etta— what's the matter? What are you crying for^ (Etta rises luithout speaking and goes out sobbing. ) Mrs. Mockart. ( Going to Robert. ) Robert — you have deeply insulted 3^our uncle. Robert. I told you the truth. Mrs. Mockart. [In a different tone.) No, Robert, you have deliberatel}^ in- sulted your uncle. Robert. If you call truth an insult, then you are right. Has he not lied and cheated us out of father's work? Was not father entitled to a share and interest in the business before he died? Who laid the foundation of this vast fortune that he posse.sses ? Was it not father's conscientious and faithful efforts — efforts that were be- yond his strength — and, I may say, shortened his life? Like an heroic soldier, who although wounded and knows that the wound is fatal, he battled on ! What did he do it for, but to build up this business, that his family should be provided for when he was no more? And after he died uncle's miserly character showed itself — he took advantage of your ignorance and helplessness and swallowed up everything. • Mr5. Mockart. That is a question of the past, and who was right ? I don't know What concerns us now is the present, and at present {slozvly and emphatically) we need uncle ; you will call him back, Robert. Robert. Mother, I will not call him back. Mrs. Mockart. [Emphatically. ) You must call him back. Robert. Never ! Never ! Mrs. Mockart. [Onietly.) Then I shall leave you ! 66 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad III Robert* K^In consternation. ) Mother, surely you are not in earnest? ■ Mrs* Mockart I am in earnest as I am in sorrow. Robert, ( In greater surprise. ) Mother ! — and Etta ! What will become of her? Mrs, Mcckart. Etta will have to choose between 3^ou and me. Robert, Mother, you would not do that ? Mrs. Mockart. Will you do as I tell you? (Robert is silent.) Now, I see — what your uncle Albert has foreseen — and he was right. He could not understand that the interest of these lately acquired friends, — these strangers — with their sudden and inexplicable influence over you — is not simply their interest in you and your writings — but some selfish motive ; and so far you have had nothing from them — simply their false flattery — and for this foolishness you cast aside your family. Yes, even your mother. Robert, Oh, mother ! You are unjust to them, and you bitterly wrong me {looking her in the face. ) You are w^rong, mother. ( There is a prolonged silence. ) Mrs, Mockart, Whether I am wrong or not, only the future can show. But, now you have treated your uncle unfairly and unjustly, and either you will go and call him back or I shall go (pauses a moment. ) Your answer ? (Robert makes no reply.) Mrs, Mockart, Then, I shall leave the house immediately. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad III. 67 Robert. jNIother ! — do whatever you think is right. I Robp:rt sinks into a chair, resting his elboivs on his knees. ) ( INlRS. ISIocKART slo'ccly exits teft door. ) [After a pause Robert gets up and goes to the door where his mother zvent out, as if about to cat! her, but finally goes over to the right corner and puts on his coat and hat and goes over to the right door. ) Robert, ( To himself. ) No. I will not. f Takes off coat and hat and returns to his former position. ) ( /;/ a moment the bell is heard ringing and Etta is seen coming out from centre door, then turns and zvipes her eyes and goes out left door — rettirning opens the door for the Y^OVESSO^ and his ci'ife and daughter, zvho enter ; Etta closes the door behind them. When they see that Robert is engrossed in thought, Miss Powers motions to her father and mother to retire into the back parlor, luhich they do ; she remains standing at left zvall ; Ro- bert hearing someone.) Robert. Etta, why don't you open the door? I thought I heard the bell. {Pauses. ) Why don't you answer Etta ? I IMiss Powers makes a gesture indicating her embarrass- ment.) Robert. Come here, my dear sister, I Miss Powers again indicates her inability to comply, luith another gesture, pointing to the door of the back parlor, where her parents are. ) Robert. But I see, you are angry with me, too — but don't worry. Mother will not leave us. In a very short time everything will be all right. Miss Powers. Everything is all right — your play is accepted and will be pro- duced. (Robert. /;/ startled surprise, springs up and looks first 68 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad III. io'cuard the right — and seeing no one there turns in the other direction, and to his astonishi//ent sees Miss POWKRS. ) Robert, Is it really you, Miss Powers? Or is it simply an illusion of my imagination ? Were your words really true? Or was it a dream ? He starts toward her ; as he does so she passes to the right and the Professor and Mrs. Powers appear at the right side of the folding doors. ) Prof. Powers. Yes, it is true, Mr. Fulton has accepted your play, and his own theatrical company \vill soon produce it. Robert. [Enthusiastically crying out.) So, then, at last — my dreamland —my aspirations — become a actuality. J03' fills my soul ! I have reached the highest point of my life ! The suspense is over ! I am relieved— I am more than happy ! (/;/ a dazed condition ^ov,tjki goes to left door, zchere his mother zvent out.) [Pointing to the door.) My poor mother is behind this door making preparations to leave me. Poor mother -you have mis- taken my pleasure for pain — and my efforts for sufTering— and with a mother's heart you saw but failure and disappointment in store for me. But now comes the dawn of my success, and relief is at hand It is here ! You will no more depress — discourage me — for you will see that I was right— and you were wrong — and right I am. [Pointing to right door ivhere his nncle 7vent out.) And you, poor uncle, who called me a beggar, you are blind to what is beautiful — and do not regard a man as a man — you weigh him only by his gold — you do not know the purpose of man's ex- istence. Therefore you could not conceive the purpose of my aims and efforts — and now — I hope the results may open your eyes. You will no more call me a penniless beggar. ( Turning to the Professor and Mrs. and Miss Powers.) They say that you are strangers to me — mere strangers — human beings to be strangers to each other ! But to yoii I have to give my utmost thanks. You understand me. You know the longings of my mind and heart. You felt the fire that was burning in me — and with the true THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad III. 69 friendship that is born from a similarity of thought and feeling, you spurred me on in my efforts. My heart goes out to you — and m\- thanks ( to the Professor) as a man to a man. ( Falls exhaiistcdly on chair. ) Mrs, Powers. [Going to Robert.) You don't seem well, Doctor. Is anything the matter? Miss Powers. You are ill. ( Ojferino- hiui a glass of zuater. ) Robert* Drinks.) Thank you. I am all right now ; I am all right. I was surprised and astonished at your presence — by the good news — the best things come unexpectedly. My good fortune has over- powered me {Slight pause. Rising.) I beg your pardon — won't you be seated? {They take chairs.) Mrs. Powers. This is your office, Doctor? Robert. Yes, this is ray office, study and everything combined. ( Going to bookcase, ivhere is Mss. and opens it. ) Professor, this will interest you ; this is my workshop. You see I have in it enough material to work upon for the next twent}- years ( They all go over to bookcase: the Professor examining same.) Robert. {To all.) You see these boxes ; each of these contains ideas for a different play. Whenever a new idea strikes me, I just write it down and put it with the other material for that play. Prof* Powers. {Reading. ) A Romance of a Roman Prince. Robert. That is the title of an historical play. Miss Powers. {Reading.) Mr. Phillips of Philadelphia. 70 THE PLAY\VRIC;HT, Ar/ III. Robert* That is going to be a comedy. The principal character is a German-American {laiio/iino/y) who made a fortnne out of Phihi- delphia poultry. Prof. Powers. And 1 suppose spent his money in New York ? Mrs. Powers. {Readiiio;A His Partner's Wife. Robert. That is a play of American life. Miss Powers. {Reading again.) Mr. Roche of Rochester. Robert* That is a comedy which deals with a very rich oil man, who spent his best years in making a fortune, and neglected his life as a man — then came to New^ York on a visit and fell in love, for the first time in his life. Prof. Powers* And afterwards was sorry for it ? Robert. No, he felt sorry, that it did not happen before. Mrs. Powers. And are the stories of all these play.s written out ? Robert. Oh, no ; I carry them in my head for years. Prof. Powers. It will be easy sailing for all these {pointing to bookcase) after your play has been produced. I am certain that the morning after the opening night the world will proclaim "A new writer is dis- covered." Robert* I only hope they will not say "A new^ dreamer was discovered." {All tauo/}.) THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. 71 Prof. Powers* History so often repeats itself. Some men have gone about for years, suffering and struggling for recognition, and afterwards the world wondered how could such a man exist without hearing of him. Mrs* Powers. And that is what some of the critics predicted about your play. They could not understand, wh}^ not even one manager could see anything of value in your writings. And they added, "this shows, again, that many managers deal in materials that they have but little knowledge of." Prof. Powers. Yes, even Mr. Fulton had to be influenced by Mr. Webster's opinion and mine, before he decided to produce the play. Robert. But, is it a certainty that he will produce it ? Prof. Powers. Oh, yes, a certainty beyond doubt. He called upon me to-day and told me that his own company would put it in actual rehearsal next week, and they, j'ou know, are the best we have in this country to-day. Robert. I am glad, indeed, and if I succeed I shall attribute my success to you. Professor. {At ttiis point Mrs. Mockart enters teft door, dressed to go out ; as she sees tlie strangers sJie stops and remains standing, gazing at t/ieni. ) Robert. This is my mother — Professor Powers. {T/iey alt rise.) Mrs. Mockart. Yes, I am his unfortunate mother. Prof. Powers. Why unfortunate? I should rather say you are fortunate, ver}- fortunate indeed to have a son possessed with such natural gifts as to become a writer, a dramatist. 72 'THE PLAYWRK^HT, Act III. Mrs. Mcckart I sliould prefer that he had fewer gifts and be more of a son. Prof, Powers* It is true that a talented boy will be more apt to neglect his family and be more attentive to his work, but so much the better for his family, and it does not imply that he is any less his mother's son, because he is able to do things that seem to you out of the ordinary. Mrs, Mockart. I have a fear of those people who do extraordinary things. ProL Powers, It is only extraordinary to people who don't try — but very or- dinary to those who make efforts. Now, Mrs. Mockart, I was a poor farmer's boy, and my father never cared that I should be any more than a farmer like himself. But I was not contented to raise potatoes in summer and to sleep in winter. I had a craving for knowledge, to know more about the sky that I saw^ with my eyes above me — to know more about the people who lived around me, so I decided to go to the cit}^ ; I ran away from home — with- out means — without friends — with no one — to get an education. At my first attempt I failed. When I returned home, my father and my friends mocked me and ridiculed me with their sneers and their stupidity. I did not care, but I tried, and tried again and again, and when at last success came, and I became a college pro- fessor, they thought that I had done an extraordinary thing. It is the same thing with your son Robert ; }ou consider him now queer and neglectful ; after his success, you will see him with dif- ferent eyes. Mrs* Mockart, But here, Professor, is a different story ; you studied — you suc- ceeded; but Robert, after getting his education, branched off in a different line. He wants to write, but to write a man must have knowledge — experience — that requires a lifetime. Prof, Powers, But that's just where you are wrong, Mrs. Mockart. The man who attempts to succeed in writing -by learning and experience is never and never will be a writer— in the true meaning of the word. That is a knowledge that comes from within the man him- THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. 73 self — and no matter what line he has learned — nature forces him to give it up and yield to this instinctive and intuitive knowledge — and that is what Robert has done. He writes from spontaneous impiilse, like a true writer. Mrs. Mockart. Professor, you are talking silly prattle^ and I am sorry to tell you, that the thirty years you have learned and taught books, have made you little better than a foolish child. Robert. Mother, the Professor is my friend. What 5^ou have against me concerns me and me onl}^ but I insist that you do not intuit my friends. Mrs. Mock art. {Sneering.) Insist — indeed — I am done w^ith you and do not want to know you or your friends. They are strangers to me ; I never saw them before in my life— and I don't want to see them again. Robert. ( /;/ the utmost anger.) Mother, you don't know what ^-ou are saving. Mrs. Mockart. You are driving me to my grave. Mrs. Powers. INIrs. Mockart, although I do not wish to interfere — but I must. You are not only doing a great injustice to Robert, but j'ou are simply tormenting yourself and him unnecessarily. On the con- trary, I would fight with my last breath to help a young man who tried to accomplish something higher and better. You ought to be proud of him, and rather praise and encourage than censure and discourage. Mrs. Mockart. You tell me that — me, his mother — who nourished him and watched him grow from day to day ; who worked and tried to educate him at the expense of all others ; he represented all my hopes of success — the flower of my life — yes, my very life, and 3'ou think that I, his mother, would try to spoil his career— as you sa}^? If I only knew he was going in the right direction. When we plant corn, we expect corn. When you plant flowers, you ex- pect flowers, nothing else. When you study law, you expect to 74 THE PLAYWRK^HT, Act III. be a lawyer. When you study chemistry, you expect to become a chemist — but he has studied one thini( and is trying to become another. (Etta cntcrino- centre door. ) Prof. Powers. That is no comparison at all, Mrs. Mockart. It is not a question of study or learning. His writing is a creation — an invention of his dramatic instinct. I^ike the inventor, he sees certain things before him and he reproduces them in substance, without study or learning, and the same thing with a painter, who sees a picture in his imagination and paints it on his canvas, and this also applies to Robert. He sees and feels certain characters and he writes them down. Mrs. Mockart. Those stories are very good for you to tell to Robert, but not to me. I may not have the education that you have, but life's ex- perience has hardened me and educated me to be practical, and I say you are simply talking nonsense. Robert. Mother, why do you insult them ? They have not done any- thing to you. Mrs. Mockart. They have not done anything to me ? Why the}' have stolen my life's work like highway robbers, with their foolish empty flattery they have enticed you from your humble home. You never look at anybody — even your own mother — and you keep crying out, "These are the people who understand me ; these are the people whom I want ; they know my value. They are the real people." They look to me like educated fools. Robert. If you continue to insult my friends, either you or I must leave this house immediately. Mrs. Mockart. So — you want me to go — you actually turn me out of this house. Ver}^ well, I will go, but before I leave I will destroy your work as you have mine. ( Rustics to twotccasc and set "/no- a tot of J/ss. tears tlieni it p. \ THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act III. 75 — thro'cus them on the floor, and then throies them into thefii^e. Before she can return for more Miss PoWiJRS closes the doors of case and stands before them ivith out- spread arms. Mrs. Mockart tnrjis, and seeing her zuay barred assumes attitude of indignant astonishment.) (quick curtain.) {\i'V:t\ going to ROBERT /(7//5 in his arms iceeping. ) {At rise of curtain on call, Mrs. Mockart at door about to exit, loolzing angrily at others. Etta on Robert's arm, zveeping.) END OF THE THIRD ACT. 76 THE PLAVWRICHT, Ad IV. ACT FOURTH. ( A room behind the stage. The scene takes place durino; the first night's performance of the play in a Neiv York theatre. There are two large doors in the centre of the back scene leading to the stage, also a door on the left and one on the right. In the room there are different paraphernalia for stage luork, furni- ture, etc. As the curtain rises, Robert and Mr. Fur.TON are seen peeping in at the middle door, at the stage. ) Robert How quiet the audience is. Mr» Ftilton* Cool. Very cold — actually like ice. Robert, The play is onl}^ at its Ijeginning. Not a single point of im- portance has as yet been brought out, Mr* Folton. I hope luck will be with us to-night, and that our undertaking will be a success. ( They shake Jiands. ) Robert, I hope it will. {Listens.) But they are so silent — so quiet. Mr. Fulton. That you don't understand. Perfect silence is the best sign, for it means perfect attention, and perfect attention is admiration — and that is better than applause, ( Here applause is heard from the outside. ) Mr. Fulton. ( Peeping through the door quickly ) That is nothing — only the entrance of a favorite actor. [Vlie Leading Man enters from left, and the Leading THE PI.AYWRIGHT, Act IV. 77 Lady fj^om right. They meet, go to centre door and stand waiting for their cue. ) Robert ( To Leading Man.^ No — no. You enter from the other side; she enters from the centre. (Leading Man tnrns to go to the right, turns bac/^ and conies to centre.) Robert. I wish you success to-night, Mr. Rodman {Giving him his hand. ) Do your best — your very best. Leading Man. I will do my best — but my success depends upon my luck. Robert. Please play that scene in this act as I told you before, and you will see afterwards that I was right, although I have not the ex- perience that you have. Leading Man. I will see. It all depends on how the public take it. I will first play it my way, and if I see that the public don't take to it, I will play it your way. Robert. Then you propose to follow your own fancy first, and only after that fails, my idea comes next. Leading Man. - Yes, and I come first. {E.vits right door.) Mr. Fulton. [Alarmed.) They cough— they cough. Damn them! they must all have the grippe. [ To Leading Lady. ) Your make up is natural and gives your part an atmosphere of loveliness and charm, Miss Strong. I spared no expense or work on my part, and now our work is in your hands. If you succeed, we succeed. If you fail, we fail. Miss Strong — Leading Lady. I have always done my best — but to-night I will do the very best I can, not only for your sake and mine, but for the new writer, who deserves undoubted recognition. 78 THE PLAYWRICiHT, Act IV. Robert. Quick, Miss Strong. There is your cue. (Miss Strong ^'.r/A~ ^///r/Vj' ,• as she docs so, pro/oui^ed and enthusiastic applause is heard. ) (Leading Man re-oitcis i'io-ht.) Robert. ( 7\) Leading Man. ) It was good — it was good. You see I was right. The audience did not take to it the way you wanted it, but rather liked it in a comedy way, as I created it. Leading: Man* " Created it " is good. / created it ! You mean you zvrote it. Robert. But you see the audience like the scene only in a comedy way. Leading; Man. What does this damned fool of an audience know ? They don't know what they want. They come to laugh, and if I could only make up for my part in a night-shirt, they would laugh more than at any comedy you can ever write. Robert. You are sore because they don't want to take your acting seriously. Leadingf Man. What do they understand of what art is — seriously or not seriously — or what an artist is ? {Applause is heai'd in the theatre as the Leading Lady enters at centre door. ) Leading; Lady. ( To Leading Man.) Hello, John. What are you doing here? You are supposed to be now in Holland. Leading; Man. In the play I am supposed to be in Holland, and it makes no cifference if, personally, I am in hell. Leading; Lady. Wh}-, you haven't done so badly. THE PLAYWRIGHT. Act II 79 Mn Fulton* He is sore because the audience didn't take to the scene as he wanted to plav it. RobeH* The next scene you can play seriously. You are supposed to be an impulsive and impatient character — but in the next scene you will be in the presence of the lady you are in love with, and, no matter how rough a man is under some circumstances, he can behave himself like a gentleman. If 3-ou should play that scene in a rough and boisterous manner like the last one, it would be an utter failure, because it would be false and unnatural, for a man, no matter how unpolished he is, in the presence of his lady- love will be kind and sympathetic. He will hide the rough points and will make an effort to bring out the finest of his nature. Leadings Man. ( To Leading Lady, sotto voce. ) The way that kid talks gives me a pain. He speaks in a manner that leads one to imagine that he is great. I should like to know where he learned it all. Leading: Lady* What do you want, John ? No matter if he has learned it not, he understands it. It is born in him. or Leading: Man, Like you say that you were an actress when you were in your cradle. Leading: Lady* I will be an actress, even when I am in my coffin. Leading Man. Certainly ; you will be a dead actress. But, why talk this way ? The kind of audience that exist to-day don't surprise me at all. Look at a mere understudy — little Joe. What a success he made to-day, and how the people roared with laughter at every word he uttered — a mere fresh understudy — without any schooling or ex- perience. Leading: Lady. I think he deserves it. He w^as clever. 8o THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IV. Leading Man. Yes, it was pretty good — but it was forced — and besides, such a gentlemanly role can only be played by an actor who really is a gentleman. Leading Lady. What difference does it make ? He accomplished what was asked of him, and to arouse laughter a man must possess wit ; just as a man cannot impart virtue if he does not possess virtue. If he made them laugh, he must possess some of the qualities of a comedian. Leading Man. Nonsense —you can make people laugh by a stick. ( A cat passing by. ) You see that cat. Open those two doors ( pointing to centre), let that cat walk out on to the stage, and they will laugh more than at all the wit an actor can utter — or that a writer can write. (^Applause is heard inside in tlie tJieatre, and from tlie centre door other actors call. ) Actors* ( Calling. ) Miss Strong, the Act is over. You are called. ^SJie runs out, followed by the Leading Man. Robert and yi^. Vvvto'i^i peep out at centre door. The clamor outside indicates great enthusiasm. Pause. Second call for Leading Lady. ) Robert. That is quite encouraging, Mr. Fulton, don't you think so ? Mr. Fulton. The applause has an earnest and enthusiastic ring. Of course, we cannot depend entirely upon that ; people in the theatre are apt — out of politeness— to look pleasant, when they are really very much bored. Robert. So disappointment and displeasure will not make an American audience discourteous? Mr. Fulton. No. — And real merriment give them real pleasure, and they are the first to appreciate and applaud anything of genuine merit. {Enter Leading Man and Leading Lady, folloiccd by THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IV. 8i other actors, centre door. As they do so another outburst of applause is heard. They run out again, trying to drag the Manager out with them— failing to take him — they cry out to the Author who also escapes. ) Mr. Fulton. {To the Actors. ) No — no— not now. After the second act. ( They exit and re-enter three times. Lot of stage hands come in at the centre door zvith scenery and other para- phernalia.) Leading; Lady. ( To Mr. FuiyfON. ) Mr. Fulton, there is no change in costume for the next act. Tell the orchestra to play a popular waltz. Mr. Fulton. I am very sorry — that is against my rules. Leading: Man. ( To himself. ) Oh, damn your rules ! Robert. Rules are only made to be broken. Give them freedom, and they will play the second act with more pleasure. (Mr. FuIvTon^c^^ to the speakifig-tube and tells the leader to play a waltz. Leading Lady asks Robert to dance with her, and there is a general mei'riment in which the other actors join, while the stage hands continue to carry scenery iti and out, preparing for the next act. A boy hands a card to Mr. Fui^ton, ivhich he passes over to Robert. ) Mr. Fulton. ( To Robert. ) I think that they are some friends of yours, Robert . Robert. ( To boy. ) Show them in, Tom. {Music stops and all the actors disperse in different direc- tions. Boy goes out and returns zuith Mr. Moei^ner and his two daughters. ) Robert. Hello, uncle. [Shakes hands with him, also with his cousins.) 82 THK PLAYWRIGHT, Act I\\ The t'a'o young ladies are in evening dress. ) How do you like the play ? Mr. Moelner, It was very good, Robert Lucy. Robert, truly, I never believed that you were capable of doing such work. Lena. I never thought that your writings w^ould appeal to so fashion- able and literary an audience. Robert. You people never believed that I was capable of doing any- thing. Mr. Moelner. Of course, you cannot judge the success of a play by the first act — but so far, so good. Robert. If they like my first act, they will like the second, which is T:ietter still. Lena. It is strange. But the greatest applause and enthusiasm came from the top. Robert. That is just what I wanted. They are the real critics. Down- stairs they will look at each other and say, " It is clever." On the first floor, they will perhaps say, "It is good," and give a little encouragement; but on the top, if it is good and they like it, they w^ill applaud until their strength gives out ; and if you happen to «it near one of them, he may offer you some of his peanuts and tell you that it is a hell of a good play — it's " all right.'" {Enter Prof. Vowz^s, follozved by Mrs. and Miss Powers, left door.) Robert. Professor, let me introduce to you my uncle, Mr. Moelner. Uncle, this is Professor Powers, who has kindly consented to be- come my future father-in-law. Mr. Moelner. So, the Professor has consented. Why, this is a surprise to me. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IV. 83 Prof* Powers* But, Robert is ver}- deserving. Mr* Moelner* Yes, yes ; I always liked him ; lie is in every respect all right, and he would be a very good fellow if it were not for his foolish writings. Prof. Powers. But, to-night, we all have enjoyed his pla}-. Mr* Moelner* That is right [^Diusingly). We have enjoyed it. I never thought of that — that Robert's writings might bring joy to others. Robert* Mrs. Powers, allow me to introduce to you my two cousins — [turning to Miss Powers ) and Miss Powers — your future cousins, the Misses Moelner. Lucy* Delighted — to meet our future cousin [sliakes hands ivit/i her). Lena* ( To Robert, as she shakes hands also.) Then you are entitled to double congratulations. The possible success of j'our play and your assured success with Miss Powers. Miss Powers* His success as a writer I never doubted — and in half an hour more the people will confirm it. Lena* The first act was pretty good. Mrs* Powers* And the second act is still better. Lucy* But a very decisive act, for upon it depends the failure or the success of the play. Miss Powers* Success beyond a doubt. (Robert zva/ks up and down nervously, and then goes over to the Professor and his Uncle. ) 84 THE PIvAYWRIOHT, Act IV. Lena* If it had not been for my father, Robert would never have been recognized avS a writer. Miss Powers* I understand that your father objected to his writing. Lucy* He only said it — but in his heart he meant that he would like to see him succeed as a writer. Miss Powers. Oh, I see ! — He objected to it so long as he doubted his success; had he been sure of that, he might, possibly, have had no objection. Robert. ( To the Professor. ) Did any of the critics drop any remarks about the first act. Prof. Powers. No — they generally reserve their opinions until the next morn- ing — but the first-nighters seemed to like it. Mr. Moelner. The acting was very good, I think. Robert. Wait uncle, till the next act ; there is where the opportunity for acting comes in. Mr. Moelner. I wish you luck, my boy. I am very much interested so far, and will be overjoyed if you succeed ; for, truly speaking, I never believed you to have any capability for such work. Prof. Powers. Capability is one thing, but his persistent perseverance is what he deserves credit for, for the one is useless without the other. {A good many peopte are seen rusliijig out at centre door^ and back agahi and a number of actors enter from the left and go out at the centre door, othei'S standing ivait- ing for their cues ; clapping is heard, and one calls — " The act is up,'' and they go out at left door— the visitors headed by Professor Powers and Mrs. Pow- ?:rs make a rush to go out.) THE PI.AYWRIGHT, Act IV. 85 Miss Powers, [Aside to tier nwttier as stie goes. ) Mama, let me stay here. I want to watch the next act near Robert. ( Ttie Professor and Mrs. Powers exit at rigtit door. ) Robert, [Aside to tiis uncle -) By the wa}^, uncle, is my mother in your box. Mr. Mcelner. No, but I am sure that she is somewhere in the audience. Have you not seen her here to-night? Robert. I have never seen her since that memorable day that she left the house. Mr. Moelner. You ought to go out and hunt her up. Robert. I will — as soon as this act is started. Mr. Moelner. Come Lucy. Come Lena. (Lucy and Lena peep out at ttie audience ttirougti ttie stage.) Lucy. ( To tier fattier. ) Oh, what a grand sight the different colors of the ladies' dresses make, Lena. ' Now, I can imagine why actors get stage-fright. Lucy. If so many eyes were staring at me at one time, I would be pai- alyzed with fright. Lena. Therefore, you are not an actress. Lucy. I am glad I am not an actress. Mr. Moelner. [Aside to tiis daugtiters, pointing at Robert and Miss Powers.) What do you think of them ? 86 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act JV. Lucy. I don't see air\yt\\mg great in tier. Lena,* She's odd. Mr. Moelner. He is odd — and she is odd. That makes two odds.- Lena. (To Lucy.) Anyway, Lucy, he did not think you odd. Lucy* I don't care. Lena* Now, sister, you will have to be contented with that short, fat, little cloakniaker — Haynes. Lucy. And you will have to console yourself with that tall, slim, hun- gry, ugly-looking Doctor Mandel. Lena* Do you hear that, Papa ? Mn Moelner* Come now, stop your quarreling. ( T/iey go a7id offer congratidations to Robert and MiSvS Powers and exit teft door.) Miss Powers. ( Zb Robert.) Fear not, Robert; good fortune has been with us right along ; it brought us together ; it gave 3'ou a good mana- ger and good actors, and it will take us over this dangerous point in safety. Robert* I wish it were all over; the suspense is terrible. Miss Powers. The jury will decide in our favor, and then the suspense will be over. {LaugJiler and tlien stiriefcs of laiigliter heard from the outside. ) THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IV. 87 Miss Powers. {Raising her hands. ) Hear them laugh — hear them shriek. Robert. {Excitedly.) I knew it would come — knew it was bound to come. [Spontaneous applause is heard.) ( They peep out on stage. 1 Robert. The leading lady is playing grandly ; she deserves all the credit. Miss Powers, What a splendid scene that is ! Robert. It is the strongest in the play. {Another outburst of applause is heard, with acclamations of approval. Mr. Fui^tox rushes in right door.) Mr. Fulton. ( To Robert. ) The play is a hit beyond a doubt, {embraces him) You are a success, indeed. Robert. You and your actors deserve the credit. I only wrote the play, but your actors bodied forth the characters and have given life and expression to my^ thoughts. {Another outburst of applause is heard from the outside. ) Mr. Fulton. ( To Miss Powers — shaJ^ing hands. ] Miss Powers, our under- taking is a success, indeed. I never saw so enthusiastic a recep- tion given of a play- in all of my twenty-five years of experience. {more applause is heard. ) You hear that. It is not only spontan- eous, but it is enthusiastic and well-meant applause. {A few actors enter at the centre door. ) First Actor. ( To manager .) It's a hit Mr, Fulton. Second Actor. It's a success, Mr. Fulton. 88 THE PLAYWRIGHT, Ad IV. Third Actor. Author, it's jjjood. Leading Lady* I have never played to such an enthusiastic crowd in my life. They simply killed me with kindness. I couldn't speak a line without their interrupting me. ( ^l fCii' actoj'S are dispersed riohi and left, others eome in, and some theatrical paraphernalia are distributed avionir them, after which they exit through the centre door. ) {^o^v^vci ivalks lip and down the stage in a state of great nervous excitement. ) Miss Powers* Why are you so nervous and excited, Robert, now that you see the play is a success beyond any doubt ? Robert* What [ see and hear to-night — was in my imagination for}-ears. The realization makes me nervous. The pleasure to-night re- minds me of all the six years of anxiety that I endured — hoping against hope — without a word of consolation from anyone. I re- member the da3^s of patient waiting — while the very same play that you have seen to-night was in the managers' hands — for weeks and months — and then returned with the usual " regrets " "I am sorry'' &c. And it was so often repeated, that those " regrets " are fixed in my ears /(:>/' all time — and I cannot realize that what I hear to-night actually is the realization of my hopes. — Is it true ? Miss Powers* Yes, it is true, Robert — as true as my love. (Miss Powers puts her anus around Robert's neck and overcome by her emotion 7ceeps. He consoles her. Applause is heard — tremendous and continued — enthu- siastic and prolonged. Actors rush in and out ; they all cry to Mr. Fur/fON : "Mr. Fur/roN— //',? ^7 /;z7 — Con- gratulations, Mr. Fui/roN. It's a great hit.'") Miss Powers* Robert — you had better come out from here. Come and sit in our box. THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IV\ 89 Robert. You will excuse me, I must go look for my mother. She is somewhere in the audience. {They exit left door. A voice is heard behind the scenes. ) Turn up the lights — no, no, I mean make the house dark. Another Voice* More light. — What do you sit there for — are you asleep? {A feiv actors enter and having bee^i given some para- phernalia^ some of them go to the right and some of them to left. ) ( Voices are heard behind the scenes, indicating great excite- ment ; gunshots are heard on the stage ; bell rings, and the curtain goes dozen amidst great applause. ) {Leading man and leading lady eitter at the centre door ; manager appears at the right door. ) Leading Man and Leading; Lady* ( Together.) It's a great hit, Mr. Fulton. Mr* Fulton. I am proud of 3'ou, Miss Strong. It was the best work that I have ever seen you do. Miss Strongf. You must thank the author. It was his line, that gave me inspiration. Mr* Fulton* ( To leading man. ) It was very good John. Very well done. I am proud of you. ( Uninterrnpted applanse indicates a call. ) Mr« Fulton. It's a call. {Leading man and l«dy, and one or two others go out. Another call. Leading man and lady go ont. A third call ; Miss Strong ^^(9^j>^ out alone.) { Another outburst of applause. ) Miss Strongf. {Running in.) A call for you, Mr. Fulton. 90 THE PLAYWRUxHT, Ad IV. Mn Fulton* Where is the author? Where is the author ? A Voice, I just saw him go out. Another Voice. He must be among the audience. Mr. Fulton. ( To stage hand. ) Go look for him, Jim. Go and look for him, quick. — Miss Strong:. Come, Mr. Fulton. You go out and show yourself. (Mr. Fui^ton resists, trying to luait for Robert, but they push him out before them through the centre door. Applause subsides, and cries are heard from the house of Voices. " Author^ — Author — Speech— Speech— Author — ( They re-enter centre door.) Mr. Fulton. Is the author here ? A Voice. I can't find him He is in the audience. Another Voice. He is coming. He is coming, Mr. Fulton. Where has he been ? Jim. I found him in the street; walking without a hat. A Voice. The author is here. (Robert ^wzf^r.? ; they seize him and in spite of his resist- ance they push him out. Tremendous applause is heard, with cries of '"Speech! Speech f' He re-enters with fiozuers, and is decollated liy the manager luith a lureath of laurel. The 7vhole stage is crowded icith members of THE PLAYWRIGHT, Act IV. 91 the company and musicians. The musicians zuith in- struments under their arms offer their congrattUations. The voice of Mrs. Mockart is heard outside). Mrs. Mockart* (^At left door. ) Let me in ! Let me in ! He is my boy — my boy ! He is my son — Robert. Let her in. It is my mother. Let her in, I say ! She is my mother — my mother — (Mrs. Mockart enters left, and rustling to Robert falls weeping into his arms. Mr. M0E1.NER and Jiis daugh- ters stand at tJie left of Robert. The Professor and his wife and Emiey stand at rigJit. Mrs. Mockart taties Bmiey by t/ie hand ; bikings tier over to Robert. TJiey embrace as the curtain goes down. ) the end. PART II HIS PARTNER'S WIFE HIS PARTNERS WIFE A PLAY In Three Acts 6C82'4 ,/ '; By LEONARD LAN DBS CfuDitbcrs Fihif., Publishers and Pii)iteys. Library of Con^jress Two Copies Received jUt5L|i900 No Zd COPY. 2nd Copy Delivered to ORDER DIVISION JUL 23 19 00 CHARACTERS. Mr. John Burnett {a retired New York merchant; age ss)- Mr. George Burnett [his son, senior partner of the fiivi of Burnett & Lederman ; age 31). Mr. Emii. Lederman (J2inior partner of Btirnett & Lederman ; Dr. Morton {a Xezu York physician ; age 35). Mr. Russeli. (<^ uian of the world ; age 40). Mr. John Ai.eEn \a banker ; age 30). Mr. a. Thompson [a Xew York banker ; age 60). Mr. H. BeIvI^Ew (rt representative of the National Bank; age 48). Mr. F. Keen {representative of a luholesale Dry Goods firm ; age 30). Mr. Ferguson {manager firm Burnett & Lederman ; age 38). Servant {Jlale). Mrs. Louise Burnett [^wife of George Burnett ; age 2g). Mrs. ARI.INGTON {a friend of the Burnetts ; age 4g). Miss Jui.ia Ari^ington {her daug/Iter ; age ig). Mrs. Ci,ark {a widoiu ; age 34). EVEI.YN Burnett ia daughter of fohn Burnett ; age 24). Place : New York. Time : During the winter of 188—. Action of the play occurs during the space of a few weeks. FIRST ACT. House; of Mr. Gno Burnett, Jr., West 72D St. Drawing Room. December. SECOND ACT. Reception Room. Mr. Geo. Burnett, Jr.'s house. Two weeks eater. THIRD ACT. Library. Mr. Geo. Burnett, Jr.'s house. One week eater. HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Ad I. ACT FIRST. Drawing 7^00111 ofM.'RS. Burnktt, Jr's hoitse. Luxuriously furnished and brilliantly lighted. At rise of curtain, music is heard. Guests are seen to move to and fro in the rear. Mrs. Burnett, a woman of twenty-nine years — rather tall, brunette, refined, handsome, of stately commanding presence, enters quickly C. left followed by Mr. RusseIvI., C. right. Mfs» Burnett {Indignant.) Why will you persist in following me, Mr. Rus- sell? (Mr. RussEi. Burnett /;'6>w him, one of his cuffs is lost and falls under the sofa. BvELYN enters and remains standing like a statue and looks at Mrs. Burnett in silence. George enters and seeing his luife upon the sofa runs to her.) George What has happened to you, my dear ? (Mrs. Burnett is silent — seeing his sister.) George What has happened here, Evelyn ? {She trembles, hut gives no reply. George rushes to C. door. Calling, C.) Dr. Morton I Dr. Morton ! (Dr. Morton enters hurriedly, followed by a few guests . Dr. Morton goes toward Mrs. Burnett. ) Dr. Morton. Some water — some water. There is no danger ; it's nothing. George ( To KVEI.YN. ) What has happened here .-* Who was here ? {Harshly. ) Why don't you speak ? {He glances keenly about the 7'007n and as he is about to go to Mrs Burnett he discovei's the cuff. Picks it up and examifies it — looks towards the sofa and an expression of comprehension lights up his face. IvEDERMan enters R. C Addressing IvEDERMan — in low tone. ) Is this your cuff, Mr. Lederman? {l^is.T)'B,^'WLKN is astonished, looks at both of his hands and finds one cuff gone. ) Lederman Yes — {attempts to take the ciff from George, ivho refuses to let him have it). George {In a low tone). Will you tell me what happened in this room before you left ? (Lederman remains silent aud in the same posture. ) {Loudly. ) Will you answer my question ? ( Thei'e is a stir among the guests aud all look around. HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Act I. 23 Burnet t, Sr. {To George, /;/ a zuhisper. ) Control yourself, George ; control yourself —make no scandal. George {Excitedly.) Will you answer my question? Burnett, Sr* ( To George. ) Remember lie is your guest ; society will never forgive you for this. (George laughs hysterically — then, turning to the gnests holds out the cuff. ) {In a very excited manner.) Here, friends, is the evidence o how he has abused my hospitality. All that he possesses he owes to my father and this is the reward. But what {with a sneer) can you expect of a man who was brought up on Avenue A. Such a creature should be kicked out from decent society. ( Throws cuff, zuith force at IvEDERMAN'sy??cr. ) ( While George speaks Mrs. Burnett ci-ies out several times "George ! George ! ") {Cujiain falls as guests are seen running out in different directions. ) END OF FIRST ACT. 24 HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Ad II. ACT SECOND. {Reception room \-^^^ti follows her. As they go out the curtain falls. ) END OF THE SECOND ACT. 42 HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Ad III. ACT THIRD. {A Winter'' s evening. The library of Mr. Burnett, Jr.'s Jwuse. At the right fire burning in the gi'ate. Large table zuith chairs at left. At the rdght a small desk zuith sheets of paper scattered over it. Staircase going up to another room. Large bookcase at back. At rise the piano is heard playing selections from ' ' Orphee. ' ' ) (Mrs. Burnett enters f-om the right zuith sad and anxious expression. Sits at desk— picks up sheets of paper and reads. E teases and adds lines to zvriting. Takes a sheet of paper — reads — and zvith an expression of despair looks blank. Mr. Ferguson enters from R. and goes to Mrs. Burnett.) Mf« Ferguson Mrs. Burnett ! {Pause.) Mrs. Burnett! (Mrs. Burnett looks up to Mr. Ferguson.) Mrs. Burnett Oh, yes. {Rises^pause.) Did you succeed ? Mr* Ferguson Partly so. I could not obtain more than sixt}' thousand dollars, Mrs* Burnett Why — my tiara alone cost thirty-five thousand, and there is my brooch — my rings — Mr* Ferguson There's a difference when you buy and when you accept a loan. Mrs* Burnett Will that sum cover Mr Burnett's deficiencies? Mr* Ferguson No ; but that is not the question at present. The firm can pay twenty-five cents on the dollar. There's one creditor to be feared HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Act HI. 43 and that is Mr. Allen, You remain during the meeting in the next room and watch how things are progressing. If it becomes boisterous, and they do not agree, come in and add your money to be divided among them. (Mr. Ferguson takes sevei-al packages from pocket. ) Here is the money. (Mrs. Burnett takes packages and locks them in drawer of desk. Speaks in an absent-minded manner at desk.) Mrs, Burnett Yes — yes — if he would only have pity on me and forgive me ! Mr, Ferguson What did you say, Mrs. Burnett? Mrs* Burnett Nothing — nothing — (Mrs. Burnett hotds tier hands to her head and appears to be suffering. ) Mr. Ferg^uson Are you not well ? Mrs. Burnett It's nothing— I have only a dreadful headache. {Pause.) Mr. Ferguson, are Mr. Burnett's deficiencies the only cause of the firm's impending failure ? Mr. Fergfuson No, not entirely ; but taken in connection with the hard times and the continual differences, and quarrels, which, I may say, was Mr. Burnett's fault, it coul(J not be averted. Mrs. Burnett That's unfortunate. Mr. Ferguson Has anybody been here ? Mrs, Burnett Mr Lederman and Mr. Burnett's father, I believe, are here for over an hour. Mr. Ferguson None of the creditors? Mrs. Burnett No. (Mrs. ^{Jkset^ tiolding hand to her head and appearing to suffer.) 44 HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Act III. Mr* Ferguson This meeting means everything to yon, Mrs. Bnrnett, and to the firm. I know there will be a great fight — you must try and do the best you can. Mrs* Burnett Mr. Ferguson, we never know the value of the things we pos- sess until we are about to lose them. Rest assured I will do all that a w^oman can do. Mr. Fer§;uson {Pleadingly. ) Do the best you can [Exit L. ) (Mrs. YiVi^'^nr'i: goes and sits at deslz ; leans liead on liand in despairing manner. Gkdrge Burnett descends staircase holding papers in his hand. Passes tlirongh the room and is about to exit L. Mrs. Burnett i'z]^/? 5 deeply. Mr. Burnett turns around and goes towards Mrs. Burnett. ) Geor§:e Lionise — [pause) — Louise! What is the matter ? (Mrs. Burnett looks up— she appears to have been weep- ing. She rises. What is it? (Mrs. Burnett falls into his arms and sobs hysterically ) Patting her on the shoulder. ) That's all right. Everything will be all right. Mrs. Burnett When I look back into the years we have been married. I now see how good and kind you have been to me — but I fear I will never be able to repay you for your kindness. ( Disengaging themselves. ) Georo;e Now what talk is that ? Mrs. Burnett I fear we will have to part soon. George What nonsense has entered your head ? (Mrs. Burnett appears to be in great pain.) George Louise, you are not well. I can't understand you. The doctor HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, ^r^ ///. 45 has warned you again and again not to do any mental work, but you don't seem to care. {Pointing to desk excitedly. ^ What rub- bish is that you are continually writing and pondering over? Mrs. Burnett It is your sister's manuscript of a story. (Gkorgk runs to desk — seizes papers and in a furious man- ner is about to destroy them. Mrs. Burnett prevents him from doifig so.) George AVhat has this confounded stor}- got to do with you ? Mrs. Burnett Eveh'n wants me to put the finishing touches to it — and I want 5'our opinion about one point. Geor§:e I have no time to listen to such trash. Mrs. Burnett It will take but a moment. Georgfe I am in no mood now. Mrs. Burnett George, please. It will be a great relief for me. Georgfe Well, go on. Mrs. Burnett The main theme of the stor}^ was taken by Evelyn from the tale that Mr. Russell told at our entertainment. Georg-e [Eagerly.) Well? Mrs. Burnett Look what your sister has done. She describes the friend whom the British merchant thought was false, a most noble character — a true friend and one who has never broken the code of friend- ship, and lays all the blame upon his wife. George Whv does she do that? 46 HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Act III. Mrs. Burnett She has good motives for doing so. Gcorg:e And how does the story terminate ? Mrs. Burnett {Watching him closely.) She tells her husband all — she pro- mises him that a pure atmosphere will surround their home. He forgives her. They go to a new part of the world — among new people and begin a new life. Geor§:e That's a very nice termination for a story. In real life I hardly think it would happen. Mrs. Burnett Why not? Georgfe Why not ? — Suppose a man has a friend whom he cherishes — say almost worship — intrusts him wdth all his secrets ; looks to him for advice and encouragement and one day he finds the friend that he loved more than himself, deceived him. — Do you suppose he can trust him again and look in his eyes as if nothing had happened ? Oh, no — we are not so good natured, or, if you choose, not so high-minded. Mrs. Burnett But that is his wife. George So much the worse. Mrs. Burnett And what would you do with such a woman ? George {In a harsh tone.) What I would do with such a woman? {Em- phatically.) I would take her by the neck and throw her out into the gutter where she belongs. {Panse.) Mrs. Burnett Is there no such thing as forgiveness ? George There are some things that we cannot and must not forgive. HIS PiVRTNER'S WIFE, Act III. 47 Mrs. Burnett Your sister described her not as a bad woman — she's simply found of romance and a romantic life — if given another opportu- nity she would be true. Geofjje That makes no difference. Her infamous crime is too great to be forgiven. Mrs. Burnett But no matter what crime a man commits, it is proper he should be forgiven, and, in the eyes of the world, she is a prudent woman that stands by her husband. George Yes, in that respect a woman is superior in purity to a man. Mrs. Burnett Then the story must end that she is thrown out into the gutter? Georgfc ( With empJiasis.) Into the gutter, Madam. Mrs* Burnett Yes — but, George. — Georgfc I don't want to hear any more about the subject. Destroy the manuscript — burn it — burn it, I say, I don't want it in my house. ( Exits L. qti iciz ly. ) (Mrs. Burnett remains standing witti tier tiands resting on ttie table titze a statue. After prolonged pause. ) Mr. Burnett [Crying out.) Burn it ! Burn it ! ^Stie goes towards destz — taties ttie pages of ttie inanuscript and bairns ttieni. Stie opens ttie drawer of ttie desk, takes out ttie money and burns it — wattzs out triumpti- antly and in tiysterical laugtiter. ) Into the gutter ! Into the gutter ! {Exits R. I. ) (Servant enters f^om R. 2 E.^goes and tinoctis at L. D. George enters and Servant fiands tiim some cards.) 48 HLS PARTNER'S WIFE, Ad III. Geor§:e Show the gentlemen up. (Sp:RVAN'r is about to go out. ) John, bring up also some refreshments and cigars. . (Servant e.vits R. and George; exits L.) {Room remains empty for a second. Mr. Thompson, A1.1.EN, BE1.1.EW and Keen enter R. — They all gaze around the room. ) Allen Beautiful room. Thompson Beautifully furnished. Allen Beautifully decorated, and perhaps with our money. Belkw No doubt. No doubt. (Mr. Burnett enters L. ) George Good evening, gentlemen. {Shakes hands with all.) (Servant enters laith cigars and refreshments.) Be seated and make yourselves at home. Here are some cigars — {pause.) You'wilL'excuse me, we will be ready in a few minutes. {Exits L. All light cigars and drink and take seats. ) Thompson I wonder how many thousand dollars this cigar will cost me. Allen It will cost me nothing. Keen Do you think we are invited here to a picnic, Allen ? Allen I don't know but I wouldn't take ninety-nine cents on a dollar. Keen You are a silver man, Thompson ; you should be satisfied with a fifty-three cent dollar Thompson I would rather have a fifty-three cent dollar than no dollar at all. If they offer me fifty cents on the dollar I will be satisfied. HIS PARTNER'S WIFE. Act III. Allen 49 You are all in good humor, this evening. Three of ni}- largest customers have failed this month. Thompson Did you get any silver dollars ? {Laughter.) Allen I would have been well satisfied wath tin dollars. Bellew Joking aside, we have too many failures an3'wa3\ Allen I tell you it is all owing to the looseness of our laws. We laugh at the laws of the ancients, but some of them are excellent and most practicable even to-day. Take for example the old Roman law that permitted the creditors of an insolvent debtor to sell him and his wife and children into slavery. Isn't that a great law? {Laughter.) If we had such a law there would be no failures. Keen Here is a better one — in China they chop his head off. Allen That's more practical. {Laughter. ) Thompson The law is all right. The trouble, Allen, is, your debtor's turn is to-day but your own turn ma}^ come to-morrow. {Draws hand across throat. All laugh hea^'tily. ) Allen The Roman and Chinese laws I want for m}^ debtors ; the American laws are good enough for me, Thompson. {Puffs his cigar. All laugh. Pours out some ivine and drinks. ) Keen Really, it was a surprise to me when I heard that Burnett's firm was shak3\ We always considered it Ai. 50 KIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Act III. Allen It is said that his wife is very extravagant and that he foolishly allowed.her full swing. Thompson Next time, Allen, when you lend a man money, be sure to ask full particulars about his wife. [Laughter.) (Mr. George Burnett, Mr. John Burnett," Mr. Leder- MAN and Ferguson entei^ L. George and Ferguson carry papers. ) George [Points to table.) Gentlemen, be seated, iAll take seats around tlie table. ) You are our principal creditors and we called this private meeting to see what arrangements we can make for fair settle- ment. You are all aware my father founded the firm which now consists of Mr. Lederman and myself. The firm has passed through many a crisis, but has never failed. It will depend upon your decision to-night whether the firm will close its doors to- morrow. [Prolonged silence in the room.) Mr. Ferguson, please hand the balance sheets to the gentlemen. (Mr. Ferguson hands the balance sheets to one of the creditors.) Gentlemen, this is the financial condition of our firm. ( They all rise from their seats and form a group, and on fop of each other they examine the balance sheet. Pause. — At a glance of the paper they utter expressions of astonish- ment.) Allen ( Taking balance sheet in his hand and then throiving paper ivith force on the table.) I'll be damned if I'll accept such an offer. ( Walks up and down nervously with hands behind back.) Twenty-five cents on the dollar — that's out of the question. Thompson We ought to know at least the cause of this dreadful embarra^ss- ment. Bellew Why, our bank considered your firm one of the most reliable. I am empowered to accept any reasonable offer, but — HIvS PARTNER'S WIFE, Ad III. 51 Allen This is the first time that I have had any dealings with you, and if 3^ou think I will accept svich an offer, you are entirely mistaken. Georgfc (/;/ quiet tone. ) That's the best we can do. {Alt rise — there is a general uproar and they form in group to talk the matter over) Thompson {Speakifig to group ) Let us be a little reasonable. Let us hear the cause of this embarrassment. [AU turn to their seats except Mr. Ai^i,e;n who walks up and down the room nervously . ) Keen {At table.) The firm's embarrassment is a surprise to us all. We would like to hear the cause. Alien {Interrupting, and in a loud voice.) The cause ! I'll tell you the cause. Have you not read in the newspapers of the grand entertainments this man gave with our money — with our money ? Gcorg:c {Angrily. ) You are my creditor, but you are in my house. Burnett, Sn Gentlemen, I will tell you the cause. (Mr. Lederman interruptingly and rising.) Mr* Lederman Mr. Burnett, Mr. Burnett, I will explain the cause — {pause) Gentlemen, an employee used the firm's money for private specu- lation, and has done that for quite a considerable time. In the end he could not meet his liabilities and that, combined with the •hard times — Allen Who was this employee ? Burnett, Sr. ( Rising and excitedly. ) No — no — no excuses — gentlemen — the 52 HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Act III. collapse of this firm will mean that thirty-five years of my honest work has been for nothing ; but I must tell you the truth. It was no employee — it was my — (^Mr. Lf:derman rising — knocking furiously on table.) Lederman No — no — no, Mr. Burnett, you are too excited ; let me explain. ( Piano is heard playing first a sad melody, then Mrs. Burnett is heard singing a popular melody with piano accompani- ment foUoived by a, ^ound of hysterical laughter.) Geofgfe ( To ^WRGVSON— pointing to R. D. ) — Mr. Ferguson, please tell Mrs. Burnett this is no time to play. (Mr. Ferguson rhes and goes to R. D. ) Ferguson Mrs. Burnett— Mrs. Burnett. (Mrs. Burnett enters R. ivith hair hanging doivn at had- and partly hiding her face. All rise as she enters, (bos- ses towards staircase— stops and looks at gentlemen. ) Mrs, Burnett Good night ! Good night ! Ferguson (Aside to Mrs. Burnett, j This is the time for you to speak. (Mrs. Burnett looks at Ferguson with a blank stare and laughs — Ferguson repeats. ) This is the best time for you to speak . ( Mrs. Burnett laughs. George rising goes towards Mrs. Burnett. ) George Louise, please go to your room. (She takes no notice of his rem,ark and goes toivards the table. Looks at the geyitlemen sta,ringly and takes a glass and pours out some wine— drinks — laughs. ) (George rings bell and. Servant enters.) George ( To servant. ) John, run quickly and tell Dr. Morton to come HIS PARTNERS WIFE. Act III. 53 here at once. If he is not at home bring any doctor and tell ^larie to go after my sister Evelyn. ( Servant exits. ) (George goes towards Mrs. Burnett and takes tier hij the arm, leading Jier toivards staircase. Sl^e resists and breaks loose- from Mm. ) Mrs. Burnett {Pushing him from her.') No, no, you want to throw me out into the gutter. Gentlemen, he wants to throw me out into the gutter — his own wife into the gutter. (George turns pale and staggers as though about to fall — then goes towards the table and resumes seat. Mr. Fer- guson .^oes to Mrs. Burnett ) Fei'§:uson Mrs. Burnett, what have you done with the money ? (Mrs. Burnett looks at him and laughs.) Fergfuson {Aloud to everyone. ) Where is the money, Mrs. Burnett ? (Mrs. Burnett /r/?/$r/H;?^. ) Burnett, Sr, What money, Ferguson ? Ferg^uson {Rising from table.) Before the meeting I pawned all her jewels and realized on them sixty thousand dollars which she in- tended to offer to the creditors. Burnett, Sr« ( To Mrs. Burnett. ) Where is the money ? (Mrs. Burnett /f/?/r///.s.) Mrs* Burnett Into the gutter — into the gutter. Burnett, Sr. Where did she put the mone}', Ferguson ? Ferguson {Pointing to deslc.) In that desk. (Burnett, Sr., runs to desk opens drawers with tremhling 54 HIS PARTNER'S WIFE, Act III. hands and finds draivers empty. Dr. Morton enters quickly R. ) Burnett, Sf . Ivouise, for God's sake, tell us what you have done with the money. {She takes him hy the arm and goes down to the fireplace. ) Mrs* Burnett Into the gutter— [Pointing towards tJie fire.) Into the gut- ter- (Laughs.) (Dr. Morton goes towards Mrs. Burne;tt — takes her arm, motions to FERGUSON to take the other. They lead her up the staircase; she resists; screams and laughs and then disappears. Mr. Burnktt, Sr., examines and finds remnants of the burned money. After a long silence Thompson speaks ) Thompson I will accept the offer. Keen vSo will I. Bellew I suppose I will have to do like the rest. {Pa7ise.) Thompson (Indignantty.) Allen what are you waiting for? Have you no human feeling in you ? Allen I — {screams are Jieard) I accept {quic/ily.) {Alt rise except George. Credit oj^s after bidding good night, exeunt R. 2. George remains sitting on chair in depressed condition.) (Mr. V"EKGvsoisi decends staircase/otto7i'ed dy Dr. Morton.) Ferguson ( To BiTRNETT, vSr —Is everything all right? Burnett, Sr* Yes. Dr. Morton {To George.) It would be necessary to have someone to watch her until — HIS PARTNER'S WIFE. Act III. 55 Burnettt St* Leave him alone, Doctor, leave him alone. — Dr. Morton I am going to send someone to be with her the whole night. Burnett^ Sr* Doctor, do whatever you think best — ^is there any immediate danger ? Dr. Morton Yes — she has a mania with suicidal tendencies — later on I will put her in a private asylum. (Evelyn enters right with frightened appearance ) Evelyn Father, what is the matter? Burnett, Sr. Everything is all right now ; we have made a satisfactory set- tlement. Evelyn I am glad to hear it. {Sees George sitting in a depressed man- ner and wants to go towards him btit her father prevents her.) What is the matter with George ? Burnett, Sr. Leave him alone — he is exhausted. ( Calling. ) Lederman take Evelyn home. (Lederman takes his hat and as he is about to go out with Evelyn, George rises and goes towards him.) Georgfe {Offering hand to Lederman, n'ho takes it. ) I have done you a great injustice. I beg your pardon. Now I can see that you have been my friend — and a true one. From to-day on I will do my best to be worthy of your friendship. (Evelyn and Lederman exit R. George goes to table — sits down ivith head resting on hand and weeps bitterly. Curtain falls as Mrs. Burnett's screams are heard.) THE END. JUL Sll*** JNECOPYREC'D H 29 83 "'** \ -y^ws ^"^ % ^^•'^^ ^ \* V •" -y °* V'^ '-^4^- o V <. *' .^ ..'._ -^. V * A^ ^ "" * -^^^^ '-mms j-^^'' ^^ -..•'