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A BOOK of 
 ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
A BOOK OF 
 ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Compiled by 
 BARBARA LOUISE SCHAFER / 
 
 Teacher of English in the 
 Indianapolis Technical High School 
 
 C3 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1922 
 By The Bobbs-Merrill Company 
 
 y 
 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
 OCT 23 "22 
 
 ©CU686424 C/ 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 I am greatly indebted to the authors and pubHshers 
 who have so generously permitted their plays to ap- 
 pear in this collection. I desire to express special 
 thanks to Professor T. E. Rankin of the Rhetoric De- 
 partment of the University of Michigan, whose en- 
 thusiasm first inspired me with interest for the one-act 
 play ; to Principal M. H. Stuart of the Arsenal Tech- 
 nical Schools for his kind interest in the work; and to 
 Miss Mabel Goddard, Head of the English Department 
 of the Arsenal Technical Schools, whose generous as- 
 sistance and cooperation have been invaluable in the 
 preparation of this little volume. 
 
 B. L. S. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The One-Act Play : Its Relation to the Short Story 
 
 One fateful night, we are told, a king was enter- 
 tained at the home of his most famous general. But 
 even as he supped, the treacherous host sat in another 
 room of his castle, planning the murder of his royal 
 guest. He mused upon the deed at length, until m 
 the silence of his own chamber, he began to speak 
 aloud : 
 
 "U it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
 It were done quickly." 
 
 And the significance of Macbeth's assertion is not 
 confined to the complexity of the affairs which called 
 it forth. It would scarcely be an extreme perversion 
 to extend the significance of this declaration further. 
 Indeed the "key-words" of all modern life may be said 
 to be, " 'Twere well it were done quickly !" 
 
 This tendency toward brevity and compression, is 
 perhaps most phenomenal in the field of Uterature. In 
 a certain sense the short story has already superseded 
 the novel ; and now its congenial cousin, the one-act 
 play, has come to assume certain of the prerogatives 
 of the traditional drama ! 
 
 Of these two ''short" forms, the short story having 
 been longer with us, is better known. Its limits, pos- 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 sibilities, and technique have been so frequently ex- 
 hibited as to require little discussion. The workings 
 of the one-act play, though similar, are more abstruse. 
 In either case, however, it is essential for a sane com- 
 parison that the form shall speak for itself. 
 
 An interesting introduction to the modern one-act 
 play may be obtained in the little plays of this volume. 
 Simple situations, "out-of-the-way" episodes, single 
 ideas, and few characters make up the effectiveness of 
 each. 
 
 As may be seen, often the one-act play is only a 
 "dramatized anecdote" without any particular com- 
 plication of plot. In so short a space, there can, of 
 course, be little or no character development, but there 
 certainly is character portrayal, and that of a rather 
 subtle sort. The characters in these plays are sug- 
 gested by a few broad telling strokes, at the outset being 
 sometimes connected by a bit of sparkling dialogue : 
 
 THE BANK ROBBERY 
 
 Chief Robber ( Whispers) : The stuff is in our 
 hands, boys. Get to work. 
 
 First Robber: I got me drill ready. 
 
 Chief Robber : Quick, attach the wires. 
 
 Second Robber: Say — soft pedal that gas. I 
 ain't hurryin'. 
 
 Were these characters to be described in a short 
 story they would undoubtedly lose some of the innate 
 charm which the first-hand contact of the playlet re- 
 veals. In the one-act play a personal sense of com- 
 panionship is gained through action and speech, while 
 in the short story the characters are viewed more dis- 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 tantly and Indirectly because of the combination of 
 speech and action with description and analysis. 
 
 How utterly inadequate would indirect methods be- 
 come in the treatment of vivacious life! The short 
 story gives its readers the opportunity of probing 
 down into the depths of a man's mind, we may study 
 there at length his problems and his emotions, — his 
 loves and his hates. The value of all this should not 
 be underestimated. There is, however, a possibility 
 that there has been of late an extreme pyschological 
 emphasis in the short story, so it is refreshing to find 
 more frequently in the one-act play the action which 
 results in a deed. And in one-act plays like The Bank 
 Robbery and The Deacon's Hat physical action has its 
 importance. 
 
 This physical action of the one-act play creates in- 
 tensity. There is a compression about the play for the 
 narrow compass demands that the dialogue though 
 entertaining be succinct. It is not always so with the 
 short story, often its primary interest Is In style. Even 
 when the plot of the story is well handled It Is fre- 
 quently the complete and illuminating descriptions 
 which give it its fine artistic finish. 
 
 On the other hand, some one-act plays are simply 
 impressions, but powerful Impressions. In fact there 
 is little to forget, because there is so little action. As 
 in the little drama. In the Light of the Manger, and 
 Ever Young the illumination is great just because 
 there is no thesis, there is simply a transcendent pic- 
 ture of life. In even so short a compass the reader's 
 experience is permanently enriched; he learns for the 
 first time the life of a new world. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Now if this same theme were to be developed in 
 the short story it might have a tendency to become 
 sentimental ; it would then demand a fuller treatment, 
 and there is danger in expanding what is best when 
 only stated. But here in the little drama there is 
 nothing irreverent, nothing cheap. 
 
 Like the short story, the one-act play would teach as 
 well as entertain. The Exchange illustrates well the 
 acceptability of dramatic teaching, and the superiority 
 of its portrayal over the didacticism of a story in the 
 Hawthorne style. 
 
 Sometimes the one-act play presents an ugly pic- 
 ture, and the effect as a whole is morbid and unhealthy. 
 Somehow we like this kind of realism better in the 
 story; for example, in one such as Hardy sometimes 
 employs. We want it meditated ; even a taste taken 
 directly in the one-act play makes a person's mouth 
 *'puckery." 
 
 But by far the greater number of one-act plays are 
 of a healthier nature, though they often deal with the 
 follies and secret tragedies of modern life. Among the 
 one-act plays which seem most akin to the story are 
 those which George Middleton styles "plays of con- 
 temporary life." They deal with intense moments in 
 the lives of thinking, feeling men and women. As 
 Middleton himself expresses it, "They make no pre- 
 tense save to show character in action, and in several 
 instances to picture its different reactions from the 
 same stimulus." "Certain ideas," he tells us, "find 
 their best expression in the concentrated episode." 
 
 An so one might continue, finding always in the 
 one-act play as in the short story, variety of theme, 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 variety of treatment, and of charm. In each we ex- 
 pect a skilful technique ; indeed both demand a fineness 
 of construction. The short story has been defined as 
 "a brief, original narrative free from excrescence of 
 events cunningly arranged for the production of a 
 single predetermined effect." But where we might en- 
 dure a little extraneous material in the short story, we 
 can not permit it in the one-act play. The latter form 
 must always remain a supreme example of concentra- 
 tion, intensity, and "crystallization." 
 
 There are those with us who decry both the brief 
 story and the brief play because of their limitations. 
 To be sure, it must be admitted that in these shorter 
 forms problems do not have to be solved, and certain 
 arbitrary premises can well be taken. Both the 
 dramatist and the novelist, on the other hand, have to 
 possess a keener and more penetrating imagination, 
 and a finer discrimination than the authors of the 
 short story and the one-act play. Sometimes, how- 
 ever, limitation spells advantage. With Percy Mac- 
 Kaye we may say that these distinctive forms are 
 capable of expressing what the longer forms can not. 
 
 So we return to Macbeth as he sits in his castle, 
 planning the murder of his royal guest. Again we 
 would venture a literary application of his regicidal 
 musing : 
 
 "If 'twere done when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
 It were done quickly." 
 
 And in the light of modern workmanship one might 
 be forgiven for adding this explanatory sentiment : 
 
 "For 'tis not only quickly done, but well !" 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Nevertheless — 
 Stuart Walker i 
 
 The Heart Of Pierrot — 
 Margretta Scott 23 
 
 The Bank Robbery — 
 Max Ehrmann 37 
 
 The Dryad and The Deacon — 
 William O. Bates 55 
 
 In The Light of The Manger — 
 William O. Bates 67 
 
 Phoebe Louise — 
 Bernard Sobel 'J^ 
 
 Ever Young — 
 Alice Gerstenberg 97 
 
 The Man Who Couldn't Say "No"— 
 Claudia Lucas Harris 133 
 
 The Deacon's Hat — 
 Jeanette Marks 155 
 
 The Exchange— 
 Althea Thurston 189 
 
NEVERTHELESS 
 
 By 
 Stuart Walker 
 
STUART WALKER 
 
 Stuart Walker is one of the best-known producers 
 and playwrights in America. He was play reader, 
 actor, and stage manager with David Belasco, 1909- 
 14, but he has been an independent producer since 
 July, 1915. He is a producer in New York during 
 the winter, and in Indianapolis and Cincinnati during 
 the summer. He is the author of Portmanteau Plays, 
 1917, More Portmanteau Plays, 1919, The Birthday 
 of the Infanta, a dramatization of Oscar Wilde's story. 
 Portmanteau Adaptions, 1921, etc. He is a member of 
 the American committee of the Salzburg Festival 
 Theatre, one of the greatest forces in the theaters of 
 the world. 
 
 Stuart Walker is the originator of the Portmanteau 
 Theatre, and has frequently delighted ''young people 
 from seven to seventy" by his delightful Portmanteau 
 performances. Both the children and grown-ups who 
 have been fortunate enough to see these perform- 
 ances will never forget them. 
 
 No playwright is more dearly loved by the children 
 than is Stuart Walker, and he pleases them greatly 
 when he himself acts. (He has plans, too, for a real 
 theatre especially for the little folks.) Probably not 
 since the days of Peter Pan has anything pleased the 
 children so much as Mr. Walker's own plays, such 
 as Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil and its 
 sequel, Sir David Wears a Crown. Adults, too, are 
 charmed by the picturesqueness, originality, quaint 
 humor, and beautiful idealism of the Portmanteau 
 
 2 
 
NEVERTHELESS 3 
 
 plays ; they will never forget that "a trimplet is a hole 
 that a sunbeam makes in a shadow," that ''etiquette 
 is a set of rules made by people who never smile," or 
 that "heaven is full of days and they're all coming 
 this way." 
 
 All theatre-goers owe Stuart Walker much. Ed- 
 ward Hale Bierstadt has said of him: "I do not 
 think I have ever known a man who gave more 
 unsparingly of himself in all his work. His never 
 wavering belief in his work and his ability has 
 brought him through many a pitfall. It is not a 
 petty vanity but the strong conceit of the artist, that 
 which most of us call by the vague term 'ideals'." 
 
 NEVERTHELESS 
 
 The regeneration of this burglar is not at all an 
 ordinary one since it is accomplished by two children 
 and a dictionary. But the very whimsicality of the 
 play is its charm. As Edward Hale Bierstadt puts 
 it, "Whether or not one likes Nevertheless depends 
 entirely on one's point of view. If one looks at it 
 in the cold gray light of middle-aged inexperience it 
 is doubtless a rather tedious trifle, but if one's eyes 
 are those of childhood 'where every one lives happy 
 ever after' and an all abiding faith in the ultimate 
 fitness of things is the chief tenet of one's conviction 
 — one will like the play." 
 
 Nevertheless can be directly traced to a course in 
 the English and Scottish Ballad that Mr. Walker once 
 took under George Morey Miller, who is now profes- 
 
4 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 sor of English in the University of Idaho. It was 
 an experiment in the simplicity of "folk" lore tried 
 on the stage. 
 
 (Copyrighted, 1921, by Stewart-Kidd Company. All 
 rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the publishers, 
 Stewart-Kidd Company from Portmanteau Plays by Stuart 
 Walker. This play is fully protected by copyrights. All 
 public performances are forbidden. All dramatic and pro- 
 ducing rights are retained by Stuart Walker who may be 
 addressed at 304 Carnegie Hall, New York City.) 
 
NEVERTHELESS 
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 A Girl. 
 
 A Boy. 
 
 A Burglar. 
 
 The Scene is a room just upstairs. 
 
 The Time is last night — or to-night, perhaps. 
 
 Prologue: Our next play is an interlude be- 
 fore the curtains. You may sleep during an inter- 
 lude, but you mustn't snore or have the nightmare 
 because that would be very discourteous to the 
 author and very discouraging to us. We can not live 
 if you do not like us, and you can not like us if you 
 do not keep awake. 
 
 (After the Prologue has bowed the Device-Bearer 
 brings tzvo chairs, a stool, a table, a lamp and places 
 them on the forestage. If you are not a very grown- 
 up you know immediately that you are in a room that 
 belongs to very young people. 
 
 (The Boy enters carrying a book. He is angry. 
 He looks around to see if any one is looking and 
 then goes to the table and tries to remove some money 
 from a small bank that has two locks; but he can't 
 find the keys. 
 
 (As he is shaking it violently in an attempt to force 
 it, the Girl enters.) 
 
 Girl : Billie ! 
 
 5 
 
6 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Boy: I will force it! 
 
 Girl: You made a compact with me. 
 
 Boy: Don't use words like that — I hate words. 
 (He continues to try to force the hank.) 
 
 Girl: It's a miserable shame, Billie Cleves! 
 
 Boy: Now, Lou, don't use any more words on 
 me. I won't stand it. 
 
 Girl: Well, what shall I say? 
 
 Boy: Say dirty shame. 
 
 Girl : Billie ! 
 
 Boy: I don't care. I'm tired of being corrected 
 all the time. When I'm old enough to paddle my 
 own canoe, I'm going to murder grammar all the 
 time. I'm going to use short words and I hope ril 
 say "I seen" and "I would have went." 
 
 Girl: Billie Cleves! 
 
 Boy: And, if I can get this bank open, I'll go 
 away forever to-night and I'll talk just as I please. 
 
 Girl: My, Billie! You are angry! 
 
 Boy: Angry! I'm mad! I'm awful mad! (He 
 shakes the hank terrifically.) 
 
 Girl: You'll break it. 
 
 Boy: I don't care. I'm going to bu'st it — 
 
 Girl: Billie, mother wouldn't like that word at 
 all. 
 
 Boy: I don't care. I'm going to bu — break it 
 open and then I'm going to leave home forever. (He 
 puts it on the floor and starts to trample it.) 
 
 Girl: Billie Cleves, don't you dare! That's half 
 mine. And you can't open it unless we both agree. 
 
 Boy: Who said so? 
 
 Girl: Why, it was our compact. 
 
NEVERTHELESS 7 
 
 Boy: If you were fourteen years old, Louise 
 Cleves, and your mother punished you for speaking 
 bad English you'd forget all about compacts. 
 
 Girl: No, I wouldn't. 
 
 Boy: Yes, you would. 
 
 Girl: No, I wouldn't. 
 
 Boy: You don't know what you'd do; you're not 
 fourteen and you're not a boy. 
 
 Girl: I wouldn't break a compact if I were a 
 hundred and fourteen. 
 
 Boy: Now, Lou, listen. 
 
 Girl: I don't want to listen.* 
 
 Boy: Just put yourself in my place. 
 
 Girl: Billie Cleves, we agreed never, never to 
 open that bank until we were in need of food and 
 clothing. 
 
 Boy: Well, I'm in need, Lou. 
 
 Girl : No, you're not ; father and mother give you 
 all the food and clothes you want. 
 
 Boy: But I'm going to run away forever and go 
 to Honolulu or Texas. 
 
 Girl: No, you're not. 
 
 Boy: I am. 
 
 Girl: Well, Billie, you deserved to be corrected. 
 
 Boy: All I said was, ^'Ji^^'s a rotten rider." And 
 he is. 
 
 Girl: Well, that wasn't nice. 
 
 Boy (Exasperated at not being able to open the 
 bank): Lou, where is my key? 
 
 Girl: I put it away. 
 
 Boy : Where ? 
 
 Girl: Our compact was for me to take the key 
 
8 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 to your blue lock and hide it, and you were to take 
 the key to my pink lock and hide it so we couldn't 
 fall into temptation. 
 
 Boy : I'll pick the locks like a burglar. 
 
 Girl: You can't. They're both pick-proof. And 
 there's only one key in all the whole wide world for 
 each lock. 
 
 Boy: I'll get your key and open your lock. 
 
 Girl: My key won't open your lock. 
 
 Boy: I can't find yours where I hid it. 
 
 Girl: I found it and hid it again. 
 
 Boy: \Vhere is it? 
 
 Girl : I don't think I ought to tell you, Billie, I'm 
 afraid you'll fall into temptation. 
 
 Boy: How about you? 
 
 Girl: Boys are more easily tempted than women. 
 
 Boy: H-m! 
 
 Girl: Because they get out more. 
 
 Boy: I'll throw it and break it. 
 
 Girl: Now, Billie, don't be rash. 
 
 Boy: I don't care. 
 
 Girl: Father'll hear you. 
 
 Boy: Father won't hear me much longer about 
 this house. 
 
 Girl: Please, Billie, read your book. 
 
 Boy: I won't do it, I won't. I'm sick of goody- 
 goody books. , 
 
 Girl: What did mother give you to read.^ 
 
 Boy (Sullenly): There it is. 
 
 Girl: The Narrow Path! Why, she sent me up 
 here to read that, too. 
 
 Boy: What for? 
 
NEVERTHELESS 9 
 
 Girl : I said *'he don't" instead of "he doesn't." 
 
 Boy: Just after I said it? 
 
 Girl : Yes. 
 
 Boy: You are a goose. 
 
 Girl: But I don't get angry like you do. 
 
 Boy: You're not as old as I am. Other boys of 
 my age do pretty much as they please. 
 
 Girl : Well, here we are. There's no use quarrel- 
 ing, because it's mother's plan to make us read a 
 fine book whenever we make mistakes in grammar. 
 And you know mother's plans! (She opens the 
 book.) Oh, dear, no pictures! . . . Let's hurry 
 up. 
 
 Boy: I won't do it. 
 
 Girl: Come on, Billie, and get it over with. 
 
 Boy: Give me the keys or I'll break — I'll bu'st it. 
 
 Girl: I won't give you the keys and you won't 
 break it — William Cleves, if you don't live up to 
 our compact, I'll not have anything more to do with 
 you. 
 
 Boy: I don't care. (He throws the bank vio- 
 lently.) 
 
 Girl: Billie! (She pounces upon the bank and 
 bursts into tears.) I never thought you'd do it. (The 
 Boy moves about uneasily.) I never thought you'd do 
 it. (She weeps torrentially.) 
 
 Boy: Now, Lou — 
 
 Girl : You broke our compact and tried to destroy 
 our bank. 
 
 Boy (Defianth): I tried to bu'st it — and I hope I 
 did. 
 
 Girl: Billie Cleves! — Well, you didn't even nick 
 
10 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 it. (She takes up the hook after carefully placing 
 the hank so that the Boy can't get it.) 
 
 Boy: Lou, won't you lend me the keys a 
 moment ? 
 
 Girl (Relentlessly) : You broke a compact. 
 
 Boy: Please, Lou. 
 
 Girl : I have my reading to do. 
 
 Boy: I'm going to go away — forever — Lou! 
 
 Girl : Good-by. 
 
 Boy (Fiercely) : I want my money ! 
 
 Girl: It's our money. And I'm the guardian. 
 
 Boy: All right. . . . Good-by. 
 
 Girl: Good-by. (Reading.) "The Narrow Path 
 is very steep and straight. It leads to a land of gold 
 and it is not easy to negotiate because Heaven thinks 
 it is best for people to climb for what they want. 
 Nevertheless — -' 
 
 Boy: Are you going to give me the money to run 
 away with? 
 
 Girl : No. 
 
 Boy : Good-by. 
 
 Girl: A compact is binding to both parties, father 
 says. 
 
 Boy : Good-by. 
 
 Girl : Good-by (Reading.) "Nevertheless — 
 neverthelss — " (She begins to giggle deliciously.) 
 
 Boy: What's funny, Lou? 
 
 Girl: Come here and look, Billie. (The Boy 
 drags himself to the book.) 
 
 Boy: What? 
 
 Girl: This word. 
 
 Boy: Never — the — less. It's like any other word. 
 
NEVERTHELESS 11 
 
 Girl: No, it isn't. Steep and straight and they 
 all look like something. But this is just funny. 
 
 Boy: Nevertheless. (The Girl goes off into gales 
 of laughter.) 
 
 Boy (Reading further and turning the page): 
 Here it is again. (He laughs.) 
 
 Girl : Where ? 
 
 Boy: Here. (Turning back.) 
 
 Girl: Neverthe — (turning the page and going 
 into another paroxysm of laughter as she finds the 
 rest of the word on the next page) — less. 
 
 Boy: It is funny-looking! 
 
 Girl: What does it mean? 
 
 Boy: I'll look in the dictionary. 
 
 Girl: I know what it means in a way, but I can't 
 explain it — 
 
 Boy: So do I. (He goes to the dictionary.) 
 
 Girl: Never — ^the — less. (She looks up and sees 
 that the Boy is busy. She looks around cautiously, 
 then takes up the bank and hides it. As she hears 
 the Boy coming back, she resumes her seat and the 
 hook.) 
 
 Boy: It means notwithstanding, yet, however. 
 
 Girl: Dictionaries never tell you the real, honest, 
 true, live meaning, do they, Billie? 
 
 Boy (Fascinated): Never — ^the — less. 
 
 Girl: It's three words all huddled together. 
 (She pictures them on her fingers.) 
 
 Boy (Counting the words on his fingers) : Never — 
 the — less. 
 
 Girl: How did they come together? 
 
 Boy (Losing himself in the puzzle) : I don't know. 
 
12 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Girl: Let's ask mother. 
 
 Boy (Remembering his anger) : No, I won't. 
 
 Girl: I will. 
 
 Boy: Let's be independent, Lou. I don't like to 
 ask favors when I'm punished. 
 
 Girl : Well, I'm being punished, too ; but I want 
 to know all about this funny word. 
 
 Boy: Let's try some other way. 
 
 Girl: I know! 
 
 Boy: What? 
 
 Girl : They say if you put out the lights and shut 
 your eyes very tight and wait very patiently that an 
 elf will come and tell you anything you want to 
 know. 
 
 Boy: I don't believe in elfs. 
 
 Girl : Billie ! 
 
 Boy: I don't. 
 
 Girl: The plural of elf is elves. We had it to- 
 day. 
 
 Boy (Exasperated): I knew it, — ^but I get tired of 
 having to think about everything before I speak. 
 Sometimes I try not to think at all. 
 
 Girl (Going to the lamp): I'm going to turn out 
 the light. 
 
 Boy (Scornfully): Nothing will happen. 
 
 Girl: Well, we can try. 
 
 Boy: Lou, where's the bank? 
 
 Girl: I hid it, Billie. 
 
 Boy: You shan't hide my money! 
 
 Girl: Keep quiet, Billie, and sit down. (She 
 puts the light out.) 
 
 Boy (Sheepishly) : I feel so silly. 
 
NEVERTHELESS 13 
 
 Girl: Are your eyes shut? 
 
 Boy: No. 
 
 Girl: Billy, please shut your eyes. 
 
 Boy : I won't do it . . . I'm going to turn on 
 the light. 
 
 Girl: Now, Billie . . . (He evidently starts 
 for the lamp.) I'll give you the keys if you're good. 
 
 Boy : Now ? 
 
 Girl: No, afterward. 
 
 Boy (Turning on the lamp) : Promise. 
 
 Girl: Yes. (Out goes the light as she pulls it.) 
 Are you sitting down? 
 
 Boy: Uh-huh! 
 
 Girl: Are your eyes shut? 
 
 Boy: Uh-huh! 
 
 Girl: Tight? 
 
 Boy: Uh-huh! 
 
 Girl: And when he comes don't talk. 
 
 Boy: Uli— . 
 
 Girl: 'Cause you don't believe and you might 
 frighten him away. 
 
 Boy: Uh— . 
 
 Girl: Where are you, Billie? 
 
 Boy: Here I am. 
 
 Girl: Move over. 
 
 Boy: There isn't much room. 
 
 Girl: Now. (Silence.) Do you hear any- 
 thing? 
 
 Boy: No. (Silence. A pole light appears be- 
 tween the curtains, then a dark form. The light is 
 shut off and presently reappears at the table. The 
 Burglar opens the drawer and, taking out some pretty 
 
14 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 things, puts them in his pocket. The light goes out. 
 Silence,) 
 
 Girl : Billie, I just can't stand it a moment longer. 
 Don't you hear the elf? . . . (A sound.) There 
 he is ! (The light comes on again and the Burglar 
 takes up the bank. Just as he is putting it in his 
 pocket, the Girl speaks.) 
 
 Girl: Do you know what nevertheless means? 
 (The bank goes clattering to the floor. The light 
 is turned upon the two children. The Burglar takes 
 a step forward and stumbles over the bank.) 
 
 Burglar: Don't holler. (The Boy turns the light 
 on.) 
 
 Boy: A burglar! 
 
 Girl: If you don't move, Billie, a burglar won't 
 hurt you. 
 
 Boy: Hold up your hands, Lou. 
 
 Boy and Girl (Holding up their hands) : We give 
 up. 
 
 Burglar: Put out the light. 
 
 Girl: Please don't put out the light. . . . 
 We'll be good. (A door is heard to close in the next 
 room.) 
 
 Burglar: Put out the light. (The light goes 
 out.) Who was that? 
 
 Girl : Mary. 
 
 Burglar: What's she doing? 
 
 Boy : Don*t you tell him, Lou. Make him let you 
 turn the light on. 
 
 Girl (Deciding to weep): Vm afraid of the dark. 
 
 Burglar : Quit your bawling and put on the light. 
 (The Boy puts on the light.) What's she doing? 
 
NEVERTHELESS 15 
 
 Girl: She's setting the burglar alarm for the 
 night. 
 
 Burglar: How do I get out of here? 
 
 Girl : You can't get out because if you open any- 
 thing all the bells will ring and the police will come. 
 
 Boy (Bravely stepping forzvard): We'll put you 
 in jail. (As the Burglar turns, however, he units.) 
 
 Girl: Billie, let's let him go if he tells us what 
 nevertheless means. 
 
 Burglar : Huh ? 
 
 Girl: Do you know what nevertheless means? 
 
 Burglar: What's nevertheless? 
 
 Girl: It's a word. 
 
 Burglar: What's the game? 
 
 Boy: If you know what nevertheless means we'll 
 let you go. 
 
 Girl: It's a compact. 
 
 Burglar: Promise you won't give me up? 
 
 Girl: We won't give you up. ... Sit down. 
 (The Burglar sits.) 
 
 Boy: Where's your pistol? 
 
 Burglar: I ain't got none. 
 
 Girl: Oh, you mustn't say that. 
 
 Burglar: Well, I ain't. 
 
 Girl: It's very wrong to say "I ain't." My 
 mother would make us read all The Narrow Path if 
 we talked like that. 
 
 Burglar (Puzzled): What! 
 
 Boy: They carry pistols in Texas. 
 
 Burglar: Well, I ain't never used none, and I 
 ain't never been in Texas, and what's more I ain't 
 never going to Texas! 
 
16 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Girl: He's a very pleasant burglar, Billie. 
 
 Burglar: Well, I'm in a pickle, but I can't hurt 
 no kids. 
 
 Girl: See, Billie, how bad grammar sounds? 
 
 Burglar: I don't care nothing about grammar. 
 When you have to paddle your own canoe, you can't 
 take no time for grammar. 
 
 Girl : Oh, dear, Billie, don't ever paddle your own 
 canoe . . . Billie . . . (She goes to whisper 
 to the Boy. To the Burglar, as she passes him): 
 Excuse me. (To the Boy): Vm going to try 
 mother's plan on him. I'm going to read to him! 
 (The Burglar rises and looks around.) 
 
 Boy (Whispering): I'm going to call father. 
 
 Girl: Now, Billie, maybe we can make him good. 
 
 Boy: Well, he can't get away and he hasn't a 
 pistol — 
 
 Burglar : Hey, quit your jawing and give me up 
 if you want to. 
 
 Girl : We're not going to give you up. 
 
 Burglar : Huh ? 
 
 Girl: We're going to read to you. 
 
 Burglar: Quit your kidding. 
 
 Girl: How does it feel to be a burglar? 
 
 Burglar: Not so good. 
 
 Girl: Aren't you afraid to be a burglar? 
 
 Boy: 'Course not. Look how big he is. 
 
 Girl: Aren't you ashamed to be a burglar? 
 
 Burglar: Well ... I ain't never burgled 
 before. 
 
 Girl: Well, that's not so bad, but just the same 
 we're going to read to you. 
 
NEVERTHELESS 17 
 
 Burglar: What for? 
 
 Girl: Because you use bad grammar. 
 
 Burglar: You're funny kids. Ain't you scared? 
 
 Boy (Magnificently): No! 
 
 Burglar (Turning suddenly): Huh? (The Boy 
 retreats in gloriously.) 
 
 Girl: You wouldn't hurt us, would you? 
 
 Burglar: Why wouldn't I? 
 
 Girl: We didn't do anything to you. 
 
 Burglar: You trapped me. 
 
 Girl: We didn't know you were coming. 
 
 Burglar: What was you hiding for? 
 
 Girl: We expected some one else. 
 
 Burglar: Go on! (The Boy moves a chair 
 cautiously toward tliQ Burglar and finally summons 
 the courage to sit down beside him.) 
 
 Boy (Pleasantly): Did you know Jesse James? 
 
 Burglar: I heard of him but I ain't never seen 
 
 him. 
 
 Girl: What made you begin? 
 
 Burglar : Never mind ... I began and I 
 got caught. . . . Now what? 
 
 Girl: I'm going to read to you. 
 
 Burglar (Resignedly): Go ahead. 
 
 Girl: Do you want to read, Billie? 
 
 Boy (Unselfishly): No! 
 
 Girl : This is all about the narrow path. 
 
 Burglar : Uh-huh. 
 
 Girl (Reading): "The Narow Path is very steep 
 and straight. It leads to a land of gold and it is not 
 easy to negotiate because Heaven thinks it is best for 
 people to climb for what they want. Nevetheless— " 
 
18 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 (The Boy and Girl burst out laughing so suddenly 
 that the Burglar is quite startled.) 
 
 Burglar (Uneasily): What are you laughing at? 
 
 Girl (Pointing to ^'nevertheless"): It's such a 
 funny word. 
 
 Burglar: Ain't it just like other words? 
 
 Girl: Don't it look funny? 
 
 Boy: Don't it look funny? 
 
 Girl: I mean doesn't it look funny? (The three 
 huddle together over the hook.) 
 
 Burglar (Muttering) ;N-E-V-E-R-T-H-E-L-E-S-S. 
 Huh! It does look sort o' funny . . . What's 
 the rest of it? 
 
 Girl (Reading): "Nevertheless the narrow path 
 is not all hardship." 
 
 Burglar: Maybe not; but it was pretty hard for 
 me. 
 
 Girl: Have you tried it? 
 
 Burglar : Yep. But I slipped. ... Go on. 
 
 Girl (Reading): "On the other hand, the prim- 
 rose path is broad and it slopes gently downward, but 
 it leads to the land of thorns. Neverthe — (She turns 
 a page) — less — " (Again the children go into gales 
 of laughter.) 
 
 Burglar : Huh ? 
 
 Girl: Look. (Again they huddle over the hook.) 
 
 Burglar: N-E-V-E-R-T-H-E-L-E-S-S. . . . 
 It is funny. (He joins heartily in the laughter.) 
 
 Girl: You see — it's three words and they don't 
 mean anything unless they are all huddled together 
 just like we are now. (They all laugh uproariously.) 
 
NEVERTHELESS 19 
 
 Boy (Oft the friendliest of terms now): Do you 
 walk the primrose path? 
 
 Burglar: Go on! I'm m the land of thorns. 
 
 Girl: Well, how did you get there if you didn't 
 walk the primrose path? 
 
 Burglar: I just naturally fell. 
 
 Girl: Don't you know the meaning of neverthe- 
 less? 
 
 Burglar : I sort o' know the meaning, but I can't 
 put it into words. 
 
 Girl: Can you act it out? 
 
 Burglar: What do you mean — act it out? 
 
 Girl: Sometimes when Billie and I can't put 
 things into words we act them out. Like this: If I 
 want to tell some one what revolves means I just do 
 this . . . and then they know. 
 
 Burglar: Aw, yes, you pertend! 
 
 Girl: Oh . . . Well — Can't you p-p-pertend 
 nevertheless ? 
 
 Burglar: I hardly think so. 
 
 Boy: Did you get tired on the narrow path? 
 
 Burglar: Ye-eh. . . . But I wish I hadn't. 
 
 Girl: Can't you climb back? 
 
 Burglar: Nope. It's too late. 
 
 Girl: Mother says it's never too late to do right. 
 
 Burglar: Sure it is. A man what's been in jail 
 can't get straight again. 
 
 Boy (Admiringly) : Have you been in jail? 
 
 Burglar: No, but once is enough. 
 
 Girl: When are you going to jail? 
 
 Burglar: To-night, I guess. 
 
 Boy: What for? 
 
20 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Burglar: For breaking in here! 
 
 Girl: We aren't going to send you to jail. 
 
 Burglar : Maybe not, but your paw and maw will. 
 (Whimsically): 'Sides I can't tell you what never- 
 theless means and I can't act it out. And a compact's 
 a compact, ain't it? 
 
 Girl: Mother won't put you in jail. She's too 
 kind. 
 
 Boy (With sad memories) : But she's awful strict 
 about grammar and ugly words. 
 
 Girl: She says it's easy to walk the narrow path. 
 
 Boy: Father isn't so sure, but he says it can be 
 done. 
 
 Girl : Come on and we'll help you. 
 
 Burglar: Come on where? 
 
 Boy: Come on and walk the narrow path with us. 
 
 Burglar: Where is it? 
 
 Girl : Here. 
 
 Burglar: What's the game? 
 
 Girl: Mother says if we can walk a straight line 
 out that door without wabbling, we can walk the nar- 
 row path all our lives without any trouble. 
 
 Boy: To speak of. 
 
 Burglar: What's on the other side of that door? 
 
 Boy and Girl: Father and mother. 
 
 Burglar: You seem to be pretty straight kids, 
 but it's too late for me. 
 
 Girl: No, it isn't. 
 
 Burglar: Yes, it's too late. Til take the back 
 door and try to make my get-away. 
 
 Girl : Billie, you ask him. 
 
NEVERTHELESS 21 
 
 Boy: I'd like to have you come with us, sir. 
 Dad's a fine man and mother's a great woman. 
 
 Girl: All we have to do is to walk straight 
 through that door without wabbling — 
 
 Boy: Come on — 
 
 Burglar: I think it*s too late for me — neverthe- 
 less — (He takes their hands.) 
 
 Girl (Ecstatically): Oh, he's acted out neverthe- 
 less! Billie, don't you see the real, honest, true, live 
 meaning? . . . Come on, let's start. (They 
 start carefully for the door and, as they come to the 
 safe they stop. The Burglar looks ruefully at it a 
 moment.) 
 
 Girl: Don't wabble now. We've almost made 
 it — (They keep on for the door.) Isn't it easy? 
 And mother says if you can do this little bit, you can 
 do it always. (When they disappear through the 
 door, the play is over,) 
 
THE HEART OF PIERROT 
 
 A One- Act Play for Children 
 
 By 
 
 Margretta Scott 
 
MARGRETTA SCOTT 
 
 Margretta Scott has always lived in St. Louis, has 
 written since 1914, and is at present working on her 
 first novel. Miss Scott supplies no autobiographical 
 information, but her record as a writer is distinctive 
 and impressive. She is the poet who won the recog- 
 nition of the late William Marion Reedy, in whose 
 Mirror her poems have appeared. She has also con- 
 tributed to Harriet Monroe's Poetry Magadne, and 
 to the Touchstone. Her play, Three Kisses, won a 
 prize in a drama competition in 1919. Several of her 
 poetic plays have been published in The Drama (Chi- 
 cago). She posseses an exquisite gift of symbolism 
 and lovely fantasy. 
 
 THE HEART OF PIERROT 
 
 The "symbolism and lovely fancy" of Margretta 
 Scott are always refreshing. Pierrot is a lovable 
 little hero who chooses wisely his precious gift from 
 the "Clown of Clowns." And he makes a happy dis- 
 covery, — that there is no need for economy in the 
 use of laughter. 
 
 Pierrot: But, mister, suppose I use up all the 
 laughs ? 
 
 Clown of the Clowns : For each laugh you take 
 out, two more will take its place. 
 
 And in the end the Clown of Clowns gives us more 
 philosophy than we at first realize: 
 
 24 
 
THE HEART OF PIERROT 25 
 
 "Do you know what your bag will be? . . . 
 It will be the heart of Pierrot." 
 
 (Copyrighted. Reprinted from the Drama Magazine. 
 For permission to reproduce The Heart of Pierrot address 
 Margretta Scott, 5414 Delmar Avenue, St. Louis, Missouri.) 
 
THE HEART OF PIERROT 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Pierrot: Eight or nine years. He is dressed as a 
 typical little clown, in a white suit with 
 black buttons, and with pointed cap. He 
 carries a jumping- jack in one hand, a red 
 bag in the other. 
 
 Mama Pierrot : A middle-aged woman. She is very 
 fat, with whitened face, a white dress, 
 with black buttons down the front of the 
 waist, a white apron on which are pasted 
 bright colored figures of clowns, dogs, cats 
 and the like. A tall white cap is on her 
 head. 
 
 An Old Woman : She is fat and wears a bonnet 
 and shawl. 
 
 A Newsboy : Eight or nine years old. He is ragged 
 and dirty, and carries papers under one 
 arm. 
 
 Young Girl: She is prettily dressed. 
 
 Little Girl: Seven or eight years old. She is 
 richly dressed and carries a doll in her 
 arms. 
 
 Mother and Child: The mother about thirty, the 
 child three or four. The child is running 
 by the mother's side, laughing and skip- 
 ping. 
 
 Negro Boy : Eight or nine years old. He is ragged, 
 
 26 
 
THE HEART OF PIERROT 27 
 
 dirty and carries a sack of coal on his 
 back. 
 Clown of the Clowns: Very, very old. He is 
 red, fat, rolling in gait. He is dressed as 
 the other clowns, but in richer materials, 
 with small bells sewed on his clothes which 
 make a jolly noise when he walks. 
 
 Scene : In a quaint little street there is a queer little 
 red brick house with green shutters on which are cres- 
 cent moons. Steps lead up to house. In the front yard 
 are wooden cats, dogs and chickens, all brightly 
 painted. There is snow on the ground for it is an 
 afternoon in winter. 
 
 Mama Pierrot is standing in front of the house 
 talking to Pierrot zvho has just come from the school 
 where little clowns learn to be fimny. 
 
 Mama Pierrot : Were you funny to-day at school, 
 dearie ? 
 
 Pierrot (Working his jumping- jack) : Yep, I 
 made the teacher laugh so hard he most fell off his 
 high stool. 
 
 Mama Pierrot (Proudly) : You always were good 
 at playing. (Anxiously.) Did you know your 
 somersault ? 
 
 Pierrot (Not so glibly) : I knew the single somer- 
 sault, but I didn't do so good at the double one. 
 
 Mama Pierrot (Pleating the ruffle around Pier- 
 rot's neck:) Say "well," dearie, not *'good." 
 
 Pierrot: I didn't do so well. (Sticking out his 
 tongue and trying to reach his nose.) To-day I 
 reached my nose. 
 
28 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mama Pierrot: Be careful, dearie, don't stretch 
 your tongue. 
 
 Pierrot (Opening his red hag): I need some new 
 toys — these are most worn out. 
 
 Mama Pierrot (Looking into the hag): Toys are 
 so expensive these days. I must try to get some 
 second-hand ones. Are you careful at school when 
 you play with them? 
 
 Pierrot: Yep. (He takes a feather out of his 
 pocket and tickles the hack of his mother's neck. 
 They both laugh uproariously.) 
 
 Mama Pierrot: I must go in now and tie up 
 those pig tails for dinner. 
 
 Pierrot (Laughing) : I just love pig tails — they're 
 so funny. What kind of ribbon are you going to use? 
 
 Mama Pierrot (Thinking): How about blue? 
 
 Pierrot: I like red. (Chuckling.) Ain't it funny 
 when you take the ribbon off and they wiggle all 
 around the plate? 
 
 Mama Pierrot (Absent-mindedly): Yes. (Put- 
 ting her hand under Pierrot's chin.) Dearie, be sure 
 and whiten your face before dinner. 
 
 Pierrot (Sulkily): It don't need whitening. 
 
 Mama Pierrot (Reprovingly): Is that the way 
 for a little clown to act? 
 
 Pierrot: Well, I don't care. I whitened it this 
 morning. 
 
 Mama Pierrot : Do you want to look just like any 
 other little boy? 
 
 Pierrot: No, ma'am. 
 
 Mama Pierrot: Well then, keep your face 
 whitened. (She starts to go into the house.) 
 
THE HEART OF PIERROT 29 
 
 Pierrot : I haven't got anything to do — what shall 
 I do? 
 
 Mama Pierrot: You'd better study your playing 
 for to-morrow — try turning those double somersaults. 
 
 Pierrot: I'm tired of that. (Discontentedly.) I 
 haven't got anything to do. 
 
 Mama Pierrot (Coming back to him): I know 
 what would be nice. 
 
 Pierrot (Interestedly) : What? 
 
 Mama Pierrot : You stand here, and every 
 little girl and boy who pass crying, make them 
 laugh. 
 
 Pierrot (Clapping his hands): That'll be fun — 
 to make every little girl and boy who pass here cry- 
 ing, laugh. (Mama Pierrot goes into the house. 
 Pierrot sings a tuneless little song; "They'll go by 
 crying and I will make 'em laugh." He zvorks his 
 jumping-jack and tries to walk on his hands. A Fat 
 Old Woman enters from the right. She shuffles by, 
 smiles at Pierrot, and goes on. After she passes a 
 Newsboy enters from the left. He is crying and 
 blowing on his hands to make them warm. His news- 
 papers are under his arm.) 
 
 Pierrot: Hello. (The Nezvsboy puts his papers 
 down and beats his hands together.) 
 
 Pierrot (Offering his jumping-jack) : Here. (The 
 Newsboy, still crying, shakes his head and blows on 
 his fingers. Pierrot zvorks the jumping-jack, but the 
 Nezvsboy does not notice him.) 
 
 Pierrot (Suddenly inspired): I know a game for 
 cold hands. (The Newsboy looks at him.) It's called 
 "Hot Hands." 
 
30 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Newsboy (Dubiously) : Does it make your hands 
 hot? 
 
 Pierrot : Sure. 
 
 Newsboy (Putting his hands in his pockets) : How 
 do you play it? 
 
 Pierrot (Laying his jumping-jack on the pave- 
 ment): You got to sit down to play it. (They sit 
 on the house steps.) Now you do what I do. 
 (Thinking.) I know a game that's better than "Hot 
 Hands" ; it's 'Tease Porridge Hot." We'll play that. 
 Now you do what I do. (Pierrot puts his hands on 
 his knees, slaps them together, and turns them palms 
 out. He sings, ''Pease porridge hot, pease porridge 
 cold, pease porridge in the pot, nine days old. Some 
 like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, 
 nine days old.'' He suits the actions to the words. 
 The Newsboy follows him. Soon they are both 
 laughing.) 
 
 Pierrot: Now are your hands cold? 
 
 Newsboy' (Putting his hands to Pierrot's face): 
 Feel. 
 
 Pierrot: They're hot as a fox. 
 
 Newsboy (Laughing) : Gee, that's funny talk — 
 *'hot as a fox." (Picking up his newspapers.) I got 
 to beat it. So long. (He runs off laughing. Pierrot 
 plays "Pease Porridge Hot" with himself, singing the 
 words. A pretty Young Girl enters from the left. 
 She smiles at Pierrot, walks past him and disappears. 
 After she passes a richly dressed Little Girl, carrying 
 a doll, enters. She drops the doll.) 
 
 Little Girl: Oh, my! (She picks up the doll, 
 whose face is broken, and starts crying.) 
 
THE HEART OF PIERROT 31 
 
 Pierrot (Working his jumping- jack frantically): 
 Say, look here, ain't that funny? 
 
 Little Girl (Burying her face in her arm): Oh, 
 my doll, my pretty doll! 
 
 Pierrot (Examining the doll): What's her name? 
 
 Little Girl : Dorothy. (Sobbing.) She was my 
 favorite, she was the prettiest doll I had. 
 
 Pierrot: Well, you shouldn't have picked her up, 
 you know. 
 
 Little Girl: Why not? She's my doll. 
 
 Pierrot (Mysteriously) : You should have left her 
 in the snow. (He pauses.) You know what the snow 
 is, don't you? 
 
 Little Girl (Interestedly): No — what? 
 
 Pierrot (Dramatically) : It's Santa Claus's mail- 
 box. 
 
 Little Girl (Round-eyed) : What? 
 
 Pierrot (With conviction): It's Santa Claus's 
 mail box. 
 
 Little Girl: Honest? 
 
 Pierrot: Yep — if you left that doll in the snow 
 Santa Glaus would drive by — 
 
 Little Girl: With his reindeers? 
 
 Pierrot: With his reindeers — in his big sleigh. 
 
 Little Girl: And what would he do? 
 
 Pierrot: He would take your doll out of his mail- 
 box. 
 
 Little Girl: Out of the snow? 
 
 Pierrot (Nodding) : Yep, out of the snow— that's 
 his mail-box. 
 
 Little Girl: Then what would he do? 
 
 Pierrot: He would take it home, and have it 
 
32 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 fixed up, and put it in the stocking of some little poor 
 girl. 
 
 Little Girl (Delightedly): Oh, I think that 
 would be very nice. (Clapping her hands.) Let's 
 put her back in the snow and bury her. (They bury 
 the doll in the snow.) 
 
 Little Girl : I would like to kiss you, you funny 
 little boy. (Pierrot laughs shyly, and they kiss each 
 other. The Little Girl runs off laughing. Pierrot 
 opens his bag and takes out a rubber ball. A Mother, 
 her Little Girl skipping by her side, enters. They 
 walk across and go out. After they pass a Little 
 Negro Boy comes in. He is carrying a sack of coal 
 on his back. He puts it down and starts to cry, one 
 hand to his eyes, the other trying to rub his back.) 
 
 Pierrot : Hello. 
 
 Negro Boy (Blubbering): My back hurts — dat 
 coal weighs a ton. I'm sick a-toting it. 
 
 Pierrot: That's not coal. 
 
 Negro Boy: I reckon it is coal. 
 
 Pierrot: No, that's not coal. 
 
 Negro Boy (Blinking): What is it den? 
 
 Pierrot (Dancing around the sack): That's a 
 little white pig. 
 
 Negro Boy: Go on! 
 
 Pierrot (Laughing): Sure it is. I heard him 
 squeal when you put him down. 
 
 Negro Boy (Looking into the sack): Sure dat's 
 coal — and it's as black as I am. 
 
 Pierrot: It's a little white pig, and you'll eat him 
 for dinner. 
 
 Negro Boy: That's good eatin' — pigs. 
 
THE HEART OF PIERROT 33 
 
 Pierrot (Sticking out his stomach and carrying an 
 Imaginary platter): You'll carry him like this on a 
 big plate. 
 
 Negro Boy (Laughing): Go on! 
 
 Pierrot: He'll be brown then 'stead of white, but 
 his tail will still be curly. 
 
 Negro Boy (Interestedly): Them pigs' tails are 
 crimped tight as my wool. (They both laugh.) 
 
 Pierrot: And do you know what he'll have in 
 his mouth? 
 
 Negro Boy: Teeth, I reckon. 
 
 Pierrot (Dancing gleefully): No. 
 
 Negro Boy (Excitedly): What den? 
 
 Pierrot: A red apple. 
 
 Negro Boy (Laughing) : Go on! 
 
 Pierrot (Dramatically): And do you know what 
 he'll have in his eyes? 
 
 Negro Boy: I 'spects he'll have eyes in his 
 
 eyes. 
 
 Pierrot : No. 
 
 Negro Boy: What? 
 
 Pierrot: Red cranberries. 
 
 Negro Boy: Go on! 
 
 Pierrot: His eyes will be of red cranberries. 
 
 Negro Boy (Admiringly): He'll be real smart- 
 lookin'. (Picking up his sack of coal) Go on, this 
 ain't no pig. (He goes off laughing. The Clown of 
 the Clowes comes in from the right. His bells are 
 making a jolly noise as he walks. He stops before 
 Pierrot, his hands on his hips, and looks down at him 
 laughing.) 
 
 Pierrot (Looking up): Who are you, mister? 
 
34 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: I'm the Clown of the 
 Clowns. (Pierrot takes off his cap respectfully.) 
 
 Pierrot (Appraisingly) : You're awful old, ain't 
 you? 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: I was born long ago — 
 long ago. 
 
 Pierrot (Interestedly) : How long ago? 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: When the world first 
 grew sad I was born. 
 
 Pierrot: Why was you born then? 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: Because the world had 
 forgotten how to laugh. 
 
 Pierrot: When do you think you'll die? 
 
 Clown of the Clowns (Resignedly): When the 
 world can laugh without me I will die. 
 
 Pierrot: Oh! (There is a pause.) 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: I've been watching you 
 make the children laugh. You've done work a clown 
 should be proud of. 
 
 Pierrot: How could you see me? 
 
 Clown of the Clowns (With dignity): Am I 
 not Clown of the Clowns? 
 
 Pierrot (A little frightened) : Yes, sir. 
 
 Clown of the Clowns : I want to give you some- 
 thing. What do you want? 
 
 Pierrot (Animatedly): A lot of things. 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: Think carefully. I can 
 give you just one thing. 
 
 Pierrot (Thinking): I want a bag — (He hesi- 
 tates.) 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: Yes — 
 
 Pierrot: I want a bag of laughter. 
 
THE HEART OF PIERROT 35 
 
 Clown of the Clowns (Pleaded): Very good, 
 very good. 
 
 Pierrot: Yes, sir. 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: I'll give you a bag full 
 of laughter — and it will never be empty. 
 
 Pierrot: But, mister, suppose I use up all the 
 laughs. 
 
 Clown of the Clowns : For each laugh you take 
 out, two more will take its place. 
 
 Pierrot (Clapping his hands): Thanks — thanks. 
 Clown of the Clowns : Do you know what your 
 bag will be? 
 
 Pierrot: Just a bag. 
 
 Clown of the Clowns: It will be the heart of 
 Pierrot. (The Clown of the Clowns pats him on the 
 head and walks up the street. Pierrot hears a rapping 
 at the windozv. He looks around and sees Mama 
 Pierrot who is smiling and beckoning him to come in. 
 He goes to the door and stands with his hand on the 
 door knob, looking up the street where the Clozvn of 
 the Clowns has disappeared.) 
 
 Curtain 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 
 
 A Take-Off 
 
 by 
 
 Max Ehrmann 
 
MAX EHRMANN 
 
 Max Ehrmann was born in Indiana, and is now, 
 during a part of each year, a resident of Terre Haute. 
 He is a graduate of DePauw and Harvard and is a 
 member of the Author's Club of London and of the 
 Author's League of America. 
 
 Mr. Ehrmann's earHer works are A Farrago, a col- 
 lection of prose stories and sketches, and The Mystery 
 of Madeline Le Blanc, a novel. He has published 
 books of poems at intervals. His recent works are 
 the beautiful poetic dramas, David and Bathsheba, 
 The Wife of Marobius, and Jesus, a Passion Play. 
 The work which has won for this author universal 
 recognition and v/hich perhaps best shows his aspira- 
 tions, is that beautiful prose poem, A Prayer. It has 
 been printed into the millions of copies, translated, and 
 is known almost the world over. 
 
 Max Ehrmann is so true an artist that he can not 
 yield his talents to commercial ends. He himself 
 gives as an article in his artistic creed: "I would 
 rather live plainly and be the author of some bit of 
 chaste prose that should abide amid the perpetual flux, 
 than to live luxuriously on the returns of innumerable 
 volumes of merely commercial fiction." 
 
 The one-act play. The Bank Robbery, is very unlike 
 most of Mr. Ehrmann's work. It is quite as delight- 
 ful in its own way, however, both to the reader and 
 to the Little Theatre lover. 
 
 38 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 39 
 
 THE BANK ROBBERY 
 
 As the author's subtitle indicates this play is a 
 take-off on the labor situation. Though Mr. Ehrmann 
 writes farce only occasionally, his usual work being 
 exquisite poetic drama and tragedy, he has here shown 
 himself to be a master of farcical plot, climax and 
 humor. The student who enjoys O'Henry's surprise 
 endings in prose fiction will appreciate the element 
 of surprise here. It is interesting in this connection 
 to contrast the difference between prose fiction and 
 dramatic technique. 
 
 (Copyrighted. Applications to produce The Bank Rob- 
 bery should be addressed to Mr. Max Ehrmann, 128>^ South 
 Sixth Street, Terre Haute, Indiana.) 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 
 
 Chief Robber. 
 First Robber. 
 Second Robber. 
 Night Watchman. 
 Policemen. 
 
 The Scene is in front of a money safe, the door of 
 which is dimly lighted by a single electric light. All 
 else is in darkness. 
 
 Chief Robber (Whispers): The stuff is in our 
 hands, boys. Get to work. 
 
 First Robber: I got me drill ready. 
 
 Chief Robber: Quick, attach the wires. 
 
 Second Robber: Say — soft pedal that gas. I 
 ain't hurryin'. - (He unscrews the electric bulb over 
 the safe, and inserts another attachment. Instantly 
 the low buzz of the drill is heard. The room is now 
 dark except for a flash-light on the drill at the safe 
 door.) 
 
 Chief Robber: She's running fine. Lay her to. 
 (The sound changes a bit as the drill gnaws into the 
 steel.) Get out the dynamite and the fuse. 
 
 Second Robber (Flashing his light over a grip): 
 Can't you see me diggin' fer ut? 
 
 Chief Robber: Hurry up, and don't talk so loud. 
 
 Second Robber: WHio's runnin' this job? 
 
 Chief Robber: I am. 
 
 Second Robber : You does the talkin', but we does 
 the work. 
 
 40 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 41 
 
 First Robber (The buzz of the drill ceasing) : Cut 
 off the face gas, or I quits, an' gits out. The drill 
 makes 'nough noise. 
 
 Chief Robber: Turn on that drill. 
 
 First Robber : When you quits talkin', I goes tuh 
 work, not before. 
 
 Chief Robber: You won't — eh? (Flashing his 
 light on the drill.) Give it to me. I'll drill. 
 
 First Robber: I'll give ut tuh you on the head. 
 Back up. 
 
 Chief Robber: Give me that drill. 
 
 First Robber : Lay down and be still. (The buzz 
 of the drill is heard again.) 
 
 Second Robber: This yere dynamite and fuse 
 ain't never been attached yet. 
 
 Chief Robber: Well, you attach them. 
 
 Second Robber: Me? It ain't me work. It was 
 your wife's job before we left the house. 
 
 Chief Robber: You do it. Hurry up. 
 
 Second Robber: I ain't doin' no woman's work. 
 
 Chief Robber: Attach that fuse, I tell you! 
 
 Second Robber: No rough talk. 
 
 Chief Robber: How are we going to get the 
 money inside there if you don't attach that fuse to 
 the stick? 
 
 Second Robber: Maybe we don't gits the swag. 
 
 First Robber (The buzz ceasing again): If 
 youse two don't quits the racket, I don't drill, and I 
 gits out of 'ere. 
 
 Second Robber: He wants me tu do the job his 
 wife oughter done. Would you? 
 
 First Robber: No. What is ut? 
 
42 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Second Robber: He wants me tuh attach the 
 stick and the fuse — would you, pal? 
 
 First Robber : No. He kin send fer his wife. 
 (He resumes drilling.) 
 
 Chief Robber: How are we going to get the 
 money if you don't join the fuse and the dynamite? 
 In God's name tell me that! 
 
 Second Robber: I ain't answerin' no questions. 
 I'm standin' on me rights. Attachin' fuses and sticks 
 ain't me work. 
 
 Chief Robber: Hand them to me. (Flash-light 
 shows that he does so.) Flash on me. I'll attach 
 them. (He struggles zvith the material.) How do 
 you do it? I don't understand it. 
 
 Second Robber: All you kin do is talk. 
 
 Chief Robber: Show me how to attach these. 
 
 Second Robber: I ain't teachin' no apprentices. 
 Too many people in the business now. You might 
 quits us and go tuh work fer yourself. 
 
 Chief Robber: You fool! How are we going to 
 get the money if you won't do it or show me? 
 
 Second Robber: You promised us the swag be- 
 fore daylight. We expects you tuh keep your promise. 
 There is two of us and oney one of you. See? 
 
 First Robber (Buzs suddenly ceasing): The hole 
 is t'ru. Gimme the stick. 
 
 Chief Robber: The dynamite and the fuse are 
 not attached yet. He won't do it. 
 
 First Robber: You do ut. 
 
 Chief Robber: I don't think I understand how. 
 
 First Robber: What are you good fer, if you 
 don't understands the work? 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 43 
 
 Chief Robber: I direct the work. I don't have 
 to understand it. That's what I've got you fellows 
 for. My investment, my capital, is my brains. I got 
 everything ready — didn't I ? I knew where the money 
 was. I arranged the hours. I put you right here, 
 next to it. 
 
 Second Robber: Should I do ut, pal? 
 
 First Robber: No. Stands on yer rights. What 
 will become of us if we doesn't stands on our rights? 
 
 Second Robber: You ought to brought a fuse- 
 attacher along with us, if your wife didn't wants tuh 
 do ut. 
 
 First Robber: We'll waits till you can send fer 
 a fuse-attacher. 
 
 5econd Robber: Me and me pal strikes till de 
 fuse-attacher comes. 
 
 (Footsteps are heard. They come nearer; then die 
 away.) 
 
 Chief Robber : He's gone. 
 
 First Robber: Who was ut? 
 
 Chief Robber: Night Watchman, I think. We've 
 got to be quiet. If he hears us it's all over. 
 
 First Robber: He might shoot. 
 
 Second Robber: We might have tuh divide the 
 swag wid 'im. 
 
 Chief Robber: We haven't got the money yet. 
 Don't forget that. Hurry up — (A deep-tongued hell 
 begins to strike.) 
 
 First Robber: What's that? (A crash.) 
 
 Chief Robber: What's the matter with you? 
 
 First Robber: I dropped me drill. We're 
 cetched. Chief, what'U we do? 
 
44 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Chief Robber: Be quiet. (The striking of the 
 bell ceases. He thro-ws his light over the room.) 
 There, it's a clock, standing in the corner. It's four 
 o'clock. For the last time, will you attach the fuse? 
 
 Second Robber: I will if I gits fifty per cent, of 
 the swag. 
 
 Chief Robber: And him and me together get 
 only fifty per cent.? 
 
 Second Robber: Yes. 
 
 Chief Robber (To First Robber): What portion 
 do you want? 
 
 First Robber: I wants fifty per cent, too, same 
 as me pal. 
 
 Chief Robber: You two fellows are crooks. 
 You're thieves. 
 
 Second Robber: If you was one you could do 
 somethin' besides talk. 
 
 Chief Robber: Where do I come in? 
 
 Second Robber: After I gits me fifty per cent, 
 and me pal gits his fifty per cent., what's over is 
 your'n. 
 
 Chief Robber : There can't be anything over if 
 each of you gets fifty per cent. 
 
 First Robber: Maybe you'll git more'n us. You 
 don't know how much swag is in that safe. We 
 stands firm on fifty-fifty. 
 
 (Footsteps are heard again.) 
 
 Chief Robber : Duck ! Lights out ! 
 
 Second Robber : I puts out me light. But I don't 
 ducks fer nobody. 
 
 Chief Robber: Be quiet. 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 45 
 
 (The steps come nearer, a Hash-light plays over the 
 room, and falls on the three robbers.) 
 
 Night Watchman (Covering them with a re- 
 volver): Hands up, or I'll shoot! (They raise 
 their hands.) 
 
 Chief Robber: Don't shoot. We're not enemies 
 of yours. We are enemies of the owner of the money 
 in the safe. You don't own the money — do you? 
 
 Night Watchman : No, I don't ; but I'm protect- 
 ing it. The first man that drops a hand gets a bullet. 
 Come on. 
 
 Chief Robber: You're protecting it? 
 
 Night Watchman: Yes. 
 
 Chief Robber: For how much a week? 
 
 Night Watchman : That's none of your busi- 
 ness. Come on. 
 
 Chief Robber: You're ashamed to tell. 
 
 Night Watchman : Well, it ain't very much. 
 
 Chief Robber : That's what I thought. Say, 
 Watchman, is your car a Packard or a Winston? Do 
 you take your dinner at the Club at two-fifty per 
 meal? 
 
 Night Watchman: I ain't got anything to do 
 with that talk. 
 
 Chief Robber: Watchman, what is your golf 
 score now? And how beautiful and well dressed and 
 idle your wife and daughters are! And your son 
 blows in a hundred dollars some nights and never 
 thinks of it. 
 
 Night Watchman: Keep your hands up. 
 
 Chief Robber: And when are you going to take 
 
46 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 your family abroad again? That's the life that the 
 president of this bank lives. Watchman, you and us 
 ain't enemies. We're brothers. But your boss is the 
 enemy of all of us. He gets hold of money and he 
 locks it up in that safe to keep you and me from 
 using it. 
 
 Night Watchman : I've thought of that my- 
 self. 
 
 Chief Robber: Put down your gun, brother. 
 Join us. Some of the good things in this world are 
 meant for you, the same as for your boss. 
 
 Night Watchman: Are you fellows on the 
 square ? 
 'Chief Robber : Try us. 
 
 Night Watchman : If you're not, God help you! 
 I'll shoot the first one of you that goes crooked. 
 Hand over your guns first— butts forward. (The 
 Chief Robber and the First Robber do so.) 
 
 Second Robber: I won't hand mine over. 
 
 Chief Robber: You fool! Hand it over. 
 
 Night Watchman (Covering him): Hand it 
 over — butt first. (To Chief Robber): Shall I shoot, 
 if he don't? 
 
 Chief Robber: Yes, shoot. 
 
 First Robber: Hand ut over, pal, you fool! 
 (The Second Robber hands over his revolver.) 
 
 Chief Robber: Now, let's hurry. Boys, on what 
 condition do we take the Watchman in? 
 
 First Robber: We'll give him fifty per cent, too 
 — if that's satisfactory tuh me pal. 
 
 Second Robber: It is. 
 
 Night Watchman (Laying all the revolvers within 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 47 
 
 easy reach behind him): But how are you going to 
 do it? I've got to pretend to protect the bank. 
 
 Chief Robber: That's easy. After we've got the 
 money and given you your part, I'll lay you out a 
 little — ^not much — so that when the cashier and the 
 others look you over in the morning, you've got some 
 blood to show that you made a stand. 
 
 Night Watchman: And when I'm laid out, 
 you'll take the money out of my pockets — is that the 
 idea? 
 
 Chief Robber: Oh, we wouldn't do a thing like 
 that ! That wouldn't be right. 
 
 Night Watchman : I couldn't have the money 
 on me anyway. They would notice it. 
 
 Second Robber: We could takes ut tuh your 
 woman. 
 
 Night Watchman: I ain't got no wife. 
 
 Second Robber: You ain't got no woman — as 
 cheap as women is ! 
 
 First Robber : We could takes ut tuh your mother 
 then. 
 
 Night Watchman : What explanation would you 
 give her? 
 
 Chief Robber : Great God, boys, let's get to work ! 
 It'll soon be light. 
 
 Nigpit Watchman: Have you got her open? 
 
 First Robber: The hole's done drilled. 
 
 Chief Robber (To Second Robber, appealingly): 
 Please fasten the fuse. 
 
 Second Robber : Why didn't you say ut that way 
 the first time ? (He works rapidly with the dynamite 
 stick and the fuse.) 
 
48 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Chief Robber: We'll have to hurry, boys. I 
 think it's getting light. 
 
 Night Watchman : Yes, it's getting light. 
 
 Chief Robber : Watchman, go to the window and 
 see if any one is passing. 
 
 First Robber: Give me the stick. (In the light 
 of the -Rush, he inserts the slender stick into the hole.) 
 
 Chief Robber: Come on. (All crawl aivay, ivith 
 ■flashes on the floor.) Any one passing? 
 
 Night Watchman (At zvmdow): No. 
 
 Chief Robber: Let her go. 
 . (A match strikes. A small flame crazds over the 
 floor. A terrific explosion. And then the still night 
 again.) 
 
 Night Watchman : Good God ! That noise — it 
 was loud enough to raise the dead ! I'll have to arrest 
 you men to save myself. 
 
 Chief Robber: You couldn't hear it half a block 
 away. You're not used to it. Remember the money ! 
 See anybody outside? 
 
 Night Watchman: No. But hurry up. 
 
 Chief Robber: It's all right, Watchman. Don't 
 worry. All here? Anybody hurt? 
 
 First Robber: I'm 'ere. 
 
 Second Robber: Me too. 
 
 (They hasten to the safe and flash their lights upon 
 it. The outer door lies on the floor.) 
 
 First Robber: It's got another door inside! 
 
 Night Watchman (Still at window): Hurry! 
 It's getting light. 
 
 Chief Robber: Get busy with that drill on the 
 inner door. 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 49 
 
 First Robber: I ain't doin' all the drillinM 
 
 Night Watchman : Hurry, boys, li the police 
 come, rU have to arrest you to save myself. 
 
 Second Robber: Gimme that drill. (He begins 
 to di'ill on the inner door. There is the rattle of 
 an automobile.) 
 
 Chief Robber: Lights out! Duck! (The auto- 
 mobile passes on.) Who was it? 
 
 Night Watchman (Coming to the others): I 
 don't know. I couldn't tell. Hurry up. 
 
 Chief Robber: Look! The front door. 
 
 (A Hash-light appears in front, and some one out- 
 side tries the door.) 
 
 Second Robber: We're cetched. You're tuh 
 blame, Chief. The gang'll git you fer this. 
 
 Night Watchman : That's the Merchant Police- 
 man. He's only paid to see if the front door is locked. 
 As long as you didn't come in by that door he don't 
 care. He's gone anyway. I tell you fellows it's 
 getting light. 
 
 Chief Robber: Hurry up. 
 
 Second Robber: (The buzz of the drill is heard 
 again.) She'll be t'ru in a minute. Got the stick 
 ready ? 
 
 First Robber : Yes. 
 
 Night Watchman : Stop the drill. You can 
 pry that inner door open. Lm sure you can. 
 
 First Robber: Get away. (The buzz ceases. 
 He pries at the door.) 
 
 Chief Robber (Throwing his light on the door): 
 She's giving. 
 
 First Robber: Take a hand on the jimmy, pal. 
 
50 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 (Both pull on the bar. The door yields — £ies open. 
 All four turn their lights into the safe.) 
 
 Chief Robber: My God, men, look! 
 
 First Robber : Piled up like bags of salt. 
 
 Second Robber: Fll hand ut out. (He crawls 
 inside and counting, hands out bag after bag, which 
 the Chief Robber, also counting, stacks up before the 
 opening.) 
 
 Night Watchman: There's money enough to 
 make us all comfortable for life. 
 
 First Robber : Hurry up, pal, me hands is 
 tremblin'. 
 
 Second Robber: That's all. (He crazuls out, and 
 squats immediately in front of the revolvers lying on 
 the Hoor.) 
 
 Chief Robber: I'll divide them into four parts. 
 The Night Watchman here, who represents the law, 
 and me, your boss, your employer, will take half ; and 
 you two workers, take the other half. 
 
 Second Robber (Menacingly): Take your hands 
 off the swag! What has you done? 
 
 Chief Robber: I've managed this thing — haven't 
 I? 
 
 First Robber: You talked, that's all. I agrees 
 wid me pal. You ain't done nothing. 
 
 Chief Robber: Didn't I persuade the Watchman 
 here to join us? Didn't I show him the Hght, same 
 as the big fellows do the police, and the courts ? You 
 two ought to be able to understand that. 
 
 Night Watchman : You surely made the thing 
 clear to me. (Impatiently) : You fellows will have 
 to hurry up. This ain't no time to quarrel. 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 51 
 
 Second Robber: Per fixin' the Watchman we 
 gives Talker a bag. (He tosses him a bag.) We 
 gives a bag to the Watchman fer nothin'. (He tosses 
 him a bag.) Me and me pal takes the rest. 
 
 Chief Robber: Nothing Hke that! (Counting.) 
 Why, there are ten bags left. 
 
 Night Watchman : Each of you fellows prom- 
 ised me half — didn't you? 
 
 Second Robber : That ain't got nothin' tuh do wid 
 ut. You gits a bag. Talker gits a bag. And me 
 and me pal gits oney what's left. 
 
 Chief Robber : Nothing like that at all ! I'll take 
 the bags. (He reaches for them.) 
 
 Second Robber (Covering him with revolver): 
 Git back! 
 
 Chief Robber (Retreating): Put that gun down. 
 (The Second Robber does so.) 
 
 PiRST Robber : Watchman, what does you say 
 about ut? 
 
 Night Watchman: I ain't got anything to do 
 with the quarrel between them two. All I say is 
 hurry up and give me my share. 
 
 Second Robber: We divides oney the way I 
 said. 
 
 First Robber: I agrees wid me pal — fifty-fifty. 
 
 (Outside there is the sudden sputter of an auto- 
 mobile. It grows swiftly louder, then ceases suddenly 
 in front of the bank. Instantly flash-lights appear at 
 the windozvs and doors. At the safe all lights go out. 
 There is scuffling. A loud cry is heard, and the noise 
 of a body falling. Windows and doors are broken 
 open by the persons outside, and several with Hash- 
 
52 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 lights rush in. They turn on the electric lights. They 
 are policemen.) 
 
 Policeman (At safe): Here is one laid out. 
 
 Another Policeman : They've got away. 
 
 Another Policeman (Coming from rear): 
 They're gone. 
 
 (Other Policemen, weapons in hand, hasten about 
 and in and out.) 
 
 Policeman (At safe): This fellow looks finished. 
 
 (A man in civilian clothes rushes in.) 
 
 The Man: My God, the money! I'm the cashier 
 here. 
 
 Policeman (At safe): I don't think they got away 
 with it. Here it is. 
 
 The Man : I put twelve bags in the safe this 
 afternoon. (He counts them.) Not a bag gone. 
 Oh, I'm glad of that! I heard the crash. 
 
 Policeman: Are you the one that notified head- 
 quarters ? 
 
 The Man: Yes. 
 
 Policeman: You didn't tell the Desk Sergeant it 
 was the bank. 
 
 The Man : I did but he couldn't seem to under- 
 stand me. I was excited, I guess. 
 
 Policeman: This one got laid out. 
 
 The Man: That's not a burglar. That's the 
 Night Watchman. Poor fellow! I'm sure he did 
 his duty. 
 
 (The Night Watchman lifts hi^nself a little, but 
 sinks back again. The Man rolls him over, face 
 against the wall and puts some books under his head 
 
THE BANK ROBBERY 53 
 
 to make him more comfortable, meanwhile whisper- 
 ing tender words.) 
 
 The Man: Officer, we can't leave this money 
 here. The safe is done up. Hadn't we better take it 
 to headquarters? 
 
 Policeman : Yes. 
 
 The Man: Will you have the men carry it out 
 to the car? 
 
 Policeman (Beckoning two other policemen, who 
 come to him): Carry these out to the car. (They 
 begin to do so.) 
 
 The Man: Officer, I can't tell you how glad I 
 am you've saved the money. 
 
 Policeman : Sure. 
 
 The Man : Why — some of that money belongs to 
 wash'women. 
 
 Policeman : Think the Watchman is hurt much ? 
 
 The Man : Can't tell. He was struck on the head. 
 He may be out of his head for a while when he comes 
 to — say crazy things. They usually do — don't they? 
 
 Policeman : You want any of these books and 
 papers in the safe taken along? 
 
 The Man: No. That stuff is all right here. 
 (The policemen are carrying out the last bags.) Is 
 the driver out there in the car? 
 
 Policeman : Yes. 
 
 (The Man goes out. The engine of the car begins 
 to sputter. The sound grozvs a little fainter, then 
 ceases suddenly.) 
 
 Policeman : The car has stopped. 
 
 (A sharp report is heard, and immediately the noise 
 
54 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 of the engine begins again, and diminishes rapidly in 
 the distance.) 
 
 Policeman : Blow out ? 
 
 Another Policeman : No. The car had stopped. 
 
 Policeman: Back-fire maybe. 
 
 Another Policeman : Not that sound. Some- 
 thing's wrong. 
 
 Night Watchman (Turning): Is he gone? 
 
 Policeman : Yes. 
 
 Night Watchman: You remember he rolled me 
 over ? — - 
 
 Policeman : Yes. 
 
 Night Watchman : And put some things under 
 my head? — 
 
 Policeman : Yes, yes ! 
 
 Night Watchman : He whispered he would kill 
 me if I moved. 
 
 Policeman: The cashier? 
 
 Night Watchman : That ain't the cashier. That's 
 the Chief Robber. 
 
 (Consternation.) 
 
 Curtain 
 
THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 
 
 A Faerie in One Scene 
 
 By 
 
 William O. Bates 
 
WILLIAM O. BATES 
 
 William Oscar Bates is a resident of Indianapolis, 
 Indiana. After receiving his Ph. B. from Cornell 
 University he was engaged for over twenty years in 
 newspaper work in Indianapolis, St. Paul and New 
 York. 
 
 In later years Mr. Bates has divided his time among 
 his real estate interests, trade journalism, and play- 
 writing. He is the author of Recitations and How 
 to Recite; Our Foreign Correspondent, a four-act 
 comedy produced in St. Paul; The Black Bokhara, a 
 one-act comedy; and Polly of Pogue's Run, Asaph, 
 and Tea, all produced in Indianapolis. 
 
 Mr. Bates was instrumental in establishing the Little 
 Theatre Society of Indiana, and was its first secre- 
 tary. He is an enthusiastic worker in the Little 
 Theatre of Indianapolis, where several of his plays 
 have been produced. 
 
 The Indianapolis Centennial Pageant produced in 
 1920 is one of the finest of Mr. Bates' works, and has 
 given him wide and very favorable recognition in his 
 own city. The production of this pageant was one 
 of the most notable artistic achievements in the city 
 of Indianapolis. 
 
 THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 
 
 Not every playwright can portray a dryad; Mr. 
 Bates has done it here with exquisite delicacy and 
 lightness of touch. 
 
 56 
 
THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 57 
 
 "The world is too much with us; late and soon, 
 Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers." 
 
 When do we take time to think and ivonderf Are 
 there no fairy creatures in bird and bush and tree? 
 We cold, prosaic mortals have eyes that see not and 
 ears that hear not. But Deacon Shadrach learned, 
 and so may we. 
 
 "Come and trip it as you go 
 On the light fantastic toe." 
 
 (Copyrighted. Applications to produce The Dryad and the 
 Deacon should be addressed to William O. Bates, 756 Middle 
 Drive, Woodruff Place, Indianapolis, Indiana.) 
 
THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 
 
 A huge and venerable oak tree stands in the center 
 of a wooded glade of New England. In front of the 
 tree a little to the right is a large boulder. It is sum- 
 mer, about 164^0. 
 
 (Deacon Sitadrach Snow comes in from the left. 
 He is a young man of austere countenance and wears 
 the conventional Puritan dress, steeple-crown hat, 
 cropped hair, and the like. Under one arm he carries 
 a copy of the Bay Psalm Book, and on his shoidder is 
 a large ax. He advances to the tree, inspects its size, 
 walking backzvard and around it, as though calcidat- 
 ing its timber possibilities. Then, apparently satisfied 
 he lays the ax dozvn at its roofs, goes to the boulder 
 and, depositing his book thereon, proceeds to take off 
 his coat and roll up his shirt-sleeves. He then, taking 
 up the ax, seems about to begin chopping on the tree. 
 But, as if remembering a forgotten task, he returns 
 to the boulder, seats himself upon it, opens the psalm 
 book and finding the page, "lines off" in a high, nasal 
 voice the following psalm — marking the time zvith his 
 hand, as though in rehearsal for his Sunday service:) 
 
 "The rivers on of Babilon 
 
 there when we did sit down; 
 Yet even then wee mourned, when 
 
 wee remembered Sion. 
 Our harps we did hang it amid, 
 upon the willow tree, 
 58 
 
THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 59 
 
 Because there they that us away 
 
 led in captivitee, 
 Requir'd of us a song, thus 
 
 askt mirth : us waste who laid, 
 Sing us among a Sion's song, 
 
 unto us then they said." 
 
 (As he concludes, a strain of soft, elfin music is 
 heard. He looks around in surprise, then dismissing 
 the matter, turns the pages of his book and again be- 
 gins to intone:) 
 
 "Lift up thy foot on hye, 
 Unto the desolations 
 of perpetuity: — " 
 
 (He is again interrupted, this time by a tinkling as 
 of many small bells, follozved by a peal of girlish 
 laughter. He starts to his feet in wonder as a door 
 in front of the oak tree gently opens and the smiling 
 face of The Dryad peeps forth. She is dressed in 
 robes of thin, clinging green and amber and wears upon 
 her head a chaplet of Hoivers. There are tiny bells 
 upon her arms and feet. She nods him a greeting.) 
 
 Deacon : Wherefore, maiden, this strange hiding- 
 place ? 
 
 (She puts her finger to her lips in token that she 
 must not tell, steps dozvn from, the tree, closing the 
 bark door behind her, dances a few steps tozvard him 
 and makes him a mocking courtesy.) 
 
 Deacon (Turning away in shocked reproof): And, 
 forsooth, wherefore this unseemly attire? 
 
 (She dances around until in front of him once more, 
 at zMch he quickly turns again, when she circles and 
 
60 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 confronts him from the other side. He hides his 
 eyes with his hand and speaks with anger.) 
 
 Deacon : Avaunt ! I know thee now ! Thou art 
 a witch — sent by Mistress Holbrook to cast a spell 
 upon me! But Deacon Shadrach Snow fears not the 
 Powers of Darkness. Go away! 
 
 (She tickles his nose with her chaplet, making him 
 sneeze, whereat she laughs gleefully.) 
 
 Deacon (Catching up his hook and opening the 
 pages toward her): I know to drive thee hence. This 
 book of holy psalms, newly imprinted, shall exorcise 
 thee, witch ! 
 
 (She catches the hook away from him and dances 
 gaily off around the tree, turning the pages as she 
 goes. He hurries in pursuit. She eludes him and fin- 
 ally tosses him the hook zvhich he presses to his 
 hosom.) 
 
 Deacon : Truly thou art a malignant of deep guile 
 and subtlety. I will e'en try what a psalm-reading may 
 do to curb thy vain demeanor. (He hurriedly finds 
 the right page and hegins to intone as hefore.) 
 
 "Lift up thy foot on hye, 
 Unto the desolations 
 of perpetuity: — " 
 
 (Upon this injunction, she does lift her foot on 
 high — whereat he hreaks off to rehuke her.) 
 
 Deacon : Oh, shameless mocker of the sacred text ! 
 I will shut thee from my sight. (He holds the hook 
 hefore him to carry out this plan, and hegins again:) 
 
 "Lift up thy foot on hye, — " 
 
THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 61 
 
 (This time she lifts her foot high enough to kick 
 the hook out of his hand.) 
 
 Deacon: Truly, the Psalmist must have had thee 
 in mind in writing this holy song. Thou shalt hear 
 what he says of thee! (He retakes the hook, and 
 seating himself upon the houlder with his hack toward 
 her, intones with angry zeal the following:) 
 
 **Lift up thy foot on hye. 
 Unto the desolations 
 
 of perpetuity: 
 Thy foe within the Sanctuary, 
 
 hath done all lewd designs. 
 Amid the Church thy foes doe roare: 
 
 their Banners set for signes." 
 
 (She again starts to lift up her foot, hut seeing it 
 will not he noticed, she tiptoes up to him and peers 
 over his shoulder at the hook. At the concluding line 
 she claps her chaplet upon his head and dances around 
 to confront him, again lifting her pertinacious foot. 
 He snatches the wreath from his head and throws it 
 upon the ground.) 
 
 Deacon : The psalm fits thee truly, witch. Thy 
 foot is ever lifted high, thy lewd designs are shown, 
 thy tinkling bells do roar and (pointing to wreath)' 
 thou fain wouldst set thy banner sign upon me. It 
 shall not be! Think not because my name is Snow 
 that I am to be melted by thy allurements — I am also 
 called Shadrach! I will look no more upon thee! 
 (He seats himself anew, hows his head over the hook 
 and with time-heating hand seems to hury himself in 
 silent rehearsal of his task.) 
 
62 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 (The Dryad retrieves her wreath, pantomimes her 
 scorn of his stoicism, and dances gaily off to lilting 
 music, as though dismissing him from her mind. In 
 doing so she comes upon the ax at the foot of the 
 tree. She examines it, at first with careless curiosity, 
 then zvith growing concern, as she looks up at her tree 
 and at The Deacon. Finally the full significance of 
 its meaning comes upon her and — with a crash of the 
 music — she falls at the tree base, clasping its roots 
 with outspread arms. The music changes to express 
 her grief and alarm. Slowly she rises and, with deep 
 dejection, drags herself to The Deacon's feet where 
 she kneels and touches him timidly to attract his atten- 
 tion. The music here becomes lozv and plaintive.) 
 
 Deacon (Shaking his head zvith determination): 
 No, I will heed thee not. Begone — I have work to do ! 
 
 (She again touches him supplicatingly; when he 
 looks up she places her wreath before him and, with 
 clasped and extended hands, abases her head to his 
 feet.) 
 
 Deacon : Oh, thou persistent fiend, what wouldst 
 thou? Is this lowly mien but some new trap for my 
 soul? 
 
 (Lifting herself she points to the ax with agonized 
 inquiry.) 
 
 Deacon : Yea, that is my ax — ^but I thought not 
 to strike thee with it. Thy punishment be upon other 
 hands than mine. (The music stops.) 
 
 (She shakes her head in token that he has mistaken 
 her meaning, and rising seems to supplicate him to go 
 unth her. In wondering reluctance, he slowly rises 
 and follows her to the tree. Here she points first at 
 
THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 63 
 
 the ax and then at the tree zmth anxious inquiry. At 
 last he understands.) 
 
 Deacon: Yea, verily, I do purpose to hew down 
 this oak tree for the joiners, and thy shameful antics 
 but hinder me from this work. 
 
 (She clasps her arms about the tree; then falls upon 
 her knees and lifts up her joined hands to him in 
 supplication.) 
 
 Deacon: Aha, now, indeed, I do know thee! 
 Thou art no common witch — but one of that old 
 heathen crew they called Dryads. And this tree is 
 thy dwelling-place? (She nods assent.) I thought 
 all such were long since gone away. Hast thou not 
 shame to harbor in a Christian land who art of Greece 
 three thousand years agone? (She hangs her head 
 as he looks up at the venerable tree.) And yet thou 
 must have been here long before we came? (She 
 nods eager assent.) Perhaps even before the red 
 Indian? (She nods ''yes.") Thou seemest very 
 young to be so old! (She points up at the tree, then 
 to herself.) Yea, maiden, I do understand — thy oak 
 reneweth his greenery every spring and thy own youth 
 therewith ? (She rewards him zmth a dai^zling smile.) 
 And when the ax is laid at the root of thy tree, thou 
 diest also — so, methinks, runs the pagan legend? 
 (Crossing her hands upon her breast, she slozvly sinks 
 to her knees before him and bows her head in assent.) 
 Nay, have no fear — I find it not in my heart to harm 
 thy tree or thee ! (She kisses his hand in gratitude.) 
 Moreover, maiden, I would fain save thee from the 
 fate that sometime must befall thy earth-born tree. 
 Come away from they heathen life and practices to 
 
64 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 yonder Qiristian settlement where thou may'st learn 
 the ways that lead to life perpetual, a life beyond 
 the perils and poor satisfactions of this vain world, 
 eternal in the Heavens ! There thou may'st be put to 
 school, and be given seemly and modest raiment, have 
 the admonition and example of pious women, the 
 ministrations of the Church, and — who knows? — in 
 lime thou might'st even be thought worthy to become 
 the wedded wife of some grave and godly man! 
 
 (The Dryad listens to this exhortation, at first with 
 puzzled wonder, then with demure deference, finally 
 zvith elfin glee. She bursts into a peal of mocking 
 laughter, springs to her feet and, to madly vivid 
 music, goes careening about in wildly exuberant re- 
 jection of The Deacon's program, catching up his hat 
 and setting it aslant upon her own head as she whirls 
 
 (He watches her a few moments in sorrowful as 
 tonishment, then goes slowly back to the bouldef 
 tuhere he proceeds to put on his coat and retake hu 
 book. Noting his preparation to depart, she takes his 
 hat in her extended hands and, pirouetting across, 
 offers it to him with mischievous meekness. The 
 music stops.) 
 
 Deacon : Alas, thou poor, vain butterfly, it doth 
 grieve me sorely to see thee so light-minded when 
 thou might'st hope for a sanctified soul in that fair 
 body of thine! (She crosses her hands upon her 
 breast and bows demurely.) Shall I ever see thee 
 more? (She thinks a moment, then slozvly shakes 
 her head.) I fear me that is well, for the banns have 
 been asked that I should wed a devout young woman, 
 and though her name be Patience, she might misin- 
 
THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 65 
 
 terpret my zeal for thy conversion — and she lacketh 
 thy slowness of speech. (She gives him a look of 
 arch inquiry.) But it can not harm her — or thee — 
 that thou shouldst receive my blessing before we part. 
 Kneel, maiden ! (She does so and he places his hands 
 upon her head in solemn invocation.) May the Lord 
 bless thee, and keep thee, and make His face to shine 
 upon thee, and give thee peace ! Amen ! Now go 
 thy ways and I will go mine! 
 
 (The Dryad rises slozvly and recoils from him a 
 few steps, with a look of wide-eyed zvonder, as 
 though dimly comprehending the meaning of his 
 words. Then, suddenly coming to herself, with whirl- 
 ing arms and fast-Hying feet, she breaks into a bac- 
 chanalian dance, wheeling in frenzied circles to wildly 
 joyous music until she finds herself in front of her 
 tree. The music breaks off abruptly; the door opens 
 behind her; she steps backward into the tree, and, 
 with a last, lingering smile upon The Deacon, the door 
 shuts her from his sight. 
 
 (He picks up his hat and book and goes, very 
 slowly, to the tree. Here he stands a moment, his 
 back to the audience, then falls prone upon the ground, 
 clasping the tree roots in his arms, his shoidders heav- 
 ing with convulsive sobs. A faint and far-away 
 tinkling of tiny bells is heard as the curtain gently 
 closes down.) 
 
IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 
 
 A Prophetic Fantasy in One Act 
 
 By 
 
 William O. Bates 
 
IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 
 
 In the Light of the Manger illustrates what the 
 one-act play can do in the way of creating that illu- 
 sive, artful something called emotional atmosphere. 
 The author relies upon the dialogue alone for effect. 
 This often consists of only bri^f questions, answers 
 and exclamations, but foreboding, fear, wonder and 
 mystery are subtly suggested by this elliptical form. 
 
 (Copyrighted. Application to produce In the Light of the 
 Manger should be addressed to William O. Bates, 756 Middle 
 Drive, Woodruff Place, Indianapolis, Indiana.) 
 
 68 
 
IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 
 
 THOSE REPRESENTED: 
 
 A Mother A Daughter 
 
 ^ Son a Babe 
 
 A Roman Soldier 
 
 The interior of a humble Bethlehem home in the 
 days of Herod the King discloses at the right a com- 
 partment for cattle, the demi-arch over it surmounted 
 by steps leading to an upper room concealed behind 
 dark curtains, its floor, showing a narrow platform in 
 front of the curtains, being some five feet above the 
 level of the apartment. The outer entrance, m^de of 
 rude boards, gives into the place for cattle, and oppo- 
 site this door is a manger zvhich now serves as a bed 
 for a sleeping infant. There is a primitive dais at 
 the left upon which are bedclothes. Dried fruits are 
 suspended from rough rafters, also a hanging lamp 
 lighting the night but dimly. All the appointments 
 and costumes are archaic. 
 
 The Mother and the Daughter, a girl of sixteen, are 
 seated opposite each other on the Hoor at the right, 
 grinding at a handmill and crooning a mournful 
 lullaby. 
 
 Mother (Pausing and glancing toward the man- 
 ger): How soundly he sleeps! It does not seem 
 quite natural. 
 
 Daughter: Nay, mother, he is always quiet. 
 69 
 
70 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mother: Yes, I know. Both you and brother 
 were restless, but he is different. 
 
 Daughter (Rising): Should he not be different, 
 he who was born on the same night with the Blessed 
 Child? 
 
 Mother: Speak not of that, beloved! At times 
 I almost wish it had not been so — it seems too much 
 honor. 
 
 Daughter: But brother was with the shepherds 
 on that wonderful night and heard the Wise Men say 
 no harm can come to any who then saw His face. 
 
 Mother: How could the Wise Men know that? 
 
 Daughter: How should they have seen His star 
 in the East and how escaped the wiles of Herod? 
 God spoke to them in dreams and they understood. 
 
 Mother: I hope it may be so but I am glad 
 brother sleeps in the upper room to-night. I am 
 strangely ill at ease. 
 
 Daughter: Confess, now! You are still think- 
 ing of that wild story. King Herod seeks to slay 
 the Blessed Child? 
 
 Mother: Yea, daughter. Herod is a hard and 
 cruel king. I do fear him. 
 
 Daughter: But only a monster would order all 
 the babes slain because of one. And what should a 
 great king dread from a little child? 
 
 Mother: Herod's family came from Edom, of a 
 race suspicious and revengeful, like their forefather 
 Esau. Did he not kill his benefactor, Hyrcanus, and 
 his own beautiful wife, Mariamne, and three of his 
 own sons. (Lowering her voice.) And now, when he 
 is grown old, our neighbor tells me he has ordered 
 
IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 71 
 
 that all the nobles shall die when he dies that there 
 may be mourning in the land because of him. 
 
 Daughter: Yet he built the magnificent temple 
 at Jerusalem, and has given the land many other great 
 buildings and splendid new cities. 
 
 Mother: And the land is full of hatred and fear 
 of a king who cringes to Rome and rules Judea with 
 a scepter dipped in blood. 
 
 Daughter: Yes, I know, and yet— (She listens.) 
 Did you now hear him stir? 
 
 Mother: Go and see whether he wakens! (The 
 girl goes to the manger, rearranges the infant's cover- 
 ing and kisses him lightly.) 
 
 Daughter (Returning): He sleeps as sweetly as 
 though guarded by legions of angels. 
 
 (The sound of a trumpet, faint and far away, is 
 heard. Mother and daughter look at each other 
 startled and speak in terrified whispers.) 
 Mother (Rising): What was that? 
 Daughter: It sounded like a trumpet. 
 Mother: It was a trumpet — soldiers abroad at 
 night! Call brother! He will go and see. 
 
 Daughter: But, mother, he must replace father 
 in the fields at midnight and needs his rest. Let me 
 go! 
 
 Mother: Hasten, then, but return quickly! 
 (The girl szviftly covers herself with a dark cloak 
 and darts out, while the mother goes to the manger 
 and taking the sleeping babe in her arms hurries to 
 the foot of the steps over the arch just as the son^ a 
 youth of seventeen, parts the curtains of the upper 
 room and steps out in front of them.) 
 
72 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mother (Speaking in a whisper): Did you hear 
 it — the trumpet? 
 
 Son : No, mother, I heard no trumpet, but a 
 trumpet call is no cause for alarm. It is near the 
 hour when they change guards. 
 
 Mother: But you know they say Herod means 
 to kill all Bethlehem babes to make sure he slays the 
 Son of Joseph and Mary. 
 
 Son : And shall not the Son of Joseph and Mary 
 protect His own ? Mother, mother, do you fear Herod 
 more than you believe in God? 
 
 Mother: Alas, I believe in God when I can — 
 and fear Herod when I must. 
 
 Son (Descending the steps and caressing the 
 babe): Shall He who chose a human mother forget 
 how human mothers yearn? 
 
 Mother: You feel quite sure no harm can come 
 to our beloved? 
 
 Son : Mother, I will not fear for this precious 
 little brother, born on the selfsame night when I 
 heard the angel say, *'Fear not!" and with my own 
 eyes saw the New-born over whom the skies sang 
 "Peace on earth." 
 
 Daughter (Rushing in, breathless and gasping in 
 terror): The soldiers are coming — their dreadful 
 work has begun! 
 
 Mother (Starting toward the door): We must 
 flee to the caves. 
 
 Daughter: Too late — they are already in the 
 street — I heard the cry of our neighbor's child! 
 
 Mother (Falling upon her knees): Oh, what 
 shall we do — where shall we go? 
 
IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER IZ 
 
 Son : Go into the upper room ! I will meet 
 them. 
 
 Mother: But you have no weapon. They will 
 kill you, too! 
 
 Son: "Fear not!" (He lifts his mother to her 
 feet as she hurries up the steps with the babe and 
 disappears behind the curtains just as there sounds a 
 loud trumpet note and a tumult of clashing arms 
 ivithout. The son silently urges his sister to follow 
 her mother up the stairs, and she tries to obey but is 
 so overcome with terror that she staggers and makes 
 but slow ascent. There is an imperious knock upon 
 the door zvhich, a moment later, is thrown open by a 
 burly Roman soldier in glittering armor, a blood- 
 stained sword suspended about his neck. He enters 
 in time to see the girl pass behind the curtains.) 
 
 Soldier: Is there a babe in this house? 
 
 Son: You see. 
 
 Soldier (Starting toward the steps): I will see. 
 
 Son (Quietly interposing): Wherefore? 
 
 Soldier: It is Herod's order all Bethlehem babes 
 shall be slain. 
 
 Son: Again, wherefore? 
 
 Soldier: I know not — nor care. Some say cer- 
 tain soothsayers have told him one has been born here 
 who shall be king of the Jews. He is king of the 
 Jews. 
 
 Son : That was spoken of the Son of Joseph and 
 Mary. But they have taken Him away to Egypt. 
 Besides these Wise Men, whom you call soothsayers, 
 said two thousand years must pass before the Jews 
 again govern in Judea. 
 
74 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Soldier: It may be so. I am not here to judge 
 but to execute judgment. 
 
 Son: But when your time comes to be judged, 
 think you God will forgive you the murder of the 
 innocent because you did the will of Herod? 
 
 Soldier: He speaks for the gods — let him answer 
 to them! 
 
 Son : Can any god desire the blood of babes ? 
 
 Soldier: Let those who anger and oppose Herod 
 beware when the innocent sufTer. If he is terrible to 
 those w^ho have done no wrong, how much more 
 should they fear him who have thwarted his will! 
 
 Son : But when the Son of Joseph and Mary was 
 born I heard the angels sing, *' Peace on earth — good 
 will to men." What has Herod to fear from one who 
 brings peace and good will? 
 
 Soldier: I know naught of angels. My business 
 is war — not peace. 
 
 Son : The Wise Men said also there would be no 
 need of legions or war chariots to uphold the new 
 kingdom — that the great God would be its supporter 
 and shield. 
 
 Soldier: The gods of Rome are gods of war, and 
 fight ever on the side of the strongest legions. 
 
 Son: Have you not read in the Song of Deborah 
 that "the stars in their courses fought against Sisera" ? 
 
 Soldier: What have I to do with your Deborah 
 and your Sisera? 
 
 Son : This, soldier ! Because Sisera's king was 
 like your king, and every other ruler who trusts in 
 force alone. He had nine hundred chariots of iron 
 and he mightily oppressed the children of Israel, until 
 
IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 75 
 
 they shunned jhe highways and forsook their villages, 
 and in war he divided the spoil ; to every man a damsel 
 or two, and to Sisera a prey of divers colors. But 
 Deborah spoke to Barak: *'Arise, Barak, and lead 
 thy captivity captive !" and Sisera was overthrown and 
 died by the treachery of a woman he thought to have 
 made a traitor. Let all who trust in blood and iron 
 and treachery remember Jael who smote her tent nail 
 into Sisera's temples! 
 
 Soldier : Have done with your Hebrew romances ! 
 (Two short trumpet blasts sound without.) You 
 hear — they call me ! Out of my way — I must do my 
 work! 
 
 Son : One moment, more, I beseech you ! Have 
 you no child of your own? 
 
 Soldier: I have a son, but if Herod called for 
 his head my own would have to answer for it. 
 
 Son : Soldier, would you not fall upon your own 
 sword rather than turn its edge against your son? 
 
 Soldier: By Jupiter, boy, you should yourself 
 feel my sword's edge for that stroke. 
 
 Son : Let it fall upon me, then, rather than upon 
 this helpless babe! 
 
 Soldier: Fool, your death would not save its life. 
 (Three short trumpet blasts are heard.) Stand aside, 
 lest you die in vain! 
 
 Son (Boldly): Not yet! The Wise Men, whose 
 report Herod heeds, said yet more. They said no 
 harm could come to the Holy Child or to any who 
 had looked upon His face that first night — that all 
 such would be protected by the God who declared, 
 "My sword shall be bathed in Heaven ; behold, it shall 
 
76 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 come down upon Edom and upon the people of my 
 curse to judgment." Herod is of Edom — let him and 
 you who serve him dread the sword of the King of 
 Kings ! 
 
 Soldier: (Wresting his sword from his neck and 
 whirling the hoy out of his path): Confide you in 
 your Wise Men and the sword of your *'King of 
 Kings!" My reliance shall be this good sword of 
 Herod. (The soldier starts up the steps of the arch. 
 There comes a crash of thunder and the light goes out 
 suddenly. s Then through the curtain is seen rank ris- 
 ing upon rank, a pyramid of white-robed angels with 
 uplifted swords above the mother kneeling with the 
 babe in her arms. The swords sink in unison until 
 they point at the soldier's breast. He reels and falls 
 backward, his sword clanging to the floor. An in- 
 visible chorus sings, "Peace on earth," while the vision 
 gradually fades away and the front light returns.) 
 
 Soldier (Staggering to his feet): Lead me forth! 
 My eyesight is gone. (The boy leads him out. A 
 moment later the trumpet again sounds, and the boy 
 returns as the mother and daughter come out upon 
 the platform. All fall upon their knees in thanks- 
 giving while faint and far azvay the invisible chorus 
 again is heard.) 
 
 Curtain 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 
 
 A One- Act Play 
 
 By 
 
 Bernard Sobel 
 
BERNARD SOBEL 
 
 Bernard Sobel received his B. S. from Purdue Uni- 
 versity, his Ph. B. from the University of Chicago, 
 and his M. A. from Wisconsin University. He was 
 formerly Assistant-Professor of English at Purdue 
 University; also Lecturer on Modern Drama for Indi- 
 ana University. He is now a member of the Faculty 
 of the College of the City of New York. Mr. Sobel 
 has specialized in publicity and was Director of 
 Opportunities, in charge of all western publicity for 
 the Professional Division of the United States Em- 
 ployment Service. He is now Press Representative 
 for Earl Carroll and the Earl Carroll Theatre, New 
 York City. 
 
 Mr. Sobel's printed writings include *'How Do They 
 Do It," Photoplay Magazine, "The School-Teacher 
 in Literature," Educational Issues, (reprinted in The 
 Literary Digest) ; "What's Wrong With the Movies," 
 "Actors Who Are Hidden," "The English Players," 
 "Publicity and The Truth," "A Constellation of 
 Stars," The Theatre Magazine; "Sam H. Harris and 
 the Three T's," "Child Actors," Success Magazine; 
 "The Little Theatre in the West," Christian Science 
 Monitor; "A Census of Desserts," "Side-lines of a 
 Bootblack," "Living Images," "Curtain Calls and 
 Curtain Speeches," New York Tribune Sunday Maga- 
 zine; "We Can Dance," "The Stage Mother," "The 
 Stage Door Man," Dramatic Mirror; "The Green 
 Room," Pantomime ; "The Civil Engineer," The Road 
 
 78 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 79 
 
 Maker; "The Earl Carroll Theatre," Arts and Deco- 
 rations; "The Right to Life in Modern Drama," 
 South Atlantic Quarterly; "Puffing the Piano," Car- 
 toons; "The Immortal" (with Carl Click), a one-act 
 play. Poet Lore ; "Before and After," a one-act play. 
 The White Way; "Pageant Possibilities," Mississippi 
 Valley Historical Quarterly. Book reviews and 
 dramatic criticism for The Dial, The Theatre, The 
 Spotlight, The Electrical World, etc., Phoebe Louise, 
 produced by the Indianapolis Little Theatre; The 
 Spider Web, produced by the Hull House Players, 
 Cheer Up and There^s Always a Reason, one-act 
 plays produced by the English Players, Purdue Uni- 
 versity. 
 
 PHOEBE LOUISE 
 
 This play is distinctly modern in theme. The 
 Burkes are all interesting studies: Julius and Mamie 
 are representative of the shrewd Yankee one often 
 meets. Lydia "sets off" her elders clearly, possess- 
 ing an appalling combination of her parents' char- 
 acteristics as well as some distinctive traits of her 
 own. Her disconcerting questions are responsible for 
 much of the humor of the play. 
 
 (Copyrighted. Applications to produce Phoebe Louise 
 should be addressed to Professor Sobel, the Lyric Theatre, 
 Forty-Second Street, near Broadway, New York City.) 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Julius Burke. 
 Mamie Burke, his wife. 
 Lydia, their eight-year-old child. 
 A Girl nineteen years of age. 
 
 Scene : A luxurious_ livi^ 
 home. Everything is of the best. There is a general 
 atmosphere of comfort and convenience. There is a 
 door at the rear of the room (left) which leads to the 
 street and a door at the right which leads to Lydia^s 
 bedroom. Mrs. Burke is crocheting. Lydia is play- 
 ing with her dolls at the center of the stage. Mt-^ 
 Burke, in an easy chair (right), is reading the ^lews- 
 paper. He wears slippers. His coat is hanging on 
 the back of his chair. The gold watch chain hanging 
 across his vest is very prominent. At the left of the 
 center is a table, with books, a lamp and a desk tele- 
 phone. As the curtain rises, Lydia is talking. 
 
 Lydia: Oh, mother. 
 
 (Mamie, disregarding her, continues with her 
 work.) 
 
 Lydia (Throwing her dolls aside): Mother, I 
 want to ask you something. 
 
 80 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 81 
 
 Mamie (Finally): Well, what is it? Do you 
 really have to ask this question? Is it so important 
 that you have to disturb me? 
 
 Lydia: Yes. It's very important. 
 
 Mamie: Then, let's hear it right away and get it 
 over. What is it, Lydia ? 
 
 Lydia: Please tell me the exact time. 
 
 Mamie (Glancing at her watch): It is now a 
 quarter of eight. 
 
 Lydia: Then how much longer will we have to 
 wait for Phoebe Louise? 
 
 Mamie: About ten minutes, if the train is on time. 
 
 Lydia: And if the train is late, how long will we 
 have to wait? 
 
 Mamie: That depends. 
 
 Lydia: Depends on how late the train will be? 
 
 Mamie : Exactly. 
 
 Lydia: Do you think the train will be late? 
 
 Mamie: I don't know, Lydia. How can I tell? 
 
 Lydia: But can't you even guess? 
 
 Julius (Exasperated, and throwing aside his 
 paper): No, she can't, Lydia, and I wish that you 
 would stop a few of those senseless questions so that 
 I could read the paper. There's a story here about a 
 shrewd woman thief ; she's been going around town — 
 
 Mamie: Yes, I know, but you don't have to be 
 so cross with the child, Julius. It is only natural that 
 she would be interested in a cousin whom she has 
 never seen. 
 
 Julius: Well, it's not Lydia I'm cross with, — 
 exactly. It's Judge Henry Blocker. 
 
 Mamie: What has the judge done now? 
 
82 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Julius: Oh, nothing. But I just want to say 
 that if we should lose a thousand dollars, we can 
 blame it on that old fossil. 
 
 Mamie: A thousand dollars! Why, how could 
 Judge Blocker cause you — 
 
 Julius: Oh, nothing. It's a matter of business; 
 you couldn't understand. (He takes up his paper 
 again.) Now, Lydia, my child, be a good little girl. 
 
 Lydia: I will, father. But I wish that Phoebe 
 would come. I'm dying to see her. (She is silent 
 for a moment, then runs over to her mother.) 
 Mother, what do you think Phoebe Louise will be 
 like? Are cousins like other relatives? Father told 
 me that — 
 
 Mamie: What did your father tell you? 
 
 Lydia: He said that she would — 
 
 Mamie: Your father doesn't know any more 
 about her than I do and I only know her by name. 
 He never saw her. He never saw her mother, and 
 he hasn't seen her father in more than twenty-one 
 years. I wish that we did know more about her. 
 This idea of bringing a complete stranger to live with 
 us has completely upset me. We'll have to change 
 our whole method of living. 
 
 Lydia: Will we have dessert every day? 
 
 Mamie: Heavens, no! Dessert is an extrava- 
 gance, and you know what your father thinks about 
 extravagance. 
 
 Lydia: Yes, but you have dessert when we have 
 company and Phoebe Louise will be company. 
 
 Mamie: No, she won't, and the sooner she learns 
 that the better. She won't be company because she's 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 83 
 
 a relative. But that doesn't mean that we won't be 
 good to her. Remember that, Lydia, we must be 
 very good to her and love her. 
 
 Julius (Throwing down his paper): Yes, indeed, 
 we must. We must love her and treat her the best 
 way we know how. She's my brother's only child and 
 my only living relative and I want to show her how 
 much I think of her (taking out his watch.) I wish 
 that she were here now so that I could tell her how 
 welcome she is. 
 
 Mamie: You're mighty generous, Julius. 
 
 Julius: I can afford to be. I'm well-to-do, — ■ 
 successful. I want to live and let live. JKnd I want 
 her to know how I feel, — at once. First impressions 
 are the strongest. 
 
 Mamie: We always do our part by those who 
 need help, don't we. 
 
 Julius: We beheve in dividing, of course, but 
 this is a special case. Phoebe Louise belongs to our 
 own family. We must make a special effort from 
 the very moment she reaches here. I don't want her 
 to feel lonesome or unhappy a second. As soon as 
 she comes make a fuss over her. Don't let her feel 
 strange. Make her feel perfectly at home. Lydia, 
 you run up to her and kiss her, and, Mamie, you and 
 I will do the same. 
 
 Mamie: What if she should say that — 
 
 Julius: Don't give her a chance to say anything. 
 Just welcome her. Take her things. Give her the 
 easy chair and make her happy. If she's not too 
 tired after traveling we'll devise some means of 
 entertainment. 
 
84 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mamie: That sounds a little extravagant, dear. 
 
 Julius: Never mind. This once we'll do things 
 handsomely. 
 
 Lydia (Dancing around): Goody, goody, we'll 
 have a dessert every day! 
 
 Mamie: Hush, child. Don't be silly. To hear 
 her talk, a person would think that she didn't have 
 all she wants. Don't you think, Julius, that you had 
 better put on your coat and shoes? 
 
 Julius: No, indeed. There's no need being 
 formal with one's relative. Now, Lydia, you won't 
 forget to do that — (The bell rings.) There she is 
 now. (They rush to the door and open it, all talk- 
 ing at once. They scarcely give the new arrival a 
 chance to pass, so demonstrative are they in their 
 welcome. She carries a suit-case and looks tired. 
 Lydia, true to directions, has thrown her arms around 
 her and kissed her and, while the others salute her, 
 she talks and hugs her. Meanwhile, by degrees, they 
 get her seated and slowly relieve her of her hat, coat 
 and bag. All talk at one time.) 
 
 Mamie: Now we want you to feel perfectly at 
 home. Perfectly. And be sure to do just as you 
 wish and, and — 
 
 Lydia: And we're going to have dessert every 
 day, every single day. Aren't we, mother? 
 
 Mamie: Of course we will, Lydia; that is, if 
 Phoebe cares enough about sweets to have them every 
 day. Now take her hat, Lydia, and put it where it 
 belongs and then take her furs, and don't let them 
 drag on the floor. That's it. Now, Phoebe, as I said 
 we want you to feel perfectly at home. 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 85 
 
 Julius (Rubbing his hands, characteristically) : 
 Yes, Phoebe Louise, you are my brother's only child 
 and my only living kin and I want to do the right 
 thing by you, — handsomely. It's twenty years since 
 I've seen your father. 
 
 Lydia (Interrupting) : Why, father, you said 
 twenty-one, before. 
 
 Julius: That's right. It's twenty-one years since 
 I've seen your father and I've never seen you at all. 
 But I want to say that I would have known you in a 
 minute. You are the very image of him. Every 
 gesture, every movement, is just like his were. 
 
 Lydia: How can you remember so well, father? 
 
 Julius : One doesn't forget one's brothers, my 
 child ; that is (embarrassed), one doesn't forget, at 
 least, what they look like. It seems like a day since 
 we were together. We quarreled over a matter of 
 business. I don't wish to speak ill of the dead, but 
 he was in the wrong. 
 
 Mamie: Julius! How can you? 
 
 Julius: I beg your pardon, Phoebe Louise, I 
 meant no ofifense. You see our difficulty grew out of 
 a matter of money. I was managing the business as 
 I saw fit and doing well too, but he wouldn't cooper- 
 ate ; so we parted. I kept the business and have been 
 rather successful, but he failed to prosper. 
 
 Lydia: I thought you said he was poor, daddy. 
 
 Julius : He was. That's what "failed to prosper" 
 means, my child. I have always (explaining) be- 
 lieved in taking time to explain a new term to a child. 
 Well, as I said, let the dead past bury its dead. It 
 will be our pleasant duty now to look after you. 
 
86 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mama (to Mamie), what entertainment have you pro- 
 vided for our niece? What are we going to do this 
 evening ? 
 
 Lydia : Can I go 'long ? 
 
 Julius: We haven't decided yet where we are 
 going. Besides Httle children are not expected to go 
 out after dinner. What are your plans, mama? 
 
 Mamie: I thought that we would go to the 
 theatre or to the roof garden, but (as the girl seems 
 about to protest) she looks tired, don't you think? 
 (Goes over to her and caresses her.) I'm afraid you 
 are too tired to dress up for the roof garden after 
 your long trip. Traveling tires me too, unless I take 
 a chair car, and though a chair car is an extrava- 
 gance, I always take one to avoid getting a headache. 
 
 Julius: But, Mamie, you're not answering my 
 question. If we're not going to the roof garden, we 
 could go to the theatre. She wouldn't have to dress 
 up much to go to the Alhambra. 
 
 Mamie: All right, dear, call up for the seats. 
 (Julius starts for the telephone.) 
 
 Lydia: But, papa, you can't go to the Alhambra. 
 
 Julius: Why not, Lydia? 
 
 Lydia : Because — 
 
 Julius (Impatiently): Yes? 
 
 Lydia: You said — 
 
 Julius: Well, what is it? 
 
 Lydia: But, papa — 
 
 Julius: Yes. Hurry up. Why can't I go there? 
 
 Lydia: When you called them up this afternoon, 
 you said that they had only parquet seats. 
 
 Julius: Yes, yes (embarrassed). But what of 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 87 
 
 that, Lydia? Hurry up, dear, so that I can 
 call up. 
 
 Lydia (Elaborately) : Well, you said that you 
 wouldn't go in parquet seats because they are an ex- 
 travagance. 
 
 Julius: By George, that's right. I was unable 
 to get seats when I called up before. I had forgotten 
 completely. Why didn't you remind me, Mamie? 
 
 Mamie: I should think that you would be able 
 to remember yourself whether you had called up or 
 not. You know I'm not responsible for everything. 
 It wasn't my plan to go to the theatre. 
 
 Julius: That's right. I'm in the wrong again. 
 I'm always in the wrong. 
 
 Mamie: I didn't say that. What I said was — 
 
 Lydia : Mama. 
 
 Mamie: What now, Lydia? 
 
 Lydia: If you are not going to the theatre and 
 you're not going to the roof garden, where are you 
 going? How are you going to entertain Cousin 
 Phoebe Louise? 
 
 Mamie: We might go riding in the machine. I 
 think that would rest her and do us all good. What 
 do you think of that, Julius? 
 
 Julius: Excellent, dear. But I'm sorry that 
 Jones has made other arrangements. It's his night 
 off, you know, and he has put up the machine. 
 
 Lydia: Can't you drive, daddy? Please drive 
 and take me along. 
 
 Julius: Daddy's tired, Lydia, and besides, with 
 gasoline where it is these days, I feel that night 
 driving is really an extravagance. 
 
88 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Lydia: Oh, dear, oh, dear, I can't do anything. 
 (She begins to cry and they strive to comfort her.) 
 
 Julius: There, there, baby. Don't cry. If you 
 stop, we'll get you some ice-cream, a great big dish. 
 
 Lydia (She stops crying): May I have chocolate? 
 
 Julius : Certainly. What will you have, mama ? 
 
 Mamie: None for me, thanks. You know it 
 doesn't seem to be agreeing with me lately. But order 
 some for the rest. I'm sure that will refresh Phoebe 
 Louise. 
 
 Julius: No, Mamie, vre won't do that. If you 
 don't care for any, we v/on't take any. To-morrow, 
 though, we'll take Lydia down-town and buy her a 
 great big hot chocolate fudge, instead. How would 
 you like that, dear? (Lydia dances, then she takes his 
 hand and they dance together. Mamie sings and 
 keeps time unth her hands.) 
 
 Julius: (As he wipes his forehead): I tell you, 
 there's no place like home. I think we'll just stay 
 home to-night and have a nice family talk. You, 
 Mamie, I want to give a deep consideration to Phoebe 
 Louise's affairs, and the present is just as good a time 
 as any. » 
 
 Mamie: Who was that marriageable Mr. Lemuel 
 you were talking about, Julius? 
 
 Lydia: I thought you said he had something the 
 matter with his foot. 
 
 Julius: I did indeed, but that's merely tempo- 
 rary. He's a very pleasant fellow, I tell you. Perhaps 
 we'll be able to have him down soon. In the m.ean- 
 while, — • 
 
 Mamie: In the meanwhile — 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 89 
 
 Julius: Yes, in the meanwhile she must be pro- 
 vided for, — provided for; that is, in some way. I 
 know (to the girl) you are too independent to want 
 to live off your relatives. Yes, (contimiing without 
 giving her a chance to respond) I know that you are 
 too much like your father to want to be dependent. 
 I can see that in every feature. Your eyes are just 
 exactly like his. 
 
 Mamie: We can be very helpful to you. Your 
 Uncle Julius has a tremendous influence. He is on 
 intimate terms with Henry Blocker of the First 
 National Bank. 
 
 Julius: Not that old fool Judge Henry Blocker. 
 He's not in the bank. It's Samuel Blocker. 
 
 Mamie : Samuel Blocker, then. There will be no 
 need of your worrying about your clothes being a 
 trifle shabby, because I have an old coat that could 
 be cleaned and pressed to look just like new. 
 
 Lydia: But, mother, why can't — I want to know 
 why can't she live with us all the time? 
 
 Julius: Well (coughing), why — a — simply — be- 
 cause 
 
 Lydia (Starts to cry again): I suppose that's an 
 extravagance too. I think it's a shame. I want to 
 have Phoebe. (Cries hard. They strive to soothe 
 her. The hell rings.) 
 
 Mamie : Who can that be ? I hope it's not a guest. 
 I haven't a thing in the house. (The hell rings again. 
 Julius goes to the door and comes hack carrying a 
 large package, decorated with sprigs of holly. Mamie 
 and Lydia crowd around the table as he unwraps it. 
 Finally, he discloses an elaborate silver tea-set with 
 
90 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 complete accessories. They gasp with admiration and 
 Lydia claps her hands.) 
 
 Mamie (Finally) : Who sent it ? (There is a 
 scramble for the card.) 
 
 Julius (Finds it and reads): "Holiday greetings 
 from Judge and Mrs. Henry Blocker." 
 
 Mamie: What a beautiful Christmas spirit! I've 
 been dying for a new tea-set. How lovely of them, — 
 so thoughtful. They certainly spared no expense. 
 And here you've been calling the Judge an old fool. 
 
 Lydia: What are you going to give them? 
 
 (There is an abrupt silence and then Julius solemly 
 repeats) : That's the question. What are we going to 
 give them? 
 
 Mamie: It will have to be something elaborate to 
 compensate for that. 
 
 Lydia: What does "compensate" mean, mother? 
 
 Mamie: I used the wrong word. I mean recipro- 
 cate. 
 
 Julius : Yes, indeed, it will cost us a pretty penny. 
 Can't you think of something, Mamie? 
 
 Mamie: Can't you? You are always so ingenius. 
 
 Julius (Absorbed) : How would a beautiful lamp do ? 
 
 Mamie: Can you get one wholesale? 
 
 Julius: I think so, if I call up Macpherson. 
 
 Mamie: This is a bad time. He may not like to 
 be called up at his home, after business hours. 
 
 Julius: Perhaps we won't have to send anything 
 so expensive anyway. Haven't you something about 
 the house? 
 
 Mamie: Let me see. Christmas presents are a 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 91 
 
 nuisance. I have that Httle alcohol lamp that the 
 Smiths sent me last year from Wisconsin. 
 
 Julius: The very thing, — but is it enough? 
 
 Mamie: You could send that to Judge Blocker 
 and I could send a piece of handwork to his wife. 
 The two presents would look rather pretentious. 
 
 Julius: Good! You're a very clever wife, 
 Mamie. 
 
 Mamie: That is, if I have any on hand. Lydia, 
 bring me my embroidery box. (Lydia goes at once.) 
 It seems to me that I had a handsome table cover put 
 away and if it's there, it will be just the thing. (Lydia 
 returns with the box and Mamie searches it hastily.) 
 Sure enough, here it is. But it's not quite finished. 
 What shall I do? There's at least an hour's work 
 here and I'll have to get it there right away so that 
 they won't think that we waited to get their gift first. 
 (Thinks a moment.) I know. Phoebe, you crochet, 
 don't you? All girls do nowadays. Here, won't you 
 be good enough to finish out these few scallops of the 
 border while I do the ends? (Begins instructing her.) 
 You see, you take ten stitches here : go back nine ; 
 herring stitch twice and then overcast. Quite easy. 
 That's right. (Watches her approvingly and then 
 goes over to admire the tea-set.) It's handsome. 
 How could you say that the Judge is an old fool? 
 You certainly never did understand men. 
 
 Julius (Annoyed): Never did understand men. 
 Well, I know a business man w^hen I see one. The 
 Judge doesn't know any more about business than a 
 child. See what he did. (Rushes over to chair and 
 
92 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 takes purse out of his coat pocket.) See what he did, 
 seeing you know so much about business. He met 
 me down-town this afternoon and paid me the money 
 he owed me in spot cash. There it is (opening purse) 
 one thousand dollars in spot cash. You'd think he 
 had never heard of a check. The old farmer ! 
 
 Mamie (Startled): Good heavens, Julius, how 
 much is it? I'm afraid to have you carry so much. 
 
 Julius: Nonsense. It's only a little over eleven 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 Mamie : Why didn't you put it in the bank ? 
 
 Julius: I told you just now that he gave it to me 
 this evening, after the bank was closed. You know 
 I'm not a baby. It isn't the first time I've carried a 
 little money. (He returns the purse to the coat 
 pocket.) You don't need to worry. If you'll excuse 
 me now, I'll go on with my paper. (Sits down and 
 begins to read.) 
 
 Lydia (Tosses doll across room in a rage): Now 
 what am I going to do? Mama's working and 
 Phoebe's working. What am I going to do? 
 
 Mamie: You're going to bed, young lady. (Takes 
 her by the hand and leads her off zvhile Lydia shrieks 
 and continues to shriek.) 
 
 Mamie (Finally calling from the other room): 
 Julius, come here. I can't do a thing with her, Julius. 
 
 Julius (Exasperated, pitches paper on to the floor): 
 That child is a nuisance. (Rushes into other room.) 
 
 (The sound of Lydias crying mingles with the 
 voices of Mamie and Julius. Meanzvhile the girl rises, 
 looks cautiously about, runs over to the coat and takes 
 out the money. She removes several bills zvhich she 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 93 
 
 places in an envelope. SJie addresses the envelope, 
 puts a stamp on it and places it tinder the dictionary. 
 Then she writes a note, places it in a conspicuous 
 place, near the telephone. She is about to make a 
 hasty retreat zvhen Mamie calls suddenly from the 
 other room: ''Phoebe, oh, Phoebe.'' She waits 
 breathless a moment. Then Mamie calls again: 
 "Don't bother. It's all right." The girl rushes out of 
 the room. There is silence for a few seconds and 
 then Mamie reenters.) 
 
 Mamie: How are you getting along, Phoebe? 
 (Not seeing her): Phoebe, where are you? Phoebe 
 Louise. Julius! Lydia! Come quickly. She's gone. 
 Hurry up. 
 
 Julius : What's happened ? Who's gone ? 
 
 Mamie: Phoebe Louise. She's gone. 
 
 Julius: Well, what of it? A good riddance, Pd 
 say. 
 
 Mamie: What of it? But your, — your — 
 
 Julius: By jove! (Rushes over to his coat. 
 Searches it wildly.) It's gone. My pocketbook. It's 
 gone. She's robbed us. 
 
 Mamie: Good heavens! Call the police. We 
 might catch her. Hurry! 
 
 Julius (Rushes over to the telephone. He sees the 
 note): What's this? (Opens it quickly.) Here's a 
 message. 
 
 Mamie : Read it ! 
 
 Julius (Savagely) : Give me time. (Puts on his 
 glasses and reads) : "You have both made a big mis- 
 take. I am not Phoebe Louise and I never saw Phoebe 
 Louise. I am simply — " 
 
94 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mamie: Good heavens! What did I tell you? 
 How could you be so careless? 
 
 Julius: I wasn't careless. You called me away. 
 How should I know that she — 
 
 Mamie: Go on. Finish the letter. 
 
 Julius (Reading): "1 didn't take all of the money. 
 I left three hundred dollars for Phoebe Louise. Give 
 it to her, please, when she comes. Poor soul! She 
 will need it, with such relatives." 
 
 Mamie: She left three hundred dollars, she says. 
 
 Julius : Where is it ? Why don't you look for it ? 
 
 Mamie: Finish the letter and find out where it is. 
 
 Julius: "The money is under the dictionary in a 
 stamped envelope addressed to Phoebe Louise. See 
 that she gets it. Good-by. V\\ send you a souvenir 
 postal card some day." 
 
 Julius: What impudence. "See that she gets it." 
 
 (Mamie finds the envelope.) 
 
 Julius: It's our money. 
 
 Mamie: But is it? I don't know whether it is or 
 not? 
 
 Julius: What do you mean? Are you crazy? 
 
 Mamie: It's in a letter addressed to some one else. 
 We daren't take it. It's like stealing. 
 
 Julius : Stealing ! That's good logic. The money's 
 ours. The envelope's ours and the stamp is ours. 
 Haven't we lost enough already without losing — 
 
 Mamie: I don't care what you say. I won't 
 touch it. I like money, but this seems like a theft. 
 
 Julius: Well, if you won't, I will. 
 
 jMamie: We'll see about that. 
 
PHOEBE LOUISE 95 
 
 (Their angry voices rise together. Then the bell 
 rings and they grozv suddenly silent.) 
 
 Julius (Startled): It's the real Phoebe Louise. 
 She's come at last. Hurry. Give me the money. 
 
 Mamie: The real Phoebe Louise. Lots you know 
 about it. You said the other was the exact image of 
 her father, the father you hadn't seen in twenty years. 
 (They quarrel again, both trying to hold the envelope. 
 The bell rings a second time. They rush to the door, 
 then back to the table and then back to the door, 
 gesticulating angrily. Reenter Lydia, in her night- 
 gown.) 
 
 Lydia : The bell's ringing. Why don't you answer 
 it? (Mamie and Julius continue to rush back and 
 forth. Lydia watches them and then breaks into a 
 long hearty laugh.) 
 
 Curtain 
 
EVER YOUNG 
 A One-Act Play 
 
 By 
 Alice Gerstenberg 
 
ALICE GERSTENBERG 
 
 Alice Gerstenberg was born in Chicago of parents 
 who were both born in Chicago (Erich and JuHa 
 Gerstenberg) 3rd generation in that city. She was 
 educated at Bryn Mawr College. She is the author 
 of 
 
 Novels — Unquenched Fire, published by Small, 
 Maynard, Boston, 1912, repubished in England by 
 John Long, and The Conscience of Sarah Piatt, A. C 
 McClurg & Company. A dramatization (published 
 and produced) of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonder- 
 land and Through the Looking-Glass. Produced at the 
 Fine Arts Theatre, Chicago, and at the Booth Theatre, 
 New York. 
 
 Overtones, a one-act play, produced by the Wash- 
 ington Square Players at the Bandbox Theatre to 
 represent the American play in a group of compara- 
 tive comedies. Later produced in vaudeville with 
 Helen Lackaye and in England with Lily Langtry. 
 Later published by Doubleday, Page & Company, in a 
 volume entitled Four Washington Square Plays. 
 (The three-act version of this play by Alice Gersten- 
 berg and Alan Kay has recently been produced in 
 The Playmrights' Theatre of Chicago.) 
 
 "Beyond," a monologue published in a volume by 
 Little, Brown & Company, entitled Representative 
 Plays, selected by Margaret G. Mayorga. 
 
 "The Pot Boiler," a one-act play published in a 
 volume by Stewart-Kidd entitled Fifty Contemporary 
 
 98 
 
EVER YOUNG 99 
 
 One- Act Plays of the World, compiled by Frank Shay 
 and Pierre Loving. The Pot Bo He}" was played in 
 the Players' Workshop, Chicago; the Theatre Work- 
 shop, New York; by the Arthur Maitland Players, 
 San Francisco; by the Community Theatre in Holly- 
 wood ; in many other Little Theatres ; in the trenches 
 in France, and in vaudeville. 
 
 Other one-act productions are The Unseen, Four- 
 teen, The Buffer, He Said and She Said, Hearts, Ever 
 Young, Attuned, The Illuminnafti in Drama Libre, 
 etc. 
 
 For the last three years Miss Gerstenberg has been 
 chairman of the Drama Committee of the Arts Club 
 of Chicago, 610 South Michigan Avenue, and has been 
 producing plays which otherwise would have no 
 opportunity of production because of the present state 
 of the commercial theatre. 
 
 EVER YOUNG 
 
 Ever Young is one of Miss Gerstenberg's favorite 
 plays. She herself says of it: 'Tt is a dramatic 
 exercise in writing, a play with very little 'business' 
 (such as moving around the stage, etc.), but the 
 dramatic action, mental, emotional and comic, holds 
 an audience tense. For study in technique, it ought 
 to be interesting as it shows how much emotional 
 drama can be enacted on an almost static stage." 
 
 The characters in this play are not at all the 
 motherly, sweet old ladies so common to the story and 
 the drama. Nevertheless, the author is holding the 
 
100 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 mirror before a real phase of American life. The 
 young reader should remember that the author here 
 merely paints an interesting and amusing picture — 
 she does not exhibit models! 
 
 (Copyrighted. Applications for amateurs to produce 
 Ever Young should be addressed to Norman Lee Swartout, 
 24 Blackburn Road, Summit, New Jersey. Professionals 
 should address Miss Alice Gerstenberg, 539 Deming Place, 
 Chicago, Illinois.) 
 
EVER YOUNG 
 
 (A cross-section of the life and character of 
 four zvomen) 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Mrs. Phoebe Payne-Dexter. 
 Mrs. Agnes Dorchester. 
 Mrs. William Blanchard. 
 Mrs. Caroline Courtney-Page. 
 
 These four distinguished-looking women of some 
 sixty and seventy years, but in spirit forever young, 
 enjoy spending a few hours after dinner chatting in 
 a corner of the lobby of the Poincianna Hotel, Palm 
 Beach, at the height of the season, from which van- 
 tage ground they may view the passing show of 
 fashionables. 
 
 Scene: A corner of the lobby of the Poincianna 
 Hotel, Palm Beach, shozving wicker chairs (with 
 cretonne cushions) sheltered by palms. From the 
 distance come faint strains of an orchestra. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: (Enters from right as if 
 looking for a comfortable chair. She pulls the chairs 
 about until she has placed them to suit herself. She 
 is followed by Mrs. Dorchester, who also chooses a 
 chair to suit herself. Mrs. Payne-Dexter's face is 
 
 101 
 
102 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS • 
 
 wrinkled but there is little sign of age in her worldly 
 humorous eyes, her tightly corseted figure, her vibrant 
 personality. She wears a lavender brocade evening 
 gown and a dog-collar of diamonds. Her zvhite hair 
 is perfectly marcelled and her well manicured hands 
 flash with rings. She uses a diamond studded lor- 
 gnette and carries a large hotel room key. She takes 
 her chair with the authority of a leader.) There was 
 no need to hurry through dinner, Agnes, there are 
 plenty of chairs. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: (Follows Mrs. Payne-Dexter. 
 She is a sweet placid-faced woman with zvhite hair, 
 not marcelled, and the rosy complexion of one who 
 has lived without hurry on a country estate. She 
 wears eye-glasses ; she is gowned in rich gold silk and 
 is rather too overladen with old-fashioned jewelry, 
 ear-rings, bracelets, pendants, rings, mostly amber, 
 gold and black onyx. She carries a capacious bag of 
 black and gold brocade which contains her knitting 
 and which she begins to pull out as soon as she is 
 comfortably seated. The ball of wool and the baby 
 sock she is knitting are soft blue.) We missed our 
 chance last night because you lingered over your 
 coffee. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Dominatingly): I always 
 linger over my coffee. I always did with Thomas 
 when he was alive. Our family always has lingered 
 over the coffee. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Mildly): In another moment 
 there would not have been a chair vacant. Which 
 one do you prefer? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Put one aside for Mrs. 
 
EVER YOUNG 103 
 
 Blanchard. I nodded to her in this direction as we 
 came out of the dining-room. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Sits): She will like this 
 corner. We can see every one who crosses 
 the lobby. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Using her lorgnette): How 
 many sights and how many frights shall we see to- 
 night? Really, Agnes, I wish you would give up 
 wearing your old-fashioned onyx and amber. Why 
 don't you turn in all that junk and get something new 
 and fashionable? (Sits.) 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Oh, I've never had any desire 
 to buy jewelry since my husband died. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: But that was ages ago. 
 Pve had all my diamonds reset since Thomas went. 
 I had my v/edding ring melted and molded again into 
 an orange wreath. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: There's the young bride who 
 arrived to-day. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Where? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Over there near the fountain 
 in a very low gown. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I don't see her. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester : She moved behind the column. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Rises and crosses): I can't 
 see her. Why didn't you tell me before the column 
 got in the way? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: If you were not so vain, 
 Phoebe, you would wear decent glasses like mine. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Indeed, I can see perfectly 
 well. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Well, I don't blame you for 
 
104 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 using your lorgnette. It does add distinction to your 
 
 Payne-Dexter manner. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Amused) : What ! Are you 
 still impressed by my manner? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: I have been for fifty years — 
 dear me, Phoebe, is it really fifty years ago since you 
 and I were debutantes? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Looking about carefully): 
 Ssh ! Don't let the hotel know Pm seventy. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester : No one guesses it. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Rises and takes chair next to 
 Mrs. Dorchester) : I certainly don't feel it, but let me 
 tell you, these young debutantes of to-day with their 
 supercilious airs, their sophisticated conversation, their 
 smoking in public places, are not going to crowd me 
 back into a grandmother's corner. No! I shall live 
 another twenty years at least, if only to see these young 
 things grow into the troubles of married life, and it 
 will please me. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Why have you such animosity 
 toward the debutantes? You terrorize them. Every- 
 where they side-step for you. In elevators, corridors, 
 in the ballroom, on the beach, they put themselves out 
 to be deferential to you. It is "Good morning, Mrs. 
 Payne-Dexter," "Good afternoon, Mrs. Payne-Dex- 
 ter," "Good evening, Mrs. Payne-Dexter," but they 
 never see me, even though we have been here since 
 the opening of the season. 
 
 Mrs. Payne- Dexter : It is because you don't 
 create the atmosphere which demands their attention. 
 I am putting on all the Payne-Dexter airs I can think 
 of to terrorize them : I want to make the debutantes 
 
EVER YOUNG 105 
 
 and their smart young men side-step for me. Their 
 youth and prettiness is no longer mine, but I hold over 
 them the whip hand. I am a dowager, a member of 
 a society that once ruled New York, and does still 
 to a certain extent and they shall bow^ to me as long 
 as I inhale one breath of life ! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: I do believe you are jealous of 
 the present generation. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I am, I am fiercely jealous. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester : But we have had our own day, 
 Phoebe, it is their turn. It is our time to sit back and 
 give them a chance. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Agnes, you have kept your 
 health living on your estate in Long Island, but you 
 have watched the inevitable drying up of flowers and 
 leaves in autumn and you have followed what seems 
 to you the inevitable progress of autumn into winter 
 — well, my hair may be white as snow, but my blood 
 is still red! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Your vitality is a marvel to 
 every one. Your club work, civic and social leader- 
 ship make even the doctors amazed at you. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: The doctors are my worst 
 enemies. They tell me I must not eat this, I must not 
 do that. They tell me I am getting old, that I must 
 rest. I do not wish to rest, I simply won't grow old. 
 When one has been a leader, one can not let younger 
 women usurp one's position. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: You still have your leadership. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : I still have it because I will 
 have it, because I will not let it go, but I have to strive 
 harder for it every year, every year I must grow 
 
106 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 more imperious, more dominating, more terrorizing to 
 hold supremacy over this new independent generation. 
 (Looks off left.) There is that little presumptuous 
 May Whigham. She is eighteen and so rude I should 
 like to spank her. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester : They all fear you, Phoebe. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (With grim humor): I hope 
 so. I shall not be pushed into a corner as long as I 
 still draw one breath of life ! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Looking off right): Good eve- 
 ning, Mrs. Blanchard. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: We have kept a chair for 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Enters up-stage from audience. 
 She is thin, a trifle bent zuith age and needs a walking 
 cane. It is gold-topped and suspended on it is a fan 
 of lavender plumes, and a gold mesh hag. In her left 
 hand she carries a hook. She is exquisitely gowned in 
 light hlue chiffon and rare old lace. Her face is like 
 a cameo, scarcely a wrinkle in it, and her smile is 
 illuminatingly young. She wears a diamond necklace 
 but no rings.) Good evening, Mrs. Payne-Dexter, Mrs. 
 Dorchester. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Helping Airs. Blanchard) : Sit 
 down, Mrs. Blanchard. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: No, thank you, do not help 
 me. I am about to throw it away. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : Throw your cane away ? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (With a light in her eyes): Yes, 
 I am not going to need it in a week or so. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: I heard of a woman the other 
 day who dispensed with her cane. 
 
EVER YOUNG 107 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Who was it? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Nods off right): That golf 
 champion, what's her name, she's over there — the one 
 with the burnt V on her chest — she told me 
 all about a case, but, dear me, I never can remem- 
 ber names. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: I shall have to ask her about it. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Are you getting stronger 
 Mrs. Blanchard! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: I must get stronger. I am 
 tired of depending upon a cane. Everywhere I go 
 people are putting themselves out to be polite to me. 
 Men help me, women send their men to help me, 
 chauffeurs help me, bell-boys help me, waiters help 
 me, debutantes help me — 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Debutantes! I can scarcely 
 believe it! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: The debutantes hop around me 
 like so many sand-flies — all of them wanting to help 
 me walk. I feel like swatting them with this (shakes 
 cane). Their politeness to my infirmity is an insult. If 
 they would only be rude! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Mrs. Payne-Dexter was just 
 complaining that they were too rude. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : Rude ! They are ! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: If they are rude to you it is a 
 compliment. They do not look upon you as old and 
 decrepid. I resent their solicitude. In a day or two 
 I shall throw this old thing away! (She tosses the 
 cane aside.) 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Mrs. Blanchard! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard : It is no idle threat, I mean it ! 
 
108 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester : But you told me you had used 
 it fifteen years. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: So I have, and it is old enough 
 to throw away. It is the oldest leg I have and it is 
 going to be thrown away. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Oldest? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: What are you doubting? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: My dear Mrs. Blanchard, you 
 just said your cane is the oldest leg you have — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: So it is. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Humorously) : Mrs. Dor- 
 chester would like to know just exactly how old the 
 others are. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: The others are just exactly not 
 more than nine months ! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester : Nine months ! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Do you think I should say 
 ninety years? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : Isn't it a little nearer to the 
 truth ? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Triumphantly) : But it is not 
 the truth! The wonderful truth is that my legs are 
 not seventy-one years old, they are not more than nine 
 months old. I have been reading an amazing book. 
 (She holds book up.) 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: What is it? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Using lorgenette): Truth 
 and Youth. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: This book says that every cell 
 in our body is completely new every nine months. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: I heard about that. My 
 
EVER YOUNG 109 
 
 daughter was reading a book about that, I forget what 
 it was called. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Each cell reproduces itself ac- 
 cording to the impression given to it by our subcon- 
 scious mind. As we grow old we hold a thought of 
 age and impress the cells with that thought, but if we 
 rid ourselves of the illusion of old age we can remain 
 ever young. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Let me have this book. I 
 would pay a fortune for youth. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: We do not have to pay for 
 youth. We just have to think it and be it. It is very 
 simple they say, when you have faith. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: What was that book my 
 daughter was reading — dear, dear, I never can remem- 
 ber names, and titles and numbers! 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Too much wool, Agnes, I 
 tell you you are growing old — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: She does not look it. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Her mind is one hundred 
 and fifty years old! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Good-naturedly): Not quite. 
 I have had too many financial matters to attend to since 
 my husband died to let me slip too far behind the 
 times, but I believe in accepting old age with as good 
 a grace as possible. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Rubbish! That is antedilu- 
 vian! I am just beginning to learn how to live. Do 
 you know I have just obtained my divorce? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Have you divorced Mr. 
 Blanchard, after all these years? 
 
no A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Yes, after all these years. I 
 suppose you know the story of my life. It was nation- 
 ally commented upon when my daughter married the 
 Duke of Caubreigh. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: My St. Louis friends often 
 mentioned you, that is why I was so interested in 
 meeting you here this season. When my husband was 
 alive he used to hear things at the clubs. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: No doubt he did. My husband 
 has been notoriously unfaithful to me. I grieved about 
 it for more than forty years and I never had the sense 
 to get rid of him. Never had the courage until now 
 — but now, it is all as clear as day to me — ■ If I have 
 been a fool for forty years must I stay a fool forever ? 
 No, I kicked over the traces, with my wooden leg — and 
 I am a free woman. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: How odd, to think of your 
 wilfully giving up your husband when we widows so 
 wish ours back again. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Did your husband contest 
 it? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: My husband was amazed, in- 
 dignant — he writes me imploring letters. He is old 
 now and ready to settle down. Now, when he is 
 ready to sit before the fireplace and watch me knit, 
 I have played a trick on him — I am not ready to sit 
 before the fireplace and I would rather play roulette 
 than knit. By the way I gambled three hundred dol- 
 lars away last night. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: We left early. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: That is, at midnight. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: We rode around a bit before 
 
EVER YOUNG 111 
 
 coming in. It was so balmy and I just love to ride 
 in the chairs. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I suppose it was not quite 
 the thing for two lone women to ride around in the 
 moonlight at midnight, but the colored boy said every 
 one does it at Palm Beach. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: It was very romantic. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: There is romance in every 
 breeze through the palm trees. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Gaily): I didn't come back to 
 the hotel until morning. I stayed on and played, had 
 breakfast there — came home without a ring on my 
 finger — handed them over as security to a friend who 
 thought it funny to take them — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: We missed you on the beach 
 this morning. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: I slept until luncheon. I am 
 going back to-night to win my rings again. (She 
 dangles a gold bag stuffed with bills.) Starting with 
 five hundred to-night. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Before you know it you 
 will have gambled a fortune away! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Laughs): I'm not worrying. 
 I receive an amazing high alimony. The court 
 figured that I would not live long and that I needed 
 much medical care. Well, I am not paying out any 
 money for medical care and when it comes to having 
 a good time I am making up for forty years! I 
 found only one man in my whole life whom I really 
 loved and he was not my husband. (Hastily.) Be 
 shocked if you want to — I am free now and can speak 
 of it. 
 
112 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: What happened? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: I have never known what be- 
 came of him. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: I can't imagine what it must 
 be not to love one's husband. I miss mine so! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: I had been married only four 
 months when I heard of my husband's infatuation 
 for a married woman in our own set. He had mar- 
 ried me only, it seems, to allay suspicion. Of course, 
 I see now that I should have divorced him then and 
 there, but I was very young and it wasn't being done 
 in those days. In those hours of my disillusion a 
 dashing young lieutenant understood my despair and 
 planned to arouse my husband's jealousy and so bring 
 him back to me — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Phoebe, stop fuddling with 
 your door-key. It gets on my nerves. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: He succeeded in arousing my 
 husband's jealousy but meanwhile I had fallen in 
 love with the lieutenant — 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : And he with you no 
 doubt? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Mrs. Blanchard, it is a life- 
 tragedy, but not a line of it shows in your face. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: I wouldn't let it show in my 
 face. I harbored a secret thought — a terrible 
 thought that my husband might die, that I might be 
 free to find the other again, that then he should not 
 see an old wrinkled face after he had cherished the 
 memory of my youth. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Think of living like that 
 
EVER YOUNG 113 
 
 all these years when you might have had a divorce 
 long ago. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: It's humorous in a way, isn't 
 it? That when women like you and Mrs. Dorchester 
 are widowed, I had to put up with a husband who 
 just wouldn't die? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: What became of the lieu- 
 tenant ? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: He asked to be transferred to 
 another post. He wanted to go as far away from 
 me as possible — no distance seemed far enough to 
 break the magnetic attraction between us. Finally he 
 was sent as far away as China, and there we lost 
 track of him in the Boxer rebellion. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: And you never heard from 
 him again? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: No. The Government re- 
 ported him as missing. No doubt the Chinese took 
 him prisoner. If he died— and I think he must have 
 died — all these years I have imagined that he died — 
 I have felt his spirit near me — guiding me — watching 
 over me — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Shaking her head): Do you 
 believe he could be near you? I don't believe that 
 my husband is. I sit and knit and think of him, but 
 the beyond seems nothing but void and silence. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Practically): Well, I be- 
 lieve in believing anything that helps you. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Shaking head): I can't get 
 into communication. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Hopefully): Oh! I know 
 Oliver Trent has never forgotten me. If he had lived 
 
114 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 or escaped, Oliver would have found me. I know 
 Oliver died and that his spirit has been lovingly near 
 me these twenty years! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: My husband and I loved each 
 other deeply. That love, it seems to me, should hold 
 us together even after he has gone, but I can't believe 
 that it does. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: It does and it will, if you have 
 faith. There is nothing but love — I am beginning to 
 feel it — for a long while I tried to make myself be- 
 lieve it — for a long while I could only think, but now 
 I am beginning to feel it — deep within me to realize 
 it! — and I feel warm all through. Oh, I shall put 
 aside my ancient legs! (She flings the cane aside.) 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Of course, he loved you — 
 I am sure he did. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: If he were only alive now 
 that you have your divorce. 
 
 ]\1rs. Blanchard: So you see my romance is only 
 a shadow — only a thought — there is nothing tangible — 
 I dared keep no letters, not one single token of his — 
 only my thoughts, but those thoughts have kept me 
 from going to pieces all these years. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: And the thoughts have 
 kept your face so young. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard : I would not let my face change 
 — if by some miracle I should see him again I must 
 be as he remembered me — but I cou-ldn't control my 
 body as well — I seemed to get wearier and wearier of 
 life until I needed a cane to lean on — and then I 
 doubled up on that and here I am — 
 
EVER YOUNG 115 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : And here you are threaten- 
 ing to walk without it. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Brightening): I will too, I 
 will. I only sadden when I begin to think of the 
 past. If s a bad habit. I shall not do it any more. 
 Only if I could be sure he died with just me in his 
 heart, I wouldn't mind so much his not being alive. 
 If I knew that all these years it has been he guiding 
 me and not my imagination and self-deception, that 
 he is near me all the time — if I could but know that. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I should certainly continue 
 to believe that he remembered me. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Consolingly): I am sure he 
 did. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Shakes her head): I built my 
 life upon my faith in him — if I should be robbed of 
 this belief in his love for me — I think it would — kill 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: But if you could have 
 proof of his love — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (With shining eyes): Oh! If I 
 could have proof. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Looking off stage) : There's 
 that beautiful Mrs. Courtney- Page. I should like to 
 know her better. Shall we invite her to sit with us? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Who is she? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: The white-haired woman 
 in white velvet carrying a black fan. She is just 
 coming out of mourning for her last husband. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Last! How many did she 
 have? 
 
116 A BOOk CF ONE- ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: The manicurist told me 
 she had three — and the clerk in the jewel shop told 
 me only one, they v^^ere appraising her pearls — she 
 has such marvelous pearls — I'd love to see her pearls 
 close by — wouldn't you? — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Amused): Oh! yes, do invite 
 her over — I'd like to exchange data about husbands. 
 Is she down here alone? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: They say she came alone 
 — but I've noticed her on the beach with one man, 
 and in a wheel-chair with another — she's alone now 
 though and evidently looking for a place to sit — call 
 her over, Agnes. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Timidly) : But I don't know 
 her. Phoebe, you call her. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Don't you know her, Mrs. 
 Payne-Dexter ? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I might pretend to. How 
 do you do. (She bows amiably.) 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page : (Enters from right. She 
 is white-haired and about sixty, but she has dash in 
 her manner and her figure is stunning in a white vel- 
 vet evening gown. She is the type that can be a 
 vampire at any age. The gown has the medieval 
 charm of long sleeves although it is very low at the 
 throat. Her jewels are pearls, ropes of pearls. She 
 carries a black feather fan, a black velvet bag, and a 
 batch of mail among which is a black rimmed letter.) 
 How do you do — You must pardon me, I don't recall 
 the name? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Mrs. Payne-Dexter, of 
 
EVER YOUNG 117 
 
 New York. Don't tell me, Mrs. Courtney-Page, that 
 you have forgotten me. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page (With poise): Oh! yes — 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter — a name so well known — we met, 
 I remember, exactly five years ago at the opera. Your 
 box was next to the Carrolls'. We were their guests 
 one evening when my late husband and I were in New 
 York on a wedding trip. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Why, yes, of course, how 
 clever of you to remember. My friends, Mrs. Dor- 
 chester, Mrs. Blanchard — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: How do you do — won't you 
 sit down? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : Yes, thank you. (She 
 sits.) I have noticed you, Mrs. Blanchard. Your 
 cane? (She picks it up and courteously hands it to 
 Mrs. Blanchard.) 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Courteously taking it as an evi- 
 dence of courteous consideration) : Thank you. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Mrs. Dorchester and I 
 have been spending the season in Palm Beach. Mrs. 
 Dorchester is a native of Long Island. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: And I came down from St. 
 Louis and had the good fortune to become acquainted 
 with them, personally. I have always known Mrs. 
 Payne-Dexter by reputation. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : Blanchard of St. Louis. 
 The name is very familiar — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard : My daughter married the Duke 
 of Caubreigh — 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page : Oh! yes — ^yes — but just 
 lately — it seems to me I saw that name lately. 
 
118 A BOOK OF ONE- ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: No doubt you did. 1 am cele- 
 brating my divorce ! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: I think she has a great deal 
 of courage to face the world alone — voluntarily. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: It is rejuvenating to feel so 
 marvelously free! 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: She is quite right. Why 
 should a woman remain in bondage when there is at 
 every turn a new chance for a better alliance! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Good gracious! Do you be- 
 lieve me capable of marrying again at my age? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Why not? A woman can 
 marry any man she wants. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Mildly): Oh! The man may 
 get the woman he wants, Henry kept insisting until 
 I married him, but I don't think it's the other way 
 round ; do you, Phoebe ? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Dominating manner): I 
 don't know. I worked very hard for Thomas but I 
 got him. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard : I haven't an opinion. The one 
 / wanted I met only when it was too late. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : What do you mean by too 
 late? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: After I was married to some 
 one else. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : But now you are di- 
 vorced — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Oh! it's too late now. My 
 romance was over twenty years ago. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Do you really think a woman 
 can marry any man she wants? 
 
EVER YOUNG 119 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: I've proved it. I was 
 engaged three times, married once, once widowed, and 
 now I have another fiance. Isn't that a proof? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Suavely): You are, if you will 
 pardon my frankness, a very handsome woman, Mrs. 
 Courtney-Page. Such attractions would not require 
 much further effort on your part. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Thank you, but there is a 
 science about attracting love as there is about every- 
 thing else. There hasn't been a moment of my life 
 when I haven't been in love. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Rather snortingly): That's 
 impossible ! There aren't enough people in the world 
 for that! 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page (With real tenderness): 
 Oh ! yes there are — as long as you hold the thought of 
 love, you will find those you can love — and as long as 
 you love you will attract it in return. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Wliere is your home now, 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : Chicago, but I was born 
 in San Francisco. I was Emily Tardon. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Emily Tardon! You don't 
 mean it ! Are you really ! Why, it just seems yester- 
 day when all the magazines were full of your photo- 
 graphs, the most beautiful debutante on the western 
 coast ! 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : They did make a fuss 
 about it when I became engaged to Harlow Bingham 
 — I was only eighteen then. When I look back and 
 think what a brilliant career I might have had with 
 Harlow — well — you know he died — (she sighs) — be- 
 
120 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 fore we were married — an accident — horse-racing. 
 Poor Harlow, he gave me my first pearls. (She un- 
 consciously plays with a strand of pearls.) 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Magnificent pearls! 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Using lorgnette): I have 
 scarcely been able to keep my eyes off of them. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: This strand — the shortest 
 and smallest — was given to me by Harlow Bingham 
 upon our engagement. He gave me a solitaire too, 
 but the pearls were a gift of thanks because I had 
 given up the desire to go on the stage to marry him. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Oh, did you want to be an 
 actress ? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: I have wanted nothing 
 more all of my life. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: You would have made a good 
 one too. 
 
 Mrs. Court ney- Page : My family opposed me 
 as all families do. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: They did in those days. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : So I had to give up the 
 idea of acting on the stage. (But it is evident that 
 she has been acting in real life ever since.) 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (In a whisper, looking down 
 right): Look, look, that's the man who tried to 
 flirt with me the other day at the the tea dance in 
 the Grove. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Don't you know who that 
 is? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: No. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: That's Beverly Strawn, 
 our best seller novelist. 
 
EVER YOUNG 121 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Gracious! Hide me! He 
 must have been picking me out for the dowager 
 mother-in-law in his next novel — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester : Did you marry Mr. Courtney- 
 Page after Mr. — what's his name died — Your first 
 fiance ? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : No. I became engaged 
 to PhiHp Harlow, an Englishman, I met in Egypt. 
 He was on his way to South Africa. He had been 
 in diplomatic service in India and had been trans- 
 ferred. He brought me this second strand — the 
 second largest and longest — from India. He went 
 ahead to South Africa to prepare a home intending 
 to come back for me, but he died of fever — and we — 
 were never married. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: How thrillingly tragic! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: I could not have endured it. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: And the other strands — 
 you have two more — 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: This third one was the 
 gift of my husband, Mr. Courtney- Page. I would 
 not let him give them to me until after we were mar- 
 ried. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: That was a wise precaution. 
 They say pearls mean tears. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: It is surprising that he 
 risked giving you pearls at all. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page : He felt he had to because 
 he was jealous of the others — of course, I couldn't 
 throw the others away — they were so beautiful and 
 so costly — 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Naturally not. 
 
122 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: So he finally purchased a 
 strand in Vienna — larger and longer than the other. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: And then did he die too? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Oh! no, Mr. Courtney- 
 Page was the third man I was engaged to, but the 
 only one I married. He died scarcely a year ago. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Takes some digestive tablets 
 out of her bag and offers them): Will you have a 
 life-preserver? I ate something to-night that didn't 
 quite agree with me. (She takes one.) 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Takes one): Thank you. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Offering): Mrs. Blanchard? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: No, thanks, I don't need them 
 any more since I am taking the new diet. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: What is your new diet? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Silently offers Mrs. Courtney- 
 Page, who takes one.) 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Nuts, fruit, no meat, no bread, 
 no hot vegetables, no coffee, no tea — • 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester : Have you stopped eating alto- 
 gether ? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Only fruit and nuts — I feel as 
 light as a feather — in another day I shall walk and 
 throw away this stick ! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: You said in another week you 
 would throw it away. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Now be careful, don't take 
 risks ! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard : The book says we must not 
 have negatives in our mind. I tell you that if I can 
 have enough faith I shall walk alone! 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Oh! the book. 
 
EVER YOUNG 123 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Handing book to Mrs. Payne- 
 Dexter): Truth and Youth. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Reading from book at 
 random): "The average man and woman of middle 
 age chooses a comfortable chair and settles down into 
 it with the thought that life is finished and it is neces- 
 sary to await the end. Women do this more than 
 men. When women see their little children grown to 
 manhood and independent of them, they feel that 
 their use in life is over. Nothing is more untrue. 
 The grandmother is a free — " 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Interrupting as she glances off- 
 down left): Just a moment, Phoebe, excuse me, but 
 what did you say was the name of the woman in jet — 
 walking with the aviator — did she fly down with him 
 from New York? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: That's Hilda Dane, one 
 of the Follies. They say she has her skin insured 
 when she's on the beach. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: I have never seen her skin. 
 She paints it up with whitewash and her lips are thick 
 with red paint. Yesterday on the beach she wore a 
 lemon colored woolen cape with a big sable collar 
 and every diamond that has ever been given to her. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Is she married to the aviator? 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Going back to her book): 
 Don't ask absurd questions, Agnes. "The grand- 
 mother is a free woman, she has a new youth. She 
 has the vision of experience with which to experiment 
 for greater wisdom — " Ah, Agnes, you must read 
 this book — it will stir you up — ^your very mind is 
 getting to be like wool. 
 
124 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Amused): I have always been 
 more domestic than you, Phoebe. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Domestic! Haven't I done 
 my share? Haven't I run a house in New York, a 
 house in Newport, a house in London, apartments in 
 Paris, I even had a palace one season in Venice — no, 
 it is not domesticity that is making you old, it is 
 mental lethargy! 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: That is the worst enemy 
 to youth, mental lethargy, I refuse to have it! 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Mrs. Dorchester doesn't 
 live for herself any more. When she is at home, she 
 is a slave to her grandchildren, when she is away she 
 can scarcely take time from the wool to look at a 
 cocoanut grove. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Looking azvay): Oh, I can 
 knit without looking. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : I am more selfish. I let 
 my children and grandchildren alone. As long as 
 they are not starving, it is no business of mine to live 
 for them. I do not spend my evenings knitting baby- 
 socks. I have my opera box, I give dinner parties 
 and entertain distinguished foreign visitors. I have 
 my club committees, my charities, and I am studying 
 art so as to be able to add to my husband's collection 
 of paintings — as a memorial to him — and I am taking 
 up Spanish because I am planning to spend next sea- 
 son in Buenos Aires. But you, Agnes, you make 
 your children dependent upon you — you are always 
 nursing some grandchild through something. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: But when they are ill, I mtist 
 help them. 
 
EVER YOUNG 125 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: You think you must and 
 they let you think it because they don't want to hurt 
 your feelings by letting you know they don't need 
 you. You take care of a grandchild so its own 
 mother can go and play bridge, you save your son a 
 nurse's bill while he spends the money playing polo at 
 the country club. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: But it isn't a happy thought 
 not to be needed. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: You were telling us about 
 your pearls, Mrs. Courtney-Page. It is an exquisite 
 pleasure to look at them. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: This fourth strand, the 
 largest and longest, is the gift of my new fiance. I 
 am down here waiting for time to pass — we shall be 
 married as soon as it seems correct. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Dear me (She looks off 
 down left), there's Mrs. Wallace Morse in another 
 gown — and as usual no petticoat. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Well, I think she does 
 wear one! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Aren't you lucky to find a 
 fiance again! I am afraid I couldn't bring myself 
 to care for any man as much as I have cared for one 
 in the past. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Nor I. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Hump! Men aren't worth 
 bothering about. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : I was so lost without 
 marriage companionship that when I was in Paris last 
 autumn, I picked out the most eligible man I could 
 
126 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 find. He is quite old, but very nice and has valuable 
 mines in Australia. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Is he a Frenchman? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: No, an American, but he 
 hasn't been in this country since he was sent to the 
 American Legation in China. He has had an excit- 
 ing life. He was taken prisoner in the Boxer rebel- 
 lion and was reported missing for years, but a faith- 
 ful Chinese servant smuggled him to Australia. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Begins to tremble with premo- 
 nition — her hands quiver as they chit eh her cane): 
 Your fiance, his name — 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Oliver Trent — ^president 
 of the AustraHa Mining Company of — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (With a gasp of anguish looses 
 her hold on the cane; it falls unheeded to the floor): 
 Oliver Trent — you said Oliver Trent? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Blandly): Why — wasn't that 
 the name of the man you loved — wasn't that the 
 name, Phoebe? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: The man, Mrs. Blanchard 
 — I don't understand — 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Trying to relieve the situa- 
 tion): Mrs. Blanchard had been telling us about a 
 friend of hers who had been lost in the Boxer rebel- 
 lion. She thought he had died. No doubt it is a 
 consolation to her to know that he still lives. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Wilted and old-looking and 
 zvith an effort): No, Mrs. Courtney- Page, I can 
 scarcely bear the fact that he still lives. I have held 
 him in my heart as one dead for twenty years. I 
 have lived on the thought that he loved me. He loved 
 
EVER YOUNG 127 
 
 me once, but I know now that men can not be true. 
 When he w^ent to China he put me out of his mind 
 forever. He has forgotten me — for younger and 
 handsomer women. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Hump! I wouldn't let it 
 worry me. Men are not worth such life-long adora- 
 tion. You look about and some one else — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Gently): Perhaps, Mrs. Court- 
 ney-Page will give him up, if we tell her what he 
 means to you. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Fiercely): I want my own — 
 not what is cast off — 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page (Drawing her chair closer to 
 Mrs. Blanchard and speaking gently): You want me 
 to give him up? (She fondles the largest strand of 
 pearls reluctantly.) It would be hard for me to do — 
 It wasn't easy to win him. I had to use all the art 
 I have learned in past experience to get him. He has 
 never been married and is a little afraid — ^but I won 
 him — if I give him up, are you sure he would remem- 
 ber you? 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (In anguish of spirit hut under 
 control): No. Do not trouble. I shall have to bear 
 it. I — I feel quite bhnd — as if I had been struck on 
 the head — but maybe it is just my heart. You see he 
 and I were very much in love, but I was married and 
 he had to go away. He promised not to forget. But 
 he was young and — and maybe I shouldn't have be- 
 lieved him. When I never heard again and the Gov- 
 ernment reported him missing, every one said he must 
 be dead. That last day before he went, I met him 
 clandestinely in the Park. I cut off a bit of my hair 
 
128 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 that day. It was golden then, like golden amber he 
 said, and he put it into an amber locket he wore on 
 his watch charm. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Drops her knitting needles and 
 lets her zvool roll to the floor): I remember, I re- 
 member, am.ber locket — from a watch charm — I have 
 it here — Fve had it twenty years — made into a brace- 
 let (She fakes off bracelet). My son brought it home 
 from the Philippines — it was given to him by a 
 Chinese servant — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (In extreme excitement) : The 
 locket — 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : A Chinese servant — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Yes, the very one you said 
 rescued him. I remember it all now. How stupid 
 of me not to think of it before, but as Phoebe says, 
 my mind's all wool — that Chinese servant — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Yes — ^yes — go on! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Speedily): You know the 
 Boxers stormed the Legation — he fought desperately 
 and valiantly, the Chinese servant described all that — 
 how he was taken prisoner and tortured so he almost 
 lost his mind. At night he raved in delirium. He 
 called a woman's name, but there was no one of that 
 name in the Legation, — my son told me but I have 
 such a wretched memory for names — but it wasn't a 
 real name that one could identify — it must have been 
 a nickname — ■ 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Was it Dee-dee? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Pouncingly) : Dee-dee, Dee- 
 dee, that's what it was ! Oh ! my stupid head ! 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Pathetically) : It meant "dear." 
 
EVER YOUNG 129 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Lovingly at Mrs. Dorchester 
 with increasing suspense): Why have you kept this 
 from us all this time? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Gaining assurance): How 
 could I know my son's story was about Mrs. Blanchard 
 until she mentioned the watch charm? — but now it all 
 comes back to me — at night in delirium he called this 
 name — how he loved this woman — he took the watch 
 charm and opened it and kissed the blonde lock of 
 hair, and he treasured it as nothing else he had. He 
 treasured it so highly that he gave it to his Chinese 
 servant to keep for him — for fear they would rob 
 him cf it. They took his money and everything else 
 he had but the servant kept the amber safely — but — 
 but— 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Wrapt attention): But then 
 how did you forget it? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: That's just it — I'll tell you 
 how it was — Oh! my stupid memory. Phoebe, stop 
 fiddling with your door key, you distract me — The 
 amber — the Chinese servant smuggled him into a 
 boat — » 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Who was smuggled into the 
 boat? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Mr. What's his name — your — 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard: Oliver Trent — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Yes, into the boat — and in the 
 excitement of concealing him behind some kegs — the 
 ship began to move and the Chinese servant had to 
 run to get of¥ and in running he forgot to give up 
 the amber watch charm — and so he kept it — he kept 
 it as a talisman and a few years later when he served 
 
130 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 my son in the Philippines, he gave it to him as a 
 talisman when my son was very ill with fever — and 
 my son became superstitious about it and had it set 
 into a bracelet for me as my protection — now, I shall 
 give it to you — for it is your talisman, Mrs. Blanchard, 
 a talisman of his undying love. 
 
 (Mrs. Blanchard is incapable of speech, but she 
 takes the bracelet in both hands and raises it to her 
 lips; a light of inspiration comes into her eyes.) 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: And that is why I had 
 such difficulty making him care for me. He told me 
 about his first love — he spoke of her as Dee-dee and 
 he told me that when he lost the amber — ^he felt that 
 she had gone out of his life forever — he said that she 
 was married and it was unlawful for him to think of 
 her — but he has never forgotten — he told me he would 
 love her always — and when I tell him of you, Mrs. 
 Blanchard, he will come to you at once, for you have 
 been right — his love has been yours and is yours still. 
 I think you ought to have these pearls. 
 
 Mrs. Blanchard (Her eyes illumined, her body 
 stronger): Oh! no, thank you — I don't want them — 
 I — I — have this. (She holds the locket in her tzvo 
 hands and rises; forgetting her cane.) Excuse me, 
 ladies, if I go to my room — I — I have had my answer 
 out of the silence — and Fm a little — unstrung. (She 
 zmlks out right with great dignity and composure, a 
 grand dame in manner even in her ecstasy and the 
 light in her eyes is a triumph of youth.) 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Looking after her in awe): 
 Without her cane! 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Don't remind her! 
 
EVER YOUNG 131 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Sighing): Poor dear— poor 
 dear — 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : Was that all true what you 
 said, Agnes? I never heard you talk so fast in all 
 your life — and how you suddenly got such memory! 
 You never told me anything about that amber charm 
 and you've worn it forever, seems to me ! 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Father gave it to me my 
 
 twenty-first birthday to save a lock of my blonde hair. 
 
 I risked the chance that mine was a duplicate of hers. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: And all you said was a lief 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : It doesn't matter. We 
 
 shall make it true. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : But when she finds out that 
 you have deceived her — 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page : She will never find out. 
 
 I shall warn him to hide away his amber watch charm. 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Does he still wear it? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Yes; and many other 
 
 charms, from other loves— They say he has been a 
 
 great beau — 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: The outrageous flirt! 
 Mrs. Dorchester : Poor dear Mrs. Blanchard. I 
 thought she would die— I was afraid she was dying— 
 I had to say something to bring her to. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : But what have you gained 
 by these lies? 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Does she not walk? 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter (With awe): Yes, it is a 
 miracle. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Merely a miracle of the 
 realization of love — 
 
132 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: But it is built on a false 
 belief. He has not been true to her. 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page ; Mrs. Payne-Dexter, I have 
 never questioned the reality of any one's love for me. 
 That w^hich counts is, after all, only that which is in 
 our own hearts. If Mrs. Blanchard is convinced of 
 his love — that is all that is really necessary. 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter : But when you marry him — 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: I shall not marry him — I 
 shall only keep the pearls — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: But if yoii love him — 
 
 Mrs. Courtney-Page: Well as for that — /. al- 
 ways, can find some one else — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Gracious, my wool is a mess! 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: You'd better give up knit- 
 ting, Agnes, and turn to story-writing — you've quite 
 surprised me with your sudden brilliancy. Bell-boy, 
 you may have these glasses — 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester: Your diamond, platinum lorg- 
 nette ! 
 
 Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Hump! do you think / 
 have to manufacture a love-affair to help me get rid 
 of my glasses? 
 
 Mrs. Dorchester (Scarcely able to grasp the 
 idea): She walked without her cane! 
 
 Mrs. Courtney- Page (With a sentimental smile): 
 Oh I to stay young, one must love. 
 
 Curtain 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 
 
 By 
 
 Claudia Lucas Harris 
 
CLAUDIA LUCAS HARRIS 
 
 Mrs. Harris was born in Iowa and went on the 
 stage when a child, continuing in that work until 
 seven years ago, when she opened the Harris Studio 
 of Dramatic Art in Indianapolis. She has written a 
 number of one-act plays, and two dramas which have 
 been played professionally — The Sporting Passion and 
 At the Month of the Mine — also a number of plays 
 for children: Jack in the Pulpit, Spring and Young 
 Mr. Santa Claus, which latter have been successfuU)^ 
 acted in Indianapolis. 
 
 Mrs. Harris is a charming reader of plays and 
 monologues, and presents very attractive programs. 
 She has directed very successfully the work of the 
 Little Theatre Society in Indianapolis. She is now 
 a resident of Pittsburgh. 
 
 THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 
 
 Frequently the one-act play depicts, in charming 
 fashion, the life and manners of simple folk. 
 
 The Man Who Couldn't Say "No'' is only an epi- 
 sode in the life of a failure, but it portrays character 
 in an unusual way. These people really Hve for us. 
 The slow easy style here is altogether in keeping with 
 Joe and his attitude toward life. 
 
 (Applications to produce The Man Who Couldn't Say 
 "No" should be addressed to Mrs, James Harris, 3318 Car- 
 rollton Avenue, Indianapolis.) 
 
 134 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T 
 SAY "NO" 
 
 The Present. Winter. Sunday in a small town. 
 Place : Settin'-room in Joe Stehbins' home. 
 
 PEOPLE 
 
 Joe Stebbins . . a harness maker, — the "failure" 
 
 Abner Ellis his old-time friend 
 
 Mum Joe's crippled mother 
 
 Hallie an orphan 
 
 Eddie Joe's little son 
 
 (Joe and Abner are playing checkers at a table L. C. 
 Mum sits in her new wheeled chair by the windozv R. 
 Hallie is heard clearing away the dishes in the din- 
 ing-room L. and singing snatches of old hymn tunes 
 in a fresh happy voice. Eddie is watching the game 
 from the back of the table. 
 
 (Ab has Joe covered. Joe has one king in a corner 
 zuhere he can move only one way. Ab is closing in 
 on him with his several kings.) 
 
 Eddie (Excitedly) : Jump 'im, paw! Jump 'im! 
 Don't ye see? 
 
 Joe (Good-naturedly): Yes, son, I see. But I 
 don't see as 'twould do me no good to jump 'im seein' 
 as how he'd jump me right back again. 
 
 Ab (Chuckling) : Guess I got ye, Joe. You're done. 
 Your little king ain't got no parade ground to exercise 
 in no more. 
 
 135 
 
136 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Joe (With a mock sigh): The game's your'n, Ab- 
 ner. (Ahner marks it in note-hook.) 
 
 Ab: That makes three. I'm a-goin' to skunk you 
 this time! 
 
 Joe: Skunk away if ye kin. But you ain't done 
 it to me yit. 
 
 Eddie : Huh ! 'F I couldn't play checkers no 
 better'n you can, paw, I'd go soak m' head! 
 
 Ab: Run away, Buddy. I reckon yer Pa'd git 
 along jest as well 'ihout your advice an' counsel. 
 
 Joe: Oh, he don't bother none. Pore little chap! 
 Sunday's a lonesome day fer a little feller. (Tries 
 to stroke Eddie's hair while Ahner is re-setting the 
 hoard — the hoy migracionsly ducks and sziKiggers up 
 stage whistling.) 
 
 Hallie (Calls from dining-room) : Come in, Eddie, 
 and help me with the dishes, there's a good boy! 
 
 Eddie: Aw, whad'ye take me for? I ain't a-goin* 
 to do no girl's work. (Exits whistling into dining- 
 room.) 
 
 Joe (Chuckling): Hear that? Ain't no sissy about 
 that boy! 
 
 Ab (Dryly): No, they ain't no sissy — likewise 
 they ain't nothin' good to be said fer 'im neither. 
 He's spoiled, Joe, jest spoiled, that's what he is. 
 
 Joe: I 'low I do spoil him considerable — ^but you 
 know how I feel about the pore motherless little 
 feller. He ain't to blame. It's my fault, I reckon — 
 but — ever sence his maw left us — I ain't had the 
 heart to punish him fer nothin'. 
 
 Ab: Ye're too easy, Joe, that's what's the matter 
 with you. It's been yer besettin' sin all yer life; 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 137 
 
 that's why you ain't never made no more of a success 
 of yer harness-makin' business. Jes' cos you was so 
 lurned easy ye trusted ever' Tom, Dick and Harry 
 who come in an' asked ye. An' now, yer business 
 fallin' off on account o' these here motors bein' used 
 fer ever 'thing, ye never will 'mount to shucks. 
 
 Joe: Mebbe not, Abner, mebbe not. Anyways, I 
 reckon I kin hang on till I raise an' eddicate 
 the boy. They's this here place fer him — all clear. 
 Aside from that, he'll haf to shift fer himself after 
 I'm gone. 
 
 Ab: Ye'd 'a' had more if ye hadn't alius been so 
 dog-gone easy. I've knowed you, Joel Stebbins, 
 sence we was kids together an' I never yit knowed 
 you to hev the courage to say ''no" t' nobody. 
 
 Joe : I reckon I've got along as well as most folks. 
 We live comf 'table — with an occasional luxury — like 
 Mum's new wheel-chair. 
 
 Ab : An' she ain't crazy 'out it, neither. 
 
 Joe: Oh, well, pore ole lady, she'll like it better 
 when she gits used to it. It only come las' week. 
 
 Ab: You can't tell me Mum'll ever adm't likin' 
 anything as well as her ole wooden rocker. 
 
 Joe: Well, bein' old an' crippled up fer ten er 
 fifteen year' don't calkilate to sweeten no one's dispo- 
 sition. It's yore move, Abner. 
 
 Mum (Looking up from her Bible) : Air you two 
 fool boys still gamblin'? 
 
 Joe: Yes, Mum. Ab's skinned me three times 
 an' claims he's a-goin' to skunk me this'n. 
 
 Mum : Well, ye don't desarve to win— gamblin' on 
 the Lord's Day. Goodness knows, Joel, I tried to 
 
138 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 raise you a Christian but it don't seem as if my lickin's 
 took no good effect. 
 
 Joe (Chuckling): No, Mum, I alius was a bad 
 egg. I reckon they ain't nothin' kin save me from 
 everlastin' damnation. (Ab and he chuckle.) 
 
 Mum (Indignantly) : Ain't nothin' to laff at as I 
 kin see. 'Twon't be so funny, Abner EUis, when 
 you're seethin' in fire an' brimstun — payin' up fer yer 
 meannesses hyar on airth. 
 
 Ab: I know, Mum. I wasn't laffin' at what you 
 thought. I was laffin' 'cause I got Joe in a cornder 
 and he can't see no way out of it. 
 
 Mum (Plaintively): My talkin' don't do no good. 
 The seeds fall on stony ground. No one can say I 
 didn't warn ye! 
 
 Ab: They sure can't. You be'n a human finger- 
 post longer'n I kin remember — pointin' out the road 
 they was goin' to most o' the folks around here. 
 
 Joe: Don't tease her, Ab. She's old an' a leetle 
 childish, pore ole soul. She ain't got long t' stay. 
 
 Ab : She stayed long enough to fix your life fer 
 ye, Joe. If it hadn't be'n fer her — 
 
 Joe (With a glance toward Mum): Sh! 
 
 Hallie (Enters): Uncle Joe, Mis' Hanna's at the 
 back door and wants to borrow some coffee fer dinner. 
 
 Joe: Well, give her some, Hallie. You know it's 
 all right with me. 
 
 Hallie: I didn't know what to say — they's only 
 enough for our breakfast, and the stores won't be 
 open that early. 
 
 Joe: Well, let 'er have it. We kin drink tea — or 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 139 
 
 do without. She's a pore widder an' mebbe needs it 
 more'n we do. 
 
 Hallie : All right. Just as you say. (Exits. ) 
 
 Ab: Per the land's sake, Joe Stebbins, ef you 
 ain't— 
 
 Mum: What'd she want? What'd HalHe want? 
 
 Joe: Oh, nothin' much, Mum. Jes' one o' the 
 neighbors wanted to borry somethin'. 
 
 Mum : Well, she can't hev it whatever 'tis. We're 
 jes' run to death 'ith neighbors. Borry, borry, borry! 
 An' never dream o' payin' back. You'll let me end 
 my days in the pore-house yit. 
 
 Joe: Oh, guess not, Mum. We're a long ways 
 from the pore-house. Paupers don't git no new wheel- 
 chairs like you got las' week. (Jumps three men 
 more.) That's one time I slipped one over on ye, 
 Abner. (Rubs his hands and chuckles zvhile Ab 
 runs his stubby fingers through his hair and wonders 
 how it happened.) 
 
 Mum : Humph ! This blame contraption '11 be 
 the death o' me yit. Never kin tell when it'll start 
 a-rollin' and throw me out an' break m' neck. 'Tain't 
 half so comfortable as my old rocker. 
 
 Ab : 'Tain't ? Joe, Mum wants her rocker. L's 
 git it an' put her back in it an' set that no-'count 
 veelocipede out on the porch. (Starts up.) 
 
 Mum : You set right still, Ab Ellis. Joe got this 
 fer me an' I ain't goin' to be so ongrateful as not to 
 use it ef it does nearly kill me to set in it an' if I am 
 skeered t' death of it. 
 
 Ab (Reseating himself and chuckling): She 
 
140 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 wouldn't give up that comftable wheel-chair fer a 
 farm! 
 
 Joe: Oh, well, ole folks is queer. King, Ab! 
 Crown him! (Hallie comes galloping in — Eddie 
 driving her by her apron strings.) 
 
 Eddie (Hits her) : Giddap, giddap ! 
 
 Hallie (Stopping): Whoa! (Above table.) 
 
 Eddie: Giddap! giddap! (Whips her with stick 
 he carries.) 
 
 Hallie: Keep still a minute, Eddie. 
 
 Eddie: Well, go on, then. 
 
 Joe: Don't be so rough, Eddie. 
 
 Hallie: Uncle Joe, there's a man at the back 
 door — a tramp, I guess, says he's hungry. 
 
 Joe: (Absorbed in game): Give him somethin' 
 t' eat, honey. You know I don't never turn no one 
 away hongry. 
 
 Hallie: But there's only some mashed taters left 
 — and I was countin' on them fer tater cakes to- 
 morrow. We et all the ham. 
 
 Joe : Give him the pertaters. We kin go 'thout — 
 or cook some more. Ain't they none of the ham left? 
 
 Hallie : Nope. 
 
 Joe : Fix up what ye kin. Pore feller, I expect 
 he needs food wusser'n we do. Make him some 
 coffee, Hallie. 
 
 Hallie: Th' ain't none. Mis' Hanna borrowed 
 it. 
 
 Joe : Oh, yes, that's so. Well, give 'im a cup o' 
 tea or somethin'. Anything we've got. 
 
 Hallie: All right. 
 
 Eddie (Hits her): Giddap, giddap! 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 141 
 
 Hallie: Eddie, behave! (They exit.) 
 
 Ab: Now, Joe, if ye'd V killed th' ole hen ye 
 planned to hev for dinner they'd V be'n plenty to 
 feed yer tramp. 
 
 Joe: I suppose so. Td oughta killed her. Pore 
 ole thing ! But I felt so sorry f er her — cluckin' away 
 — with all her chicks took from her — that when I 
 went out to ketch her an' wring her neck, — I jes' 
 didn't have the heart. Smoke, Abner? (Gets up— 
 gets can of tobacco from shelf up hack of stove. They 
 fill pipes. Smoke and play, Mum coughs. Fans her- 
 self with handkerchief. Abner, unnoticed by Joe, 
 blows smoke her way.) 
 
 Ab (Referring to move he has just made): I 
 guess that'll hold you fer a while. Ye're so fresh 
 with yer derned ole king. 
 
 Mum (Fanning): Pesky ole stinkin' pipes! 
 
 Joe (Looking up) : What's the matter, Mum ? Too 
 strong fer you ? Well, we'll quit. (Pipe aside.) 
 
 Mum : Never mind. Don't quit on my account. 
 Pd leave the room ef I could— but I can't do nothin' 
 but set like a dratted Chinese idol. (Coughs.) 
 
 Ab (Smoking): Turn the wheel, Mum. You kin 
 go wherever you want. 
 
 Mum: Eh? 
 
 Ab: Turn the stecrin' wheel. 
 
 Mum: Pm too old to learn new tricks. I wasn't 
 cut out for a chufifer. I be'n helpless fer eleven years 
 an' I reckon Pll continue so t' the day o' my death. 
 
 Joe: Want to go to your room, Mum? (Rising.) 
 
 Mum : I reckon Pve set an' watched you gamblers 
 on the Lord's Day an' inhaled yer smellin' ole pipes 
 
142 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 long 'nough. (Joe goes to move her.) Let be! Let 
 be! Where's that girl? 
 
 Joe (Goes up L., calls): Hallie, Hallie. Mum 
 wants you. 
 
 Hallie (Enters wiping her arms): What is it, 
 Mum? 
 
 Mum : Take me into my room, Hallie. These 
 men air a-gamblin' an' a-carryin' on. They'll be 
 drinkin' next. (Hallie wheels her grumbling into 
 room C.) 
 
 Ab (Referring to Hallie): There's a good little 
 gal. 
 
 Joe (Resuming game): She sure is. Just like a 
 little sunbeam round the house. It was a 
 lucky day fer me when I tuk that little orphan in 
 my house. 
 
 Ab (Joking): Jes' cause you "felt sorry fer the 
 pore little thing" when her maw died. 
 
 Joe: She needed a home. Never had no paw, I 
 guess, no one seemed to want her so, nacherally, I 
 tuk her. 
 
 Ab : Nacherally. 
 
 Joe : Don't be sourcastic, Abner. I didn't get sold 
 that time. I dunno what I'd do 'thout her. 
 
 Ab: Yes, she was a good investment. But it'd 'a' 
 been the same if she hadn't. You wouldn't 'a' been 
 no wiser. Mr. E. Z. Mark. That's what your name 
 ought 'a' been, Joe. 
 
 Joe: Now, Abner, jes' 'cause we're sich old 
 frien's — 
 
 Ab: I'm privileged to roast you. That's what 
 friends is fer, ain't they, to pint out yer faults? 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDNT SAY "NO" 143 
 
 Joe: If that's so, Ab, you sure been a good friend 
 to me. 
 
 Ab : My lord, you need it ! You make me so durn 
 mad, Joe — so durn mad — that sometimes I'm jest 
 hoppin'. 
 
 Joe: Go on hoppin', Ab. No one minds it. 'S 
 your move. (Eddie comes in and gets in his father's 
 way — leaning languidly against his arm.) 
 
 Eddie: Paw, I wanna go skatin'. Paw, can't I? 
 
 Joe: Not to-day, buddy. Sun's too warm. I'm 
 'fraid 'tain't safe. 
 
 Eddie : Aw — paw. 
 
 Joe: Move around the table, son; you're crowdin' 
 paw's arm. 
 
 Eddie (Moves to back of table. Whining): Aw, 
 paw, why can't I? 
 
 Joe: 'Tain't safe. 
 
 Eddie: Jilly Baker's paw's let him go. 
 
 Ab (Cornering Joe): Now whatcha goin' to do? 
 (Joe studies deeply.) 
 
 Eddie: Paw — can't I — huh? 
 
 Joe: Don't tease, sonny. 
 
 Eddie : Well, can't I— paw ? Huh ? can't I ? Oh, 
 pl-e-ease — paw. 
 
 Ab: Your paw said ''no." Let that settle it. 
 
 Eddie : You shet yer mouth. 'Tain't your put in. 
 
 Ab: 'Tain't, eh? I'll show ye. (Makes a grab 
 for Eddie who eludes him to R. In the scuffle the 
 checker-board is disarranged). Now you played 
 hell! You dog-goned little aggravatin' scamp! If 
 I's yer paw I'd lam the life out o' you! 
 
 Eddie (Dancing and wriggling fingers to his nose): 
 
144 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 You ain't my paw, see? You ain't my paw. What- 
 cha goin' to do about it? 
 
 Ab (Sitting) : You come pesterin' 'round here again 
 an' ril show ye ! 
 
 Eddie : Ho, yes, you will ! 
 
 Joe: Eddie, now — ^behave yourself. This is the 
 Sabbath Day. (They reset the checkers.) I reckon 
 we'll hev to start fresh, Abner. 
 
 Eddie (On the back of Joe^s chair): Paw, why 
 can't I go skatin'? 
 
 Joe : I told ye. 
 
 Eddie (Blubbering) : But why can't I? 'Tain't no 
 fun setting' 'round the house all day? 
 
 Joe: Your move, Ab. Keep still, Eddie. 
 
 Eddie: Jest a lettle while, paw. I won't go fur 
 from the shore. I'll be jes' as careful. Can't I, paw, 
 huh? 
 
 Joe (Looking speculatively out of the window): 
 Well, now — I — 
 
 Eddie (With renewed animation): Jest fer ten 
 minutes? Huh? (To R. of Joe.) 
 
 Joe: Well, now, I dunno. (Looks reflectively at 
 Eddie.) 
 
 Ab: If 'tain't safe, Joe, tell him no an' be done 
 with it. (Eddie makes a face at Ab.) 
 
 Joe: Oh, I don't ezzactly know it ain't safe. The 
 sun's pretty warm to-day — 
 
 Eddie (At window): The other boys is skatin'. 
 
 Joe: Well, run on fer a little while. Bundle up 
 good — an' be careful. 
 
 Eddie (Cheerfully) : I will, paw. (Up to hall tree 
 — puts on cap and coat.) 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 145 
 
 Joe (Over his shoulder): Put yer muffler 'round 
 yer neck and pull yer cap down good over yer ears. 
 
 Eddie : All right, I will. (Goes out slamming the 
 door.) 
 
 Ab (Gets up — hands in pockets and stalks.) 
 
 Joe: What's the matter? Tired? 
 
 Ab: No, I ain't tired— /^/ayiV. But I am tired 
 playin' with such a durn fool! I be'n a-comin' here 
 Sundays to play checkers with you fer five years — 
 ever since yer wife run away and lef ' you ; and ever' 
 durn Sunday it's be'n the same thing. You don't put 
 yer mind on the game— lettin' folks pull an' haul ye 
 this way an' that! Joe Stebbins, can't ye never say 
 *'no" to nobody ? 
 
 Joe: W'y, I reckon I could — but I don't usually. 
 
 Ab (Sarcastically): No, you don't usually. The 
 kid an' that ole woman — 
 
 Joe : Sh, Abner, Mum'U hear you ! 
 
 Ab : I don't keer a cuss who hears me ! Pull an' 
 haul ye aroun' by the nose I The neighbors impose on 
 ye an' laff at ye behin' yer back! 'Cause ye're so 
 cussed easy — so dog-gone "sorry" for ever'thing ! Oh, 
 you— you — make me sick ! (Stalks to the window and 
 stands looking out.) 
 
 Joe (Up): Vm sorry, Abner; if I affect you like 
 that I shouldn't think ye'd come nigh me no more. 
 
 Ab (Wheeling): But you know I will. I'll keep 
 on a-comin' ever' Sunday till one er other of us is tuk. 
 I like ye, Joe — you're m' best friend, but, my God, 
 you do make me so mad! (Tramps L.) 
 
 Joe (Getting tobacco and laughing) : Aw, come on. 
 Fill up yer pipe again an' le's hev another game. 
 
146 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 (Comes down and puts his hand on Ah's shoulder.) 
 I'll mind my knittin' this time — honest I will. 
 
 Ab (Sits grumbling): That kid'll break yer heart 
 yit, Joe — lettin' him run over you the way you do. 
 
 Joe (Sits): I guess my heart's pretty tough. It's 
 stood a good lot o' strainin'. 
 
 Ab: But some day she's all the apter to go pop 
 'count o' th' strainin' she's had. 
 
 Joe: I thought It was goin' to go pop sure, pard- 
 ner, that time — when she — when June — left. 
 
 Ab: Five years ago las' week. (Sigh.) 'T 'uz 
 yer own fault, Joe. 
 
 Joe: What could I V done? 
 
 Ab: You could 'a' done what she wanted ye to — 
 pulled up stakes an' went away to a big town where 
 they'd 'a' been a chancet fer ye to make somethin' of 
 yerself. 
 
 Joe: What'd I 'a' done with Mum? 
 
 Ab: Took her with you — 
 
 Joe : But she wouldn't go. 
 
 Ab : If she wouldn't go with you and June, let her 
 set an' sulk it out. 'Twouldn't 'a' hurt her none. 
 She'd 'a' been took care of. 
 
 Joe : No, I couldn't 'a' done that — an' her helpless 
 an' all. 
 
 Ab: No, you couldn't leave her. Instead you let 
 yer young wife fret herself mos' to death — shet up 
 here with a cantankerous ole woman an' a squallin' kid 
 tel she jest couldn't stand it no longer. 
 
 Joe : It was her duty to me. 
 
 Ab : An' what about your duty to her ? With some 
 girls it'd 'a' been all right, but June was different. 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDNT SAY "NO" 147 
 
 She didn't belong here in diis Uttle one-hoss town. She 
 was meant for other things — she was capable — she 
 could V helped you make somethin' of yourself somers 
 else. 
 
 Joe : Poor soul ! I ain't blamin' her none. I know 
 I wasn't a fit mate for her, so soft an' pretty an* gay. 
 'Twas like yokin' up a little Shetlan' pony an' a big 
 farm-hoss to the same plough. Still, she hadn't ought 
 'a' done what she did to me an' the boy — 
 
 Ab : She didn't leave ye fer no other man, 
 did she? 
 
 Joe : No, she never done that. 
 
 Ab: No! She just left because she couldn't stand 
 it no longer. That ole woman's naggin' — an' settin' 
 the boy up to all sorts of meanness — 
 
 Joe : Abner, Mum's old, an' she can't walk — 
 
 Ab : I ain't sayin' she ain't ole, but it's my private 
 opinion publicly expressed that she could 'a' walked 
 years ago if she'd tried. 
 
 Joe : Abner, ain't that kinda un-Christian. You 
 don't think Mum'd pertend — 
 
 Ab: I don't think she's pertendin' now. But it's 
 dollars to doughnuts pertendin' had a lot to do with 
 makin' her as helpless as she is now. You know 
 yourself Doc Sellers never could understand why she 
 couldn't walk after her leg got healed. 
 
 Joe: Doc Sellers never was a very kind-hearted 
 man. Alius short an' crabbed. 
 
 Ab: Mebbeso, but he ain't no fool when it comes 
 to human nature, an' I know he was puzzled some in 
 Mum's case. 
 
 Joe : He never hinted to me — 
 
148 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Ab: He wouldn't, knowin' it'd only hurt yer 
 feelin's. (Distant cries off R.) 
 
 Joe: Well, le's drop it, Abner. Mum may have 
 her faults but we got to make allowances. Let's have 
 another game. (They seat themselves.) 
 
 Ab (Apologetically): I can't help gittin' he't up 
 v/hen I see how her an' that kid puts it over on you, 
 you pore ole easy-goin' goose, ye! 'F I didn't like 
 ye so durn well I wouldn't say a word. You know 
 that, don't ye? 
 
 Joe (Grinning): Shore. It's all right, Abner. I 
 know I'm a dunce, so we'll call it square. (They set 
 the hoard.) All done with the dishes, honey? (Hallie 
 comes in from L., her kitchen apron removed — and 
 crosses to the window.) 
 
 Hallie : Yes, Uncle Joe, fer to-day. Sunday's a 
 fine day fer me — only have to wash 'em twicet. 
 
 Joe : Pore women ! Seems selfish in us men to take 
 a day's rest when they never seem to git to. 
 
 Ab: 'S good fer 'em, Joe. Keep's 'em out o' mis- 
 chief to be busy. Don't it, Hallie? 
 
 Hallie : I reckon. Still I don't think a day off now 
 and then would hurt anybody. 
 
 Joe : Course it wouldn't. Uncle Abner's just pokin' 
 fun. He ain't no tyrant. He voted fer women's suf- 
 frage. 
 
 Hallie (Surprised) : Did ye ? 
 
 Ab : G'wan now ! Course I didn't. I don't want 
 no petticoat gover'ment over me. 
 
 Joe: Ye don't? I betchye, Ab, if we had a woman 
 marshal you'd be gittin' locked up Dncet a week jest 
 fer the fun of havin' her 'rest ye. 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 149 
 
 Ab (Indignantly): Nothin' o' the sort. 'Sides no 
 woman could arrest nobody. They'd be like you — too 
 "sorry fer the pcre feller." (Chuckles.) 
 
 Hallie (Hotly): Uncle Joe's good. He's really 
 sorry when he says he is. He's the best man on 
 earth. 
 
 Ab (Applauds): Votes fer Women! Votes fer 
 Women! Hooray! Ye're some little champeen, 
 Hallie. 
 
 Joe : That's right, Hallie ; don't ye let no one pan 
 yer Uncle Joe. 
 
 Hallie (Defiantly) : Don't intend to. (Gets zvraps.) 
 I'm a-goin' over to Wallace's fer a spell, 
 
 Joe: All right, Hallie. Move. Look out fer that 
 man, Abner. (Hallie exits R.) 
 
 Ab: I'm a-lookin' out. I like to git a rise out o' 
 that kid. She's shore loyal to you. 
 
 Joe: Bless her little heart. She's a good child. 
 (Gets up to get a match — glances out of the zmndow 
 on his return.) What's all the excitement ? 
 
 Ab : Where ? 
 
 Joe: Down by the crick. Looks like they's some- 
 thing happened. 
 
 Hallie (Rushes in) : Uncle Joe ! Uncle Joe ! Some 
 one's drownded ! 
 
 Ab and Joe: Drownded? Who? 
 
 Hallie: Oh, I don't know. (Crying.) I thought 
 I heard 'em say — 
 
 Joe (Up, takes her by shoulder): Ye heard what! 
 —Hallie ! 
 
 Hallie : Oh, Uncle Joe, come ! come, quick ! (Runs 
 out.) 
 
150 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Joe: Great God — Eddie! (Rushes out — Ab govs 
 up and grabs wraps and after him.) 
 
 Ab : Here, Joe ! Joe ! Here, wait ! It can't be him ! 
 (Takes Joe^s hat and coat and his own and goes out 
 leaving the door open.) 
 
 Mum (Calls from her room): Hallie! Hallie! 
 (Strikes on the door with her stick.) Joe ! Joe ! 
 Where air ye all ? (A fumbling — the door opens.) Joe, 
 where air ye ? The door's open ! All gone an' left the 
 door open ! An' lef ' me t' git my death o' cold. What 
 on airth's the matter? (Struggles with chair and fin- 
 ally wheels it down — shuts door with stick — zvhcels to 
 window.) Drat the thing! What's goin' on? Land, 
 what a crowd o' folks. (Hallie rushes in leaving door 
 open and dashes into Mum's room.) 
 
 Hallie (Panting. Tearing blankets off bed): Ed- 
 die fell in the crick! They just got him out! I guess 
 he's drownded ! (Rushes out zvith blankets leaving the 
 door open.) 
 
 Mum (Catching the excitement): What? What? 
 I can't hear a word you say ! Land sakes ! Shet the 
 door ! Have ye all gone crazy ? Now how'm I goin' l' 
 git this infernal contraption turned around to shet that 
 door? Much they care ef I git my death o' cold, so 
 long's they're com f 'table. (Struggles to turn chair. 
 Hallie enters, then Joe with Eddie wrapped in blankets 
 in his arms. Abner follows azved and silent. Hallie 
 indicates Mum's room.) 
 
 Hallie : Lay him in there. I'll get some hot water. 
 (Darts into dining-room. Joe takes Eddie into Mum's 
 room and lays him. on the bed — a group of neighbors 
 who have followed congregate outside the door and 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 151 
 
 talk — a fezv edge into the room. The village doc- 
 tor bustles through the croud putting them aside 
 hriiskly.) 
 
 Doctor: Now, then! Now, then! out of my way! 
 (Puts them out closing the door — goes into room — puts 
 Joe kindly hut firmly out. Ahner remains in Mum's 
 room with doctor — the door is closed — Joe staggers 
 wearily dozvn to right of the table and sits with his 
 head on his arms.) 
 
 Mum (IV ho has been fidgeting and frantic with 
 excitement): What's the matter, Joe? Joe! Air ye 
 all crazy ? (Ahner enters from room — comes dozmt and 
 puts his hand on Joe's shoulder — pats it a feiv times. 
 There is a silence. Hallie hurries quietly into upper 
 room, closing the door softly.) 
 
 Joe (Brokenly): It was my fault, Abner! All my 
 fault! Oh, my God! what'd I ever let him go fer? 
 Why can't I say "no" ? I'm so weak ! It's lost me 
 ever'thing I ever had on airth. 
 
 Ab: Not ever'thing, ole friend. (Joe reaches up 
 and clasps the hand on his shoulder.) Besides we 
 ain't sure — Doc may fetch him around all right. 
 
 Joe: I don't darst to hope. It's jedgment on me, 
 Abner. I had it comin' to me. I ain't got 
 no hope. 
 
 Ab: Now, now, now, now! Brace up! I'll go 
 see how things is gittin' on. Mebbe I kin be some help. 
 (Exits hlozving nose loudly.) 
 
 Joe: Oh, my God, give me a chance — give me a 
 chance ! 
 
 Hallie (Coming from room) : He ain't dead ! His 
 eyes is openin'. (Runs out left.) 
 
152 A BOOK OF ONE- ACT PLAYS 
 
 Joe: Alive! (Rushes into upper room.) Eddie! 
 Eddie! 
 
 Mum (Who has caught a glimpse of Hallie) : Hal- 
 lie! What under the sun is the matter, I ask ye. 
 (Abner enters.) Hallie ! Abner Ellis ! Ef you don't 
 speak up an' tell me I'll wrop this stick around your 
 shins ef it's the last act of my life ! (Threatens him 
 zmth cane.) 
 
 Ab (At Mum's left — shouting): Eddie broke 
 through the ice! 
 
 (Joe enters with Eddie in a blanket. Sits at table 
 rocking him and murmuring over him — Hallie enters 
 and speaks unth doctor in room up R.) 
 
 Mum: Mercy! He ain't drownded, is he? 
 
 Ab : No ! (Goes behind and a little to left of table.) 
 
 Mum : No business foolin' on the ice on the Lord's 
 Day. He'd oughta be spanked. What'd ye let him 
 go fer, Joe? 
 
 Joe : 'Cause I'm a fool, Mum. 'Cause I couldn't 
 say "no." 
 
 Eddie (Stirring in his blankets — weakly) : Paw ! 
 
 Joe: Yes, honey. What does paw's pore little 
 feller want? 
 
 Eddie: Can't I never go skatin' no more just cause 
 I fell in an' got all wet? 
 
 Joe (Holding him closer) : Oh, don't talk about it, 
 sonny. 
 
 Eddie (Weak but persistent): But can't I? 
 
 Joe : No, buddy, not fer a long, long time. 
 
 Eddie: How long? T'-morrow? 
 
 Joe: No, no! 
 
THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 153 
 
 Eddie (Whimpering): Jes' fer a little while— a 
 little, teeny while ? Huh ? Paw, can't I ? 
 
 Joe (Rocking him) : Sh ! Sh ! There, there, don't 
 cry, honey. Paw'll see ! (Abner in despair turns up 
 his collar— pulls his cap over his ears and is stalking 
 tozmrd the door disgustedly tvhen the curtain falls.) 
 
 Second Curtain : Hallie is letting doctor out the 
 door. Joe is rocking Eddie oblivious to all else. Mum 
 with her Bible. 
 
THE DEACON»S HAT 
 
 From the volume of Three Welsh Plays 
 
 By 
 
 Jeannette Marks 
 
JEANETTE MARKS 
 
 Jeanette Marks received her A. B. and A. M. de- 
 grees from Wellesley. She is now Professor and 
 Head of the Department of EngHsh Literature at 
 Mount Holyoke. Miss Marks is well known not only 
 as a lecturer and teacher, although there is many a 
 student who keeps as among her most cherished 
 memories the hours spent in Miss Marks' class room, 
 but for her stories, novels, essays, poems, and short 
 plays as well. 
 
 "Miss Marks knows and loves children; she is as 
 good a playmate as she is a story-teller. Not only does 
 she know how to write serious books for grown-ups ; 
 many a youngster has read The Cheerful Cricket and 
 Tommy Beaver Tails, or the charming story-told 
 science books of which she is the co-author." 
 
 Besides these several children's books and work for 
 the magazines. Miss Marks has published English 
 Pastoral Drama, Through Welsh Doorways, a volume 
 of short stories ; The End of a Song, a Welsh novel ; 
 Gallant Little Wales, a travel-book ; A Girl's Student 
 Days and After and Vacation Camping for Girls, in 
 which she gives to girls the knowledge she has gained 
 from many summers of ''roughing it" ; Leviathan, 
 Early English Hero Tales, Three Welsh Plays, Chil- 
 dren in the Wood Stories, Geoffrey's Window, and 
 Willow Pollen (1921), a book of verse. Miss Marks 
 will publish her first full length play in a few weeks, 
 and she has in preparation more one-act Welsh plays. 
 
 The Welsh plays are perhaps the best known of 
 Miss Marks* work. The author herself tells of the 
 
 156 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 157 
 
 beginning of her interest in Wales. "I saw some pic- 
 tures of North Wales and the instant I saw these pic- 
 tures I knew that I was going there. I went, and 
 there I found my tongue and my pen, and I have gone 
 back year after year in love still with Wales and the 
 joy of learning how to write." 
 
 The original Welsh plays took the Welsh National 
 Theatre first prize in 1911, and have been published 
 separately and in many collections ; they have also 
 been used as a text for study in many school and col- 
 lege class rooms, among these Amherst, The Uni- 
 versity of Texas, The University of Nebraska, The 
 University of Minnesota, etc. There have been a 
 large number of productions of these Welsh plays in 
 the United States. 
 
 THE DEACON'S HAT 
 
 This play is taken from a volume of three Welsh 
 plays by Jeanette Marks, our only one-act plays repre- 
 senting the life and character of the Welshman. The 
 characters tell subtle, humorous stories. In an unusual 
 situation we see portrayed here the wit of man and 
 woman pitted against each other. And probably Neli 
 would have won had not the deacon's eloquence for a 
 moment overcome her native shrewdness. Shall not 
 "salvation" win over "soap" since "there's no money 
 in theology"? At any rate the reader is content to 
 leave the deacon unvanquished. 
 
 (Copyrighted. Applications to produce The Deacon's Hat 
 should be addressed to the author's publishers, Little, Brown 
 & Company, Boston, Massachusetts.) 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Deacon Roberts, a stout oldish Welshman. 
 
 Hugh Williams, an earnest visionary young man 
 
 who owns Y Gegin. 
 Neli Williams, his capable wife. 
 Mrs. "Jones, the Wash, a stout kindly woman who 
 
 wishes to buy soap. 
 Mrs. Jenkins, the Midwife, after pins for her latest 
 
 baby. 
 Tom Morris, the Sheep, who comes to buy tobacco 
 
 and remains to pray. 
 
 Scene : A little shop called Y Gegin (The Kitchen) 
 in Bala, North Wales. 
 
 Time: Monday morning at half -past eleven. 
 
 To the right is the counter of Y Gegin, set out with 
 a bountiful supply of groceries; behind the counter 
 are grocery-stocked shelves. Upon the counter is a 
 good-sized enamel-ware bowl filled with herring 
 pickled in brine and leek, also a basket of fresh eggs, 
 a jar of pickles, some packages of codfish, a half-dozen 
 loaves of bread, a big round cheese, several pounds of 
 butter wrapped in print paper, etc., etc. 
 
 To the left are a cheerful glowing fire and ingle. 
 158 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 159 
 
 At the back center is a door; hetzvcen the door and 
 the fire stands a grandfather's clock with a shining 
 brass face. Betzvecn the clock and the door, back 
 center, is a small tridarn (Welsh dresser) and a chair. 
 From the rafters hang flitches of bacon, hams, bunches 
 of onions, herbs, etc. On either side of the fireplace 
 are latticed itmidozvs, shozving a glimpse of the street. 
 Before the fire is a small, round three-legged table, 
 beside it a tall straight-backed chair. 
 
 Betzueen the table and left is a door zvhich is the 
 entrance to Y Gegin and from zvhich, on a metal elbozv, 
 dangles a large bell. 
 
 At rise of curtain Hugh Williams enters at back 
 center, absorbed in reading a volume of Welsh theo- 
 logical essays. He is dressed in a brightly striped 
 vest, a short, heavy cloth coat, cut away in front and 
 zvith lapels trimmed with brass buttons, szvallowtails 
 behind, also trimmed with brass buttons, stock wound 
 around his neck, and tight trousers dozvn to his boot 
 tops. 
 
 Neli Williams, his wife, a comely, capable young 
 zvoman, busy zmth her knitting every instant she talks, 
 is clad in her market costume, a scarlet cloak and a 
 tall black Welsh beaver. Over her arm is an immense 
 basket. 
 
 Neli (Commandingly) : Hughie, put down that 
 book! 
 
 Hugh (Still going on reading): Haven't I just 
 said a man is his own master, whatever! 
 
 Neli: Hughie, ye're to mind the shop while I'm 
 gone ! 
 
160 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Hugh (Patiently): Yiss, yiss. 
 
 Neli : I don't think ye hear a word I am sayin* 
 whatever. 
 
 Hugh : Yiss, I hear every word ye're sayin*. 
 
 Neli: What is it then? 
 
 Hugh (Weakly): 'Tis all about — about — the — the 
 weather whatever! 
 
 Neli: Ye've not heard a word, an' ye're plannin' 
 to read that book from cover to cover, I can see. 
 
 Hugh (A little too quickly): Nay, I have no 
 plans — (He tucks hook away in hack coat pocket 
 over -hastily.) 
 
 Neli : Hugh ! 
 
 Hugh (Weakly): Nay, I have no plans whatever! 
 
 Neli (Reproachfully) : Hugh — ie ! 'Twould be 
 the end of sellin' anythin' to anybody if I leave ye with 
 a book whatever! Give me that book! 
 
 Hugh (Ohstinately): Nay, I'll no read the book. 
 
 Neli : Give me that book ! 
 
 Hugh (Rising a little): Nay. I say a man is his 
 own master whatever! 
 
 Neli (Finding the book hidden in his coat-tail 
 pocket): Is he? Well, I'll no leave ye with any 
 masterful temptations to be readin'. 
 
 Hugh : Ye've no cause to take this book away 
 from me. 
 
 Neli (Opens book and starts with delight): 'Tis 
 Deacon Roberts' new book on The Flamin* Wicked- 
 ness of Babylon. Where did ye get it? 
 
 Hugh (Reassured by her interest): He lent it to 
 me this morning. 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 161 
 
 Neli (Resolutely) : Well, I will take it away from 
 ye this noon till I am home again whatever! 
 
 Hugh (Sulkily): Sellin' groceries is not salvation. 
 They sold groceries in Babylon; Deacon Roberts says 
 so. 
 
 Neli (Looking at hook mith ill-disguised eager- 
 ness) : I dunno as anybody ever found salvation by 
 givin' away all he had for nothin'! 'Tis certain Dea- 
 con Roberts has not followed that way. 
 
 Hugh (Still sidkily) : A man is his own master, I 
 say. 
 
 Neli (Absent-mindedly, her nose in the hook): Is 
 he? Well, indeed! 
 
 Hugh (Crossly): Aye, he is. (Pointedly): An' 
 I was not plannin' to give away the book whatever. 
 
 Neli (Closing volume zvith a little sigh as for stolen 
 delights and speaking husily): An' I am not talkin' 
 about acceptin' books but about butter an' eggs an' 
 cheese an' all the other groceries ! 
 
 Hugh : Aye, ye'll get no blessin' from such world- 
 liness. 
 
 Neli (Ahsent-mindedly) : Maybe not, but ye will 
 get a dinner from that unblessed worldliness an' find 
 no fault, I'm thinkin'. (Her hand lingering on the 
 book which she opens.) But such wonderful theology ! 
 An' such eloquence! Such an understandin' of sin! 
 Such glowin' pictures of Babylon ! 
 
 Hugh: Aye, hot! I tell ye, Neli, there's no man 
 in the parish has such a gift of eloquence as Deacon 
 Roberts or such theology. In all Wales ye*ll not find 
 stronger theology than his. 
 
162 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Neli : Ye have no need to tell me that ! (Looking 
 for a place in which to hide the hook until she returns.) 
 Have I not a deep an' proper admiration for theology ? 
 Have I not had one minister an' five deacons an' a 
 revivalist in my family, to say nothin' at all of one 
 composer of hymns ? 
 
 Hugh : Yiss, yiss. Aye, 'tis a celebrated family. 
 I am no sayin' anythin' against your family. 
 
 Neli : Then what ? 
 
 Hugh (Pleadingly) : Deacon Roberts has great fire 
 with which to save souls. We're needin' that book on 
 Babylon's wickedness. Give it back to me, Neli ! 
 
 Neli : Oh, aye ! (Looks at husband.) I'm not 
 sayin' but that ye are wicked, Hugh, an' needin' these 
 essays, for ye have no ministers and deacons and 
 hymn composers among your kin. 
 
 Hugh (Triumphantly) : Aye, aye, that's it! That's 
 it! An' the more need have I to read till my nostrils 
 are full of the smoke of — of Babylon. 
 
 Neli (Absent-mindedly tucking book away on shelf 
 as she talks): Aye, but there has been some smoke 
 about Deacon Roberts' reputation which has come 
 from some fire less far away than Babylon. 
 
 Hugh : What smoke ? 
 
 Neli (Evasively): Well, I am thinkin* about my 
 eggs which vanished one week ago to-day. There was 
 no one in that mornin' but Deacon Roberts. Mrs. 
 Jones the Wash had come for her soap an' gone before 
 I filled that basket with eggs. 
 
 Hugh (Watching her covertly, standing on tiptoe 
 and craning his neck as she stows away book) : Yiss, 
 yiss! 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 163 
 
 Neli (Slyly): Ask Deacon Roberts if cats steal 
 eggs whatever? 
 
 Hugh (Repeating): If cats steal eggs, if cats steal 
 eggs. 
 
 Neli : Aye, not if eggs steal cats. 
 
 Hugh (Craning neck): Yiss, yiss, if eggs steal 
 cats! 
 
 Neli: Hugh — ie! Now ye'll never get it correct 
 again! 'Tis if cats steal eggs. 
 
 Hugh (Sulkily): Well, I'm no carin' about cats 
 with heaven starin' me in the face. 
 
 (Neli turns about swiftly with the quick sudden mo- 
 tions characteristic of her, and Hugh shrinks into 
 himself. She shakes her finger at him and goes over 
 to kiss him.) 
 
 Neli : Hughie lad, ye're not to touch the book 
 while I am gone to market. 
 
 Hugh : Nay, nay, certainly not ! 
 
 Neli : And ye're to be on the lookout for Mrs. 
 Jones the Wash, for Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife — 
 Jane Elin has a new baby, an' it'll be needin' somethin'. 
 (Pointing to counter): Here is everythin' plainly 
 marked. Ye're not to undersell or give away anythin'. 
 D' ye hear? 
 
 Hugh: Aye, I hear! 
 
 Neli : An' remember where the tobacco is, for this 
 is the day Tom Morris the Sheep comes in. 
 
 Hugh : Aye, in the glass jar. 
 
 Neli: Good-by. I will return soon. 
 
 Hugh (Indifferently): Good-by. 
 
 (Neli leaves by door at back center. Immediately 
 
164 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Hugh steals toward the shelves where she hid the 
 hook.) 
 
 Neli (Thrusting head hack in): Mind, Hughie 
 lad, no readin' — nay, not even any theology! 
 
 Hugh (Stepping quickly away from shelves and re- 
 peating parrot-like) : Nay, nay, no readin', no ser- 
 mons, not even any theology ! 
 
 Neli : An' no salvation till I come back ! (She 
 smiles, withdraws head, and is gone. Hugh starts 
 forward, collides clumsily with the counter in his 
 eagerness, knocks the hasket of eggs with his elhow, 
 upsetting it. Several eggs hreak. He shakes his head 
 ruefully at the mess and as ruefully at the counter. 
 He finds hook and hugs it greedily to him.) 
 
 Hugh (Mournfully): Look at this! What did I 
 say but that there was no salvation sellin' groceries! 
 If Neli could but see those eggs! (He goes behind 
 counter and gets out a box of eggs, from which he re- 
 fills the basket. The broken eggs he leaves untouched 
 upon the floor. He opens his volume of sermons and 
 seats himself by a little three-legged table near the 
 fire. He sighs in happy anticipation. Hearing a 
 slight noise, he looks suspiciously at door, gets up, tip- 
 toes across floor to street door, and locks it quietly. 
 An expression of triumph overspreads his face.) Ha, 
 if customers come, they will think no one is at home 
 whatever, an' I can read on! (He seats himself at 
 little three-legged table, opens volume, smooths over 
 its pages lovingly, and begins to read slowly and halt- 
 ing over syllables.) "The smoke of Ba-by-lon was hot 
 — scorchin' hot. An' 'twas filled with Ba-ba-ba-baal 
 stones, slimy an' scorchin' hot also — " (There is the 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 165 
 
 sound of feet coming up the shop steps, followed by a 
 hand trying the door-knob. Hugh looks up from his 
 sermons, an expression of innocent triumph on his 
 face. The door-knob is tried again, the door rattled. 
 Then some one rings the shop door-bell.) 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Calling): Mrs. Williams, 
 mum, have ye any soap? (No answer. Calling): 
 Mrs. Williams! Mrs. Williams! 
 
 (Hugh nods approvingly and lifts his volume to 
 read.) 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : Where are they all what- 
 ever? I will just look in at the window. (A large 
 kindly face is anxiously flattened against the window. 
 At that Hugh drops in consternation under the three- 
 legged table.) Uch, what's that shadow skippin' under 
 the table? No doubt a rat after the groceries. Mrs. 
 Williams, mum, Mrs. Williams! Well, indeed they're 
 out. (She pounds once more on the door with a 
 heavy fist, rings, and then goes. Suddenly the door 
 back center opens, and Neli Williams appears.) 
 
 Neli (She does not see Hugh and peers around for 
 him): W^hat is all that bell-ringing about? (Hugh 
 crawls out from under table.) 
 
 Hugh : Hush, she's gone ! 
 
 Neli (Amazed and whispering to herself) : Under 
 the table! 
 
 Hugh (Rising and putting up his hand as a sign 
 for her to keep silent): Nay, 'twas Mrs. Jones the 
 Wash come to buy her soap whatever ! 
 
 Neli : Aye, well, why didn't she come in whatever ? 
 
 Hugh (Whispering): I locked the door, Neli, so 
 I could finish readin' those essays whatever! An* 
 
166 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 then she looked in at the window, an' I had to get under 
 the table. 
 
 Neli (Indignantly) : Locked the door against a 
 customer, an' after all I said! An' crawled under a 
 table! Hugh Williams, your wits are goin' quite on 
 the downfall! 
 
 Hugh (In a whisper) : Aye, but, Neli, those essays 
 — an' I thought ye had gone to market. 
 
 Neli : I had started, but I came back for my 
 purse. Put down that book! 
 
 Hugh : Aye, but, Neli — 
 
 Neli (Angrily): Much less of heaven an' much 
 more of earth is what I need in a husband! Ye have 
 sent away a customer ; very like Mrs. Jones the Wash 
 after soap will go elsewhere. 
 
 Hugh : Aye, but, Neli — 
 
 (Steps are heard approaching.) 
 
 Neli : Get up ! Some one is coming. 
 
 (Hugh gets up very unwillingly.) 
 
 Hugh (Whispering still): Aye, but, Neli — 
 
 Neli (Angrily) : Put down that book, I say ! (She 
 crunches over some eggshells.) Eggs? Broken? 
 
 Hugh (Putting down hook): Aye, Neli, my elbow 
 an' the eggs in Babylon — 
 
 Neli (Sarcastically) : Aye, I see beasts in Babylon 
 here together, — doleful creatures smearin' one an' six- 
 pence worth of eggs all over the floor. An' a half 
 dozen eggs gone last week. (Wiping up eggs.) An' 
 I'm to suppose Babylon had something to do with that 
 half dozen eggs, too? They were put in the basket 
 after Mrs. Jones the Wash had left whatever, an' be- 
 fore Deacon Roberts came. 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 167 
 
 Hugh : Neli, I did not say — 
 
 Neli (Still angrily): Well, indeed, unlock that 
 door! 
 
 Hugh (Going to unlock door): But, Neli — 
 
 Neli (Disappearing through door back center): 
 Not a word! Your mind has gone quite on the 
 downfall — lockin' doors against your own bread and 
 butter an' soap. 
 
 Hugh (Unlocking door sullenly): But, Neli, salva- 
 tion an' soap — 
 
 Neli (Snappingly) : Salvation an' soap are as thick 
 as thieves. 
 
 Hugh : But, Neli, a man is his own master. 
 
 Neli : Yiss, I see he is ! (Neli goes out, slamming 
 door noisily.) 
 
 Hugh : Dear anwyl, she seems angry ! (Hugh 
 opens street door left just as Neli goes out through 
 kitchen, by door back center. Deacon Roberts enters 
 the door Hugh has unlocked. He looks at Hugh, 
 smiles, and goes over to counter in a businesslike way. 
 He is a stout man, dressed in a black broadcloth cut- 
 away coat, tight trousers, a drab vest, high collar and 
 stock, woolen gloves, a muffler wound about his neck 
 and face, and a tall Welsh beaver hat. Under his arm 
 he carries a book.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Speaking affectionately, pidling 
 off his gloves, putting dozvn book on counter, and be- 
 ginning eagerly to touch the various groceries): 
 Essays on Babylon to-day, Hughie lad? 
 
 Hugh (Looking about for Neli and speaking fret- 
 fully): Nay. 
 
168 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Unzmnding his muMer): Ye 
 look as if ye had been in spiritual struggle. 
 
 Hugh (Drearily): I have. 
 
 Deacon Roberts: Well, indeed, Hughie, *tis 
 neither the angel nor the archfiend here now, nor for 
 me any struggle except the struggle to both live an' 
 eat well — ho! ho! an* eat well, I say — in Bala. 
 (Laughs jovially.) Ho ! ho ! not bad, Hughie lad, — 
 live an' eat in Bala ! 
 
 Hugh (Patiently): With that muffler around your 
 head. Deacon, ye are enough to frighten the devil out 
 of Babylon. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Unwinding last lap of miifFler): 
 Yiss, yiss, Hughie lad. But I dunno but ye will 
 understand better if I call myself, let us say the angel 
 with the sickle — ^ho! ho! — not the angel of fire, 
 Hughie, but the angel with the sharp sickle gatherin' 
 the clusters of the vines of the earth. (Sudden change 
 of subject.) Where is Neli? 
 
 Hugh (Vacantly) : I dunno — yiss, yiss, at market. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Chuckling): Dear, dear, at 
 market — a fine day for marketing! An' my essays on 
 the Flamin' Wickedness of Babylon, Hughie lad, how 
 are they? Have ye finished them? 
 
 Hugh : Nay, not yet. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Looking over counter, touching 
 one article after another as he mentions it.) Pickled 
 herrin' — grand but wet ! Pickles — dear me, yiss, 
 Neli's — an' good! Butter from Hafod-y-Porth — 
 sweet as honey! (He picks up a pat of butter and 
 sniffs it, drawing in his breath loudly. He smiles with 
 delight and lays down the butter. He takes off- his hat 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 169 
 
 and dusts it out inside. He puts his hat hack on his 
 head, smiles, chuckles, picks up butter, taps it thought- 
 fully zmth two fingers, smells it and puts dozvn the pat 
 lingeringly. He lifts up a loaf of Neli Williams' 
 bread, glancing from it to the butter.) Bread ! Dear 
 me ! (His eyes glance on to codfish.) American cod- 
 fish, (picks up package and smacks his lips loudly) 
 dear anwyl, with potatoes — (reads) "Gloucester." 
 (Reaches out and touches eggs affectionately.) Eggs 
 — are they fresh, Hugh? 
 
 Hugh (Dreamily): I dunno. But I broke some 
 of them. They might be ! (Looks at floor.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts: Were they fresh? 
 
 Hugh : I dunno. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Sharply) : Dunno ? About eggs ? 
 (Picks up egg.) 
 
 Hugh (Troubled): NeU's hens laid them. 
 
 Deacon Roberts: I see, Neli's hens laid 'em, an* 
 you broke 'em! Admirable arrangements! (Putting 
 down the egg and turning fozvard the cheese, speaks 
 on impatiently.) Well, indeed, then, were the hens 
 fresh ? 
 
 Hugh (More cheerful) : Yiss, I think. Last week 
 the basket was grand an' full of fresh eggs, but they 
 disappeared, aye, they did indeed. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Starts) : Where did they go to ? 
 
 Hugh (Injured): How can I say? I was here, 
 an' I would have told her if I had seen, but I did not 
 whatever. Neli reproves me for too great attention 
 to visions an' too little to the groceries. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Chuckling): Aye, Hughie lad, 
 such is married life! Let a man marry his thoughts 
 
1/0 A BOOK OF ONE- ACT PLAYS 
 
 or a wife, for he can not have both. I have chosen 
 my thoughts. 
 
 Hugh : But the cat — 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Briskly): Aye, a man can keep 
 a cat without risk. 
 
 Hugh : Nay, nay, I mean the cat took 'em. I 
 dunno. That's it — (Hugh clutches his head, trying to 
 recall something.) Uch, that's it! NeU told me to 
 remember to ask ye if ye thought eggs could steal a 
 cat whatever. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Puzded): Eggs steal a cat? 
 
 Hugh (Troubled) : Nay, nay, cats steal an tggl 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Startled and looking suspiciously 
 at Hugh): Cats? What cats? 
 
 Hugh (With solemnity): Aye, but I told Neli 
 I'm no carin' about cats with heaven starin' me in the 
 face. Deacon Roberts, those essays are grand an' 
 wonderful. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Relieved): Yiss, yiss! Hughie 
 lad, theology is a means to salvation an' sometimes to 
 other ends, too. But there's no money in theology. 
 (Sighs.) And a man must live ! (Points to cor- 
 roded dish of pickled herring, sniffing greedily.) Dear 
 people, what beautiful herrin'! (Wipes moisture 
 away from corners of his mouth and picks up a fish 
 front dish, holding it, dripping, by tail,) Pickled? 
 
 Hugh (Looking at corroded dish): Tuppence. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Shortly) : Dear to-day. 
 
 Hugh (Eying dish dreamily): I dunno. Neli— 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Eyes glittering, cutting straight 
 through sentence and pointing to cheese): Cheese? 
 
 Hugh: A shill', Pm thinkin'. 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 171 
 
 Deacon Roberts: A shillin', Hugh? (Deacon 
 Roberts lifts knife and drops it lightly on edge of 
 cheese. The leaf it pares off he picks up and thrusts 
 into his mouth, greedily pushing in the crumbs. Then 
 he pauses and looks slyly at Hugh.) Was it sixpence 
 ye said, Hugh? 
 
 Hugh (Gamng tozvard the fire and the volume of 
 essays): Yiss, sixpence, I think. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Sarcastically): Still too dear, 
 Hugh! 
 
 Hugh (Sighing): I dunno, it might be dear. 
 (With more animation): Deacon, when Babylon 
 fell— 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Wipes his mouth and, interrupt- 
 ing Hugh, speaks decisively): No cheese. (He re- 
 moves his tall Welsh beaver hat, mops off his bald 
 white head, and, pointing up to the shelves, begins to 
 dust out inside of hatband again but with a deliberate 
 air of preparation.) What is that up there, Hughie 
 lad? 
 
 Hugh (Trying to follow the direction of the big 
 red wavering forefinger) : Ye mean that? ABC 
 In-fants' Food, I think. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Giinng his hat a final zvipcl: 
 Nay, nay, not for me, Hughie lad! Come, come, 
 brush the smoke of burnin* Babylon from your eyes ! 
 In a minute I must be goin' back to my study, what- 
 ever. An' I have need of food! 
 
 (Hugh takes a chair and mounts it. The Deacon 
 looks at Hughes back, puts his hand dozvn on the 
 counter, and picks up an egg front the basket. He 
 holds it to the light and squints through it to see 
 
172 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 whether it is fresh. Then he turns it lovingly over in 
 his fat palm, makes a dexterous backward motion and 
 slides it into his coat-tail pocket. This he follows with 
 two more eggs for same coat tail and three for other — 
 in all half a dozen.) 
 
 Hugh (Dreamily pointing to tin): Is it Yankee 
 corn? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (To Hugh's back and slipping in 
 second egg) : Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad, that tin 
 above ! 
 
 Hugh (Absent-mindedly touching tin): Is it ox 
 tongue ? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Slipping in third egg and not 
 even looking up): Ox tongue, lad? Nay, nothin' so 
 large as that. 
 
 Hugh (Dreamily reaching up higher): American 
 condensed m-m-milk ? Yiss, that's what it is. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Slipping in fourth egg): Con- 
 densed milk, Hughie? Back to infants' food again. 
 
 Hugh (Stretching up almost to his fidl length and 
 holding down tin with tips of long white finger): 
 Kippert herrin'? Is it that? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Slipping in fifth egg): Nay, 
 nay, a little further up, if' you please. 
 
 Hugh (Gasping, hut still reaching up and reading): 
 Uto — Uto — U-to-pi-an Tinned Sausage. Is it that? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Slipping in sixth egg with an air 
 of finality and triumph, and lifting his hat from the 
 counter): Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad. Why do 
 ye not begin by askin' me what I want? Ye've no gift 
 for sellin' groceries whatever. 
 
 Hugh (Surprised) : Did I not ask ye ? 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 173 
 
 Deacon Roberts: Nay. 
 
 Hugh: What would Neli say whatever? She 
 would never forgive me. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Amiably): Well, I forgive ye, 
 Hughie lad. 'Tis a relish, I'm needin'! 
 
 Hugh (Relieved): Well, indeed, a relish! We 
 have relishes on that shelf above, I think. (Reaches 
 up but pauses helplessly.) I must tell Neli that these 
 shelves are not straight. (Dizzy and clinging to the 
 shelves, his back to the Deacon.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Picking up a pound of butter 
 wrapped in print paper): Is it up there? 
 
 Hugh : No, I think, an' the shelves are not fast 
 whatever. I must tell Neli. They go up like wings. 
 (Trying to reach a bottle just above him.) Was it 
 English or American? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Putting the pound of butter in his 
 hat and his hat on his head) : American, Hughie lad. 
 
 (At that instant there is a noise from the inner 
 kitchen, and Neli Williams opens the door. The 
 Deacon turns, and their glances meet and cross. Each 
 understands perfectly what the other has seen. Neli 
 Williams has thrown off her red cloak and taken off 
 her Welsh beaver hat. She is dressed in a short fidl 
 skirt, white stockings, clogs on her feet, a striped 
 apron, tight bodice, fichu, short sleeves, and ivhite cap 
 on dark hair.) 
 
 Neli (Slozvly) : Uch! The Deacon has what he 
 came for whatever! 
 
 Hugh (Turning to cont7'adict his wife): Nay, 
 Neli, — (Losing his balance on chair, tumbles off, and, 
 with arm Hung out to save himself, strikes dish of 
 
174 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 pickled herring. The herring and brine fly in every 
 direction, spraying the Deacon and Hughie; the howl 
 spins madly, dipping and revolving on the floor. For 
 a few seconds nothing is audible except the bowl re- 
 volving on the flagstones and Hugh picking himself up 
 and sneezing behind the counter.) Achoo! Achoo! 
 Dear me, Neli — achoo ! 
 
 Neli (Going quickly to husband and beginning to 
 wipe brine from husband's forehead and cheeks; at 
 the same time has her back to the Deacon and form- 
 ing soundless letters with her lip, she jerks her head 
 toward the Deacon) : B-U-T-T-E-R ! 
 
 Hugh (Drearily): Better? Aye, I'm better. It 
 did not hurt me whatever. 
 
 Neli (Jerking head backzvard toward Deacon 
 Roberts and again forming letters with lips): 
 B-U-T-T-E-R ! 
 
 ITuCtH : What, water ? Nay, I don't want any 
 water. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Coughing, ill at ease and glancing 
 suspiciously at bozvl that has come to rest near his 
 leg.) Ahem! 'Tis cold here, Mrs. Williams, mum, 
 an' I must be moving' on. 
 
 Neli (Savagely to Deacon): Stay where ye are 
 whatever ! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Unaccustomed to being spoken to 
 this way by a woman): Well, indeed, mum, I could 
 stay, but I'm thinkin' 'tis cold an' — I'd better go. 
 
 Neli (Again savagely): Nay, stay! Stay for — 
 for what ye came for whatever! (Neli looks chal- 
 lengingly at the Deacon. Then she goes on wiping 
 brine carefully from husband's hair and from behind 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 175 
 
 his ears. The Deacon coughs and pushes bowl away 
 with the toe of his boot.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Smiling): 'Tis unnecessary to 
 remain then, mum. 
 
 Neli (To Hugh): What did he gtt? 
 Hugh (Sneering) : N— n— achoo !— nothin' ! 
 Deacon Roberts (With sudden interest looking at 
 the floor): Well, indeed! 
 
 Neli (Suspiciously) : What is it ? 
 (He reaches dozvn with difficulty to a small thick 
 puddle on the floor just beneath his left coat tail. He 
 aims a red forefinger at it, lifts himself, and sucks 
 fingertip.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Smiling): Ahem, Mrs. Will- 
 iams, mum, 'tis excellent herrin' brine! (From the 
 basket on the counter he picks up an egg which he 
 tosses lightly and replaces in basket.) A beautiful 
 fresh Qgg, Mrs. Williams, mum. I must be steppin' 
 homeward. 
 
 Hugh (Struggling to speak just as Neli reaches his 
 nose, zvringing it vigorously as she wipes it): Aye, 
 but, Neli, I was just tellin' ye when I fell that I could 
 not find the Deacon's relish — uch, achoo ! achoo ! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (With finality, tossing the egg in 
 air, catching it and putting it back in basket): Well, 
 indeed, mum, I must be steppin' homewards now. 
 (Nelis glance rests on fire burning on other side of 
 room. She puts douii zuref cloth. She turns squarely 
 on the Deacon.) 
 
 Neli: What is your haste, Mr. Roberts? Please 
 to go to the fire an' wait ! I can find the relish. 
 Deacon Roberts (Hastily): Nay, nay, mum. I 
 
176 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 have no need any more — (Coughs.) Excellent 
 herrin' brine. (Goes toward door.) 
 
 Neli (To Hugh): Take him to the fire, Hugh. 
 'Tis a cold day whatever! (Insinuatingly to Deacon): 
 Have ye a reason for wantin' to go, Mr. Roberts? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Going): Nay, nay, mum, none 
 at all ! But, I must not trouble ye. 'Tis too much to 
 ask, an' I have no time to spare an' — 
 
 Neli (Interrupting and not without acerbity): In- 
 deed, Mr. Roberts, sellin' what we can is our profit. 
 (To Hugh, zvho obediently takes Deacon by arm and 
 pulls him toward fire): Take him to the fire, lad. 
 (To Deacon): What kind of a relish was it, did ye 
 say, Mr. Roberts? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Having a tug of war with 
 Hugh): 'Tis an Indian relish, mum, but I can not 
 wait. 
 
 Hugh (Pulling harder): American, ye said. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Hastily): Yiss, yiss, American 
 Indian relish, that is. 
 
 Neli: Tut, 'tis our specialty, these American 
 Indian relishes! We have several. Sit down by the 
 fire while I look them up. (Wickedly) : As ye said, 
 Mr. Roberts, 'tis cold here this morning. 
 
 Deacon Roberts: There, Hughie lad, I must not 
 trouble ye. (Looks at clock.) 'Tis ten minutes be- 
 fore twelve, an' my dinner will be ready at twelve. 
 (Pulls harder.) 
 
 Neli (To Hugh) : Keep him by the fire, lad. 
 
 Deacon Roberts: There, Hughie lad, let me go! 
 (But Hugh holds on, and the Deacon's coat begins to 
 come off. 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 177 
 
 Neli (Sarcastically) : The relish — American Indian, 
 ye said, I think, — will make your dinner taste fine and 
 grand ! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Finding that without leaving his 
 coat behind he is unable to go, he glozuers at Hugh 
 and speaks sweetly to Neli): 'Tis a beautiful clock, 
 Mrs. Williams, mum. But I haven't five minutes to 
 spare. 
 
 Neli (Keeping a sharp lookout on the rim of the 
 Deacon's hat): Well, indeed, I can find the relish in 
 just one minute. An' ye'll have abundance of time 
 left. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Trapped and gazing at clock with 
 fine air of indifference) : 'Tis a clever, shinin' lookin' 
 clock whatever, Mrs. Williams, mum. 
 
 Neli : Have ye any recollection of the name of the 
 maker of the relish, Mr. Roberts? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Putting his hands behind him 
 anxiously and parting his freighted coat tails with 
 care; then, revolving, presenting his back and one 
 large well-set bright-colored patch to the fire): Nay, 
 I have forgotten it, Mrs. Williams, mum. 
 
 Neli: Too bad, but I'm sure to find it. (She 
 mounts upon chair. At this moment the shop door- 
 bell rings violently, and there enters Mrs. Jones the 
 Wash, very fat and very jolly. She is dressed in short 
 skirt very full, clogs on her feet, a bodice made of 
 striped Welsh Hannel, a shabby kerchief, a cap on her 
 head, and over this a shawl. Neli turns her head a 
 little.) Aye, Mrs. Jones the Wash, in a minute, if 
 you please. Sit down until I find Deacon Roberts' 
 relish whatever. 
 
178 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Sits down on chair by door 
 back center and folds her hands over her stomach): 
 Yiss, yiss, mum, thank you. I've come for soap. I 
 came once before, but no one was in. 
 
 Neli: Too bad! 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : An' I looked in at the 
 window an' saw nothin' but a skippin' shadow, looked 
 like a rat. Have ye any rats, Mrs. Williams, mum, do 
 ye think? 
 
 Neli: Have I any rats? Well, indeed, 'tis that 
 I'm wantin' to know, Mrs. Jones the Wash. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : Well, I came back, for 
 the water is eatin' the soap to-day as if 'twere sweets 
 — aye, 'tis a very meltin' day for soap! (Laughs.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts: 'Tis sweet to be clean, Mrs. 
 Jones the Wash. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Laughing) : Yiss, yiss. 
 Deacon Roberts, there has many a chapel been built 
 out of a washtub, an' many a prayer risen up from 
 the suds! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Solemnly): Aye, Mrs. Jones the 
 Wash, 'tis holy work, washin' is very holy work. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Touched): Yiss, yiss, I 
 thank ye. Deacon Roberts. 
 
 Deacon Roberts: Well, I must be steppin' home- 
 ward now. 
 
 Neli (Firmly): Nay, Mr. Roberts, I am searchin' 
 on the shelf where I think that American Indian relish 
 is. Ye act as if ye had some cause to hurry, Mr. 
 Roberts. Wait a moment, if you please. 
 
 Deacon Roberts: Well, indeed, but I am keepin' 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash waitin' ! 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 179 
 
 Neli (To Mrs. Jones): Ye are in no haste? 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Thoroughly comfortable 
 and happy): Nay, mum, no haste at all. I am 
 havin' a rest, an' 'tis grand an' warm here what- 
 ever. 
 
 Neli (Maliciously to Deacon): Does it feel hot by 
 the fire? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Experiencing novel sensations on 
 the crown of his bald head): Mrs. Williams, mum, 
 'tis hot in Y Gegin, but as with Llanycil Churchyard, 
 Y Gegin is only the portal to a hotter an' a bigger 
 place where scorchin' flames burn forever an' forever. 
 Proverbs saith, 'Hell an' destruction are never full.' 
 What, then, shall be the fate of w^omen who have no 
 wisdom, Mrs. Williams, mum? 
 
 Neli (Searching for relish): Aye, what? Well, 
 indeed, the men must know. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Nodding her head ap- 
 preciatively at Hugh) : Such eloquence, Mr. Williams ! 
 Aye, who in chapel has such grand theology as Deacon 
 Roberts ! (She sighs. The bell rings violently again, 
 and Tom Morris the Sheep enters. He is dressed in 
 gaiters, a shepherd's cloak, etc., etc. He carries a 
 crook in his hand. He is a grizzle-haired, rosy-faced 
 old man, raw-boned, strong and azvkward, with a half- 
 earnest, half-foolish look.) 
 
 Neli (Looking around): Aye, Tom Morris the 
 Sheep, come in an' sit down. I am lookin' out an 
 American Indian relish for the Deacon. 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Yiss, mum. I am 
 wantin' to buy a little tobacco, mum. 'Tis lonely upon 
 the hillsides with the sheep, whatever. 
 
180 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Hastily): I must go now, Mrs. 
 Williams, mum, an' ye can wait on Tom Morris. 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep : Nay, nay, Mr. Roberts, 
 sir, there is no haste. 
 
 Neli (To Tom Morris): Sit down there by the 
 door, if you please. (Tom Morris seats himself on 
 other side of door by back center.) 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Yiss, mum. (Touches 
 his forelock to Mrs. Jones the Wash.) A grand day 
 for the clothes, Mrs. Jones, mum. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : Yiss, yiss, an' as I was 
 just sayin' 'tis a meltin' day for the soap ! 
 
 Neli (Significantly) : An' perhaps 'tis a meltin' 
 day for somethin' besides soap! (She looks at Dea- 
 con.) 
 
 Hugh (Earnestly) : Yiss, yiss, for souls, meltin' 
 for souls, I am hopin'. (Picking up the book from the 
 little three-legged table, and speaking to the Deacon): 
 They are enlargin' the burial ground in Llanycil 
 Churchyard — achoo ! achoo ! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Slyly moving a step away from 
 fire): They're only enlargin' hell, Hughie lad, an' in 
 that place they always make room for all. (He casts 
 a stabbing look at Neli.) 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Nodding head): True, 
 true, room for all ! (Chuckling) : But 'twould be a 
 grand place to dry the clothes in! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Severely): Mrs. Jones, mum, 
 hell is paved with words of lightness. 
 
 Hugh (Looking up from book, his face expressing 
 delight): Deacon Roberts, I have searched for the 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 181 
 
 place of hell, but one book sayeth one thing, an' an- 
 other another. Where is hell? 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Aye, where is hell? 
 
 (The bell rings violently. All start except Neli. 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife enters. She is an old 
 zvoman, zvhite-haired and with a commanding, some- 
 what disagreeable expression on her face. She wears 
 a cloak and black Welsh beaver and walks with a 
 stick.) 
 
 Neli: Yiss, yiss, Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife, I am 
 just lookin' out a relish for the Deacon. Sit down 
 by the fire, please. 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Seating herself on 
 other side of fire): Aye, mum, I've come for pins; 
 I'm in no haste, mum. 
 
 Neli : Is it Jane Elin's baby ? 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Aye, Jane EHn's, 
 an' 'tis my sixth hundredth birth. 
 
 Hugh : We're discussing the place of hell, Mrs. 
 Jenkins, mum. 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Well, indeed, I 
 have seen the place of hell six hundred times then. 
 (Coughs and nods her head up and down over stick.) 
 Heaven an* hell I'm thinkin' we have with us here. 
 
 Hugh : Nay, nay, how could that be ? Tell us 
 where is the place of hell. Deacon Roberts. (All 
 listen with the most intense interest.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Nodding): Aye, the place of 
 hell — (Stopping suddenly, a terrified look on his face, 
 as the butter slides against the forward rim of his 
 hat, almost knocking it off, then going on with neck 
 
182 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 riffid and head straight tip) — to me is known where 
 is that place — their way is dark an' sHppery; they go 
 down into the depths, an' their soul is melted because 
 of trouble. 
 
 Neli (Pausing skeptically) : Aye, 'tis my idea of 
 hell whatever with souls meltin', Mr. Roberts. 
 
 Hugh (Tense with expectation) : Tell us where 
 is that place! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Neck rigid, head unmoved and 
 voice queridous) : Yiss, yiss. (Putting his hand up 
 and letting it down quickly.) Ahem! Ye believe 
 that it rains in Bala? 
 
 Hugh (Eyes on Deacon in childlike faith): I do. 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Yiss, yiss, before 
 an' after every birth whatever! 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash: Yiss, yiss, who would 
 know better than I that it rains in Bala? 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Aye, amen, it rains in 
 Bala upon the hills an' in the valleys. 
 
 Deacon Roberts: Ye believe that it can rain in 
 Bala both when the moon is full an' when 'tis new? 
 
 Hugh (Earnestly) : I do. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Wearily): Yiss, any 
 time. 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Aye, all the time. 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Yiss, yiss, it rains 
 ever an' forever! 
 
 Neli (Forgetting the relish search): Well, indeed, 
 'tis true it can rain in Bala at any time an' at all 
 times. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Paying no attention to Neli): 
 Ye believe that Tomen-y-Bala is Ararat? 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 183 
 
 Hugh (Clutching his book more tightly and speak- 
 ing in a whisper): Yiss. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : Aye, 'tis true. 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Yiss, the Hill of 
 Bala is Ararat. 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Yiss, I have driven the 
 sheep over it whatever more than a hundred times. 
 
 Neli (Both hands on counter, leaning forward, 
 listening to Deacon's words): Aye, Charles-y-Bala 
 said so. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Still ignoring Neli and lowering 
 Jiis coat tails carefully): Ye believe, good people, 
 that the Druids called Noah *Tegid," an' that those 
 who were saved were cast up on Tomen-y-Bala ? 
 
 H^UGH : Amen, I do ! 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Nodding her old 
 head): Aye, 'tis true. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : Yiss, yiss. 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Amen, 'tis so. 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Moving a few steps away from 
 the fire, standing sidewise, and lifting hand to head, 
 checking it in mid-air): An' ye know that Bala has 
 been a lake, an' Bala will become a lake? 
 
 Hugh : Amen, I do ! 
 
 Neli (Assenting for the first time): Yiss, 'tis 
 true — that is. 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : Dear anwyl, yiss ! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (With warning gesture toward 
 window): Hell is out there — movin' beneath Bala 
 Lake to meet all at their comin'. (Raises his voice 
 suddenly.) Red-hot Baal stones will fall upon your 
 heads — Baal stones. Howl, ye! (Shouting loudly.) 
 
184 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Meltin' stones smellin' of the bullocks. Howl, ye 
 sinners! (Clasping his hands together desperately.) 
 Scorchin' hot — Oo — o — o — Howl, ye ! — howl, ye ! (The 
 Deacon s hat sways, and he jams it down more tightly 
 on his head. Unclasping his hands and as if stirring 
 up the contents of a pudding dish.) Round an' 
 round like this! Howl, ye sinners, howl! (All moan 
 and sway to and fro except Neli.) 
 
 Neli (Skeptically): What is there to fear? 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Groaning): Nay, 
 but what is there not to fear? 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : Aye, outermost dark- 
 ness. Och ! Och ! 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Have mercy! 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Shouting again): Get ready! 
 Lift up your eyes ! (Welsh beaver almost falls off 
 and is set straight in a tzuinkling.) Beg for mercy 
 before the stones of darkness burn thee, an' there is 
 no water to cool thy tongue, an' a great gulf is fixed 
 between thee an' those who might help thee! 
 
 Neli (Spellbound by the Deacon's eloquence and 
 now oblivious to hat, etc.): Yiss, yiss, 'tis true, 'tis 
 very true! (She steps down from chair and places 
 hands, on counter.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts (His face convulsed, shouting 
 directly at her): Sister, hast thou two eyes to be 
 cast into hell fire? 
 
 Neli (Terrified and swept along by his eloquence): 
 Two eyes to be burned? (All lozver their heads, 
 groaning and rocking to and fro.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts (The butter trickling dovm his 
 face, yelling with sudden violence): Hell is here an' 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 185 
 
 now. Here in Bala, here in Y Gegin, here with us ! 
 Howl, ye ! Howl, ye sinners ! (All moan together.) 
 Hugh (Whispering): Uch, here! 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Yiss, here! 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash : Yiss. 
 Tom Morris the Sheep (Terrified): Aye. 
 Amen ! Yiss ! 
 
 Neli (Whispering) : Here in Y Gegin ! 
 Deacon Roberts (Clapping his hands to his face): 
 Stones of Baal, stones of darkness, slimy with ooze, 
 red-hot ooze, thick vapors ! Howl, ye, howl, ye sin- 
 ners! (All moan and groan. Takes a glance at 
 clock, passes hand over face and runs on madly, neck 
 rigid, eyes staring, fat red cheeks turning to purple.) 
 Midday, not midnight, is the hour of Hell; its sun 
 never sets! But who knows when comes that hour 
 of Hell? 
 
 Neli (Taking hands from counter and crossing 
 them as she whispers): Who knows? 
 All (Groaning): Who knows? 
 Hugh (Voice quavering and lifting his Welsh 
 essays): Who knows? 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Big yellow drops pouring down 
 his face, his voice full of anguish): I will tell ye 
 when is the hour of Hell. (He points to the clock.) 
 Is one the hour of Hell? Nay. Two? Nay. 
 Three? No, not three. Four? Four might be the 
 hour of Hell, but 'tis not. Five? Nor five, indeed. 
 Six? Nay. Seven? Is seven the hour, the awful 
 hour? Nay, not yet. Eight? Is eight the hour — 
 an hour bright as this bright hour? Nay, eight is not. 
 (The Deacon shouts in a mighty voice and points with 
 
186 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 a red finger at the clock.) 'Tis comin' ! Tis comin', 
 I say! Howl, ye, howl! Only one minute more! 
 Sinners, sinners, lift up your eyes! Cry for mercy! 
 (All groan.) Cry for mercy! When the clock 
 strikes twelve, 'twill be the hour of Hell! Fix your 
 eyes upon the clock! Watch! Count! Listen! 'Tis 
 strikin'. The stroke! The hour is here! 
 
 (All, dropped on their knees and turned toward the 
 clock, their hacks to the street door, are awaiting the 
 azvful stroke. The book has fallen from Hugh's 
 hands. Neli's hands are clenched. Mrs. Jenkins the 
 Midwife is nodding her old head. Mrs. Jones the 
 Wash, on her knees, her face upturned to the clock, 
 is rubbing up and down her thighs as if at the busi- 
 ness of washing. Tom Morris the Sheep is prostrate 
 and making a strange buzzing sound between his lips. 
 The wheels of the clever old timepiece zvhir and turn. 
 Then in the silent noonday the hard striking begins: 
 One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, 
 Ten, Eleven, Twelve.) 
 
 Deacon Roberts (Yelling suddenly in a loud and 
 terrible voice) : Hell let loose ! Howl, ye ! Howl, ye 
 sinners! (All cover their eyes. All groan or moan. 
 The clock ticks, the flame in the grate flutters, Neli's 
 bosom rises and falls heavily.) Lest worse happen 
 to ye, sin no more! (The Deacon looks at them all 
 quietly. Then he lifts his hands in sign of blessing, 
 smiles and vanishes silently through street door. All 
 remain stationary in their terror. Nothing happens. 
 But at last Nell fearfully, still spellbound by the Dea- 
 con's eloquence, lifts her eyes to the clock. Then 
 
THE DEACON'S HAT 187 
 
 cautiously she turns a little toward the fire and the 
 place of Deacon Roberts. 
 
 Neli : Uch ! (She stands on her feet and cries 
 out): The Deacon is gone! 
 
 Hugh (Raising his eyes): Uch, what is it? 
 Babylon — • 
 
 Neli : Babylon nothing ! (She zvrings her hands.) 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Groaning) : Is he 
 dead? Is he dead? 
 
 Neli (With sudden plunge toward the door) : Uch, 
 ye old hypocrite, ye villain! Uch, my butter an' my 
 eggs, my butter an' my eggs! (Neli throws open the 
 door and slams it to after her as she pursues the 
 Deacon out into the bright midday sunshine.) 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Well, indeed, what 
 is it? Has she been taken? 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Getting up heavily) : Such 
 movin' eloquence ! A saintly man is Deacon Roberts ! 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Aye, a saintly man is 
 Deacon Roberts! 
 
 Hugh (Picking up his book and speaking slowly): 
 Aye, eloquence that knoweth the place of Hell even 
 better than it knoweth Bala whatever! 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Very businesslike) : 
 Aye, 'twas a treat — a rare treat! But where's my 
 pins now? 
 
 Mrs. Jones the Wash (Very businesslike) : Yiss, 
 yiss, 'twas a grand an' fine treat. But I'm wantin' 
 my soap now. 
 
 Tom Morris the Sheep: Have ye any tobacco, 
 Hughie lad? 
 
 Curtain 
 
THE EXCHANGE 
 
 A Comic-Farce 
 
 By 
 
 Althea Thurston 
 
 Written as a requirement of English 109 — Playwriting 
 
 and Dramatic Technique of the One- Act Play — ^under 
 
 Professor B. Roland Lewis. Head of the English 
 
 Department of The University of Utah 
 
ALTHEA THURSTON 
 
 Althea Thurston (Mrs. Walter R. Thurston) is a 
 resident of Salt Lake City, U^ah, and is a thoroughly 
 western woman. She received her academic educa- 
 tion in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and has spent 
 several years in Texas and Arizona. She received 
 her technical training in playwriting at the University 
 of Utah, and has just completed at that institution a 
 very thoroughgoing course in the development of the 
 English drama covering a period from the earliest 
 liturgical plays through contemporary drama. 
 
 While Mrs. Thurston is interested in the creative 
 aspect of both poetry and short stories, it is to the 
 drama that she is giving her particular attention. 
 The Exchange was first produced in October, 1919, 
 by the Ogden Dramatic Club, who played it before 
 the state convention of the Federation of Women's 
 Clubs in Salt Lake City. It has since been frequently 
 played by schools and clubs. Mrs. Thurston is also 
 the author of When a Man's Hungry, And the Devil 
 Laughs, — one-act plays, — The Trail Blazers, a pag- 
 eant-drama, and A Pageant of Spring, which was 
 presented on the campus of the University of Utah 
 by the summer school students of public speaking and 
 interpretative dancing in July, 1920. 
 
 THE EXCHANGE 
 
 Like the short story the short play would teach as 
 well as entertain. And we can not feel that such a 
 
 190 
 
THE EXCHANGE 191 
 
 play as this preaches, hence its lesson is the greater. 
 In the words of Professor B. Roland Lewis "The Ex- 
 change deals with a very fundamental observation of 
 life, and is presented in concrete form — two essen- 
 tials for a good play." 
 
 (Copyright, 1920. Permission to perform The Exchange 
 must be obtained from tlie Extension Division of the Uni- 
 versity of Utah, or from Althea Thurston, 1201 First Avenue, 
 Salt Lake City, Utah.) 
 
THE EXCHANGE 
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 Judge, the Exchanger of Miseries. 
 Imp, office boy to the Judge. 
 A Poor Man. 
 A Vain Woman. 
 A Rich Citizen. 
 
 Scene: The curtain rises upon an office scene. 
 There is nothing unusual about this office: it has 
 tables, chairs, a filing cabinet and a hat rack. A por- 
 tion of the office is railed off at the right. Within this 
 enclosed space is a commodious desk and swivel chair, 
 and the filing cabinet stands against the wall. This 
 railed off portion of the office belongs, exclusively, 
 to the Judge. Here he is wont to spend many hours 
 — sometimes to read or write — and again, perhaps, he 
 will just sit and ponder upon the vagaries of mankind. 
 The Judge is a tall spare man with rather long gray 
 hair which shows beneath the skull cap that he always 
 wears. When zv^e first see him, he is reading a letter, 
 and evidently he is not pleased, for he is tapping with 
 impatient fingers upon his desk. 
 
 At the left of the stage is a heaznly curtained door 
 which leads to an inner room. At center rear is an- 
 other door which evidently leads to the street, as it 
 is through this door that the Poor Man, the Vain 
 Woman, and the Rich Citizen will presently enter, 
 
 192 
 
THE EXCHANGE 193 
 
 each upon his special quest. The hat rack stands 
 near the street door and we glimpse a soft black hat 
 and a long black overcoat hanging upon it. 
 
 Down stage to the left, is a flat topped desk, littered 
 with papers and letters. This desk has two large 
 drawers wherein a number of miscellaneous articles 
 might be kept. It is at this desk that zue catch our 
 first glimpse of Imp. He is busily writing in a huge 
 ledger and he seems to be enjoying his work for he 
 chuckles the while. Imp is a little rogue — looks it 
 and acts it, and zve feel that he has a Mephistophclian 
 spirit. He wears a dark green tight- fitting uniform 
 trimmed with red braid. His saucy little round cap 
 is akvays cocked over one eye. He is ever chuckling 
 impishly, and n^e feel that he is slyly gleeful over the 
 weaknesses of mankind and the difficulties that beset 
 them. 
 
 Imp (Throws down his pen, chuckles, and half 
 standing on the rungs of his chair and balancing him- 
 self against his desk, surveys the ledger): Your 
 Honor, I've all the miseries listed to date and a fine 
 lot there is to choose from. Everything from bunions 
 to old wives for exchange. 
 
 Judge (Scozvls and impatiently taps the letter he is 
 reading): Here is another one. A woman suspects 
 her husband of a misallaince. Wants to catch him, 
 but is so crippled with rheumatism she can't get 
 about. Wants us to exchange her rheumatism for 
 something that won't interfere with either her walking 
 or her eyesight. 
 
 Imp (Referring to the ledger and running his finger 
 
194 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT iPLAYS 
 
 along the lines): We have a defective heart or a 
 lazy Hver we could give her. 
 
 Judge (Irritably tossing the letter over to Imp) : 
 She would not be satisfied. People never are. They 
 always want to change their miseries but never their 
 vices. Each thinks his own cross heavier than others 
 have to bear. But he is very willing to make light 
 his own shortcomings and weaknesses. He thinks 
 they are not half so bad as his neighbors'. I have 
 tried for years to aid distressed humanity, but I can't 
 satisfy them. I am growing tired of it all, Imp. 
 People need a lesson and they're going to get it, too. 
 I am going to — 
 
 (Knock is heard at the street door. Judge sighs, 
 turns to his desk and begins to write. Imp closes the 
 ledger and goes to answer the knock.) 
 
 Imp: Here comes another misery. 
 
 (Imp opens the door to admit the Poor Man who 
 is very shabbily dressed. He hesitates, looks around 
 the room as if he were in the "wrong place and then 
 addresses Imp in a loud whisper.) 
 
 Poor Man (Indicating the Judge with a motion of 
 his head): Is that him? 
 
 Imp (Whispering loudly his reply): Yes, that is 
 His Honor. 
 
 Poor Man (Still whispering and showing signs of 
 nervousness) : Do I dare speak to him? 
 
 Imp (Enjoying the situation and still whispering) : 
 Yes, but be careful what you say. 
 
 Poor Man (Takes off his hat, approaches slozvly 
 to the railing and speaks humbly) : Your Honor, I — 
 
THE EXCHANGE 195 
 
 (Swallows hard, clears throat.) Your Honor, I've 
 a little favor — to ask of you. 
 
 Judge (Looking coldly at the Poor Man) : Well ? 
 
 Poor Man : You see, Your Honor, I've been poor 
 all my life. I've never had much fun. I don't ask 
 for a lot of money, But — I v^ould like enough 
 so that I could have some swell clothes, and — 
 so that I could eat, drink and be merry v^ith the boys. 
 You know, I just want to have a good time. Do you 
 think you could fix it for me, Judge? 
 
 Judge (Casing at him sternly for a moment): So 
 you just want to have a good time. Want me to take 
 away your poverty. I suppose you have no moral 
 weakness you want to change, no defects in your 
 character that you want to better? 
 
 Poor Man (Stammering and twirling his hat): 
 Why, w-h-y, Judge, I — I am not a bad man. Of — 
 of course I have my faults, but then — I've never 
 committed any crimes. I guess I stack up pretty fair 
 as men go. I'm just awful tired of being poor and 
 never having any fun. Couldn't you help me out on 
 that point. Judge ? 
 
 Judge (Sighs wearily and turns to Imp): Bring 
 me the ledger. (Imp gives him the ledger in which 
 he has been writing. Judge opens it and then speaks 
 sharply to the Poor Man.) You understand do you, 
 my good man, that if I take away your poverty and 
 and give you enough money for your good time, you 
 will have to accept another misery ? 
 
 Poor Man (Eagerly): Yes, Your Honor, that's all 
 right. I'm willing. 
 
196 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Judge (Scanning ledger): Very well. Let us see. 
 Here is paralysis. 
 
 Poor Man (Hesitatingly): Well, I — I couldn't 
 have a — very good time, if — if I was paralyzed. 
 
 Judge (Shortly): No. I suppose not. How about 
 a glass eye? 
 
 Poor Man (Anxiously) : Please, Your Honor, if 
 I'm going to have a good time I need two good eyes. 
 I don't want to miss anything. 
 
 Judge (Wearily turning over the leaves of the led- 
 ger): A man left his wife here for exchange, per- 
 haps you would like her. 
 
 Poor Man (Shifting from one foot to the other and 
 nervously twirling his hat) : Oh, Judge, oh, no, please 
 no. I don't want anybody's old cast-off wife. 
 
 Judge (Becoming exasperated) : Well, choose some- 
 thing and be quick about it. Here is lumbago, gout, 
 fatness, old age, and — 
 
 Imp (Interrupting and walking quickly over to the 
 railing): Excuse me, Judge, but maybe the gentle- 
 man would like the indigestion that Mr. Potter left 
 when he took old Mrs. Pratt's fallen arches. 
 
 Poor Man (Eagerly): Indigestion? Sure! That 
 will be fine ! I won't mind a little thing like indiges- 
 tion if I can get rid of my poverty. 
 
 Judge (Sternly): Very well. Raise your right 
 hand. Repeat after me. *T swear to accept indiges- 
 tion for better or for worse as my portion of the 
 world's miseries, so help me God." 
 
 Poor Man (Solemnly): "I swear to accept indi- 
 gestion for better or for worse as my portion of the 
 world's miseries, so help me God." 
 
THE EXCHANGE 197 
 
 Judge (To Imp): Show this gentleman to the 
 changing room. (Poor Man follows Imp who con- 
 ducts him to the heavily curtained door. The Poor 
 Man throws out his chest and swaggers a bit as a 
 man might who had suddenly come into a fortune. 
 Imp swaggers along with him.) 
 
 Imp: Won't you have a grand time though? I'll 
 get you a menu card so that you can be picking out 
 your dinner. 
 
 Poor Man (Joyfully slapping Imp on the back): 
 Good idea, and I'll pick out a regular banquet. 
 (Pausing a moment before he pass'es through the 
 curtains, he smiles and smacks his lips in anticipa- 
 tion. Exit.) 
 
 Judge (Speaks disgustedly to Imp): There you 
 are! He's perfectly satisfied with his morals. Has 
 no defects in his character. Just wants to have a 
 good time. (Sighs heavily and turns back to his 
 writing. Imp nods his head in agreement and 
 chuckles slyly. 
 
 (The street door opens slowly and the Vain Woman 
 stands upon the threshold. She does not enter at 
 once but stands posing, — presumably she desires to 
 attract attention, and she is worthy of it. She has a 
 superb figure and her rich gowning enhances it. Her 
 fair face reveals a shallow prettiness, but the wrinkles 
 of age are beginning to leave telltale lines upon its 
 smoothness. As Imp hurries forward to usher her 
 in, she sweeps grandly past him to the center of the 
 stage. Imp stops near the door with his hands on 
 his hips staring after her, then takes a fezv steps in 
 imitation of her. She turns around slozdy and saun- 
 
198 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 tering over to the railing, coughs affectedly, and as 
 the Judge rises and bows curtly, she speaks in a coax- 
 ing manner.) 
 
 Vain Woman : Judge, I have heard that you are 
 very kind, and I have been told that you help people 
 out of their troubles, so I have a little favor to ask 
 of you. 
 
 Judge (Coldly): Yes, I supposed so, go on. 
 
 Vain Woman (Archly): Well, you know that I 
 am a famous beauty, in fact both my face and my 
 form are considered very lovely. (She tm-ns around 
 slowly that he may see for himself.) Great and cele- 
 brated men have worshiped at my feet. I simply can 
 not live without admiration. It is my very life. But, 
 Judge, (plaintizrely) horrid wrinkles are beginning to 
 show in my face. (Intensely) : Oh, I would give 
 anything, do anything, to have a smooth, youthful 
 face once more. Please, oh, please. Judge, 
 won't you take away these wrinkles (touching her 
 face with her fingers) and give me something in 
 their stead? 
 
 Judge (Looking directly at her and speaking 
 coldly): Are you satisfied with yourself in other 
 ways? Is your character as beautiful as your face? 
 Have you no faults or weaknesses that you want 
 exchanged ? 
 
 Vain Woman (Uncertainly) : Why, I — don't know 
 what you mean. I am just as good as any other 
 woman and lots better than some I know. I go to 
 church, and I subscribe to the charities and I belong 
 to the best clubs. (Anxiously): Oh, please. Judge, 
 it's these wrinkles that make me so unhappy. Won't 
 
THE EXCHANGE 199 
 
 you exchange them ; you don't want me to be unhappy 
 do you? Please take them away. 
 
 Judge (Wearily looking over the ledger): Oh, 
 very well, I'll see what I can do for you. (To Imp): 
 Fetch a chair for this lady. (Imp gives her a chair 
 and she sits facing front. Imp returns to his desk, 
 perches himself upon it and watches the Vain Woman 
 interestedly. Judge turns over the leaves of the 
 ledger.) I have a goiter that I could exchange for 
 your wrinkles. 
 
 Vain Woman (Frotestingly, clasping her hands to 
 her throat) : Oh, heavens, no ! That would ruin my 
 beautiful throat. See (throwing back her fur and 
 exposing her neck in a low cut gown) I have a lovely 
 neck. (Imp makes an exaggerated attempt to see.) 
 
 Judge (Glances coldly at her and then scans ledger 
 again): Well, how about hay fever? 
 
 Vain Woman (Reproachfully) : Oh, Judge, how 
 can you suggest such a thing ! Watery eyes and a red 
 nose, the worst enemy of beauty there is. I simply 
 couldn't think of it. I want something that won't 
 show. 
 
 Judge (Disgustedly turns to filing cabinet and looks 
 through a series of cards, withdrazvs one and turns 
 to Vain Woman) : Perhaps this will suit you. 
 (Refers to card.) A woman has grown very tired of 
 her husband and wants to exchange him for some 
 other burden. 
 
 Vain Woman (Indignantly) : What! I accept a 
 man that some other woman doesn't want ! Cer- 
 tainly not ! I prefer one that some other woman 
 does want. 
 
200 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Judge (Irritated, puts the card back in its place and 
 turns upon the Vain Woman crossly): I fear that I 
 can not please you and I do not have time to — 
 
 Imp (Interrupts and runs over to the railing, speak- 
 ing soothingly to the Judge): Excuse me, Judge, but 
 maybe the lady would like deafness in exchange for 
 her wrinkles. Deafness wouldn't show, so it couldn't 
 spoil her face or her elegant figure. 
 
 Judge (Wearily): No, it won't show. Deafness 
 ought to be a good thing for you. 
 
 Vain Woman (Consideringly) : Why — yes, — that 
 might do. But — well, it wouldn't show. Tve a 
 notion to take it. (Pause, she seems to consider and 
 meditate. The Judge stares at her coldly. Imp 
 grins impudently. She rises leisurely, sighs.) All 
 right. I'll accept it. 
 
 Judge (Sharply): Hold up your right hand. (She 
 raises hand.) Do you swear to accept deafness for 
 better or for worse as your portion of the world's 
 miseries, so help you God? 
 
 Vain Woman (Sweetly): Oh, yes. I do. Judge. 
 
 Judge (To Imp): Show the lady to the changing 
 room. 
 
 Imp (Escorts her to the curtained door zmth rather 
 mock deference) : No, deafness won't show at all, 
 and you'll have 'em all crazy about you. (Draws 
 aside curtains for her to pass.) Take second booth 
 to your right. (Vain Woman stands posing a mo- 
 ment, she smiles radiantly and pats her cheeks softly 
 with her hands, then zvith a long drawn sigh of happi- 
 ness, she exits. Imp bozus low and mockingly after 
 her vanishing form, his hands on his heart.) 
 
THE EXCHANGE 201 
 
 Judge (Sarcastically): Do her faults or shortcom- 
 ings trouble her? Not at all! Perfectly satisfied 
 with herself except for a few wrinkles in her face. 
 Vain woman, bah! 
 
 Imp: Yes, sir, women have queer notions. (An 
 imperative rap at the street door, immediately fol- 
 lowed by the rapper's abrupt entrance. We see an 
 important-appearing personage. His arrogant bear- 
 ing and commanding pose lead tis to believe that he 
 is accustomed to prompt attention. It is the Rich 
 Citizen, exceedingly well groomed. His manner is 
 lordly, but he addresses the Judge in a bored tone. 
 When Imp scampers to meet him, the Rich Citizen 
 hands him his hat and cane and turns at once to the 
 Judge. Imp examines the hat and cane critically, 
 hangs them on the hat rack, and returns to his desk 
 where he again perches to watch the Rich Citi::en.) 
 Rich Citizen (Lighting a cigarette): I am ad- 
 dressing the Judge, am I not? 
 Judge (Shortly): You are. 
 
 Rich Citizen (Languidly, between puffs of his 
 cigarette): Well, Judge, life has become rather bore- 
 some, so I thought I would drop in and ask you to 
 do me a small favor. 
 
 Judge (Wearily): Yes? Well, what is your 
 grievance ? 
 
 Rich Citizen (Nonchalantly) : Oh, I wouldn't say 
 grievance exactly. You see, my dear Judge, it is this 
 way. I am a very rich and influential citizen, a 
 prominent member of society, and I am very much 
 sought after. 
 Judge (Frigidly): Oh, indeed! 
 
202 A BOOK OF ONE^ACT PLAYS 
 
 Rich Citizen (In a very bored manner): Yes. 
 Women run after me day and night. Ambitious 
 mothers throw their marriageable daughters at my 
 head. Men seek my advice on all matters. I am 
 compelled to head this and that committee. (Smokes 
 languidly.) 
 
 Judge (Sharply): Well, go on. 
 
 Rich Citizen : Really, Judge, my prestige has 
 become a burden. I want to get away from it all. I 
 would like to become a plain ordinary man with an 
 humble vocation, the humbler the better, so that people 
 will cease bothering me. 
 
 Judge (Sarcastically) : Is your prestige all that 
 troubles you? Don't worry about your morals I sup- 
 pose. Satisfied with your habits and character? 
 
 Rich Citizen (Coldly): What have my habits or 
 morals got to do with my request? (Scornfully): 
 Certainly I am not one of your saintly men. I live 
 as a man of my station should live, and I think I 
 measure up very well with the best of them. I am 
 simply bored and I would like a change. I would 
 like to be a plain man with an humble calling. 
 
 Judge (Ironically) : Til see what we have in 
 humble callings. (He looks at the ledger, turning the 
 leaves over slowly.) We have several bartender's 
 vocations. 
 
 Rich Citizen (Wearily smoking): No. Too 
 many people about all the time, and too much noise. 
 
 Judge : Well, here's a janitor's job open to you. 
 
 Rich Citizen (Impatiently throwing away his 
 cigarette): No. I don't like that either. Too con- 
 fining. Too many people bickering at you all the 
 
THE EXCHANGE 203 
 
 time. I want to get out in the open away from 
 crowds. 
 
 Judge (Sighing and turning over the leaves of the 
 'ledger, then hopefully): Here's the very thing for 
 you then,— postman in a rural district. 
 
 Rich Citizen (Showing vexation): No, no, NO. 
 Too many old women that want to gossip. I tell you 
 I want to get away from women. Haven't you some- 
 thing peaceful and quiet; something that would take 
 me out in the quiet of the early morning when the 
 birds are singing? 
 
 Judge (Closing ledger with a hang and, rising): 
 Well, you're too particular and I have not time to 
 bother with you. I bid you good after— 
 
 Imp (Slides from his desk, runs to railing, and 
 speaks suavely): Excuse me, Judge, but maybe the 
 gentleman would like the vocation of milkman. That 
 is early morning work. And you remember a milk- 
 man left his job here when he took that old worn-out 
 senator's position. 
 
 Judge (Sharply to Rich Citisen) : Well, how 
 about it? Does a milkman's vocation suit you? It's 
 early morning hours, fresh air, and no people about. 
 Rich Citizen (Musingly): Well, the very sim- 
 plicity and quietness of it is its charm. It rather 
 appeals to me. (He ponders a moment): Yes, by 
 Jove, I'll take it. 
 
 Judge (Sternly): Hold up your right hand. 
 (Hand is raised.) Do you solemnly swear to accept 
 for better or for worse the vocation of milkman as 
 your lot in life, so help you God? 
 Rich Citizen: I do. 
 
204 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Judge (To Imp): Show this gentleman to the 
 changing room. 
 
 Imp (While escorting him to the curtained door): 
 Yes, sir, you will lead the simple life. Fresh air, 
 fresh milk, no people, just cows and they 
 can't talk. (Holding aside the curtains.) Third 
 booth, sir. 
 
 Rich Citizen (Musingly): The simple life, — 
 peace and quietness. (Exit.) 
 
 Judge (In disgust): It's no use, Imp. They all 
 cling to their vices, but they are very keen to change 
 some little cross or condition that vexes them, — or 
 that they think vexes them. 
 
 Imp: It's funny that people always want some- 
 thing different from what they have. (Imp opens a 
 drawer in his desk and takes out a bottle, evidently 
 filled with tablets, which he holds up, shaking it and 
 chuckling. He hunts in the drawer again and this 
 time brings forth a huge ear trumpet which he 
 chucklingly places on his table beside the bottle of 
 tablets.) 
 
 Judge : Don't let any more in, Imp. I can't stand 
 another one to-day. I am going to write a letter and 
 then go home. 
 
 Imp: All right, sir. 
 
 Judge : I am feeling very tired ; what I really need 
 is a vacation. A sea trip would put me right. By 
 the way. Imp, where is that Trans-Atlantic Folder 
 that I told you to get? 
 
 (Imp picks up the Folder from his desk and takes 
 it to the Judge who studies it attentively. Imp re- 
 turns to his own desk where he again looks in a 
 
THE EXCHANGE 205 
 
 drazver and brings forth a menu card zvhich he glances 
 over, grinning mischievously. 
 
 (The former Poor Man reenters from the changing 
 room. He is well dressed, and taking a well filled 
 wallet from his pocket, he looks at it gloatingly. 
 However, from time to time, a shade of annoyance 
 passes over his face, and he puts his hand to the pit 
 of his stomach. Imp runs to meet him and hands 
 him the menu that he has been reading.) 
 
 Imp: Here's a menu from the Gargoyle. Say, 
 you sure do look swell! (Looking him over admir- 
 ingly.) 
 
 Former Poor Man (Grinning happily): Some 
 class to me now, eh! (Looking at menu): And you 
 watch me pick out a real dinner. (Sits down at left 
 front.) First, Fll have a cocktail; then, let's see, I'll 
 have — another one. Next, oysters, and (he frowns 
 and presses his hand to the pit of his stomach keeping 
 up a massaging motion) green turtle soup, sand dabs, 
 — chicken breasts — (they become absorbed over the 
 menu. 
 
 (The Vain Woman reenters from the changing 
 room.. She now has a smooth face, and she is look- 
 ing at herself in a hand glass, smiling and touching 
 her face delightedly. She walks over to the railing 
 and leans over it to the Judge. He looks up question- 
 ingly.) 
 
 Vain Woman (Smiling): Oh, I am so happy 
 again. Am I not beautiful? 
 
 Judge (Pityingly) : You are a vain, foolish woman. 
 
 Vain Woman : (Since .^he is deaf, she does not 
 hear his words, but thinks he is complimenting her. 
 
206 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 She smiles at him coyly.) Ah, Judge, you too are 
 susceptible to my charms. 
 
 (The Judge in great exasperation puts away his 
 papers, thrusts the Trans- Atlantic Folder in his 
 pocket, hastily closes his desk and hurries to the hut 
 rack, puts on his overcoat, slips his skidl cap in his 
 pocket and puts on his soft black hat. Then zvith a 
 shrug of his shoulders and a wave of his hand indica- 
 tive of disgust, he slips quietly out. 
 
 (The Vain Woman saunters past the former Poor 
 Man, stops near him posing, and begins to put on her 
 gloves. He looks at her admiringly, then getting to 
 his feet, makes an elaborate but awkward bow.) 
 
 Former Poor Man : Excuse me, lady, but I've 
 had a big piece of luck to-day and I want to celebrate, 
 so I am having a big dinner. Won't you join me and 
 help me have a good time? 
 
 Vain Woman (Looking at him blankly and trying 
 to fathom what he has said): Oh, why, what did 
 you say? 
 
 Former Poor Man (Hesitating and a bit sur- 
 prised): Why, — er, — I said that I had a big piece 
 of luck to-day and I am going to celebrate. I am 
 having a fine dinner, and I just asked if — if — you 
 wouldn't have dinner with me. 
 
 Vain Woman (Still looking blank and a little con- 
 fused, then smiling archly and acting as though she 
 had been hearing compliments, she speaks affectedly) : 
 Really, do you think so? (Looking down and smooth- 
 ing her dress): But then every one tells me that I 
 am. 
 
THE EXCHANGE 207 
 
 Former Poor Man (Puzzled, turns to Imp for 
 help): Just what is her trouble, Nut? 
 
 Imp (Secretly gleeful): She is stone deaf. You 
 had better write it. 
 
 Former Poor Man : Never ! No deaf ones for 
 me. (Turns away and considts menu again. Vain 
 Woman poses and frequently looks in hand glass to 
 reassure herself. 
 
 (Former Rich Citizen reenters from the changing 
 room. He is dressed in shabby overalls, jumper and 
 an old hat. He has a pipe in his mouth. He zvalks 
 arrogantly over to the former Poor Man and ad- 
 dresses him.) 
 
 Former Rich Citizen: Give me a light. 
 
 Former Poor Man (Trying to live up to his fine 
 clothes and wallet full of money, looks the former 
 Rich Citizen over snubbingly) : Say, who do you 
 think you are? You Hght out, see? 
 
 Former Rich Citizen (Very much surprised, 
 stands nonplussed a moment): Well, upon my word, 
 I — I — (He stops short in his speech, walks haughtily 
 over to the railing zvhere he stands glowering at the 
 former Poor Man. The Former Poor Man starts 
 for the street door, but Imp runs after him, waving 
 the bottle of tablets.) 
 
 Imp: I'll sell you these for two bits. 
 
 Former Poor Man : What is that ? 
 
 Imp (Grinning): Indigestion tablets. 
 
 Former Poor Man (Puts his hand to his stomach 
 and laughs a little lamely) : Keep 'em ; I don't need 
 'em. (Exit.) 
 
208 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 (Vain Woman fastens her fur and starts for the 
 street door, giving the Former Rich Citizen a snubbing 
 look as she passes him. Imp stops her and offers 
 the ear trumpet.) 
 
 Imp : You might need this ; I'll sell it for a dollar. 
 
 (She does not hear what he says but she looks her 
 scorn at the ear trumpet and walks proudly out.) 
 
 Former Rich Citizen (Fumbling at his pocket as 
 if to find a watch): Boy, what time is it; I haven't 
 my watch. 
 
 Imp (Grinning mischievously) : Time to milk the 
 cows. 
 
 (The former Rich Citizen starts angrily toward 
 Imp, then evidently thinking better of it, shrugs his 
 shoulders and stalks majestically to the street door. 
 He pauses with it partly open, turns as if to speak to 
 Imp, drazving himself up haughtily — a ludicrous 
 figure in his shabby outfit — then he goes abruptly out, 
 slamming the door. Imp doubles himself up in a 
 paroxysm of glee as the curtain falls.) 
 
 Scene ii 
 
 (A fortnight has passed. The curtain rises upon 
 the same stage setting. The Judge is not about, but 
 we see Imp asleep in a chair. All seems quiet and 
 serene but suddenly the street door opens noisily and 
 the Former Poor Man bursts into the room. He is 
 panting as though he had been been running. He is 
 haggard and seems in great pain, for occasionally he 
 moans. He looks wildly about the room and seeing 
 Imp asleep in the chair, he rushes to him and shakes 
 
THE EXCHANGE 209 
 
 him roughly. Imp wakes, slowly yawning and 
 rubbing his eyes.) 
 
 Former Poor Man (Frantically): The Judge, 
 where is he, I must see him at once. 
 
 Imp (Yaivning): You're too early. He isn't 
 down yet. (Settles himself to go to sleep again.) 
 
 Former Poor Man (Walking the floor and holding 
 his hands to his stomach): Don't go to sleep again. 
 I'm nearly crazy. What time does the Judge get 
 here ? Where does he live ; can't we send for him ? 
 
 Imp (Indifferently): Oh, he is liable to come any 
 minute, and then he may not come for an hour or 
 two. 
 
 Former Poor Man (Pacing the floor, moaning and 
 rubbing his stomach): Oh, I can't stand it much 
 longer. It's driving me wild I tell you. I do wish 
 the Judge would come. 
 
 Imp (Getting up from his chair and keeping step 
 with the Poor Man): What's the matter; I thought 
 all you wanted was to eat, drink and be merry. 
 
 Former Poor Man (Frantically waving his arms): 
 Eat, drink and be merry, be damned. Everything I 
 eat gives me indigestion something awful ; everything 
 I drink gives it to me worse. How can I be merry 
 when I am in this torment all the time? I tell you 
 this pain is driving me mad! I want to get rid of it 
 quick. Oh, why doesn't the Judge come? 
 
 Imp: What's the Judge got to do with it? 
 
 Former Poor Man (Pathetically) : I am going to 
 beg him to take back this indigestion and give me 
 back my poverty. It was not so bad after all, not 
 nearly so bad as this darned pain in my stomach. 
 
210 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 (The street door opens slowly and a sorrowful 
 woman enters. She is weeping softly. It is the Vain 
 Woman. Gone is her posing and her proud manner. 
 She walks humbly to the railing, and not seeing the 
 Judge, she turns to Imp. The Former Poor Man 
 looks at the Vain Woman frowningly muttering 
 "What's she here for?" Then he sits dozvn at the 
 left and rocks back and forth in misery.) 
 
 Vain Woman (Tearfully) : I must see the Judge 
 right away, please. 
 
 Imp (Languidly): He isn't down yet. You're 
 too earl — 
 
 Vain Woman (Interrupting): Tell him that it is 
 very important, that I am in great distress and that 
 he must see me at once. 
 
 Imp (Loudly): I said that he was not down yet. 
 (Seeing that she does not understand, he takes a 
 writing pad from his desk, scribbles a few words, 
 and standing in front of her holds it up for her to 
 read.) 
 
 Vain Woman (After reading): Oh, when will he 
 be here? Can't you get him to come right away? 
 Oh, I am so unhappy. (She zvalks the Hoor in agita- 
 tion. The Former Poor Man grunts in irritation and 
 turns his back on her.) I can not hear a word that 
 is said to me. No one seems to want me around, 
 and I am not invited out any more. I have the feel- 
 ing that people are making fun of me instead of prais- 
 ing my beauty. Oh, it is dreadful to be deaf! 
 (Getting hysterical.) I want the Judge to take away 
 this deafness. I would rather have my wrinkles. 
 (Imp shakes his head in pretended sympathy saying. 
 
THE EXCHANGE 211 
 
 "Too had, too bad/' She misunderstands and cries 
 out): Has the Judge given away my wrinkles? I 
 want them back; I want my very own wrinkles, too. 
 Wrinkles are distinguished-looking. (Beginning to 
 sob.) I don't want to be deaf any longer. 
 
 Imp (Running over to the Former Poor Man): 
 Say, this lady feels very bad ; can't you cheer her up a 
 little? 
 
 Former Poor Man (Who is still rocking back and 
 forth zvith his own misery, looks up at Imp in dis- 
 gust): Cheer— her— up, me? What's the joke? 
 
 (The Vain Woman walks to the curtained door, 
 looks in as if seeking something, then returns to a 
 chair where she sits weeping softly. 
 
 (A peculiar thumping is heard at the street door. 
 The Former Poor Man jumps to his feet in expect- 
 ancy, hoping it is the Judge. Imp, also, stands wait- 
 ing. The door opens as though the person that 
 opened it did so with difficulty. The Former Rich 
 Citizen hobbles in. He is ragged and dirty and one 
 foot is bandaged, which causes him to use a crutch. 
 He carries a large milk can. He hobbles painfully 
 to the center of the stage. The Former Poor Man 
 grunts with disappointment and sits down again 
 rubbing away at his stomach. The Vain Woman sits 
 zvith bowed head silently weeping. The Former Rich 
 Citizen looks about; then addresses Imp in rather a 
 husky voice.) 
 
 Former Rich Citizen: I wish to see the Judge 
 at once. It is most urgent. 
 
 Imp (With an ill concealed smile): You can't see 
 the Judge at once. 
 
212 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 Former Rich Citizen (Impatiently) : Why not, 
 I told you it was most urgent. 
 
 Imp (Grinning openly): Because he isn't here. 
 He hasn't come in yet. What's your trouble? 
 
 Former Rich Citizen (Vehemently): Trouble! 
 Everything's the trouble! I have been abused, in- 
 sulted, overworked, — even the cows have kicked me. 
 (Looking down at his bandaged foot.) I can't stand 
 it. I want back my proper place in the world where 
 I am respected, and where I can rest and sleep, and 
 mingle with my kind. (He hobbles to a chair and 
 sits down wearily.) 
 
 Former Poor Man (Getting up from his chair, 
 walks over to the former Rich Citizen, waggles his 
 finger in his face and speaks fretfully): What cause 
 have you to squeal so? If you had indigestion like 
 I have all the time, you might be entitled to raise a 
 holler. Why, I can't eat a thing without having the 
 most awful pain right here, (puts his hand to the pit 
 of his stomach) and when I take a drink, oh, heavens, 
 it— 
 
 Former Rich Citizen (Interrupting contemptu- 
 ously): You big baby, howling about the stomach 
 ache. If you had a man-sized trouble, there might be 
 some excuse for you. Now I, who have been used 
 to wealth and respect, have been subjected to the 
 most grueling ordeals; why in that dairy there were 
 a million cows and they kicked me, and horned me, 
 and I — 
 
 Vain Woman: (Walks over to them, interrupt- 
 ing their talk, and speaks in a voice punctuated with 
 
THE EXCHANGE 213 
 
 sniMing sobs.) Have — (sniff) either of you gentle- 
 men (sniff) ever been deaf ; (sniff, sniff) it is a ter- 
 rible thing (sniff) for a beautiful woman like I am 
 (sniff) to have such an affliction. (Sniff, sniff, sniff.) 
 
 (Former Rich Citizen shrugs his shoulders in- 
 differently and limps to the other side of the stage 
 where he sits.) 
 
 Former Poor Man : (Stalks over to the railing 
 where he leans limply.) Lord deliver me from a 
 sniffling woman. 
 
 (Imp who is perched on his desk, chuckles wickedly 
 at their sufferings. Vain Woman sinks dejectedly 
 into the chair vacated by the Former Rich Citizen. 
 
 (A knock is heard at the street door. The Former 
 Poor Man and the Former Rich Citizen start up 
 eagerly, expecting the Judge. Even the Vain Woman, 
 seeing the others rise, gets to her feet hopefully. 
 Imp hastily slides from his desk, and pulling dozvn 
 his tight little jacket and cocking his round little hat 
 a trifle more over one eye, goes jauntily to see who 
 knocks. A messenger hands him a letter and silently 
 departs.) 
 
 Imp (Importantly): Letter for me from the 
 Judge. 
 
 Former Poor Man: A letter! Why doesn't he 
 come himself? 
 
 Former Rich Citizen : Send for him, boy. 
 
 Imp (Grins insolently at the Former Rich Citizen): 
 Well, well, I wonder what the Judge is writing to 
 me about. It's queer that he would send me a letter. 
 (He looks the letter over carefully, both sides, holds 
 
214 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 it up to the light, shakes it, smells it. The two men 
 and the woman grow more and more nervous.) 
 
 Former Poor Man (Extremely irritated): For 
 God's sake, open it and read it. 
 
 Former Rich Citizen: Yes, yes, don't be so long 
 about it. 
 
 (Vain Woman simply stands pathetically and waits. 
 Imp walks over to his desk, hunts around for a paper- 
 knife, finally finds one; looks the letter over again 
 and at last slits the envelope and drazvs out the letter 
 which he reads silently, not letting the others see. 
 They are breathlessly zmiting. Imp whistles softly 
 in surprise.) 
 
 Imp: Well, what do you think of that! 
 
 Former Poor Man (Excitedly): What is it, why 
 don't you tell us? 
 
 Former Rich Citizen (Pounding with his crutch 
 on the floor): Come, come, don't keep me waiting 
 like this. 
 
 Imp (Reads letter again, silently, chuckling) : All 
 right. Here it is. (Reads): "My dear Imp. I have 
 tried faithfully for years to aid distressed humanity, 
 but they are an ungrateful lot of fools and I wash 
 my hands of them. When this letter reaches you, 
 I will be on the high seas and I am never coming back. 
 So, write finis in the -big old ledger of miseries and 
 shut up the shop for the Exchange is closed forever. 
 Yours in disgust. The Judge." 
 
 (They all stand da;::ed a moment. The Vain 
 Woman, sensing that something terrible has happened, 
 rushes from one to the other saying, "What is it, 
 
THE EXCHANGE 215 
 
 what has happened^* Imp gives her the letter to 
 read.) 
 
 Former Poor Man (In a perfect frenzy): My 
 God ! Indigestion all the rest of my days ! 
 
 Vain Woman (After reading letter collapses in a 
 chair, hysterically sobbing out): Deaf, always deaf, 
 oh, what shall I do! 
 
 Former Rich Citizen (Leaning heavily on his 
 crutch and shaking his free hand clenched in anger): 
 This is an outrage. I am rich and have influence and 
 I shall take steps to — to — 
 
 (Imp laughs mockingly. The man looks down at 
 his milk spattered clothes, his bandaged foot, and 
 letting his crutch fall to the floor, sinks dejectedly into 
 a chair burying his face in his hands. 
 
 (Imp dangles his keys and opens the street door as 
 an invitation for them to go. The Former Poor Man 
 is the first to start, moving dazedly and breathing 
 hard. Imp offers him the bottle of indigestion tab- 
 lets; the man grasps them eagerly, tipping Imp, who 
 chuckles as he pockets the money. The Poor Man 
 takes a tablet as he exits. The Vain Woman, bowed 
 with sorrow, moves slowly toward the door. Imp 
 touches her arm and offers the ear trumpet ; she ac- 
 cepts it with a wild sob, tipping Imp who again 
 chuckles as he pockets the money. The last we see 
 of the Vain Woman she is trying to hold the ear 
 trumpet to her ear and exits sobbing. The Former 
 Rich Citizen still sits in his chair his head in his 
 hands. Imp picks up the milk can, and tapping the 
 man not too gently on the shoulder, thrusts the milk 
 
216 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 
 can at him and makes a significant gesture, indicative 
 of— THIS WAY OUT. The man rises dejectedly, 
 picks up his crutch, takes the milk can and hobbles 
 painfully toward the door. Imp doubles himself up 
 in wild Mephistophelian glee as the 
 
 Curtain Falls 
 
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