/ 
 
 PS 3505 
 .0863 
 L6 
 
 1900 
 
 Copy 1 
 
 %ove, tbe Sovereign. 
 
 a Drama. 
 
 (5eo. S. Cottman. 
 
%ovc, tbe Sovereign. 
 
 H 2)rama* 
 
 (5eo, S, Cottman. 
 
 a. S. COTTMAN. PRINTER, 
 
 IRVINGTON, INO. 
 
 1900. 
 
tjbrary of QGW[;ro«% 
 
 Ofhce of tfeiO 
 
 JA« 4-1900 . 
 
 gegHtar of CepyrtKhiiK 
 
 55850 
 
 Copyright, 1900, 
 By GEORGE S. COTTMAN. 
 
 .0 w J • .,/ Uv-'i'' • I 
 
 
 II 
 
To my fellow-members of 
 
 The Indianapolis PORTFOIvIO CI^UB, 
 in token of pleasant comradery. 
 
4 
 
 CHARACTERS: 
 
 Tristam Boyd, leading, 
 Mr. Boyd, his father, 
 Professor Boyd, his uncle, 
 Mrs. Saxby, his aunt, 
 Gladys Saxby, his cousin, 
 Alonzo Hicks, Galdys' lover, 
 
 {Boarders at Mfs. Joyce's cojmtry ho7ne.) 
 
 Rebecca foyce, leading, ' 1 
 
 Mrs. foyce, her mother, I 
 
 fed, her foster brother. 
 Country boys and girls. 
 
 Four Acts. Scene throughout, the Joyce home. 
 
 I 
 
Xove, the Souereion. 
 
 ACT I— IDYLLIC, 
 
 Interior of rustic summer house, covered with greenery. 
 Doorway center, revealing full depth of stage and land- 
 scape of ?7teadow stretching from foreground and woods 
 beyond. Cloth spread on grotmd and set with dishes. 
 Several ottomans and canvas stools scattered about. 
 
 Chorus without as curtain rises. 
 
 SONG: 
 
 ''Oh, the merry chime of the summer-time, 
 
 In a blossom-laden grove ! 
 Oh, the sweet love-words to the notes of birds. 
 
 As the blue sky bends above! 
 When the mowers come from hillside home. 
 
 And children toss the hay. 
 Till the blast of horn on breeze is born, 
 
 And echo sings 'Aye! aye!' 
 
 Follozving so?ig is heard the whetting of scythes; then, as 
 dialogue begins, half-a-dozen mowers, bending to their 
 work, pass across foreground of meadow in a rhythmic 
 line, visible for a mome7it through doorway. Accom- 
 panying this, the swish of the scythes, gradually dying 
 away. ' Whirr of locust and occasional bird song heard 
 throughout. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Saxby and Mrs. foyce, bearing things which 
 they place on cloth. 
 
 Mrs. Saxby— The mowers seem unusually merry this 
 evening, do they not? 
 
 Mrs. Joyce— Yes; a day's hard work has little effect 
 on their sturdy muscles when there's pleasure a-foot. They 
 are looking forward to a grand time to-night. 
 
 ]yjj^S. S.— Indeed ! And what is that? 
 
 j^j,S^ j,_Why, haven't you heard? Jed has promised 
 them a play-party and the barn is all cleared for it. If you 
 never saw our old-fashioned games you will be interested. 
 
IvOVK, THE SOVKRKIGN. 
 
 Mrs. S. — Yes, yes; no doubt. There! everything is 
 ready when the young folks come with the hamper. Is 
 every one notified? Where is Professor Boyd? 
 
 Mrs. J. — Not far off, I guess. I saw him out there a 
 moment ago chasing a bug with his net. 
 
 Mrs. S. — And Tristam and Rebecca? 
 
 Mrs. J. — They are out notifying the boys and girls of 
 Jed's frolic, but they promised to be here sharply on time. 
 Your nephew has made himself very popular here — every 
 one likes him ; he is so kind and sociable. 
 
 Mrs. S. — (dry/y) H'm, yes. More kind and sociable 
 than wise, I fear. Mrs. Joyce, speaking of Jed again, w^hat 
 is his relation to you ? 
 
 Mrs. J. — He came to me years ago, a friendless waif. I 
 gave him a home, and it has been bread cast upon the 
 waters, for with his gratitude and faithfulness he has been 
 a son to me and repaid me many times. Ah, if he had 
 only taken to schooling ! I would have had him polished, 
 at least a little ; but Jed loved onl}^ hard work with his 
 little jokes and merry-makings between. 
 
 Mrs. S. — Too bad ! too bad ! Mrs. Joyce, he thinks a 
 great deal of your daughter. 
 
 Mrs. J. — I hope not — not as you would seem to mean. 
 
 Mrs. vS. — Oh, but he does ! Don't you think you ought 
 to encourage it? 
 
 Mrs. J.. — And why, pray? 
 
 Mrs. S. — Because — don't be offended, now; I mean only 
 for the best — because it seems to me that a country-bred 
 girl, especially one of unusual character, like your daugh- 
 ter, is in peculiar danger and is safer when once settled 
 in life. 
 
 Mrs. J. — And the danger, Mrs. Saxby? 
 
 Mrs. S. — Is this ; She is more than apt to fix her eyes 
 on a station she cannot occupy. If this happens she will 
 suffer grief. Is it not so? 
 
 Mrs. J. — Yes, such result would doubtless follow if she 
 made such a mistake {turns aivay). 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 Enter Gladys Saxby a7id Alonzo Hicks, the latter carry- 
 ing hamper. Mrs. Joyce goes out. 
 
 HiCKS-Ah, Miss Gladys, you didn't help carry the 
 hamper at all ! See how I toil for your sake. 
 
 Gladys— For vour own sake, you mean, Mr. Hicks. 
 There could be no dinner unless the victuals were carried 
 hither— and vou carried them. 
 
 Hicks— Ah, now ! Dear Madam, see how she uses me! 
 
 Glad.— Heigho ! Mamma, when are we going back 
 home> Whv do people want to leave the comforts and 
 conveniences of the city and come out in the country among 
 the bugs and things? The mosquitoes fairly feast off of 
 me day and night ^ 
 
 Hicks— Ah, Miss Glady, who could blame em ^. 
 
 Glad.— And I never step out of doors but some horrid 
 cow frightens me to death 
 
 Hicks— "An' I met a man 'at led a grea' big cow at 
 shooked her head." Dear Miss Gladys, am I not always 
 
 at hand? 
 
 Gi VD —Yes, dear Mr. Hicks; but how can a calf pro- 
 tect one from a cow? It only excites her and makes mat- 
 ters worse. 11-. 
 Hicks— Ah. now '. Dear Madam, see how cruel she is ! 
 Mrs. S.— Dear! Aren't you ashamed of yourself? 
 Whv, you are positively rude to Mr. Hicks. _^ 
 Glad —Oh, Mamma, when are we going back home . 
 When are we going to have dinner?-or do you call this 
 dinner > Why do we come out here to eat off the ground, 
 like Hottentots? . . 
 
 Mrs. S.-Why, dear, I thought a little picnic spread 
 
 would be a pleasant change. • . ^ , 
 
 Yi^ZY.^-ibusying himself about hamper^ \es indeed! 
 It reminds one of those delightful bucolics of Virgil Did 
 you ever read the Bucolics in the original. Miss Gladj^s? 
 
 Glad —No, I never was partial to colics m any form. 
 A novel I'm reading speaks about the hero keeping \ irgil 
 all night. Who was he? Some sort of mendicant? 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 Hicks — Ho! ho! I guess that must be vigil you mean. 
 No, Virgil was the great Latin poet — I learned all about 
 him when I w^as in college. There's a beautiful passage in 
 the Eclogues 
 
 GiyAD. — {hiding a yawn) Oh dear, I'm d3nng of ennui ! 
 Mammy, there goes a bug in the sugar bowl. 
 
 Hicks — Now I just call that cruel ! 
 
 Mrs. S. — Dear me, you young folks will be quarreling 
 directly ! Here, take this bucket to the spring and get 
 some fresh water — both of you now. By the time you get 
 back tea will be ready. 
 
 Hicks — Come on, Miss Gladys; it's a beautiful walk to 
 the spring. I'll carry the pail. 
 
 Mrs. S. — Go on, Glad3^s; you must go. You shan't be 
 so rude to Mr. Hicks. 
 
 Glad. — Go on ahead, Mr. Hicks — the path is not wide 
 enough for two. If you see one of those wretched cows, 
 bleat, so I may run back. (^Exeunt Gladys and Hicks). 
 
 Mrs. S — {solus) Poor Mr. Hicks ! He just adores the 
 ground Gladys walks on. I wash she wouldn't treat him 
 so. He's a very nice young man — not a great deal of force 
 to be sure; but that doesn't make so very much difference 
 when one has a comfortable fortune in his own right, as 
 Mr. Hicks has. {Busying herself). Ah, I've seen enough 
 of this marrying for love and reveling in poverty. I'm 
 sure he'd make a most fond and indulgent husband. And 
 a beautiful son-in-law — so tractable! {Re-e7iter Mrs. Joyce). 
 
 Mrs. J. — All is ready now if the young folks were here. 
 Where have Miss Gladys and Mr. Hicks gone ? 
 
 Mrs. S. — ^Just to the spring to get some water 
 
 Glad. — {without, screaming) Oh, Mr. Hicks! Mr. Hicks! 
 
 Hicks-^ — {without, frantically) Hey-out ! liey-out ! hoy! 
 hoy there ! 
 
 Jed — {zvithout) Hoosh ' Let that hog past! — Wat the 
 Sam Hill's the matter 'ith you ! 
 
 Voice — {in distance) Git onto the dude an' his bumber- 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 shoot! Look out, Mister, the hog' 11 bite you! (^Mowers 
 laugh a7id shout. Mrs. Saxby, after looking out, runs about, 
 tvringing her hands). 
 
 j^jjs_ S.— Oh, the pig ! the pig ! Gladys will be killed ! 
 
 Professor ^oyv>— {without) Hu-oy! hu-oy! Look out 
 for him Hicks ! {Re-enter Hicks, supportitig Gladys, and 
 flourishing parasol with ane hand). 
 
 Glad.— Oh, I shall die ! Oh ! 
 
 Hicks— Do not! Look up! He's gone now— indeed 
 he is ! {Gladys faints). Oh ! oh ' {Enter fed, rzishing, 
 bearing cudgel). 
 
 Jed— Wat the blue blazes!— w'at did you turn that 
 
 hog fer? 
 
 YLiz^S— {shaking fist in fed'sface) Confound your hog 
 sir! and confound you! D'ye see what the pair of you have 
 done? Give me some salt, quick! Here— do make 'em 
 smell salt? {Holds saltcellar to Gladys' nose). 
 
 jED_Wellibedadswitched ! She hain't fainted? 
 j^j,S. S.— Oh, there is no water ! {fed rushes off). Go 
 way, Mr. Hicks, and leave her to us. 
 
 Hicks No, no — she'd die on your hands — I wouldn't 
 
 have it happen for the world. Oh ! {Mrs. foyce dampens 
 Gladys' face with cloth). 
 
 Q.i^K'D.— {sitting up) Go away and let me be. Help me 
 up, Mr. Hicks. I'm disgusted! 
 
 Hicks— Ah ! {Rushes to help her. fed re-enters hur- 
 riedly, with pail of water.) 
 
 jgD_Here— let me slosh this over her. Well, by gum! 
 it wasn't nothin' after all. I never seen sech sap-heads. 
 
 Hicks— Dry up, sir. I tell you the beast would have 
 torn the lady to pieces but for me. 
 
 jj^j) 'Lore your gran'mother's hind foot! Hear that 
 
 galoot. You know a heap about shoats, you do. 
 
 Hicks— Bear in mind, sir, who you are talking to. Get 
 out— go on away from us. {Attempts to push fed out. 
 fed kicks at him). 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 Jed — Look 'ee here, young feller ! J. wouldn't hit you 
 no more' n I would a little sissy -gal, but by jiminy ! you 
 must know your place. 
 
 Hicks — Sir, do you kick at me? Do you kick at me 
 with your foot? 
 
 Jed — D'ye reckon I'd kick at you with my head, like a 
 sheep? Say, w'y don't you have a pen and stay in it? By 
 gum ! I'll make a rail pen fer you ef you'll use it. \_Mrs. 
 Joyce exposUilates with Jed, a7id Mrs. Saxby and Gladys 
 with Hicks. Jed shakes his head, muttering. '\ 
 
 HiCKvS — But my dear ladies, it enrages me exceedingly. 
 
 Jed — Lis'n at him. 
 
 Glad. — Fie, fie, Mr. Hicks; remember your station. 
 Here, sit down between Mamma and me. Fan me, Mr. 
 Hicks. Oh, that dreadful fright ! I shall die if I stay 
 here long. Mamma, there's a wretched little bug trying 
 to get into your sandwich. \_Enter Projessor Boyd, ex- 
 hausted, atid Janni7ig hiniselj with hat. Laden down with 
 insect net, specimcfi boxes, etc.'] 
 
 ProfeSvSOR — Dear me ! I shall have to get a boy to do 
 my running for me. I've been following up that hog to 
 study him. Did you notice the froth at his mouth, Mr. 
 Hicks ? The wild hog, you know, is exceedingly savage, 
 and this is a direct out-cropping of primitive qualities. The 
 reversion to aboriginal forms is very rapid under certain 
 conditions. 
 
 Jed — Well, I've seen gillies an' gillies, but ef 3^ou folks 
 ain't the gilliest I There hain't no better nor peacebler 
 shoat in the neighborhood than that one o' mine, ef I do 
 say it myself. He wouldn't hurt a flea — 'cuz I've seen 'em 
 jest live with him in brotherly love, as our preacher 'ud 
 say. But I hain't got no time to fool this-a-way. I'm 
 hongry, Mawm ; gimme a snack an' let me go. There's a 
 heap to do before quittin'-time, an' I must be with the bo3'S. 
 
 Mrs. J. — Yes, everything is ready. Mr. Boyd and Re- 
 becca are not here, but we will wait no longer. [Company 
 
lyOVK, THE Sovereign. 
 
 seated about the cloth in various ivays. Enter Tristam 
 and Rebecca\ 
 
 Tristam — Ha ! behold the gormands ! Shall we des- 
 cend from the empyrean and be of the earth, earthy ? 
 
 Mrs. J. — A little later and you might have missed your 
 victuals. You should observe the time closely if you wish 
 to fare well. 
 
 Tris. — Time was made for slaves, good madam, and 
 without observing it I have fared well. I have been a 
 weaver of flowers and skipped like a joyous Greek to the 
 music of your daughter's laughter. Oh, it is good to live 
 when the flowers bloom and the warm winds fan your 
 cheek! {Placing hand over Rebecca' s eyes'\ Tell me now, 
 you who have nursed her in the cradle, what is the color of 
 her eyes? 
 
 Mrs. J. — Tut, you foohsh boy ! They are grey. 
 
 Tris. — No, I vow they are blue, for I have spent the 
 last hour matching them with the June skies. 
 
 Jed — \ivith both hands full, suddenly snorting with 
 laughter'] Feard of a shoat ! Well by gum, ef that don't 
 take the cake ! 
 
 Tris. — Who has touched the spring and set Jed off? 
 I^augb while you can. Mister, for when you have mixed 
 that pickle and glass of buttermilk and the molly-grubs 
 follow, you v/ill laugh no more. 
 
 jED--Say, Tris, you know that speckled poland-chiny 
 shoat o' mine with the stump tail 'at goes this-a-way? [il- 
 lustrates by wagging Jinger stiffly']. 
 
 Tris.— -Right well. He introduced himself the other 
 day by eating some choice apples I had not gathered for him. 
 
 Jed— Well, ef I do say it myself, there ain't a better- 
 meanin' shoat anywheres. Well, he got out of his pen a 
 v^'ile ago an' made a break fer freedom, as a hog will, an' 
 by gum you'd orter seen the ruction it made among these 
 yere town folks ! [ The line of mowers, moving in same di- 
 rection as before, come into view again]. 
 
lyOVK, THE SOVKRKIGN. 
 
 Hicks — \_fo Gladys^ 'Pon my word, -this fellow ought to 
 be beaten. 
 
 Tris. — Ah, the grace and rhj^thm and strength of it ! 
 lCa//zng^ Bend to it, boys! [Mowers stop']. 
 
 The Leader — Hullo, Tris ! Bully fer Tris ! Give him 
 three cheers an' a tager, boys. [Mozvers wave hats and 
 cheer]. 
 
 Tris. — \_bowing] Gentlemen, this is the proudest mo- 
 ment of my life. 
 
 Mowers — Speech ! speech ! speech ! 
 
 Tris. — [in doorway] Friends and fellow-citizens : when 
 I say that it affords me unfeigned pleasure to address you 
 on this auspicious occasion, I but feebly voice the profound 
 sentiments of my inmost breast. 
 
 Glad. — Inmost breast is good. That must be about 
 the center of the thorax. 
 
 Tris. — For why should not I, who only aspire to be an 
 humble servant of the people, be at once flattered, honored 
 and abashed at being thus called upon to display my poor 
 powers before you, the lords and masters of this great and 
 glorious republic? 
 
 One Mower — That's the stuff! 
 
 Tris. — My friends, I do not seek any ofiice — fain would 
 I put such honor from me, even as the great Washington 
 put from him the kingly crown that sought his brow un- 
 asked, but if in your wisdom j^ou should insist that I must 
 serve 
 
 One Mower — Sure thing ! 
 
 Tris. — If by your votes you should press upon me a 
 public trust, then will I follow your high behest and add 
 the power of my strong right lung to the cause of the 
 horny-jawed tons of soil whose high mission it is to make 
 our mighty country the envy of tottering Europe, where 
 the eagle of freedom soars athwart the battlements of heav- 
 en, and the star-spangled banner waves o'er the brave and 
 the free in proud defiance of the tyrant kings of effete 
 
lyOVE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 peoples. Gentlemen, I thank you for your kind and pa- 
 tient attention. 
 
 Mowers — Good enough ! good enough ! 
 
 Jed — By gum, that's fine ! That boy'll make his mark 
 some day. 
 
 The Leader — I've seen shore-enough smart fellers 'at 
 made a business of it, couldn't do better' n that. Say, Tris, 
 there's a hog loose around here som'eres; seen anything of 
 it? It's al'ays strayin' off. 
 
 Tris. — Yes, it's just been here seeking whom it might 
 devour. 
 
 The Leader — Step aside — 'pears to me I see him in 
 there [shading his eyes and pointing at Jed\ Yes, there 
 he is, fellers ! — that's shorely him. 
 
 Tris. — Oh ! I thought you meant the other one — the 
 poland-china one with the stump tail. 
 
 Jed — \with mouth full'] Some folks has a bent one way, 
 some another. Gab's your strong holt, but eatin's good 
 enough fer me. 
 
 Leader — How d'ye 'low he got in among folks that-a- 
 way? See him fillin' his skin there an' us workin'. I call 
 that purty durn mean. Well, so-long, Tris ! — can't stay 
 with you al'ays. \_All bend to their work and pass on\ 
 
 Mrs. J. — Come, come, Mr. Boyd ; your place is waiting 
 for 5^ou. 
 
 Tris. — {reclining on ground] Ah, luxury! to sip your 
 tea in this fashion ! The evening calm ; the tinkling of 
 distant cow bells — do you catch it all? {To Rebecca] Come, 
 your place mUvSt not be vacant. 
 
 Rebecca — No, the mowers must have their lunch, too ; 
 I promised them a little treat — I must attend to it. {Exit], 
 
 Tris. — A gracious reason, not to be caviled at ; {aside] 
 but oh, how my joy ebbs ! How weary, flat, stale and un- 
 profitable seem to me now all the uses of this company ! 
 
 Jed — There's Becky all over — al'ays lookin' out fer 
 ever'body! That's the kind o' gal fer me — hain't got no 
 
lo I^ovp::, thk Sovkreign. 
 
 time to keel over ef a poor innercent shoat happens to come 
 her way. {Snorts with laughter). 
 
 Hicks — {s^laring at Jed, but speaking to Gladys) It is 
 exceedingly difficult for me to contain myself. 
 
 Jkd — {fierceiy) Hey' was you lookin' at me? 
 
 Hicks — {falteringly) S-sir ! 
 
 Mrs. J. — There, there, Jed ! 
 
 Jed — I<aw bless you Mawm, I wouldn't hurt the little 
 feller, but I can't help havin' fun with him — I jest wanted 
 to scare him. {Going out). Hoo-ey ! hoo-ey ! Peeg, peeg, 
 peeg ! {Exit la7ighing). 
 
 Prof. — {who has been zvriting in note-book) Has any 
 one seen ' Harris on the Pig ' about here ? I wonder if he 
 speaks of the reversive tendencies in swine. 
 
 Hicks — Little fellow ! Scare me ! I don't see how I 
 restrained mj^self ! If I wasn't a gent]eman — if it had not 
 been for the presence of you ladies 
 
 Glad. — Never mind, Mr. Hicks. Noblesse oblige, you 
 know; it has always been that wa}'. 
 
 Hicks — Yes, yes! That's it, exactly! I'm glad you 
 see it that wa3^ 
 
 Mrs. J. — I must apologise for Jed. When you know 
 him the goodness of his heart covers a multitude of things. 
 
 Tris. — ^Jed needs no apology. 
 
 Mrs. S. — Yes, we understand, we understand. 
 
 Prof. — Madam, I observe a peculiar dialectical form in 
 the gentleman's speech which you and your daughter do 
 not have. How would you account for that? 
 
 Mrs. J. — Alas! Jed's speech is past accoimting for. It 
 has always been beyond cure — it seemed to fit him like a 
 glove, and that lias settled it. 
 
 Prof. — Ha ! that is interesting. I wonder if that does 
 not exemplify man's strong natural adhesion to primitive 
 linguistic forms? This question of dialect and the laws 
 governing it is destined to become a very important one in 
 philology. 
 
Love, the vSovereign. n 
 
 GI.AD. — Dear, dear, I hope not ! One has to know some- 
 thing about the things that are in vogue, and it's becoming 
 positively killing. I used to think Brovv^ning was hard to 
 dabble around in, but since dialect came in I have almost 
 given up in despair. And yet what is one to do ? We 
 must be intellectual — it's our duty. 
 
 Tris. — And yet it's an ill wind that blows nobody good. 
 In the midst of your affliction you should remember that in 
 the past dozen j^ears no less than a half-million people have 
 supported themselves and their wives and children by con- 
 verting dialect into reading matter. 
 
 Prof. — Dear me, no ! Where did you get that state- 
 ment? Is it a matter of statistics, Tristam? 
 
 Tris. — I suppose so — there's no earthly doubt about it. 
 
 Prof. — H'm, I must look into that. {Writing i7i note- 
 book) Note : dialectical resources as a mercantile factor in 
 literature. 
 
 Mrs. J. — There is no further need for me now, and I 
 will go. Ring the little bell if anj^thing is wanted. {Exit.) 
 
 Hicks — {irrelevantly) I suppose one oughtn't notice 
 such a fellow, but it makes ni}^ blood boil. 
 
 Glad. — {after a pause) Now, Mamma, I think it is 
 time you should speak. 
 
 Mrs. S. — Tristam, your conduct with Rebecca is far 
 from what it should be. Do you realize that? 
 
 Tris. — {coldly) It is news to me — I was innocent of that 
 knowledge. 
 
 Glad. — Tristam Boyd, you are deliberately, scandalously 
 making love to our boarding-house-keeper's daughter, and 
 she is accepting it. Is that as it should be? 
 
 Tris. — I will match the question with another. I tell 
 no secret when I sa}^ that my cousin herself is being some- 
 what scandalously made love to, and is accepting it. Is 
 that, under the circumstances, as it should be ? 
 
 Hicks — Oh, but that's different, you know! 
 
 Tris. — I trust so — yes, I trust there is a difference. 
 
12 lyOVE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 G1.AD. — Tristam Boyd, you are a horrid, hateful thing ! 
 
 Tris. — Doubtless so — if you were an own dear sister you 
 could hardly be more frank ; but that shoots wide of the 
 mark. In your answer see that you honor your conscience 
 as well as I shall honor mine. 
 
 Mrs. S. — Tristam, hear reason. Your unrestrained gal- 
 lantries would scarce be permissable even with a woman 
 used to the ways of the world. Rebecca is a guileless 
 girl, too innocent for flirtation, and will not take it as such. 
 You know that, do you not? 
 
 Tris. — Know that? Who should know it better? What 
 you say is true. 
 
 Mrs. S. — {excitedly') Well, what then ! what then ! 
 Why do you do so? 
 
 Tris. — Your question, too, I will answer with another. 
 Suppose — suppose, I say — that this wliich you call a flirta- 
 tion is not a flirtation — what then ? 
 
 Glad. — Cousin Tristam Boyd do you mean to sit there 
 and tell us that you are in love with her, and that you will 
 want to marry her and take her to j^our home, and all that 
 kind of thing? I'm aghast! 
 
 Tris. — Indeed, I have not gone quite so far with my 
 confidences ; nor am I apt to. While the topic is on let all 
 be said — m)^ ears are open. 
 
 MRS. S. — Tristam, such an idea will never do for a min- 
 ute ! — it's absurd ! Gladys and I are your cousin and aunt, 
 and we protest. 
 
 Tris. — My covisin and aunt no doubt mean well. I 
 thank them. 
 
 Hicks — What ! go into a family with that vulgar ruf- 
 fian ! What are you thinking of, Boyd? It's absurd to 
 give it a second thought, I know, but I never could brook 
 insolence — my nature's too fiery. 
 
 Mrs. S. — {irritably) Professor, why do you sit there 
 without a word? Do you see how things are drifting with 
 this foolish boy? 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 13 
 
 Prof. — (^who has been calmly ealins^; absently) How? 
 What is it? 
 
 Mrs. S. — What do you think of our nephew having a 
 love escapade with the landlady's daughter? 
 
 Prof. — What nephew? 
 
 MRvS. S. — How man}^ nephews have you here? Tris- 
 tam, to be sure. 
 
 Prof. — {still eati7ig) From your aunt's tone I judge the 
 charge must be serious. What have you to say, Tristam ? 
 
 Tris. — Nothing whatever; the sayi7ig is all on the 
 other side. Apply there for information, Uncle. 
 
 Prof. — It's all meaningless to me. If you could resolve 
 your question into abstractions — into general propositions, 
 it may be I could help you. 
 
 Mrs. vS. — {sarcastically) Well then, to put it in simple 
 and comprehensible form, what is the natural barrier be- 
 tween social classes? What is the meaning of caste? 
 
 Prof. — Ha ! that sounds like sense ! {Stops eating). 
 Social distinctions doubtless have their roots deep in the 
 plasmic forces. In the process of social differentiation, 
 I take it — though mind you, I do not want to be quoted as 
 speaking authoritatively, for I have not specialized on this 
 subject; — but as I take it, I say, the unequal distribution 
 of wealth and power in this differentiating process establish 
 varying opportunities which result in varying develop- 
 ments, and from these must result classes. Indeed, the 
 accepted definition of evolution sustains this at every point, 
 for as evolution is an integration of matter and a concomi- 
 tant dissipation of motion, during which the matter pro- 
 gresses from an indefinite, incoherent homogeneity to a 
 definite, coherent heterogeneity, so must this special form 
 of evolution conform to the general law. Yes, there must 
 be social classes and distinctions. 
 
 Mrs. S. — I told you so ! I told you so ! 
 
 Tris. — No, your memory is at fault. I protest that 
 never till this moment did I know this. 
 
14 lyOVK, THE Sovereign. 
 
 Hicks — It's all clear and straight as the Gospel, Boyd; 
 you and I are so widely separated from a coarse fellow like 
 that — that— farmer, that there's no mixing at all. 
 
 Prof. — And yet, mark you, in the social world the prin- 
 ciple becomes exceedingly complex, because ethical forces 
 are intruded and new lines of cohesion are thrown out 
 from class to class which would seem to bind these various 
 ganglia together in a common plexus. 
 
 Tris. — (as song- begins without) Hark ! 
 
 SONG BY MOWERS: 
 
 ''See the whistling farmer boy 
 
 Tramp the meadow through, 
 And swing his hoe in careless joy, 
 
 While dashing off the dezv ; 
 Bob- o' -link in maple high, 
 
 Trills his notes of glee. 
 Farmer boy a gay reply 
 
 Then whistles cheerily.'' 
 
 Strain is 7v his tied, after which scythes are whetted as 
 Tris tain speaks. 
 
 Tris. — {having risen) Uncle, look forth and note the 
 glorious largeness and freedom of earth and sky, of fields 
 and groves. Note how sweetly peaceful a summer's day 
 can die here in the country stillness. 
 
 Mowers — (without) Hurrah fer Becky ! Becky ferever ! 
 Becky's our gal ! 
 
 Rebecca co^nes into view bearing a basket and pitcher, 
 the mowers following after and bleating like sheep. She 
 pnts dow7i pitcher, the?i motions, and they seat themselves 
 on the ground in a semi-circle. 
 
 Tris. — Note, too, those simple toilers, so happy amid 
 their toil — Nature and Nature's children ! (Rebecca hands 
 cups around and pours from her pitcher. Jed enters back- 
 ground scene). 
 
 The Leader — Time to feed the animules ! Oh, ain't 
 it nice to be a animule w'en you're tuck care of this way? 
 
Love, the Soverkion. 
 
 i^Jed steals up behind Rebecca a7id tries to get his ha7id slily 
 i7ito the basket). Here, pig ! you ain't in it I say! Bill, 
 take this club an' keep that shoat off. {Hands cudgel to 
 mower, who gets up and drives Jed off). 
 
 Another — Ef any man thinks we wouldn't fight fer 
 Becky, let him come an' say so. {Rebecca takes food from 
 basket and passes it arou7id). 
 
 Tris. — And yonder also, Uncle, you may see a young 
 girl, light and graceful as one of Nature's wild creatures, 
 pure as the dew, and even now bent on kindly deeds. To 
 those rude men she is an angel. This is not the world that 
 I was raised in — by a misfit of fate I am of another class, 
 but — mark it. Uncle! — a "line of cohesion is thrown out, 
 reaching from class to class." There will be fierce tugging, 
 my aunt and cousin, ere the bond breaks ! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
ACT II— THE CONFESSION, 
 
 Interior of a barn^ hay hanging from mows on either 
 side. Entra7ice from stable on right; large doorivay 
 center. One or two settles or benches. Hay 07i floor at 
 sides. Old harness, etc., hanging about on pegs. Scene 
 lighted by lanterns. Professor B., Mrs. Saxby, Gladys, 
 Hicks, Tristam and fed on ; last two in game. Boys 
 and girls, in figure and step somewhat resembling quad- 
 rille, singing as ctirtain rises. 
 
 SONG: 
 
 ''Just from Shiloh, skiptumaloo. 
 Just from Shiloh, skiptumaloo, 
 Just from Shiloh, skiptunialoo, 
 Skiptumaloo, my darling ! 
 
 This repeated, after which they form a circle, alternate 
 boy and girl, ajid fall into a lively step, polka, half 
 ttirn, boy swijiging partner at last line of song. 
 
 SONG: 
 
 ''Keep one windoiu tidy oh, 
 Keep two windoivs tidy oh, 
 Keep three wi^idows tidy oh, 
 
 Jingle at the zuindow, tidy oh ! 
 
 Jingle at the window, tidy oh! '^ 
 
 Jed — {clapping hands^ Breathe a spell, folks ! {Game 
 stops and players disperse). Haw! haw! How does this 
 shenanegan ketch you town jakes? — tain't much like your 
 city balls, I reckon. 
 
 Hicks — {to Gladys) How insufferably coarse that fellow 
 is ! — I cant abide him. 
 
 Tris. — "Folks in town, I reckon, thinks — They git all 
 the fun they air — Runnin' loose 'round, but, I jinks! — We 
 got fun, an' fun to spare." 
 
 Prof. — All this is very interesting. It is a striking 
 proof of the evolutionary process in social customs, and 
 shows the native tendency of the untutored man to express 
 
 i6 
 
IvOVE, THE Sovereign. 17 
 
 himself in rhythmic forms. Take any of the early races — 
 take the song and dance of the ancient Hebrews 
 
 Tris. — Why, Uncle, I didn't know the old Hebrews did 
 the song and dance. 
 
 Mrs. S. — Tristam, aren't you ashamed of yourself? 
 
 Prof. — Certainly they did — certainly. And so rhyth- 
 mic phonation with its accompanying muscular action ap- 
 pears all along the line. Is that clear? and do you not see 
 how these rude revelings are directly antecedent to the 
 more refined forms of our modern dancing. ( To one play- 
 er) Hey, my good fellow! won't you just go through some 
 of those steps again ? I want to .see how closely they cor- 
 respond to the modern dancing forms. 
 
 Player — {to another one, after staring at the Professor) 
 Does that galoot take me fer a jump-jack, to kick up my 
 laigs w'en he pulls the string? 
 
 The Other — Haw! haw! haw! {Pass 071). 
 
 Prof. — There are data here — I must make some obser- 
 vations. {Moves about with note-book in hand. Players 
 paired off, some passi^ig in and out, some seated on hay, etc. 
 Mrs. S. and Gladys on settle 7iear front. Hicks near by. 
 Tristam amorig players). 
 
 Glad. — So this the way Phyllis and her swain do their 
 merry-making ! Well, they know how to get their money's 
 worth, at any rate. {Edging away from Hicks, who stands 
 very close) Mr. Hicks, please go get me some water. 
 
 Hicks — {eagerly) Shan't I walk with you to the spring; 
 it's beautiful outside. 
 
 Glad. — {impatiently) No, no, no! — there's dew on the 
 grass. Do go get the water, Mr. Hicks. 
 
 Hicks — Certainly, certainly, Miss Gladys ! {Going). 
 
 Glad. — Mind you, Mr. Hicks, I prefer a thin flowered 
 tumbler, no matter how hard it is to find. 
 
 Hicks — All right, Miss Gladys; all right. {Exit). 
 
 Mrs. S. — {severely) Gladys, your way of treating Mr. 
 Hicks is scandalous — imprudent. 
 
L^ovE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 GivAD. — {laughing^ Imprudent ! Yes, that is a good 
 word. I know, mamma, I know. 
 
 Mrs. S. — the poor man adores you 
 
 Glad. — But the poor man is such a bore ! 
 
 Mrs. S. — And is deserving of better usage. You should 
 value his regard more highly. 
 
 Glad. — Yes, I know, mamma, I know ! How much 
 did Mr. Hicks once tell us he was prospectively worth? — 
 nearly a hundred thousand, wasn't it? 
 
 Mrs. S. — Dear, I was not saying anything about his 
 money, was I? 
 
 Glad. — No, no, Mamma — certainly not. Tristam is as 
 much at home among those rustic hoydens as if he were to 
 the manor born. What plebeian instincts he has ! 
 
 Tris. — {who is reclini7ig on hay with group of boys and 
 girls around him) Well, then, let's draw straws for it. The 
 girl that gets the longest piece will have to be my partner 
 the next game. {Puts bits of hay between thumb ajid fin- 
 ger. Girls draw). 
 
 One Girl — Kit Carter's got the long piece! 
 
 Another — Oh, I ain't either! {Throws piece away and 
 h ides fa ce g iggling) . 
 
 Tris. — Ah, Kitty, you are mine! 
 
 Mrs. S. — We were talking about Mr. Hicks, dear. 
 
 Glad. — Were we? Oh yes! Well, what about him, 
 Marmee? 
 
 Mrs. S. — I say you must guard again.st this rudeness of 
 yours. Remember, you are a lady. 
 
 Glad. — Yes, I know. Say, Mamma, when you were 
 5^oung and — beautiful and — unsophistocated, were you ever 
 made love to bv a hundred-thousand-dollar man? 
 
 Mrs. S. — The things you imply. Miss, are impudent. 
 As to the other — no ; I never was so fortunate as that. 
 
 Glad. — Well, its quite an experience, but very trying. 
 Still, I suppose we all have to render an equivalent for the 
 things we get in this world, and a hundred thousand dol- 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 19 
 
 lars is not to be had for nothing. Dear me, that water! 
 Do you suppose Mr. Hicks has tumbled in the spring? 
 That would be a sad fate for a man who is worth so much. 
 
 MRvS. S. — Gladys, how shockingly you talk ! It is but 
 the part of prudence for a woman to think of the things 
 that make life worth living. She is bred to her needs and 
 they continue with her to the last. 
 
 Glad. — Yes, yes; and there are so many of them, from 
 the pin in her hat to the slipper on her foot, all changing 
 with every change of the moon. And that is only a tithe. 
 Think what life would be without society 
 
 Tris. — {ivho has cojne up behind) With its women made 
 beautiful in spite of Nature, and its lovely men in spike- 
 tailed coats — ah, think o' that ! 
 
 Glad. — Exactly ; I see you appreciate the situation. 
 Think what it would be without its exciting efforts to be 
 an fait and up to date 
 
 Trls. — And then all the little delicacies and dainties : 
 the Havana fillers for ChoUy and the bon-bons for Birdie. 
 
 Glad. — It is plain that one cannot have these things 
 without money. Mater, do you suppose when we go to 
 heaven and have everything we want we will have to worry 
 over the money part of it? 
 
 Tris. — There'll be one way less to get it, at any rate: 
 there's no marrying or giving in marriage there. 
 
 Glad. — {shrugging) Mr. Boyd, you'll find company 
 more to your taste over there {motio7ting toward players). 
 
 Mrs. S. — Gladys, don't you indulge in levity if he does. 
 It's wicked — I'm sure any minister would tell you that 
 such talk is downright wicked. 
 
 Tris. — Far be it from me to fly in the face of a specialist 
 in his own bailiwick ! 
 
 Glad. — But I never was more serious. The thought of 
 doing without these things is as terrible as the thought of 
 going into the cold ground, and that gives me an ague. 
 If ever I die. Marmee, I want a casket lined with red 
 
20 IvOVE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 plush — it looks so warm and comfo'rtable — don't you think? 
 
 MRvS. S. — Gladys, how can you ! 
 
 Tris. — {going) But red plush is not the fashion, Cuz — 
 how will you get around that? 
 
 Jed — You dassn't do it, Jack ! you dassn't kiss her ! 
 
 Other Boys — Kiss her ! Kiss her. Jack. {Girl runs 
 out, chased by one of the boys, all the others, inchiding Tris- 
 ta m , following) . 
 
 Mrs. S. — Horrors! See the manners of those aborigines! 
 
 Glad. — I think that's rather nice. Why can't we upper 
 classes enjoy ourselves that way without having wretched 
 scandals? It's plain that these people have the advantage 
 over us. I suppose Tristam has tasted every girl on the 
 premises. Why should he enjoy privileges I do not have? 
 
 Mrs. S. — Gladys, what on earth is getting the matter 
 with you? {Rises). Here comes Mr. Hicks back — how 
 kind and accommodating he is ! You must be more civil 
 to him, dear. {Enter Hicks, carry ijig glass of water.) 
 
 GivAD. — {aside, sighing) Oh, dear ! it's a hard waj- to 
 earn one's money. 
 
 Mrs. S. — {to Hicks as she passes him, going out) Don't 
 be offended at Gladys' brusque ways — she means nothing 
 by them. {Exit, leaving stage to Gladys and Hicks.) 
 
 Hicks — Ah, dear Madam — {to Gladys, proffering glass) 
 Here is the water, Miss Gladys, fresh and sparkling from 
 Nature's fount. Just the kind of glass you wanted, too. 
 
 Glad. — Dear me ! I had quite forgotten about it. I 
 wonder how I came to send you. Did I say what I wanted 
 it for, Mr. Hicks ? 
 
 Hicks — Ah, now, you are offended. Did I stay too 
 long? Indeed, I did not mean to. Pray pardon me, won't 
 you Miss Gladys? for staying so long. 
 
 Glad. — Yes, yes; dismiss it from j^our mind, Mr. Hicks. 
 I freely forgive you for staying. 
 
 Hicks — How kind ! 
 
 Glad. — {with glass) I saw in the paper the other day 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 21 
 
 that if you steeped hay in water it made something or 
 other — little bugs, or spontaneous combustion, or some- 
 thing. Mr. Hicks, twist me up a wisp of hay to steep in 
 the water. 
 
 Hicks — {while twisting hay) Your mother thought I 
 was offended with you, Miss Gladys, but I wasn't. 
 
 GivAD. — And why should you be offended, pray? 
 
 Hicks — Why, I — er — no reason at all ! no reason at all! 
 
 Glad. — Mr. Hicks, you think I am not very amiable. 
 
 Hicks — No, no — certainly not ! 
 
 Glad. — Indeed ! Well, you are frank, at any rate. 
 
 Hicks— Oh, Miss Gladys, I didn't mean that ! I meant 
 I didn't think. 
 
 Glad.— Oh ! Well, did I accuse you of thinking? 
 
 HiCK.s — No, no; certainly not. {Awkward pause). 
 
 Glad. — Did the farmer out there get to kiss his girl? 
 
 Hicks— Yes, yes; right before everybody. Horridly 
 familiar, don't you think ! 
 
 Glad. — Oh, I don't know. 
 
 Hicks — {staring ; aside) I wonder — I wonder if she ap- 
 proves that sort of thing. {Another awkward pause). 
 
 Glad. — Mr. Hicks, what do you think of this? {indi- 
 cating surroundi7igs). 
 
 Hicks — {relieved) Ah, I think it is charming! roman- 
 tic ! So like the things you read about, you know. I'm 
 sure you must like it. 
 
 Glad. — Indeed I do not. The hay is fairly alive with 
 bugs, and I just know the horrid mice and things are peep- 
 ing at me from every dark corner. 
 
 Hicks — Why, Miss Gladys, don't you know when I 
 met you at our last art exhibit how many old barns there 
 were, and how you admired them ? 
 
 Glad — Yes, but that is different. Art, they say, is Na- 
 ture plus the artist, and when an old barn is passed through 
 the crucible of the artist's imagination it's quite another 
 thing. What are your views on that important question? 
 
22 lyOVE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 Hicks — Yes, I see ; how finely j^ou set it forth. I see. 
 
 GivAD. — Which is the nicer, Mr. Hicks, the artist's barn 
 or the farmer's barn? I'm getting a statistical list of opin- 
 ions and I'm particularly anxious for yours. 
 
 Hicks — My opinion ? How kind ! My opinion is ex- 
 actly the same as yours. After your exposition of it I 
 hardly see how it is possible to think otherwise. 
 
 Glad. — How perfectly delighted I am to have your 
 real, bona fide opinion ! You see, do you not, Mr. Hicks, 
 how important it is for one to have correct views on this 
 matter? 
 
 Hicks — Yes indeed ! yes indeed ! {Aside) How won- 
 derfully she draws me out ! I did't know I could talk so 
 well on deep matters. 
 
 GivAD — L,et me see — as I understand, then, you are for 
 the artist's barn. 
 
 Hicks — I-er-I believe that was it — yes, assuredly. 
 
 GivAD — And yet there are some things about the real 
 barn : as you say, it is romantic. Do you know, Mr. 
 Hicks, I should think it would be charming to be made 
 love to in a quiet, dark old barn, with the mystic shadow^s 
 all about {aside), and the dear little mice and rats gibbering 
 at you the while. 
 
 B.IQK.S— {aghast) Oh, Miss Gladys! {Aside) Can it 
 be — can it be she is wooing me? Oh, Miss Gladys, do 
 you mean it? 
 
 Glad. — Why, Mr. Hicks, I'm surprised. Do you dis- 
 credit my word? {Pause). Do you think I have no soul 
 or sentiment? 
 
 l:ilQK.S— {aside) Yes, it must be ! Oh, Miss Gladys !— 
 {suddenly drops on knees. Pause, during which his eyes are 
 fixed on her face). 
 
 Glad. — {aside) Horrible! horrible! To have a great 
 creature moon at you that way ! Mr. Hicks, you seem dis- 
 tressed — is there anything I can do? 
 
 HiCKvS — Ah, only to kiss your hand ! 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 23 
 
 Glad. — It would be unfeeling of me, indeed, to refuse 
 so simple a remedy {giving hand). 
 
 Hicks — {kissing her palm repeatedly) Ah, this dear 
 hand ! This dear, dear little hand ! 
 
 Oh^^D.— {aside) Co boss! co boss ! That is exactly the 
 way Rebecca feeds salt to her pet calf. Mr. Hicks, pre- 
 tend to be looking for something, quick ! Someone is here. 
 
 Hicks — {stupidly) Eh — how ! ( Tristam appears at c. d. 
 Hicks, dropping to all fours, scans the floor). I-I can't find 
 it, Miss Gladys. It's strange where it could have gone. 
 
 Tris. — {taking down lantern and holding it to the floor) 
 Maybe it rolled under the settle. Hicks. Did you feel 
 under the hay? {Hick crawls abotit, feeling here ajid there). 
 
 Glad. — {bursting into laughter) Oh, I shall die ! 
 
 Hicks — {risi^ig iri a passioft) Boyd, go way, you stupid 
 dolt! What business have you got here? Who told you 
 to come? Take that light away ! 
 
 Tris. — {hu?nbly) Why, Hicks, I only wanted to assist 
 you. You should have put up a "no admittance" card at 
 the door — how did I know? 
 
 Glad. — {laughing again) Oh, I shall die; I know I 
 shall ! Excuse me, gentleman — I must leave you. {Goi?ig). 
 
 Hicks — You are not going out alone. Miss Gladys? I 
 must keep you company — I insist on it. 
 
 Glad. — Oh, but you mustn't insist with me, Mr. Hicks. 
 People are always trying that and always failing. {Exit, 
 leaving Hicks standing uyidecided). 
 
 Tris. — {piitting lafttem back) Hicks, you are a fool. 
 
 Hicks — And you, sir, are a-a — What do you mean, 
 sir? You are rude, sir! 
 
 Tris. — Look here, Hicks, you are desperately in love 
 with my cousin. 
 
 Hicks — Ah, how did you come to suspect that? 
 
 Tris. — Strange, isn't it? that I should suspect it; but 
 I have a wonderful instinct for guessing. 
 
 Hicks — You must have. Yes, it's true. I'm afraid 
 
24 Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 you don't approve of it. Old boy, I'm not such a bad 
 match : I have excellent standing in society, and I'm not 
 unfit for her — I'm in her class, you know. Then I have 
 plenty of money, or will have as soon as my mamma dies. 
 
 Tris. — Well, Hicks, I am your friend — tell me the 
 things about her that feed this consuming passion of yours. 
 
 Hicks — {shaki7ig T' s hand effusively) Thank you, old 
 man! thank you! What things feed my passion? Ah, 
 think of her — so majestic! so queenly! so beautiful and 
 cultured ! so unapproachable ! — ah ! 
 
 Tris. — Well, far be it from me to deny her virtues. But 
 what of it all? Will you barter your manhood for it? Will 
 you give your all for the mere exterior of a fine woman, so 
 that you can exhibit her abroad as your wife? For the sake 
 of a few privileges grudgingly given will you stand on the 
 outskirts of her regard feeding on what happens to come 
 your way, like a dog begging scraps? In the name of our 
 common manhood, shame! I say. When a woman uses 
 you for her amusement like a boy plucking a fly to pieces 
 in sheer cruelty, scorn her then and forevermore — it is your 
 only safe course. 
 
 Hicks — No, no, no, Boyd ; it isn't that way at all ! You 
 don't understand it — you don't know what love is 
 
 Tris. — {impatiently) Well, well; let it go! Will you 
 have her at any price? 
 
 Hicks — {sentimentally) Ah, she is all the world to me ! 
 What price would I not lay at her dear feet ! 
 
 Tris. — {turning away) So be it ; Nature will have her 
 way in spite of men or gods. {Re-enter players, followed 
 by Professor Boyd). 
 
 Jed — Here we are, all ready fer Chase the Squir'l. 
 Lively now, boys ! 
 
 Tris. — Shake 'em up, Jed ! Here, Kitty, you belong 
 to me. {All pair off). 
 
 Prof. — That's right— you can help me, Tristam. Make 
 these people forget everything but themselves and be per- 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 25 
 
 fectly natural. There are really more data here than I 
 thought for. {Moves about with note-book). 
 
 Boys and girls, respectively, form into two parallel lines, 
 facing each other. Girl, followed by boy, marches up 
 between lines, returning, she behind girls, he behind 
 boys; this repeated with increasing speed, he trying to 
 catch her at the turns. Others keep time by clapping of 
 hands, the boys also by stamping of feet, and all sing. 
 
 SONG: 
 
 ''Chase the squirrel, if you please, 
 Chase the squirrel, if you please. 
 Chase the squirrel, if you please, 
 
 And catch your love so handy. 
 
 A little faster, if you please, 
 A little faster, if you please, 
 A little faster, if you please, 
 
 And catch your love so handy.'''' 
 
 Repeat once or twice. Boy catches girl and kisses her. 
 Song changes as both walk together betiveen the lines, 
 separate and return back of lines, as before, and meet 
 again at near end. 
 
 SONG: 
 
 '* Oh, yonder comes my sweet-heart, and how do you do? 
 And how have you been since I last saw you? 
 The war is all over, and peace is in the land; 
 Can't you wish ^is joy by the raising of your hand? 
 
 Players raise joined hands to make an arched passage 
 down which the couple walk to their places at the foot. 
 
 Prof. — {to Tristam) Is this promiscuous osculation one 
 of their customs? 
 
 Tris. — Yes, you sample the girls like you do apples. 
 Each one has her own flavor, and the last is always the 
 sweetest. Come and try it, uncle {trying to draw him in). 
 
 Prof. — {backing off, alarmed) No, no ! But go on — 
 
26 Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 I will make some notes. {Enter Mrs. Joyce and Rebecca). 
 
 MRvS. J. — Stop your playing — supper is ready. 
 
 Jed — {clapping hands) Supper ! Old-fashioned corn 
 pone to-night, folks, along with your fried chicken. 
 
 Prof. — Corn pone ! What is that? 
 
 Jed — IvUd, I dunno — it's jest corn pone. Go in an' see. 
 {To players, ivho are scattering, boys a7id girls each to them- 
 selves) Here, no mudsill business ! Pair off, I say ! Bill 
 Tutewiler, don't you go sneakin' off alone like 3^ou'd been 
 suckin' aigs. Choose your gals — they won't hurt you. 
 Jack Wonnel, take Sue Carrol — we all know she's the one 
 you want. {Pushes the boys here and there and gets them 
 distrib^ited among the girls). 
 
 Mrs. J. — Rebecca, there will be plenty- of help at the 
 table; you must take a little rest — you have Ijeen moving- 
 all day. Jed, some of us must wait till the second table — 
 will you be one? 
 
 Jed — All right, Mawm — certainl3^ Toe be shore. 
 
 Tris. — No, no ! Jed has been making space for that 
 supper and counting on the flow of soul that goes with it. 
 He has earned the joy thereof, and he shall have my place. 
 
 Mrs. J. — We could not hear to that, Mr. Boj^d. 
 
 Tris. — Oh, but you must humor me — I am a law unto 
 myself and must have my way. Your choice, now, be- 
 tween an empty chair and jolly Jed to rule the feast. 
 
 Jed — I won't have you wait, Tris; go on in. 
 
 Tris. — Ha ! how 3^ou waste the precious moments ! 
 Here, shall we toss for it? {with coin). Heads I stay; will 
 3''ou have tails? 
 
 Jed — Let 'er go! {Tris. tosses). Heads it is. {Goes 
 out, unwillingly. Boys and girls have gone 07it i7i pairs, 
 Professor B . followi7ig , note-book in hand). 
 
 Mrs. J. — Well, as you will — I haven't time to argue 
 the question. {Exit, leaving stage to Tristam and Rebecca). 
 
 Rebecca — I ought to go, too — I know they will need 
 me {toward door). 
 
IwOVE, THE Sovereign. 27 
 
 Tris. — {mtcrcepti7ig her and taking ha7id) No, no, no ! 
 The moments I can have with you are too few — too much 
 to me to be so lost. You are always escaping me, my wood- 
 land nymph! {Down center) While others feed grossly let 
 there be for me a happy, happy feasting of the spirit. 
 Rebecca you are to others, but Re you shall be to me — the 
 one little syllable Re. It has a tender and cuddling sound. 
 And so Rebecca Joyce shall become Re-Joyce — I like that 
 name. {Puts arm about her). 
 
 Re. — {seekhig to escape from him) Mr. Boyd ! ' 
 
 Tris.— Not that cold formality! I,et it be Tristam 
 {turyiing her face toward him) — let me hear you speak it. 
 
 Rk. — {shyly) Tristam. {Still seeks to draw away), 
 
 Tris. — Is this captivity so unwelcome? Re, w^e have 
 read the message in each other's eyes — we have stood soul 
 to soul in unconfessed joy. Why flutter so in this cage, my 
 bird? Speak to me, Re — look in my face and speak to me. 
 Why fear to give your heart its way? — will nothing draw 
 it from it's deep hiding? Oh, I have been waiting, wait- 
 ing, waiting, and now you must speak. 
 
 Re. — {suddenly turniiig a?id looking into his face, her 
 ha7ids holding him away) Yes, I will speak. Oh, do not — 
 you vdli be sorry, some day ! Tristam, I am but a simple 
 country girl, far, far below you every way ; but such a one 
 may be deeper, wiser than you know. In the long, long 
 hours between the dawn and dusk, when the hands are 
 busy and the mind is free, come many thoughts, and out of 
 the heart come many lessons. We have our souls to keep 
 w^hite. Tristam, would you dally — w^ould you have me 
 play, with my sacred womanhood? What can I be to you! 
 Your world is not my world — shall I let myself forget that 
 for one moment? What can I be to you ! Though I love — 
 if I loved you, should I let my heart out for a play-thing 
 for the sake of a few happy hours? What can I be to you ! 
 
 Tris. — Re, Re; hear me 
 
 Re. — Oh, Tristam, you are kind, you are generous, you 
 
28 Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 are noble — do 3^ou not see how it is ? Help me ! save me ! 
 
 Tris. — Save you? From what, my girl? Are you not 
 mine? — am I not yours? Save you from what? 
 
 Re. — From — myself! (^Trying to unlock his fingers) 
 Let go your clasp — please, please, Tristam ! {Mrs. Saxby 
 appears for an instant at door, then withdraws). 
 
 Tris. — Release my clasp v/hen your love has thus leapt 
 to meet mine mocking at your will ! Oh, you are locked 
 in bonds of steel. Your sacred womanhood ! Your heart 
 a plaything ! Listen to me Re — I love you — I love you 
 now and for time to be with such a love as can come un- 
 ])lushing seeking your pure soul. God witness — God be 
 thanked, it is the love of a man, and it will battle for its 
 own with a man's strength. Oh, Re, my loved one, my 
 little woman, let there be full confession between us! Come 
 to me ! Ask no questions of the future, bvit come ! Nay, 
 you are powerless, I say ; closer — closer to my heart ! {Re. 
 with a sob, suddenly yields. Enter Jed, r. Picture. Jed 
 comes down, lays a ha7id o?i each, and, as they sta?'t apart, 
 steps between). 
 
 Jed — Becky, your mother wants you at the house. 
 
 TrIvS. — Yes, leave us, please. {Rebecca, with drooping 
 head, goes slowly out. Pause). 
 
 Jed — Tris Boyd, I thought a heap o' you — I thought 
 you was fair an' square, an' ef any man had said you wasn't 
 I'd a fit fer you. Wat 'a you got to say fer yourself? Don't 
 try to carry it off cool — don't try to ride it over me with 
 fine words, 'cuz I'll none o' that. Kf a girl with a han'- 
 some face lives in the country an' ain't learned to take care 
 of herself hain't you got respect fer the sake o' your 
 mother to let her be? Hain't she the common right to live 
 in peace but you must hunt her out fer your plaything? 
 Oh, to think o' my Becky, my little gal bein' played with 
 an' her heart stole to be tramped under foot ! 
 
 Tris. — ^Jed, you love Rebecca? 
 
 Jed — Wat's that to you? Oh, she wasn't like the rest — 
 
I^ovE, THE Sovereign. 29 
 
 there was no other one like her. No man das't tech her 
 lips or la}^ his hand on her no more than a angel, an' she's 
 come to your arms like a pet lamb. You've stole her heart 
 like a thief, an' now come w'at will, there's trouble an' 
 grief fer her. 
 
 Tris.— Jed, you love her — say so frankly. 
 
 Jed — Love her! Damn you, yes! but not to marry 
 her. D'ye think I didn't know she was furder above me 
 than the stars. It was enough fer me to be near her — to be 
 good to her an' see 'at no harm come to her. By the good 
 day! ef fightin' would mend matters it 'ud go hard with 
 you, Tris Boyd. Oh, there was no other one like her, an' 
 there never will be. 
 
 Tris. — If you find so much in her to love can you not 
 have charity for me? For me, too, there will never be an- 
 other like her — I also love her. 
 
 Jed — You? Don't try to play me off. That's a lie ! 
 
 This. —Jed, you are abusing me. Listen ! I love her 
 with a love as pure as yours — as holy as hers for me. Why 
 do you curse me off-hand for a villain ? I love her — love 
 her, I say. If her heart has unfurled its petals to that 
 passion like a flower to the sun, what then? The flower is 
 mine; should I not pluck it? {With haiid on Jed's shoul- 
 der') Oh, Jed, I know now how it is with you — but I have 
 not meant to rob you. Not I, but something over and 
 above me has brought this to pass. If she has come to 
 my arms like a lamb what would you have me do? 
 
 Jed — {fetching a turn) Tris Boyd, answer me fair an' 
 square: Do you mean right by her? Do you mean to 
 marry her an' give her a home among your grand folks? 
 
 Tris. — As heaven has given her to me I mean that she 
 shall be my wife. Wherever I give her a home, love will 
 be the sovereign — my love for her, her love for me. It maj^ 
 be among my grand folks, it may be elsewhere. {Rebecca, 
 who has entered at last lines, comes down and takes Jed' s 
 hand). 
 
30 LovK, THE Sovereign. 
 
 Re. — Dear Jed, I listened, for 1 had the right. I have 
 heard your words — your confession, Jed. What can I say? 
 Ah, you who have been my kindest friend, my brother — 
 surel}^ you will understand me now. 
 
 Jed — {after pa2ise) Becky, I've been your — your brother 
 more'n a dozen years now. From the time I drawed you 
 to school on your little sled — Oh, ef I'd a knowed ! Ef I'd 
 a knowed an' gone to school too ! 
 
 Re.— (^^w//y) Jed ! Jed ! 
 
 Jed — Well, let that go. Ever sense them days, Becky, 
 w'en that little girl ust to run to meet me rin' put her soft 
 arms about my neck, an' — kiss mc, sometimes, I've felt 
 that this yere world was a good place to live in. Ever sence 
 then I've made it a pint to look out fer her best good — 
 there was never anything I wanted so much as the thing 
 that was best fer you. Did you know that? 
 
 Re.— Did I know that? Dear old Jed ! did you think I 
 was blind to it? Yes, I knew that. 
 
 Jed — Becky, it's so yet. 
 Stepping close she draws dow7i his head and kisses his 
 brow. As she turns away he drops to his knee and, 
 catching her gow7i, touches it to his lips. CURTAIN. 
 After a few seconds^ Curtain Re-rises; players re-enter- 
 ing; all on. Hicks hands letter to Tristam. 
 
 Hicks — Boyd, here's a letter someone brought from the 
 postoffice and left at the house — from your father, I guess. 
 
 Tris. — (opens letter a?id reads) "Son Tristam: Your 
 vacation must come to an end. I will be down there to- 
 morrow. Be ready to accompany me back to the city. I 
 have prospects for you. Your Father." 
 
 CURTAIN 
 As players, to the figure and step of Virginia reel, sing: 
 
 ''Do ce do to your best liking. 
 Do ce do to your best liking. 
 Do ce do to your best liking. 
 
 Swing your love so handy! ' ' 
 
ACT III— THE RENUNCIATION. 
 
 Out-of-door setting; yard of farm-house. Practical trees 
 and rustic seat; well-hood and wi^idlass, basi7i, towel, 
 etc.; farfn-bell 07i tall post. Farm-house at left and 
 two entrances, 07ie by door and other tip. Entrance r. 
 
 Enter Professor Boyd ayid Tristam, for^ner with insect 
 net, etc. 
 
 Prof. — {looki7ig about for i7isects, with 7iet ready) Well, 
 Tristam, I don't see the cause for your agitation. If your 
 father wants you to go back to the city, what of it? To be 
 sure it is pleasant here, but 3^ou must go some time. 
 
 Tri.s. — But, my good Uncle Professor, why won't you 
 understand m}^ quandary ? You must know about Rebecca 
 and me. M}^ aunt knows it — has she not told you? 
 
 Prof. — Your aunt? She was telling me something — 
 what was it? Oh! — she saw you hugging Rebecca in the 
 barn last night, or something. I must say that was very 
 indiscreet, Tristam. 
 
 Tris. — {aside) Sacrilegious wretches ! Uncle, I had a 
 right to do what I did — Rebecca is mine. 
 
 Prof. — Yours? What constitutes the ownership, pray? 
 
 Tris. — I love her and she loves me — that among lovers 
 
 constitutes ownership. Oh, Uncle ! listen {Prof, makes 
 
 a dive with his 7iet, the7i looks 171 it). 
 
 Prof. — {excitedly) Look ! look ! Tristam ! A genuine 
 Libythea bach77iani — the first specimen I have secured this 
 season {taki7ig butterfly out). Ah, just look at him ! Next 
 to an Argyn7iis Diana I wanted a fine Bachman. Look, 
 Tristam, at the strange beak-like formation of those la- 
 bial palpi 
 
 Tris. — {i77ipatiently) Uncle ! 
 
 Prof. — Ah, yes — you were about to say something. 
 {Looki7ig at butterfly) Ah, what a beauty ! It's too bad, 
 Tristam, you have such a poverty of interests. Well, mu- 
 tual affection between two persons constitute ownership, 
 
32 lyOVH, THK Sovereign. 
 
 I believe was your proposition. T doubt that — I do not 
 think it will bear examination. 
 
 Tris. — In lovers' parlance, I said. I do not expect so 
 learned a man as yourself to understand it. 
 
 Prof. — That, I presume, is a criticism of me considered 
 emotionally; but it is unjust. I know the afFectional mode 
 of feeling. I was really quite fond of a woman once ; but 
 she had no aptitude for thought, cared little for facts, and 
 was irrational in many ways. She thought more of dead 
 birds on her hat than she did of knowledge underneath it. 
 Strange, that I should have fancied a woman like that ! 
 
 Tris. — Not altogether. I suppose her taste for dead 
 birds and yours for dead butterflies made the afiinity. 
 
 Prof. — Ha! Maybe {^Rcjlccts a moment ivhile put- 
 ting a pin thro2igh b^dterfly). 
 
 TrIvS. — {i?npatiently) Uncle ! 
 
 Prof. — No — there is a difference. Divine science meant 
 nothing to her. {Sighing) Ah, well !^it was best. 
 
 Tris. — (aside) Oh, the bloodlessness of it ! Uncle, I 
 have won Rebecca's heart; I have laid my love, my honor 
 at her feet — we are one and cannot be separated. Here 
 comes my father, now, to thrust a merciless arm between 
 us — I know it — I foresee it all. They are all against me 
 unless I can reach your heart — for you have a heart far 
 down under the rubbish. 
 
 Prof. — That's a rather incomprehensible speech, Tris- 
 tam. What rubbish? 
 
 Tris. — Uncle, you have influence with my father — with 
 all of them. Espouse my cause. You who can turn things 
 inside out for inspection, make them see the reason in my 
 passion — for it is reason as well as passion. 
 
 Prof. — I don't know about that, Tristam ; for reason 
 and passion, far from being interchangeable terms, stand for 
 directly opposite and mutually exclusive forms of psychic 
 activity. Reason, from reri, ratuSy is to believe or think ; 
 passion — pati, passus — is to suffer. Your feelings are proba- 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 33 
 
 bly misleading you. If your father and all your family 
 will object to your attachment to this young woman that is 
 a factor in the case which must be considered. 
 
 Tris. — Oh, can flesh and blood be thus refrigerated and 
 the man still live ! Uncle, do you mean to say that if my 
 father and my family and the whole concourse of social 
 regulators that stand back of them interdict it, I shall not 
 love where I love ? Reason ! — passion ! The reason for my 
 passion lies in the woof and warp of things. Oh, that I 
 might explain it in terms of molecular force, so that you 
 could understand it ! 
 
 Prof. — {with new interest) Ha! Molecular force? 
 
 Tris. — Yes; love as a mode of motion would be intelli- 
 gible to you, no doubt ! As it is you can no more compre- 
 hend it than — than a Oh, for words ! 
 
 Prof. — [indigiiantly) Why, sir, you are impudent ! Do 
 you mean to say, sir, that my powers of comprehension are 
 inferior to yours? 
 
 Tris. — Then why do you not understand me now and 
 help me? 
 
 Prof. — I do understand, sir, all about it — or speedily 
 will. Comprehend, indeed ! It is a question, sir, of ration- 
 ality — of the relative rationality of your passion and the 
 opposing judgment of others. In the first place let us con- 
 sider the nature of this kind of passion. I think Herbert 
 Spencer somewhere makes an analysis of that very thing — 
 here — wait a moment ; we'll see about this. Just wait a 
 moment. {Hurries into hotise). 
 
 Tris. — {soius) Oh, learning! learning! How many ex- 
 cellent men have been perverted and made asses in thy 
 name! Ah, my wild flower! {Eriter Rebecca, r., with 
 basket of vegetables on her arm. He takes both her hands). 
 Where have you been? 
 
 Re. — ^Just to the garden for things you like to eat. 
 
 Tris. — Could I not have helped gather them? 
 
 Re. — And dinner been delayed? The world's work 
 must go on, if 
 
34 lyOVK, THE Sovereign. 
 
 Tris. — If what, little one? 
 
 Re. — Never mind. 
 
 TrIvS. — If we have a world all to ourselves. Is that it? 
 {She attefnpts to pass him; he detains her with hand to her 
 cheek. She lifts her face and their lips 77ieet with one swift 
 impulse. Aga7i she seeks to escape him). 
 
 Tris. — No, no ! You have kept awa}^ from me all this 
 morning. Don't you know I've been hungering' and thirst- 
 ing for just one moment with you? Ah, if you felt so 
 
 Re. — Don't say that, Tristam ! Things must be done. 
 
 Tris. — Always thinking of things to be done and people 
 to be served ! 
 
 Re. — You have praised me for tliat. 
 
 Tris. — Yes, yes, yes; but not now! 
 
 Re. — If it was well before how much more must I strive 
 to do well now, so that 
 
 Tris. — Yes, little one 
 
 Re. — So that my loved one shall commend me, even 
 when I cross his wish. I must be going, dear. {Lark 
 sings i7i distance). 
 
 Tris. — Ah, a little time — a little leisure should be 
 yours. You toil, toil, toil. 
 
 Re. — No, no; not toil. The hands that do their honest 
 work are happ}^ hands — the hours fly joj^ously when a song 
 is in the heart. 
 
 Tris. — And a song is in your heart to-day? {Lark 
 sings ^ nearer). 
 
 Re. — Hark ! the lark. How glad he is ! And the 
 glorious sunshine overhead ! The lark is singing because 
 of the beautiful sunshine in the world. 
 
 Tris. — Ah, my poet-love ! {Gathering-call of the quail 
 heard). And hark ! — "The bonny brown quail with the 
 necklaced throat ! ' ' 
 
 Re. — He has lost his fellows. 
 
 Tris. — He is parted from his mate — poor bob- white ! 
 {Imitates call, and quail ansivers. Whistle twice or thrice 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 35 
 
 back a7id forth, quail drawing nearer and fi7ially whirriiig 
 swiftly across stage). Ah, he is seeking his lost mate! 
 What premonition is this? {^Re. on doorstep about to enter 
 house'). Re! Re! {coming after and catching her hand 
 again) Can you hear the lark? {Both listen). 
 
 Re. — No, he is gone. {Sadly) By and by, when the 
 cold, grey skies come he will be hushed for good — we will 
 hear his song no more. 
 
 Tris. — Re, whatever happens 
 
 Re. — {aside) It is coming! — some invisible spirit lays 
 its warning touch upon me. Speak, dear. 
 
 Tris. — Come what will you are mine — say that before 
 you go. 
 
 Re. — I am yours. 
 
 Tris. — For all time. 
 
 Re. — For all time — and for eternity. {After lingeri^ig 
 harid-clasp they part, she entering the house. Quail, dis- 
 ta7it, calls again). 
 
 Tris. — The glad lark has flown, leaving only the sad 
 bird who has lost his mate. {Turns to r.) Ah, my father 
 has come. I must see him sooner than I want to, but not 
 now. {Exit by left upper eiitrance. Enter, r., Mr. Boyd 
 and Mrs. Sax by). 
 
 Mr. Boyd — Was not that Tristam? What made him 
 go off? vSurely he saw us. 
 
 MRS. S. — A guilty conscience, I presume. He realizes 
 the foolish scrape he has got into and avoids meeting you. 
 
 B. — You say you saw him at his puppy-love-making in 
 the barn. Well, how far has it gone? What does he say 
 about it ? 
 
 Mrs. S. — He says without hesitancy that he has de- 
 liberately wooed and won the girl with no other thought 
 than to make her his wife. It's scandalous ! 
 
 B. — You reasoned with him, I suppose. 
 
 Mrs. S. — I pleaded with him hke a mother. I dwelt 
 on the unqualified absurdity of the whole thing, and so did 
 
36 LOVK, THE SOVKREIGN. 
 
 Gladys, but we might as well hav^ talked at a pig. Reason, 
 indeed! There's but one remed}" now, and that's an iron 
 hand. It all rests with 3^ou. 
 
 B.- — But what breed Oa^ folks are these? Surely the boy 
 is not making an ass of himself for the sake of some hoy- 
 den milkmaid with the manners of the barn-yard. 
 
 Mrs. S. — No; they are much above the average, which 
 only makes the matter worse by furnishing him an argu- 
 ment. Talk roundly to the girl's mother — she seems sen- 
 sible, and has a firm hold on her daughter. Talk to her. 
 
 B. — There need be no words wasted — I'll make short 
 shrift of the whole matter. But first of all let me freshen 
 up — it has been a dusty journey. 
 
 Mrs. S. — This way, then. {Exeunt by I. u. e. Re- 
 enter Prof ., from house, with open book in ha7id). 
 
 Prof. — Here it is, Tristam ! here it is ! Humph ! — the 
 scatter-brain has gone. It's discouraging that a bo}^ of his 
 education and parts should have no more taste for the .solid 
 things. Yes, here it is in the chapter on the Feelings. 
 Since I'm drawn into this subject I'll just take the pains 
 to master it. It's an interesting phase of psychology. 
 Then, too, I suspect Tristam is going to brew trouble, and 
 if so it will be well to curb him with an inexorable logic. 
 Let us see what Spencer sa3^s about it. H'm — (reading') 
 ' ' As the increasingly complex emotions result from pre- 
 existing groups of actual and nascent sensations, the re- 
 sulting totals must grow continually larger, a marked illus- 
 tration of which truth is furnished by the passion which 
 unites the sexes — the most compound, and therefore the 
 most powerful of all the feelings." Yes? That is inter- 
 esting. The most compound, and therefore the most power- 
 ful of all the feelings. If that be true then it is obvious 
 that this passion is not to be dismissed without very serious 
 consideration. H'm — and here we have the passion care- 
 fully examined in its parts. (Reading) "Added to the 
 purely physical elements of it are first to be noticed those 
 
IvOVE, THE Sovereign. 37 
 
 highly complex impressions produced by personal beauty. 
 With this there is united the complex sentiment which we 
 term affection. Then there is the sentiment of admiration, 
 respect or reverence. There comes next the feeling called 
 love of approbation. Further, the allied emotion of self- 
 esteem comes into play. Yet again, the proprietory feeling 
 has its share in the general activity — the two belong to 
 each other." The two belong to each other? Bless me ! 
 that is exactly what the boy said. How did he come by 
 that? Yes, there it is proven by careful reasoning. {Read- 
 ng) "Once more, the relation allows of extended liberty of 
 
 action " Ha! that is the episode in the barn his aunt 
 
 was telling me about. Really, it's strange how that un- 
 thinking boy sometimes seems by a kind of instinct to 
 move along philosophic lines. {Reading) "These, all 
 greatly exalted, and severally tending to reflect their ex- 
 citements on one another, unite to form the mental state 
 w^e call love." Well, well — there is good sound pS3^cholo- 
 gy and reason back of this, after all — this promises to be 
 an exceedingly interesting line of inquiry. Ah, here come 
 a couple now in whom this complex emotion seems to be 
 existent. I will collect some data. {Gets out note-book 
 and goes behind tree. E7iter Gladys and Hicks, r., as from 
 a walk, the latter awkzvardly carrying a small dog). 
 
 Glad. — Mr. Hicks, do carry Don Cervera more com- 
 fortably, poor little soul ! — the blood will run to his head. 
 {Hicks makes a move to p7it dog dozvn). No, no; don't put 
 him down yet. 
 
 Hicks — Why, Miss Gladys, he's rested by tliis time, 
 and besides, we're home now. Shan't I put him down? 
 {Aside) Pah ! the little beast ! I hate fistes ! 
 
 Glad. — No indeed, you are not at all considerate of his 
 feelings. Don't you see how he loves to be carried? 
 
 Hicks — Yes, but see, Miss Gladys; the creature is 
 covering me with hairs. 
 
 Glad. — The creature! How unfeeling of you, Mr. 
 
38 lyOVE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 Hicks ! Wh}^ should you worry about the hairs — Don Cer- 
 vera does not mind them. {To dog) Poor 'ittee fellee ! 
 does 'oo nassy pappy 'boos 'oo? 
 
 Hicks — Ah, now, Miss Gladys; this makes me feel soft! 
 
 Glad. — {aside) What a strange, abnormal feeling he 
 must find that ! Lend me your handkerchief, please. {H. 
 reluctantly gives handkerchief). Hold him up in a better 
 position — what an awkward, embarassed papa you do make! 
 {Proceeds to dress dog with handkerchief). 
 
 Hicks — Oh, buzz ! Miss Gladys. 
 
 Prof. — {aside, looking i7i book) Spencer makes no men- 
 tion of this aspect of the emotion. This is a manifestation 
 of the parental instinct. It is a great deal stronger, obvi- 
 ously, in the female than in the male. {Makes note). 
 
 Glad. — There, isn't he cunning! Dandle him, sir. 
 
 Hicks — Oh, say now, Miss Gladys ! 
 
 Prof. — {aside) These two emotions are undoubtedly 
 allied, but the relation between them is perplexing. {Com- 
 ing forivard) Um — Gladys 
 
 Glad.— Oh, Uncle ! {Hicks lets dog fall). 
 
 Prop. — I wish to make some notes on that emotion com- 
 monh^ designated as love, and in your case I find it some- 
 what complicated with the maternal instinct. Now in your 
 present consciousness which of these emotions do you find 
 preponderant? Can you dissociate the two? 
 
 Glad. — State it simply, dear Uncle — you know how 
 weak I am intellectually. 
 
 Prop. — Well, to be concrete and special — which do you 
 find the greater, your affection for Mr. Hicks or your affec- 
 tion for this little dog? 
 
 Glad. — Oh, Uncle ! how can you ask such a heartless 
 question ? For dear little Don Cervera, to be sure. 
 
 Hicks — Ah, now; I like that ! I think that's just too 
 bad. Miss Gladys. 
 
 Prop. — Well, that's something explicit. {Makes note. 
 Enter, from house, Mrs. foyce^. 
 
lyOVE, THE Sovereign. 39 
 
 Mrs. J. — Ah, you are here ! Dinner is almost ready. 
 {Rings farm- bell. Re-enter, I. u. e., Mrs. Saxby and Mr. 
 Boyd). 
 
 Mrs. S. — Mrs. Joj'ce, this is Mr. Boyd, Tristam's father. 
 
 B. — {after bowing and saluting others) Madam, I trust 
 you will not think me too abrupt, but my stay is short, and 
 as a thing I have to say is of interest to all here, I need 
 not seek another time. {Rebecca appears at door of house, 
 and Tristam I. u. e.) It concerns your daughter and my 
 son. He has seen fit to steal away. Is your daughter here? 
 
 Re. — I am the daughter, sir. 
 
 Tris. — {co7ning forivard) And here am I. I have no 
 cause, sir, for .shame. 
 
 B. — So ! — I am glad you have come. Do you happen 
 to know, Madam, that your daughter {Enter fed, r.). 
 
 Mrs. J. — Proceed, sir. Whatever concerns my daugh- 
 ter and me concerns him. 
 
 Jed — I don't know v^'ho you air, but ef you've anything 
 to say about Beck}- I reckon I've got a right to hear it. 
 
 B. — Very well. Is it known to you, then, that my son 
 avows himself your daughter's lover and that she has ac- 
 cepted him as her future husband? 
 
 Mrs. J. — My daughter and your son! Oh, Rebecca! 
 
 Jed— Well, w'at of it? W'at of it, I say? 
 
 Tris, — {beside Rebecca) The storm is brewing — I foresaw 
 it. But for one staunch friend we stand alone. Remem- 
 ber, come what will, you are mine. 
 
 B. — Young lady — and I perceive you are a lady — this 
 hasty youth w^ho thinks himself your lover is not over- 
 burdened with wisdom. Do you not see the error of his 
 flitting passion ? The harm to 3^ou — can j^ou not see that? 
 
 Re. — Sir, I see no error in him, and surely there can be 
 no harm to me in a love that has done so much for me. In 
 that love do I trust. 
 
 Prof, — {aside) That, I judge, is a genuine manifesta- 
 tion of the love-emotion {referring to book). Yes, here it 
 
40 IvOVE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 is: {reading) "There is the sentiment of admiration, res- 
 pect or reverence, in itself one of considerable power, and 
 which in this relation becomes in a high degree active." 
 {Makes note). 
 
 B. — Madam, you surely can see the folly of this. If 
 your daughter and my son, meeting thus from widely differ- 
 ent spheres, should join lives, what must follow? I^isten — 
 and do you listen too, my girl, if you have any wisdom and 
 a conscience. This boy, my only child, has been educated 
 with reference to the future and the plans for his welfare 
 began when he was in his cradle. He comes of a line of 
 men who have made their mark and of a line of women who 
 have helped their husbands to the goal. With wealth and 
 influence back of him his path must lie among men, along 
 the ways of success, of culture, of social position. I think 
 you follow me — you understand. Very well. This boy, 
 again, in the hot flush of a headstrong 3^outh sees your 
 daughter — there is a moment's intoxication — no fore-cast- 
 ing, no caring for results. That moment may sufRce to do 
 the mischief. {To Re.) A man's wife should be his help- 
 meet in the fullest sense. Tell me now, can you share the 
 full and manj^-sided life to which he is elected? Will you 
 be a help or a clog to him? 
 
 Re. — Mercy ! mercy ! ( Turns to Mrs. /., who is seated 
 on the rustic bench, and falls at her knee). 
 
 Tris. — {zvith out- stretched arms) Re! Re! Oh, shame! 
 In the name of manhood, shame ! 
 
 Jed — {beside Re.) Him that says she ain't queen enough 
 to be the wife of any man 'at ever trod leather lies! — lies 
 in his throat ! 
 
 B. — And who may you be, sir? 
 
 Jed — The guardeen of this place — the watch-dog ! Be 
 keerful how you fool around ! 
 
 Re. — {lifting her face) Jed — dear Jed, never mind. 
 
 Jed — Oh, Becky, it's all too fine-spun fer me to under- 
 stand, but I know w'en my little gal's hurt! L,et 'em be 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 41 
 
 keerful ! {To B.) Mister, I'm a plain, blunt man, and I 
 ain't no scholard — I don't know much, but them I love 
 mustn't be pestered an' badgered. Ef there's anything 
 3'ou must say, say it keerful. 
 
 Tris.— Re. 
 
 Mrs. S. — There are social distinctions, Mrs. Joyce, 
 which can not be over stepped — you know that. 
 
 Prof. — {intensly interested; impatiently) Tut! Don't 
 intrude your inconsequential things ! This question as- 
 sumes complications, Richard. What you say as to the 
 relative range of activities of the two parties would seem 
 to have much weight, and yet — um — go on ! 
 
 B. — {to Mrs, J. a7id Re.) I base my argument on no 
 false feeling. The laws of things are inexorable — if there 
 seems cruelty in the circumstances it is not my cruelty. 
 
 Tris.— Re. 
 
 Pkof. — Yes, that is true, that is true; and yet — h'm — 
 let me think ! 
 
 Tris. — Re — oh, Re ! Do you not hear me? 
 
 Re. — {lifting her face) I would hear your lightest whis- 
 per. Yes, oh yes ! I hear your voice calling my name ; 
 I hear all that is in that voice. 
 
 Mrs. J. — Daughter, you have heard what was said. It 
 is all true. Ah, if you had come to me sooner ! Did you 
 doubt that the mother has felt what the daughter feels ? 
 You must trust me — deeply trust me now. Your hand, 
 dear — look in my face ; let there be understanding between 
 us. {Re. looks np. To B.) Sir, we are simple folks, but it 
 needs no one to tell us what is right and what is wrong. 
 My daughter will not cross your son's welfare, as you fear. 
 
 Tris. — Re, what was our sacred compact? 
 
 Re. — I to be yours, for all time^ — for eternity. 
 
 Prof. — {aside) Individuals representing classes of di- 
 verse and unequal activities are not mutually adaptable — 
 that is the major premise. These individuals represent 
 such classes; therefore h'm! h'm! 
 
42 IvOVK, THE Sovereign. 
 
 Tris. — And is it not so? — was that all but words? 
 
 Re. — The compact is unbroken — I am yours. 
 
 Tris. — Then why there, Re, instead of here? 
 
 Re. — That alters not the fact. 
 
 Mrs. S. — This is wearing on one's nerves — pray end it ! 
 
 Hicks — Ya-as — dreadfull}^ unfortunate affair all around! 
 
 Mrs. J. — My child, your womanhood must now be 
 tested^the hour of your trial has come. You love, and I 
 know all that that means ; but is your love so great and 
 your pride so womanly that you refuse to be a harm and 
 hindrance to the man you love, even though your heart 
 break? Remember, if he comes from a brilliant line, you 
 come from those to whom duty has ever been the watch- 
 word of life. You must tell him {kissing her brow) ; it is 
 cruelly hard, dear — I know, I feel it all. We must be true 
 and strong when the time comes. {Re. rises and goes to 
 Tristam. He atteftipts to pnf his ay-ms about her, btit she 
 does not permit it). 
 
 Tris. — Oh, my Re ! my little w^oman ! come to me. You 
 are mine, mine, I say ! 
 
 Re. — I am yours, but you can not be mine. Oh, Tris- 
 tam, when words are like blood drawn from the heart, few 
 are best. I knew it from the first — I should have guarded — 
 the fault is mine. Could 3^ou honor me when, to gratify 
 my love, I had crept into a little portion of your life to be 
 scorned by others for the little I could give? And when 
 3^ou had ceased to honor me, what would remain for me? 
 
 B. — It is well that she sees so clearly. 
 
 Tris. — I do not, will not hear you. Shall I stand 
 still like a cowardly dolt while the sanctities are being 
 bludgeoned? That which is mine by the sanction of high 
 heaven, that will I battle for though my little world be 
 made chaos. Re, Re ! open your ej^es to the clearer truth. 
 I love you because I love the things you love — because, 
 despite the casting of my lot, I too am a child of Nature. 
 What matters the plans that were laid while I slept in my 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 43 
 
 cradle? — God! what matters all that? — I, a bundle of un- 
 comprehended forces ! A little corner of my life ! — the 
 little you can give ! Ah, Re, do you think I have not 
 measured well the swift, deep sympathies that have glad- 
 dened my life? 
 
 Pkof. — Ha! I begin to see. 
 
 Mrs. J. — Remember, child, remember! 
 
 Re. — Yes, yes; I remember. There is so much to it 
 all — but, oh mother, I am also human — I am a woman, 
 heaven help me 1 
 
 B. — If you waver it will be the worse for both of j^ou. 
 The world vrill go hard with him when I have withdrawn 
 ni}^ help, however he may think now. 
 
 Prof. — {sternly) Tut ! tut ! This not a case for threats. 
 What we want is to understand these things — there's a 
 ps3^cliologic side here that means something. 
 
 Tris. — Means something ! By the blood of all my an- 
 cestors, yes. By the iron will and pride and honor that 
 have been handed down to me, yes. {To B.) Sir, you are 
 my father and I owe you much, but much must overtop 
 that owing, for I have drawn from my mother's veins things 
 
 that you know not of but let that go. {To Re.) To 
 
 you I come. Justice ! justice. Re ! 
 
 Re. — Oh, Tristam, no more — it is killing me ! Do you 
 think me heartless? Ah, my idol, my hero — no, no! But 
 we must — we must be true ! {Again at her mother' s k?iee). 
 
 TrIvS. — Oh, if these sv/irling elements of my nature that 
 are stirring to life could find form ! — could be unveiled ! 
 Listen — listen all of you. Here cowers a hurt woman, her 
 soul knit to mine at a thousand points, and here stand I to 
 claim my own, one man against you all. {To Re.) Ah, 
 little one, you have but Vv^oven one more strand. Do you not 
 know that Love, the Sovereign will come unto his own? 
 {Quail calls). 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
ACT IV— LOVE, TIfE SOVEREIGN. 
 
 Interior of barn, same as act ii. Deserted a7id very quiet; 
 moonlight streaming through crevices. Occasional owl 
 and whippoorivill without. 
 
 Jed — {in stable at right) Whoa, boy — stand over there! 
 {Enters frofn stable carrying saddle and bridle, which he 
 hangs on peg). 'Pears to me I've rid fifty miles sence dark 
 and ast a thousand questions of folks, but 't wan't no use — 
 no one has seen him. The lad's the kind 'at takes things 
 mighty hard, an' ef he made away with hisself they'd be 
 to blame — his own father 'ud be to blame. Oh, it's cruel, 
 miser' ble cruel of 'em to make this trouble, an' her better' n 
 the best of 'em. Ef only I c'ud stand up an' fight fer 
 her ! — but I ain't no good here — it's all beyant me. {Goes 
 to ce7iter door ayid looks out). The moon's well down in the 
 west — it must be way after midnight. There's the light 
 still shinin' from her winder — there's no sleep fer her. Oh, 
 my little gal ! my little Beckj^ ! You ain't the kind to say 
 much, but I know how it hurts ! Big, rough Jed knows ef 
 the others don't. ( Voices without). Here comes them 
 jays with their racket! Curyus, I 'spose, to know w'ats 
 the news ; but I don't want to meet 'em. {Exit, r. Hicks 
 and Gladys appear at center door, peering in). 
 
 Hicks— Hello ! 
 
 GivAD. — I'm sure I heard some one. Go in first, Mr. 
 Hicks; I'm afraid. 
 
 Hicks— Hello ! 
 
 Glad. — It's horribly ghostly ! Go on in, Mr. Hicks. 
 
 Hicks— Hello ! Hello, I say ! 
 
 Glad. — Dear me, Mr. Hicks, this is not a telephone 
 exchange. If you are afraid we will go back to the house. 
 
 Hicks — Afraid ! Who, I ? How absurd ! {Enters with 
 assumed boldness, shies two or three times from dusky objects, 
 and peers into stable). Hi! who's here? Hello, I say ! 
 No one's here. Miss Gladys; come on in — it's perfectly 
 safe, I assure you. {Gladys enters). The horse that the 
 
 44 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 45 
 
 hand rode is here, and he must be about somewhere. I,et 
 us sit on this bench and wait aw^hile — it's quite as comfort- 
 able as in the house. {They sit on settle). 
 
 Glad. — It's very distressing that cousin Tristam should 
 act this way. To be sure its all very romantic to be des- 
 perate about one's loving Phyllis when the fates intervene, 
 but faugh ! all that is obsolete now — the age of romance 
 has long since fallen into desuetude. 
 
 'RiQ:iLS—{se7ttime7itally) Ah, not so, dear Miss Gladys. 
 Would I but had the opportunity to prove to you how the 
 
 aroma of romance still lingers in the lap of love. I — er 
 
 oh, it is unspeakable ! {capturmg her hand). 
 
 Oi.KT>.—{clis7nany) Oh, dear! Again, Mr. Hicks? 
 
 Hicks — Yes, yes; my love must express itself, dearest. 
 
 Glad. — But it's scarce been half an hour, you know, 
 since you told me all about it, and I said yes, you could 
 have first mortgage on my young affections, and all. You 
 took me at a disadvantage, when I was sleepy and worn 
 out, but I thought it was all understood now. 
 
 Hicks— Yes, yes ; so it is. But every half-hour of every 
 day of every year I could talk of it. 
 
 Glad. — Yes, but Mr. Hicks, be rational ! Think what 
 a frightful wreck it would make of me, Mr. Hicks. 
 
 Hicks — Ah, why that formal Mr.? When will you call 
 me Alonzo? When will you call me 'lyonny, like Mamma 
 does? Mayn't I call you Gladys? — my Gladys? 
 
 Glad. — Such customs are insidious. The next step 
 you would want to be billing and kissing. 
 
 Hicks — And if we did 
 
 Glad. — I s^iid you would. 
 
 Hicks — And if I did, would that be in such very bad 
 form, seeing how we love each other? 
 
 Glad. — Mr. Hicks, I am a confirmed advocate of the 
 microbe theory. There are more microbes made miserable 
 by the osculating habit than the heedless world dreams of. 
 Even love — even a love like mine, can not justify such risks. 
 
46 Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 No, each person should keep hi# and her own microbes. 
 
 Hicks — Bother the microbes ! Must they be kept apart 
 after people are married? — after we have become one? 
 
 GiyAD. — Microbes are hideous little things, Mr. Hicks; 
 let us not talk of them. {Mrs. Sax by appears at c. d.). 
 
 Mrs. S. — Ah, are you there, children? (enterhig). 
 
 Hicks — Ah, Mrs. Saxby, we were just waiting — there 
 is no word yet. Dear Madam, observe how Cupid will 
 cleave his way in spite of all ! Do you know I have at last 
 made Miss Gladys see that she really loves me. There 
 have been times when I almost doubted it. 
 
 Mrs. S. — (Jiolding up her hands in feigned surprise) 
 Good gracious me, Mr. Hicks ! 
 
 Glad. — See how amazed my mother is ! Oh, I'm afraid 
 I've made a mistake, Mr. Hicks. Indeed, I can never 
 take such an important step unless Mamma approves. 
 
 Mrs. S. — {aside) The minx ! 
 
 Hicks — Dear Mrs. Saxby, don't destroy our happiness 
 by your disapproval. Really, your daughter might have 
 done ever so much worse. You know my standing socially. 
 
 Glad. — Yes, Mamma; and financially, too. We will 
 have a beautiful home, and you can live with us and man- 
 age the — flower garden, and little things like that. 
 
 Hicks — Yes, all those little things. 
 
 Glad. — Can't we, Mamma? 
 
 Hicks — {aside) Dear girl ! how she does love me, after 
 all ! Please give us your consent. 
 
 Mrs. S. — {with show of concession) Mr. Hicks, I natu- 
 rally am very prudent in what concerns my daughter's 
 welfare. This is rather sudden. 
 
 Glad. — Yes, ah yes ! It is this suddenness that gets 
 the better of us poor women. It quite — I was going to say 
 un-mans us, but that is hardly true in the present case. 
 
 Hicks — Ah, I could not help being precipitate. Think 
 what was preying at my heart. 
 
 Mrs. S. — {sighing) Ah, well ! If you and Gladys feel 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 47 
 
 that you are fitted for each other I don't see that I should 
 oppose any obstacle. 
 
 Hicks — How good ! I knew you could not. Mayn't I 
 call you Mamma? 
 
 Mrs. S. — Yes, if you wish. 
 
 Glad. — Oh, how nice ! Then I can be a sister to you. 
 {Enter, c. d., Mr. Boyd, Professor B. and Jed). 
 
 B. — And 3^ou say you found no one who has seen any- 
 thing of him. It's very strange. 
 
 Jed — I reckon he wan't out makin' calls. There's 
 enough woods around here to hide in if hidin's what a man 
 wants. I've done the best I could fer you. 
 
 B. — Well, well; I suppose so. {Offers him money. Jed 
 looks him steadily in the face). Why don't you take it? 
 
 J ED — Hain't you no use fer it? 
 
 B. — Not so much as you have, perhaps. {Jed tiirns and 
 walks away). 
 
 Prof. — Another illustration ! Richard, I never knew 
 until the last few hours that you were so illy adjusted to 
 that larger environment which we call the world. 
 
 B. — (irritably) W^ell, sir, what do you mean? 
 
 Prof. — Let us analyze your case. Your adjustment is 
 to a score or two of employes who do your will. In that 
 little world you are an autocrat, hedged about with an 
 authority not to be questioned ; you say do this, and it is 
 done ; or do that, and you are obeyed. When you come 
 out of your little world in to the larger environment you 
 expect it to be the same, not because of the great laws of 
 things but out of your preconceived notions and because it 
 is your will. What a child you are ! 
 
 B. — How now? Are you against me too? Have I not 
 acted for the best in this matter? 
 
 Prof. — I strongly suspect you have not, sir. I strongly 
 suspect, indeed, that you have gone very widely wrong, all 
 because you have not calmly approached it with an eye 
 single to the widest truth. Let me resolve it into it's 
 
48 Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 elements and show you — I have* now thought the whole 
 thing out. Here is your syllogism : Individuals repre- 
 senting classes of diverse and unequal activities are not 
 mutually adaptable. That is your major premise — do I 
 make myself understood? Very well. These individuals 
 represent such classes — that is your minor premise ; and 
 here is your conclusion : therefore, these individuals are not 
 mutually adaptable. Now this conclusion would be un- 
 avoidable if all parts of the proposition were impregnable, 
 but observe the danger that so frequently lies hidden in 
 the syllogism 
 
 Mrs. S. — Good gracious, Professor ! what do we care 
 for all that ponderous stuff? You make me nervous ! 
 
 Prof. — (austerely) Sister, you err greatly in thinking 
 my conversation is addressed to you. I am not casting my 
 pearls before — those who do not know pearls when they 
 see them. 
 
 Glad. — Don't monkey with the buzz-saw. Mamma — 
 {to Hicks) isn't that the way the gentlemen put it? 
 
 B. — Go on — have your say. 
 
 Prof. — Observe, I say, the dangers of the syllogism. 
 In the first place, touching the major premise — and here 
 follow me closely, for this is very important — the diverse 
 and unequal activities of the two classes do not involve the 
 radical differences we assume, for in the developmental pro- 
 cess there is a reversion on both sides to certain first and 
 common principles, and so that premise is invalidated. As 
 I said the other day, new lines of cohesion are thrown out 
 from class to class. ( Warming up) Ah, there is a grand 
 idea there ! Do 3^ou not see the sociological bearing? — 
 think of it ! If we can but determine the principle by 
 which all social differentiation is resolved back into social 
 unity and homogeneity 
 
 B. — Never mind your sociology — go on. I am willing, 
 if possible, to get the grain in this bushel of chaff. 
 
 Glad. — Another great waste of pearls. Uncle. 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 49 
 
 Prof. — I accept the check — it is best always to keep 
 down to the mental range of your hearers. Very well then: 
 The individuals postulated in the minor premise as repre- 
 sentative of the two classes of the major premise, are not 
 truly representative because both, by reason of the personal 
 factor, are aberrants from their class — note that in particu- 
 lar — are aberrants from their class. Hence you are going 
 wrong. Do I make it clear? 
 
 Mrs. S. — Does all that mean — have you the boldness to 
 say, Professor Boyd, that you countenance for one moment 
 this foolishness of Tristam's? 
 
 Prof. — {indig7iantly~) I have the boldness to proclaim 
 the truth. Madam, at all times. Have I not shown you by 
 rigorous and careful ratiocination what the truth is? I 
 affirm, Madam, that these two individuals are aberrant from 
 their respective classes. Do you dispute that ? — do you 
 question my analysis? If so I will be glad to listen to you. 
 
 Mrs. S. — Shades of my ancestors! — has he gone crazy? 
 
 Glad. — If the brains of the family take to running 
 amuck this w^ay what will become of us? 
 
 Jed. — Mister Perfessor, I come a long ways from knowin' 
 w'at you're sayin', but I like you, an' that's a durn sight 
 more'n I do some o' 3^our kin-folks. 
 
 B. — And what have the rest of us done to offend you? 
 
 Jed — A heap. 
 
 B. — Well, what? State your complaint. 
 
 Jed — 'Tain't my holt to lay open my mind like a pig on 
 a gambel stick an' show all the innards of it. You've hurt 
 Becky Joyce, an' the reason you give's a lie — let that do. 
 
 Hicks — {aside) It makes me boil to hear that bumpkin. 
 
 B. — You certainly speak to the point. 
 
 Jed — Yes; one word to the p'int's worth forty floppin' 
 'round wide o' the mark. Ef you come to me you'll git a 
 little measure, mebby, but it'll be full. {Soft music of man- 
 dolin without. Tristam, with instrument, enters c. d.). 
 
 Tris. — Ha! what have we here ; a mid-summer night's 
 
50 lyOVK, THE Sovereign. 
 
 frolic? Who is Titania and who Oberon? But I beg 
 pardon for the intrusion — I thought I alone was keeping 
 revel. {Going). 
 
 B.— Hold, Tristam 
 
 Tris. — {pausing) I am at j^our service. 
 
 B. — Your freaks are unpardonable. Why have j'ou gone 
 off this way ? — we have been scouring the country for you. 
 
 TrIvS. — For the solicitude I thank you, but you should 
 all have been abed long since — for myself, I had work to 
 do : a diagram of my life as it was to be was all made out 
 some time since, but it seems there was a flaw somewhere — 
 I have had to revise it. Hello, Coz ! are you here with 
 your lord-to-be? {Crosses to her. Sings:) 
 
 There was a she of high degree; 
 
 A moneyed he besot her; 
 Right well she knew her birth-right true, 
 
 But the mess o' pottage got her. 
 
 Gladys, when you are married let me commend the Episco- 
 palian ceremony — it's Vjeautiful. For example, this: "With 
 all my goods I thee endow." Note the euphony of it. 
 
 G1.AD. — {shrinking from him) What ails him? — he is 
 not himself ! 
 
 Tris. — Nay, cousin mine, do not shun me ! Let us 
 talk. I think — I think there was some fault in me — some- 
 thing you disapproved of, was there not ? Speak out, oh 
 my early play -mate ! Time was when we spoke freely with 
 each other. Do you mind those days, a few brief years 
 ago, when we roamed the meadows together, you radiant 
 with the joys of the present and the joy of things to be? 
 Do you mind the princely seeker and his gift of noble love 
 that figured in your dream ? 
 
 Glad. — {with fear) Go away from me, Tristam ! 
 
 Tris. — Do you mind one golden afternoon when I, the 
 boy, was subdued to your girlish mood, and sitting amid 
 the clover bloom while the bees droned all about, together 
 we sang this song? {sings:) 
 
IvOVE, THE Sovereign. 51 
 
 ''My love is yoimg and fair, 
 
 My love has golden hair; 
 
 Then what care I if death be nigh — 
 For love I live, for love I die.'' 
 
 Do you mind the burden of our talk that day ? 
 
 Glad. — Tristam, forbear? 
 
 Tris. — A few brief years. And now — what? That 
 saddest of earth's creatures, a blase girl, a cynic maiden, 
 your soul robbed of its native freshness while yet the flush 
 of youth is on your cheek 
 
 Glad. — Sir, this rudeness is unpardonable 
 
 TrIvS. — Nay, "let me wring your heart ; for so I shall if 
 it be made of penetrable stuff." One young in years yet 
 old in sophistication and smothered in worldliness, with a 
 nimble wnt playing forever like an adder's tongue to keep 
 off remorse that would fain enter and weep over the slain 
 sanctities ! 
 
 Glad. — {rising) I will hear no more — you are vilifying 
 me! Why should I suffer this? 
 
 Trts. — Ah, my cousin — you whom I have loved as a 
 sister, do I not know what furies are nesting in your heart 
 of hearts? If you fear to let in the light then must another 
 do it for you. {Glad, starts out. H. and Mrs. S. after her). 
 
 Glad. — {halting a7id stamping foot) Do not follow me ! 
 If I wished for company I would stay where it is. {To H.) 
 What have I said to you? — what promise given? 
 
 Hicks — Why, Miss Gladys, you said — ah — er 
 
 Glad. — Never mind {co?ning nearer). Let me feel to- 
 ward you as I never yet have felt — kindly. For the present 
 let it all rest. Perhaps something or other will happen — 
 perhaps I will— die, or something. Let it all rest ! {Exit). 
 
 Tris. — Let none intrude upon her now — that medicine 
 will best work in solitude. 
 
 B. — {to Prof.) Sound this boy and see what is the matter 
 with him. He is beyond my probing. 
 
 Prof — H'm — curious ! His mental faculties seem to be 
 abnormally excited. The thing we sometimes call madness 
 
52 Love, the Sovereign. 
 
 is but this erethism, this extrefne emphasis of things that 
 are upon the mind. {To Tris.) H'm, Tristam, where have 
 you been with your mandolin? What have you been doing? 
 
 Tris. — {playing softly and fitfully as he talks) I have 
 been abroad holding communion with the moon and stars 
 and the wierd voices of the night — oh, they are rare coun- 
 selors. My little friend here serves me a turn, too — m}^ 
 fancy quickens and the thoughts flow to tinkling sounds. 
 But that is all meaningless to you, being but a mere phi- 
 losopher. If you were a poet, now, you might understand. 
 
 Prof. — {aside) What queer crotchets ! I must humor 
 him. And why should not a philosopher understand as 
 much as a poet, Tristam? 
 
 Tris. — Could I answer that I, too, would be a philoso- 
 pher. My off-hand guess would be, the Lord has willed it 
 otherwise. Uncle, has a philosopher real knowledge? — has 
 a philosopher wisdom ? 
 
 Prof. — Undoubtedly, Tristam; undoubtedly. {Aside) 
 Um — queer ! I hardly know how to answer him. 
 
 Tris. — Well, let us test it — the knowledge of the poet, 
 the knight of Love, against that of the philosopher. Can 
 you find meaning in stories? Here is one. {Plays softly). 
 
 Chapter one — There once was a youth — an untrained, 
 wayward youth, with the follies of his kind, but also with 
 things not follies which his young nature drew from mys- 
 terious founts. In the beginning the People who Knew 
 stood sponsor for him, but Nature was his real mother. 
 
 Chapter two — This wayward youth with his follies had 
 one virtue — fidelity to his real mother, and she recompensed 
 him richly. Joy followed joy, each leading to the next, and 
 by and by, when the time was ripe, and the boy's heart 
 knew itself and hungered, and his whole nature ached with 
 yearning, came the gift of all gifts — the mate with which 
 kind Nature complements her creatures. Do you follow? 
 This story has heart's blood in it. 
 
 Prof. — {interested) Go on, go on ; I am following you. 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 53 
 
 Tris. — Well, nature knew her child and his needs ; the 
 youth knew his own by an instinct deep as the springs of 
 life, and with a chemic swiftness every element of his being 
 leapt to the affinity. And straightway the two were one 
 by a million twining tendrils, and the two, now man and 
 woman, felt within themselves a strange new sense — a new 
 growing into the requirements of God's world. The great 
 Mother had directed all, and all was well. Do you follow? 
 
 Prof.— (/f? Mr. B.) Upon my word, this rhapsody 
 means something ; you would better listen, Richard — there 
 is something here that corresponds wonderfully with a close 
 analysis. Proceed, Tristam. 
 
 Tris. — Chapter three — But now came the wise people — 
 the People who Knew, and they cried "Nay, this must not 
 be ! What rights has Nature? Have we not clothed and 
 fed the youth? Have we not paid the bills?" 
 
 B. — Stop. Tristam ! — this is ungrateful ! Do you not 
 know that I, from first to last, have acted from love of you? 
 
 Tris. — Why, sir, did you conceal that fact? Do you 
 not know that I, from first to last, have wished for that 
 which you would not show? Was the child of long ago 
 ever taken to your knee? Why should the insignificant 
 little manikin ever intrude upon the busy man 
 
 B. — Tristam, you are hard — unjust, I say. 
 
 Prof. — Hard, but not unjust, Richard. We must never 
 flinch from the truth, whatever it may be. 
 
 Tris. — To my story : An so, by the decree of the Peo- 
 ple who Knew, the youth's mate whom Nature had given 
 was ruthlessly torn away, in scorn of the million twining 
 tendrils, and she was bruised and hurt beyond all healing ; 
 and the youth, now a man in every fibre, stood by, perforce, 
 while the cruel sponsors trod under-foot her innocent heart. 
 Now% philosopher, let us test your wisdom ! That man, 
 the worthy scion of grim sires who who have fought their 
 way, what shall he do? Shall the wild beast fight to the 
 death for his mate, and the man do less? 
 
54 Love, thk Soverkign. 
 
 « 
 
 Prof. — {at a loss) Um — why, Tristani, if all you say is 
 
 strictly true 
 
 Tris. — Behold how the philosopher wavers in his wis- 
 dom ! Now I, the poet-lover, having taken counsel of the 
 moon and stars and the wierd voices of the night, find my 
 conclusions as a magnet finds the pole. Sirs and Madam, 
 take note — there is one woman whose heart is mine forever- 
 more, and by virtue of that divine mystery I am a knight 
 of lyove. In the name of my Sovereign I fling down the 
 gauntlet to you all ! {Enter Rebecca, walking ifi her sleep). 
 Mrs. S. — Bless me ! what is this? 
 
 Prof. — {excitedly) Ha ! a genuine case of induced som- 
 nambulism ! Do not waken her — do not waken her for the 
 world ! Richard, I am convinced that we have not appre- 
 ciated the force and value of the psychic coalescence be- 
 tween these two individuals. The mind when in this con- 
 dition reveals its workings without any interposition of the 
 will — we shall see what the real truth is with her, and then 
 our course will be clear. 
 
 Re. — {stopping to listen; confusedly) The music — the 
 music ! {Gropes her way to vacant bench and sits down. 
 Tris. at her feet. She feels alo?ig the bench on either side). 
 Tris. — Yes, mark well — you shall see what is on her 
 mind. See, she has lost something, Uncle; what can it be 
 she is seeking? {Plays softly, she listening attentively. 
 He sings:) 
 
 ''By the waters of life we sat together. 
 
 Hand in hand in the golden days 
 Of the beautiful early summer weather, 
 
 When hours were anthems and speech was praise; 
 When the heart kept time to the carols of birds, 
 
 And the birds kept tune to the songs that ran 
 Through shimmer of flowers on grassy swards. 
 And trees with voices ceolian.'" 
 
 Re. — {joyfully, with clasped hands) Ah, yes; the hap- 
 py, happy days ! The heart kept time to the birds — but — 
 there is something gone {Her groping hand encounters 
 
 \ 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 55 
 
 Tristam' s head. She feels his face and strokes his hair. 
 He clasps her hand a7id kisses it). Ah — that touch! My 
 soul rises from its grave. Tristam ! Tristam ! come to me ! 
 Are you there, my idol, my hero? 
 
 Tris. — Tristam is here — here beside you, Re. 
 
 Re. — Ah, let me find refuge from this stress ! — it has 
 been so dark for a poor woman v*'ho fears the dark. Did 
 you think me strong because I made so brave a showing? 
 For your sake I would be strong, but ah ! what is so weak 
 as a poor woman's heart? {Sobs and ivrijigs her ha7ids). 
 
 TkIvS. — {recites, accompanied by mandoliii): 
 
 The night gathers black and the clouds roll low. 
 All nature is voiced i7i a dirge of woe, 
 
 Earth lies in her shroud. 
 Lo ! thou Eternal One, Mighty, Supernal One, 
 
 My soul cries aloud ! 
 Alas! there is chaos and void — 
 All 7'ound me but chaos and void — 
 
 Still night's ebon wing. 
 The vampire sucked my heart and flew, 
 The grim owl laughed ''tu-whit f tu-whoT'' 
 
 Hear the night-raven sing. 
 
 Re. — Ah, this frightful darkness ! — is there no light — 
 no light? The vampire sucked my heart — they bade me 
 cast off my love, and now my heart is broken — never, never 
 to be whole again ! ( Tristam again takes a?id kisses her 
 hand). Ah, that touch ! Tristam ! 
 
 Tris. — And when you had denied him your heart belied 
 your will and tongue, for your heart knew that you were 
 his and he was yours. 
 
 Re. — Yes, yes, yes ; my heart knew ! — but what was I, 
 the poor country girl, to come between him and his proud 
 kin-folks? Ah, only to feel his tender caress — but never- 
 more, nevermore ! {Sobs). 
 % Prof. — {clearing his throat) H'm, too bad! Richard, 
 J I trust this whole matter is clear enough to you now. 
 Under the circumstances I may not be able to state it just 
 
 d 
 
56 lyOVE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 • 
 
 as exactly and impartially as I would wish, for I find that 
 my feelings are somewhat involved ; but the great fact of 
 mating which we observe throughout the animate world 
 has for its fundamental principle the law of adaptation. 
 Now, that these two individuals are mutually adapted in a 
 
 very profound sense certainly does not admit of a doubt 
 
 {Enter Mrs. Joyce, hurriedly). 
 
 Mrs. J. — Who is here? Has any one seen Rebecca? 
 
 Prof. — Madam, your daughter is in a state of artificial 
 somnambulism, and there has been some most interesting 
 revelations 
 
 Re. — Tristam ! Do not leave me ! Do you think I am 
 strong to brave the dark? Ah, chaos and void ! {groping). 
 
 Mrs. J.— What is all this? {With hand on Re.) Re- 
 becca ! Rebecca ! 
 
 Re. — {slowly awakening and startiyig up) Yes, Mother. 
 {Looks about beivildered. Tris. on his feet beside her. With 
 a quick impulse she holds out her arms to him, then repels 
 him and turns to her mother). No, no, no — not that! I 
 do not understand — it must be all a dream. But I know 
 my duty and I am strong. No daughter of our blood was 
 ever stronger than I, mother — I will not bring reproach 
 upon our name. 
 
 Jed-. — {coming forward and taking her hand) Go to 
 him, Becky. Can't you see w' at orto be? Do you think 
 so mean o' the lad as to b'lieve he'll give you up becuz of 
 meddlers? We're made o' better stuff than that, gal. 
 Ef ever I've done you a turn — ef you owe me anything at 
 all, don't hold off an hurt yourself an' him an' — me. Look 
 at him there, not hisself becuz of it all. It'll be worse, 
 gal, afore it's better. 
 
 Re. — {with eyes on Tris.) And have you suffered, too? 
 
 Tris. — Shall that which is mine suffer and I be merry? 
 You are o'er young yet to believe in the shallow fickleness 
 of man, and to prove the deep foundations of your maiden 
 faith — that at least can be my glorious task. I, too, must 
 
 1 
 
Love, the Sovereign. 57 
 
 guard an unstained name against reproach — I must prove 
 to my father that he has not bred an ignoble son. But that 
 is my secret, understood of none, for even you are far, far 
 off, unheedful of the deeper diapason of our lives. When 
 the heart that is now in bondage to the erring brain shall 
 free itself, I will be waiting. 
 
 Re. — Ah, there is bitterness and blame in this. Sup- 
 pose we err — the poor, distressed brain is fallible. My 
 Mother, guide me. Shall I not speak with him out of my 
 heart? Is it not right that I should smooth the way? 
 
 Mrs. S. — Beware ! Once within the reach of his arms 
 now and she is lost beyond self-rescue — you know that, 
 Mrs. Joj^ce. 
 
 Prof. — (wrath/idly) Beware ! Lost ! What are you 
 talking about, woman ! Richard, why don't you stop all 
 of this? Isn't it as plain as the nose on your face — have I 
 not demonstrated by sound reasoning based on abundant 
 data that complex elements in the respective natures of 
 these two individuals constitute between them a very high 
 degree of adaptabilit}^ ? and have I not shown that this 
 adaptability is the cardinal factor in the mating principle? 
 If that is the truth what else do you contend for? Look 
 here, sir {leading Re. to him), can you give any good reas- 
 on why you should not be proud and grateful to have this 
 good, pure-hearted girl for a daughter? 
 
 B. — {taking her hand) Do not shrink from me, child. 
 You think me hard. Well, perhaps — perhaps ; but I ever 
 do the right as I see the right, by direct methods and in 
 few words. Perhaps I erred. Look up child — the stern 
 man with the silvered hair, whose nature is closed to so 
 much, still has his needs : there is a void in his lohely 
 heart which only a daughter can fill. {Kissing her) Go, 
 my girl, where your heart directs. {Tris. and Re., c.) 
 
 Tris. — Ah, the world is a good world. Did I not say 
 that Love, the Sovereign, must come unto his own? Sur- 
 render thou, sweet rebel! 
 
58 IvOVE, THE Sovereign. 
 
 Re. — Ah, hold me — hold my two hands, close ; give me 
 warmth — it has been so cold and drear3^ ( The grey of dawn 
 has gradually been succeeding to the moonlight. Jed pushes 
 large center door fully open, showing landscape beyond. 
 
 Jed — The day is breakin', clear as a bell. {Lark sings). 
 
 Tkis.— Re ! Re ! Do you hear the lark? 
 
 Re. — I heard him before when he was in the farther 
 fields. The lark is glad. 
 
 Tris. — And the dawn, the dawn, breaking over God's 
 world ! lyook ! — the mellow amber in the east! — the reeking 
 woods and powdered meadows! {Other faint lark notes, 
 increasing in frequency till all are ble?tded in one continuous 
 rippling melody, mingled with this the songs of robins and 
 pipings of many bird s^. And hark! the thousand larks 
 and all the jubilant heralds of the fresh young day! Oh, 
 soul of my soul, think of the many dawns that are yet to be! 
 
 Jed — {coming down) Tris, lad 
 
 Tris. — {with Jed' s hand) Ah, Jed, my more than friend, 
 in the midst of it all I do not forget ! — I do not forget ! 
 
 Jed — All's well, lad. My little Becky's happy ; an' as 
 fer me — it's a fine day with plenty o' work ahead ! 
 
 Prof. — {with Rebecca' s hand) My dear child, you are 
 rara avis — I am proud to be your uncle {kissing her brow). 
 Tristam, you have never shown the respect for philosophy 
 and rigid thinking that you should have. You now see, do 
 you not? what I have done for you by the careful exercise 
 a qualitative ratiocination. 
 
 Hicks — {coming forward; aside) My heart's not in this, 
 and I'm not feeling very good, anyway, but congratulations 
 are always in good form. Boyd, let me congratulate you. 
 
 Mrs. S.— {going) As for me, take note that I do not 
 countenance such a mesalliance for one moment, and I wash 
 my hands of you all ! {Exit). 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
'iii 
 
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