? c 
 
 PS 2677 
 .R3 
 1910 
 Copy 1 
 
 The Ranch Girl 
 
 A Comedy 
 in Four Acts 
 
The Ranch Girl 
 
 A PLAY IN FOUTi ACTS 
 
 Act. I. — Open space near a Southwestern Texas Railway Station. 
 
 Act II. — Interior of a Ranch House. 
 
 Act. III.— Same as Act II. 
 
 Act. IV.— Same as Act I. 
 
 Place. — Southwestern Texas. 
 
 Time. — The Present. 
 
 (All Rights Reserved.) 
 
 Copyright, 1910, 
 
 by 
 
 George L. Raymond, 
 
 1810 N St., Washington, D. C. 
 
3 
 
 1 > 
 
 ■ 
 
 Characters 
 
 Harry Merriman — A wealthy young man from New York, and 
 graduate of Harvard, who is visiting the Ranch country in com- 
 pany with Alice Alwell and Betsy Blinder, to the latter of whom 
 he is engaged to be married. 
 
 Layton Lorn — A young man from Boston who, for some years, has 
 been proprietor of a Ranch ; in love with Alice Alwell and brother 
 of Winnie Lorn. 
 
 Thomas Gall — An Eastern man who also is proprietor of a ranch ; 
 somewhat of a misanthrope; uncle of both Alice Alwell and 
 Betsy Blinder. 
 
 Foodle — Servant of Layton Lorn. 
 
 Winnie Lorn — Young lady from Boston, sister of Layton Lorn, and 
 on a visit to his Ranch. 
 
 Alice Alwell — Young lady from New York, cousin of Betsy 
 Blinder, niece of Thomas Gall, and on a visit to his Ranch; in 
 love with Layton Lorn. 
 
 Betsy Blinder — Young lady from New York, cousin of Alice 
 Alwell, niece of Thomas Gall, and on a visit to his Ranch; en- 
 gaged to be married to Harry Merriman. 
 
 Waiter, Members of a Traveling Company of Singers, Cowboys 
 or Herdsmen of Ranch. 
 
 ©CI.D ,?I27* 
 
Dress and Properties 
 
 Harry Merriman — In Acts I and IV, a gentleman's traveling suit, 
 with or without knee breeches. In Acts II and III, a girl's 
 dress with bare or open neck and arms, feet visible, etc. 
 
 Layton Lorn — In Acts I and II, slouch hat, colored shirt, with or 
 without coat, knee breeches or top boots; in Act IV, gentleman's 
 traveling suit. In Act II, a belt containing two pistols, to 
 be taken from a table drawer. 
 
 Thomas Gall — Slouch hat, colored shirt, with or without coat, knee 
 breeches or top boots. 
 
 Foodie — Slouch hat, colored shirt, top boots. 
 
 Winnie Lorn—In Acts I and IV, either a traveling or a mountain 
 dress ; in Acts II and III, either a mountain or an indoor working 
 dress; in Act I, a cap or a hat without a brim, and a veil, also 
 flowers in hand. In Act II a hat that can be removed, apron, 
 a note book, and a bundle of clothes; also belt containing two 
 pistols, to be taken from a table drawer in Act IV, a hat and 
 sunshade and a fan hanging from belt. Also a package of letters. 
 
 Alice Alwell, Betsy Blinder — Lady's walking or traveling suits, car- 
 rying umbrellas in Act I, and umbrellas with outside cloaks or 
 waterproofs in Act III. Betsy has a fan hanging from a chain 
 attached to her belt and in Act I has a bonnet without a brim 
 and has a package containing a brooch. 
 
 Waiter — A man's suit and a napkin. 
 
 Members of a College Student Quartette— -Either in fancy costume 
 with knee breeches, or in men's ordinary traveling suits. The First 
 Singer in Act I has a red wig in his pocket. 
 
 Cowboys or Herdsmen— Slouch hats, colored shirts, top boots, 
 whips, etc. 
 
PLOT 
 
 Act. I. — Harry Mcrriman, giving concerts in the West as a member 
 of a college quartette, meets, at a railway station, Betsy Blinder, 
 to whom he is engaged, together with her cousin, Alice Alwell. — 
 They are visiting the ranch of their uncle, Thomas Gall. — His 
 ranch is within a few miles of that of Layton Lorn, who, a few 
 years before, has been engaged to Alice. — Lorn happens to be at 
 the station with his sister, Winnie, who, because recovering from 
 measles, wears a thick veil concealing her face. — A waiter refers 
 to her as Lorn's wife. — Betsy recognizes Lorn, and, in spite of 
 Harry's protest that they ought not to bring Alice and Lorn to- 
 gether, insists upon introducing Harry to them. — This, and a 
 deception with reference to a brooch, reveals Betsy's character to 
 him. — He is evidently fascinated by Winnie, and when, later, 
 Betsy and Alice, both influenced by jealousy, as w r ell as by misun- 
 derstanding of her. exact relation to Lorn, who happens to say 
 that he is not married, talk against her, he defends her with 
 extravagant praise. — Then, suddenly, Gall comes, and tells them 
 that Winnie is Lorn's sister. 
 
 Act. II. — Winnie is left alone on her brother's ranch, except for 
 some cowboys. — Harry and his companions, in walking across 
 the country, have come upon some horses, and Harry, in fun, has 
 mounted one of them that has run with him toward Layton's 
 ranch. The Cowboys, supposing Harry to be trying to steal the 
 horse, chase him, and fire at him. — He takes refuge in the ranch- 
 house with Winnie. She recognizes him, but he does not, at first, 
 recognize her. — To save him from the Cowboys, whom she may 
 not be able to control, she dresses him in a woman's gown, and 
 passes him off as a servant-girl whom she has been expecting. — 
 The deception is aided by a vaudeville wig which Harry is seen 
 putting into his pocket in the first act. — Winnie tries to teach Harry 
 housekeeping and cleansing. — In a little time, the other Singers 
 arrive. — Then the Cowboys come to search the ranch, equally for 
 Harry, and for the spirits on which they expect to get drunk. — 
 Harry pulls his pistol, and, aided by the Singers called in from 
 the next room, the Cowboys are foiled. 
 
 Act. III.— -While Harry is still in his disguise, Bessie, Alice and 
 Gall suddenly take refuge in Lorn's ranch to escape a rain- 
 storm.— Betsy, put out by the weather, reveals her unfortunate 
 temper by berating everything and everybody including Harry, 
 to whom Alice happens to refer. — Betsy, at last, orders the servant- 
 girl, Harry, to remove her gown, and, while she scolds and abuses 
 him, he pulls off his wig. 
 
 Act. IV— Betsy, aided by Alice and Gall, and, threatening a law- 
 suit for breach of promise, tries to make up with Harry. — Then, 
 getting angry at him, she publicly dismisses him, much to his 
 delight.— Gall gives Betsy his opinion of her deceitfulness — 
 Winnie, who has at first rejected, accepts Harry, and Alice, also, 
 makes up with Lorn. 
 
THE RANCH GIRL 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene : Open space near a Southwestern Texas railway station. 
 Mountain scenery backing. At right, between Upper and First 
 Entrances, part of a small hotel or restaurant with a bench resting 
 against its wall, and in front of it, nearer the middle of the stage, 
 a table, behind which are three or more chairs. At left, between 
 Upper and Second Entrances, part of a railway station building 
 with the sign "R. R. Ticket Office" on it. Entrances Right Upper 
 behind hotel, Right Third, by a door into hotel {where there 
 might be a porch with steps), Right Second, in front of hotel, 
 Left Upper and Left Second. The curtain rising discloses mem- 
 bers of a College Quartette making a singing tour in the West. 
 One of the Singers is Harry Merriman. 
 
 First Singer. Have you noticed the echoes here? 
 
 Second Singer. Very fine ! worth giving a song, if merely to hear 
 them applaud us. 
 
 ALL SING. 
 
 Oh, what is the matter, and why do we care 
 
 For an empty, visionless whiff of air? 
 
 Ah, though the wind be nothing to see, 
 
 It bends and batters and breaks the tree; 
 
 And, oh, we know a breeze that serves 
 
 To shock and shiver and shatter the nerves, 
 
 And snuff the light of life with a breath; 
 
 It has nothing to see, but it ends in death — 
 
 Ho ho, ho ho, 
 
 That blow, blow, blow, blow, blow ! 
 
 Oh, what is the matter, and why do we care 
 For a silent sight of the sunshine there? 
 Ah, though no sound may rouse the ear, 
 The bud and blossom of spring are here; 
 And, oh, we know a sight so bright 
 It cheers the world like heavenly light, 
 Till far away fly doubt and strife; 
 It has nothing to hear, but it lures to life — 
 
 High high, high high, 
 
 That eye, eye, eye, eye, eye ! 
 
 (As the chorus ends, the First Singer, in taking a handkerchief 
 from his pocket, draws out with it a brilliantly red wig.) 
 
6 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Second Singer. Hello! — and what have you there? 
 
 First Singer {exhibiting the wig). It resembles Harry's wig. 
 
 Harry (to First Singer). My wig? 
 
 First Singer. Left out when packing! I found it under the table. 
 
 Harry. And lucky for me that you did ! Here, let me relieve you 
 of it. (First Singer hands the wig to Harry, who puts it in his 
 pocket, as he goes on to say:) My role, if not crowned by this, 
 would appear to be poorly played as a captain's of German hussars 
 not wearing his horse-hair plume. No show for me or of me 
 in vaudeville, then, you know. Just think of my star-song, 
 shorn of the brilliance of all these rays, — would be dead as an 
 Indian's yelp were he scalped. (Sounds of an arriving railway 
 train are heard.) 
 
 First Singer. Why, there comes the train ! 
 
 Second Singer. And now for your sweetheart, Harry. And if you 
 are feeling too bashful, hide under your wig, my boy. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Second — Harry and Third Singer. 
 
 First Singer. Is not so bad an idea. No man of us knows a 
 sweetheart until he has heard . and seen her when not on her 
 guard. Fact is, the truth in the world, like a fox on a farm, 
 has been forced to hide in order to live; so finding it always 
 involves finding out what has been kept in. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Second — First and Second Singers. 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — Gall, closely followed by Alice Alwell. Gall 
 has on a soft felt hat, colored shirt and top boots. Alice is in a 
 fashionable traveling costume. Gall is loaded down with an 
 umbrella, valise, shawl-strap, etc. Alice carries a sunshade. 
 
 Gall. So glad to see you two girls. And, Alice, how you have 
 
 grown! The image, too, of your mother. 
 Alice. You know how to compliment, uncle. 
 Gall. (Looking around, then crossing the stage to bench in front 
 
 of hotel, and placing luggage on or near it.) Your journey 
 
 pleasant? (The two take seats at the table.) 
 Alice. Delightful, not a single detention. 
 Gall (looking toward Left Upper Entrance). Not till you got out 
 
 here, you mean. Who are those fellows that met you? 
 Alice. Are students from Harvard. 
 
 Gall. From Harvard? And what are they doing in ranchdom? 
 Alice. Are giving concerts around. — Oh, less for the money, you 
 
 know, than just for a lark! 
 Gall. I see; and lighted down here by appointment! 
 Alice (laughing). To tell you the truth, Uncle Tom, that Mr. 
 
 Merriman there is engaged to Betsy. 
 Gall (taking bill of fare from the table, and rapping for Waiter). 
 
 Engaged? For long? — and why not married? No cash for it? 
 
The Ranch Girl. 7 
 
 Alice. He has, yes. The match would be brilliant for her. I 
 have thought though— he met her at Cambridge — it might be a 
 college engagement. 
 
 Gall. And what is a college engagement? 
 
 Alice. Why, that of a home-sick boy, who wants a mother or 
 sister. 
 
 Gall. More prose than poetry, Alice, in that. He goes back with 
 you ? 
 
 Alice. Yes; arranged that way, I believe. 
 
 Gall. {Rapping again for the Waiter.) May prove him a sen- 
 sible man. Our natures are much like buckets — slop over the 
 most when jolted. And what jolts more than a journey? No 
 wise man swallows his physic until he has had it well shaken. 
 
 Alice. You mean that Harry? — 
 
 Gall. {Rapping once more for Waiter.) I mean that it often 
 might turn out as well to take one's wedding journey before, 
 not after, the church has shut one out from hearing, till he or 
 his mate are dead, any more of the wedding music. 
 
 Alice. But Harry is not like that. He is never serious, uncle. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Waiter. 
 
 Gall {to Waiter). You think it economy, eh! To keep your cus- 
 tomers waiting till at their hungriest? Well? {Looking at bill 
 of fare and handing it to Alice) — And Alice, what will you have? 
 {To Waiter.) You serve a regular dinner? 
 
 Waiter. In half an hour. 
 
 Gall. {Looking toward Alice who nods approvingly.) Serve us 
 then a dinner for four. (To Alice.) And so you think your 
 jovial friend not serious, Alice. I doubt it. The birds that sing 
 most are the birds whose natures the most need singing; and 
 the men that make merry the most are the men whose natures 
 most need a world that appears to be merry. 
 
 Alice. With Harry, it seems to be merely exuberant life, bub- 
 bling over. 
 
 Gall. A student of human nature, or lunacy — much the same 
 thing— finds out that those whose wits bubble over the first are 
 the first to be losing their wits; that the mind whose thought 
 comes first as a joke to be cracked, is the mind that is first to be 
 cracked itself. Yes, Alice, the lightest of moods, and the brightest 
 as well, are often mere spray flung up from the waves that a 
 serious blow has been tossing. 
 
 Alice. Aha! You seem roiled yourself. 
 
 Gall. I married one time you remember — Miss Betsy's aunt; and 
 at present you think that I live with her, eh? {Looking toward 
 Left Entrance.) But there they come. It reminds me that I 
 must look after my donkeys. 
 
 Gall and Alice rise. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Second — Gall. 
 
8 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Betsy, in fashionable traveling costume, wear- 
 ing a hat or bonnet without a brim and carrying a fan, a large 
 umbrella and a very small box. 
 
 Betsy. (Looking back toward Left, and speaking to Alice, in a 
 vexed tone.) Now, what is that Harry doing? He has left me 
 again, all alone. I never saw such a — why! (Sitting at the 
 table and opening the box in her hand.) Do you see what came 
 in the mail that Uncle just handed me, eh? (Taking from a box 
 a brooch.) The brooch Aunt Clara had promised. Absurd to 
 send it out here, though it was my birthday! Wait! — (Looking 
 toward the Left with a meditative air.) It was when I told 
 Harry I thought it was he had invited us girls to the ball at the 
 Harvard club — it was then he proposed to me. Humph! (Look- 
 ing at brooch, and then toward Left.) 
 
 Alice. You are going to make Harry believe that you think that 
 the brooch came from him? 
 
 Betsy. Why not? — He might have sent something. He should 
 have sent something; and I, I mean to teach him a lesson. He 
 has been too backward, of late. 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Harry in traveling costume — loaded down 
 with shawl-straps, valises, etc. 
 
 Exit — Right Third — Alice. 
 
 Betsy. (Rising and rushing at Harry, causing her umbrella to 
 
 be thrust violently toward him.) O, Harry, you dear old thing! 
 Harry. Hold on. Do you think me a reindeer to be gone for 
 
 with an umbrella? 
 Betsy. (Holding up the brooch.) But, Harry, just look at this 
 
 brooch. It has come already, you see. 
 Harry. (Putting his luggage on one of the chairs.) But I — 
 Betsy. No matter, now, Harry. No need of your saying a word. 
 Harry. It was not — 
 
 Betsy. Oh, no ; it was not — not told me, but then I could guess. 
 Harry. But it might be unjust, you know. 
 Betsy. At least, not so to your heart; nor to mine, if I wanted to 
 
 think it. (Suddenly changing the subject.) Will you stay with 
 
 us long here, Harry? 
 Harry. Depends on my business. 
 Betsy. What ? 
 Harry. On my business. 
 Betsy. Humph, what is that? 
 
 Harry. (Arranging the luggage.) Just now, is attending to you. 
 Betsy. (Shaking the brooch at him.) You would like to spend 
 
 all of your life attending to some one's wants. 
 Harry. But, really, now, that brooch — 
 Betsy. (Coquettishly placing her fan on his shoulder.) Come, 
 
 come, what I said was true. You would like to spend — 
 Harry. Yes, but I was talking of getting, not spending, of 
 
 business. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 9 
 
 Betsy. Business? 
 
 Harry. Yes — the art of getting and keeping what every one else 
 
 is wanting. 
 Betsy. (Taking the words as a compliment to herself.) Oh, 
 
 Harry, you flatter one so! 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Waiter with napkin in hand. 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Lorn and Winnie. 
 
 Harry (to Waiter). Has anyone ordered a dinner? 
 Waiter (pointing to Lorn and Winnie). Oh, yes — that man and 
 his wife. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Upper — Lorn and Winnie. 
 
 Betsy (looking after them). As I live! It is Layton Lorn. I 
 
 knew he had gone on a ranch. It is likely he lives close by here. 
 
 You know he was once engaged, or as good as engaged, to 
 
 Alice. 
 Harry. Miss Alwell? 
 Betsy. Yes. He was poor. Her father broke off the engagement ; 
 
 he came out West. We had heard of another attachment; and 
 
 look — his brand new wife, I suppose. 
 Harry (to Waiter). Has no one else ordered dinner? — Mr. Gall, 
 
 for instance. You know him? 
 Waiter. Oh, yes! — a dinner for four. 
 Harry. All right! How soon can we have it? 
 Waiter. In twenty-five minutes, I think. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Waiter — very slowly. 
 
 Harry. (Looking after the Waiter.) That waiter is like myself. 
 
 Whenever I have to wait, I much prefer to sit down. (Motion- 
 ing to chairs, Betsy and Harry sit dozvn. She places the brooch 
 
 in the box which she leaves in her lap.) 
 Betsy. Do I look as well in this hat as I did in the other one, 
 
 Harry ? 
 Harry. Oh, no. 
 Betsy. (Rather reluctantly.) Why, others think "Yes." And you 
 
 ought to think, you ought, that I always look well in all hats. 
 Harry. But the other hat had a brim; and, whenever the sun is 
 
 shining who could look as well at things in a hat that has not a 
 
 brim ? 
 Betsy. (Shaking her finger at him.) A regular Midas, Harry! 
 
 Turn everything that you touch — 
 Harry. Into gold? 
 Betsy. No, something better. 
 Harry. One tickling touch of my hand could make one a Merri- 
 
 man, eh? 
 Betsy. It would be so much for us both to be one in everything, 
 
 Harry. 
 
10 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Harry. You women all want that— to be won; but some want the 
 men a little more won than themselves. And when both are made 
 one, which is it? It is sometimes the one that is not won. 
 
 Betsy. How silly you are, when you try. Last night I dreamt — 
 
 Harry. About late suppers or grandmothers, which? 
 
 Betsy. Shall I tell you? I thought I had wings. 
 
 Harry. An angel? 
 
 Betsy. A humming bird — 
 
 Harry. Humming? At what? 
 
 Betsy. Why, around a rose that rose — 
 
 Harry. And fell — 
 
 Betsy. And fell? Why, what do you think me describing? 
 
 Harry. Why, humming in sleep, was it not? Or the lungs that 
 were making the humming? And rose and fell will fit either. 
 
 Betsy. My humming in sleep !— in sleep ! That is not a pleasant 
 suggestion. 
 
 Harry. Then what were you going to say ? 
 
 Betsy. That rose round which I was humming, was you. 
 
 Harry. And that reminds me that / had a dream. 
 
 Betsy. What was it? 
 
 Harry. I forget what the dream was about; but when I woke up 
 a mosquito was humming and — 
 
 Betsy. Oh, now, Harry! 
 
 Enter— Right Second — Alice and Gall. 
 
 Alice. Come look at our wagons out here. 
 
 Harry and Betsy rise. As she rises, the box containing the brooch 
 
 falls to the ground, and remains there. 
 Betsy. (After giving a spiteful look at Harry, to Gall.) A 
 
 thirty-mile ride is long. Do you think there will be any danger? 
 Gall Not unless you fall out by the way. The wagon has seats 
 
 without backs. 
 
 Exit— Right Second— Betsy. 
 
 (Gall continues to Harry.) If you were but going with us— 
 Harry. (Placing his hand on his pistol pocket, then extending 
 hands.) My arms might support them, you think? 
 
 Exit— Right Second— Harry. 
 
 Gall. (To Alice.) If I know Betsy, I think if he tried to support 
 her long, they would both fall out together. 
 
 Exit— Right Second— Gall and Alice. 
 
 Enter— Left Upper— Layton Lorn and Winnie Lorn. Lorn has 
 broad-brimmed Mexican felt hat. colored shirt and high-topped 
 boots Winnie is in mountain costume and cap without brim 
 {so Uiatthe veil, to be mentioned presently, can be bound over her 
 eyes). She carries wild flowers in her hand, which, presently, she 
 
The Ranch Girl. 11 
 
 places on the table. She seats herself at the right of this table 
 and Lorn at the left. 
 
 Lorn. No girl upon this train, Winnie! No hope of her coming, 
 I fear ! You will have to continue to cook, and to wait, and to 
 keep on scrubbing. You should never have come to the ranch. 
 I fear we shall tire you to death — is too much to ask you to be 
 both sister and servant — am sorry you rode here to meet me 
 today. But I was afraid that the girl would be timid if I were 
 alone. 
 
 Winnie. But, Latie, I liked the ride ; not for anything would I 
 have missed it. You know we came over the hills, and then 
 through the dearest of valleys all covered with prairie flowers, 
 like a bed with a patch-work spread. You see, I have brought 
 you some. (She begins to make a little bouquet for a button- 
 hole.) 
 
 Lorn. I am glad that you take to flowers. I fear you will find 
 little else out here to enjoy. 
 
 Winnie. I shall have, for one thing, my brother Latie. 
 
 Lorn. Not much of the time, I take it. I am kept very busy, 
 you know. 
 
 Winnie. And then I shall have the sheep, and the cows, and the 
 dogs, and the men. 
 
 Lorn. Such men ! You will never take much to them. 
 
 Winnie. They are animals, too. (She rises, and begins to pin her 
 bouquet on Lorn's breast.) 
 
 Lorn. And at times, might be made ornamental? 
 
 Winnie. (Standing off, and regarding the bouquet.) They are 
 ornamental, at times. 
 
 Lorn. To pin to, or tie to, Winnie? There are no such men 
 out here. 
 
 Winnie. And no such women, old boy — the reason why I came 
 to be here. 
 
 Lorn. A reason, as well, why I should father you, Winnie. See 
 now — have been tempted again by these flowers. You must keep 
 your veil down — so. (Rising and pinning Winnie's veil over 
 her face.) The sun is too bright for your eyes. A girl that 
 has measles at twenty must be treated as if she were ten. (Win- 
 nie sits clown again.) 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — Harry and Betsy, and watch Lorn and Win- 
 nie, whose face is now wholly concealed. 
 
 Betsy (starting forward). I am going to meet her. 
 
 Harry. Wait! — Let us think, a moment, of Alice! — was in love 
 with him once, you said. If the three were to come together, and 
 a spark of the old love lived, who knows? — It might start a fire — 
 
 Betsy. Of blushes, I see. What a joke! 
 
 Harry. (Surprised and troubled.) You think lost love is a joke? 
 (Mainly to himself as he turns to one side.) We laugh at it, 
 yes, I know. And so does the devil— about the only thing that 
 
12 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 he laughs at. And a deal of fun, there is, too, for him on the 
 earth, I suppose. 
 
 Betsy. What is that? 
 
 Harry. I was thinking — 
 
 Betsy. Of me? 
 
 Harry. {Surprised, yet significantly.) Perhaps. We were talk- 
 ing of Alice. 
 
 Betsy. You think more of Alice than me? 
 
 Harry. I think more of her than of them. {Pointing toward 
 Winnie and Lorn.) You deem it best they should meet? 
 
 Betsy. If not, they will have to. 
 
 Harry. Humph, humph! 
 
 Betsy. {Advancing tozvard Lorn and Winnie from the left.) 
 Why, why, Mr. Lorn, as I think. 
 
 Lorn. Miss Blinder! — and what brought you here? 
 
 Betsy. Just came from New York on a visit. You know my uncle, 
 perhaps, Thomas Gall, whose ranch is close by. 
 
 Lorn. Delighted to welcome you, too! Here, Winnie, Miss 
 Blinder — an old acquaintance of mine. (Winnie rises and ex- 
 changes bows with Betsy..) 
 
 Betsy. So happy! (Introducing Merriman.) My friend, Mr. 
 Merriman. (Lorn and Harry shake hands.) 
 
 Lorn. {To Harry.) Strangers are welcome to Texas. 
 
 Harry. Am pleased to meet you. {Exchanging bows with Win- 
 nie.) And you, Mrs. Lorn. (Winnie evidently notices his use 
 of the terms Mrs.) 
 
 Lorn. {To Betsy.) So, so! Thomas Gall is your uncle! Then 
 we shall be neighbors, yes, yes; onlv twenty-five miles apart. — 
 Can show you out here both ranches {pointing toward Right 
 Second Entrance). 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Lorn and Betsy. 
 
 (Winnie resumes her seat. Harry takes the seat left by Lorn.) 
 Harry. Only twenty-five miles apart — are very near neighbors of 
 
 yours. 
 Winnie. And yet I have heard of neighbors one wished to have 
 
 further away. 
 Harry. I suppose that you like your life here? 
 Winnie. As far as I know it, I do. 
 Harry. Not lived here long? 
 Winnie. No— in Boston. 
 Harry. In Boston? 
 Winnie. In Cambridge. 
 Harry. In Cambridge? 
 Winnie. In Cambridge. 
 Harry. Three times and out! You have it. 
 Winnie. Am dreadfully sorry. The experienced traveler now, in 
 
 writing home, I suppose, will be forced to draw on his fancy to 
 
 paint his graphic encounter with the wild, rude, horrible ranch 
 
 girl. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 13 
 
 Harry. The means of his observation were limited — saw through 
 
 a veil very darkly. 
 Winnie. Afraid of the sun. 
 Harry. My father's ? 
 Winnie. Oh, yes;— so bright! You, too, know Cambridge, 
 
 perhaps. 
 Harry. When I was a student at Harvard, I used to know Boston ; 
 
 but Cambridge — used to cut Cambridge. 
 Winnie. You did? Very strange. 
 Harry. What, cutting it? 
 
 Winnie. No; but I think I have seen you before. 
 Harry. I wonder if I have seen you. You have an advantage — 
 
 that veil — 
 Winnie. I think it was on the first base. 
 Harry. Oh, yes; you are right— first bass! You heard me, you 
 
 say. 
 Winnie. I saw you. 
 
 Harry. But I thought I was there to be heard. 
 Winnie. And you were ! You yelled like a savage. 
 Harry. Beg pardon? 
 Winnie. You made a great hit. 
 Harry. I should think so — from such a description! I suppose 
 
 you enjoy the yelling of savages, too, out here. 
 Winnie. The Indians never play. 
 Harry. Of course, they never are playing, but fighting, when yelling 
 
 like me ! 
 Winnie. You said you were on the baseball club. 
 Harry. Oh, no!— first bass on the glee club. The only bass- 
 bawling of mine was on it. However, there was a Merriman, 
 too, on the ball club; but he was much darker than I. If you 
 lifted your veil, you might see it. 
 Winnie. Have no curiosity, thank you. I heard you, perhaps, at 
 
 Commencement. 
 Harry. Heard of me, perhaps, when the fellows first heard of my 
 name on the list of those who were taking degrees. There is 
 nothing a circus cheers more than a man who, in riding a horse, 
 appears to be thrown, and is not. 
 Winnie. You managed then to hold on. 
 Harry. I did — at the tail of the class. 
 Winnie. The tail is the place — not so? — for a wag? 
 Harry. Or those who get set on. 
 Winnie. Men never can set on or keep on a man that lives by his 
 
 wits. 
 Harry. Oh, that is a woman's right, — to live by her wits, not 
 
 work ! 
 Winnie. Now, honestly, do you believe that the women work less 
 
 than the men ? 
 Harry. Why "honestly"? 
 Winnie. Why do you ask? 
 Harry. Because in a world of donkeys, all trying to hide their 
 
14 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 ears in a lion's hide that hides nothing, how can one be wholly 
 honest yet wholly polite? You see dishonesty is to politeness 
 what Latin is to a doctor, or pedantry is to a teacher, or lace to 
 a last year's ball dress. We all see through it; and yet we all 
 say nothing about it. 
 
 Winnie. And you really think we women work less than the men. 
 I should like to set you at housekeeping. 
 
 Harry. Madam, there are women that I would give all I am worth 
 to have set me at that. 
 
 Winnie. Your hands could not stand it. 
 
 Harry. Oh, yes; my hands could stand a good deal (he thrusts his 
 hands toward her, as both are sitting; she takes them in hers 
 and looks at them intently) ; but, perhaps, not your inspection ! 
 Your veil interferes, not so? — Humph! what are you trying to 
 find? — The marks of toil, or of soil? 
 
 Winnie. Of character. Surely you know your hand is your 
 fortune ? 
 
 Harry. It is? — You say that to me as a man. But the face is the 
 woman's fortune. Not fair I should give you mine; and you not 
 give me yours ! (Moving his head as if to peek through her veil; 
 Winnie looks at his hands.) 
 
 Enter — Right Upper — Betsy and Alice. 
 
 Betsy. (Advancing, and speaking to Alice.) Why, what in the 
 
 world are they doing? 
 Harry. (Looking up at Betsy.) I am giving my hand to her, 
 
 Betsy. And she is to get my fortune. 
 Betsy. Your fortune? 
 Harry. I said so. Perhaps she will tend to yours first. Sit down. 
 
 (Rising, and offering his seat to Betsy, who draws back.) Oh, 
 
 now! We are not at a game, to be lost by showing your hand. 
 Betsy. (Turning to Alice.) It is perfectly shocking. 
 (Harry reseats himself. Winnie looks at his hands.) 
 Alice. (To Betsy, as both move toward Left Second Entrance.) 
 
 What is it? 
 Betsy. (Pointing toward Winnie.) That woman was holding 
 
 his hand. 
 Alice. Whose? — Harry's? — Absurd! — You know it. It was only 
 
 one more of his jokes. 
 Betsy. And you know that I, Alice Alwell, was never brought 
 
 up in that way. 
 Alice. In what way? 
 Betsy. (Pointing toward Winnie.) In that way, Alice. And I 
 
 shall have nothing to do with a woman like that. 
 Alice. Who is she? 
 Betsy. Who is she? — Why, Layton Lorn's wife. The waiter here 
 
 said so just now. 
 Alice. (Greatly agitated.) His wife? — and Layton's? 
 Betsy. These men — you never know what they will do ! — some 
 
The Ranch Girl. 15 
 
 half-gypsy girl, I suppose, he has picked up out here on the 
 ranch. 
 Alice. (To herself.) His wife? — and my only reason for coming 
 out here was to meet him? 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Lorn. 
 
 Lorn. (Advancing eagerly to shake hands with her.) Why, Alice, 
 are you out here, too ? I can hardly believe my own eyes. Why 
 this! — it is like old times. (Alice takes his hand and bows 
 stiMy.) (Lorn looks down at his attire, as if suspecting this to 
 be the reason of her stiffness.) Yes, yes. I do appear rough, 
 but a few years more of this, and I shall go back independent. 
 
 Alice (to Lorn). Are you living out here alone? 
 
 Lorn (to Alice). I have been, but now I have her (pointing to 
 Winnie). 
 
 Alice. Are married? 
 
 Lorn (smiling significantly). Oh, no; not married! 
 
 Enter hurriedly — Right Third — Gall. 
 
 Gall. (To Alice and Betsy.) Our dinner is ready at last. 
 Betsy, Alice and Gall exchange bows with Lorn. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Third — Betsy, Alice and Gall. 
 
 Lorn. (To Harry and Winnie, who rise). You two appear to be 
 
 friends. (To Harry.) You must come and see us. Come often. 
 
 I have to go off at times, for half of the day, and more; and 
 
 Winnie will feel it a godsend for some one to make things lively. 
 
 If riding out on the ranches, come over there just as you are. 
 
 We are free and easy out here. 
 Harry. (Shaking hands with Winnie and Lorn.) Oh, thank you. 
 
 Be sure that I will (gesturing toward Right Third Entrance.) 
 
 They asked me to dine with them there. 
 
 Exit— Right Third— Harry. 
 
 Winnie. (Excitedly taking her veil down.) But why did you 
 
 urge him so to come to the ranch to see me? — a perfect stranger, 
 
 like that! 
 Lorn. Oh, no; not a perfect stranger. I have known all about 
 
 him for years ; and a fine fellow, too. You will like him. 
 Winnie. Did you hear what he called me? 
 Lorn. What ? 
 
 Winnie. (Laughing.) Not Miss, but Mrs. 
 Lorn. He did? I wonder if that could have been the trouble 
 
 with Alice Alwell? You told him, of course, his mistake? 
 Winnie. Not I. 
 Lorn. Why not? 
 Winnie. Do you know, he is rather a charming man! Men sel- 
 
16 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 dom take off their coats and sit down in the sleeves of their souls 
 with a woman, unless she is married. I may see him without his 
 coating. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Second — Lorn and Winnie. 
 
 Enter— Right Third— Betsy, Alice, and Harry. 
 
 Harry. Why, what are you after, Betsy? 
 
 Betsy (looking on the ground). I have lost that brooch. 
 
 Harry. You have? — You put it inside of a box; and were sitting 
 
 here. (Looks on the ground.) Oh, yes. I see it — there! (Picks 
 
 up the box, and looks at it.) But, say, my writing is not like 
 
 that ; nor is that my postmark, either. 
 Betsy (snatching the box from him). Here, Harry, you give it to 
 
 me. How little you know about girls! We carry around with 
 
 us always all sorts of boxes. 
 Harry (rather incredulously). You do? 
 Betsy. Did you hear Mr. Lorn when he said that woman and he 
 
 were not married? 
 Harry. Oh, yes ! He said to me, too, they were free and easy, out 
 
 here. Some things improper Down East are right in the West, 
 
 I suppose. 
 Betsy. It makes me ashamed of you, Harry. 
 Harry. What ? 
 Betsy. Talking of things like this as if they were nothing but 
 
 trifles. 
 Harry. Why not, if they are? 
 Betsy. They are not. 
 
 Harry. And how do you know they are not? 
 
 Betsy. How know? — I have eyes and ears and a little of some- 
 thing else that you may not understand. 
 Harry. What is 'that? 
 Betsy. Humph ! — moral sense ! 
 Harry. What has that to do with it, pray? 
 Betsy. A woman that lives with a man; and every one calls her 
 
 his wife; and yet they have never been married! 
 Harry. But they will be in time, I suppose. 
 Betsy. And why not at present? 
 Harry. The parson may live a long distance away. She came 
 
 from the East. They are waiting. 
 Betsy. And that is all that you know? 
 Harry. What more do you know yourself? 
 Betsy. Why, just to look at her once, with her voice and her 
 
 flirting ways, would show a person of sense exactly the thing 
 
 that she is. 
 Harry. I grant it — exactly the way I have found her a perfect 
 
 lady. 
 Betsy (to Alice). Oh, Alice, just think! 
 Alice (to Merriman). It does appear strange, Mr. Merriman, 
 
 yes. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 17 
 
 Betsy. You men are the biggest fools when it comes to a pretty 
 
 face. 
 Harry. I never have seen her face. It was hid in a veil, all the 
 
 time. 
 Betsy. Then how do you know her? 
 Harry. At times, one knows his ideal, though hid in the clouds 
 
 up above. 
 Betsy. Ideal ! — Such a low-down scrub as that ! 
 Harry. Take care! You are going too far. What right have 
 
 you, Betsy, to judge a girl you know nothing about? 
 Betsy. The same right, I take it, that you have. — Now what can 
 
 you answer to that? 
 Harry. You might not take to my answer. 
 Betsy. I think I could risk it. 
 Harry. Well, then, from what I have seen of the lady, if she were 
 
 but free from Lorn, I should feel any fellow was wise, if tempted 
 
 to stay here all summer for a chance of finding, perhaps, the best 
 
 thing the world could bring him. 
 
 Enter — Right Third — Gall. 
 
 Gall. The dinner will all be cold. (Looking at them in surprise.) 
 
 Why, what is the matter? — I seem — 
 Betsy (sarcastically). Our friend, Mr. Merriman, here, appears to 
 
 have fallen in love. 
 Gall. With whom? 
 Betsy. With whom do you think? Mr. Lorn's not yet married 
 
 wife. 
 Gall. His wife ? — Humph ! — That was his sister. 
 Betsy appears frightened, Alice rejoiced, and Harry embarrassed. 
 
 curtain. 
 
18 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 ACT. II. 
 
 Scene: The interior of Ranch House. Backing, at Right Center, 
 is an open window. Between the place of Right Center and of 
 Right Third Entrance, are two pegs, on one of which hangs a 
 large overcoat, on the other, an apron. Near the place of Right 
 Third Entrance, are shelves on which, in connection with other 
 things readily suggesting themselves, are a large tin wash-pan 
 and two other tin-pans, and a dish containing a large quantity of 
 rice. On the floor, in front of these shelves, is a slop-pail, also a 
 bucket full of water, in which bucket is a tin-dipper. Backing, at 
 Left Center is a table surmounted by a closed closet never opened. 
 In the table is a drawer containing two belts. One of them can 
 be fastened around the waist of Lorn and the other around that 
 of Winnie. In each belt are two pistols. Those in the belt of 
 Winnie can be easily taken from it. Between the place of the 
 Left Upper Entrance and the Left Third Entrance is a wash- 
 stand with bowl and pitcher. Above the washstand is a mirror, 
 and beside the mirror hangs a towel, evidently intended for the 
 hands and face. Near the place of Left Third Entrance is a small 
 table on which is a wet dishcloth and a holder to be used in 
 lifting tea-kettle. Near the place of Right Front Entrance is a 
 cooking-stove ; and on it is a tea-kettle. Beside the stove, near 
 the middle of the stage, are two chairs. Behind them, in the 
 middle of the stage, is a table spread with a white cloth, on which 
 are unwashed dishes left from a meal — plates, tumblers, etc. En- 
 trances by doors at Right Second, Left Second, and Left Upper. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Lorn. 
 
 (He hangs his hat on the peg near the door, sits in a chair near 
 the stove, and prepares to smoke.) 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Winnie, in outdoor dress and hat, which 
 latter she removes, hangs on one of the pegs, from which she takes 
 an apron and puts it on. Then she busies herself zvith housework. 
 
 Lorn. It is kind of you, very kind, Winnie, to bring us so much 
 of your sunshine. But sunshine may bring with it shade. I fear 
 that the ship of your hope is in danger of being beached. 
 
 Winnie. Why, I hardly ever enjoyed myself so much in my life. 
 Every atom of air is as keen and as bright as a dart of a Cupid 
 to tingle one's blood to a glow and make one in love with all 
 things. And then we have so much to see ! 
 
 Lorn. You have enterprise, Winnie. The most of the people out 
 here have to hunt as much for a thing to see as they do for a 
 thing to eat. 
 
 Winnie. They do? — with the sheep and the cattle that keep up 
 their going and coming; and clouds of grasshoppers flying, and 
 
The Ranch Girl. 19 
 
 coyotes and partridges darting up out of the rocks and the 
 grasses, and rattlesnakes turning to life the very sticks at your 
 feet ! The most enlivening place I ever set foot in, Latie ! I 
 have just had a ride with Foodie. We went over here three 
 miles to visit a prairie-dog town. We found such a lovely valley ; 
 and, at last, we spied three owls. At first I thought they were 
 bird's nests, bushed up on a dead tree's branches; but Foodie 
 called them watchmen — night watchmen, you know, of the dog- 
 town. I wonder whether they guard the dogs the most, or 
 haunt them. Well, then, as we passed the owls, we pounced, full 
 drive, on the town. The dogs were sunning themselves on the 
 tops of their little mounds. When Foodie drove in among them, 
 you ought to have seen them dodging and darting down to their 
 holes. It seemed to me just like charging through hills of 
 elephant ants. You do everything here out West on a very big 
 scale. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodle with slouch hat, red shirt and pants 
 stuck in his boots. 
 
 Lorn {to Foople). Well, Foodie, I am glad you are taking such 
 care of my sister. She says, thanks to you, she is having a very 
 good time. 
 
 Foodle. Exactly the thing as I likes. But there boys be a-come 
 outside as wants to see yer right off. 
 
 Lorn. Is it so? I will go to them then. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Lorn. 
 
 Winnie (to Foodle, while both busy themselves by arranging plates 
 on the table). Ugh, ugh! no need to tell Latie about that rattle- 
 snake, ugh ! Why, it seemed as if it had dropped down out of 
 my very dress. And they say they slip into houses. Ugh, ugh ! 
 Why mice would be nothing. You have only to shake at them 
 so (shaking skirts) . But snakes ! — No wonder that Eve ate the 
 apple at bid of a snake ! I think that I might have eaten a peck 
 of them, seeds and all. But in spite of that, Foodle, you know 
 we had a fine ride today. Without you here, this ranch would 
 be like a horse without harness, — have plenty of go in it still, but 
 nothing that one could go with. Do you think that the cook 
 might come by the morning train ? 
 
 Foodle. Of course. 
 
 Winnie. She would have to wait for us, then, all day, at the sta- 
 tion. If trying to walk here, she might be lost. 
 
 Foodle. And if she should prove such a fool, would be more of a 
 loss to herself than to us, I reckon. 
 
 Enter— Right Second — Lorn. 
 
 Lorn. Foodle, I want you to saddle my horse. 
 Exit — Right Second — Foodle, 
 
20 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Lorn (keeps moving about the room, evidently preparing to go 
 aivay) . Bad news for you, Winnie ! A band of Mexicans, twelve 
 miles south, have made a raid on our ranch, and driven off one 
 of our herds. 
 
 Winnie. (Alarmed.) And will they come here, and attack us? 
 
 Lorn. No ; anywhere else except here. A man who fights with 
 thieves has justice to fight beside him. They show their backs 
 to the one and they dare not face the other. What I wanted to 
 say is this : that I must be off to find them. 
 
 Winnie. (More alarmed.) But, Latie, suppose they should kill 
 you? 
 
 Lorn (changing his boots for riding boots). There is not the least 
 fear of that. We have many more men than they. They are 
 all, too, a set of cowards. To take aim they would have to 
 face us. 
 
 Winnie. But when shall I see you again ? Tonight, do you think — 
 for supper? 
 
 Lorn. Oh, no; not so soon — I fear. I may not be back till 
 tomorrow. 
 
 Winnie. You are going to leave me alone? 
 
 Lorn. Yes, that was my bad news, Winnie. You see, this may be 
 a question of thousands of dollars for me. If thieves were no 
 more than rats, you would have to begin by fighting; or else 
 be run over completely. 
 
 Winnie. And I must stay here? 
 
 Lorn. (Putting on his overcoat.) Of course. (Then, seeing 
 Winnie's anxiety.) There is nothing to fear for, Winnie; but 
 only you may feel lonely. 
 
 Winnie. Yet Foodie will stay? 
 
 Lorn. Oh, yes; and the boys — all those not with me. They are 
 sure to protect you, Winnie. You must keep them, though, from 
 the spirits. (Placing his hand on the closed closet backing at 
 Left Center.) If not, our whiskey here might play the devil 
 inside them. So you must be careful, Winnie, to keep the closet 
 well locked. (Giving her a key and then another.) I will give 
 you this other key, too — (Drawing out the drawer in the table 
 backing at Left Center, and taking from it pistols attached to a 
 belt.) If Foodie should want you to leave here — there 'is no 
 better guide, you know — you take out these, and wear them. 
 
 Winnie. (Drawing back.) I— take? — But they might go off. 
 
 Lorn. But not without you, I hope. If you go, do not leave them 
 behind; or some one else might get them. (Noticing Winnie's 
 agitation.) But you poor little thing, you are trembling! Per- 
 haps, I ought not to go. Humph! What are a few thousand 
 dollars compared to you ! I will not. 
 
 Winnie. No, Latie, you must. I came here to help you. Of 
 course, at first, you startled me; but I would rather, a thousand 
 times, have you go than not. And if I be trembling, it is more 
 than half because it thrills me to think of what I can do for you— 
 yes — so go. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 21 
 
 Lorn. (Putting on one of two belts holding pistols, leaving another 
 in the drawer, and giving the key of the drawer to Winnie. A 
 horse is heard galloping up to the door.) A glorious girl you 
 are Winnie. And, really, I ought to go. And the danger is only 
 a myth — Good-bye, take care of yourself ; and no anxiety, promise ! 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Lorn, after bidding Winnie good-bye. 
 
 Winnie. (Following him to the door and ailing in the time by 
 watching him till the horse is heard galloping away, then she 
 walks about the room.) It is dreadful, to stay here alone, alone 
 with those horrible drunkards, and the raiding thieves so near ! 
 And only that half-dog Foodie to take care of me, if there be 
 danger. I wonder how far it is to the nearest ranch, and the 
 way there. I will find out from Foodie. — Here, Foodie. (Calling 
 to Foodle from the doorway at Right Second Entrance.) 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 I want you to tell me, Foodle, how near is the nearest ranch. 
 
 Foodle. Oh, a matter of twenty-five mile. 
 
 Winnie. You mean the nearest large ranch. But / mean that 
 
 small one nearer, the one that I saw — 
 Foodle. Oh, that — but they don't amount to nothin'. 
 Winnie. But whose house is it? Who live there? 
 Foodle (superciliously). Why, I told you once, not so? A couple 
 
 o' green young chaps. 
 Winnie. They are men from the North, I believe. 
 Foodle. Them green kind is. as a rule. 
 Winnie (aside). They are Northerners. — Thanks for that! (To 
 
 Foodle.) How far is their house from here? 
 Foodle. Ten-mile, perhaps. 
 
 Winnie. Now, Foodle, you know I am left in your care. 
 Foodle. Yes, the boss was tellin' me how I must keep an eye 
 
 on you. 
 Winnie. Was he? (Aside.) You expect to be master, eh? I 
 
 must keep an eye on you. (To Foodle.) Now, Foodle, you know 
 
 it might happen, when you were away from here, or something of 
 
 that sort, you know — 
 Foodle. But I ain't a-goin' away. 
 Winnie. No, of course not, Foodle, of course. But something or 
 
 other might happen; and I might need to know just how to get 
 
 to that house. 
 Foodle. That house where the young chaps is? 
 Winnie. Yes, that. 
 Foodle. (Aside.) She's afeard o' me, yes. And I is afeard o' the 
 
 young chaps. (To Winnie.) So you want to know how to 
 
 reach 'em? 
 Winnie. If something should happen, you see. 
 Foodle. Oh, yes, if somethin' should happen. 
 Winnie. You can tell me, of course. 
 
22 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Foddle. Oh, yes; you first goes down to the creek; and then you 
 goes on across it. But before that you follers a path; and you's 
 got to be mighty careful not to foller the other path there. 
 
 Winnie. (Taking out her note book and writing.) Quite a num- 
 ber of other paths there? 
 
 Foodle. Why, of course, there be; for you see, this land is a free 
 one for sheep ; and wherever one goes a-bleatin' a thousand goes 
 follerin' after ; and most of them goes single-file — well, after you 
 crosses the creek, you foller another path up; and when you gets 
 half-way through it you turn — 
 
 Winnie. But how can one tell when half-way through it? 
 
 Foodle. You comes to the place where you turn. 
 
 Winnie. Oh, the whole--the whole path turns there. 
 
 Foodle. No — the path to where the young chaps is. 
 
 Winnie. Does it turn to the right or the left? 
 
 Foodle. There ain't but one way to turn when you gets to the 
 right place! Then when you pegs on a half-mile further, you 
 goes to the top of a hill, then a little way down toward a valley; 
 and then you comes to a tree. 
 
 Winnie. The only tree in the valley? 
 
 Foodle. Oh, no; why, it's full o' trees. It's the tree that you tells 
 the path bv. (Winnie shakes her head despairingly.) And when 
 you's once in the path, you goes on till you comes to a sheep- 
 pen. 
 
 Winnie. And how far is the sheep -pen? 
 
 Foodle. From here ? 
 
 Winnie. Yes, from here. 
 
 Foodle. Oh, three or four mile. 
 
 Winnie. Not more than half of the way? Why, Foodle, I never 
 could find the whole way. 
 
 Foodle. You couldn't? You couldn't? (Pointing to Winnie's 
 nete book.) Not even by chalkin' it down? 
 
 Winnie. And then, I might be obliged to go there, too, in the 
 night. 
 
 Foodle. (With shrewd sham-sympathy.) And you couldn't do that 
 now, could you ? Oh, no ; I's a-f eard you couldn't ! 
 
 (Sounds of shooting are heard outside.) 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Just after Foodle exits, Harry's face appears at the open window 
 at the Right Center. Winnie, seeing him, utters a slight excla- 
 mation of alarm, then rushes toward the door at the Right Second 
 as if to call for Foodle, then pauses and looks at Harry. 
 
 Harry. Wait, wait ! I am not here to harm you. I am chased ! 
 
 Men threaten my life ! — Please let me come in. 
 Winnie (going to door at Right Second). I will. (To herself.) 
 
 That voice ! that face ! I know him ! I think he will not know 
 
 me, though ! I had my veil on. (She opens the door, and says to 
 
 Harry.) Come in! 
 
The Ranch Girl. 23 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Harry, panting hard. 
 
 Winnie. Been running? — and what is the matter? 
 
 Harry. Was walking with three of my friends. We saw a horse 
 with a halter. In fun, I mounted him then; and then he began 
 to run. I had no sort of a pull; and he failed to understand my 
 language. All of a sudden a set of cowboys appeared. They 
 shouted, and chased, and shot, till, at last, I dodged in behind 
 yonder grove, jumped off, and came here. They may follow me. 
 
 Winnie. Yes, is danger — must hide. 
 
 Harry. But where? 
 
 Winnie (opening the door at Left Second). In here. If you hear 
 them coming, get under my dresses that hang in the closet. 
 
 (Harry enters the room at Left Second and Winnie shuts its door.) 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Winnie (to Foodle). And what were they shooting at, Foodie? 
 
 Foodle. The boys were chasin' a feller. 
 
 Winnie. What kind of fellow? 
 
 Foodle. A feller that tried to run off on a horse. 
 
 Winnie. Did he get it? 
 
 Foodle. Not he! — he jumped off it; and left it out here in the 
 
 grove. 
 Winnie. Their chase is over then, eh? 
 Foodle. Is over? — No, not by a long shot! The boys want their 
 
 fun. 
 Winnie. What fun? 
 Foodle. Why, stringin' him up. 
 Winnie. How so? 
 
 Foodle. The way that you folks call hangin'. 
 Winnie. But why should they hang this man? 
 Foodle. It's allers the thing out here to do to those fellers. 
 Winnie. What fellows? 
 Foodle. The kind as they allers hangs. 
 Winnie. But who and what are the kind? 
 
 Foodle. And you never heard tell of the fellers they allers hangs? 
 Winnie. No, never. 
 
 Foodle. The fellers as steals our horses. 
 Winnie. But he didn't steal one. You have it. 
 Foodle. But he wanted to, all the same! Oh, no one can blame 
 
 the boys. They are used to that sort of sport. Besides they get 
 
 all the clothes the man has on him. To them the best of the 
 
 bundle's the wrappin'. 
 Winnie. My brother would never permit a man to be hung on 
 
 his ranch. 
 Foodle. But when he is catched in the act! — It has to be done, 
 
 you know ! 
 Winnie. And you think that that can be right? 
 Foodle. Oh, no; not think it! I knows it. 
 
24 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Three Cowboys. 
 
 Winnie (to Foodle). And what do these men want in here? 
 
 Foodle. They think that the man must have hid. 
 
 Winnie. Have they looked in the barn? 
 
 Foodle. Not yet. 
 
 Winnie. Why not? — Why, under the hay — there are plenty of 
 
 places out there to hide, and be gone before this. 
 Cowboy. There be ! 
 Other Cowboy. There be! 
 Foodle. Just so! 
 
 Exeunt — Right Second — Cowboys and Foodle. 
 
 Winnie (coming to Left Second and opening door). For heaven's 
 sake, what shall we do ? — They will all be back in a minute. 
 
 Harry (appearing at the door). Could I put on one of your 
 dresses? I happen to have in my pocket a wig (putting his wig 
 on). Am a vaudeville actor. 
 
 Winnie. Why, yes; and exactly the thing! We are all expecting 
 a girl — a servant-girl here from the station. Dress up in that 
 old woolen gown (pointing to the left, as if to something inside 
 the room). Is too warm to be worn by me here, so Foodle has 
 never yet seen it. And, when you come out, remember that 
 Foodle, and all the others have got to believe you a woman. 
 (Exit — Left Second — Harry.) (Continuing to herself.) And if 
 they should find him out, I should simply be forced to tell them 
 I know him, and know him to be not a thief but rich, very rich, 
 and that, if they let him off, my brother and I will not, 
 till we, and all of them, too, have been given a mint of money. 
 Where we all are creatures of dust, thank God that the dust 
 holds gold, — a gleam to hypnotize thoughts that are dazzled by 
 light that it brings, and grow dazed and blind to all else. (She 
 rushes to the drawer in the table backing at Left Center.) 
 Hang him? — Here's the key? (Taking the key from her pocket 
 she opens the drawer, takes out the pistols and examines them.) 
 All loaded ! Twelve shots, and only four men. (Puts the belt 
 containing the pistols around her, but under her apron, so that 
 it cannot be seen.) Let them dare to attempt to hang him! — 
 But before I shot, I should — yes, I should swear to them that 
 I love him. The men who oppose a man will sometimes yield to 
 a woman. The toughest of them can be wounded, like crocodiles, 
 through the eye. This gives almost any young woman a chance, 
 where a man would fail. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Winnie. Our girl is here with us, Foodle. 
 
 Foodle. Our girl? 
 
 Winnie. Our servant-girl, yes. 
 
 Foodle. She footed it here from the station? 
 
The Ranch Girl. 25 
 
 Winnie. Oh, no, caught a ride, she said. 
 
 Foodle {evidently skeptical, because of the hour of the day). On 
 
 an antelope, eh? 
 Winnie. Oh, no ! — the train was early — an extra ! 
 Foodle. Should think that it were, and you, you is not afeared of 
 
 her, — what? — am certain you know whom she are? 
 Winnie {lifting her apron, and exhibiting the pistols). I shall soon 
 
 make her understand which one is the mistress here. But, of 
 
 course, you must wait close by, and be sure to come if I call you. 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Harry, dressed as a maid, wearing his wig 
 and an attenuated skirt. 
 
 Winnie. Oh, here is our girl — our Hannah ! {Introducing her to 
 Foodle). And here is our man — our Foodle. (Harry and 
 Foodle bozv to one another.) 
 
 Cries heard in the distance of O Foodle, Foodle, Foodle! 
 
 Winnie {to Foodle). They want you out at the barn, — to open 
 the bins, perhaps. {Speaking with an assumed air of great con- 
 fidence in him.) You must not be away too long. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Winnie {to Harry). You will have to help me, now, or Foodle 
 will come back soon, and suspect and detect us both. {She looks 
 at Harry, and playfully lifts her apron and shakes the pistols at 
 him. ) 
 
 Harry. I wish I had had those pistols; or had not left mine be- 
 hind me. — But no; I should not have been here. {To WiNNiE.) 
 I have heard of arms before round a woman's waist ; but, bless 
 me, if ever I dreamed — 
 
 Winnie. Be silent. I have saved your life — have a right to your 
 gratitude. 
 
 Harry. Have you? Boo hoo ! {Shivering.) 
 
 Winnie. {In solicitude.) You are shivering, then? Are you 
 cold? 
 
 Harry. {Looking at his exposed arms and ankles.) Am not used 
 to being exposed — am bashful. It makes me tremble. 
 
 Winnie. When the child of our brain gives us trouble, we must 
 send him out into service. {Puts a large washpan on the table, at 
 center of stage, and puts soiled dishes in it.) 
 
 Harry. You mean if people be lazy they forget themselves the 
 most, when they seem surrounded by work. 
 
 Winnie. {Pointing to the washpan and the dishes.) Here, now, 
 you can clean these dishes. I suppose you are used to it, eh? 
 
 Harry. Oh, yes ; whenever I eat, I always clean the dishes. 
 
 Winnie. Well, go then, and get the water. {Points to pail with 
 water and dipper near the place of Left Third Entrance. Harry 
 
26 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 begins to walk rapidly to and fro, carrying water in the dipper 
 from the pail to the dish.) 
 
 Winnie. (Laughing, as she watches him.) Do you think that I 
 want you to train for a walking-match? — 
 
 Harry. Why — 
 
 Winnie. Then why not bring the whole pail at once? 
 
 Harry. What then is the need of the dipper? (He rushes for the 
 pail, brings it to the front of the table, and sets it on the floor so 
 violently that it splashes over.) 
 
 Winnie. See how you have spilled it; look! (Harry lifts the 
 pail to pour from it into the pan.) Not that way ! See how it 
 drips. You must use the dipper now. 
 
 Harry. (Putting down the pail, and taking the dipper, and -flourish- 
 ing it.) A sort of Indian club for the arms — but not for the 
 legs. 
 
 Winnie. And not for a sprinkler, either ! — You take it for holy 
 water, and this for a church? 
 
 Harry. (Bowing down, as he puts the dipper in the pail.) Why 
 not? — My service is just beginning. (He lifts the dipper, pour- 
 ing the water into the pan that is on the table.) 
 
 Winnie. Wait, wait! — It will all be cold. You must get the hot 
 water now from the kettle there. (Pointing toward the stove. 
 Harry rushes to it, and takes the kettle by its handle, then drops 
 it, and dances about blozving his fingers.) Come, come! No 
 place for dancing here ! but for serious work. 
 
 Harry. Yes, yes. I should think so — seared my fingers. They are 
 looking like autumn leaves. 
 
 Winnie. Oh, burned your fingers, have you? — You ought to have 
 used the holder. (Handing him the holder from the table near 
 the place of Left Second Entrance.) 
 
 Harry. Ah, that way ! Yes, I see. So, so ; that is easy enough ! 
 (He takes the tea-kettle to the table, and pours the hot water 
 into the wash-pan, but awkwardly, letting the kettle swing round 
 and burn the hand that is holding it.) 
 
 Winnie. It is? 
 
 Harry. No, no ! it is fearful ! (Suddenly placing the kettle on the 
 white table cloth, and burning it.) 
 
 Winnie. (Snatching up the kettle without using the holder, and 
 pointing to the table-cloth.) You are right. I should think it 
 was! — You have ruined it now forever. (She pours the water 
 from the kettle into the zvash-pan. While she is doing this, Harry 
 notices that he still holds the holder. He offers it to her. She 
 shakes her head refusing it, then feels the water in the wash- 
 pan.) Just warm enough, I think! (She replaces the kettle on 
 the stove.) 
 
 Harry. (Looking at the holder in his hand, then at her; then cau- 
 tiously feeling the water in the wash-pan, and suddenly drawing 
 his hand back.) Are you a salamander? 
 
 Winnie. (Looking around from the stove, shaking her head and 
 laughing.) No; you are a goosy-gander. 
 
The Ranch Girt. 27 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Foodle. Some strangers out here, Miss Lorn. They says as they 
 wants to see you. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Second — Winnie and Foodle. 
 
 Harry. (To himself.) Aha, Miss Lorn, I seem (several times, 
 as if experimenting puts hand in water and draws it out sud- 
 denly) to be getting into hot-water. Our game of hide and seek 
 may turn to a game of tag. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodle, who moves toward the Left Upper 
 Entrance, also Winnie and First, Second and Third Singers. 
 The Singers exchange signals of recognition with Harry, but they 
 seem not to have full confidence in Winnie. 
 
 Exit — Left Upper — Foodle. 
 
 Winnie (to Harry). I have found a traveling band of singers 
 outside. They are going to give me a song for their dinner. 
 
 SINGERS SING. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Ah, boys, when we fill our glasses, 
 We may drink to whatever else passes, 
 But whenever we quaff to life's better half, 
 We must always drink to the lasses. 
 
 (During the chorus, and the following interlude, Harry begins to 
 dance. The Singers start out to join in his fun by dancing 
 with him.) 
 
 Singer. You may journey to Nice or to Paris 
 
 For a cough that a song may embarrass; 
 
 But the air of the West is the freshest and best; 
 
 And the sweetest, the air of its heiress. 
 
 Chorus: The sweetest the air of its heiress; 
 Ah, boys, when we fill our glasses, etc. 
 
 (While Dancing, Harry slaps one of the Singers on the shoulder, 
 or puts his arm around him. The Singer sings the next stanza.) 
 
 Singer. There was a lone man on a May-day, 
 He came to the wilds of a hey-day; 
 But when he got there, instead of a bear, 
 He found himself hugged by a la-dy. 
 
 Chorus: He found himself hugged by a la-dy. 
 Ah, boys, when we fill our glasses, etc. 
 
2& The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Harry. There was a young man that I know, 
 Who cried for a "Westward Ho." 
 Because his yeast he had left in the east, 
 And he wanted a po-ta-to. 
 
 Chorus: He wanted a po-ta-to. 
 
 Ah, boys, when we fill our glasses, etc. 
 
 (Other verses suited to the times may be introduced.) 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — Foodle. He looks suspiciously at Harry.) 
 
 Foodle. (To Winnie.) They can wash up now, if they wants to. 
 
 (Winnie leads the Singers to the door at Left Upper Entrance. 
 Harry takes the hand-towel hanging near the Left Upper En- 
 trance, and, shrinking from the heat of the water, draws a plate 
 from the wash-pan, rubs the plate, looks at it, and makes motions 
 of writing on it with his Unger.) 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Upper — The Singers. 
 
 Winnie. (Coming toward Harry.) And what is the matter now? 
 
 Harry. I was thinking about this plate. One thinks when he 
 writes, does he not? 
 
 Winnie. Some write because their thoughts are running out of 
 their brain. 
 
 Harry. (Shozving her the grease-lines on the plate.) But look — 
 it is very strange ! 
 
 Winnie. Oh, no ; it is very common ! 
 
 Harry. In a climate like this, I suppose, so many things sweat — 
 
 Winnie. Better say there are so many things that are lazy. 
 (Pointing to plate.) It has not been half rubbed yet. 
 
 Harry. (Looking incredulous, then feeling the muscles of his 
 arm.) Well, I would rather — 
 
 Winnie. Be hung? — Why, what is this that you have? — The hand- 
 towel, as I live! (Taking from him the tczvel that he has been 
 using, then giving it back to him and pointing to a slop-pail on 
 the floor.) Come here, wring it out over this. (Harry tries 
 awkwardly to wring it.) You awkward! Wring it in this way. 
 (She zvrings it, and hands it back to him.) 
 
 Harry. (Trying to imitate her, but not succeeding.) In this way, 
 you say? 
 
 Winnie. Tut, tut! I shall have to do it myself. Meantime, you 
 can help get ready the rice for dinner. (She takes the towel from 
 him, and hanging it where it hung before, points to the dish 
 containing rice zvhich is on the shelf near the place of the Right 
 Third Entrance.) 
 
 Harry. How much? 
 
The Ranch Girl. 29 
 
 Winnie. (Crossing to the other side of the room and arranging 
 something.) Enough for a dinner for six. 
 
 Harry. Humph, humph! At last I have something I know how 
 to do. Let me see — they have few things else to feed on. Sup- 
 pose I give each a bowl-full. (Looks at the rice as if he thought 
 there were very little of it; then pours it all into an empty can 
 and pours water over it.) 
 
 Winnie. (Returning and looking into the pan in which he has 
 put the rice.) Why, what in the world are you doing? 
 
 Harry. Getting ready the rice. 
 
 Winnie. You think we feed all the cattle on rice? 
 
 Harry. Why should I? 
 
 Winnie. You think you must boil all that for only six people? 
 
 Harry. Yes, nevertheless. 
 
 Winnie. If you were better acquainted with rice, you would know 
 how much it could swell. 
 
 Harry. Could swell? — I thought that rice was very simple in 
 taste. I never dreamed of finding a swell in it — How could I? 
 
 (Winnie puts a pan on another chair, which she draws near the 
 chair on which is the pan filled with rice and water. Then she 
 goes to the closet near the place of Left Third Entrance and 
 takes from it a sieve -ladle. While she is doing this, Harry begins 
 with his hands scooping the rice out of one pan and into the 
 other, all the while spilling water on the floor.) 
 
 Winnie. (Returning with the sieve, and looking at the wet floor.) 
 If I am a salamander, I take it that you are a fish. You expect 
 me to wade like a crane? Take this here and scrub the floor. 
 (She flings onto the floor the towel near the Left Upper Entrance. 
 Harry looks at the towel dubiously. She laughs.) I must teach 
 you housekeeping now. Get down on your knees. 
 
 Harry. Is that the way to begin it? 
 
 Winnie. (Laughing.) Yes. 
 
 Harry. (Getting on his knees and looking mockingly at her.) 
 I had heard so ; and what do you say ? 
 
 Winnie. Impertinent ! — Have a care ! 
 
 (Sounds of disputing voices are heard.) 
 
 Harry. (Rising.) I have — but I think for you. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodi.e. 
 
 Foodle. Them boys as has searched the barn is a comin' to search 
 
 in here; and they swears to get at the grog. 
 Winnie. But, Foodie, they must be stopped. 
 Foodle. That is easier said than done. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Harry. What is it? 
 
 Winnie. (To Harry). He says that the boys are coming to get 
 at the whiskey. And my brother, when going away, said that this 
 was the one chief thing that we must prevent their doing, 
 
30 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Harry. And where do you keep the whiskey? 
 
 Winnie. (Pointing to the closet near Left Center.) In there, 
 and the keys in my pocket. (She shows the keys.) 
 
 Harry. You keep them, and give me the pistols. (He takes the 
 two pistols from her belt.) If I had had these before, the boys 
 might never have chased me (turning to one side, cocking the 
 pistols, and speaking to himself) ; nor I, perhaps, have been 
 caught. 
 
 Winnie. (Evidently alarmed.) Be careful. They might go off. - 
 
 Harry. Afraid of them, eh? — then your fright for me must have 
 been very great, when you put them on ! — I thank you. (Mainly 
 to himself, as he examines the pistols.) Let them break up our 
 tete-a-tete here, I never could hit a barn door; but I guess, by 
 the time we get through, we shall scatter a lot of darn bores ! 
 
 Winnie. I must call the singers to help you. 
 
 Exit — Left Upp £T— Winn ie. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Cowboys, followed by Foodle. 
 
 Harry (to the Cowboys). Well, men, and what do you want? 
 Cowboy. We are'comin' here after some grog. 
 
 Enter— Left Upper — Winnie. 
 
 Harry. And if you return to your quarters, perhaps you will get 
 
 it, — that is, if the lady in charge here will give it. 
 Leader. Oh, ho! Well you ain't no lady. (Makes motions as if 
 
 to go toward the closet at Left Center in front of which stands 
 
 Winnie) . 
 Harry. I am not, but she is. If you take a single step further, 
 
 I shoot. (He points both pistols at the men. At the same 
 
 moment.) 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — The Singers. 
 
 (They pull out pistols and point them at the Cowboys.) 
 
 curtain. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 31 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene: The same as in Act II. The curtain rising reveals the 
 First, Second and Third Singers sitting around the table, and 
 Foodle near the Right Second Entrance. 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Harry. 
 
 {He is clothed like a woman, as in the latter part of Act II, 
 and carries in his hands the man's suit worn by him in the 
 earlier part of that Act.) 
 
 Harry (to Foodle). Here, Foodie, these are the things that Miss 
 Lorn thought ought to be cleaned. They are dirty, no doubt of 
 it! — Humph! I had a hard ride. Hurry up! I want to get out 
 of this gender (looking at himself) as quick as I can. 
 
 Foodle (taking the man's suit). All right, sir. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Harry (to the Singers, as he looks at his own attire). The one 
 thing no man can do, is to outstrip a woman in dressing. Not 
 so anxious, perhaps, to be an angel, and put on airs, when these 
 drafts that we feel on earth have drafted us up to heaven. No 
 wonder, the women surpass us in not getting hard or tipsy. 
 Truth is they are tough by nature, and get tight in ways and 
 stays — I wonder if squeezing the blood keeps it warm. That 
 might explain why their arms and necks never freeze. (Gestur- 
 ing toward his legs, breast and arms, and walking about.) I feel 
 like a turkey-gobbler hung up in front of a shop, with neck and 
 wings and legs all plucked, and what feathers are left, bunched 
 up in a tuft at the middle. It is all like a goblin-dream— a dream 
 in a German hotel, with an eiderdown pillow that covers one's 
 trunk, and leaves his limbs all raying out toward the frost to be 
 warmed by his fervor of speech and a wish to get at that German 
 —though, at least, we must give him credit for never lying, by 
 calling that pillow a comfortable. (Putting his hand to his waist 
 and breast, then trying to bring two separated sides of his dress at 
 the waist together.) No, no; it is not becoming. It never will 
 be coming. But some one else is, I guess. (Looking toward 
 Left Upper Entrance, and making an awkward pose before the 
 mirror.) No wonder she always meets me with a smile on her 
 face. The mirror is always doing the same. 
 
 Enter— Left Upper— Winnie. 
 
 (The Singers rise. She brings a tray holding a pitcher and four 
 glasses. She places them on the table, and, apparently, pours out 
 lemonade..) 
 
 The Singers gather round her, and drink. 
 
 First Singer. We ought to be leaving, Miss Lorn. You are not 
 prepared for keeping a boarding-house. 
 
32 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Winnie. But my brother would wish you to wait till he came. 
 The cowboys, you know — 
 
 First Singer. They never would fight with the four of us, would 
 they? No danger for Harry, I think! 
 
 Harry. But what of the danger for her? The cowboys are here, 
 and the grog; and if we were gone — 
 
 First Singer. I see. Of course, we ought to stay on. 
 
 Winnie (shrugging her shoulders) . If you need to be going — 
 
 First Singer. Not yet. We promised to sing you that song. 
 (The Singers sing some popular chorus.) 
 
 Winnie. I thank you so much % If ad I . nothing to do, I could 
 listen all day. (She places the' pitcher and glasses on the tray, 
 and starts with it toward the Left Upper Entrance. Harry fol- 
 lows, and opens the door. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Upper — Winnie and Harry. 
 
 First Singer (looking after them). Since Harry put on that dress, 
 I have fallen in love with him, fellows. 
 
 Second Singer. How is it with some one else? 
 
 First Singer. Better ask how is it with him ! Were he not en- 
 gaged to Betsy, I should say he had fallen in love. 
 
 Second Singer. But, of course, that could not be, — any more than 
 if he were married! w 
 
 First Singer. That may seem a joke to you; but Harry is too con- 
 scientious,— would never propose to an angel, if, before he got sight 
 of her, he had promised to marry Betsy. 
 
 Third Singer. I think we ought to get out, and give them a chance 
 
 Second Singer (pointing to the right). Suppose we go over there 
 to the shed — has a table and bench, — just the thing for a game 
 of cards. What say you? 
 
 Third Singer. Say yes. 
 
 First Singer. Yes, give them a chance! 
 
 Exeunt — Right Second — The three Singers. 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — Harry and Winnie. 
 
 (Winnie locks the door, and puts the key in her pocket.) 
 Winnie. When we go out for a walk, I have to leave this locked. 
 Our provisions are all in here. (She takes her hat from one of 
 the pegs, as if to put it on; then goes to the window at the Right 
 Center, and, pointing out, says:) I like to watch the sheep com- 
 ing home — a beautiful sight ! At first you notice they look like 
 a low, stone fence on the top of the distant hill ; and then flock 
 on till the whole of the hill is gray as a ledge of marble ; but 
 when nearer they look like a wedge. Last night I rode out on a 
 donkey; and, when I had met them and turned, they all ran 
 sweeping behind me, like the white and spreading train of a long 
 trailed wedding dress. 
 Harry. It is not the first time, my lady, that a donkey's bridle 
 has led a wedding train on toward a halter. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 33 
 
 Winnie. Does everything seem to you ridiculous? 
 
 Harry. Oh, no ; some things are not like myself. 
 
 Winnie. Are you so? 
 
 Harry {looking at himself in the mirror). Do you think me any- 
 thing else? But, of course, I ought to seem so. I am so sincere. 
 
 Winnie. So what? 
 
 Harry. So what I said, sincere. The ridiculous is the incon- 
 gruous. In society, as we all know, sincerity is incongruous ; 
 and so, if only sincere, we shall seem ridiculous, too. 
 
 Winnie. I had thought that it was your gown. 
 
 Harry. You could think the same of the gown of a priest, a 
 judge, or professor; it may be ridiculous, yet helps most men to 
 think them sincere. 
 
 Winnie. I must think that, too, then, of you. 
 
 Harry. You must — so little to hide in ! They say the style is the 
 man. I am wondering whether my style could ever make me a 
 woman. {Looking into the mirror.) I am no more graceful in 
 this than I was when I had on more. 
 
 Winnie. One has to learn to be graceful. 
 
 Harry. And I have never learned it, have I? — Do you think, if 
 I kept right on exposing myself like this till my blushes had heated 
 me through, in spite of where I was bagged, I should take on 
 grace, at last, as a bag-pudding takes on a crust? 
 
 Winnie. Oh, no; no man can be crusty and graceful! One has 
 to keep moving. {Making movements with her hands and arms.) 
 
 Harry {evidently charmed by her movements). And yielding, you 
 think? — Go on! You must have practiced Delsarte. Go on, and 
 teach me to do it. {Music of the orchestra, while Winnie makes 
 Delsarte gymnastic movements, and Harry tries awkzuardly to 
 imitate her.) 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Foodle. Oh, Miss; it is raining just like a thousand o' bricks — 
 not here but upon yon hill; and a man and a couple o' women is 
 comin' a-drivin' a-down the hill, like a boulder rolled by a 
 cyclone — 
 
 Winnie. How soon will they get here? 
 
 Foodle. Close by ; and all wet through to the skin ! 
 
 Winnie. They must come right in then; and, Foodle, you see to 
 their horses, of course. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 Harry {starting to follozv Foodle). I must change my clothes. 
 Winnie. Too late ! They will see you in both your suits. 
 Harry. Then what shall! do? 
 
 Winnie {laughing). What do? — behave yourself — like a woman. 
 Harry. It was well enough with the singers; but these that are 
 
 coming are neighbors. Will it do for me to be found with you 
 
 dressed up like this? 
 Winnie. You need not expose yourself. 
 
H The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Harry (looking at his arms and neck). Could I be exposed much 
 
 more? 
 Winnie (laughing). They never would know what you were. 
 Harry (looking into the mirror and adjusting his wig). I never 
 
 should know myself. (Speaking falsetto.) Shall I speak to them 
 
 high like this? 
 Winnie (laughing). Oh, nonsense! You might forget, and drop 
 
 — and break — your voice. 
 Harry. And so reveal the baseness of the lower range for which 
 
 alone such as I am fitted. (Placing his hand on his breast.) My 
 
 female aspirations, or, say, my respirations, must not forget they 
 
 are stayed; and so must needs preserve the even tenor — 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Foodle, leaving door behind him open. 
 
 Confusion! It is Betsy, Alice and Gall. 
 Foodle. (To the party outside the door.) Just tumble along in, 
 Misses ; this tub of ourn, as I reckon, can hold you, water and all. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Betsy, Alice and Gall. Foodle goes on to 
 Gall. 
 
 And you, if you wants to strip, just peel off there in the yard. 
 
 Gall (to Foodle). Is Lorn not here? 
 Foodle. Not today — has gone off to catch some raiders. 
 Gall. Then don't you tell the ladies that this ranch belongs to him ; 
 because I want to surprise them when we come to see him later. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
 
 (Betsy, Alice and Gall move toward the stove.) 
 
 Betsy. (Gesturing toward Foodle.) An exceeding vulgar crea- 
 ture! — a very low set, here, I guess. 
 
 Alice. (Looking toward Winnie and Harry.) Sh — sh! — They 
 might overhear you. 
 
 Betsy. (Sarcastically and petulantly.) They might? — and what if 
 they did? (Winnie and Harry place chairs about the stove.) 
 
 Winnie. Take seats? 
 
 Harry. And dry yourselves. 
 
 Betsy. (Looking sharply at Harry, then seating herself and speak- 
 ing to Alice, who seats herself in the chair held by Winnie.) 
 No wonder they send out here for monstrosities for our museums ! 
 
 Alice. Sh — sh ! — 
 
 Betsy. Why, what did I say? I was talking, you know, about 
 cattle. 
 
 Harry. (To himself, while crossing to rear of the table at center 
 of the stage, where he busies himself with crockery and listens.) 
 I am not to be flattered by her; but, at least, can flatter myself 
 that my true self has not been revealed. 
 
 Gall (to Betsy). The storm is over, I see. Would we better be 
 riding on? Our climate is dryer than yours. You will not take 
 cold, I guess. 
 
The Ranch Girt. . 35 
 
 Betsy. Men's guesses are like their gifts. I have found they are 
 
 often bait on a hook and line thrown out to draw inward toward 
 
 themselves. I suppose you want to go on. 
 Gall. Well, Betsy, and what if I do? 
 Betsy. You have lived here so long, I presume, you are dry and 
 
 crusty enough to escape being all soaked through by a week of 
 
 floods. But for me — 
 Alice. Oh, Betsy, but now, you know — 
 Betsy. It turned out, precisely the way that I said that it would, 
 
 this morning. The clouds were gathering then. And yet you 
 
 both would come. 
 Alice. You wanted to see the cascade far more than / did, Betsy. 
 Betsy. Oh, yes, of course, of course ! I am always the one to 
 
 blame. 
 Gall. If you prefer, we will stay. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Gall, bowing first to Winnie and Alice. 
 
 Winnie. If you will excuse me, ladies, I will look in one of my 
 trunks and find, if I can, a change of clothing for you. 
 
 Exit — Left Second — Winnie. 
 
 Harry. (To himself.) Good grief! And when the clothing ar- 
 rives. I fear I may blush to see it. 
 Alice. (To Betsy, as she looks around the room). What a cozy, 
 
 snug little place? 
 Betsy. A cozy and snug! I should think so. It smells just like a 
 
 hired girl's room. 
 Harry. (Aside.) She is on the scent for me now. 
 Alice. (To Betsy.) Why will you always be thinking of such 
 
 unsavory things? 
 Harry. (To himself). Is she always thinking of me? 
 Betsy. Dear me ! 
 
 Harry. (To himself.) I see it. She is. 
 Betsy. (To Alice). Dear me! Humph! "Why will you always?" 
 
 — a characteristic question. 
 Alice. Why, Betsy, I beg your pardon — you know I meant no 
 
 offense. 
 Betsy. The mean are mean without meaning. You might talk, 
 
 at least, ten minutes without insulting some one. 
 Harry. (To himself.) Oho! — Rather sharp, Miss Betsy! — If one 
 
 had a phonograph now to catch and shoot back your words, the 
 
 insult might not come from Alice. 
 Alice. (To Betsy.) But, Betsy, I merely thought the suggestion 
 
 was not the most pleasant. 
 Betsy. Blame the room that suggested it then; but, likely enough, 
 
 not to you. I was not brought up as you were. 
 Alice. Our house was smaller than yours ; but my mother, I think, 
 
 was a lady. 
 Betsy. (Sarcastically.) And mine, I suppose, was not! At least, 
 
 I was taught to be clean. 
 
36 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Alice. You could hardly expect things here to be just as they are 
 
 in New York. We came because they were not so. 
 Betsy. Oh, yes, my fault, always mine ! Heaven knows I will not 
 
 come again. 
 Alice. What, what? — not if Harry came with you? 
 Harry. (Who lias evidently been getting more and more provoked, 
 
 to himself.) The Old Harry always comes with her. 
 Betsy. You think, I suppose, I am just as silly as you — 
 Alice. I should scarcely say being in love was silly. 
 Betsy. You are perfectly well aware that if I am anything, Alice, 
 
 1 am sensible — practical, too. 
 Alice. And I — did I hint you were not? 
 Betsy. You implied it, at least; and you know that Harry is rich; 
 
 very rich ; and easily managed, besides ; and so, a sensible match — 
 Harry. (To himself.) That presently may strike fire. I begin to 
 
 feel like a boy who is going to school to be licked. Is that the 
 
 way our brides kiss us? (Makes a movement with his tongue.) 
 Alice. Of course it is; and I said so — that you were in love with 
 
 him. 
 Betsy. Humph! But that is a different thing. 
 Harry. (To himself.) What my old school-marm used to say, 
 
 when trying to make me spell. 
 Alice. (To Betsy.) But he is in love with you. 
 Betsy. That, too, is a different thing. 
 Harry. (To himself.) Oh, my! — but this school-marm here seems 
 
 trying to break me spell. 
 Alice. (To Betsy.) He thinks you in love with him, too. 
 Betsy. (To Alice.) And what if he does think that? Give a 
 
 woman a pair of eyes and bring almost any man near her, he will 
 
 see his image inside them, an image exceedingly small, an image, 
 
 too, upside down. But a man never saw any image inside those 
 
 eyes but his own. 
 Harry. (To himself.) The devil! — could see his own there. 
 Alice. (To Betsy.) It is well for you, Miss Betsy, that Harry 
 
 did not hear that. 
 Harry. (To himself.) And well for him that he did. 
 Betsy. And what if he did? I tell you one beck with my little 
 
 finger, and Harry would kneel here — 
 Harry. (Whistling.) Whew! 
 Betsy. Did you hear that woman whistle? — the most disagreeable 
 
 thing! Such eyes, and mouth, and nose. — And such a voice, too, 
 
 ugh, ugh ! One would fancy her born and cradled out here on a 
 
 ranch, and forever asleep on it, catching cold, and every night 
 
 growing hoarser by snoring. 
 Alice. Sh — sh! — Why she can hear you; and you — you might hurt 
 
 her feelings. 
 Betsy. (Laughing sarcastically.) Then why should she listen? 
 Harry. (To himself.) To have rare dreams of the future. I 
 
 fancy that now I am wedded and dressed even less than I am, 
 
 attending my evening lecture. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 37 
 
 Alice. (To Betsy.) But you and I are to stay here; and she 
 might not wait on us. 
 
 Betsy. Oh! How much you do know about servants! — Will show 
 y 0U . — (To Harry.) — Here, girl, come here and help me off with 
 my gown. I will pay you for it, you know. (Betsy rises. Harry 
 looks at her zvithout moving. She continues to Alice.) Did you 
 ever see mortal so stupid? 
 
 Alice. Perhaps she is deaf. I hope so; and so has not overheard. 
 (Harry turns to Left Upper Entrance and tries the door, which 
 is locked.) 
 
 Betsy. Instead of coming to us, she seems to be going away. 
 
 Harry. (To himself.) Door locked? (Looking toward Left Sec- 
 ond.) I suppose she is making some change of her own in 
 there. 
 
 Betsy (speaking loud, as if to a deaf person). Come here, do you 
 understand me? — Come here, and unhook my gown. 
 
 Harry. (To himself, as he turns and feels in the drawer under 
 the closed closet backing at Left Center.) Could I only find the 
 key, I would take out a bottle and sip, and pretend to be drunk. 
 
 Alice. (To Betsy.) Oh, Betsy! We could do the thing for our- 
 selves, in half the time it would take to try to get her to do it. 
 
 Betsy. Well, I have begun with this girl, and I propose to carry it 
 through. We shall see how deaf she may be. Come here, and 
 take off my gown ! (She goes up to Harry and takes his hand, 
 as if to carry it to the neck of her gown.) 
 
 Harry. If I take off your gown, I shall peel the skin off with it, 
 too, I shall; and make you, from head to foot, as red as a beet, 
 I shall. 
 
 (Alice in fright rises and moves toward Right Second Entrance.) 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Gall. 
 
 Betsy. (Catching sight of Gall, and thereupon becoming bold.) 
 
 You ugly, insolent creature ! — You know no better than that ? — 
 
 To talk like that to a lady ? — 
 Harry. Oh, a lady, are you, a lady! 
 Betsy. A lady, yes, from New York. 
 Harry. (Bowing and speaking sarcastically.) I am glad that you 
 
 told me of that. I should never have guessed it, never. I was 
 
 not brought up as you were — not used to your lady-like ways. 
 Betsy. Not used to it, eh? take this! (Slapping Harry on the 
 
 cheek.) 
 Alice. Oh, Betsy, Betsy, stop ! — You will get us all into trouble. 
 Betsy. Who cares a fig if I do? (Looking at Gall, who also 
 
 seems to protest.) I say I shall make that woman take off my 
 
 gown, I shall. 
 Enter — Left Second — Winnie. 
 
 Harry. (Suddenly pulling off his wig.) You will not. You shall 
 
 keep it on. 
 (Betsy shrieks and sinks into a chair. Alice and Winnie rush to 
 
 assist her.) 
 
 curtain. 
 
38 The Ranch Girl 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene: Same as in Act I. 
 
 (The curtain rising, discloses Harry and the First, Second and 
 Third Singers. They are sitting or standing around the table 
 where they have, evidently, been eating or drinking.) 
 
 First Singer. I like to get back where I have been. 
 
 Harry. You never can get back there, the world keeps whirling 
 
 around, and grinding out something new. 
 First Singer. There is nothing new here. 
 Harry. Who knows? 
 
 First Singer. The mountains, at least, are the same. 
 Second Singer. And their echoes. 
 Third Singer. Come, start them again. 
 
 they sing: 
 
 Our lives are vapors forced to roam, 
 
 Of sun and storm the prey; 
 But cling like mists, with hills their home, 
 
 Together while they may. 
 
 Chorus: And friends, whate'er may come to you, 
 Join hand and voice with mine, 
 And swear the love that here we knew, 
 Shall never know decline. 
 
 Our lives are vapors, whirled through skies, 
 
 Where some by storms are torn, 
 And some the sunlight glorifies, 
 
 And some to heaven are borne. 
 
 Chorus: But friends, whate'er may come to you, etc. 
 
 Our lives are vapors wrecked and lost. 
 
 None sail their journey through. 
 Ere long behind some blow that tost, 
 
 Will naught be left but blue. 
 
 Chorus: But friends, whate'er may come to you, etc. 
 
 First Singer. We must wait a full hour, I find. Suppose that we 
 
 take a walk. 
 Second Singer. A good suggestion! 
 Third Singer. Yes. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Second — The three Singers. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 39 
 
 Enter— Right Third— Winnie. 
 
 Harry {turning to Winnie). You have come? 
 
 Winnie. I said that we should. {Handing him a package which 
 she holds.) The letters you left on the ranch were not lost 
 after all. My brother had put them in one of his pockets. I 
 have brought them to you. 
 
 Harry {taking the letters and putting them into his pocket). I 
 thank you; and more for your riding so far to bid us good-bye. 
 
 Winnie. The thanks are due from us, not from you. 
 
 Harry. How so? 
 
 Winnie. For saving the ranch from the boys when they wanted 
 the whiskey. 
 
 Harry. It was you that had first saved me. And, Miss Lorn, do 
 you know I am thinking that you have been saving me, too, not 
 alone from those threatening men, but threatening — 
 
 Winnie. What ? 
 
 Harry. No matter! Had you heard that I was engaged? 
 
 Winnie. Mr. Gall has told" me about it. 
 
 Harry. And told you who was the lady? 
 
 Winnie. His neice, he said — Miss Blinder. 
 
 Harry. But you know the row that we had? 
 
 Winnie. We ought not to talk about her. 
 
 Harry. But you were the one to blame. 
 
 Winnie. But I — I had no means — 
 
 Harry. I got — nothing mean from you — were responsible never- 
 theless. 
 
 Winnie. For what? 
 
 Harry. My appearance in skirts. You know how it mortified me. 
 Can that which is mortified live? — Is it strange, if my love felt 
 widowed? My suit was not a success with her. How was it 
 with you? — Do you understand — with you? {Taking her hand. 
 Winnie draws back.) Do you like me best in — kilts? — I am 
 going away today — may not see you again for years. 
 
 Winnie. Of course, we had a good time; but when you get back 
 to the East, are you perfectly sure that a man of the world like 
 you — 
 
 Habry. I am sure that a man of the world like me should have 
 found all the sport that he wants with gamboling lambs all about 
 and a Paradise — 
 
 Winnie. Joking now! 
 
 Harry. Oh, no; I am not — just try me. I should like to be tried 
 for my life — as the ranch hands threatened; and tied by ranch 
 hands, too, that I know of. {Taking one of her hands in each 
 of his.) 
 
 Winnie. But they set you free. 
 
 Harry. Not so ; they made me a slave. 
 
 Winnie. Not quite. When this whim of yours goes by, I know 
 you will think me wise for checking you now. You have given 
 your heart to Betsy. 
 
40 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Harry. And she has flung it a long way off. 
 Winnie. You try her again. She will take it. 
 Harry. And if she will not, will you? (Minnie hesitates.) If I 
 
 were to find my heart left out in the cold like that, could I come 
 
 and ask you again? 
 Winnie. You know T have promised my brother to stay with him 
 
 here three years. 
 Harry. He would let you off. 
 Winnie. If he should, he is one of those men who needs to have 
 
 some one with him. You see, he is pulling me one way, and 
 
 Betsy is pulling you — 
 Harry. No, not Betsy; she has no pull on me now. 
 Winnie. It seems as if Providence meant that we should be 
 
 parted. 
 Harry. If Betsy be Providence, yes; but that is a dispensation, 
 
 I think, of Providence with which we ourselves can dispense. 
 
 {Enter — Left Second — Foodle.) Well, Foodie? 
 Foodle. It would be a mighty good thing if some of you folks 
 
 could tell which baggage here is your own. 
 
 Exit— Left Second — Foodle. 
 
 Harry. Just what I wanted to know. Come help us to solve the 
 problem. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Second — Winnie and Harry. 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — Gall, with hat and boots, and Alice, in travel- 
 ing costume. 
 
 Alice. I fear that Harry and Betsy will never make up. 
 
 Gall. So do I. When a woman blows out at a man she runs 
 
 about as much chance of not uprooting his love as a cyclone of 
 
 not uprooting a twig it begins to twist. 
 Alice. I have just received a note which shows that our friends 
 
 at home were set on the match. You know that Betsy has 
 
 nothing. 
 Gall. I know; and is likely now to get more of the same com- 
 modity. 
 Alice. Yes; and yet I should like to help the friends at home, if 
 
 I could; or, at least, to say I had tried it. But what can we do? 
 Gall. (Shrugging his shoulders.) Why you, perhaps, you might 
 
 talk to her, Alice. 
 Alice. You think, then, that she would listen? 
 Gall. Of course, always talking herself! — It is hard to blow at 
 
 a gale. We might both of us tackle Merriman. 
 Alice. And both of us might be thrown. 
 Gall. I fear that we might. But there — she is coming, I see ; and 
 
 yonder (looking toward Left Second Entrance) is Merriman, too. 
 
 Suppose you try to blow up the one, while I blow down the other ; 
 
 it may even the temperature, when the two are brought together. 
 
 Exit — Left Second — Gall. 
 
The Ranch Girl. 41 
 
 Enter— Left Upper— -Betsy. 
 
 Betsy. (To Alice.) I thank the heavens, at last, we have 
 
 left that stuffy old ranch; and are nearer to civilization. But, 
 
 for one, I fail to see why they should have followed us here. 
 Alice. Who are they? 
 Betsy. The Lorns. — You know. 
 Alice. What would you have had them do? 
 Betsy. Stay back on the ranch with their cows and sheep and dogs 
 
 and asses, — stay back where they both belong. 
 Alice. But we are about to leave, and they wanted to be polite. 
 Betsy. Some people are always wanting to be the thing they are 
 
 not. They must think me one of those fools who can only judge 
 
 of a man by the way he seems on the surface. 
 Alice. Why so? — You made a mistake about Harry, of course; 
 
 but then — 
 Betsy. What then ? You know there are people whose memories 
 
 act like sinks. You may flush and flood and scrub them. They 
 
 keep on catching and holding what only makes them a nuisance. 
 Alice. And so with me, eh, Betsy? But you ought, yourself, to 
 
 remember that Layton — 
 Betsy. Oh, yes, that Layton came here to see you off, of course! 
 
 No wonder if all he can see in his barn of a home is that sister ! — 
 
 Is one thing I wish you would do. 
 Alice. What is it? 
 
 Betsy. See Harry, and tell him what Layton just told us. 
 Alice. What was it? 
 Betsy. That both of them knew who he was. And you know 
 
 what that means, Alice. They both of them knew he was rich. 
 
 She was flirting with him in the way that a fisherman flirts with 
 
 a fly — just trying to catch him. 
 Alice. Oh, Betsy; but Layton did not mean that! He was merely 
 
 explaining why he was willing that Winnie should know him. 
 Betsy. And marry him, too — for his money! And Harry should 
 
 learn it. 
 Alice. But I could never say that to him. 
 Betsy. Why? 
 Alice. It might not be true, and besides — you know what I think 
 
 of Layton. 
 Betsy. Think more of him than of me. You do; you know that 
 
 you do. 
 
 Enter— Left Upper — Gall. 
 
 Gall. Why, what is the matter? You seem put out. 
 
 Betsy. Yes; I am put out. A dog could hardly feel more so 
 kicked off from his master's doorway, when coming home for 
 a supper. She poses, Miss Alice, here, does, as a cousin, a 
 relative, yes; and yet when I venture to make her the only re- 
 quest as, I think, that I ever have made, she refuses. 
 
 Gall. (Looking toward Alice.) What was it? 
 
42 The Ranch Girl 
 
 Alice. She wanted me, Uncle, to make Mr. Merriman think that 
 Winnie was wanting to wed him because she wanted his money. 
 
 Gall. But how could you know about that? 
 
 Betsy. Why, Layton, he knew him, and told her. 
 
 Gall. Knew what, and he told her what? — any more than you 
 knew, Betsy, when you were engaged to him, eh? 
 
 Betsy. I am still engaged to him, Uncle. 
 
 Gall. Of course ! 
 
 Betsy. He must not forget it. If he should, I tell you, uncle — 
 I want you to tell him, too — as a man, my guardian here — I never 
 shall let him off, never; but sue him for breach of promise. 
 
 Gall. So if Winnie can get his money by wedding him you, my 
 dear, can get it without that, eh? 
 
 Betsy. I could win my case. 
 
 Gall. Quite likely! — The engagement was very well known; but 
 if I were you, I should first try making it up with himself. In 
 paths where men and women go opposite ways and meet, I 
 have seldom known of a woman who could not get around a 
 man ; but she seldom could get around a man she began by 
 fighting. 
 
 Alice. I think that uncle is right. You should try to make up 
 with Harry. At times, a trouble like this when coming between 
 old friends, which, if cherished, would turn out a bomb to burst 
 and blast all love, if treated as merely a joke will explode, and 
 end in a laugh. 
 
 Betsy. But I see nothing to laugh at. He insulted us both so grossly. 
 It is hardly once in a life time, that one could be more insulted; 
 he made us think him a servant. It was all his fault. 
 
 Alice. Perhaps he may judge it so, himself. You can treat it as 
 half a joke, and half a mistake, you know. 
 
 Betsy. It was all a mistake — and his — his putting on that girl's 
 gown ; and staying with her alone ! — a bold, bad girl that she is. 
 
 Alice. But if she be bold and bad, he had a good chance, at least, 
 to find it out, you know. 
 
 Betsy. So you are defending him, eh? — I had not supposed com- 
 ing West was about to corrupt you, too. 
 
 Alice. But the reasons have all been explained. 
 
 Betsy. Not a word, would I believe, that either of them could say. 
 Not a word — you know it, too! You are just as bad as they are. 
 (Beginning to cry.) 
 
 Alice. Come, Betsy, come, cheer up. When you reach New York, 
 once more, the people will be to your taste. 
 
 Betsy. They will not go sneaking around dressed up like girls. 
 
 Gall. (Aside.) No, no; how fortunate! If they did, very few 
 of them might marry. (To Betsy.) This is merely a matter of 
 taste. I, Betsy, although a man, would very much rather have 
 seen a live man dressed like a girl than a dead man stript of his 
 clothes that the cowboys had stolen away. 
 
 Betsy. (Indignantly.) You horrid! 
 
 Gall. It would have been one, if not the other, I take it. (Enter 
 
The Ranch Girl. 43 
 
 — Left Second — Harry.) But here is your friend. He has come 
 to make up, perhaps ; and, Alice, I want you here for a moment. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Second — Alice and Gall. 
 
 Harry. {To Betsy.) We have been good friends. 
 
 Betsy. {Embarrased and hypocritically.) Yes, yes; it is good 
 of you, Harry, it is, to come and make up, once more, such a 
 joke, you know, such a joke! 
 
 Harry. A practical joke; yes, yes! 
 
 Betsy. And you really thought it was not? 
 
 Harry. {With concealed sarcasm.) Oh, no; I thought that it was. 
 
 Betsy. {Rather suspiciously.) And so see something to laugh at? 
 
 Harry. {Looking at her.) Oh, yes; I see something to laugh at. 
 
 Betsy. Yes, Harry, of course ; it is like you, I felt you could see 
 the joke. {Artificially.) And all will be just the same as if you 
 had been always a man, you bad thing, and I — 
 
 Harry. A lady? 
 
 Betsy. You have always known, now, Harry, how much I have 
 thought of you, yes? 
 
 Harry. You used some very strange language about me there 
 on the ranch. 
 
 Betsy. But I was provoked, you know. 
 
 Harry. I see. — Are you often provoked? 
 
 Betsy. I lost myself, then ; and you — 
 
 Harry. I discovered you? 
 
 Betsy. {With a decided change of manner.) Well, I suppose you 
 think it an honest thing to disguise yourself, and listen to what 
 was meant for another. 
 
 Harry. The lightning from a clear sky never burst upon one more 
 quickly than you upon me in that guise. How could I have been 
 more embarrassed? This fact, at first, and then the drift of 
 what you were saying made explanations from me impossible. 
 Who could have made them — without being too impolite? 
 
 Betsy. And yet you could be insulting? 
 
 Harry. Now, pardon me, but Miss Blinder, you were first in- 
 sulting to me. 
 
 Betsy. To you — oh, no ! — to the servant. 
 
 Harry. True courtesy shows itself to the least as well as the great- 
 est. If once a lady then always. 
 
 Betsy. If once a gentleman, always — 
 
 Harry. What I tried to prevent, when first I came on you dressed 
 as a girl, I did not prevent. My appearance I see disenchanted 
 you; yes. 
 
 Betsy. Yes. 
 
 Harry. Then, for one, if it had to happen, thank God that it came 
 when it did ! 
 
 Betsy. I suppose that, too, is polite. 
 
 Enter — Right Third — the Waiter, ringing a bell. 
 Exit — Right Third — Waiter. ; ,»» 
 
44 the Ranch Girl. 
 
 Enter— Left Second— the First, Second and Third Singers. 
 Enter — Right Second — Gall. 
 
 Harry. (Gesturing toward Right Third, and offering Betsy his 
 
 arm.) Shall I take you in to the table? 
 Betsy (drawing back stiffly). I prefer to go by myself; and I 
 
 want you to understand that I never intend to speak to you again 
 
 in my life. 
 Harry (walking to the left Second, where are the Singers). I 
 
 think that better accords with the way in which she was brought 
 
 up. 
 
 First Singer (to Harry), She meant it? 
 
 Harry. I think so. 
 
 First Singer. Why, then, your engagement? — 
 
 Harry. She broke it. 
 
 First Singer. Poor fellow! 
 
 Harry. When some things break, you know, they bring — 
 
 First Singer. A wrench? — 
 
 Harry. No; a snap. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Second — Harry and Singers. 
 
 Gall (to Betsy, who has joined him at the Right. He gestures, as 
 
 he speaks, toward the Singers). They heard what you said, 
 
 Miss Betsy. No breach of promise case now ! 
 Betsy. I wonder I ever gave him a civil word in my life ! 
 Gall. I guess he wonders the same. Truth is, you were off your 
 
 guard; the door of your heart stood ajar. 
 Betsy. You mean — 
 Gall. I mean, Miss Betsy, that all your talk to that servant, and 
 
 of that servant and Harry, was not — 
 Betsy. He insulted me so! 
 Gall. Perhaps he never had learned what a woman takes for an 
 
 insult. He has never been married, you know. 
 Betsy. You are getting sarcastic, uncle. How could I be civil to 
 
 him? — a man half-dressed, and in skirts. 
 Gall. A true lady never is civil to one on account of his dress. 
 
 For my part, I wish that all men, who ever expect to be married, 
 
 could get into a woman's clothes before they get into her 
 
 clutches. 
 Betsy. And what would they find, pray, in there? 
 Gall. Why, first, a good deal of sham. You know what a maid is? 
 Betsy. What? 
 
 Gall. Why, what but a thing that is made? 
 Betsy. That is scarcely a new accusation. 
 Gall. Few very true thoughts' are new ones. There are some 
 
The Ranch Girl. 45 
 
 society women who in character often seem just what they are 
 in appearance. Three-fourths of their substance is dress; and all 
 of the soft sleek satin and silk is on the outside. 
 
 Betsy. And what on the inside, pray? 
 
 Gall. Well, very extensively, pins. 
 
 Betsy. {Wiping her eyes, as if crying.) You are cruel. 
 
 Gall. A cry is much better than never washing the rouge off. 
 
 Betsy. And barbarous ! 
 
 Gall. Wish I could make your soul as clean as a barber can 
 make my face ! 
 
 Betsy. You know I have always been good and religious. 
 
 Gall. And so were those who stabbed and killed the martyrs of 
 old. They were all of them very religious. But not even their 
 dagger could wound like the sting of a woman's tongue; for 
 that can kill the soul. If ever you marry, Betsy, your husband's 
 hand may be hard ; and his face have a beard like a bear's ; but, 
 simply because he is human, his heart may be soft as a babe's ; 
 and the one needs a woman's love as much as ever the other. 
 He would never have asked for this love had he failed to need 
 it, Betsy. Most men, when young, too, imagine the woman they 
 love as an angel. She is not, of course, but they think it; and 
 if, when you get them married, and they come to you for their 
 rest, with as holy a feeling as ever one felt when coming to 
 heaven ; if then, you sting, merely sting them, the devil himself 
 could not match your driving them down into hell; and when 
 you have driven them there, your prayers, your meetings, your 
 psalm-tunes, your beads, your Bibles, your prayer-books, your 
 charities, virtues, and plea's can never conjure one charm to 
 keep the devil away from them, or from you. 
 
 Betsy (crying). Oh, uncle! 
 
 Gall. I suppose that my words appear hard; but I mean you 
 shall learn a lesson — a hard one for you to remember. You may 
 have another chance yet; but whether you do or do not, I shall 
 pray to the Lord that the joy of yourself and your mate may not 
 all be hung on the slender thread of your not having been found 
 out! You ought to take on a new heart that, when found out, 
 can be loved. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Third — Betsy and Gall. 
 
 Enter — Right Upper — Alice and Lorn. 
 
 Alice (to LoRNT~At times you can get away? 
 
 Lorn. I can. 
 
 Alice. We shall hope to see you. 
 
 Lorn. Hope looks above itself. It is I that should have the 
 
 hope. 
 Alice. True worth seems always above the lives that feel that 
 
 they need it. 
 
 Enter— Left Upper— Harry and Winnie. 
 
46 The Ranch Girl. 
 
 Winnie {to Harry). But what would my brother do then? 
 
 Lorn {who has evidently overheard the question, and interprets its 
 meaning through their looks). Congratulate both of you, Winnie 
 {Shaking Winnie's hand vigorously, then Harry's). Most 
 
 heartily, yes. Why, Winnie, if you are to leave the ranch, per- 
 haps I will leave it, myself. But whether you do or not, you 
 are paid in your own coin now in the shape of this new found 
 sister. {Waiving his hand toward Alice, who shakes hands 
 with Winnie and kisses her, then both shake hands with Harry.) 
 
 Harry. {To Lorn.) From what I have heard of you, you ought 
 to have married before. 
 
 Lorn. In the words of the one who controlled her, I had to wait 
 till the time I had shown myself a man. 
 
 Harry. And I had to wait till the time I had shown myself a 
 woman. 
 
 Winnie. {To Harry.) No, no; do not flatter yourself. You 
 played the part pretty well; but you did not look it, Harry, and 
 you did not work it, at all. 
 
 Lorn. You hardly seem sorry for that. 
 
 Winnie. Not very. I like him for what he really is. 
 
 Harry. {To Winnie.) That is just why I like you. I am not 
 the only one here that has shown himself when playing the 
 ranch girl. You, my Winnie, have shown — as clearly as light — 
 amid all that might rid the ranch of the rules of the drawing 
 room, yes, that you are one who could never be anything less 
 than a lady. (Harry, Winnie, Lorn, Alice.) 
 
 curtain. 
 END. 
 
PRESS OP BYRON S. ADAMS, WASH., D. C. 
 
jun e isic 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div.