Class P53^<^3 
 
 CDRORIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
^enisoris Select ^lays 
 
Plays for Schools and Colleges 
 
 AARON BOGGS, FRESHMAN 
 
 By Walter Ben Hare. Comedy in ?, acts: 8 males, S 
 females. "Time, ZVz hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 AFTER THE GAME ~ 
 
 By LIndsey Barbee. Comedy in 2 acts; 1 male, !» 
 females. Time, I'A hours. Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 ALL A MISTAKE 
 
 By W. C. Parker. Farce-comedy in 3 acts; 4 males, 4 
 females. Time, 2 hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 ALL ON ACCOUNT OF POLLY 
 
 By Harry L. Newton. Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, lo 
 females. Time, 2V4 hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 AS A WOMAN THINKETH 
 
 By Edith F. A. U. Painton. Comedy in 3 acts; 9 males, 
 
 7 females. Time, 2% hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 AT THE END OF THE RAINBOW 
 
 By LIndsey Barbee. Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, 14 fe- 
 males. Time, 2% hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 THE CLASS SHIP 
 
 By Edith F. A. U. Painton. Commencement pl«> - 
 let; i males, 8 females. Time, 35 minutes. , 
 
 Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 CLUBBING A HUSBAND 
 
 By Edith F. A. U. Painton. Comedy in 3 acts; 12 fe- 
 males. Time, 2 hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 
 
 By Walter Ben Hare. Farce-comedy in 3 acts; 9 males, 
 
 8 females. Time, 2'/4 hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 THE DEACON ENTANGLED 
 
 By Harry Osborne. Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, 4 fe- 
 males. Time,, 2 hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 AN EARLY BIRD 
 
 By Walter B. Hare. Comedy in 3 acts; 7 males, 7 fe- 
 males. Time, 2%, hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 THE FIFTEENTH OF JANUARY 
 
 By Lindsey Barbee. Comedy in 3 acts; 11 males, iO 
 females. Time, 214 hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 THE GRADUATE'S CHOICE 
 
 By Edith F. A. U. Painton. Commencement playlet; 12 
 females. Time, 35 minutes. Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 T. S. Denison & Company, Publishers 
 
 623 S. Wabash Ave. CHICAGO 
 
[HE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 A Comedy- Drama iS~^0 
 
 In Three Acts and Epilogue 
 
 LiNDSEY BaRBEE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "Jt the End of the Rainbow," "The Camouflage of 
 Shirley," "The Dream That Came True" "The 
 Fifteenth of January," "The Kingdom of Heart's 
 Content," "Out of the Stillness," "The Real Thing 
 After All," "Ruth in a Rush," "The Spell of the 
 Image," "When the Clock Strikes Tiveli'c," and 
 "Let's Pretend — A Book of Children's Plays," Etc. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 S. DENISON & COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 
 A 
 
 cN O T i C E 
 
 PRODUCTION OF THIS PLAY 
 *■ is free to amateurs, but the sole 
 professional rights are reserved by 
 the author, who may be addressed 
 in care of the Publishers. Moving 
 picture ri^ts reserved. <^ <^ 
 
 OCT !Uiy>' 
 
 COPYRIGHT. 1921 
 LINDSEY BARBEE 
 
 'C/.0 5881'5 
 
; THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 ^ I FOR SIX MEN AND EIGHT WOMEN 
 
 :| CHARACTERS. 
 
 {Named in order of appearance.) 
 ^j Who First Saw the Lights 
 
 JNORA ,, _, J 
 
 Larry Ferguson/ Typzcalhj Young America 
 
 Fredericka Ferguson With an Identity 
 
 Tom Ferguson A Wx>uld-he Playwright 
 
 Barbara Ferguson To Whom It Happened 
 
 Retta Reeves The Mysterious Visitor 
 
 Ralph Overton A Young Journalist 
 
 Peggy Pai^mer Of Witching Ways 
 
 Anthony Aleison Who Disappeared 
 
 Florine With No Curiosity Whatever 
 
 Ned ' . . * ^ Chauffeur 
 
 Edith Allison . . . . : Who Almost Succeeded 
 
 Constance Who Lived with Fancies 
 
 Judge Lennox The Family Lawyer 
 
 Place — A City. 
 Time — The Present. 
 
 Time of Playing — About Two Hours and Thirty 
 Minutes. 
 
 v^ 
 
 Act I. Living room in the Ferguson apartment. 
 Hallowe'en. 
 
 Act n. Sun room In the AUison home. The fol- 
 lowing Tuesday. 
 
 (The curtain is lowered for a few moments dur- 
 ing Act H to indicate a passage of time.) 
 
 Act in. Same as Act I. The next morning. 
 
 Epilogue. Same as Act I. 
 
 3 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM. 
 
 Act I. Mysterious lights. Mysterious visitor. 
 Mysterious disappearance. Mysterious witch. Mys- 
 terious mirror. Mysterious stranger. And all on 
 Hallowe'en. 
 
 Act II. Anthony returns. Complications follow. 
 Barbara gives back the ring. The ring, in turn, causes 
 confusion. And there is a fight in the dark ! 
 
 Act III. An impromptu breakfast party. Another 
 occupant of the house next door. The solvino* of the' 
 mystery. And another reflection in the mirror! 
 
 Epilogue. And here — the story ends ! 
 
 STORY OF THE PLAY. 
 
 The sight of unaccustomed lights in an empty hous,e 
 — the story of a mysterious disappearance — the sug- 
 gestion of a younger sister to weave a romance about 
 everyday home characters — all these give Tom Fer- 
 guson, a would-be playwright, the nucleus of a plot. 
 It is Hallowe'en. Barbara Ferguson has been dis- 
 appointed because her best friend has failed to appear, 
 thus breaking a college vow that the two should al- 
 ways be together on this mystic day. Tom, anxious 
 to outline the plot of his drama, gathers the family 
 about him, and has just finished his first sentence, 
 "Well, it begins like this — " when the dx)or bell rings 
 and a mysterious visitor makes her appearance, with ■ 
 the story of a struggle with bandits at the entrance 
 of the adjoining house. At the flashing of two lights 
 outside she leaves abruptly. Later, a visit from Ralph 
 Overton, a young journalist and former friend of Bar- 
 bara, and the sensational entry of Peggy disguised as a 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Hallowe'en witch, lead up to a discussion of the disap- 
 pearance of Anthony Allison, a wealthy young fellow 
 whose home is in the city, 
 
 Ralph, always eager for a good story, advances the 
 theory that Anthony's only relative, a step-mother who 
 does not quite "belong," may have had something to 
 do with the affair. He adds that he had hoped, through 
 a former member of his staff who had obtained the 
 position of secretary with Mrs. Allison, to learn of any 
 suspicious actions in the household, and regrets the 
 necessary departure from the city of the secretary. 
 Barbara, who has just lost her position, begs to be 
 substituted for the secretary. Tom and Ralph object; 
 but Peggy, who knows Mrs. Allison, volunteers to 
 speak for Barbara, and eventually secures the place 
 for her. 
 
 After her guests leave, Barbara has a queer experi- 
 ence. As she idly gazes into the mirror which the 
 Hallowe'en witch has left, she sees the reflection of a 
 gruesome figure crossing a plank which has been laid 
 from the window of the opposite house to that of the 
 Ferguson apartment. The figure proves to be a very 
 weak and exhausted man who shows every evidence of 
 a struggle, and who is, unquestionably, a gentleman. 
 He rests for a moment, and when Barbara leaves the 
 room he hastily scribbles a note, places it with a ring 
 upon the table and staggers from the house. As Bar- 
 bara, returning, stands bewildered, she glances at the 
 newspaper. Immediately, it flashes upon her that the 
 unknown visitor may be the missing Anthony Allison. 
 The next day, in the exploration of the house next 
 door, the stranger is found unconscious, and for two 
 days Barbara and her younger brother and sister, Larry 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 and Fredericka, care for him, finding that his memory 
 is quite gone. 
 
 At this point Barbara, wlio has become Mrs. Allison's 
 secretary, is met with the astonishing news that Anthony 
 Allison has returned, having been at a hunting lodge, 
 and confirming the suspicion that the stranger was Alli- 
 son, Fredericka brings the news that the unknown pa- 
 tient has gone. The returned Anthony seems different 
 in many ways. But not until Fredericka makes the 
 discovery that he is not the man to whom they have 
 given aid is there a suspicion of an impostor. Compli- 
 cations follow. The mystery is solved by the exciting 
 discovery that Mrs. Allison, the sLep-mother, whose first 
 husband had been a twin brother of Anthdny's father 
 and whose son, also called Anthony, is an exact likeness 
 of his cousin, is boldly attempting to substitute her own 
 son for the heir and to effect the real Anthony's re- 
 moval. On account of the likeness of the two, Mrs. 
 Allison had never revealed the fact of her own son's 
 existence, and the plan might have been successful 
 had not the real Anthony escaped from his captors, 
 seized his substitute, asserted his rights and proved his 
 identity before it was too late. The scheming step- 
 mother, the son and his wife — who proves to be the 
 mysterious visitor at the Ferguson apartment — quietly 
 leave the city. And what began so excitedly on Hal- 
 lowe'en ends happily and peacefully as Barbara, again 
 gazing in the mirror, finds there Anthony's reflection. 
 
 And just as you think it is ended, back you go to 
 the very point where Tom begins his story. And you 
 know that it all is the plot of the play he hopes to 
 write, acted out before your eyes! 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 In Act 1 Nora appears in a pretty gingham frock 
 ith tiny cap and ruffled apron, Fredericka in girlish 
 eter Thompson dress, Larry in soft white shirt and 
 irk trousers. Barbara, on entering, has a plain little 
 own with loose cape and tailored hat. She changes to 
 retty house dress. Peggy, under her witch's cape and 
 ' at, shows a simple evening gown. Retta is in evening 
 own with long dark coat. The men wear street suits, 
 ive Anthony who is in rough clothes, coatless, and with 
 loody handkerchief around his head. 
 
 In the first part of the second act, Barbara, Retta, 
 
 Jonstance and Mrs. AlHson appear in morning gowns, 
 
 Mrs. Allison's more ornate than those of the others. 
 
 Peggy wears a sport suit and Fredericka a strictly 
 
 ailored riding suit. Ralph is in golf clothes. Anthony 
 
 a morning suit. In the second part of the act the 
 
 romen wear evening gowns and the men dinner clothes. 
 
 Anthony, when portraying the substitute Anthony in 
 
 Vet II, need make no change of costume or make-up, 
 
 lut should show unmistakably the difference in person- 
 
 ility by a contrast in mannerisms and general atmos- 
 
 )here. The person who represents the other Anthony 
 
 vears a similar suit. 
 
 In Act III Fredericka and Larry are in simple school 
 ;lothes, Nora in a gingham dress, Peggy, Mrs. Allison 
 md Retta in street suits. Barbara, in order that there 
 nay be no delay between Act III and the Epilogue, 
 shears the same gown as in latter part of Act I. The 
 nen are all in morning suits. 
 
 In the Epilogue the same costumes as in Act I are 
 ised. 
 
8 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 PROPERTIES. 
 
 Act I. 
 Window scat. 
 Davenport with pillows. 
 Long- tabic with lamp, magazines, framed photograph, 
 
 newspaper and pencil. 
 Smaller table with electric lamp. 
 Two chairs and a hassock. Draperies, rugs, etc. 
 Book for Larry. 
 Book and tray with water carafe and glass for Fred- 
 
 ericka. 
 Witch's costume, cane, reticule with hand mirror for 
 
 Peggy. 
 Ring for Anthony. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Settee, tea cart, desk with time tables and mail and^ 
 telephone, desk chair. ;; 
 
 Long table, three chairs, floor lamp, rugs, draperies, 
 etc. 
 
 Duster for Florine. 
 
 Flowers for Ned. 
 
 Ring and large feather fan for Barbara. 
 
 Memorandum book and pencil for Ralph. 
 
 Autumn leaves for Constance. 
 
 Memorandum for ]\Irs. Allison. 
 
 Cigarettes for Anthony. Also hat, overcoat and ring. 
 
 Ouija board for Peggy. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Same as Act I. In addition, a small table set for break- 
 fast, with toast, coffee and coffee pot. Three 
 straight chairs. ^ '^"' ■' 
 
 Tam and sweater and school books for Fredericka. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Books for Larry. 
 Covered tray for Nora. 
 Mesh bag for Peggy. 
 Mirror for Barbara, 
 
 Epilogue. 
 
 Same stage properties as in Act I. 
 
 Scene Plot. 
 
 Act I, Act III and Epilogue. 
 
 Door to 
 ^ Hall t" 
 
 I 1 I o~' ^-" ' \ 
 
 rto-L A.y///^ -i-Door- 
 
 Bedroor 
 
 ^^ Chair \ 
 
 : i_ 
 
 Doo 
 
 Dining Room 
 
 VChair Hassock <> 
 
 Act II. 
 
 / 
 
 Settee 
 
 French 
 Window 
 
 I Ilea 
 ' Cart 
 
 Door ChairO Chair O -~^La°p Qoor 
 
 i 
 
 rDesk 
 
 IjJO Desk Chair Table^^ ^ ^^^.^ 
 
 STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 
 R. means right of stage; C, center; B. C, right cen- 
 ter; L., left; U. E., upper entrance; R. D., right door; 
 C. D., center door; L. D., left door; up stage, away 
 from footlights ; down stage, near footlights. The actor 
 is supposed to be facing the audience. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 The First Act. 
 
 The curtain rises upon the living room of the Fer- 
 guson apartment — the type of room which invariably 
 betrays the personality of those who dxvcll therein. The 
 pictures are good, the rugs are rare and the furniture 
 beautifidly antique. A curtained arch to the left of the 
 background reveals a hall beyond, while doors on either 
 side of the room lead to adjoining rooms. There is (^ 
 low broad window seat at the back of the room tcponi 
 which a lamp that is placed on a nearby table throzas 
 its light. At the right near the front of the stage is a 
 large davenport and behind the davenport is a long 
 table bearing a, lighted lamp, books and magazines. A 
 large chair with hassock adorns the other side of the 
 stage and a smaller chair is at extreme right near front 
 of stage. 
 
 Upon the davenpo/t sprawls Fredericka deeply en- 
 grossed in a book. She is too old to be called a child — 
 in fact she would resent It — but too young to be called 
 a woman. Correspondingly engrossed is twelve-year- 
 old Larry, who is curled up in the window seat. For 
 several moments it is exceedingly quiet — only the turn- 
 ing of the pages breaks the silence. Suddenly the door 
 at the right opens and Nora enters, as bright-eyed, 
 rosy-cheeked and coquettish a colleen as ever came from 
 the shores of old Ireland. 
 
 Nora. Mastlier Larry — 
 
 Larry {waving her off). Sh! 
 
 (Nora pauses, hesitates and advances to the center 
 of the room.) 
 
 11 
 
12 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Nora. Miss Fredericka— : y 
 
 Fredericka. Sh ! 
 
 (Nora waits patiently, a hit disgusted at the eccen- 
 tricities of the literary mind. Finally, Larry throws 
 down his book and rises excitedly.) 
 
 Larry. Gosh, but that fellow was a humdinger! 
 Beat up three guys single-handed, set fire to the old 
 shack, found all the hidden treasure, rescued tlic girl 
 who was tied to the railroad track, and started the air- 
 plane just as the villain came tearing along in a big red 
 devil of a car! (Pauses.) Now, what do you think of 
 that! 
 
 Fred. I think you've been reading trash, that*s 
 what I think. {Tosses her own book to the floor.) 
 So have I. (Pauses.) Well, Nora, what is it? 
 
 Nora. Shall I be afther savin' Miss Barbara's din- 
 ner for her.'' i 
 
 Fred. She's dining in the city — just telephoned. I 
 forgot to tell you. 
 
 Nora. An' Misther Tom.? 
 
 Fred. He's likely to pop in at any moment. 
 
 Nora. Then I'll be puttin' his things in the warmin' 
 oven. 
 
 Fred. Don't you do it. If he can't get here in 
 time for dinner he must do without it. 
 
 Nora (in great distress of mind). But I can't be 
 lettin' Misther Tom go hungry. 
 
 Fred, (very firmly — you can see in a moment that 
 authority is acceptable to her). Brothers must be dis- 
 ciplined. 
 
 Nora. But Misther Tom is such a nice brother. 
 
 Fred. Of course he is. (Then in a magnanimous 
 spirit.) Both my brothers are all right. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 13 
 
 -Larry (not io be outdone in gallantry). And both 
 iH\ sisters are just bully! 
 
 Fred. Now that the family relations are pleasantly 
 established, what is that you wish to say, Nora? 
 
 Nora. I've just been sayin' it. 
 
 Fred. What else, I mean? 
 
 Nora. Now, Miss Freddie — 
 
 Fred. Something more than Barbara's dinner and 
 Tom's welfare is on your mind. 
 
 Nora. Well, then, since you've been a mentionin' 
 it, Miss Freddie, I've — I've — 
 
 Fred, {impatiently). Yes? 
 
 Nora. I've seen' a light ! 
 
 Larry {disgustedly). Is that all! {Goes back to 
 the window seat.) 
 
 Nora. But the light was out yonder. ( Xora grows 
 very dramatic.) 
 
 Fred. Isn't it perfectly respectable for a light to 
 be — out yonder? 
 
 Nora. It was in the house next door ! 
 
 Fred. Nonsense. Nobody lives there. {But we no- 
 tice that she sits up and takes notice.) 
 
 Larry. And it's an old, old, old place, atl falling to 
 pieces. 
 
 Nora. Just the same, somebody or somethin's got 
 a light in there. 
 
 Fred. If it's somebody — it's hkely a tramp — or a 
 burglar — or an anarchist — or a Bolshevik. 
 
 Larry. If it's something — it's a ghost — or a fairy 
 — or a lightning bug. 
 
 Fred. Turn out the lights, Nora, and let's see for 
 ourselves. {Off goes the light and Fredericka and 
 Larry kneel on the window seat and peer out the win- 
 dow. As your eyes become accustomed to the darkness. 
 
14 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 you discern through the window another window not so 
 far removed and evidently belonging to the house next 
 door.) You're dreaming, Nora. Nb sign of a light. 
 It's pitch dark. 
 
 Nora {who has followed them). Faith an' it comes 
 an' goes — an' comes — an' goes. 
 
 Fred. For all the world like Tennyson's brook. 
 {Pauses.) Well, it has evidently came and went. 
 
 Larry. Gee whiz, Freddie, look how near that 
 window is ! Why, anybody could almost step across. 
 
 Fred. If he didn't mind being three stories up! 
 That fact might make him hesitate. 
 
 Nora {excitedly). Look, Miss Freddie, look! 
 
 {And there, sure enough, in the darkened window 
 comes the faint glimmer of a light, but only for a 
 moment.) 
 
 Larry. Gosh! 
 
 Nora {in an awe-struck tone). An' what are you 
 supposin' it is.? 
 
 Fred. A tramp, of course — or the reflection of some- 
 body's light. Turn on the lamps, Nora. 
 
 {And Nora turns on the lamps, very much disap- 
 pointed over the failure of her mystery.) 
 
 Larry {with nose glued to the pane). It's raining. 
 
 Fred, {going back to the davenport) . And it's cold. 
 Trot out, Nora, and tell the janitor to fire up. There's 
 no use in paying for heat we don't get. 
 
 Nora. Bcgorry, and I've told him twice this very 
 evenin' an' all he does is to hit the pipes so as to make 
 me think the steam's a-comin' on! {And off she goes 
 very reluctantly, R.) 
 
 Larry {following Fredericka). Are we very 
 poor, Freddie.? 
 
 Fred. Oh, we've lost some of our money — and 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 15 
 
 we've moved to a strange city — and have rented 
 an apartment — and Tom and Barbara have gone to 
 work — but that's all. 
 
 Larry. That's a whole lot, isn't it.? {Perches on 
 L. of davenport.) 
 
 Fred. Depends upon how you look at it. 
 
 Larry. Are we always going to live in an apart- 
 ment ? 
 
 Fred. Heaven forbid ! 
 
 Larry. How long before we can leave it.P 
 
 Fred. That depends. 
 
 Larry. On what ? 
 
 Fred. Tom's play, for one thing. 
 
 Larry. Which play.? 
 
 Fred. The play that he's going to write — the play 
 that every playwright is going to write — the Great 
 American Play ! 
 
 Larry. Hasn't somebody written it by this time.? 
 
 Fred. I should say not ! 
 
 Larry. Then how can Tom put it over.? 
 
 Fred. Ask Fate — or Chance — or Luck — or who- 
 ever the old lady is who juggles the fortunes of play- 
 wrights ! 
 
 Larry (after a pause). Playwriting doesn't sound 
 much like money. 
 
 Fred. Of course it doesn't. 
 
 Larry. And if that's all we're depending upon — 
 
 Fred. But it isn't. 
 
 Larry. What else? 
 
 Fred. Barbara's marriage. 
 
 Larry (thunderstruck). Is Bob going to be mar- 
 ried .? 
 
 Fred. No, she isn't. That's just the point. But 
 she must. And it's up to us to manage it. 
 
16 THE EIMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Larry. I don't see how Bob's marriage lias any- 
 thing to do witli us. 
 
 Fred, (veri/ Impressively). Her captivity is our 
 freedom ! 
 
 Larry. What do you mean by captivity.? 
 
 Fred. Marriage, of course. It's the original ar- 
 ticle in that line. 
 
 Larry. Then I don't want Bob to marry, unless 
 she gets the right sort of husband. 
 
 Fred, {scornfully). The right sort of husband! 
 Why, Larry, husbands are all alike. They may look 
 different, but they really aren't. Any woman can shut 
 her eyes and grab— and the one she grabs will be just 
 like the one she doesn't grab. 
 
 Larry. Then it's mean to wish one on Bob. 
 
 Fred. But I'm doing her a kindness. She's cut out 
 for matrimony. Most girls are. They like it. 
 
 Larry. Well, I don't see how it means any money 
 to us. 
 
 Fred. Money.? Who's talking about money.? You 
 asked how we could get out of an apartment. I'm 
 answering you. 
 
 Larry. Oh, are you.? 
 
 Fred. Listen. Bob's all right as an older sister 
 — she's a peach. But just the same, she's an older 
 sister. And not until Tom goes off with his play 
 and Bob goes off with her husband will we have a 
 chance to live our own lives in our own way. Freedom 
 is what we want, Larry — freedom! 
 
 Larry. I feel free enough. 
 
 Fred. Well, / don't. {Rises and strides up and down.) 
 There's an identity — an individuality — a something 
 that's here — inside of me — and it's being suppressed. 
 It's slipping away ; it's dying by inches. I want to be 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 17 
 
 a human being, not an indefinite article! I want to 
 grow — to expand — to — (And right here there is the 
 sound of a hey in the door and Fredericka pauses in 
 her oratory.) There's Tom! 
 
 Larry {starting out the hall door). Maybe he 
 can help us find a husband for Bob ! 
 
 Fred. Larry! {Stamps her foot.) Don't you dare 
 mention such a thing- to him. It's our business. {Sits 
 on arm of chair at L.) 
 
 Out darts Larry and in a moment Tom is escorted 
 into the room. Tom is just the hind of a brother that 
 a younger- sister would delight to exploit at a Junior 
 Prom. He looks the typical, clean-cut, wide-awahe 
 American and not a bit lihe a literary light. His friendly 
 grin is most captivating and his initial greeting of 
 ^^ Hello, hid," is anything but erudite. 
 
 Fred. Tom, did you scrape the mud from your 
 shoes ? 
 
 Tom. You bet. 
 
 Fred. And did you leave your wet coat in the hall? 
 
 Tom. I did. 
 
 Fred. And have you — 
 
 Tom. Look here, Fredericka ! A fellow doesn't need 
 a wife as long as you're so particular about domestic 
 details. 
 
 Fred. My future sister-in-law will thank me for 
 producing a model husband. Had dinner.? 
 
 Tom. Downtown. Where's Bob? {Crosses behind 
 table.) 
 
 Fred. Also downtown. 
 Tom. All alone? 
 Fred. How should I know. 
 Larry. Is it raining hard.? 
 
18 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Tom. Black cats and Hallowe'en witches. Have you 
 forgotten that it's Hallowe'en.'' 
 
 Larry, What chance has a fellow for any Hallowe'en 
 fun in an apartment house.?" No gates to take off; no 
 front porch chairs to carry away — no nothing. 
 
 Fred. But there are bells to ring. Go punch all 
 of them and give the old ladies a little exercise. 
 
 Larry. Do you dare me? (Comes to C.) 
 
 Fred. "I dare do all that may become a man." 
 
 Larry. Then I'll do it. (And off he goes through 
 hall door.) 
 
 Tom. What have you been doing today.?. 
 
 Fred. Doing! What is there to do here, especially 
 when it's Saturday and no school.? 
 
 Tom. Cheer up! College next year and — (yawns). 
 Gee, I'm tired. Guess I'll stretch out a bit. (And he 
 seeks the davenport.) 
 
 Fred. What have you been doing? 
 
 Tom. Selling stocks and bonds. (And he smiles to 
 himself as if it were a happy memory.) 
 
 Fred. You look happy about it. 
 
 Tom, I'm happy about something else. 
 
 Fred. What? 
 
 Tom. a Hallowe'en present that's come my way — 
 a present that is going to influence my whole life from 
 this moment on. 
 
 Fred. Who gave it to you? 
 
 Tom. a Hallowe'en witch. 
 
 Feed. What is it? 
 
 Tom. That's telling. 
 
 Fred. Don't tease, Tom. 
 
 Tom. I'm not teasing. 
 
 Fred. Not telling is teasing. 
 
 Tom. But it's something for everybody to hear. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 19 
 
 Wait till Bob comes in. (Pulls out his watch.) It's 
 getting late for her to be out alone — maybe I'd better 
 hunt her up. 
 
 Feed. She can take care of herself. Lie still. 
 
 A door slams and in rushes Larry from the hall, 
 quite out of breath. 
 
 Larry. Sh! She's after me. 
 
 Fred. Who's after you? 
 
 Larry. The old lady on the first floor. I rang all 
 the bells and she's mad. (The door bell rings — a long, 
 emphatic ring.) There she is! 
 
 After a moment Nora enters from R. 
 
 Larry. Sh ! 
 
 Nora, Shall I be afther answering the ring, Miss 
 Fredericka? (In response Larry and Fredericka ve- 
 hemently motion her to leave the room, which, spying 
 Tom, she does reluctantly. Again the ring, which is not 
 repeated.) 
 
 Tom. Look here, kids, we'll be complained of. 
 
 Fred. Of course. 
 
 Tom. And kicked out. 
 
 Fred. More likely to have the rent raised. 
 
 Larry (who has been listening for another ring). 
 She's gone! (He takes his book and repairs to the win- 
 dow seat.) 
 
 Fred, (rising). Then we can settle down again. 
 (Takes newspaper from table.) Here's the evening 
 paper, Tom. 
 
 Tom. Too lazy to look at it. Pick out a few items, 
 Freddie, and read them to me. Sit here where I can 
 see you. 
 
 Fr.ed. (perching on the end of the davenport). 
 What'll you have.? 
 
20 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Tom. Something lively. 
 
 Fred, (after a moment). A village of Armenians 
 slaughtered b}^ Turks. 
 
 Tom. That's too lively. Try again. 
 
 Fred. Wave of crime spreading. Ten murders, six 
 ';old-ups and five boy bandits all in one day! 
 
 Tom. Still too speedy for me, 
 
 Fred, (after reading- a moment to herself). Good 
 gracious ! 
 
 Tom. What's the matter.? 
 
 Fred. A man has disappeared, actually disappeared 
 — no trace of him — no clue to his whereabouts — and — 
 
 Tom. * History's full .of mysterious disappearances 
 and lost identities. 
 
 Fred. How can a man lose his identity.'' (Rises.) 
 Why, I'd die if I lost mine ! 
 
 Tom (laughing). I can believe that, Fredericka. 
 
 Fred. But, Tom.? 
 
 Tom. Yes.? 
 
 Fred. Wouldn't it make a great plot for a play.? 
 
 Larry (suddenly alive to the situation). Have 
 you written your pla}^ Tom? 
 
 Tom. What play? 
 
 Larry. The play that every playwright is going 
 to write — the Great American Play. (Comes down 
 to large chair at L.) 
 
 Tom. Well, I should say not! 
 
 Larry. When are you going to write it? (Sits on 
 arm of chair.) 
 
 Tom. Not for a long, long time, maybe never. 
 
 Larry. Why not.? 
 
 Tom. I've too much else to think about. 
 
 Larry. But you've got to write your play. 
 
 Tom. Why this sudden interest.? 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 21 
 
 Fred, (excitedly). Listen, Tom! There were lights 
 tonight — next door — ^in the old empty house ! Wouldn't 
 that help you out? Mysterious lights- — strange disap- 
 pearance — it sounds bully! (Throws paper on daven- 
 port.) 
 
 Tom (after a pause). It might be worked into some 
 sort of a plot. 
 
 Fred. Of course it might. 
 
 Tom (thoughtfully) . With the proper characters. 
 
 Fred. Why not take everyday characters .^ Why 
 not take us? Bob will be all right, and you, and Nora, 
 and as for Larry and mc, we're great! 
 
 And Nora enters R., a hit disturbed. 
 
 Nora. Please, Miss Fredericka, the janitor's at 
 the back door again. 
 
 Fred. You shouldn't be so attractive, Nora. 
 
 Nora. An' the lady on the first floor is complainin' 
 of Masther Larry ringin' her door bell. 
 
 Fred. How does she know it's Larry? 
 
 Nora. She saw him. 
 
 Fred. Well, you tell the janitor to say that the 
 devil rang her bell. Don't look shocked, Nora. I mean 
 the Hallowe'en devil, of course. 
 
 Tom. Listen to me, Nora. Assure our esteemed 
 neighbor that Larry was playing a Hallowe'en joke, 
 and that he apologizes. 
 
 Larry. I don't apologize ! ( Goes back to the window 
 seat.) 
 
 Tom. And that the offense will not be repeated. 
 
 Nora (coquettishly). Yes, Misther Tom. (And 
 •with a backward look at him she leaves the room at R.) 
 
 Fred. Let's come back to the play. (Sits on arm of 
 davenport. ) 
 
22 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Tom. Agreed. 
 
 Fred. We have the setting, the characters — 
 
 Tom. And the nucleus of a plot. Any more sug- 
 gestions ? 
 
 Fred. Something to make the women weep. 
 
 Tom. They're too hard-hearted these days. 
 
 Fred. Don't you believe it. Wom-^n is women. 
 (Pauses.) And then, if you'd make it a bit indiscreet — 
 
 Tom. What do you know about indiscreet? 
 
 Fred. I'm a modern girl, dear brother, not a mid- 
 Victorian product. 
 
 Tom. What about the love interest? 
 
 Fred. JMust you have it? (Crosses to large chair.) 
 
 Tom. Tlie dear public demands it. 
 
 Fred. Then depend upon yourself for that. (Seats 
 herself.) 
 
 Tom. You don't approve? 
 
 Fred. No! (And she shakes her head vigorously.) 
 
 Tom. It doesn't appeal to you? 
 
 Fred. No! (And she shakes her head more vigor- 
 ously.) 
 
 Tom. And you're not keen for matrimony? 
 
 Fred. No! (And this time the head is shaken most 
 vigorously) . 
 
 Larry. Don't shake your head so hard, Freddie. 
 You'll I'attle your brains. 
 
 Fred. Oh, no, I won't. They're my chief posses- 
 sion, and I take good care of them. 
 
 Larry. I hear Bob. (And sure enough, there is the 
 sound of an opening door.) 
 
 In a moment Barbara enters from hall, a hit damp 
 but very smiling, very charming, and radiating a cer- 
 tain indescribable and intangible personality. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 23 
 
 Barbara (leaning laughingly against the door). 
 Had you given me up? 
 
 Tom. Just notified police headquarters. 
 
 Fred. What have you been doing all evening? 
 
 Barbara. Having a perfectly heavenly time ! 
 
 Fred. In all this rain? 
 
 Barbara {corning to C). "It isn't raining rain 
 to me — " Only violets and daffodils — and — 
 
 Fred. Don't be sill}', Bob. It's out of season for 
 those particular flowers. Here, give me your coat. 
 {Rises.) 
 
 Barbara {as she slips out of her coat). I'm pretty 
 well soaked. Perhaps I'd better change my gown. It 
 won't take a moment, and then I'll report. {She disap- 
 pears within the room at the L. of the stage as Fred- 
 ERicKA carries the coat through the other door.) 
 
 Tom. Guess who came into the office today? 
 
 Barbara {from leithin the room). I'm too light- 
 headed to guess anything. Tell me this minute. 
 
 Tom. Ralph Overton. Do you remember him? 
 
 Barbara. Remember him? Well, rather. He was my 
 man for the senior dance. 
 
 Tom. Pretty hard hit, wasn't he ? 
 
 Barbara. Not permanently. 
 
 Tom. Once it looked as if he'd be my brother-in- 
 law. 
 
 Larry. Oh, Bob! Do you think he'd marry you 
 now if you asked him? 
 
 Barbara. Larry! How scandalous! And ic isn't 
 even leap year ! Here, take these to Nora and ask her 
 to dry them. {And out come two mud-bespattered 
 pumps.) That's a darling. 
 
 Larry. Anyway, you might try. (And with the 
 pumps he leaves the room at R.) 
 
24 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Tom. Ralph's way up in the newspaper here. 
 
 Barbaka. Pretty work! 
 
 Tom. He's coming up to renew old acquaintances. 
 
 Barbara. Suppose there's a chance of the dead 
 past unburying its dead? 
 
 Tom. Who knows.? (After a pause.) Heard from 
 Peggy lately.'' 
 
 Barbara. Not a word. I can't imagine what's the 
 matter. 
 
 Tom (sighing). Another man, perhaps. (^Tosses 
 aside the newspaper which he has been reading.) 
 
 Barbara. I shouldn't wonder. (And out she comes 
 for just a moment in a very hright-hued kimono). Tom, 
 it's Hallowe'en. 
 
 Tom. Sure, 
 
 Barbara. And Peggy isn't here. (Sits in large 
 chair.) 
 
 Tom. Well, what of it.? 
 
 Barbara. Tom! Have you forgotten the Hal- 
 lowe'en vow that Peggy and I made long ago when 
 we were freshmen.? 
 
 Tom. I had, for the moment. What was it, exactly.? 
 
 Barbara. The promise that we should always be 
 together on Hallowe'en. 
 
 Tom. Freshman vows can't always last. 
 
 Barbara. This one has — until today. 
 
 Tom. But Peggy's hundreds of miles away. You 
 can't expect her to come. 
 
 Barbara. I went to her last year. And now not even 
 a word ; not even a telegram. (Pauses.) Oh, well, peo- 
 ple do forget and the sooner I learn it, the better! If 
 everybody always remembered it would be a very differ- 
 ent old world, wouldn't it. Tommy? 
 
 Tom. It would, indeed. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 25 
 
 Just here Fredericka enters from R. 
 
 Barbara. And anyway, a busy working Avoman 
 hasn't time to dream dreams and to see visions, but — 
 (smiling to herself) sometimes she does'. 
 
 Tom. Hurry up and dress. Ralph may take a no- 
 tion to come tonight. 
 
 Barbara. Then I'll be ready. (She disappears into 
 the bedroom.) 
 
 Fred. Who's Ralph.? 
 
 Tom. An old flame of Bob's. 
 
 Fred, (eagerly). Do you suppose the flame could 
 be fanned up again.'' 
 
 Barbara (from the room). Well, I like that! Why 
 are you and Larry so anxious to get rid of me? 
 
 Fred. The excitement of a wedding, I suppose. 
 (Gloomily.) Life's so darn monotonous. (Falls wearily 
 into the large chair.) 
 
 Tom. Would it cheer you up to know that your 
 best friend is waiting for you at the stable around 
 the corner? 
 
 Fred. Tom! (Excitedly.) You don't mean — you 
 can't mean — Crescent Moon? 
 
 Tom. But I do meaii it. 
 - Fred. My very own horse ! 
 
 Tojir. Your very own horse ! We don't believe in 
 separating friends. Sis. (Crosses to her and places his 
 hands on her shoulders.) 
 
 Fred, (and for once in her life she is beyond ex- 
 pression). Tom- — Tom — I — I don't know what to sa3^ 
 If it weren't so diametrically opposed to my prin- 
 ciples, I'd — I'd kiss you ! (Rises.) 
 
 Tom. Women often change their minds — why not 
 their principles? (She throws her arms about his ne^ck.) 
 
26 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Barbara, in a pretty gown, emerges from L. as 
 Larry dashes in from the kitchen. 
 
 Barbara. I've been in the secret, too, Freddie. Isn't 
 it the best kind of a Hallowe'en present.'* {Stands back 
 of large chair.) 
 
 Larry. What's a Hallowe'en present.'' (Barbara 
 seats herself.) 
 
 Fred, (meeting him at C). Crescent Moon, Larry, 
 think of it ! Crescent Moon ! 
 
 • Larry. Honest.'' Then we aren't so awfully poor, 
 are we.'' (Sits on arm of Barbara's chair.) 
 
 Tom. We've not started to the poor house quite 
 yet, sonny. 
 
 Fred. What's your Hallowe'en present, Tom.'' You 
 said you'd tell us when Bob came. 
 
 Tom. I'll tell later on. 
 
 Barbara. Then give me the chance to tell my story 
 first. 
 
 Tom. So you have a story, too ! 
 
 Barbara. The most wonderful story j^ou ever lis- 
 tened to. 
 
 Larry. Tom has a play — -haven't you, Tom.'' 
 
 Tom. Just the beginning of. one. 
 
 Barbara (to Tom). Really.'' 
 
 Tom. Really. (Glancing at Fredericka who is 
 perched on the left end of the table.) Thanks to Fred- 
 die. 
 
 Fred, (very modestly). Oh, I just suggested. 
 
 Barbara. Then let's hear about the play first of 
 all — and leave the stories to the last. 
 
 Larry. Oh, let's. 
 
 Tom. Shall we, Freddie? 
 
 Fred. Suits me. 
 
 Tom. All right, then. Come over with me and be 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 27 
 
 sociable. (Barbara sits by Tom, and Larry on the 
 floor, R. of Tom.) 
 
 Larry. Now we're ready. 
 
 Tom. Well, it begins like this — 
 
 (He pauses — a long impressive pause. Before he can 
 proceed the silence is broken by the sound of the door 
 bell — a long, emphatic ring, followed by a series of stac- 
 catos.) 
 
 Barbara (rising). Good gracious, what a noise! 
 Surely no guest would announce himself in so demon- 
 strative a fashion. (Nora enters /?. and glances inquir- 
 ingly at her.) Yes, Nora, please. (Crosses to L.) 
 
 Nora passes through the hall and opens the front 
 door. A confused murmur of voices is heard — a protest 
 from Nora- — and in a moment she re-enters, a bit fright- 
 ened and followed by a half-hysterical young ivoman 
 wearing a long dark coat over an evening dress. 
 
 Nora. Miss Bai-bara, she wouldn't give a name. She 
 pushed right b}' me, and — 
 
 Barbara (advancing). It's all right, Nora. You 
 may go to bed now and I shall answer the door for 
 the rest of the evening. (As Nora lingers.) That will 
 do. (Nora goes out reluctantly R., smiling at Tom.) 
 
 Stranger. I am very sorry to disturb you — and 
 startle you. But I am frightened, and a bit faint, and — - 
 
 Barbara. Don't try to explain — now — (turns to 
 Fredericka). Some water, please. (Fu^deb,icka leaves 
 the room at R. By this time Tom has joined Barbara 
 and together they help the stranger to the large chair.) 
 You are quite safe here. Relax a bit, and rest. Every- 
 thing is all right. 
 
 Stranger. I saw vour light and didn't stop to 
 
28 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 reason — but came right in. I didn't realize how strange 
 it would seem to 3'ou. 
 
 Barbara. We are glad that you acted upon im- 
 pulse. (As Fredericka enters loith pitcher of water 
 and glass on tray.) This water will refresh you. {And 
 she takes the glass which Fredericka has filed and of- 
 fers it. Fredericka stands back of table and Larry 
 sits in small chair down H.) 
 
 Stranger (after drinking the water). Now, I am 
 quite myself. I'm ashamed to have caused all this 
 t^'ouble. I lost my head, I fancy, and — (hesitates) 
 will I bore 3^ou if I tell my adventure.'^ 
 
 Tom. It will disappoint us if you do not. (He and 
 Barbara sit on davenport.) 
 
 Straxger. It isn't much of an adventure, but it 
 seemed dreadfully threatening at the time. 
 
 Barbara. I am sure it was alarming enough to 
 frighten you. 
 
 Stranger. I attended a dinner tonight — and on the 
 way home, the mechanism of the car became seriously 
 involved — as often happens you know. Rather than 
 wait for the chauffeur to repair the break, I decided to 
 walk, since my home is not very distant. 
 
 Barbara, In this rain? 
 
 Stranger. I had a violent headache — I wanted the 
 air. And anyway I love the rain and the lights through 
 the mist — and the dampness against my face. 
 
 Tom. What happened.? 
 
 Stranger. I had just reached the entrance of the 
 house next door when two men sprang from the door- 
 way and caught me between them. 
 
 Barbara. How dreadful! 
 
 Stranger. I was paralyzed for a moment. Then 
 I remembered my gold mesh bag which I was carrying — 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 29 
 
 and flashed it before them. They loosened their hoki 
 and I struck one with the knob of my umbrella handle. 
 He staggered — the other turned to hiin — and I ran! 
 The entrance to your apartment was near — I didn't 
 stop at the first floor — but kept on and on — until I saw 
 your light. (Pauses.) And here I am. 
 
 Barbara. You've been splendidly brave. 
 
 Tom (rising). I'll soon settle those ruffians for 
 you. (Starts toxcard the door.) 
 
 Stranger (rising). Please don't — please! {Goes 
 to back of chair.) They've gone of course — and if the}' 
 hadn't — I couldn't have you endanger yourself for me. 
 
 Tom. Nonsense! Anyway, there's your purse. 
 
 Stranger. It had vei-y little in it. 
 
 Tom. And your umbrella. 
 
 Stranger. It doesn't matter. 
 
 Tom. And the fun of cracking their heads together. 
 
 Stranger (excitedly/). I won't hear of j^our do- 
 ing it — I won't! It makes me faint to think of it. 
 (Staggers a bit.) I'll go to the window, if you don't 
 mind. It's silly to be such a coward, but — (Tom helps 
 her to the window seat and she raises the window.) 
 There, that's better! 
 
 Tom (leaning out the zdndoiv). By Jove, some- 
 tliing is going on in the neighborhood. (Larry joins 
 them.) There's a covered wagon in the passageway. 
 It's moving off — (Even as he spealis a light is f.ashid 
 in the opposite window — followed by another.) Could 
 that be some sort of a signal.'' 
 
 Stranger (suddenly rising). Probabl}'^ a signal 
 of my bandits' departure. I'll leave too — with a thou- 
 sand pardons for the intrusion and for the trouble I've 
 caused. 
 
 Tom. Let me take you to your car. 
 
30 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Stranger. It's in the garage by this time. 
 
 Tom. Then I'll see you to your home. You said it 
 was near. 
 
 Stranger. Not near enough to walk. 
 
 Tom. Then I'll call a taxi. 
 
 Stranger. I shall appreciate it. {Turns to Bar- 
 bara, who has been standing- at C.) And I am very 
 grateful for your kindness. {And it appears that the 
 panic zcas momentary, for she has dismissed all traces 
 of fatigue and excitement and appears quite composed 
 and self-assertive.) 
 
 Barbara. I am very glad that we could be of serv- 
 ice. {And with a gracious nod the stranger leaves the 
 room through the hall door, followed hij Tom.) 
 
 Fred. Do you believe that story.'' I don't. 
 
 Barbara. She was certainly frightened when she 
 entered. 
 
 Fred. She recovered pretty quickly when the lights 
 were flashed. {Pauses.) We saw those lights earlier in 
 tlie evening, Bob. 
 
 Barbara {going to the window). I wonder if it 
 is a meeting place for thieves and if the light did mean 
 anything. {Pauses.) It's quiet now, but it makes one 
 a bit nervous just the same. 
 
 Larry, {whose excitement has been simmering). I 
 just know tliere's a band of pirates over there and a 
 hidden treasure in the cellar — and the flash of a light 
 when anybody's sandbagged! And I just bet you that 
 she's one of them and that they're all going off in 
 that covered wagon. 
 
 Fred {dryly). That will make it rather awkward 
 for Tom. 
 
 Barbara {thoughtfully). Well, it is strange that 
 she didn't give her name. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 31 
 
 Fred. And that she didn't stop on the first floor^ — 
 Barbara. And that — {The hell rings. Everyho-dy 
 jumps.) Dear me! How silly we are! I'll go, Fred- 
 die. (Barbara disappears into the hall and opens the 
 door. In a moment they hear her say:) Why, Ralph 
 Overton ! After all these years. 
 
 Fred. That's Bob's old flame. This is where we 
 clear out. 
 
 Larry. Maybe he'll ask her again. 
 
 Fred. Then for heaven's sake give him the chance. 
 Get your book and come on ! 
 
 And they hurry through the bedroom door as Ralph 
 
 and Barbara enter from hall. Ralph is just the sort 
 of man that one likes at first sight. 
 
 Ralph {drawing Barbara to the center of the 
 room). You haven't changed a bit. 
 
 Barbara. Watch out, Ralph! Even the journal- 
 ist's cloak can't cover rank prevarication. 
 
 Ralph. I mean it. 
 
 Barbara. Nonsense! Why, I've found my first gray 
 hair. I've rubbed my first wrinkle. And as to experi- 
 ence — well, the Sphinx herself has nothing on me! 
 
 Ralph. Imaginative still, I see. 
 
 Barbara. Only practical. Necessity has made me 
 so. 
 
 Ralph. Where's Tom.? 
 
 Barbara. Playing knight-errant to a distressed 
 damsel. He'll be back in a moment. 
 
 Ralph. He needn't hurry. {Catches Barbara's 
 hand and draws her to the davenport.) Let's get ac- 
 quainted all over again. 
 
 Barbara. Not in that strong light, Ralph ! Me for 
 
32 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 the sliadows ! {And, breaking away from him, she takes 
 refuge in the large chair.) 
 
 Ralph. Provoking as ever. (Sits on davenport.) 
 
 Barbara. Unfortunately objectionable characteris- 
 tics insist on staying with us. But, of course, you know 
 all about that. 
 
 Ralph. What's the subtle inference? 
 
 Barbara. Find out for yourself. 
 
 Ralph. It's mighty good to see you again, Bob ! 
 Why, the very last time I had a chance to squeeze your 
 hand was at the senior play — when I was hero to your 
 heroine. 
 
 Barbara, Years and years ago! 
 
 Ralph. Not so bad as all that. 
 
 Barbara. And if I remember correctly, you went 
 just a little farther than squeezing my hand. 
 
 Ralph. Can't a leading man have ani/ privileges? 
 
 Barbara. Dear mc ! We're growing reminiscent 
 and it's a sure sign of old age. 
 
 Ralph. "Backward, turn backward, O Time in your 
 flight—" 
 
 Barbara. Don't get poetical, Ralph. That's worse 
 than being reminiscent. 
 
 Ralph, Well, would you prefer my being senti- 
 mental? That's the next act in my repertoire. 
 
 Barbara. Cut it out, then. Tell me about your- 
 self, instead. 
 
 Ralph. Tell me about yourself. (Takes small chair 
 and places it near Barbara.) 
 
 Barbara. I asked you first. Pla}' fair. 
 
 Ralph (seating himself). There isn't much. I 
 started iii as a cub reporter, managed to balance my- 
 self on two or three rungs of the ladder of success — 
 iBahbara. And have climbed to the top! 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 33 
 
 Ralph. No such thing. Like Jack's beanstalk, that 
 particular ladder goes up, and up, and up, and dis- 
 appears into the clouds. It's darn hard to climb. 
 
 Barbara. I'm proud of you, anyway. 
 
 Ralph. Your turn now. 
 
 Barbara. Oh, I'm a failure, Ralph — a real fail- 
 ure. 
 
 Ralph. I've seen plenty of failures. You don't 
 look as if you belonged in that class. 
 
 Barbara. Then I'm camouflaging. 
 
 Ralph. I shouldn't wonder. 
 
 Barbara. I really am. For the real me is very 
 different from that glorified person whose future I 
 planned in my college days. 
 
 Ralph. What has happened .f' 
 
 Barbara. After father's death certain investments 
 went wrong. We sold our home and moved to this 
 strange city. Tom had a fine position offered him 
 here and I had a cliance to become a private secre- 
 tary. ^., 
 
 Ralph. Lucky employer. 
 
 Barbara. I lost my job today. 
 
 Ralph. It's an outrage. 
 
 Barbara. Oh, no it isn't. The real secretary came 
 back from her vacation. I was only a substitute. So 
 you see, I wasn't inefficient. That's one comfort. 
 
 Ralph. Lots of chances for the college woman 
 these days. Don't worry. 
 
 Barbara. I'm wondering if you can't give me a 
 job. 
 
 Ralph (leaning foncard). Bob, I'd give you a 
 job for life if you'd only take it. {Places his hana over 
 hers. ) 
 
J4 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 And at this moment which would have meant so much 
 for Larry and Fredericka, Tom enters from hall. 
 
 Tom. Hello there, Ralph ! 
 
 Ralph (meeting him). Hi, Tom! Butting in at the 
 wrong time, as usual. 
 
 Tom. I've been butting into a mystery, all right. 
 (Crosses to R.) 
 
 Ralph. Pass it along. Mysteries are right in my 
 line. (Reseats himself .) 
 
 Tom. Did you tell him about our nocturnal vis- 
 itor, Bob.^ 
 
 Ralph. I haven't given her a chance. 
 
 Tom. Well, she appeared all of a sudden, taking 
 refuge with us after a tussle with two hold-up men at 
 the doorway of the empty house next door. (Sits on 
 davenport.) 
 
 Ralph. Ran right up to the third floor, did she? 
 
 Tom. Exactl3^ And stayed until she saw two lights 
 flash in the opposite window. You see, we're on a level 
 with the third floor in the other house. 
 
 Ralph. I see. 
 
 Tom. I could see she didn't want me to tag along, 
 but I put her in a taxi and saw her off, though she had 
 assured us that she lived near enough to walk. 
 
 Ralph. All sorts of queer things are happening. 
 And young Allison's disappearance is the queerest of 
 all. 
 
 Tom, Haven't heard of it, 
 
 Ralph. Why, it's been in the headlines in all the 
 papers. 
 
 Tom. Which proves how much I read them. 
 
 Barbara. What happened.'^ 
 
 Ralph. Anthony Allison is a wealthy young fellow 
 here in the city — decent chap in every way — Yale man. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 35 
 
 reserved, charitable and rather literary. Three days 
 ago he disappeared absolutely and there hasn't been 
 a clue. 
 
 Tom. I remember. My kid sister read something 
 about it. 
 
 Baruaea. Any reason why he should disappear? 
 
 Ralph. None whatever, that we know of. It looks 
 like foul play. 
 
 Barbara. Any enemies.'^ 
 
 Ralph. Don't think so. Of course, nobody ever 
 really knows about the other fellow's enemies. 
 
 Barbara. But if he is the type you picture, an 
 enemy doesn't seem possible. 
 
 Tom. Married.^ 
 
 Ralph. No. (Pauses.) No family but a step- 
 mother. 
 
 Tom. If it were a mother-in-law, the mystery would 
 be solved. 
 
 Ralph. I don't know^ but that the step-mother 
 plays some part. 
 
 Barbara. Gracious, Ralph, it begins to get thrill- 
 ing. What else.'' 
 
 Ralph. Tony's mother died when he was a child. 
 His father devoted all his time to the boy and they 
 became regular pals. Then the widow of old Allison's 
 only brother — a- twin brotlier by the way — -arrived on 
 the scene. 
 
 Tom. What about the brother.? 
 
 Ralph. Evidently tlie black sheep of the family. 
 Total estrangement, died abroad. 
 
 Barbara. And the widow? 
 
 Ralph. Stunning, undoubtedly clever, but not quite 
 the real thing. To make a long story short, old Alli- 
 son married her. 
 
36 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Barbara. Poor Tony ! 
 
 Ralph. "Poor Tony" is right. It almost killed 
 him, but for his father's sake he stuck it out. Old 
 Allison lived only a short time, and since his death 
 about a year ago Tony has been at home as little 
 as possible. 
 
 Barbara. And the step-mother is enjoying his in- 
 heritance? 
 
 Ralph. Part of it, at least. 
 
 Tom. Women have their nerve. 
 
 Barbara. A merciful providence endowed them with 
 it, dear brother, as a natural protection against the 
 tyranny of man. 
 
 Tom. But you haven't any proof that ]\Irs. Allison 
 is connected with the disappearance, have you? 
 
 Ralph. None whatever. We're just surmising. You 
 see, it would make a corking good story for the 
 paper. 
 
 Tom. Wouldn't it? No wonder you're interested. 
 
 Ralph. And we had just congratulated ourselves 
 that we had the inside track when fate double-crossed 
 us. 
 
 Barbara. How? 
 
 Ralph. Well, about two weeks ago Mrs. Allison 
 advertised for a private secretary and a former mem- 
 ber of our staff applied for the position and was en- 
 gaged. After Tony's disappearance we persuaded the 
 secretary to do the paper a good turn by keeping her 
 eyes open. 
 
 Barbara. Tlien what happened? 
 
 Ralph. Telegram called her to California. 
 
 Tom. Can't you substitute someone? 
 
 Ralph. Not very well, 
 
 Baebara. Yes you can. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 37 
 
 Ralph. How? 
 
 Barbara. Substitute ine! I'd love it. {Rises and 
 crosses to Ralph.) 
 
 Tom. You're crazy ! 
 
 Barbara. No, merely out of a jpb. (Turns to 
 Tom.) 
 
 Tom. Then settle down at home. 
 
 Ralph. . I'm afraid it can't be managed, Bob. 
 (Rises.) 
 
 Tom.. And if it could, I don't want you mixed up 
 in the case. 
 
 Barbara. But it's a real opportunity. (^t this 
 point the door bell rings.) Dear me, this Is our busy 
 evening. 
 
 Tom. I'll go. (And he leaves the room.) 
 
 Barbara. I mean it, Ralph. Isn't there any way 
 of my getting that position.'* 
 
 Ralph. Not a chance. Mrs. Allison must have 
 engaged another secretary by this time. 
 
 (In the meantime To:m seems to he conversing in lore 
 tones with the unknoivn visitor. He enters apparently 
 perturbed.) 
 
 Tom. Bob, there's a very queer old lady out here 
 who Insists on seeing you. Are you expecting any- 
 one.'' 
 
 Barbara. Why, no. 
 
 And before Tom can answer, the queer old lady ap- 
 pears, pushes by him and makes her xcay to Barbara. 
 She is quaint and a bit picturesque in a long, loose 
 blade coat and a large black bonnet under zchich may 
 be seen xvisps of gray hair. She is leaning somewhat 
 heavily on a cane and over her arm is flung an old- 
 
38 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 fashioned reticule. For the present we'll call her the 
 Old Lady. 
 
 Old Lady. I am looking for Miss Barbara Fergu- 
 son. (She speaks in a quavering voice.) 
 
 Barbara. I . am Miss Ferguson. Won't you be 
 seated? {And she guides her to the chair which she 
 has just left. Tom takes small chair and places it in 
 its first position.) 
 
 Old Lady. I'm a late visitor, my dear — a late vis- 
 itor. What Mill you say if I tell 3'ou that I'ni a Hal- 
 lowe'en witch? 
 
 Barbara. Why — why — (Ralph crosses back of 
 large chair. Tom stands back of table.) 
 
 Old Lady. A Hallowe'en witch — one who reads the 
 past, who knows the present, who sees the future. {And 
 she fumbles in her reticule.) Ah, here it is, my dear — 
 here it is! A mirror — a magic mirror! The elves sent 
 it to you! {And she draws forth a hand mirror of 
 usual size.) 
 
 Barbara {hesitafingl/j, she takes it). But what 
 am I to do with it? 
 
 Old Lady {and her voice sinks to a whisper). Look 
 in it tonight when the clock strikes twelve. {Pauses.) 
 When the clock strikes twelve ! 
 
 (Barbara crosses, lays the mirror on the table and 
 draws Tom to one side.) 
 
 Barbara. Tom, what shall I do? She's mad. 
 
 Tom. Let her alone. She'll go pretty soon. 
 
 Old Lady. You don't believe I'm a Hallowe'en witch 
 do you, my dear? 
 
 Barbara {coming to her). I'd rather believe that 
 you're my fairy godmother. Or have fairy godmoth- 
 ers gone out of fashion? {Seats herself on the has- 
 sock at the Old Lady's feet.) 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 39 
 
 Old Lady. You don't need a fairy godmother, my 
 dear. You have bright eyes and rosy cheeks and a 
 happy heart. (Pauses.) You have everything but — 
 (Pauses again and laughs to herself.) 
 
 Barbara. But what.-^ 
 
 Old Lady. But love. That will come, my dear, 
 that will couic. (Leans forward and whispers.) Per- 
 haps it will come tonight. (As she leans forward she 
 drops her reticule. Ralph restores it to her and as 
 he does so she catches his hand and holds it for a 
 moment.) What a strong, clever hand it is! And what 
 clover fingers ! Fingers that have woven the threads 
 of romance, of sorrow, of happiness, of intrigue. 
 (Pauses.) BeAvare lest they write the story of tragedy! 
 
 Ralph (joining Tom). She gets on my nerves! 
 (But Tom says nothing.) 
 
 Old Lady (as she lightly touches Barbara's hair). 
 There is a shadow on your brow, my dear, a shadow. 
 Perhaps it is otic of anxiety. Perhaps a friend has 
 disappointed you. 
 
 Barbara (quietly). A friend has disappointed me. 
 
 Old Lady. If I were to grant a Hallowe'en wish, 
 what would it be.^* 
 
 Barbara. Something that all your magic could not 
 bring about, fairy godmother. 
 
 Old Lady. Tell me. 
 
 Barbara, The wish that my friend might be with 
 me. 
 
 Old Lady. The wish is granted. (And she rises ex- 
 citedly. Off comes the bonnet zvith its gray hair sk'ill- 
 fully attached, off comes the long dark coat; and there 
 smiling, flushed and altogether captivating, stands 
 Peggy, For a moment the bewilderment is complete.) 
 
 Peggy (in quite a different tone). I fooled you! 
 
40 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Babbaba {throwing her arms about her). Peggy! 
 Peggy ! 
 
 Peggy. Dear old Bob ! 
 
 Babbaba. Hallowe'en witch and fairy godmother 
 all rolled into one. 
 
 Peggy. Did you think that I really had forgotten.'' 
 
 Babbaba. I was pretty blue about it. {To Tom.) 
 Were you in the secret.'' 
 
 Tom. Rather. Peg couldn't have pulled it off with- 
 out my help. {Sits in small chair.) 
 
 Peggy. Listen to the man ! When did Peggy Palmer 
 ever need any wits but her own.'' {Stands back of 
 chair.) 
 
 Ralph. Never! (He has moved right of chair.) 
 
 Peggy. Had you pretty well scared, didn't I, Ralph? 
 
 Ralph. Think I'll own up to it? Come, shake the 
 strong, clever hand that manages so many emotional 
 stunts. 
 
 Peggy. And is to beware of tragedy. {As she takes 
 his hand.) It's fun to see you again, Ralph. It makes 
 me feel young and kittenish and college-y. 
 
 Babbara. But why — {And dozen they sink on the 
 davenport.) 
 
 Peggy. Well, of course, I've been planning all the 
 time to be with j^ou. Did you really think I wouldn't 
 come ? 
 
 Ralph {sitting in large chair). What is this 
 mysterious something about Hallowe'en? 
 
 Peggy. What is it? Haven't you ever heard of 
 the Hallowe'en vow? 
 
 Ralph. Never. 
 
 Peggy. Dear me, what a benighted heathen! The 
 Hallowe'en vow, Ralph, was taken when we were fresh- 
 men. We stood over the chafing dish, crossed our sil- 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 41 
 
 ver hatpins, and vowed that in years to come we'd 
 do our very best to be together on the particular 
 day made sacred to black cats, baneful witches and 
 naughty devils. (Rises.) Come on, Bob, it's time for 
 the vow. 
 
 Barbara. We haven't the chafing dish, nor the hat- 
 pins. (Rises.) 
 
 Peggy. But our spirit is one and inseparable, now 
 and forever! Ready! 
 
 (And clasping hands they repeat together) : 
 
 By the green, green eyes of the black, black cat — - 
 
 By the topmost peak of the witch's hat — - 
 
 By the magic broomstick on which she sat — 
 We swear I 
 
 That never mountain or plain or sea 
 
 Shall dare to separate you and me 
 
 On Hallowe'en nights of the vears to be — 
 We sxvearl 
 
 Tom. Pretty profane, isn't it, Ralph .^^ 
 
 Ralph. And some day you'll break it, little fresh- 
 men. (The girls are seated.) 
 
 Peggy. No we won't. Only battle, murder or sud- 
 den death can separate us. (Leans toxcard Barjjara in 
 a characteristically impidsive way.) Bob, I do love 
 you! 
 
 Barbara (correspondingly demonstrative). And I 
 was never crazier about you than I am this very 
 minute. 
 
 Tom. Why so exclusive.'' 
 
 Barbara. But you haven't explained your very ex- 
 traordinary appearance. 
 
 Peggy. I'm visiting here — an aunt and uncle. Came 
 last night and have been perishing all day to see you. 
 But I did want a dramatic entry! 
 
42 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Barbara. You had it ! 
 
 Peggy. How's everything.? 
 
 Barbara. Fine, except that I've lost my job. 
 
 Peggv. That's nothing. Where are the youngsters? 
 
 Barbara. In bed, I liope. 
 
 Tom. Don't make the mistake of calhng Fred- 
 die a youngster. 
 
 Peggy. I suppose she is growing up. 
 
 Barbara. Sixteen and a freshman-elect. 
 
 Peggy. Bob, we're getting old. 
 
 Ralph. Let's not return to the subject of ago. 
 Bob and I have already thoroughlj' ((iscussed it, and 
 have relegated it to the dim and dusty past where 
 it belongs. 
 
 Peggy. Far be it from me to resuscitate the old 
 thing! Suppose we take up the conversation just 
 where you left off when I made my sensational entry. 
 
 Barbara (as she takes the paper which is lying 
 on the davenport). We were becoming properly thrilled 
 over Anthon}'^ Allison's disappearance. 
 
 Peggy (sighing). Poor Tony. 
 
 Barbara. Do you know him? 
 
 Peggy. I've known him for ^avars. The aunt and 
 uncle whom I am visiting were close friends of his 
 father. 
 
 Ralph. Then you must have seen the step-mother. 
 
 Peggy. Quite often. 
 
 Ralph. WHiat do you think of her? 
 
 Peggy. Well — (Pauses.) She doesn't quite fit in. 
 Do you understand what I nuean? 
 
 Ralph, We do. 
 
 Tom. And now that you're under cross-examination, 
 did Anthony Allison run away? 
 
 Peggy. Tony isn't that kind. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 43 
 
 Ralph. Then what part did his step-mother play? 
 
 Peggy (after a pause). I have no right to suspect 
 her. Nobody has. As far as we know she has ahvays 
 been on good terms with Tony, and she certainly seems 
 to grieve over this affair. 
 
 Ralph. So you've seen her.? 
 
 Peggy. Today. She is quite frantic — doing every- 
 thing in her power to find him. 
 
 Ralph. Does she live alone .^ 
 
 Peggy. Except for a niece, INIiss Reeves, a rather 
 stunning creature of whom nobody has ever heard. 
 
 Barbara. Peggy, has Mrs. Allitson a secretary.'* 
 
 Peggy. Hers has just left. Why.'* 
 
 Barbara. I want the place, 
 
 Tom. See here. Sis — 
 
 Barbara {interrupting) . I want the place! Listen, 
 Peggy. The secretarj^ who has just gone had promised 
 Ralph to watch, and to report to the paper. She was 
 forced to leave the city, and Ralph won't give me a 
 recommendation. 
 
 Ralph. I can't, I tell you. 
 
 Peggy. But / ca-n. 
 
 Barbara. Pcffffv ! 
 
 toCi 
 
 y 
 
 Peggy. Of course I can. Mrs. Allison will listen to 
 me. Bobby, the job is yours. 
 
 Tom (disgustedly). T.hat's just like a woman. 
 
 Ralph. No reason whatever. 
 
 Peggy. Reason! What do we care for reason.'* 
 
 Barbara (jumping up). And now, Ralph Over- 
 ton, you'll give me the very same directions that you 
 gpve the other secretary. (They withdraw to the other 
 side of the room.) 
 
 Peggy (as Tom hastily flops down beside her). 
 
44 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Tom, Imrry and ask to take me home before Ralph 
 does. 
 
 Tom. What makes jou think ]ie is going to ask 
 you? 
 
 Peggv. I feel it. A girl can always feel those things. 
 (Pauses.) Don't you want me? 
 
 Tom. I'll break every bone in his body if he dares to 
 get ahead of me ! 
 
 Peggy. That would be awkward for him, embarrass- 
 ing for me and expensive for you ! For of course you'd 
 be responsible for doctor bills. 
 
 Tom (after a moment). How well did you know 
 Anthony Allison? 
 
 Peggy. Well enough to bite him. 
 
 Tom. What? 
 
 Peggy. He still has the scar on his wrist. It was a 
 punishment for teasing me when I was five and he 
 was nine. 
 
 Tom. Have your attentions to him always been so 
 marked? 
 
 Peggy. I haven't broken his heart yet, if that's 
 what you mean. 
 
 (Once more and for the last time in this act the 
 door hell rings. This time, zee shall characterize it as 
 a pugnacious ring.) 
 
 Tom. I'll go, Sis. (And he does.) 
 Ralph. I wonder if the visiting vamp has returned. 
 Peggy. What visiting vamp.'' 
 
 Ralph (teasingly). Ask Tom. He evidently made 
 a hit with her. 
 
 Peggy. Tom! (And her expression changes.) 
 Voice (from the front hall). Look hyah, boss. Ah 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 45 
 
 can't have no more complaints comin' in 'bout you-all. 
 
 Tom. But wait, Charles, let me exyilain. 
 
 Voice. You can't explain nothin' 'bout that thar 
 little devil ringin' tiie old lady's door bell. 
 
 Tom. It was a joke. 
 
 Voice. Jokin' ain't got no place in apartment houses 
 — an' you-all have been makin' too much noise for the 
 folks underneath 3'ou. 
 
 Peggy {under her breath). The Hallowe'en vow! 
 We must have shrieked. 
 
 Tom. All right, then, we'll be good. 
 
 The door slams. Tom enters dejectedly. 
 
 Barbara. We'll be put out. I just know it. 
 
 Tom {gloomily). Let's hope not. If there's any- 
 thing that takes tlie starch out of a fellow, it's to see 
 his Lares and Penates piled on a moving van. 
 
 Peggy {still whisperitig). I'm going — I couldn't 
 stay a moment after this. {As Barbara protests.) 
 Anyway, I'll see 3'ou tomorrow, Bob, and the next day, 
 and the day after that. {Kisses her.) 
 
 Ralph. I'll see you home, Peggy. 
 
 Peggy. That's dear of you, Ralph, but Tom asked 
 me first. 
 
 Ralph {with the density of a cheerful idiot). Then 
 I'll trot along too in case of holdups. (Tom's expres- 
 sion is not friendly; he stalks out ahead.) Good night, 
 Bob, and good luck to the new secretary. {Shakes 
 Barbara's hand.) 
 
 Barbara. Good night, Ralph. I'll send you an 
 S. O. S. if necessary. 
 
 Peggy {to Ralph). If you're going with us, you 
 might as well make yourself useful. Pick up my witch's 
 costume. 
 
46 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Ralph {blithely obeying). Sure. 
 
 Peggy. My coat is in the hall. 
 
 Ralph. I'll get it. (And off he dashes.) 
 
 (Barbara strolls with FrgcxY to the archway of the 
 hall. Peggy disappears and the front door slams.) 
 
 Barbara goes slowly back. Softly humming to her- 
 self, she straightens the furniture and. puts out the 
 light on the large fable. Then, on a sudden impulse, 
 she takes the hand mirror which the supposed witch has 
 given her and looks into it smilingly, her back to the 
 zcindow. The clock strikes twelve. As the strokes of 
 the hour ring out her expression changes and her eyes 
 grow wide with terror. By the light at the back of the 
 room you see that a plank has been laid from the win- 
 dow sill in the deserted house to that in the apartment, 
 and that a strange and gruesome figure is slozvly mak- 
 ing its way across the plank. The figure staggers 
 through the open window and slowly and painfully 
 straightens itself. Barbara does not cry out, but lays 
 down the mirror and quietly gazes at The Man be- 
 fore her. He wears the roughest of clothes. His coat 
 is gone, his arm is injured, and around his head is bound 
 a bloody handkerchief. 
 
 The Mak {very quietly and very weakly). Please 
 don't be frightened. I am not such a ruffian as I look 
 and I am not a thief. 
 
 Barbara, {just as quietly). I am sure of that. 
 
 The Max. The door to the room was bolted — this 
 was my only way out. I waited until your guests were 
 gone, and took the risk. (Barbara does not answer. 
 The man makes his xcay to the table, fills a glass with 
 water and drains it.) I'm done up, I'm afraid. May I 
 rest a moment.'' {For reply Barbara crosses to the 
 davenport and arranges the pillows. The Man sinks 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 47 
 
 upon it exhaustccUy and closes his eyes. Barbara stands 
 near and for a fere moments there is no sound. Finally 
 he opens his eyes, smiles the faintest suspicion of a 
 smile — and the smile is very winning.) I'm a gentleman. 
 Can you believe it? 
 
 Barbara. I'm sure of it. Please let me call your 
 friends or bring help. 
 
 The Max, Don't. I'll soon be all right and I must 
 face this thing alone. {Again he pauses.) Will you 
 take my hand, just to show me that you bear me no 
 ill will in spite of this unwarrantable intrusion.'' (Bar- 
 bara unhesitatingly takes the outstretched hand.) 
 Thank you. Your faith in me is something to remem- 
 ber. 
 
 Barbara. You're very weak and faint. Won't you 
 lie quiet until I make some coffee.'' It will strengthen 
 you, and it will take me only a moment or so. {And 
 without icaiting for him to reply she leaves the room 
 at R.) 
 
 (The Max, with an effort, rises from the davenport 
 and limps slowly to the table where he finds a pencil. 
 Tearing a leaf from a magazine he writes a few ivords 
 upon it, and slipping a ring from his finger he lays 
 it, with the paper, upon the table, and slowly makes 
 his ivay to the hall door. He has disappeared when — ) 
 Barbara returns from the dining roontf. 
 
 Barbara (as she crosses to the davenport). The 
 water's boihng and I shall soon — (She sees that he is 
 gone, her voice trails off into nothingness and just 
 then the front door closes. She goes sloxcly to the 
 table, spies the ring, takes the paper and reads the 
 message, which is only three words, "7 thank you." 
 As she stands irresolute and very bexcildered her eyes 
 
48 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 rest upon the neicspaper 'which lies upon the daven- 
 port. She reaches for it; her ex.pression changes, the 
 look of he-ucilderment becomes one of enlightenment, 
 she whispers:) I wonder — 
 
 And the Curtain Falls. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 The Second Act. 
 
 Scene. — Sun room in the Allison home, very bright 
 and attractive leith its xcicker and cretonne furniture 
 and its wide open French windoxv which reveals a land- 
 scape of autumn coloring. A desk with a telephone is 
 placed dotcn the right of stage and a table with txco 
 chairs is on the left. Back of the table is a floor lamp; 
 on one side of the French windoxv is a pretty tea 
 cart and on the other a small settee; a large chair 
 is down center. There are curtained arches on either 
 side, the one on the right leading to the dining room, 
 and that on the left to the hall. The curtain rises 
 upon Florixe busily xchisking her feather dtister in 
 all directions and frisking her immacidate self back and 
 forth and to and fro. Florin e's hair is a marvel of 
 xoaves, pyramids and puffs upon which her dainty cap 
 is poised like a butterfly; her black goxvn with its 
 fluffy apron is almost apologetic in trimness, for is it 
 not an unworthy garb for one xvhom fate should have 
 cast in the role of a footlight soubrette? Her high- 
 heeled slippers tap frivolously as she casts an inquisi- 
 tive eye upon each letter in the pile of mail adorning 
 the desk, calmly helps herself to a tempting bonbon in 
 the silver dish upon the table and keeps a watchful eye 
 upon the door as if expecting an intruder. The intruder 
 appears, a very natty chauffeur, xvho answers to the 
 name of Ned, also seriously interfered with by fate and 
 destined for greater roles. He carries a large bunch 
 of hothouse flowers. 
 
 Florine. My word! How you startled me! {Of 
 
 49 
 
50 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 course he didn't startle her and he knows that he 
 didn't.) I've been looking for the gardener to bring 
 these from tlie conservatory. {And axcay she goes to 
 the table, placing the powers in a large vase.) 
 
 Neb. Some doin's at our phico last night. 
 
 Floeink. Rather ! 'Tain't ever^- family that can 
 boast a disappearin' act and a returnin' hero all in a 
 week. 
 
 Ned. Have you seen him? 
 
 Florine. Seen him! (Kisses Iter finger tips airily.) 
 He has ev'ry movie actor run to the top of the pole 
 and yellin' for help. Seen him! Well, I could just 
 keep on seein' him! 
 
 Ned. What time did he come in.'' 
 
 Florine. Close on to midnight. Ev'rybody else 
 had gone to bed, but I was suspicionin' something just 
 on account of Mrs. Allison and Aliss Retta bein' so 
 excited like. So I stayed up, too. When there's to 
 be any fireworks, trust little Florrie to be right there 
 with bells on ! 
 
 Ned. How did he get here? 
 
 Florine. Search me. Fii-st thing I knew there 
 was talkin' in the library, real loud and confused-like, 
 so I stopped at the door a minute. Not that I wanted 
 to listen, for I ain't curious by nature, not a bit, but 
 I thought it was my duty to make sure it wasn't bur- 
 glars. Burglars is so bold these days that you can't 
 tell them from real people. 
 
 Ned. What did you liear? 
 
 Florine. Ev'rybody talked at once. Then Mr. 
 Allison said something about pulling it oft' all right — 
 and his mother said slie must let the papers know all 
 about it. 
 
 Ned (coming down C). She sure let 'em know. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 51 
 
 Front page is blazin' with it — and all because the 
 guy happened to have a wad of cash. Any poor bird 
 could haA^e dropped out of sight for good and all, and 
 who would have cared? 
 
 Flohine. You talk like a Bol-shce-vee-kee. If this 
 house should ever be blown up I'd have you spotted 
 right awa}'. 
 
 Ned. And to think that it was nothin' but a huntin' 
 trip after all. Funny Mrs. Allison didn't know about 
 it before. 
 
 Flokine. Paper said thfit she didn't get his mes- 
 sage. 
 
 Ned. Funny she didn't know when he was comin' 
 home. , 
 
 Florine, She did know. (Sits on arm of chair at R. 
 of table.) 
 
 Ned. She didn't tell the paper that. 
 
 Florine {confidentially). Well, anyway, yesterday 
 I was straightenin' Mrs. Allison's dresser and I saw 
 a little piece of paper under the cushion. I pulled it 
 out and read it — not that I was curious, Ned, but it's 
 my dut}^ to keep everything right in place. 
 
 Ned. What did it say.'^ 
 
 Florine {very impressively). It said. Tonight. 
 {Rises.) And it was signed Tony. {Sighs.) Just like 
 the movies ! 
 
 Ned. The whole thing's like the movies. 
 
 Florine. With Miss Rctta for heroine. 
 
 Ned. What has she to do with it? 
 
 Florine {comes to him). I just happened to be 
 passin' Mrs. Allison's room yesterday and I heard 
 Miss Retta cryin' and Mrs. Allison talkin' very cross- 
 like. I stopped to listen — not that I'm a bit curious, 
 
52 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 for I'm not — but I felt it my duty to be on hand if 
 anything liappened. 
 
 Ned. Well? 
 
 Florine. I couldn't understand Mrs. Allison, but 
 Miss Retta kept sayin', "I'm afraid, I'm afraid," just 
 like that. 
 
 Ned. Well, I don't want to be in any mix-up! 
 
 Florine. You're not likel}^ to stay long enough. 
 
 Ned. Huh? 
 
 Florixe. We've all been here just a few days. 
 You're new, I'm new, the gardener's new, and cook's 
 new. And what's happened to the rest of 'em can hap- 
 pen to us! 
 
 Barbara enters from the hull. Ned heats, a hasty 
 retreat through the window and Florine flourishes the 
 duster even more vigorously. 
 
 Barbara. Good morning, Florine. 
 
 Florine. Good morning, Miss Ferguson. (Bar- 
 bara seats herself at the desk and attacks the pile of 
 mail.) Have you seen the mornin' paper? 
 
 Barbara. No, I haven't. I arose a bit late. 
 
 Florinij (in a dramatic whisper). He's back! 
 
 Barbara. Who's back? 
 
 Florine. Mr.' Allison. (Takes paper from table.) 
 
 Barbara (rising). No! (Mechanically, she takes 
 the paper which Florine offers.) 
 
 Florine. Came last night. (Somewhere in the house 
 a bell sounds.)- There's the bell. (And she goes L. 
 through hallway. For a fexv moments Barbara .stands 
 deep in thought, then she opens the paper and reads 
 it carefidly.) 
 
 Suddenly, like a whirhcind, the curtains part and 
 Peggy enters from L. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 53 
 
 Peggy. Barbara, have you heard the news? {Runs 
 to her.) 
 
 Barbara. I'm just reading it. 
 
 Peggy. Isn't it wonderful .^ 
 
 Barbara. Too wonderful to believe. 
 
 Peggy. Aunt and uncle are out there with Mrs, 
 Allison and Ralph is — 
 
 Barbara. Ralph! 
 
 Peggy'. We're on our way to the Country Club. 
 
 Barbara. It is glorious golf weather. {And her 
 tone is a bit wistful.) 
 
 Peggy' {with an arm about Barbara's neck). Never 
 mind, old dear, you Avon't be cooped up all the time. 
 
 Barbara. I'm not cooped up at all. 
 
 Peggy'. Then you like the place .f* 
 
 Barbara. Immensely. 
 
 Peggy'. I'm glad. {Sits in chair at C.) 
 
 Barbara. I owe it to you, you know. 
 
 Peggy'. And, after all, you can't play Sherlock 
 Holmes. Tony's return has spoiled everything. 
 
 Barbara, Peggy, do you really believe this story.? 
 {And she glances at the paper.) 
 
 Peggy', Believe it? Why, of course! We were all 
 wrong to suspect Mrs, Allison, Bob, She's crazy about 
 Ton}^ just crazy, and so happy over his return. 
 
 Barbara. Did you see him? 
 
 PEGGY^ He isn't up. Notoriety has changed his 
 Spartan habits. 
 
 Barbara, Wh}' do you say that? 
 
 Peggy. Because, as a general thing, Tony, the 
 sun and the lark all rise together, 
 
 Barbara, And do you think it's possible for him 
 to have been so far removed from newspapers as to be 
 ignorant of all this commotion over his disappearance? 
 
54 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Peggy. It was only five days. And Tony's hunting 
 lodge is about the lonesoinest place there is. 
 
 Barbara. And he goes there all by himself? 
 
 Peggv. Surely. We all went up for a week-end 
 once. It's frightfully dreary. Way off from a rail- 
 road, strong in scenery, whispering pines, scary old 
 night owls. Ugh ! 
 
 Barbara. Don't you think it's strange that he 
 didn't tell Mrs. Allison tliat he was planning the trip.'' 
 
 Peggy. He didn't plan it. He decided it all of a 
 sudden. He had started home from the office, and 
 took a notion to spend a few days at the lodge. 
 
 Barbara. W^ithout any luggage.? 
 
 Peggy. He had everything there. 
 
 Barbara. And he went right to the train? 
 
 Peggy'. Exactly. Scribbled a note to Mrs. Allison. 
 
 Barbara. Which she never received, the paper says, 
 
 Peggy'. jMcssenger boys aren't always trustworthy. 
 
 Barbara. Lots of things aren't trustworthy. 
 , Peggy. Since Tony's back safe and sound, why 
 should we bother? 
 
 Ralph enters from L. 
 
 Peggy. Come, cheer up your lady sleuth, Ralph, 
 she's grouchy because she's been cheated out of a mys- 
 tery. {Crosses to choir L. of table and seats herself.) 
 
 Ralph {greeting Barbara). Tough luck, isn't it. 
 Bob? And it shows just how far the editorial imagina- 
 tion can distort itself without anything real to go on. 
 How's the job? 
 
 Barbara. S])lendid. I like it. {Again sits at desk.) 
 
 Ralph. And now there's no mystery to bother 
 about. {Sits at C.) 
 
 Barbara. I'm not so sure. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 55 
 
 liiLPH. Nonsense! Tony's back and it's all very 
 simple, (Pauses.) My conscience troubles me. 
 
 Babbara. Why? 
 
 Ralph. Because I even suspected Mrs. Allison. 
 
 Peggy. Journalists, and especially editors, are very 
 queer people. 
 
 Ralph. In what respect.'' 
 
 Peggy. Their consciences are like wee bits* of pearls 
 all wrapped up in lots and lots and lots of cotton. 
 
 Barbara {suddenly). Have you time to listen to 
 something? 
 
 Raeph. Plenty of time, haven't wc, Peggy? 
 
 Peggy. All morning. 
 
 Barbara. And do you think I'm wilfully wasting 
 my employer's time? 
 
 Peggy. She's busy with aunt and uncle. Please 
 tell us. 
 
 Barbara. Well, it happened on Hallowe'en. 
 
 Ralph. The night we were there. 
 
 Barbara. Yes, but later. (Pauses.) I told you 
 about the lights, didn't I? 
 
 Peggy. Yes. 
 
 Barbara. I was standing by the table — alone — 
 when I saw a plank laid from the window in the 
 opposite house to the one in ours. And a man was 
 slowly making his way across the plank. 
 
 Peggy. Bob, you dreamed it! Nothing so thrilling 
 as that ever liappcns in real life ! 
 
 Raiph. What did you do? 
 
 Barbara. I let him come. 
 
 Ralph. You should have called for help. 
 
 Barbara. No. He was a gentleman. And he was 
 exhausted and ill. 
 
56 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Ralph. What did he say about liis tight rope ^)er- 
 foniuince? 
 
 Barbara. He was escaping from tiic room opposite. 
 The door had been bolted on the outside. 
 
 Peggy. How perfectly ripping! 
 
 Barbara. I left the room. When I came back he 
 was gone. (Suddenly.) Peggy, did you ever see 
 Anthony Allison wear this? (And from her pocket 
 ■ihe drozc's the ring' which the mysterious stranger had 
 left.) 
 
 Peggy (crossing to her left). Never, to my knowl- 
 edge. Did the man leave it? (Barbara nods.) Oh, 
 Bob ! You don't think, you can't think, tliat it was 
 Tony! 
 
 Barbara. I did — until this morning. 
 
 Ralph. Impossible. This fellow was probably an 
 ordinary thief. 
 
 Barbara. Oh, no he wasn't. (Pauses.) That wasn't 
 all. 
 
 Peggy. Oh, I just felt it wasn't. (Ecstatically.) 
 I love anything melodramatic — dark nights, mysteri- 
 ous lights, and the hero with a bloody handkercliief 
 about his head. (Runs back to her chair.) 
 
 Barbara. He did have a bloody handkerchief about 
 his head ! 
 
 Peggy. Heavenly ! 
 
 Ralph (impatiently). Go on with the story. 
 
 Barbara. I forgot to remove the plank — and early 
 next morning Larry and Freddie discovered it. 
 
 Peggy. I can just see them discovering it! 
 
 Barbara. And after I told them, nothing would 
 do but to explore the house next door. 
 
 Ralph. And you found nothing. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 57 
 
 Barbara. We found every cA'idence of a fight. And 
 we also found the mysterious man. 
 Ralph. But why should he go back there .^ 
 
 Barbara. Too ill to go further, I suppose. H-e was 
 unconscious. Since then we have cared for him as 
 well as we could. 
 
 Ralph. Why haven't you told Tom, or me? 
 
 Barbara. It was my story. 
 
 Ralph. But the man might have died. 
 
 Barbara. His hurts aren't serious and good food 
 has brought him back. 
 
 Ralph. Doesn't he tell you who he is and why he's 
 over there.'' 
 
 Barbara. Oh, Ralph, he can't, he can't. Why, he 
 doesn't remember his own name. 
 
 Ralph (whistling). By Jove! (Rises.) 
 
 Barbara. He must have been struck on the head. 
 
 Ralph. Then his memory may come back as quickly 
 as it left him. 
 
 Barbara. That's why I haven't called a doctor. 
 I've felt all along that it is not a case for publicity. 
 
 Ralph. After our golf game, Peggy, I'll run over 
 and look things over. Barbara, you're to keep out of 
 it from now on. (After a moment.) He might make 
 a corking story. (Strolls to back of stage.) 
 
 Peggy. And you thought it was Tony. Well, I can 
 see how you would. 
 
 Barbara. But my story isn't finished. It goes on, 
 and on, and on. And this is the part I can't under- 
 stand. (Pauses.) You remember that I told you of 
 the mysterious girl who rushed in that night, and who 
 watched for a signal from the opposite house.'' 
 
 Peggy. The visiting vamp! Of course. 
 
58 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Baiibara. I found out yesterday that she is Miss 
 Kicves. 
 
 IIalpii {turning). .Miss Reeves! jNIrs. AlHson's 
 niece ? 
 
 Barbara. Tlie very same. I recognized her at 
 once, but she didn't seem to recognize me. 
 
 Ralph. Say ! There may be a story here, after alL 
 {Sits on settee.) 
 
 Peggy. Story! Story ! Don't you ever think of any- 
 thing but a story? 
 
 Ralph. Occasionall3^ {And out comes his little note- 
 book in which he scribbles vigorously.) 
 
 Peggy. Anyway, it's Bob's story. And it all hap- 
 pened on Hallowe'en. 
 
 Barbara. Mysterious man — mysterious woman — 
 
 Peggy. And mysterious me ! 
 
 Barbara. My Hallowe'en witch! (Crosses and 
 kneels by her.) 
 
 Peggy {once more assuming the icitch's voice). Ah, 
 here it is, my dear, here it is! A mirror, a magic mir- 
 ror! The elves sent it to you. (Suddeydy.) Bob, did 
 you use the mirror.'' 
 
 Barbara {after a pause). I did. Silly, wasn't it.? 
 
 Peggy. You look guilty. (Pauses.) Did you see 
 the man in the mirror.'^ {As Barbara nods.) Bob! 
 
 Barbara {rising). And the clock was striking 
 twelve ! 
 
 Fortunately for Peggy's overworked nerves, Mrs. 
 Allison enters from the hall, very stately, very smiling, 
 very gracious and apparently very sure of Jicrself. 
 She is charmingly gowned, and if she is a bit ornate 
 and wears too many jewels for the morning, one is in- 
 clined to forget it. 
 
 Mrs. Allison. Good morning. Miss Ferguson. {As 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 59 
 
 Barbara acknowledges the greeting.) Peggy, deai', 
 your aunt's last word to me was a reminder that 
 luncheon is at one and that there are invited guests. 
 (Barbara crosses to desk.) 
 
 Peggy (rising). Then it's up to Ralph to use his per- 
 fectly good memory in my behalf. For all I have is a 
 forgettery. Time for us to be off, anyway. 
 
 Ralph. Tell Tony I'm sorry not to see him, Mrs. 
 Allison. I 
 
 Mrs. a. Why not come hack later on.'' (As a sudden 
 thought strikes her.) Better still, why not help to 
 celebrate his return with an informal dinner party .f* 
 You will come, both of you.^ 
 
 Peggy. Of course. 
 
 Mrs. a. And it will be a splendid opportunity to 
 become better acquainted with Miss Ferguson. {To 
 Barbara.) May I count on you, my dear.'* 
 
 Barbara. Yes, and thank you, Mrs. Allison. 
 
 Peggy. Barbara has a perfectly nice brother, Mrs. 
 Allison. 
 
 Mrs. a. Who evidently is advertised by his loving 
 friends. Then, b}^ all means, Barbara must produce 
 the brother. And I'll ask the Judge in order to even 
 up the party. 
 
 Peggy {rapturously). Isn't it just wonderful to 
 have a prodigal son in the family.? {Goes hack stage to 
 Ralph.) 
 
 Ralph. Goodbye, Mrs. Allison. I trust you don't 
 resent our monopoly of your private secretary. 
 
 Mrs. a. On the contrary, it's quite a recommenda- 
 tion for Miss Ferguson. {As Ralph and Peggy leave 
 the room at L.) Don't let him win the game, Peggy. 
 
 Peggy {from off stage). The prospects of a party 
 
60 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 will liolp me to Avin uiij old game. Goodbye, eyery- 
 body. 
 
 Mrs. a. (joins Barbara at desk). We are all feel- 
 ing very happy this morning, Miss Ferguson. 
 {Pauses.) Of course, you've heard of Mr. Allison's 
 return. 
 
 Baruara. IVe just been reading of it. And I'm 
 very glad for you. 
 
 Mrs. a. (crossing- and seating herself L. of table). 
 Ton}' is like my own son. When he disappeared last 
 Thursday and sent no word, I became a bit hysterical 
 and notified police headquarters. I see now that I 
 acted hastily. 
 
 Barbara. Excessive anxiety excuses any hasty ac- 
 tion, I'm sure. 
 
 Mrs. a. And to think that all the excitement was 
 due to a careless messenger boy. 
 
 Barbara. "Trifles have tottered temples." 
 
 Mrs. a. Undoubtedly. (Pauses.) Did I quite tire 
 you out yesterday.'' 
 
 Barbara. Not at all. For a first da}' in a new 
 position it was most satisfying and quite ideal. 
 
 Mrs. a. Those are exactly the adjectives I choose 
 to apply to my new secretary. 
 
 Barbara, That is kind of you. 
 
 Mrs. a. And it is needless to add that your work 
 is quite perfect. (Pauses.) Today I shall introduce 
 you to the manuscript which is my real reason for 
 employing a secretary. 
 
 Barbara. A manuscript.'' 
 
 Mrs. a. An autobiography upon which Mr. Allison 
 had worked from time to time. He took much in- 
 terest in it ; and now it is my wish to keep it in 
 permanent form. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 61 
 
 Barbara. It will be interesting. 
 
 Mrs. a. I trust so. I wish the pages edited and 
 typed. And the fact that you are a college graduate 
 makes me quite content to entrust the work to you. 
 
 Barbara. Shall I begin on the manuscript today.? 
 
 Mrs. a. After you have sent the checks Avhich you 
 will find on the desk in my sitting room. The manu- 
 script is in the right-liand drawer. Later you can bring 
 it to me here and I shall give what few directions I have. 
 
 Barbara (rising). Very well, Mrs. Allison. {And she 
 starts toward the hall door.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Just a moment, Miss Ferguson. 
 
 Barbara (turning). Yes.'^ 
 
 Mrs. a. My niece tells me that you and your brother 
 were most kind to her in her terrifying experience of 
 Saturday night. 
 
 Barbara. We were glad to be of service. (Pauses.) 
 I had thought that Miss Reeves did not recognize me. 
 
 Mrs. a. Her failure to recognize you was due to 
 an overwhelming surprise at seeing you here and to a 
 fear that you would think her conduct most unusual. 
 
 Barbara. I see. 
 
 Mrs. a. But her foolishness in running such a risk 
 has caused me to reprove her very sharply. (After a 
 pause.) If you agree, we shall forget the affair en- 
 tirely. 
 
 Barbara. Certainly, Mrs. Allison. (And she passes 
 through the hall curtain, L.) 
 
 Left to herself, Mrs. At.i.ison's poise disappears. She 
 crosses to the desk. Her expression changes and she 
 seems nervous and preoccupied. From the French 
 windozo Retta enters. 
 
 Retta. Have you explained to Miss Ferguson.'' 
 (Crosses to her.) 
 
62 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Mrs. a. I have tried to. If you liad met tlie situ- 
 .•ition f'airl}' and naturally tliere would have been no 
 need for explanations. You have complicated matters, 
 lletta. 
 
 Retta. She took me by surprise. 
 
 Mrs. a. (sharply). Don't allow anyone to take you 
 by surprise. It's the weak spot in one's armor. 
 
 Retta {suddenly, as if panic-stricken) . I'm afraid, 
 I'm afraid, I'm afraid. (Crosses to chair I., of table.) 
 
 Mrs. a. (folloxving and shaking her angrily). Never 
 let me hear you say that again, never! 
 
 Retta. I can't help it, I can't ! I've nerved myself 
 up to this point. I've done all that you've asked, but 
 now, now — (Sinks into the chair.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Hush! 
 
 Retta (xvildly). It's all wrong. I feel that someone 
 knows. 
 
 Mrs. a. (leaning over her). Listen, Retta. Am I the 
 woman to fail in any undertaking.-' 
 
 Retta. Sometimes I think you haven't a heart. 
 
 Mrs. a. Such an opinion in regard to my short- 
 comings should hardly come from you. (At C.) Don't 
 yoti owe the xery clothes you wear to me? 
 
 Retta. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. a. And are you forgetting Tony.^* 
 
 Retta (rising). Forgetting Tony.'' When every 
 thought, every danger, every move has been for him.'' 
 (Pauses.) Oh, Edith, suppose that Tony forgets me. 
 
 Mrs. a. He can't forget you. {Stands by desk.) 
 
 Retta. You are so sure of everything. (Sits in 
 chair near C.) 
 
 Mrs. a. I am forced to be sure. 
 
 Retta. And you take such risks — such terrible 
 risks. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 63 
 
 Mrs. a. {laugJiing a little harshly). I have always 
 taken risks — an inheritance from my gambler father 
 and my spendthrift mother whose recklessness forced 
 a girl of sixteen to depend upon her own wits. {Sits 
 at desk.) 
 
 Retta. But Avits and cleverness mean success. 
 
 Mrs. a. Was it success to marry gay, dashing John 
 Allison, only to find that he had squandered his fortune, 
 that he lived from day to day.? Success to be driven 
 from place to place alwaj^s facing debt and povei-ty.? 
 Success when he could give me none of the things I 
 wanted .f* 
 
 Retta. But you loved him. 
 
 Mrs. a. For what I thought he could give me. 
 
 Retta. Edith ! 
 
 Mrs. a. And his death brought me my chance ! 
 What John Allison failed to give, his brother lavished 
 upon me. 
 
 Retta. Are j^ou making him a fair return for his 
 kindness ? 
 
 Mrs. A. (ris'mg). How dare you speak to me of 
 return of kindness.'' When I am playing this last card 
 for 3^ou — for Tony- — and for our peace and prosperity 
 in years to come. Wliy, I'm just about to lay hold 
 upon what I've craved and dreamed of for years, 
 money, beauty, powder, position for me and mine. (Defi- 
 antly.) And I'm going to have them! (Pauses.) 
 
 Retta. Don't look like that, Edith. You frighten 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. a. Don't be hysterical. (In a matter of fact 
 tone.) Let us make our plans. 
 
 Retta. Are the servants safe? (Looks around 
 anxiously.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Certainly they are safe. All of them are 
 
64 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 new and quite unaccustomed to the household and to 
 the family. 
 
 Retta. There's Miss Constance. 
 
 Mrs. a. Miss Constance is very far from being 
 a servant. 
 
 Retta. But she's here. 
 
 Mrs. a. Don't be foolish, Retta, Constance will 
 always make her home here. 
 
 Retta. Who is she, anyway.? 
 
 Mrs. a. a dear friend of Mr. Allison's first wife. 
 She has lived here for years and has always been 
 devoted to the boy. 
 
 Retta. Then she will — understand. 
 
 Mrs. a. Nonsense! She is very frail — spends most 
 of the time in her room, and isn't interested in the 
 affairs of the household. 
 
 Retta. Is she dependent upon you.? 
 
 Mrs. a. Hardly. Mr. Alhson left her well pro- 
 vided ffi and stipulated in his will that as long as she 
 wished 'nor home should be here. 
 
 Ret"'.?. Doesn't she annoy you.? 
 
 Mrs. a. {carelessly). I never think of her, and sel- 
 dom see her. Most of her meals are served in her room. 
 Of late years she has been a creature of her own 
 fancies. 
 
 Retta {eagerly). Then her testimon}' would not 
 be regarded.? 
 
 Mrs. a. Hardly. 
 
 Retta. She was talking to a man this morning, a 
 rough looking man with a cap pulled over his face. 
 And she gave him a suit case to carry away. 
 
 Mrs. a. Probably one of her nimierous charities. 
 
 Retta. I want to be sure. 
 
 Mrs. a. Then call lier in and ask her. She's out in 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 65 
 
 the garden. (Pauses.) We are having a dinner to- 
 night. 
 
 Retta ( rising) . No ! 
 
 Mrs. a. Why not.? 
 
 Retta. So soon.'' 
 
 Mrs. a. The sooner, the better. 
 
 Retta. But something will happen. (Crosses R. 
 of table.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Nothing will happen. (After a moment.) 
 Be on your guard tonight, Retta, and it will be all 
 over. Then — a long cruise, a winter abroad, and every- 
 thing forgotten. 
 
 Retta. But I can never forget! (Again hysterical.) 
 I'm afraid! I'm afraid! 
 
 Constance appears at the French xmndoxv, as delicate, 
 as dainty and as fragile as a flower. A filmy shawl is 
 around her shoulders. Her hair is just touched with 
 gray, and in her hand she carries a cluster of red and 
 yellow autumn leaves. 
 
 Mrs. a. Won't you join us, Constance? ^As she 
 goes forward to meet her.) You remind me ^f^ a ver}^ 
 lovely autumn that follows a dewy spring and a rain- 
 bow summer. 
 
 Constance. I am autumn only in years and 
 thoughts, Edith. The gorgeous coloring is for you. 
 See, you might easily be a sovereign in the rich red 
 glow of dreams realized — in the golden sunshine of love 
 and friendship. (And she touches the leaves in turn.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Pretty fancies, as usual. (Returns to desk.) 
 
 Constance. As one grows older, she lives with fan- 
 cies, and memories. The fancies come and go, but the 
 memories stay. (Stands back of chair at C.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Even the sad memories? 
 
 Constance. Sad memories must be interwoven with 
 
66 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 happv ones, Edith. Grief never stings. It is only 
 conscience that turns the dagger in the heart! {Is it 
 imagination, or does she look at Retta?) 
 
 Mrs. a. {hastily). Why talk of gruesome things 
 when we are celebrating Tony's return.'' 
 
 Constance. Tony is not here. 
 
 Mrs. a. Why, Constance, he came last night. I told 
 you early this morning. Surely you remember. {Sits 
 at desk.) 
 
 Constance {quietly). Tony is not here. 
 
 Mrs. a. He'll be down in a few moments, and you 
 may see for yourself. 
 
 Constance {as if to herself). Does one ever see the 
 heart? {Unconsciously Mrs. Alijson shrinks away.) 
 
 Retta {zaith an effort). Who was the man with 
 whom you were talking this morning. Miss Constance.^ 
 
 Constance. A friend whom I could help. 
 
 Mrs. a. There are so many who depend upon 3'ou 
 for just that help, Constance. Doesn't it weary you.'' 
 
 Constance. This man needed a friend. {And she 
 moves toward the hall.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Where are you going.' 
 
 Constance. To place the leaves where Tony can 
 see them when he comes. 
 
 Mrs. a. But Tony is here. 
 
 Constance {as if she had not heard). When he 
 comes. {And she leaves by the French icindoxc.) 
 
 Retta. What did I tell you, Edith? 
 
 Mrs. a. Imagination ! Remember that Constance 
 lives to herself. Her conversation is stran/^e. She is 
 not like us. 
 
 Retta. But she sees what we don't see, she hears 
 what we don't hear. She knows ! She knows ! 
 
 Anthony. Knows what? 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 67 
 
 He has entered from hall door L. during Retta's 
 speech, and stands in the archway. He is, as far as 
 features are concerned, the mystcrions visitor of Hal- 
 lowe'en. 
 
 Mbs. a. Nothing of any importance. Did you sleep 
 well, Tony? 
 
 Anthoxy. Like a top. {As he glances around.) All 
 set for the first act, I sec. (Crosses to C.) Well, let's 
 be sure of the cast of characters before we go any 
 farther. There's Aunt Edith — (icvV/i a laugh). 
 
 Mbs. a. Hush, Tony! 
 
 Anthony. Aunt Constance, ;md Cousin Retta. 
 {Draxvs Retta to him.) How do 3'ou like that, Retta, 
 old girl.'' 
 
 Retta. Be careful, Tony — the servants. 
 
 Mrs. a. Listen. (And she speaks in a low, em- 
 phatic tone.) We are having a dinner tonight to 
 celebrate your return. You will meet Judge Lennox, 
 the family lawyer, Ralph Overton, a young journalist, 
 with whom you play golf at the Country Club, and 
 Peggy Palmei', whom you have known since your child- 
 hood. 
 
 Anthony. Am I in love with Peggy.'' 
 
 Mrs. a. Certainly not ! 
 
 Anthony. Any reason why I shouldn't be.'' (And 
 he stretches himself lu.rurionsly in the large chair L. 
 of table.) 
 
 Mrs. a. (sharply). None of that. 
 
 Anthony (taking out a cigarette). Hand me a light, 
 Retta. Forgot my match safe. (She docs so.) And 
 toss me the paper. Aunt Edith — (again the laugh) 
 I want to look at myself! (Opens the paper which Mrs. 
 Allison hands him.) Pretty good likeness for a news- 
 paper shot, isn't It.'' 
 
68 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Mbs. a. If you read th.e accompanyiiig' article, you 
 will find a mention made of Anthony Allison's reserve 
 of manner and polish of speech. {iSeats heraclf again 
 at desk.) 
 
 AxTHoxY {tossing away the paper). Don't want to 
 read anything, too tired. (Vazcms.) Gee, it's good to 
 be back at tliis sort of thing, good to know that it's 
 3'ours to keep ! 
 
 Retta (icho is sitting R. of table). Don't say 
 that, Ton}^ until 3'^ou know, until you're sure. 
 
 Anthony. Know? Don't I already know.'' Sure? 
 Has fate ever dealt me a losing hand.'' "Nothing ven- 
 ture, nothing have." It's a pretty good old motto, 
 Retta, and it's proved a pretty good old pal. 
 
 Mrs. a. (who has been scanning time tables). Tony, 
 I'm planning to leave Thursday night. 
 
 Anthony. Thursday night. Just a week from the 
 date of my disappearance. Thursday's all right with 
 me. 
 
 Mrs, a. And 'we can make the steamer sailing on 
 the tenth. 
 
 Anthony. Sailing where.'* 
 
 Mrs. a. For France. 
 
 Anthony' (losing some of his languor). France! 
 'i'hen that means Paris, Retta. Paris ! 
 
 Retta (rising). No, no. 
 
 Anthony (rising and crossing to C). With an 
 adventure around every corner, a smile on. the face of 
 every pretty girl you meet, a good fellow always ready 
 to clink a glass with you! Lights, excitement, music, 
 color — That's Paris! That's life! (Draxvs Retta to 
 him.) 
 
 Retta. Let's go to some quiet little place. Please, 
 Tony. Please, Edith. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 69 
 
 Mrs. a. {xoarn'mgly). Aunt Edith, Retta. » 
 
 Anthony. Quiet little place ! What's the matter 
 with you, Retta? And what chance has a big bankroll 
 in a quiet little place? ^ 
 
 Mrs. a. {coming to him and placing her hand on his 
 shoulder). We'll go anywhere you say, Tony; any- 
 where. It's for your happiness, your pleasure, and you 
 shall have no wish ungratified. It's what I've dreamed 
 of, worked for. And it's come at last. 
 
 Anthony (pushing her aside). Cut out the heroics 
 — and get me another light, Retta. My cigarette's out. 
 {Sits again in large chair.) 
 
 Barbara enters from hall with the manuscript. She 
 hesitates as she sees that Mrs. Allison is not alone. 
 Retta sits L. of table. 
 
 Mrs. a. It's quite all right, Miss Ferguson. Please 
 come in. {As she advances.) May I present my step- 
 son, Mr. Allison? (Anthony gazes at her frankly — 
 almost insolently — btit there is no sign of recognition on 
 his part as he acknowledges the introduction — without 
 rising. Barbara bows slightly in return — if her heart is 
 beating a bit faster no one is the wiser — and goes to 
 the desk.) Miss Ferguson is my private secretary. 
 
 Anthony. And what need have you for a private 
 secretarjf ? 
 
 Mrs. a. Your father's autobiography. Miss Fergu- 
 son is preparing it for publication. {To Barbara.) 
 Right here is a paragraph which may prove confusing. 
 Wouldn't it be better to shift it to the preface? {And 
 they talk together in low tones.) 
 
 Anthony {to Retta). Where did you get her? 
 
 Retta. She's a friend of Peggy Palmer {hesitates) . 
 It was her honae I entered that night when — Oh ! I told 
 
 you — 
 
70 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Anthony. Has she caught on to anything? 
 
 Retta. Why should she? 
 
 Mrs. a. {turning). Sucli beautiful weather, and 
 here we sit ! Come with me, Tony, and I'll prove that 
 your hunting lodge hasn't a monopoly of color and 
 foliage. And then you may be off to business. 
 
 Anthony. No business for me today. {But he rises 
 and follows her to the French window.) Come along, 
 Retta! {And with an apologetic nod and smile at Bar- 
 bara, Retta joins him.) 
 
 Mrs. a. {as Retta and Anthony pass through the 
 zaindow). And Miss Ferguson? 
 
 Barbara, Yes, Mrs. Allison? 
 
 Mrs. a. While you are at the telephone, will you 
 make three reservations on the eastern train for Thurs- 
 da}^ night? 
 
 Barbara. Certainly. 
 
 Mrs. a. We are leaving for a short trip. But in 
 my absence 3'our work will continue. {Goes off L.) 
 
 Barbara is puzded, excited and a hit angry, and for 
 a few moments she is busy with her own thoughts. 
 Then she looks in the telephone book, takes down the 
 receiver and is about to interview' central rchen gallop- 
 ing hoofs are heard approaching. She replaces the re- 
 ceiver and turns in time to see Crescent Moon dash up 
 to the window. Guiding his destinies is Fredericka, 
 very boyish, very determined and very dashing in her 
 trim riding suit. {If impracticable to show horse 
 through window, this action may be merely suggested.) 
 
 Barbara {startled). Freddie! {Rises.) 
 
 Fred, {waving her crop). Stay right where you are. 
 
 I'll come to you. {And off she jumps, giving Crescent 
 
 Moon^s nose an understanding rub.) 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 71 
 
 Barbara. Is Larr}' — 
 
 Fred. Larry's all right, and Tom's all right, and 
 I'm all right. No domestic disaster has forced me to 
 make a Paul Revere of myself. ( Whereupon she comes 
 closer and delivers uith great gusto the iceighty words.) 
 He's gone ! 
 
 Barbara (after a moment). Well — I rather ex- 
 pected it. 
 
 Fred. Expected it.^ Perhaps you also expected him 
 to go — as he did go — without a word — without a sign.-^ 
 
 Barbara. Was it reasonable to hope for any demon- 
 stration, when he wasn't quite himself.'^ (Sits at desk.) 
 
 Fred. He was himself last night when Larry and I 
 took him his dinner. 
 
 Barbara. What do you mean.'' 
 
 Fred. I mean that he was absolutely normal. He 
 asked all sorts of questions, and wanted the newspapers 
 for three days back. 
 
 Barbara. Why didn't you tell me.'' 
 
 Fred. I thought it would be better to wait until this 
 morning, and to be sure that all his sense had come back. 
 
 Barbara. That wasn't wise, Freddie. 
 
 Fred. I don't know why it wasn't wise. Larry and 
 I have been tlie chief purveyors of food and water. 
 Surely it was our affair. 
 
 Barbara. Did he mention me.'' 
 
 Fred. You? No, why should he.'' But he seemed 
 tremendously interested in Larry and me. (Pauses.) 
 I talked a lot. 
 
 Barbara (sharply). Talked .? About what.'' 
 
 Fred, (shrugging her shoulders). How should I 
 remember.? Anyway, he liked it. (Angrily.) And 
 now he's off, leaving nothing but that old bloody hand- 
 kerchief. It all goes to prove what I've told you over 
 
72 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 and over again. That all men are snares— and clieats 
 — and deceivers ! 
 
 Barbara. Not all of them, Freddie. 
 
 Fred. Every woman has an exception, I suppose. I 
 have two exceptions — Tom and Larry. 
 
 Barbara. Some day you'll have anotlier. 
 
 Fred. No, I sha'n't. And to think of the time I've 
 wasted on him, the food I've carried him, the — {Sits 
 R. of table.) 
 
 Barbara. Don't rave, Freddie. He's here. 
 
 Fred. Here? 
 
 Barbara. He happens to be Anthony Allison, who 
 disappeared so mysteriously and who came back this 
 morning just as mysteriousl3\ (And she flaunts before 
 Frederic ka's eyes the long suffering paper, xchich lies 
 where Anthony has throzen it.) And whose mem- 
 ory, doubtless, is just as good as yours and mine. 
 
 Fred, (after glancing through the paper). You 
 knew this all along ? 
 
 Barbara. I suspected it. 
 
 Fred. And didn't tell me.'' 
 
 Barbara (in imitation of Fredericka's shrug). Why 
 should I .'* 
 
 Fred. To think that I didn't find it out for myself; 
 and after I'd read about the disappearance, too. 
 (Crumpling the paper.) I hate for anybody to put 
 anything over on'me! (Eises.) 
 
 Barbara. Watch out ! That paper is Allison prop- 
 erty. 
 
 Fred. Are you sure it's the man.'' 
 
 Barbara. Absolutely sure. I met him, not fifteen 
 minutes ago. 
 
 Fred. Did he recognize you.'* 
 
 Barbara. Not by the flicker of an eyelash. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 73 
 
 Fred. And after all you've done for him. (Pauses.) 
 I hate him ! 
 
 Barbara. It is rather a peculiar situation, isn't it? 
 Especially since he vows he's been at his hunting lodge. 
 
 Fred, {disgustedly). And to think I cut school— for 
 this! 
 
 Barbara. Again ! Oh, Fredericka ! It's the third 
 time in a month. What am I to do with you? 
 
 Fred. Do nothing. {Comes to her.) For I've had 
 perfectly worth while reasons every time, and breaking 
 a few rules and regulations keeps me from being a 
 standardized product of the educational system. You 
 wouldn't want me to be a standardized product, Bob. 
 Now, \\ ould you ? 
 
 Barbara. I'm afraid I haven't been wise in advising 
 you, or in disciplining you. Sometimes you worry me 
 dreadfully, Freddie. 
 
 Fred, {coming closer). Now listen to me. Bob, and 
 don't you ever forget what I tell you. I say a lot that 
 I mean and a lot that I don't mean, and I vow I'll do a 
 lot that I'll never do. For down in my heart I know 
 what's right and what's good, and there's never a bit of 
 need in worrying about me. {After a moment.) Do 
 you believe me? (Places her arm around Barbara's 
 shoulder. ) 
 
 Barbara. Of course I believe you. 
 
 Fred. Then I'll be off again, and if Crescent Moon 
 lives up to his record, we'll be on time for Arma virum- 
 que cano. (Runs to •windoiv and turns.) I sing of 
 arms and a man! Quite appropriate, isn't it, Bob? 
 And if we could — {She stops and gazes intently before 
 her and Anthony, sauntering into view, looks toward 
 Crescent Moon.) 
 
 Anthony. Pretty horse. 
 
74 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Fred, (curtly). I think so. He's mine. (And she 
 looks so closely at him that he feels the scrutiny.) 
 
 Anthony. Have I ever met 3^011 before.? 
 
 Fred, (slowly). I don't think so! (And still she 
 gazes intently.) 
 
 Anthonv (vaiidy endeavoring to malce friends with 
 Crescent Moon). Your horse doesn't seem to like me. 
 
 Fred, He's very particular in choosing his friends, 
 
 Anthony (good naturedly) . Then in that case I'd 
 better be off. (And he departs whistling.) 
 
 Fred, (watches him out of sight, then turns.) Bob! 
 
 Barbara. Oh, Freddie, you were impertinent! 
 
 Fred. Impertinent! Wliat do I care! (Runs hach 
 to Barbara.) Why, Bob, you're crazy, crazy! There's 
 not a sign of any wound upon his head. And even if 
 there were, I'd know that he isn't the man. (Pauses.) 
 He isn't the man, Bob! 
 
 And the curtain falls for a few moments, in order to 
 irtrdicate the passage of a fexv hours. When it rises. 
 Judge Lennox, at R. of table, Ralph at C, Tom, in 
 desk chair, and Anthony, L. of table, are seated in the 
 sun room enjoying the pipe of peace. The French win- 
 dow is closed and the lamps are lighted. 
 
 Ralph, Then to what do you attribute this so-called 
 wave of crime, Judge Lennox? 
 
 Judge Lennox. To idleness, for one thing. To 
 inflated prices, for another. And (rvith a laugh) ^ 
 chiefly to original sin! 
 
 Ralph. Which we all possess in fullest measure. 
 And, even if we escape the law we're pretty apt to fasten 
 it on the other fellow. Why, Tony, a few days ago I 
 was doing my best to hold somebody responsible for 
 your disappearance ! 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 75 
 
 Anthoxy. But why should nnyone be interested in 
 effecting nij disappearance. 
 
 Ralph. Foohsh (question, Tony. Think of 3'our 
 wealth. 
 
 Anthony. I .'//// thinking of it! 
 
 Ralph. And what a ransom you could pay to a des- 
 perate bandit. 
 
 Anthony. Well, if any fellow could pull off a clever 
 stunt like that and get the best of me, I'd deserve to 
 disappear and to lose my money, every cent of it ! A 
 man who can't hold on to his dollars might as well pass 
 them on to one wlio can. {There is an awkward pause.) 
 
 Jun.GE. That statement is hardly compatible with 
 your ideas of morality and justice, Tony. For your 
 generous sentiment in regard to the Avise disposition of 
 your inheritance has hitherto distinguished you from 
 most young men of equal wealtJi and position. 
 
 Anthony. In what respect am I different.^ 
 
 Judge. In that you are always willing to aid any 
 worthy cause. That is why I have no hesitancy tonight 
 in asking yon for a generous subscription to head the 
 fund for the suffering masses in Europe. 
 
 Anthony' {after a moment). Sorry, Judge, but I 
 can't help you out. 
 
 Judge. Surely I misunderstand you. 
 
 Anthony'. No you don't. I need my money for 
 schemes of my own and I can't spare a cent at present ; 
 not a cent. {Roughly.) Whj^ should we be mixed up 
 in these European affairs, anyway.'' The people brought 
 it upon themselves. Now let them get out of it. 
 
 Judge {rising and finding it difficult to control his 
 surprise and indignation). Suppose that America had 
 taken such a stand when Europe so desperately needed 
 help in the world war? 
 
76 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Anthony. Perhaps we shouldn't have had so many 
 worthless soldiers idling around and expecting the 
 world to give them a living! 
 
 Tom {has been growing restless and more restless. 
 Now he can restrain himself no longer. He rises). I 
 am a stranger to this city, Mr. Allison, a stranger to 
 you and a guest in your home. Nevertheless, as an ex- 
 service man and a witness of what happened "over 
 there," I resent your statement. And what's more, I 
 declare it a direct and an absolute untruth. 
 
 Anthony (rises angrily). You've insulted me, Fer- 
 guson. (Crosses to Tom.) 
 
 Tom. But you've insulted America ! 
 
 Ralph (quickly stepping to Tom's side). Never 
 mind, Tom. Tony isn't quite himself tonight. 
 
 Judge. And as a winner of the Croix de Guerre, he 
 could hardly be disloyal to his country. 
 
 Fortunately at this moment, Peggy appears at the 
 hall door. Under her arm is a ouija hoard. 
 
 Peggy. Aren't you ever going to join us.'' (Comes 
 to C.) Surely you've smoked your old cigars by this 
 time. What have you been talking about, anyway .'' 
 
 Judge. The wave of crime, for one thing. Any 
 suggestions.'' 
 
 Peggy. Only the request that you criminal lawyers 
 won't go on a strike and leave us in the lurch. 
 
 Judge. We promise. 
 
 And before Peggy can answer, Mrs. Allison, Retta 
 and Barbara ejiter from L. 
 
 Mrs. a. What chance has a woman when a good 
 cigar is rival ! So we forget our pride and come 
 to you. (Comes down R. with Judge.) 
 
 Peggy. Why, we've even been forced to amuse our- 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 77 
 
 selves with the oiiija bouid. (Holding out the board.) 
 Who'll test fate with nier 
 
 Judge. Not I. Ouija has long since been consigned 
 to the Ananias Club. 
 
 Peggy. Ralph .^ (Ralph stands hi/ Barbara, raho 
 is on settee.) 
 
 Ralph. And endanger my professional reputation.'' 
 not much ! 
 
 Tom. I'm in no mood for ouija. (Stands back stage 
 with Retta.) 
 
 Peggy. Oh, aren't you.'' 
 
 Anthony. Well, I am. Come along, Peggy, and 
 give me a chance to hold your hand. (Tom glares.) 
 
 Peggy (/// surprise). And this from the dignified 
 Tony ! Wh}', I didn't suppose that you'd ever hold any- 
 body's hand. (Sits L. of table.) 
 
 Anthony. Then it's time to begin, isn't it.? (Dratos 
 chair from R. of table close to her.) 
 
 (And while they laughingly arrange for the ouija 
 test. Judge Lennox draws Mrs. Allison aside.) 
 
 Judge. Mrs. Allison, I'm worried about Tony. 
 
 Mrs. a. 'Worried!- In what way.? 
 
 Judge. Something is wrong. He's changed ; and to- 
 night he has made some very reckless and dangerous 
 statements. 
 
 Mrs. a. Oh, I was afraid of it. 
 
 Judge. Then you've noticed, too, that he is differ- 
 ent.? 
 
 Mrs. a. I have. He's not himself. He broods over 
 things. He has been working too hard. That's why I 
 am planning to go east with him immediately. The 
 change may be of benefit. And my niece, who accom- 
 panies us, will help to amuse him. 
 
78 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Judge. That relieves my mind. I couldn't quite 
 understand why — 
 
 Peggy (calling). Mrs. Allison! 
 
 Mrs. a. Yes.'' (Crosses /o.Peggv and Anthony, 
 folloiced by Judge.) 
 
 Peggy. Tony says that he believes in ouija. 
 
 Anthony. I do. I honestly do. 
 
 Mrs. a. Tonj?^ is joking, as usual. 
 
 Anthony\ I'm not joking. Ouija told nic a lot of 
 things that are really so, and I never make any soi-t of 
 a plan without going to a fortune teller. 
 
 Mrs. a. (sharply). You can't expect us to believe all 
 that nonsense, Tony. Come, Peggj' ; what is to be the 
 fateful question.'' (Ralph and Barbara corrie slowly 
 down R.) 
 
 Peggy. Let me see. (As they place their hands upon 
 the hoard.) Oh, I know. (Then in a very serious tone.) 
 What happened on Hallowe'en.'' 
 
 Ralph (in the meantime has drawn Barbara to front 
 stage). Anthony Allison is a clianged man. Some- 
 thing has happened to him. Bob. 
 
 Barbara (smiling provohingly) . Even journalists 
 are sometimes stupid. (Lays her fan upon the desk). 
 
 Ralph. What do you mean.'' 
 
 Barbara. Are you sure that, he is Anthony Allison? 
 
 Ralph (after gazing steadily at her for a moment). 
 Do you think ? 
 
 Peggy (in a very startled tone). Why, Tony! 
 
 Anthony. What's the matter .'' 
 
 Peggy. Where's your scar.'' 
 
 Anthony. What scar.'' 
 
 Peggy. The scar I gave you. Surel}^ you remember. 
 
 Mrs. a. (hastily). Scars don't always last, Peggy. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 79 
 
 Peggy. But this has ahvays been very plain. I can't 
 understand. 
 
 Tom {sarcastically). Perhaps he has been to a 
 beauty doctor. 
 
 Retta {xclio has made her way to the door at L.). 
 Are you all so infatuated with ouija that you haven't 
 time for me.'' I've some fetching French songs that I'm 
 anxious to try if I may bribe you to be audience for a 
 few moments. 
 
 Ralph. No bribe is necessary, is it, Barbara.'' 
 
 Barbara. Hardly. (Barbara and Ralph pass out 
 L. as Retta holds the curtain.) 
 
 Retta. And the songs are worth listening to, aren't 
 they, Aunt Edith.? 
 
 Mrs. a. Indeed they are. Come, Peggy. You and 
 Tony can continue the seance later on. 
 
 Peggy. Surely. 
 
 Retta. And TonjM I'm Avaiting for you! (An- 
 thony joins Retta and they pass out L. together.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Judge, I am anxious for your opinion of 
 Retta's voice. We think she shows great talent, and 
 while we are in New York, we intend to — (She and the 
 Judge pass out L., talking as they go.) 
 
 Tom (barring Peggy's way). What do you care 
 about hearing that old music.'' 
 
 Peggy. I just adore French songs, even if I can't 
 understand them. 
 
 Tom. Just the way I feel about you. 
 
 Peggy. There's Barbara's fan. (She starts toward 
 the fan which Barbara has left on the desk.) I'll take 
 it to her. 
 
 Tom. No, you won't take it to her. She doesn't 
 need it. (Pauses.) Look here, Peg, I've asked you 
 
80 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 three times this evening to see me alone and every time 
 you've said, "In a minute." 
 
 Peggy. Well 3'ou should be glad that I say the same 
 thing each time. It shows stability of mind. (From the 
 other room comes the echo of Rktta's songs.) 
 
 Tom. You've been entirely too busy with your friend, 
 Anthony Allison. 
 
 Peggy. What about you and the visiting A'amp.'' 
 (Stands back of chair at C.) 
 
 Tom. Nonsense. (Folloxvs her.) 
 
 Peggy (demurely). Of course, Tony is very atten- 
 tive tonight. 
 
 Tom. He's a cad, that's what he is ! 
 
 Peggy. Remember, you're speaking of a very dear 
 friend. 
 
 Tom. I take great pleasure in repeating, he's a cad ! 
 
 Peggy. How dare you! Why, I've known him for 
 years. We played together when we were children. 
 
 Tom. I don't care how long you've known him, how 
 often you've played together, nor how many times 
 you've bitten him. He's a cad ! 
 
 Peggy (eagerly). How could that scar disappear, 
 Tom.'' How could it? 
 
 Tom. I can't keep track of the disappearances in 
 this family. (Softly.) What I'm interested in is the 
 re-appearance of Peggy. 
 
 Peggy. Peggy came back on Hallowe'en. 
 
 Tom. But she's been so elusive ever since, that it 
 hasn't meant much to me. 
 
 Peggy. Better improve tlie present moment then. 
 
 Tom. Exactly. (Thrusts her into the chair and sits 
 on the arm. A long silence foUoxcs.) 
 
 Peggy. Is this your idea of improving the present 
 moment? 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 81 
 
 Tom. No, It isn't. 
 
 Peggy. Well? 
 
 Tom. How c;ui I do very much with the present 
 until I know what the future holds? 
 
 Peggy. What do you want it to hold? 
 
 Tom. You. 
 
 Peggy (rising). Don't you think it a bit foolish to 
 leave it entirely to the future? 
 
 Tom. Peggy! (And the irony of fate decrees that 
 at this touching moment there should come a noise at 
 the French ivindoxo, a noise as if some one were attempt- 
 ing to open it, while across the room falls a shadow.) 
 
 Peggy. Look, Tom ! Look ! Someone at the win- 
 dow ! (And as Tom springs to the xmndow and she 
 follows him, the shadow disappears.) There he is! 
 (Points.) There, where the light falls upon the drive- 
 way. (Pauses.) Why, it's Tony! 
 
 Tom. Tony ! Nonsense. The man has an overcoat 
 and hat. 
 
 Peggy. There ! He's -gone ! It was Ton}^ Tom I It 
 •was! (At C.) 
 
 Tom. Well, if he desires to ramble over his own 
 grounds it's no business of ours. (Goes back to her.) 
 What do we care about Anthony Allison an3'way, 
 Peggy? What do we care? 
 
 Peggy. Nothing in the world, Tom, absolutely noth- 
 ing. (And fate interferes again. This time the tele- 
 phone rings. ) 
 
 Tom. Must I answer it? 
 
 Peggy. Answer it? Of course. (And Tom, much 
 against his will, makes his way to the telephone. While 
 his back is turned Peggy tiptoes to the archway and 
 disappears.) 
 
 Tom. Hello * * * This is Mrs. Allison's home 
 
82 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 -- * * What's that? * * * Certainly, I'll give him 
 tlie message. * * * Let me get that straight * * * 
 Ves. The office wants him immediately. I'll tell him. 
 {Hangs up receiver.) What do you suppose Ralph's 
 newspaper wants with him at this time of night? 
 (Turns.) Great heavens — she's gone again! (And 
 he follows her.) 
 
 As Tom turns, Constance appears at the doorway 
 R., and when Tom has left the room she hurries to the 
 French window, opens it and steps outside. In'a moment 
 she is joined by Anthony, whom she draws into the 
 room. Over his dinner coat is flung a light overcoat 
 and he carries a soft hat in his hand. 
 
 Constance. It's the very first chance I've had, Tony. 
 The room has been occupied all evening. 
 
 Anthony. I know. I've watched. Only a moment 
 ago I tried the window. (Pauses.) What could I have 
 done without you. Aunt Constance? 
 
 Constance. I've been waiting all tliese 3^ears, Tony, 
 to hear you say that. 
 
 Anthony. Then I've been a thoughtless sort of a 
 fellow and I haven't shown what I really feel; for all I 
 am I owe to you. 
 
 Constance. I loved your mother, Tony. And her 
 last word to me was to love her boy. Since that da}^ all 
 my happiness has been centered in you. 
 
 Anthony. And now all my future depends upon you. 
 
 Constance. You arc in danger? 
 
 Anthony. Not enough to worry about. 
 
 Constance. You will be careful? 
 
 Anthony. I promise you. 
 
 Constance. I'm frightened, Tony. 'You seem my 
 very own boy. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 83 
 
 Anthony. I am your own boy. {Impulsively.) Oh, 
 why couldn't my father have chosen you instead of the 
 other one! 
 
 Constance. Your father could do no wrong, Tony. 
 Remember that. 
 
 Anthony {suddenly understanding). Then you 
 cared for him.^ 
 
 Constance. I think I have always cared. (Bar- 
 bara's laugh comes through the archway and she is 
 heard to say, ''Wait until I find my fan") That is 
 Miss Ferguson {as she sees the fan), and she is coming 
 here. 
 
 Anthony {thrusting his hat and coat into her hands). 
 Then let me see her alone. Wait for me in the little 
 study. {And very gently he guides her through the 
 door R.) 
 
 Barbara enters from the hall and crosses to the table. 
 Anthony is standing at the back of the room. She 
 takes the fan and is about to go when Anthony ad- 
 vances. 
 
 Anthony. IVIiss Ferguson. 
 
 Barbara {in surprise). Why, Mr. Allison! You 
 startled me. I saw you but a moment ago in the draw- 
 ing room. {And again, she starts through the door.) 
 
 Anthony. I have somctliing to say to you. 
 
 Barbara. Anything you may say can hardly be of 
 interest to me. Y^ou will excuse me.'' 
 
 Anthony. Please listen. {Pauses.) If only for the 
 memory— of the other night. 
 
 Barbara, You are rather slow in remembering the 
 other night. 
 
 Anthony. On the contrary, every word, every inci- 
 dent, is imprinted upon my heart. {They stand at C.) 
 
84 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Barbara. Then — today has been something of a 
 masquerade? 
 
 Anthony. Life is a masquerade, isn't it.'* 
 
 Barbara. Perhaps so. 
 
 Anthony. We seldom show our real selves. We 
 seldom share our deepest emotions. (Pauses.) That is 
 why I have no words to tell you how much your help 
 has meant to me. 
 
 Barbara. Are you quite yourself again .? 
 
 Anthony. Quite. Last night after that terrible in- 
 describable period of oblivion my memory came back in 
 time to be of service to me. 
 
 Barbara. I'm glad, oh so very glad! 
 
 Anthony. I left without a word of appreciation — of 
 gratitude. Is 3-our understanding great enough to par- 
 don this.'^ 
 
 Barbara (after a pause). I'm sure it is. 
 
 Anthony. Do 3'^ou think you can trust me a little 
 longer.'^ Until I may-tell you everything? 
 
 Barbara. Haven't I trusted you from the very first? 
 
 Anthony. You have been everything to me; every- 
 thing ! 
 
 Barbara. Then your pledge of gratitude becomes 
 my pledge of friendship, of understanding. (Takes the 
 ring from her gown.) Your ring. (Pauses.) AVill 
 you wear it? 
 
 Anthony. Always. (And he slips on the ring and 
 takes both her hands.) For if it brings me so much in 
 the present, perhaps it will promise me even more in the 
 future. (And he kisses her hand.) 
 
 Outside the door Mrs. Ali^ison is heard calling, 
 "]\Iiss Ferguson." Barbara looks questioningly at 
 Anthony hut he nods and passes to the hack of the 
 room. • 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 85 
 
 Bakbaka. Yes, Mrs. Allison. Here. (As Mrs. 
 Allison enters with memorandum in hand.) I've been 
 hunting for my fan. 
 
 Mrs. a. I won't detain you a moment, my dear. It's 
 only to remind you that a copy of this list which Judge 
 Lennox has just given me is your first duty for tomor- 
 row. I shall probably not be down until after ^^ou ar- 
 rive, so I wish to make a note of it tonight. 
 
 Barbara. I shall give it my attention first of all, 
 Mrs. Allison. 
 
 (Mrs. a. seats herself at the desk, places the memo- 
 randum on file and Barbara passes out L., not without a 
 backward glance at Anthony, who comes slowly down 
 the stage.) 
 
 Mrs. a. (glancing around). Tony! I thought you 
 were with Peggy. 
 
 Anthony. Perhaps I was. 
 
 Mrs. a. But you tired of her and followed Miss 
 Ferguson, I presume. Up to your old tricks.? Well, 
 drop them. Nothing must interfere with my plans. 
 
 Anthony. And what are your plans.? 
 
 Mrs. a. You know what they are ; to leave as soon 
 as possible. After your actions tonight and your reck- 
 less speeches, the departure cannot be made too soon. 
 You will — (and as her eyes note the ring on his finger 
 she stops abruptly, almost terror-stricken) . Where did 
 you find that ring.? 
 
 Anthony (carelessly). Along with the rest of the 
 inheritance. 
 
 Mrs. a. But I saw it ! That last day — I saw it ! 
 
 Anthony. In dreams, perhaps. 
 
 Mrs. Allison turns again to the desk. She is very 
 nervous but manages to write a few words upon the 
 
86 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 envelope which she then places in the draxcer. Anthony 
 immediately passes quietly throngh the door on the 
 right of the stage. For a moment or so there is no 
 sound hut the scratching of Mrs. Allisox's pen. When 
 she again raises her eyes Anthony is standing in the 
 archway that leads to the hall. 
 
 Anthony. I'm through with that crowd in there. 
 Peggy Pahner bores me to death. Retta gets on my 
 nerves. 
 
 Mrs. Allison. So you thought you'd try Miss Fer- 
 guson. As I told you before, it won't do. 
 
 Anthony. ]\Iiss Ferguson.'' The girl won't look at 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. a. Don't be foolish, Tony. I heard you talk- 
 ing to her as I entered. 
 
 Anthony. Entered where.'' 
 
 Mrs. a. Here, of course. 
 
 Anthony. But I've just come in. 
 
 Mrs. a. What do you mean.'' 
 
 Anthony. I've just come in. What else could I 
 mean ? 
 
 Mrs. a. {rising and speaking excitedly as she catches 
 his hand). Where is your ring.'' 
 
 Anthony. What ring.'' 
 
 Mrs. a. The ring you wore a moment ago. 
 
 Anthony. I don't know what you mean. I haven't 
 a ring. Never have had one. (As Mrs. Allison stag- 
 gers a bit.) What on earth is the matter with you.'' 
 
 Mrs. a. (weakly). I'm faint — and tired. I'll get 
 some water — and rest a bit. (And she leaves the room 
 at L.) 
 
 (Anthony gazes after her bewilderedly, then yawns 
 and is about to sink into the big arm chair when an arm 
 shoots out from the doorxvay on the right, touches the 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 87 
 
 switch and extinguishes the lights, leaving the stage in 
 perfect darkness.) 
 
 Anthony {in terror). What's this? Who are you? 
 
 {Someone laughs and a mocking voice replies, "I 
 wonder.'' Another person takes the part of the real 
 Anthony during the struggle in the dark, and of the 
 impostor zcheji Anthony lights the match. The reg- 
 ular player talks for both.) 
 
 Anthony. I'll call for help. 
 
 Voice. Oh no you won't. Outside that window there 
 are those who are waiting for my signal. 
 
 {There is the sound of a scuffle, a falling body, and 
 then a match flares; while one sees Anthony, the real 
 Anthony, as he strikes a match and gazes doxni at his 
 victim.) 
 
 Cur'tain. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 The Third Act. 
 
 Scene: Same as Act I. On tlie icindoxc seat are 
 'flung Fredericka's bright sxceater and tarn and 
 Larry's cap. The morning sunshirte streaming through 
 the window brings into strong relief an impromptu 
 breakfast party. Around a small table or tea cart in the 
 center of the room are gathered Anthony, facing audi- 
 ence; Fredericka, on R., and Larry, on L., Fred- 
 ERiCKA presiding over a mammoth coffee pot. Three 
 straight chairs are used around the table. 
 
 Larry. And you left him in the very same room.'^ 
 
 Anthony. In the very same room wliere they left me. 
 
 Larry. Is he hurt? ' 
 
 Anthony. Not a bit. Just scared. 
 
 Larry. That's not fair. He ought to be beaten up, 
 just as you were. 
 
 Fred. With a bloody handkerchief around his head. 
 
 Larry. Gosh, but I was surprised when you whistled 
 to us this morning ! 
 
 Fred. So was I. I certainly never expected to see 
 you again at that window. 
 
 Anthony. Bully of you to give me some breakfast. 
 
 Fred. We like 3"ou, Tony. You don't mind if I call 
 you Tony, do you.'' 
 
 Anthony. I should say not. {Leans toward her.) 
 You don't mind if I call you Freddie, do you.'* 
 
 Fred. I like it. {Very impressively, after a pause.) 
 I was the one who discovered that he wasn't you. 
 
 Anthony. Of course you were. You've been the 
 best sort of pal to me. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 89 
 
 Feed. And I'll keep on being a pal if you want me. 
 
 Anthony. You bet I do. 
 
 Fred, {holding out her hand). Then shake. 
 
 Anthony ( retaining her hand) . What did you think 
 of me when I left without any sort of message, without 
 a word of thanks.'' 
 
 Fred. What did I think.? That you were just like 
 all the rest of the men. 
 
 Larry. Will it all be in the papers.'' 
 
 Anthony. Not if I can keep it out. 
 
 Larry. That's not fair, either. I want to see my 
 name in print. 
 
 Fred. Larry just craves notoriety. When he had 
 scarlet fever, he wouldn't let us take down the sign until 
 he had had a chance to see it. 
 
 Anthony. But it's hardly a story for the news- 
 papers. 
 
 Fred. And it isn't finished yet. When is it to be 
 finished, Tony.-^ 
 
 Anthony. As soon as Ralph comes. 
 
 Fred. And where.? 
 
 Anthony (motioning to the window across the way). 
 Over there, I imagine. 
 
 Fred. Why not here.? 
 
 Anthony. That's out of the question. 
 
 Fred. And why.? 
 
 Anthony. Because family difficulties are not usually 
 settled in other people's drawing rooms. 
 
 Larry. This isn't a drawing room. It's just an' 
 apartment. 
 
 Fred. Larry and I want to be in at the finish ; please, 
 Tony. 
 
 Larry. Barbara isn't here. And we're not going to 
 school, are we, Freddie.? 
 
90 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Fred. School? I should say not! We're making 
 history today, Larry, not studying it. 
 
 Anthony. Aren't you supposed to be at school.!^ 
 
 Fred. Of course. 
 
 Anthony. Then do you think it is quite square to 
 stay away.-^ 
 
 Fred, {squirming uneasily). Don't put it that way. 
 
 Larry. And anyway, it isn't the first time we've cut. 
 
 Anthony. That isn't the point. Is it the fair thing 
 to do.? 
 
 Fred, (after a moment). I don't suppose it is. 
 You've spoiled everything, Tony. 
 
 Larry. But, Freddie 
 
 Fred. Now, Larry, don't argue it. (In a tone of 
 finality.) We are going to school. 
 
 Anthony. That's a good fellow. (Pats Larry on 
 shoulder. ) 
 
 Fred, (rising and dramatically brandishing the coffee 
 pot). But I did so want to be a part of the excitement, 
 to have a hand in unraveling all the mysteries and to 
 be a moulder of human destiny ! (Suddenly remembering 
 her duties as hostess.) Let me pour you some more 
 coffee, Tony. (Sits.) 
 
 Anthony. Please. (After a pause.) That poor 
 fellow over there hasn't had a bit of breakfast. 
 
 Fred. He doesn't deserve any. 
 
 Anthony. That's pretty cruel. 
 
 Fred. If feeding a man is the way to his heart, starv- 
 ing him may help to find his conscience. 
 
 Larry. Let's beat him up. 
 
 Fred. Hit a fellow when he's down.'' Oh, Larry! 
 
 Larry. But he hasn't lost a thing ; not even '■ his 
 memory. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 91 
 
 Anthony. I imagine he is a bit strong on memory 
 just at present. 
 
 In the meantime Fredericka has crossed to the door 
 at R. She opens it quickly, and there stands Nora. 
 
 Nora. An' sure, Miss Freddie, I was just a tliinkin' 
 you'd be needin' me. 
 
 Fred. So you listened to make sure. 
 
 Nora. I wasn't a-listenin'. I was just a-comin' in. 
 
 Fred, {returning- to table). And I was just about 
 to ask 3^ou to fix a tray. 
 
 Nora {zcho has followed Fredericka into the room, 
 and is gazing languishingly at Anthony). Yes, Miss 
 Freddie. 
 
 Fred. With grapefruit and toast and plenty of 
 coffee. 
 
 Nora {still absent-mindedly) . Yes, Miss Freddie. 
 
 Fred, {impatiently). You're not hearing a word 
 I say. 
 
 l>i ORA {mechanically) . Grapefruit — toast — and plenty 
 of coffee. Yes, Miss Freddie. {And still she lingers.) 
 
 Fred. Well.? 
 
 Nora. Is it for the gentleman.'' 
 
 Fred. No, it isn't. It's for someone outside. 
 
 Nora. Holy saints ! Is the hospital next door 
 a-startin' up again .? 
 
 Fred. Never you mind about anything but that 
 tray. 
 
 Nora {half to herself , as she pauses by the window). 
 Sure an' I'm a-thinkiii' that the evil eye keeps a glarin' 
 at us from over there! {And she passes out R.) 
 
 Anthony. So Barbara isn't here.'' 
 
 Fred. Stayed all night with Peggy, and went to 
 work from there. 
 
 Anthony. Does she ever mention me.'' 
 
92 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Fred. No. Why should shc.^ 
 
 Anthony. Oh, I thought perhaps — she had said 
 something. 
 
 Fred, (after due reflection) . That's funny. 
 
 Anthony. What's funny? 
 
 Fred. She asked if you had ever mentioned her. 
 
 Anthony. What did you tell her.'' 
 
 Fred. I said, "No, why should he.?" 
 
 Larry {who has been lost in reflection). Tony, are 
 you married.'' 
 
 Anthony. No such luck. 
 
 Larry. Luck.'' People don't always call it luck, do 
 they.? 
 
 Anthony. That depends. 
 
 Larry. Well, wouldn't you like to be married.? 
 
 Anthony. That depends, too. 
 
 Larry. I know of a perfectly bully girl. 
 
 Anthony, Who? 
 
 Larry'. My sister. 
 
 Anthony. Fredericka .? 
 
 Larry. Well, I should say not. Freddie's never 
 going to marry. 
 
 Fred. How do you know.? 
 
 Larry. You said so. 
 
 Fred. Well that was three days ago. I reckon I 
 have a right to change my mind. 
 
 Larry. I mean Barbara. 
 
 Anthony. Oh, I see ! Why are you so anxious to 
 get rid of her? 
 
 Larry (impressively). Her captivity means our 
 freedom. 
 
 Anthony. But I shouldn't be that sort of a hus- 
 band. 
 
 Larry. Husbands are all alike. They may look dif- 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 93 
 
 ferent, but they aren't. Any woman can shut her eyes 
 and grab. And the one she grabs will be just like the 
 one she doesn't grab. 
 
 Anthony. That's rather a remarkable sentiment. 
 
 Larry. Freddie said so. 
 
 Fred. That was three days ago. 
 
 Anthony. What does Barbara say concerning your 
 plans for lier welfare.? 
 
 Larry. Oh, she doesn't know. 
 
 Fred. And she'd make just a wonderful wife, Tony. 
 (But in some way or other the former enthusiasm in re- 
 gard to Barbara's captivity is lacking. She turns in 
 her chair, facing audience.) 
 
 Larry. What's the matter with you, Freddie.'' You 
 don't act as if you wanted Barbara to marry. 
 
 Fred. Of course I want her to marry. 
 
 Anthony {thou ghtf idly). Well, the proposition is 
 worth considering, anyway. 
 
 Fred. She might not like you, Tony. (Turns.) 
 
 Anthony (half to himself). I've been wondering 
 about that very thing. 
 
 Fred. And you'd be disappointed if she didn't, 
 wouldn't you.'' 
 
 Anthony. Well, nobody likes to be in the discard. 
 
 Fred, (very determinedly, as she leans toward him). 
 I've never thought of myself in a domestic role, Tony. 
 It doesn't appeal to me. But rather than have you 
 disappointed, I'll sacrifice all my principles. 
 
 Anthony. You mean — 
 
 Fred. If Bob won't have you — I will! 
 
 Anthony. Wliat a wonderful little pal you are! 
 (After a moment.) Suppose I should ask you — first.? 
 
 Fred, (after a struggle xvith her principles) . I think 
 I'd like it. 
 
94 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Larry. Why, Fredericka Ferguson, you've gone 
 back on every single thing you've ever said ! 
 
 Fred. Oh no, I liaven't. Tony is just my third ex- 
 ception. ■ That's all! 
 
 A7id Nora enters from li. bringing the covered 
 tray which Anthony takes as he rises. 
 
 Nora. Sure and there's enough toast for a regiment. 
 
 Fred. That's all right. Now clear off this table and 
 put it away. We're off to school. (As she speaks she 
 slips into her sweater, dons her tain and catches up her 
 books. Larry takes his cap and follows Anthony and 
 Fredericka out through the hall.) . ' r ? 
 
 Nora (left to herself , makes several trips back and 
 forth, removing the dishes, placing the three chairs at 
 back of stage and fijially carrying out the table, all the 
 time talking to herself). Faith an' I'm a gettin' mighty 
 tired of stayin' in a place where I never know what's 
 goin' to happen: where strange gentlemen are a takin' 
 breakfast ; where trays are bein' carried out when you 
 don't expect them to be carried out ; and where — (She 
 leaves the room at R. and for a moment or so the stage 
 is clear.) 
 
 Then Peggy dances into viexv from the hallway — very 
 radiant and very gay — foUoxced by Barbara, more se- 
 rious and pre-occupied. 
 
 Peggy. Nobody home. Bob ! 
 
 Barbara. Why should there be.? The children are at 
 school. And Tom's off, of course. 
 
 Peggy (on davenport). But Tom's coming back just 
 for me. We're going to ride way off into the co.uatry 
 — and we're going to lunch by ourselves, ,s^\^,^^. n t.a ' 1 ; 
 
 Barbara (indifferently). Is that so.? (Sits in large 
 chair. ) 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 95 
 
 Peggy. You don't seem excited. 
 
 Barbara, Why should I be? (Pauses.) I'm — 
 bothered. 
 
 Peggv. I shoukl think you would be bothered, poor 
 old dear. Losing two jobs within a week is a bit dis- 
 organizing. 
 
 Barbara. I didn't lose this one. I gave it up. 
 
 Peggy. What's the difference.? It's gone. (Goes 
 to her.) Bob, what made you act so hastily? (Sits on 
 arm of chair.) 
 
 Barbara. I didn't act hastily. I argued it over and 
 over to myself, last night, after we left the house. And 
 I decided I couldn't take the risk. 
 
 Peggy, What risk? 
 
 Barbara. The risk of being in the house — if any- 
 thing should liappen. 
 
 Peggy. What could happen? 
 
 Barbara, Many things. There's something wrong, 
 
 Peggy. Nonsense. And even if there were, isn't that 
 one reason you wanted the position? 
 
 Barbara, Well — it's different now, 
 
 Peggy. Why is it different? 
 
 Barbara (after a pause). I can't explain — yet. 
 
 Peggy. It seems to me that you're pretty mysterious. 
 What did ]\Irs. Allison say when you telephoned that 
 you wouldn't continue the work? 
 
 Barbara. She was confused, almost hysterical. And 
 that isn't like Mrs. Allison, is it? 
 
 Peggy. Hardly. 
 
 Barbara. Sonietliing happened to Tony last night, 
 
 Peggy, Wliy, Bob, how silly. He went to bed with 
 a headache. Mrs. Allison made perfectly good excuses 
 for him. (Walks to table.) 
 
 Barbara, And was more or less agitated while she 
 
96 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 was doing it. (Pauses.) I know something happened. 
 
 Peggy. Well, I hope not. Poor Tony has had 
 enough. 
 
 Barbara. I'm not so sure of that. (Rises.) 
 
 Peggy. Bob, you seem to have a grudge against 
 Tony. 
 
 Barbara (as she passes into the bedroom). Not 
 against the real Tony. 
 
 Peggy. You do say such strange things. If I didn't 
 have so much else to think about I'd worry over 3'ou. 
 
 Barbara (from the bedroom). And what have you 
 to think about, I'd like to know.'^ 
 
 Peggy (taking Tom's picture from the table and gaz- 
 ing at it rapturously). Something — perfectly — won- 
 derful! 
 
 Barbara. Then hang on to it. 
 
 Peggy. I intend to. (Pauses.) Bob.-^ 
 
 Barbara. Yes? 
 
 Peggy. Which is Tom's favorite cliair.'' 
 
 Barbara. Tlie big one. Why.'' 
 
 Peggy. Oli, nothing. (Curls up in the chair and 
 smiles ecstatically to herself. Then after a moment.) 
 Bob.? 
 
 Barbara. Yes.'' 
 
 Peggy. What are Tom's favorite colors.? 
 
 Barbara. Pink and blue. Why.? 
 
 Peggy. Oh, nothing! (Another silence, then.) Bob.? 
 
 Barbara. What is it now.? 
 
 Peggy. Wlicn you come in again, bring me a mirror. 
 
 Barbara. Why do you want a mirror.? 
 
 Peggy. Why do people usually want mirrors? 
 
 Barbara. Come in here, then. You can see yourself 
 much better. 
 
 Peggy. I can't leave Tom's chair. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 97 
 
 Barbara (emerging). I never heard such silly talk. 
 {Heinda her a mirror.) You're a fit subject for an 
 alienist. 
 
 Peggy. An alienist! I'm just as good an American 
 as you, Barbara Ferguson. 
 
 Barbara. An alienist, dear child, tampers with the 
 brain, not with immigration. 
 
 Peggy. What's that to me? (Holding up the mir- 
 ror.) Why, this is the mirror brought by the Hallow- 
 e'en witch. 
 
 Barbara. The very same. 
 
 Peggy (husily surveying herself). Served the pur- 
 pose, didn't it? 
 
 Barbara, Perhaps. 
 
 Peggy (after gazing at herself from all angles). Do 
 I look nice tliis morning? 
 
 Barbara (criticcdly). Nice enough. 
 
 Peggy. Nice enough for somebod}^^ 
 
 Barbara (walUng to the table). You're downright 
 silly this morning. Something's gone to your licad. 
 
 Peggy (running to her and laying the mirror on the 
 table). To my heart, Bobbie — just to my heart! (A 
 door slams.) 
 
 Barbara. That's Tom. 
 
 Peggy. Then he mustn't find me! 
 
 Barbara. But you said you were to meet him here. 
 
 Peggy. I am. Oh, I am! 
 
 Barbara. Then Avhy 
 
 Peggy. Don't tell him I'm any place around. That's 
 a dear! (And she disappears into the bedroom L.) 
 
 Tom enters from hcdl — also beamingly radiant. 
 Tom. Hello, sis. Peggy come? 
 Barbara. You don't see her, do you? 
 
98 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Tom. I don't see anything but her. 
 
 Barbara. Your vision is keen. 
 
 Tom. According to the tradition about fellows like 
 me, I shouldn't have any vision at all. (Stretches him- 
 self on the davenport, gazes into space and smiles to 
 himself. To the uninitiated the smile might appear 
 silly. ) 
 
 Barbara {sharply). What is the matter with you? 
 
 Tom. Oh, nothing! 
 
 Barbara. Have you heard anything about Anthony 
 Alhson.? {Sits on L. of davenport.) 
 
 Tom. Heard anything about him.'' I never again 
 want to hear his name. 
 
 Barbara. That is rather impossible, I'm afraid. 
 
 Tom. But I've seen him. 
 
 Barbara. Where ? 
 
 Tom. On the corner with Ralph Overton. 
 
 Barbara. When ? 
 
 Tom. Just now. 
 
 Barbara {eagerly). Haven't you any suspicions 
 about last night .^ Don't you think it's strange about 
 the sudden headache. J' Don't you — {As Tom once 
 more resumes his indescribable, ineffable smile.) You're 
 not hearing a word I say. {After a moment.) Tom! 
 What is the matter.'' {Crosses to L.) 
 
 Tom. Oh, nothing. 
 
 Barbara. It seems impossible for me to obtain any 
 satisfactory information. What's wrong with every- 
 body.? {Pauses.) Tom! {For Tom has risen and with 
 the same rapt expression has seized upon a tiny mesh 
 bag which Peggy has left in the big chair.) 
 
 Tom {idiotically, as he holds it up). It's Peggy's! 
 
 Barbara {impatiently). What of it.'' 
 
 Tom. Then she's here! 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 99 
 
 Peggy (appearing at the door of the bedroom) . Of 
 course I'm here. (Ecstatic alii/.) Tom! 
 
 Tom. Peggy! (St art a toward her.) 
 
 Bakjiara (coming between them). So that's what's 
 the matter ! Now I understand ! ( With one arm about 
 Ton's neck.) Tom, you dear! (And the other about 
 Pegcv.) Peggy, I'm the happiest girl in the world! 
 
 Peggv. No you're not! / am! Oh, Bob! Bob! I'm 
 going to be your rcally-truly honest-to-goodness sister ! 
 
 Tom. And I'm — ( What Tom is about to say is never 
 finished. For the bell rings sharply and clearly.) Good 
 heavens ! Nothing ever starts in this family that the 
 bell doesn't ring! 
 
 Peggy. Let's answer it, Tom. 
 
 Tom. Of course. 
 
 Peggy. For we're going, anyway. 
 
 Barbara. Going where.'' 
 
 Tom. To Paradise. That's where! (And off they 
 run through the hall.) 
 
 Nora enters frqm R. 
 
 Nora. Why, Miss Barbara, I wasn't expectin' to see 
 you — 
 
 Barbara. I changed my plans, Nora. I shall be 
 here during the day. You need not answer the bell. 
 
 Nora. Yes, Miss Barbara. (Exit R.) 
 
 Barbara turns to see Mrs. Allison and Retta stand- 
 ing in the doorway. 
 
 Barbara. Why, Mrs. Allison, I — 
 
 Mrs. a. Doubtless you are surprised to see me, 
 Miss Ferguson ; but your telephone message this morn- 
 ing left no alternative but a personal interview. (Crosses 
 to front.) 
 
 Barbara. I am sorry to have caused you any in- 
 
100 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 convenience. Won't you be seated? (Mrs. Allison 
 seats herself 'm the large chair. Retta crosses to win- 
 doze seat.) 
 
 Mks. a. You will pardon me, I am sure, Miss Fergu- 
 son, if I say that you have offered no sufficient excuse 
 for leaving ni}^ household so unexpectedly. 
 
 Barbara (sitting on davenport) . I regret very much 
 my change of plan, Mrs. Allison. 
 
 Mrs. a. That is not the point. Why have you left.'' 
 
 Barbara. For entirely personal reasons. 
 "Mrs, a. Were your surroundings unpleasant.^ 
 ' ! Barbara. On the contrary, 3'ou made my stay de- 
 lightful. 
 
 Mrs. a. Was the compensation insufficient .'' 
 
 Barbara. Oh, no. 
 
 Mrs. a. Then, in all fairness to me, you should be 
 frank in regard to the situation. 
 
 Barbara. As I said before, my reasons are personal. 
 
 Mrs. a. Perhaps — -something happened. 
 
 Barbara {hesitating). Nothing happened. 
 
 jMrs. A. {sharply)'. IMy son — 
 
 Barbara {hastily). Mr. Allison in no way has in- 
 fluenced my decision. 
 
 Mrs. a. {losing to some extent her self-possession). 
 Then what has.'' You were my guest last night. You 
 declare that your surroundings were pleasant and your 
 work interesting, and yet without a legitimate excuse 
 you leave my employ. I insist upon an explanation. 
 
 Barbara. Yielding to a caprice is my very weal: 
 defense. 
 
 , Mks. a. But it is not an explanation. {Pawse.y\ 1 
 am waiting. {And at this moment Retta, who has been 
 gazing nervously out of the windotc, rises with a slight 
 exclamation.) ..<-.. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 101 
 
 Bakbaka. What is it, Miss Reeves? (Rises.) 
 
 Retta {controlling herself). A foolish case of nerves, 
 I'm afraid. I've just remeniHered that — over there — I 
 met my Hallowe'en adventure. 
 
 (The bell sounds.) 
 
 Barbara. You will pardon me while I answer the 
 bell.? (As she leaves the room, Retta comes hurriedly 
 to Mrs. Allison.) 
 
 Retta (excitedly). I saw him! 
 
 Mrs. a. Where? 
 
 Retta. In that room, across — 
 
 Mrs. a. Nonsense. 
 
 Retta. It was! It was! I had just a glimpse, but 
 — (goes bach- to windoxv.) 
 
 Mrs. a. Then the girl knows something. I am sure 
 of it. 
 
 Barbara re-enters, followed by Anthony and 
 Ralph. 
 
 Mrs. a. (rises). This is indeed a surprise, Tony. 
 1 didn't think your acquaintance with Miss Ferguson 
 of long enough standing to admit of an informal morn- 
 ing call. (Ralph and Barbara cross to R.) 
 
 Anthony. I have already apologized to Miss Fergu- 
 son for the early hour. I should not be here, nor would 
 my friend, if we hadn't seen you enter. 
 
 Mrs. a. (laughingly). The inference is flattering. 
 
 Anthony. Experience has taught me that oppor- 
 tunities, even the most trivial, are not to be neglected. 
 Mrs. a. (lightly). But opportunities sometimes 
 come too late. Retta and I are just leaving. Our car is 
 waiting. 
 
 Anthony. I shall insist upon your remaining for a 
 few moments to listen to a matter of business, we'll say. 
 
102 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 INIrs. a. But, my dear Tony, isn't it a bit unusual to 
 transact business in other jjeople's houses? 
 
 Anthony. Not in this case. Please be seated, (She 
 sits, unwilUngly.) 
 
 Mrs. a. I have other plans for the morning. 
 
 Anthony. They vvill wait. They must wait. 
 
 Mrs. a. Aren't you rather dictatorial.^ 
 
 Anthony. Only persistent. I have something to 
 say. 
 
 Mrs. a. Then I shall linger just long enough to 
 listen. Please hurry. 
 
 Anthony. Last Thursday, according to the news- 
 papers, I went away. 
 
 jNIrs. a. An old tale, by this time. 
 
 Anthony. But a false one. 
 
 Mrs. a. What do you mean .'' 
 
 Anthony. That the disappearance was not of my 
 own choosing. As I was leaving my office, after dark, 
 someone called me from a taxi. Answering the call, I 
 was blindfolded, bound, and taken far into the country. 
 I remained there until Saturday evening, Avhen m}' cap- 
 tors brought me to the house next door. [Glancing at 
 Barbara.) Fortunately for me, the room in which I 
 was imprisoned is opposite this. 
 
 Mrs. a. But you said you went to the hunting lodge ! 
 
 Anthony. That was your story, not mine. 
 
 Mrs. a. I don't understand. 
 
 Anthony. I think you do. (Pauses.) Later on, in 
 a battle with the guard, my strength proved the greater, 
 so we changed clotlies. When his accomplices came with 
 their covered wagon, he, not I, was carried away. 
 
 Mrs. a. Carried away ! How ridiculous ! 
 
 Anthony. Perhaps. Rather than join the band of 
 ruffians, I went back into the room, hoping to escape 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 103 
 
 later. The bolt was slipped and I found myself a 
 prisoner. 
 
 Mrs. a. You talk like a madman ! 
 
 Anthony. I was, just that, for two days after- 
 wards. Memory deserted me, and not until it came back 
 did I realize what had happened. 
 
 Mrs. a. It is in rather poor taste, Tony, to joke 
 about the matter. To us it was serious. 
 
 Barbara. Mr. Allison's story is quite correct. He 
 crossed from that window to this, and made his escape 
 from our apartment. 
 
 Anthony. Aunt Constance proved my friend as ever. 
 She gave me clothes, she gained my entrance into the 
 house last night in time for the dinner party. 
 
 Mrs. a. Again, I don't understand. 
 
 Anthony. Again, I think you do. Y"ou recognized 
 me by my ring. 
 
 Ralph (stepping foi-ward and crossing right of Mrs. 
 Allison). And this is where my part of the story be- 
 gins. Last Frida}', for reasons of my own and in the 
 interests of my paper, I cabled Paris for certain infor- 
 mation. (Pauses.) Paris was your home, I believe.'' 
 
 Mrs. a. Yes., 
 
 Ralph. While your guest last night, I was sum- 
 moned to the office. 
 
 Mrs. a. (rising). What possible interest can this 
 have for me.^* 
 
 Ralph. Just a moment. The answer to my cable 
 stated that Edith Allison, who afterwards became the 
 wife of her brother-in-law, in this country, had one 
 son, Anthony, and that three weeks ago this son and^ 
 his wife sailed for America. 
 
 Mrs. a. Nonsense. 
 
104 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Ralph. Why did you fail to mention to Mr. Allison 
 the existence of this son.'' 
 
 Mrs. a. Because no such son existed. 
 
 Anthony. Tlie other Anthony, evidently a name- 
 sake of my father, is at present in the very room over 
 there, which a few days ago served as my hiding place. 
 
 Retta. It "Was Tony! I knew it! {Comes to Mrs. 
 Allison.) 
 
 Mrs. A. {Angrily). Hush! 
 
 Ralph. Sometimes fate plays us a trick, and gives 
 two people faces so alike in every detail that one cannot 
 be distinguished from the other. {Pauses.) The sons 
 of twin brothers might easily claim such a similarity in 
 appearance. 
 
 Mrs. a. I shall not listen. 
 
 Ralph. And upon such a similarity depended the 
 success of your scheme, a scheme doubtless perfected 
 after your second marriage and your acquaintance with 
 the step-son so like your own Anthony. 
 
 Anthony {at R.). My elimination — his substitu- 
 tion — and you were all to live happily forever after! 
 Am I correct.^ 
 
 Mrs. a. You have no })roof for such an accusation ! 
 
 Retta. But I have! {As Mrs. Allison starts to 
 protest.) And I shall speak, Edith, I shall speak! I've 
 been quiet too long! I've yielded too long! I refuse 
 to surrender what little independence is left to me. 
 
 Mrs. a. Retta, you do not know what you are 
 saying. 
 
 Retta. But I do know the harm you liavc done to 
 .Tony and me. How you have almost smothered the 
 little spark of manhood in him by your ambitious 
 schemes, by your disregard of what is right and honor- 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 105 
 
 able, by your indulgence of his whims. Oh! I know — 
 too well ! 
 
 Anthony (crossing to her). You are his wife? 
 
 Retta. I am his wife. Alone with me, away from 
 his mother's influence, he is not the contemptible crea- 
 ture whom you have seen in an unfamiliar setting. 
 
 Mrs. a. You are rather late in advancing this senti- 
 ment, Retta. 
 
 Retta. You know that I never wanted the money 
 and the luxury. I begged to stay where we were. From 
 the very first I feared discovery and disgrace — even 
 last Saturday night, when I brought the money to your 
 band of ruffians, and watched, from that window, the 
 signal that they were leaving with the supposed victim. 
 
 (For a moment there is a tense silence. Ralph 
 crosses to Barbara, Anthony strolls to the back of the 
 room and stands quietly watching Mrs. Allison, as with 
 angry eyes she turns to Retta. But Retta, with no 
 return of thf old fear, meets her gaze calmly and defi- 
 antly. ) 
 
 Retta. You see, I am no longer afraid. 
 
 Mrs. a. {turning defiantly to Anthony). Well, 
 what are you intending to do? '' !'"V^ ; . 
 
 Anthony {quietly). Am I likely to take any public 
 stand against my father's wife, even though her return 
 for his kindness has been so unspeakable? (Pauses.) 
 Only let me suggest that the three reservations for 
 Thursday night be used, and that you become a perma- 
 nent resident of some other city. 
 
 Mrs. a. Do you think that for a moment I would 
 linger here — to be taunted by the wealth, the prosperity 
 that I craved for my son, that was almost in my grasp? 
 I have always hated you, Anthony Allison ! You, with 
 my son's very features! From the day I met you, I 
 
106 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 vowed that my Anthony should take your place — should 
 have your inheritance. 
 
 Anthony. And had not a merciful providence inter- 
 vened 
 
 Mrs. a. You would have been far away, without 
 money, and with nothing but a ridiculous story to win 
 back your position and your possessions. By that time 
 my Anthony would have been firmly established and who 
 would have believed you.-^ (Then, to herself.) And to 
 think that I failed! 
 
 Anthony (coming to Retta, who stands hy hall 
 door). Is there anything I can do for you. Miss 
 Reeves? Anything that — 
 
 Retta. Thank you, no. There is but one thing for 
 me to do, one thing that I wish to do. That is to go 
 to Tony. (Pauses.) This time I shall make a man of 
 •him! (Then, with a look at Mrs. Allison, she turns 
 and leaves the room* through the hall.) 
 
 Mrs. a. (as a silence follows). Well, the battle 
 seems to be finished, doesn't it.? And, after the battle, 
 a graceful retreat. (Turns.) Good morning, Mr. 
 Overton. Your acuteness in solving — mysteries, shall I 
 say.? — will doubtless prove of inestimable benefit to you 
 as a journalist. Good morning, Miss Ferguson. I re- 
 gret the loss of my charming secretary. And as for 
 you, Tony, perhaps you will see me to my car.? (And, 
 graciously chatting, she takes Anthony's arm and 
 leaves the room at hallway.) 
 
 Barbara. It's terrible, isn't it, Ralph.? And it all 
 shows how little we understand human hearts and hu- 
 man motives. (Sits on davenport.) 
 
 Ralph. Can the love for her son, ambitious and 
 selfish as it is, be counted in her favor.? (Sits by her.) 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 107 
 
 Barbara. When its gratification would have meant 
 misfortune for .someone else? Never! 
 
 Ralph. Wc stumbled upon a bit of tragedy after all, 
 didn't we? And very unconsciously we've been drawn 
 into it. 
 
 Barbara. Until, as we retrace each event, each inci- 
 dent, it seems too extraordinary, too fantastic, to be a 
 part of everyday existence. 
 
 Ralph. But everyday existence is full of strange 
 stories, strange characters and strange happenings. 
 
 Barbara {laughingly). And everyday existence bids 
 us think of everyday jobs. Once more, I am stranded. 
 
 Ralph {after a pause). Bob, on that very first day 
 when you came back into the eternal scheme of things, 
 I offered you a job for life. 
 
 Barbara. Please don't Ralph — please ! 
 
 Ralph. Don't say that, Barbara. {Lays his hand 
 on hers.) 
 
 Barbara, But I can't say anything else. 
 
 Ralph. We're such good pals. Bob — we've always 
 been. What else matters? And love would come. 
 
 Baiibara. But it wouldn't. 
 
 Ralph. You mean there is someone eke? {Rises.) 
 
 Barbara {after a pause). I wouldn't be fair to you, 
 Ralph, if I denied it. {As he turns sharply and walks 
 away.) Oh, I'm sorry! {Follows him.) 
 
 Ralph. Don't be sorry for me. Bob. I'm a lucky 
 fellow to have your friendship. And you know, don't 
 you — that my first thought is for your happiness? {He 
 taJces her hands, gazes steadily at her, then, without an- 
 other word, he turns and leaves the room. In a moment 
 his gay whistle covus floating bacJc.) 
 
 Barbara follows him to the hall door and stands 
 
108 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 there — almost depressed. As the outside door closes, 
 she turns and slowly crosses to the table. Mechanically 
 she takes the mirror which Peggy has left there and 
 starts to carry it to the bedroom. At the large chair 
 she hesitates, raises the mirror and gazes therein. As 
 if in answer to her thoughts, Anthony enters, and she 
 sees him reflected in the mirror. For a moment he stands 
 irresolute, then quickly crosses to her. 
 
 Anthony. Barbara, for the second time, the mirror 
 shows the same reflection. It may be chance. It may be 
 magic. But I choose to beheve that, from out this wide, 
 wide world, our paths were destined to cross. (Pauses.) 
 Ever since you gave me your faith, your friendship, I 
 have known that I could be satisfied only with your love. 
 (Barbara rises and crosses to the table. He follows 
 her.) The Lady of Shalott saw only shadows of the 
 world in her mirror. For us there is the reflection of 
 love, of happiness of days to be. (Quietly.) Will you 
 share it with me? 
 
 (And for the last time in this play of mine she hesi- 
 tates. Then she turns, and he reads his answer in her 
 
 eyes.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 The Epilogue. 
 
 Scene : Same as Act I. The curtain rises upon 
 Tom, Barbara, Fredericka and Larry, grouped as 
 they were in the first act when Tom said "Well — It be- 
 gins like this — " and you realize that what you have 
 just been seeing and hearing is only the story of the 
 play as Tom tells it. Back you go to the first act and 
 take up the conversation from that very point. 
 
 Tom. And that's all. 
 
 Fred. It's wonderful, Tom, just wonderful! And 
 will you write it just as you've told it to us.'' 
 
 Tom. I'll try to. 
 
 Fred. And will Larry and I be really important.'' 
 
 Tom. Of course. 
 
 Larry. Gosh, but I like myself in that play. {Struts 
 to L.) 
 
 Tom. What do you think, Bob? 
 
 Barbara, I've no words to tell you, Tom. I just 
 love it ! That's all. 
 
 Tom. Does it sound too improbable.'* 
 
 Barbara. Not at all. Even truth sometimes sounds 
 improbable. 
 
 Tom. Have I caught up all the loose ends.'' 
 
 Barbara. Every one. 
 
 Tom. And do you like yourself.'' 
 
 Barbara. Tom, I never was the dear you've made 
 me out. 
 
 Larry (i/i large chair). You've put in Florine, the 
 funny little maid we used to have, haven't you.'' And 
 Ned, the chauffeur, and Judge Lennox. 
 
 109 
 
no THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Tom. But Mis. Allison, lietta and Aunt Constance 
 are all imaginary. 
 
 Fred. Why did you choose Anthony Allison to be 
 the real hero.'' 
 
 Tom. Because I like him ; because he's Bob's particu- 
 lar friend ; and because he has a regular stage name. 
 
 FiiED. {after a pause). Tom, I could have loved that 
 man. (Comes down front.) 
 
 Barbara. Freddie ! 
 
 Fred. As he was in the play, I mean. You don't 
 meet them like that in real life. 
 
 Barbara (smiling). Oh yes, you do. 
 
 Fred. What do you know about it.'' 
 
 Barbara. Well, I happen to know Anthony Allison, 
 that's all. 
 
 Larrt (xcho has wandered hack stage). Gee, how 
 I'd like to see somebody really crawling along a plank. 
 
 Fred, (joining him). And how I wish that Tony 
 were over there, with a bloody handkerchief around his 
 head. (Turns.) We'll never be able to endure com- 
 mon, everyday living after all this excitement. 
 
 Barbara. Would my story help to cheer you up.'' 
 
 Fred. Oh you did have a story, didn't you? Is it 
 finy good.'' (Sits on ami of large chair.) 
 
 Barbara. The most wonderful story in the world. 
 
 Larry. You said that before. (Sits on window 
 seat.) 
 
 Barbara. But it's true. 
 
 Fred. Let's have it, then. 
 
 Barbara. Well, I'm going to marry Anthony Alli- 
 son! 
 
 Tom (taking her hand). I've been looking for just 
 this very thing, sis — and I'm happy ! 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 111 
 
 Barbara. That makes me happy! {as Larry and 
 Fredericka are silent.) Why, Freddie — Larry — 
 
 Larry {going to her). I don't want you to go away 
 from me. 
 
 Barbara. Who says I'm gohig away from you.'' 
 Never! {With an arm about his neck.) 
 
 Fred. Some way or other, Bob, I don't see how I 
 can do without you. {Turns her back.) 
 
 Barbara {going to her). You need never do with- 
 out me. I'll still be your older sister just the same. {As 
 the bell rings.) There's Tony! I'll go. 
 
 Tom. And so shall I. {And they hurry from the 
 room.) 
 
 Fred, {after a long and melancholy glance at 
 
 Larry). Freedom seems just as far off as ever, doesn't 
 
 it, Larry.? ^ xt ^ e» 
 
 '' As Nora enters K. 
 
 Fred. Never mind, Nora. They've gone. 
 Nora. An' sure. Miss Freddie, the policeman says 
 that all the lights were made by some bad boys playing 
 burglar in the empty house next door. 
 ,1 Larry {settling into despondency) . Life is just one 
 
 I' disappointment after another. (Nora goes out R.) 
 
 And into the atmosphere of gloom comes Anthony 
 with Tom and Barbara. Barbara crosses to daven- 
 port. Tom stands near hall door. 
 
 Anthony {halting as he sees the pessimistic pair). 
 Am I as bad as all that.? 
 
 Larry. No — You're all right. {Goes to him.) 
 Fred. In the play, I promised to be your real pal. 
 Anthony {puzzled). In the play.? 
 Barbara {laughingly). Tom's been outlining his 
 
112 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 play to us, Tony, and has taken us for liis characters. 
 (Sits on arm of davenport.) 
 
 Anthony. Tell it again, Tom. (Stands back of 
 Barbara.) 
 
 Barbara. And — oh, Tony! — you crawl from one 
 window to another — and I see you in my mirror — as the 
 clock strikes twelve. 
 
 Anthony. Rather different from an unromantic 
 proposal in a pouring rain. 
 
 Barbara. But not half so nice. 
 
 Fred. Tom, you said i^ou had a Hallowe'en present. 
 
 Tom. I have. 
 
 Fred. From the Hallowe'en witch.? 
 
 Tom. Exactly. 
 
 Fred. And that it would influence your whole life. 
 
 Tom. It will. 
 
 Larry. Then where is the present.'* (He stands hy 
 Fredericka.) 
 
 Tom. Close at hand. 
 
 Fred. And is it real? 
 
 Tom. More real than the plot of a play, the dis- 
 appearance of a hero and tlic mystery of an empty 
 house ! 
 
 And into the room comes Peggy. With an exclama- 
 tion of joy, Barbara rushes to her and 
 
 The Curtain Falls. 
 
Plays for Schools and Colleges 
 
 THE HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN 
 
 By Charles Ulrich. Comedy in 3 acts; 12 males. Time, 
 2 hours. Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF HEART'S CONTENT 
 
 By Lindsey Barbee. Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, 12 fe- 
 males. Time, 214 hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 MACBETH A LA MODE 
 
 By Waiter Ben Hare. Burletta in 3 acts; 7 males, 7 
 females. Time, l^A hours. Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 MRS. TUBES OF SHANTYTOWN 
 
 By Walter Ben Hare. Comedy-drama in 3 acts; 4 
 males, 7 females. .Time, 2^4 hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 A POOR MARRIED MAN 
 
 By Walter Ben Hare. Farce-comedy in 3 acts; 4 males, 
 4 females. Time, 2 hours. ' Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 A PRAIRIE ROSE '^~ 
 
 By Edith F. A. U. Palnton. Comedy-drama in 4 acts; 
 7 males, 4 females. Time, 2% hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 THE REAL THING AFTER ALL 
 
 By Lindsey Barbee. Comedy in 3 acts; 7 males, 9 fe- 
 males. Time, 2% hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 RE-TAMING OF THE SHREW 
 
 By John W. Postgate, Shakespearean travesty in 1 act; 
 6 males, 5 females. Time. 45 minutes. Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 RUTH IN A RUSH 
 
 - By Lindsey Barbee. Comedy in 3 acts; 5 males, 7 fe- 
 males. Time, 2^ hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 SAVAGELAND 
 
 By ' Walter Ben Hare. Musical comedy in 2 acts; 5 
 males, 5 feniales. Time, 2% hours. Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 SING A SONG OF SENIORS 
 
 By Lindsey Barbee. Comedietta; 7 females. Time, 30 
 minutes. Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 STAR BRIGHT 
 
 By Edith F. A. U. Palnton. Comedy-drama in 3 acts; 
 6 males, .5 females. Time, 2^^ hours. Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 ZARAGUETA OR MONEY TALKS 
 
 Translated from the Spanish by Clarence Stratton. 
 
 Comedy in 2 acts; 7 males, 4 females. Time, 2 hours. 
 
 Price, 35 Cents. 
 
 T. S. Denison & Company, Publishers 
 
 623 S. Wabash Ave. CHICAGO 
 
 1-921 
 
Standard and Amateur Plays 
 
 Our list of plays comprises, hundreds ot 
 titles ; dramas, comedies, farces, vaudeville 
 sketches, monologues, entertainments, etc. 
 All shades of sentiment are represented, all 
 varieties of talent, number of characters and 
 time required in presentation are provided 
 for in this list. 
 
 Popular Entertainment Books 
 
 Under this heading are foimd books 
 touching every feature in the, entertainment 
 field, Dialogues, for all ages. Speaker's, 
 Recitations, Monologues, Drills, Entertain- 
 ments, suitable for all occasions, Jokes, Min- 
 strels, Hand Books, etc. Over sixty titles. 
 These books are not filled with old. ma- , 
 terial, rehashed and simply made to sell; 
 they are fresh and original matter, each 
 written by a specialist in his given line. The 
 books are finely made, clear print, good pa- 
 per and each has a most attractive, indi- 
 vidual cover design. One of the best and 
 "most complete entertainment series pub- 
 lished. Paper Binding Only. 
 
 Send for Complete Descriptive Catalogue 
 
 T. S. Denison&Company, PublisLers 
 
 623 S. Wabash Ave. CHICAGO