FORTY CENTS 4;^ -) 5 ON THE WABASH A Comedy in Three Ads By ROBIN DUNBAR Author of "Arthur Sonten' THE STAGE SOCIETY SOUTH BEND, INDIANA im On Ihe Wabash A Comedy^ in Three Acts By ROBIN DUNBAR 1914 THE STAGE SOCIETY SOUTH BEND, INDIANA -35 Copyright by R. E. Dunbar, 1912 AND 1914. First Thousand. M 26 1914 ©C!.D 35787 PREFACE. IN the introduction to ''Arthur Sonten" you will remember I offered a prize to that critic who would use the greatest number of ejaculatory-condemna- tory adjectives in describing the effect the play made upon him. In spite of the humble nature of the offer- ing ("Sir Archibald's best get"), I beg to report that the returns were most gratifying, and several of our prominent authorities fairly outvied each other in hurl- ing anathemas. Two in particular were so copious and so felicitous in their choice of epithets, that I fell into a quandary as to which of them I should make the award; until my partner, who furnished the grimal- kin, cut the Gordian knot by setting up a breeder's lien on Spitfire, the offspring in question. I would have bitterly resisted her claim were it not for the fact that she was the only one who fully complied with the terms of the competition and presented me with a sample of the Widow Cliquot's solace to wounded authors, to- gether with her critique. I shall be charged with favor- itism for this action, but I am ready to bear that charge along with a lot of other just and unjust accusations, as I have developed a peculiarly tough cuticle of late. The present comedy has been expurgated by an ex- pert in expurgations. He now warrants it will satisfy Christian and pagan, romanticist and realist, intellec- tual and blockhead. I am skeptical of his claim (it is a little broad!), yet on the faith of it my partner has imported another grimalkin, Little Queenie, and threat- ens to branch out as a regular breeder. Thus does Hope spring eternal in a partner's breast ! She defends her act by saying: ''Doesn't all the world love the well-bred Sir Archibald? Then why shouldn't it take to the finely-mannered Ned Knowlesf" To this I can only shake my head and turn gloomily towards my file of anonymous communications. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. Arthur Sonten, a comedy. Paper covers, 50 cents. Mrs. Merrivale's Finesse, a comedy of manners. Three acts. The Confidence Man, a comedy of morals. Four acts. Jack Stuffins, a farce-comedy. Three acts. Prince Lorenzo, a comedy of high-finance. Four acts. The General Strike, a labor play. Four acts. Vina Calterp, a problem play. Three acts. Thirteenth at Table, a tragi-comedy. Three acts. A WoMAN^s Home, a domestic comedy. One act. ON THE WABASH PERSONS OF THE PLAY. Ned Knowles, a careless student. Si Cart, a careful politician. Tobias Stoodenwhacker, a true poet. Hank Fox, an aid to Si Cart. Constable Told, an aid to Ned Knowles. Freddie Mills, the needed villain. Bill Popp, "j Hal Whopp, V aids to local color. James Maul, j Gwennie Cart, sweet sixteen, — or more. Pauline MacKinny, sour twenty-two, — or less. Samantha Stooden whacker, good and natural. Sal Slope, eloquent but silent. Maria Maul, silent but eloquent. Students, villagers, messenger boy, etc. ACT I. On the Campus of Paul University. A June after- noon. ACT II. In the Post-Office at Wauseon. An August morn- ing. ACT III. The Garden of Samantha. A September evening. The time is, "When we were twenty-one." Paul University is located somewhere in Indiana. Wauseon is on the Wabash. ON THE WABASH. ACT I. The Paul campus; dancing pavilion on the left and goal post back. College oak with seat on the right. Carpenters-horses, boards, saw and buck-saw back of pavilion. Samantha Stoodenwhacker, Si Cart and Gwennie Cart, his daughter, enter together. Samantha. This looks like the place, Silas, just as he wrote in his letter. {Producing an envelop and ex- tracting a sheet of writing paper. Adjusts her glasses and reads.) ''Dear Mater — Come immediately to the dancing pavilion where you will find me in supervision of construction." Whatever he means by that, land knows ! "Ask for your filius. Tobias." What in tar- nation is a filius, Si? Si. a filius ? I guess it's a kind of horse. Samantha. Sure ! It's a comfort to have an intel- ligent man like you along. Tobe's language is getting more high-falutin every day. He writes like a regular 'cyclopedia. Si. He does throw in a couple of jaw-breakers now and then just to show off his college education, I guess. Samantha. He's real provoking, but he's took the highest honors in his class. I'm downright proud of Tobe. ON THE WABASH. 11 Si. You ought to have the band meet him at the depot when he comes home. Samantha. That's so, — ^but don't it cost a lot? GwENNiE {peeking into pavilion). My sakes! Look here ! The floor is as smooth as our skating rink's ! Si {starting in) . So it is ! Come on, Samantha, but be careful you don't slip up. {He takes hold of her arm.) These here greased floors are mighty treacher- ous. Samantha. We're not as spry as we used to be, be we Silas ? {They go in. Pauline MacKinny in student gown and mortar-hoard enters with Tobias Stooden- whacker, who wears besides these, a pair of green goggles and pores over a book.) Pauline. What book are you interested in now that the exams are over? ToBE {grunts and turns over a page. Stands at tree reading.) Just so! Pauline {nudges him). Tobe, wake up! Don't you hear me? Tobe {turns another page). Don't interrupt my train of thought! Pauline. Your train of broom-handles! You're bound to die a regular bookworm. {She sits beneath the oak; he remains standing azvkwardty beside her.) What is it, anyways? {Snatches book from him and reads the title.) "Black Hyacinths". I'm ashamed of you ! Such frivolity ! Tobe {hotly). Give it back! I was only half thru. It's a book written by a herdsman for his flock. Pauline. Then it's not for you, for you don't be- long to the herd. You're one of the remnant. 12 ON THE WABASH. ToBE. That's not a compliment, even if you mean it as one. My education should fit me to lead the plain people to the hights. It shouldn't isolate me. Pauline. It shouldn't, — ^but it does. I'm glad school's out. I'm for life and good times from now on. No more beastly grinds for mine. ToBE. The halcyon days are over, — now comes the summer sun to bless or blight the seed we've sown. Pauline. Some of the girls talk of becoming teach- ers. I prefer baking bread to making boobies. Tobe (oracularly). Marriage is the true sphere of woman. Pauline. You've seen that somewhere in a book! Ned Knowles doesn't talk like that, does he? Tobe. One thing I admire about Ned is, while he is not a poet, yet he is intensely interested in poetry. Pauline. He says that to please you. Tobe. I don't think so low of him as that. Please explain. Pauline.^ I'll explain some other day. I must go now. Tobe. To chapel? I'll go with you, if you don't mind. Pauline. I do mind, tho ; everybody notices me when I enter with you. And they get up such hor- rible grinds about us in ''The Orion." Tobe. It is better to be made fun of yourself than to make fun of others. Told (a constable, enters and stops in front of Tobe.) Be you Ned Knowles? If you be, I want you; come along. ON THE WABASH. 13 ToBE. No; I'm not Ned Knowles, I'm glad to say — Pauline. Why do you want him, and who are you ? Told. I'm a constable. I've a warrant for him. (Turns.) The question is, be you the guilty man or not? ToBE. I may be guilty and I may not be. That's entirely beside the question. I'm not the man you seek. Told. We'll find that out before a justice of the peace. (Jerks him.) Pauline. Wait! He's Tobias Stoodenwhacker, a college grind. He wouldn't harm a flea. He couldn't think of a crime, much less commit one. Told. Why in the name of thunder don't you say so? (Releases Tobe.) Be you dying to get locked up so that you can't pronounce your own name ? ToBE. There are worse things than confinement. A poet between walls and bars often gives birth to im- mortal thoughts. It might not come amiss for me to suffer incarceration for a short period. Pauline. That day may come sooner than you think, if you don't look out. (To Told.) But what is the charge against Ned Knowles ? Told. He kicked a football agin the Turf Saloon and busted out a winder, and knocked a glass of beer right down Sam Splicer's throat and nearly choked him to death. Sam swore out a warrant agin him and put it in my hands to serve, and I'm going to serve it, too. Pauline. Ned'll pay the damages, I'm sure. Isn't there any way to settle it up ? I know he will try. 14 ON THE WABASH. Told. I can't settle no criminal case; it's agin the law. If you see him, don't go and tell him what's up. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. Pauline. I'll not tell him with both eyes open. Told (poking Tobe in the ribs). Hey, wake up! (The book falls dozmi. Tobe hastily grabs it.) Do ye hear me? I say mum! (Pnts his finger to his lips.) MUM'S the word. M-U-M ! Tobe. I never drink anything so intoxicating. Told (with disgust). You don't? Well, I can't say as I blame you much. You don't look as if you could tell the difference between mud and hard cider, any- ways. (Goes into pavilion.) Tobe. The idea! Mud is a mineral product, and cider is wholly vegetable ! Pauline. Poor Ned ! What's he to do now ? We can never let him go to jail, can we? Tobe. Let me see, who was it said, "Let no guilty man escape?" (Turns ozrer leaves of ''Black Hya- cinths" rapidly. Stops at an open page — reads — shakes his head and sighs.) No ; it is only a quotation ! (Ned Knozvles enters left. He is a vigorous collegian of athletic type.) Ned. Hello, Tobe! Hello, Pauline! Together as usual, I see. Tobe. How do you do, Edward ? I trust our prox- imity is not annoying to you? Ned. Oh, no ! Not at all ! But, say, you've heard of my final flunk? It's all over the campus. — I didn't pass in a single subject except elocution ! Thank good- ness for small favors ! Oratory may be my salvation yet, who knows? ON THE WABASH. 15 Pauline. I'm sorry for you, I'm sure, after you tried so hard at the end. You devoted too much of your time to athletics at first, so you couldn't catch up when you set down to bohning. Ned. I shouldn't have made the football team! It took me away from my studies ; I don't suppose father will make any allowance for that. — He was against my trying. An athlete is not without honor save in his own family. Pauline. Without you the team would have lost every game. You brought Paul all her victories. She won the championship thru you. Ned. I thank you, — but winning championships doesn't pass me. I wouldn't care about my flunk, if it weren't for dad ; he is so sensitive. He's forever tell- ing me about how he graduated with honors — cum laude — and all that — and here I am, No. 23 in my class. It's tough on a fellow, and tougher on his pater. I wish I were more like you, Tobe, even if you don't know the difference between a tackle and a pass. Tobe. I don't, eh? You must remember I was ath- letic editor of 'The Orion" for two semesters and studied football from my tripod. I became well versed in the technology of the game, even if I didn't practice the sport. A tackle is a grab ; a pass is a throw. Isn't that correct ? Ned. I did the athletics; you did the athletes. I remember that roast you gave me for fumbling a kick- back in the Herdon game. It made me sore ; I could have licked you, if I'd 've caught you right after your rag came out. Like a wise editor, you ducked into your hole. But no more football for mine! It's 16 ON THE WABASH. buckle down to work for dad, if he will let me. Hence- forth I must count checks by numbers instead of by stacks. ToBE. Yes ; you will have to cut out the daylight arc for the midnight tungsten. Ned. Dad never gambles. — He wants a sure thing or nothing. You don't know dad, — he's so stern he freezes a bluffer with a single glance of his eagle eye. A cold breeze plays on dad's feet the whole night long. Pauline, li you won't laugh, I'll shut one eye and tell you a story. Ned. Shut both if you want to. But it's like turn- ing out the gas before bedtime. Pauline (giggling). You tell him, Tobe! I can't. ToBE. Not I ! I promised to keep mum. Pauline. So did I, with both eyes open. Ned. What are you driving at? I'm foolish, I ad- mit, but I'd like to hear the news. Pauline. You're on the way of being nabbed — ^but there, I can't tell you any more. Ned. "Oh, Beauteous Amaryllis! Speak; for the dog Hylas barks in the doorway." I'm on nettles un- til I hear the worst. Tobe. The worst will not relieve you any. Ned. When I know the worst, my imagination will stop working. Proceed with your rat killing. Pauline (zmth one eye shut). Then listen, stranger, to the story Of one who hunts to no avail For him who's had the awful glory Of spilling lager, cool and pale. ON THE WABASH. 17 ToBE (holding his ears). Finish in prose or I'll tell him in spite of my pledge. — I'd rather break my word than hear you break your meter. Pauline. Why, Tobe, I'm surprised ! That's from your own imitation of 'The Ancient Mariner". Tobe. Is it? I'd forgotten. Well, anyway, I wrote that several years ago, and since that time I've changed masters. I disown all those earlier children of my brain, as being almost, if not quite, spurious. Ned. And the later ones will disown you for the same reason. But I'm dying for news. There's some- thing ill o' the wind that bodes no good for me, I'm afeard. Out with it now or forever after hold your peace. Tobe. Let me speak, tho I say it who should not. There's a warrant out for you ; — you better duck. Pauline. Duck's the word. Ned. Duck? — An I be a drake, I'll not duck. Tobe. In the name of the law, I say duck. Pauline. Invoking fair Justicia herself, I gently murmur — duck. Tobe. There is a constable on your trail, a regular limb of the law. Ned. What does he want of me, innocent me? Tobe. Inform him. Miss MacKinny; I never re- peat idle gossip. Pauline. Neither do I — that is — hardly ever. Ned. I beg you to make an exception in my case — and continue, Sherlocka Holmesa. Pauline. You are charged with breaking a win- dow and almost killing one Samuel Splicer as charged in the indictment. You ought to recall the occasion. 18 ON THE WABASH. Ned (stammering). I can't remember anything of the sort. When did I — Where was I? — What did I? I can't remember a thing. My head — my poor head ! ToBE. You conducted yourself very unbecomingly for a senior. Pauline. And how about you, Tobe? Birds of a feather, you know. Ned. I was celebrating my final flunk. Red fire, blue lights, and slow music. But I'm sure I didn't scrap. Did I, old man? Tobe. I, as an unwilling witness of your bacchana- lian oro^y, refuse to compromise myself by a peach- ment. Besides, the officer cautioned me not to divulge. — His exact words were — were — Pauline. Mum ! We must keep mum ! Ned. Oh, plague take it! What's the charge? Come, out with it! Tobe. You mustn't ask me. My lips are sealed. Ned. Let me think! I remember kicking a foot- ball and hearing a crash of glass. I wonder if I did hurt anyone? Tobe. Yourself most of all, — as is usually the case when one goes to extremes. Myself next, because when you injure yourself, you hurt your friends. The University, too, because she suffers from the thought- less acts of her matriculates ; and lastly, the man whose glass you broke. — I am sure you, Miss MacKin- ny, as my fellow townsman, coincide with my views ? Ned. Are you from Warsaw — Warwawsee — or whatever that outlandish town's called where Tobe hails from? ON THE WABASH. 19 Pauline (with dignity). You mean Wauseon? Yes, I'm proud to say I am. It's a very respectable place, too, even if you do think the name is outland- ish. It's picturesquely situated on a high bank of the old Wabash. It has a lovely vista towards the west. Ned. It may look better than it sounds, after all. Pauline, Wauseon's booming now; father put in a power plant that revolutionized the place. ToBE. I liked it better before he flooded our farm by backing up his dam water on to it. Ned {in mock horror). That doesn't sound respect- able, Tobe ! Pauline. He paid damages for all overflowage, so no one has a right to complain. Tobe. I know you're not to blame, Pauline, for our dam troubles. Ned. Profanity, vulgar profanity, from you, the leader of our class! (Holds his head between his hands.) How could you do it! And to think I deign- ed to honor you with my friendship, — the friendship of a pure and unsuspecting heart. Tobe. You wouldn't think it so funny if you stood in my shoes, and had them filled to the tops with wa- ter on the very spot you were born ! (He goes out), Ned. He may thank his stars he doesn't stand in mine. Pauline. Tobe is really a fine fellow in spite of his eccentricities. But what are you going to do to get out of your scrape? Ned (contritely). Can't you suggest something? Anything is better than going to jail. That would break father's heart. 20 ON THE WABASH. Pauline. How about yours ? Ned. I see where I missed it, but I had a bully time. I don't regret the fun nor the money, either. I do feel bad over wasted opportunities, but what good does that do? Pauline. You are a disappointment to your friends ; brilliant, but so careless. Ned. I know I've been wild, but I never did any- thing low. My teachers sat down so hard on me at the start, I couldn't get up again. Then, there's this last scrape, whatever it is. Pauline. Perhaps it's not so serious after all. Ned. I kicked a ball into the air, — it fell to earth 1 know not where. In golf they would call it a foozle. Now if I were more like Tobe Stoodenwhacker, — that is, a little more like him, — not entirely, of course, — I'd be better off. Pauline. You don't take things seriously enough. College is a place for training one for the big things hereafter. Ned. I realize that, now that it's too late. Pauline {didactically) . You mustn't think it's too late. You should make up your mind that you are on the brink of a new world, and plunge into it to do or to die. Convince your folks there is good stuff in you after all! Ned. You give me new courage. I'll make a des- perate effort to retrieve myself, — but where am I to begin? What am I to do first? Pauline. You shouldn't start out by leaning on some one else for support. The world's heroes were self-dependent, you know. ON THE WABASH. 21 Ned. World's heroes ! You don't think I ? — You're joking ! Pauline (nobly). And why not you? You have been a hero here. True, it was outside of the Univer- sity halls, — but a hero nevertheless. All Paul has hung breathless on your exploits for the last four years. You are better prepared for the real battles of life than those who merely studied books. — But I have said too much. Ned. You have talked like a mother! Don't think I'm ungrateful. I'll pull myself together; — I know I can. (Mrs. Stoodenwhacker, Si Cart^ Gzvennie Cart, and Tobias Stoodenzvhacker enter from pavilion.) Samantha {talking in a high pitch). We're mighty glad we found you, Tobe. Looking all over this ten- acre field aint no joke. You're a regular needle in a haystack, — that's what you are ! Where were you hid- ing yourself, anyhow? Tobe {irritably). Why, mother! I've not been a hundred yards away from this pavilion the last half- hour. You could have found me easily, if you had looked. Samantha. I looked as far as I could, but I'm near- sighted. Why, Pauline, how do you do ! Sakes alive ! I hardly knowed you in them fixings! Just like them outlandish Flying Rollers ! Have you joined that sect lately? Pauline {pleasantly). We seniors are very proud of our gowns and miortar-boards. Don't you think them becoming? They are not religious at all; they are collegiate. 22 ON THE WABASH. Samantha. Tobe is a fright in his'n. A straw bindy would suit his style of beauty better, I'm think- ing; especially around harvest time. Tobe. It's our college custom, mother — we must follow it, even if it shocks the Philistines. Samantha. What shocked the Philistines most was a rap — not a cap — on the head, eh. Si ? Si. That's as true as scripture. Ned {to Tobe). Introduce me to your friends. Tobe. Mother, this is my friend, Edward Knowles. Miss Cart, Mr. Knowles; and this is her father, Silas Cart. Si. Just plain Si. That's good enough for me. There are no frills on old Si Cart. Samantha. I'm glad to know you, Edward. Tobe has wrote volumes about you. Ned. I'm glad to meet you all, I assure you. I hope you are going to attend the ball to-night. It's to be a real swell affair. Si. We are going to take in all the sights. We've just been inspecting that side-show. I suppose that's where you're going to keep the fat lady? Ned. And the slim one, too, providing she's will- ing. Do you dance. Miss Cart? Gwennie (timidly). No; I skate. I'm afraid to try to waltz. I should love to, tho. I can do the Vir- ginia reel and the quadrilles. Samantha. I didn't know as they allowed danc- ing here, it being a religious institute. Ned. It was hard for us to gain consent. We had to agree to strike out all the moonlight waltzes, to get any sort of a privilege. ON THE WABASH. 23 Pauline. And spoiled it all! (Bell rings). There's the chapel bell ; — I must be going. It's the last time, thank goodness ! Won't you come, too, Mrs. Stooden- whacker ? Samantha. Do they take up a collection? Pauline. Oh, no! Samantha. Come on, Si ; I guess it's safe. (Pauline, Si and Mrs. Stoodenmhacker go out.) Ned. Let me borrow your goggles and togs; they may prove handy in case of a pinch. ToBE. I can't do without them long. My eyes are so weak I don't recognize my friends. Ned. And mine are so strong, my friends won't recognize me. A change ought to do us both good. (They exchange caps. Ned puts the goggles in his pocket and lays the gozvn on seat. Tobe follows the others out.) Gwennie (tarries coquettishly, then starts to go.) Hem! Ned (as she hurries azvay). Miss Cart! (She stops.) Perhaps I can teach you a few steps. If you skate, it will not be hard for you to learn. Gwennie. Oh, I wish you would teach me! Ned. Very well, I'll put you down for the first waltz. We can go thru it all right. Let me show you ! (Puts his arm around her. She ivithdran's.) But that is the way. (Tries it again. She holds hack. Waltzing.) Now; one, two, three; one, two, three; (She steps on his toes.) Ouch! Gwennie (remorsefully). Did I hurt you? I'm sorry. 24 ON THE WABASH. Samantha (outside). Gwennie! Gwennie! GwENNiE (tries to release herself). Oh, Sir, I must go! Ned (tries to steal a kiss). Don't be in a hurry! Gwennie (indignantly). Sir! Who do you think I am? Ned (contritely). I beg your pardon. (She leaves, her eyes flashing. Ned takes a couple of steps and dances wildly. He ends by jumping right into Con- stable Told, zvho grabs at him; Ned escapes into the pavilion.) Told (in fidl bay). Hold on! Be you Edward Knowles, student? (Follozvs him into pavilion. Ned enters from rear. He dons Tobe's goggles, mortar- board and gozvn. Told returns and looks blankly at Ned.) Did you see him? Where did he go? He's a sHppery cuss ! Ned (mimicking Tobe's manner). Of whom are you enquiring, if I may request? (Takes up ''Black Hyacinths" and starts to pore over it.) None of my friends, I hope? Told. I am looking for a man known as (consults his warrant) Edward Knowles, student. Have you seen him around here? I nigh had my grip on him, but he gave me the slip. He's a bad 'un, he is. Ned. Indeed? I've heard him very highly spoken of. There must be some mistake. He's very well liked by his friends. Told (fiercely). They don't know him as well as I do. Ever since he came to town, he's been up to some deviltry. He's stirred up more trouble than any two students afore his time. ON THE WABASH. 25 Ned. It's too bad, as I'm inclined to think well of him at times. Told. He's busted a solid plate glass window worth a hundred dollars and committed an assault on a re- spectable citizen, that's worth 'leven dollars more. It'll take just $111.00 to settle his case or my name is not Told. Ned. I thought he was accused of a crime. A fel- ony — of some kind — a — a — regular murder. Told. It's not exactly that bad, but pretty nigh. He might have caused Sam Splicer to choke to death. It's a wonder he didn't. But where is he gone? Ned. If I could deliver him into your hands with- out his knowing all about it, I should do so gladly. He doesn't always act right towards me. Sometimes he calls out my worser nature. Told. Oh, he's an ornery cuss! But I'm prepared for him. {Slapping his hip-pocket.) I've got some- thing here that'll fix him. Ned. You wouldn't shoot, would you? Told {takes out a mean-looking revolver and bran- dishes it icith bravado.) I'd shoot him. quicker'n scat, if he made one move to resist me. I'm an officer of the law. {As he waves the revolver around, Ned holds lip his hands and crouches behind the pavilion sup- ports.) Ned {peering at him). Hey, there! You make me nervous waving your pistol around like that! It might go off ! Is it loaded ? Put it down ! Told {points at goalpost). Do you see that post? Watch me fill it full of lead. {Fires twice.) 26 ON THE WABASH. Ned (sticking his Ungers in his ears). What a can- non! {Both go and look at post.) You hit it both times. Let me see that gun ! It's quite a fine piece of fireworks. Told (handing it over). That was one of Morgan's guns. It's seen service in its day. See those thirteen notches on the handle; they weren't put there for nothing. Ned (handling it gingerly). No, I suppose not. (He furtively abstracts the shells and hands it hack.) Here, put it in your pocket like a good little man ; you may need it later on. Told (replacing it with a swagger). If you see him, hold him and holler for help. I'll nab him so quick it'll make your head swim. I've taken bigger men than him in my day. (He goes out. Ned zMstles and removes his goggles, cap and gozvn, gets a sazu-buck and board and goes to zvork.) ToBE (enters, poring over a book held close to his eyes, runs against the sazv-biick and knocks it over, up- setting Ned. ) Excuse me ! I didn't see you. Ned. Of all the dunces ! Here, do you see this buck-saw? (Puts it in his hands.) Now, get busy! ToBE . I can't without my glasses. (Drops saw.) I couldn't see to sing, — I mixed the bass with the alto. Ned. Take your old goggles, and get back your voice! You made me cut my fingers. (Staunches the blood with his handkerchief.) ToBE. Did I ? I am sorry, old chap. Let me read you some genuine literature from this wonderful book. (Puts on goggles.) ON THE WABASH. 27 "Every man is a fool at least ten minutes a day ; Wisdom consists in not breaking the record !" Isn't that wonderful? So abstruse! And this one: "Heaven is largely a matter of digestion." Ned. The first is true to life and the second true to death. But here ! Throw away that trash and lend me a hand. The carpenters are on a strike and we'll never get this thing done (pointing to the pavilion), un- less we make wax. ToBE (vacantly). But I'm not on the committee. Anyhow, I think it is beneath a scholar to do manual labor. (He turns away, reading book.) Ned (commandingly) . I appoint you as a commit- tee of one to hold this board, while I saw it in two. (He hands Tobe one end of a board, puts it in the saw- buck and starts to saw. Tobe holds book in one hand and the board in the other.) What are you doing with that book ? Drop it ! Tobe (drops both book and board). Ouch! (Ned gathers up boards and takes them into the pavilion. Tobe picks up his book.) "Life has its ptomains, but love is a panacea." "Love is a panacea !" How true that is ! Pauline (runs into Tobe and snatches book from his hand). Wake up, old bookworm! (Looks at the book, takes it gingerly between her fingers, goes behind the pavilion and drops it. ) For shame ! I didn't think that of you, Tobias Stoodenwhacker — such trash ! You ought to blush, if you could. Tobe (helplessly). It isn't trash! It's the literature of the future. 28 ON THE WABASH. Pauline. Then let it wait for its public. (Pause.) Where is Ned? Did that constable get him? We're all worked up over his case. He's such a good-hearted fellow. It's too bad the way his troubles are piling up on him all at once. Just at commencement time, too. ToBE. That's when troubles generally do pile up. He who dallies with wine, woman and song will not thrive in college halls for long. Pauline (appealingly). How did it come that such a sober and sedate student as you ever took up with such a harum-scarum fellow as he? Tobe. It's all based on the affinity of opposites. Ned is a true friend in spite of his failings; as for me, I trust I am not entirely devoid of the sense of humor, even tho my sobriety may seem to you somewhat excessive. Pauline. What beautiful language! I wonder what you are going to do with that vocabulary out in the wide world. Are you going on to establish more in- congruous friendships? Tobe. I am going back to Wauseon for a rest. My brain is tired out. Then I — Pauline (pats his head). Poor brains! Tobe (tickled). Do that again! It helps. Then I — Pauline. Yes? Go on; don't let me break the connection. Ned (enters from pavilion). Tobe, are you on the level ? Tobe (looks around bewildered) . Of course, I am! Ned. Well, get off! (Takes level from under his feet and re-enters pavilion.) ON THE WABASH. 29 ToBE, He was speaking literally, not metaphoric- ally? Ned (enters). Pauline, are you on the square? Pauline. What's the joke? Ned. The boss carpenter wants it. (He takes the tool.) If you see any loose mechanics around, send them in, we must have help or there will be no howl in Rome to-night. (He pushes Tobe out. Hank Fox and Mrs. Stoodenwhacker enter from right.) Pauline (to Hank). Are you a carpenter? Hank. Not much of one, but I am a fair sort of wood-butcher. Pauline. That's what he means. (Shoves him in- to the pavilion. In a hollow tone.) Rome must howl to-night ! Samantha. Why, Pauline! How you do talk! You don't seem like the same girl any more. Educa- tion has turned your head as bad as Tobe's, only he always was a little offish. (She sits on the tree-bench and Pauline stands by the park-seat.) But perhaps it's right for you both to be in the same boat, as you can pull it better thru life together. Pauline. Together? Mrs. Stoodenwhacker! I trust you are not forming plans for me, — not in that direction at least. Samantha (slyly). There might be a worse point in the compass for you. You both come from the same town, and you've known each other since you wore pinafores. It would be an ideal match. Your folks are well-off — you might say rich — Tobe's are as poor as Job's turkey. He needs a good wife, who'll take care of him while he is making his name in the world. 30 ON THE WABASH. Pauline. His name! You make me laugh. Be- sides, marriage has no attraction for me. I am think- ing of higher things. Samantha (mockingly). Higher balloons! I've heard that kind of talk before. "It's art that calls", — and then you all wind up as old maids. No; you better come down from the clouds and think of babies instead of moonshine. Pauline (turning her back). Mrs. Stoodenwhack- er! — You've gone far enough! The idea! (Mrs. Stoodenwhacker rises and goes over to her in a moth- erly way.) Samantha. There, there, Pauline! You know I didn't mean nothing. Let me tell you a little story about myself, will you? When I was a girl — a bit younger than you, — I had big notions about what I was going to be in the world. I looked on the coun- try boys who came a-courting as way beneath such a lady as me. I dreamt of marble halls and such like things, the same as you do ; until I met Hiram Stood- enwhacker. While he didn't just exactly poke fun at me, he made short work of my foolishness. He taught me my purpose in life was to make a good man happy. After he was taken away, I lived for my child. (Ten- derly.) Tobe is like his father in a good many ways; — head-strong, and stubborn, — but what he starts out to do, he'll do. He'll make his mark some day and we'll all be proud of him. But, there, I shouldn't have said so much. I'm only a doting old woman who thinks the world of her only son and who would like to see him settled in life with a good companion. Pauline. It seems so ridiculous ! Tobe is the very last fellow I should think of marrying. He's so intro- spective, so undemonstrative, so analytical. I like him ON THE WABASH. 31 as a lover of books ; I couldn't think of him as a lover of myself. Samantha (breezily). You have not seen him at his best. Wait until your school polish wears off a bit. Tobe's sun will mount higher in the sky than you think. Pauline (strongly). I've nothing else to do all summer, but wait. In the fall I'm going to work, if it's nothing but run a typewriter in some lawyer's office. There are not many openings for a woman with an education. One thing I can always do — give music lessons. Samantha (stubbornly). It would be a shame to spoil your life that way, especially when your folks are able to provide everything for you. Teaching music is very well for those who have to, or for those who can't find husbands, — it won't do for you. You mustn't think of mussing around a lot of dirty brats at an old piano. Pauline (quickly). All brats aren't dirty, — besides, T like children! (Catches herself.) But excuse me; you have talked real motherly to me; but I would never choose Tobe, never! Samantha (shrewdly). Perhaps he'll choose you! He doesn't need to be in a hurry, for you're not likely to run across a better choice in Wauseon. Pauline. It's a good thing for him to have such a devoted mother. He's sure to find a good wife with you looking after him. Samantha. I just do the best I can. But, there, we won't say no more ; it sort of upsets me. — My heart is so wrapped up in that boy. (She wipes her eyes.) He's all I've got left in this world. 32 ON THE WABASH. Pauline {throwing her arms around her). There, there ! Forgive me, I didn't mean anything. Samantha. I know you didn't, only {buries her face in her handkerchief) it riles me to have any one say anything against my Tobe. Paulin'B {opening her heart). If you'll promise not to say anything to him, I'll tell you. — I've never seen but one man who could carry a candle to Tobe. There, does that suit you? Samantha. It does me, but it wouldn't Tobe. Per- haps the other man's took tho? Pauline. No! I don't think so. Samantha. Who is it? Not that measly Ned Knowles? {Pauline hangs her head.) Well, I swan! Hank Fox {comes in from pavilion). Go right in, ladies and gentlemen, and see the big show ! Admis- sion free to all ! Come one, come all ; come big, come small ! The circus has begun ! Samantha {looking up). Circus? Why, Hank Fox, there's no circus in town to-day! I do beHeve you've been drinking again. Hank {tipsily). Only punch, — college punch ; harm- less as air. Help yourself, it's free to all! This is a great place. Good fellows. Make you work and drink, — drink and work. "Have one on me," that's what Tobe says. — ''Don't mind if I do." Tobe is a good fellow. They're all good fellows. {Sings.) "A student's life, so bold and free!" Samantha {sharply). Yon don't mean to say that my son asked you to partake of intoxicating liquor, do you? Come on, Pauline, we'll go right in and see about that. {Pauline and Mrs. Stoodenwhacker go out.) ON THE WABASH. 33 Hank (sings). When I was young and didn't have a penny, Of girls I had a plenty ; But now I'm old and wealth for twenty Of girls I haven't any. (Si Cart enters with Gwennie. A pair of roller skates dangles from her arm.) Well, Si! Put her there! (Puts out his hand.) You darned Johnnie Reb ! Do you know, I kind o' like you, if you are an old Copper- head. Hello, Gwen ! Putting on your skates ? Funny how every one puts on skates as soon as he strikes a college town. Gwennie (resentfully). I was asked to try the floor to see if it was smooth. (She goes in pavilion.) Hank. Everything in there is smooth, — floor, punch and fellows. Si (drily). A little too smooth for you, I guess. Hank (putting his hands on Si's shoulders). Look here, Si ; let me give you a pointer. When you want to get out of the post-oflice, I can help you make post- masters, instead of being one ; you understand ? Si. I savey. You mean Congressman, don't you ? Hank. You're on. Sam Wimbles is going to get the knife next time ; the boys are laying for him. He hasn't treated us right. We're going to let him down hard. Mark my words, the next man who goes to Washington from the 14th district will be a Democrat. It might as well be you as some one else. Fact is, it's got to be you, 'cause you're a friend of mine. You gave me a job when no one else would. Think I'll for- get that ? You don't know me ! 34 ON THE WABASH. Si. I ought to, by this time. As for me being Con- gressman, why I can't even make a speech, much less make a law. Hank (emphatically). You don't have to. Have 'em wrote out for you, the same as Senator — what's- his-name? Course, me being a Republican, I daren't say anything, but you know me ! — I'm a politician from way-back, I am. All I ask is for you to let me name some of my friends for a plum or two. Now, what's your answer? Do you accept? It's as good as set- tled, if you say the word. Si (dubiously) . I'll think it over. If you are of the same mind after you get back, I'll talk to you. But not now, — we didn't come down here to talk politics, anyways. Hank (slapping him on the back). You're true blue, you are, and no mistake. I ought to hate you like hell, but I can't do it; I can't do it. (He sits and holds his head. Ned and Gwcnnie enter from pavil- ion.) GwENNiE. Oh, that floor is just lovely — it's heav- enly! Ned. I'm glad you like it ! You waltzed beautifully. GwENNiE. Did I? So did you! I don't see how you could dance with me when I had skates on. Ned. It was just like floating in a cloud, you were so light. GwENNiE. And you were so masterful ! Sometimes I wish I were a man with a man's strength. Ned. a man seems stronger than he really is. Wo- man's creative instinct is stronger than man's. (Sa- mantha, Tobe and Pauline enter.) ON THE WABASH. 35 GwENNiE. You admire women more than men? Ned. Yes, — I should say I do. Samantha {to Pauline). He's got some sense after all. (Aloud.) I'm ashamed of you getting Hank Fox intoxicated. You ought to have watched him closer. When there's plenty of free drinks, he's sure to get foundered. Hank. Foundered? Me? You don't know my ca- pacity. Samantha. You're a disgrace to Wauseon. I know that! Hank (whiningly). I'm a disgrace to Wauseon? You don't mean it? (He collapses.) Disgrace to Wauseon ! To think she could say such a thing. Pauline. I'm glad you boys are going to get thru in time. (Sounds of poimding in the pavilion.) The class of '91 never made a failure yet, and it won't now. Tobe. Thanks to Ned Knowles! He's the inspira- tion, the pride of his class — our tried and true leader ! Hank (waking up). Yes, sir, he's our trued and tried leader; but I — I'm a disgrace to Wauseon! Ned. Poor fellow ! He's hit hard. Tobe. He ought not to gauge his capacity with too idealistic an eye. One of the laws of nature is, a quart measure holds just two pints and no more. Ned. That is the trouble with wiser men than he. — They can't hold all they can have. (Constable Told sneaks in under cover of the oak. He shakes Hank Fox J zuakes him up and whispers to him.) Hank. Don't know him. Don't vote in my pre- cinct. 36 ON THE WABASH. Told (louder). Is that him in the cap? Hank. Yes, that's him, Cap. Told ( advances to Ned. Ned spies him and starts to run). Halt! In the name of the law! {Draws his pistol; Ned runs into pavilion. Told snaps revolver. It fails to explode. He stops.) Someone has been monkeying with this gun. It never missed fire afore. (Advances towards Tobe and thrusts gun in his face.) Did you take out those cartridges ? ToBE. I ? I never saw that pistol. Put it down, — it might go off. Samantha. Hey, put that pistol back in your pock- et. You might blow out his brains. Chorus. Yes, put it up. Put it away ! Told. You're all under arrest for resisting an offi- cer. Come along with me. (He seises Mrs. Stooden- zvhacker. She screams.) Ned (appears at the door of pavilion zvith a gang of students). Here, boys, rush him! (They rush Told out, struggling and shouting. Ned and the boys re- appear, laughing.) That'll end him for a while. We ducked him into the mill race. Now, boys, — one, two. three : Rah, rah, rah ! For old Paul! '91, '91, Rah, rah, rah ! (The boys march back into pavilion.) GwENNiE. Aren't they glorious? I think college boys sing just grand. Pauline (haughtily). That's our class yell! It's not a song. ON THE WABASH. 37 Si. It sounds like election, hey Hank? (Shakes him.) Hank. 'Lection? Come 'round to headquarters, boys, and get your money. Si. Funny about Hank. Thought he was poison proof. What did you give him, anyhow? Must have been a new brand of liquor. He's used to all the old ones. ToBE, He helped himlself to the main ingredients of a cocktail before they were mixed. Si. He mixed his drinks ! He ought to have known better than that ! This is no place for him. Let's lay him on the shelf. (Si and Ned take Hank into pavil- ion and Ned re-enters. A messenger boy comes in with a telegram for Ned. He signs the book and pays the boy, who leaves. He reads the message, and lets his head drop.) ToBE. What's the matter, old man? Bad news? Ned. Dad has cut me off! ToBE. Cut you off ! Why is that ? What's his rea- son? Ned. Read it. — Here. (Hands Tobe telegram.) ToBE (reads). "Heard you wouldn't graduate. Not one cent more until you reform your ways. You needn't return home until I send for you. Melancthon Knowles, Pres. 3rd Natl. Bank." Ned. What am I to do now? Where can I go? I didn't think it would come to this. — Pauline (sympathetically) . I'd go back and ex- plain it all to him. He'll forgive you when you tell him how it is. You're not entirely to blame. 58 ON THE WABASH. TO'BE (putting arm around Ned). We haven^t very much, but you can come down to Wauseon and stay at our house until he changes his mind. GwENNiiE. Yes; do come! We have the loveliest rink, and I can teach you to skate. It'll help you for- get your troubles. Ned (shakes his head sadly), I hardly know what to do. I've got to get out of town or that constable will arrest me. And I can't go home. I don't know which way to turn. Samantha. Tobe, you talk to him! Come on, girls. Remember, I'll never forgive you, if you don't accept our invitation. He'll send for you soon. Fath- ers are pretty much alike. GwENNiE. Do speak for us, Tobe; he'll listen to you. (Mrs. Stoodenwhacker leaves ivith Pauline and Gwennie.) Tobe (ivith great friendliness). Here, old man, take my goggles, pack up and go on to Wauseon to- night. You can room with me. Si Cart will give you a Job in the post-office. You can keep out of scrapes and marry one of our girls — they're not so bad, you see that for yourself. When you have shown your governor that you have the right stuff in you — and I know you have, if you would only let it come out — he will welcome you back with open arms. NiEtD (taking Tobe^s hand and looking him squarely in the eye). I'll try it, old man. All but the marry- ing part. I'm not fit for that. But I'd like to show father I'm not so bad as he thinks. Tobe. The girls at Wauseon will never let a chap like you get away without a halter around his neck, or I'm badly mistaken. ON THE WABASH. 39 Ned. It looks like that kind or the other. I don't know as it makes much difference. {He hangs his head moodily.) ToBE. Some one has said : — In case of doubt, mar- ry the first live one you meet! Ned {rousing up). I don't know why it is that whenever a fellow makes a failure of everything else, his friends always recommend him to get married. If he is no good for one, why should he be for two? ToBE. A horse can pull more when hitched double than single. Ned. But I don't want to pull. I want to run, gal- lop, race, jump. Tobe. Haven't you had enough of that? You've stumbled at every hurdle. You'll have to cut out the jumps and take to a trot. Ned {earnestly). Look here, Tobe! You've got me in a corner, don't bump me. — I hate your old jay town — with its one drug store, one newspaper, and one railroad train a day. But I'll go. — I'll try a small- er field and make myself worthy of a larger one. To^K {exuberantly). Now you're talking ! Stick to it ! Bully for you ! Ned. But no flowers, please! No throwing a doz- en village beauties at my head in a bunch or one at a time. I know I could find one I'd like — one after the style of your Miss Cart; she's not so bad. When I make good, it will be time to think of settling down. Under these terms I capitulate. It's only a truce, — not a surrender. The big battle will come later on. Tobe. Shake on it, old man! I'll carry the good news to Aix. {He goes out.) 40 ON THE WABASH. Ned (walks back and forth moodily. Gwennie slips in.) You back? Gwennie {shyly). Yes; — I'm so glad you've decid- ed to return with us. I thought I would tell you. Ned. I suspect Tobe sent you. Well, his interces- sion prevailed. It was Wauseon or the river. Gwennie. I know just how you feel. I've felt that way myself. Ned. You ? Nonsense ! You've never been pluck- ed by your teachers and discarded by your folks. You've never had a blood-thirsty old constable on your trail to nab you like a comhion felon ! Gwennie. It was not just like that, but it was al- most as bad. Ned. Come, tell me all about it ! Listening to your troubles may help me forget mine. Gwennie. You'll promise not to laugh? Ned. It would take more than that to make me laugh. Gwennie {sits beside the oak. He stands beside her.) Then I'll tell you. Mother was anxious that I should have a musical career. She spent hours every day giving me lessons on the harp. She found my progress so remarkable, that at last I got the bee. You understand? {Ned nods.) Then she was stricken, — she lingered over a year. Father did everything he could for her. He sent to New York for special- ists, — they cost a pile of money. It was no use ; she died and I was left alone with him. I had to give up my music. I haven't had one lesson since she was taken away. Ned. I begin to understand what you meant. ON THE WABASH. 41 GwENNiE (zmth simple emotion). After you have a vision of yourself — famous, thrilling great throngs of cultured people with your gift of song, — then to come back to the narrow world of a country town ; — it's ter- rible! I feel just like you said a moment ago. I know it is awful to say so, — but it is true. Ned (gently). I meant it more in jest than other- wise, but it was a sorry jest. You've helped me to see my way as no one else ever did. Perhaps I can help you pick up some of the broken threads of your life. There's something for mle to do in Wauseon after all. GwENNiE. Do you play and sing? Ned. Of course! We can live art if we can't cre- ate it. Gwennie. Live art? I don't think I understand. Ned. I shall teach you ; it won't be the blind lead- ing the blind, either. For, while I should have been studying text books, I was really conning the masters. From them I learned something of the harmonies of the spheres. We shall catch some of their divine strains. Gwennie. How beautiful it sounds ! I never had anyone talk to me like that — except my mother. — It makes me feel like crying. Ned. Why? Gwennie. For joy, for sheer delight! My toes feel like dancing, my fingers itch for my harp, my voice throbs with song, and my heart aches — Ned. Yes ? Gwennie. For creation, for expression ! Ned. That's odd ! 42 ON THE WABASH. GwENNiE (gaily). Let us devote our lives to sacred things ! Ned. Yes, let's! I feel inspired, just like, — just like,— GwENNiE (cunningly) . Not just like Hank Fox? Ned (strongly). No! — just like the better self of Edward Knowles. And so, good-bye ! I'll see you to-morrow in Wauseon ! (He dons Tobe's goggles, gozi'u and mortar-board and goes out.) ACT II. The post-office at Wauseon, showing the inside and the corridor — a partition zvith door dividing them. The front door of the post-office is on the upper right-hand side. Windows look out onto the street. Hand can- celing outfit, boxes of letters, mail pouches, tables, stove, etc. A mail has just arrived, and Si Cart, Freddie Mills and Ned Knozules are busy assorting it. The G. D. windozvs are closed, and the crozud in the corridor gradually increases. Si {at mail chute, receiving a pouch from Hank Fox). Pretty heavy mail this morning, Hank. Twice as big as last week's. Hank. Those durned mail order houses are sending out their fall invitations. They weigh a pound a piece, dod gast 'em ! Why don't people buy to home ? It would save me breaking my back and keep the money in town, besides. Most folks think to be in the swim, they must order their goods from the city. Si. Take it easy. Hank. What's the post-office for, if it isn't for use. We've got to do some work for our pay. Hank (misses a box zvith a huge catalog. It falls on the floor and he kicks it out chute). I'll fix one on 'em. 44 ON THE WABASH. Si (irately). What in tarnal nation are you doing? Don't you know that is governn^ent mail? Don't you monkey with Uncle Sam ; he'll bite you some day. Run and fetch it back. Hank. I'm more scared of my bull-pup biting me again, dod gast 'im. Si. How's your leg getting along? All right? (To Freddie Mills, who has been canceling letters rapidly and noisily.) Hey, Freddie, run out and get that cata- log! It might be for one of my constituents. (Fred- die fetches it in and hands it to Si, zvho puzzles out the address.) James Maul, Rural Route No. 2, Wauseon, Indiana. Maul? He's a Prohibitionist! Put it any place! (Hands it to Hank, who throzvs it into the stove.) He's going to order some more hard liquor, I'll bet. Hank. That's what it's come to since Spligo Coun- ty went dry! We've got to buy our ague drops from those highway robbers, and they're mighty poor drops, too. The last bottle I got, tasted like kerosene oil. I tried it to remove the grease from my old plug hat, and it took all the hair clean off! Si (good humoredly) . It's a good thing you didn't use it for a hair-restorer ! I almost got the snakes once on the durned stuff. Hank. I draw the line when I have to swallow a pint of bitters to get one drink of liquor. I can't en- joy my tobacco after a mouthful of that benzine. Ned (holding up an envelop). Here's a letter to Mrs. Samantha Stoodenwhacker ! It ought to interest somebody around here! ON THE WABASH. 45 Si (rising from the table and looking curiously at Ned). I wonder who it's from? Where's it post- marked ? Ned. Indianapolis. The address looks like a man's hand-writing. Perhaps she's — but no, I musn't say what I think. Si (grimly). Let me have it! I've got a power of attorney to open all the letters Samantha Stooden- whacker gets in a man's hand-write. (He takes enve- lop, holds it up to the light, rolls a pencil under the flap and extracts a paper.) Bah! It's only a bill for a hat — $3.79! (Throws it in the stove.) Hank. That was a good one on you, Si! You thought it was a love letter! (Leans over pouch and laughs.) That would have got your goat or I'm no kid. Si. No one better write her a love letter, — not as long as I'm post-master. There are some perquisites belonging and appertaining to this office which I refuse to relinquish. (He sits and looks over paper. Pauline MacKinny, Sal Slope and other village girls gather about the G. D. window.) Pauline (peeks thru Tmndozu). The m'ail's not assorted yet. They are getting slower every day. I just hate to have to wait so long. (Raps on imndow.) I just know he's in there. "Busy!" He's always busy. This is the third time I have been after my mail this morning, and I haven't had any attention. I'm expecting a very important letter. (Girls laugh.) You needn't laugh. It isn't so funny. (Ned opens delivery zvindozv. Hal Whopp, Tames Maul and Bill Popp enter corridor. To Ned.) Good morning! Is there anything for me? 46 ON THE WABASH. Ned (looks over mail). Only a circular. {Hands it to her.) Pauline. No letters at all? I'm so disappointed. I — I haven't told yon about our club, have I ? We are getting up a debate. You are to be on my side. The subject is one you will like. It is Woman Suf- frage. Maul. It's a wonder she wouldn't let somebody else get to that window. Does she think this post-office is a ladies' parlor? Popp. Sure she does !. She's here every hour and between hours, too. She's female running to mail. Maul. She'd better save her breath. The train's left. Pauline (aloud). I'll tell you the rest after while. Good-bye. (She goes out.) Sal Slope (simply). Ith there anything for me? Any letterth? Ned (briskly). What is your name? Perhaps I could tell better if I knew for whom to look. Sal Slope. Thally Thlope. Ned. How do you spell it : — with a T or with an S ? Sal Slope. With an Eth. Eth-1-o-p-e — Thlope. Ned. No. — Yes, wait ! ( Takes Si's paper from him, pastes, addresses and hands it to her.) Here's a pa- per for you; that's all this morning, I'm very sorry to say. Sal Slope. O, thank you, tho muth ! (She goes out.) Si (rising and protesting). Here! That's going too far ! What do you mean by taking my paper away from me, — right from under my eyes? ON THE WABASH. 47 Ned {cooly). It's going to a voter on the East side. You've got to keep the boys in line, you know. Si {in a mollified tone). To a voter? Oh, it's all right then! {He fills his pipe and smokes.) Ned. Business is picking up! I sold two dollars more in stamps this week than I did last week. The post-office is becoming a regular social center. Si. I'll tackle Uncle Sam to raise my salary, if this rush keeps on. Ned. Don't forget mine. My present stipend hardly keeps mic in neckties. Si. Be careful you don't get a different kind of necktie than you want. Some time you might get the wrong kind of a raise. Ned. They wouldn't hang a man, would they, just because he asked for higher wages? Si. That's the biggest crime a man can commit in this country! Bill Popp. Give me my mail! Ned {shoves out an armful of letters). That's all this time. Bill Popp. The suckers aint biting so good as they used to. I'll have to change my bait. Ned. What bait have you been using? Bill Popp. I call it ''Bill Popp's Cure-all, for Mule or Beast," ten cents each. Didn't you never read my book? You've missed the treat of your life, if you haint. The price is ten cents ; $7.50 for a hundred ; $25.00 for a thousand. If you buy in larger lots, I can make 'em two for a cent. They're dirt cheap at the price. 48 . ON THE WABASH. Ned (graciously) . Have you sold a good many? Bill Popp (boastingly) . I've sold mbre'n a million of 'em. I'll let you take ten on trial, and if you sell 'em you can give me fifty cents and keep the other half-dollar for yourself. Ned. That seems fair. How much do they cost by the bushel? Bill Popp (blandly). I'll tell you, as you look Hke a chap who can keep a secret ; — they cost more'n they're worth! He, he, he! Now you know, don't tell nobody! Ned. Is that joke original with you? Bill Popp. There's nothing original with me or with "Mule or Beast". If there was, I couldn't have sold a hundred on 'em. Originality don't pay in this coun- try no more. (He goes out.) Pauline (enters and steps up to zmndow). I'm glad the rush is over. I wanted to talk to you about the debate. You haven't accepted the subject yet. Ned (jogging himself). That's so. What's a sub- ject between friends, anyhow? Pauline (earnestly). But it's a very sober mat- ter; all the society women in Wauseon are going to attend. You may not know it, but you're very popu- lar in this village. Ned (good naturedly). Popularity has been my vice. The place where I want to find favor most — with my family — is where I fail. Is the debate to be a benefit affair? Pauline. Yes ; for the foreign missions. It's a very worthy cause, too! ON THE WABASH. 49 Ned. That's true ! But I heard of a case where the missionaries were so anxious to cover the naked that they sent for a ship-load of second-hand clothes. The savages were proud to wear the civilized man's garb, tho not quite in a civilized manner — hat and vest some- times constituting a full suit. — But alas ! one piece was infected with the germs of measles; the disease swept off the entire colored population like a plague. The missionaries had no one left to preach to, and returned, sadder, if not wiser men. Pauline. But they couldn't help that, could they? You'll accept, won't you? Ned. But which side am I to take, for or against? Pauline. Why, for, of course! — You don't sup- pose we'd let such an orator as you are take the nega- tive, do you? Ned. You're jollying me ! But won't you come in and give me some points? Pauline (coming in thru private entrance door). How different it looks from the inside ! Ned. Yes, indeed ; it's like politics. Hank (shouldering a mail pouch — aside to Si at chute). Pretty good, eh? Politics is different from the inside! Si. He didn't miss it more than a mile! Hank (to Ned). Come on, sonny, and lend a hand! (Hank and Ned carry out pouches. Si gets a chair for Pauline.) Si. Make yourself right to home. We don't rest on formality in this post-office; — not if you're a friend of Ned Knowles. 50 ON THE WABASH. Pauline. Thank you, Mr. Cart. But I can't stay long, I've so much work to do. I'm organizing a club for orphaned children, and another one for bridge whist. But aren't those pictures a little bold, Mr. Cart. Si (turns two of them to the wall). Perhaps they are a little gay. You see, us politicians like to take our art rare. They're done enough on one side, it's about time I should turn them over. Pauline. Thank you so much, Mr. Cart; you are very kind, I'm sure. Si. If ever Samantha Stoodenwhacker sets eyes on them, she'd give it to me ! She has no taste for such like ; Tobe is the only connoisseur in the family. Pauline. You are very considerate of Samantha's feelings, Mr. Cart, aren't you? Not every man would be so deferential in a like situation. Si. Oh, Samantha's awful particular! {Freddie Mills pounds vigorously with his canceler.) Hey! You needn't try to knock the block off the Father of your Country. (Freddie stops pounding. Tobe enters and goes to G. D. windozv, knocks and raps on the glass in vain. Losing his patience, he takes out a key and unlocks a box. He picks up an armful of MSS.) Si ( comes leisurely to the general delivery zvindow) . Quite a lot of mail, Tobe! Are they all returns? Poetry isn't what it used to be. The hard times has knocked your business all to flinders, I'm afraid. You ought to try writing advertisements ; they'd pay you better. Tobe (cuttingly) . Where's my registered letter? Si. Are you expecting one? Where from? ON THE WABASH. 51 ToBE. That's my business! (Counts over his MSS, letting several fall to the floor. Stoops and picks them up — others fall.) I sent away twelve essays and two poems. The essays are all back and one of the poems. They must have accepted the other one. It's strange they didn't enclose a check, — someone has been tamper- ing with my mail. Si. I wouldn't say that, Tobe. You may get it lat- er. Keep a looking ; that's what post-offices are for. Tobe. So I shall ! And if I don't find it, I'll make someone sweat. (Looking in P. M.'s office and sees Pauline. Gallantly.) Oh, Pauline! Come with me; I want to read you my latest effusion. I had a truly inspired moment this morning as I looked over the old Wabash. The air was so balmy and the water so sil- very. Thousands of mocking birds, brown thrushes and tiny wrens, sang their love songs in spirited warb- iings. Lines came upon me. A genuine poem sprang into being unawares. I want you to share my joy and hear the finest effort of my life. You are so sympa- thetic. Si (satirically) . How about me? Ned has given me lots of pointers since he's been here. Am I not a com- petent judge of oratory? — Then why not of its allied art, poetry? Tobe (testily). You? I'll hold you accountable for my missing manuscript, if I don't hear from it soon. (Turns.) Come, Pauline, this is no place for us. I'll read you my poem amidst the fragrance of the honey- suckle and the perfume of the jasmin. Pauline (to Si). Tell Ned I'll be back soon! (Pauline and Tobe leave. James Maul enters and ap- plies himself to rapping at the general delivery win- dow.) 52 ON THE WABASH. Maul (loudly). Hey! I say there — hey! (Raps loudly.) Si (to Freddie Mills). It's funny how some people get in such a big hurry as soon as they enter a post- office. They think the mail ought to distribute itself. (Opens zvindow. Politely.) What can I do for you this morning ? Did you bring in any fresh eggs ? Maul (sourly). If I brought any, they're fresh. I'm a going to complain about this office. I've worn out my knuckles pounding on that window. I want my mail, and I want it quicker'n scat. Si. What's your name ? I might be able to wait on you, if — Maul. You know it better than I do! It's James Maul, and I'm expecting a catalog. It ought to have been here last Saturday, but it wasn't. It's sure in now. Si (looking thru box). Nope! nary catalog for Maul. Maul. That's funny ; there must be some mistake. You better look again. Si (confidentially). You can't count on anything for sure, least of all on the postal service. I've had mails carried past so many times it makes my head dizzy counting 'em. Maul. We all have our troubles in this vale of tears. But you get paid for yours, while I have mine for nothing. Si. It's mighty poor pay ! Some folks have an idea that postmasters are millionaires. They ought to run this office once ; they'd find out different mighty quick. (Calmly.) By the way, how's the buttermilk out your way? It's been so long since I had a glass, I'd be ashamed to look a cow in the face. ON THE WABASH. 53 Maul (jeeringly). We don't make butter no more; we run our milk thru a separator and sell the cream ; the rest we give to the hogs, — what the hogs won't take, we drink ourselves. Si. You're just joshing me! But what were you going to order from the City of Sin? A little wet goods ? Maul (hotly). That's my business! You would like to poke fun at us Prohibitionists, and make out that we are as bad as you are ; I'll show you one who aint. I'm not afraid to tell the truth. I was going to order a quart of bitters for snake-bite. They killed a twelve-foot rattler down on the marsh yesterday, and Maria says we better have an antidote handy. Si. Maria's right ! Step in and I'll fix you up with a quart of the best snake-bite medicine in the world. (Maul enters private office and Si goes over to a keg marked "nails" and draws a quart of whiskey.) A twelve- foot rattler! I hope no one got bit? {Wraps up the whiskey and hands it to Maul.) Give this to Maria with my best compliments, and tell her that Si Cart wants her support in the primlaries, and in the campaign. Woman's influence is not to be sneezed at in politics. (Fills tzvo glasses.) And now let us take a drop as a preventive. You can never tell what those pesky rattlers are going to do next. Maul (meltingly). Since you put it in that way, I don't care if I do. (They drink.) Si. I've seen 'em already, but not twelve feet long! The biggest was nine foot six. He had twenty-four rattlers on. He was born before the war; the Revolu- tionary war, I mean. 54 ON THE WABASH. Maul. Of course. (Stai-ts to go out; returns.) Say, you needn't send out a tracer for that catalog. I don't need it now. I apologize for what I said about postmasters; there are some good men amongst them after all. Si. I hope so! (Goes to stove as Maul is at G. D. windozv.) Here! I found it! In the wrong box, as usual! I must jack up that clerk of mine; he's al- ways making funny mistakes, — putting it in S in- stead of M. Well, good-bye, Mr. Maul! Don't for- get what I told you to tell Maria! {Maul goes out.) Freddie {coming forzuard). You ought to be ashamed of yourself; corrupting a good man like James Maul ! But that's the way with you politicians ; — you've got no decency. Si {plaintively). I didn't corrupt him; I saved him from the crime of spending his money out of town. If the people really hated politicians as much as you say, they wouldn't elect 'em to office. You, Freddie, will never be a politician, — nor much of anything else. Freddie {belligerently) . I don't want to be one, if I have to be like you. Politicians are grafters and boodlers, and you know it ! Si {smoothly). The biggest kickers don't always make the best officers. I try to run this place to suit the people. I guess I am doing it pretty well, or I'd hear complaints, — not that I am looking for any more to-day. Freddie. You have a slick way of beating the devil around the stump, — that's why you are postmaster! But you better look out; hiring Ned Knowles won't get you anything. He's crooked, and you'll find it out some day, too. ON THE WABASH. 55 Si {looking at him carefully). Why, what's the matter with Ned? What do you know wrong about him? You better be careful what you say! Freddie (blusteringly) . You wait and see! I keep my eyes open, I do. Some day there'll be a missing registered package, and I don't intend to have the blame put on me. I'm looking out for number one, I am. Si. Nonsense! You're just jealous of Ned, that's all. Freddie. Me? Jealous of that dude? I guess not. I've given you fair warning, so if anything happens ; remember I told you. (He goes back. Mrs. Stooden- zvhacker and Gzuennie Cart come in together and walk into private office. Mrs. Stoodenwhacker steps to door and motions to Si. He jumps up hastily and runs to her.) Si. Only one letter for you this morning. (Hands her a big envelop.) Samantha (in a society manner). I was sort of expecting a bill from my millinery down to the Capi- tal. What do you think of this hat? Only $37.90! (Turns so he can admire it.) Si. It's quite a set-off to your style of beauty, but it seems to me that a hat like that ought to cost about $3.79 in this man's town. Samantha (testily). Si Cart! You've been open- ing my mail again ! The next time I catch you, I'll sign charges against you, I will. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. (She turns her back.) Si (soothingly). Now, now! Don't get excited! You can't blame me. I take such an interest in you that it sets me crazy when you get a love letter from a strange man. 56 ON THE WABASH. Samantpia. But it wasn't a love letter; — it was a bill. Don't be silly! Si. Maybe I am silly, but it's over one of the finest women I ever set eyes on. Samantha {shreivdly). YouVe a tormented fool! You are famous for your slick tongue, and since you know so much, you might help me pay for my hat. Si {reluctantly). Well, here's $5.00. Keep the change. I'm sorry I made such a mistake. It won't happen again. You'll forgive me, won't you, Saman- tha? Samantha {good naturedly). Well, since you put it that way, I don't miind if I do. {She taps him play- fully on the shoulder and leaves.) Si {plaintively). This durned shebang is getting more expensive every minute. I'm out a quart of rye and a $5.00 bill and it isn't noon yet. {He seats him- self at the G. D. zvindozv and looks out vacantly.) G\VENNiE {to Freddie). Are you coming to the rink to-night? Freddie. Yes, if you want me to. GwENNiE. Sure I do ; isn't Ned becoming a lovely skater tho. I taught him everything he knows. I wonder if it's true about him, that his folks are so rich ? Freddie {snappishly). It doesn't do him any good if they are, as they've turned him down. Why do you let him hang around you so much ? What do you find so attractive in him? I'm as good as he is any day, and you hardly look at me when he's near. {Throws mail viciously.) ON THE WABASH. 57 GwENNiE. I'd hate to have your temper! Ned Knowles is nothing to me, I'm sure ! He's only help- ing me with my studies in return for my teaching him to skate. Turn about is fair play, isn't it? Freddie. He's making a dunce of you, that's what he is ! He's a good skater on other things than ice, according to all reports. GwENNiE. You're just jealous of him, that's all. You'd believe anything against him, no matter who told you. Freddie. Jealous ? — Huh ! It would take more than a chap like him to make me jealous. He's a regular flirt! You'll find it out soon enough. He doesn't care a snap for the girls of this town. I don't blame him for amusing himself while he's here. I would, too, if I were in his boots. But I wouldn't let him make a monkey out of me, if I were you. Gwennie (hotly). No; because you are one al- ready! No gentleman talks about his betters behind their backs. Freddie (sneeringly) . He, my better? You're jok- ing! Gwennie. Look out or I'll tell him what you said. Freddie. Tell him for all I care! If you don't, I will. (He stamps out znciously.) Gwennie (tosses her head, then goes to Si and puts her hands over his eyes) . Guess who it is ! Si (softly). It's you, Samantha! Gwennie. Yes ; it's Samantha Stoodenwhacker ! (He pats her hand and discovering his mistake, re- leases himself.) I'd be ashamed. And at you age, too! Are you going to let her set her cap for you and catch you napping? 58 ON THE WABASH. Si (shamelessly). I don't see how I can help my- self, if she's put her mind to it. How about my little mischief-maker herself? Isn't she laying a trap for a certain young fellow, who shall be nameless? GwENNiE. The idea! Whatever put that notion into your head ? Si. Notions sometimes sprout of their own accord. I can guess his fate, too. GwENNiE (archly). You can? I don't see — Oh, dad! Let's make a bargain. I'll agree not to tease you about Samantha, if you won't tease me about — a certain party. Si. Good! Shake on it! (They shake hands.) GwENNiE. And now to carry the war into the ene- my's camp. Si. We'll march through Georgia just like damn Yankees. GwENNiE. Pa ! How you talk ! Si. The Rebs called us damn Yankees so often lliat they forgot they were two separate words. GwENNiE. Is it true that you soldiers stole all their chickens ? Si. We took 'em as contraband of war ; — when- ever we could catch 'em. We didn't dare shoot 'em, as the noise would stir up the Johnnies. Do you want to hear about how Tobe's father and I pretty near got caught once? GwENNiE. Not now, pa. Don't let's fight the whole war over again. I've heard Hank Fox call you '*01d Chicken Thief" to your face and you laughed. There must be some justice in his charge. ON THE WABASH. 59 Si. Oh, Hank? He was only joking. We have great times calHng each other names. — That's the way with us old soldiers — to laugh now over what we cried at then. Ned (entering). How do you do, Miss Cart? May I see you alone for a minute? Si. a hint is as big as a mint. (He goes out.) GwENNiE (turning in surprise). Why, how do you do, Mr. Knowles? I want to talk to you about my grammar lesson. Ned (politely). Wouldn't you rather talk about my skating lesson? Gwennie (szi^eetly). Whichever you prefer. Ned, You should say, — whatever you prefer — not whichever. Gwennie. I know "whichever" is right, but we can look it up to-night. Ned. Let's skate to-night. You are getting to be a better grammarian than I am a skater. I need the exercize more than you do the exercizes. Gwennie. Do you really think so ? Tobe Stooden- whacker helps me lots. He says, I've made remark- able strides in my English this summer. Ned (jealously), li you ask Tobe to help you, you're no friend of mine. He accused me of opening one of his letters and stealing $5.00 — whichever is not right. Gwennie. Do tell ! But where did he get the $5.00 from? Ned. He imagines he sold one of his poems. 60 ON THE WABASH. GwENNiE. Who'd buy one, I'd like to know? (Pauline MacKinny enters corridor.) Hello, Pauline! Come here ! Did you hear about Tobe ? He claims he sold a poem for $5.00, and that Ned stole the money. Isn't he too absurd. Pauline (spitefully) . Don't mention Tobias Stood- enwhacker's name to me again! He's dotty! (Ap- proaches Ned.) Don't take it so hard. No one will believe you stole it! At least no one who knows you as well as I do. Ned (gulping hard). It's tough to be accused of theft by a chum ; a college chum at that ! I've a notion to chuck it all up and go back home. I believe dad will let me sleep in the stable, if he won't admit me to the house ; for a cent I'd try him. GwENNiE. And leave pa without a deputy? You couldn't think of it ! Pauline. And disappoint the Debating Circle? You're to take the affirmative side, too; the one they preferred. You can't leave them in the lurch this late in the day. Ned. I almost forgot, I haven't prepared a word. Besides, no one wants to hear a thief. Pauline (chidingly). Don't be ridiculous! You said your whole life was a preparation on the question of Woman's Suffrage, and that you needn't study up on that subject one mloment. Ned. I — I — was joking. I've never seen women vote except at college elections. Then they always went in for a dancing man, whether he was qualified, or not. Pauline. Always? Didn't we elect Tobe Class Poet ? Wasn't he the man for that position ? ON THE WABASH. 61 Ned. You can't credit your sex for electing him poet, — he elected himself. ... If that debate was all I had to worry about, I'd be a happy man. Tobe strain- ed his poetic license to the bursting point in saying I cribbed his five spot. He will have to apologize, that's all. I can excuse a rejected poet for being peeved, but I can't permit him to asperse my financial integrity. Samantha (passes rapidly thru outer office and bursts out loudly). Where's Silas Cart? Some one has been monkeying with Tobe's mail and returned his trash to me. It's outrageous the way things are going on in this office! It's perfectly shameful — Ned (steps up and takes a paper from her). Per- haps this is the missing poem? (Goes outside and calls.) Tobe! Tobe! Tobe (appears sulkily). Well? What do you want now? Are you going to give mfe my $5.00? Ned (hands him paper). Is this yours? Look sharp before you reply. Tobe (puts on his goggles and reads). Yes ; but it's ruined. Some one has substituted a Latin word for an Anglo-Saxon one. Samantha (hotly). I believe it's all Si Cart's do- ings ; he's a fine postmaster, I do declare ! Where he has hid himself, the land knows. Ned. Gone out to see the score. Tobe, go fetch him ; tell him your mother's here and he'll just fly back. (Tobe leaves with the MS. clutched firmly in his hand.) Pauline. It's lucky for you that he found it! Your job wouldn't have lasted long. Ned (scornfully) . The idea of such rot selling for $5.00. 62 ON THE WABASH. Samantha (jealously). Some parts of it are real literary. Tobe has the right temperament for an au- thor, I'm sure. He got it from his father who used to write advertisements, when he wasn't painting signs. Ned. Tobe's father painted signs? Samantha (naively). Yes; all his signs were high signs. You had to look up to read them. He painted one on a stand-pipe once, 150 feet high. It made me dizzy to watch him. I was afraid of his falling, — he was so light-headed. Ned. Practiced high art, it seems. Samantha. Yes, indeed. They gave him a five dollar bill for painting it, — and we bought our mar- riage license with the money. Ned. How interesting! It goes to show that Tobe is the offspring of aspiring parents. No wonder he is up in the clouds so much of the time. (Tobe and Si return.) Tobe. It's all right. I got my $5.00.-1 take it all back. I beg everybody's pardon. — I've sold it. Ned. You better beg mine in particular. Be more careful about accusing your best friend of theft. Whom did you touch this time? Tobe. I sold it to a connoisseur. Ned. Or to a shamateur, which? Si. I bought it. You see, I kind o' Hke its swing. I thought I'd nail it up in the office, 'side of one of those pictures. The two sort of harmo — what you call it? — harmonize. Don't you think so, Tobe? Tobe (in the bashful manner of an accepted au- thor). Hem — well — perhaps they do, — in a way — in a way. ON THE WABASH. 63 Si. Let me read it to you! It's a regular gem! (Tobe and Mrs. Stoodenwhacker stand enraptured — Pauline, Gwennie and Ned turn their backs as he gets along. ) From eyes divine, Love lights shine, The beauty of the rose, Is in your pose, And will you pose for me, my lily ? Ne'er did fond heart More quickly start Than mine it's beat Against your feet, Oh ! — Will you pose for me, my lily ? Isn't that high class ? ( Tobe smiles in esthetic appre- ciation. ) Samantha (takes it out of Si's hand, tears it up and thrones it in the stove. The Hre starts burning brightly). I think it's a little too high class, with all that about posing. Si. Here, what are you doing? It's mine — mine. I paid for it. (Rtmning his hand thru his hair trag- ically.) And what's mine is yours. It was warm and no mistake. But it's gone — lost to posterity ! Samantha (grimly). Posterity can stand the loss. Come, sonny, I want to talk to you a minute. ( Takes Tobe by the ear and marches him aziray.) To'BE. Let loose; ouch! (They go out.) Ned. The sad end of a poet! Come back for the next mail, won't you girls? p ^ ' [-Sure! (They leave.) 64 ON THE WABASH. Ned {stooping down and picking up Tohe's glasses). Well, Tobe won't write any more for the present. {Holds goggles up for Si to see.) He's a cripple with- out these ; his muse halts. Si. He can't see green enough without 'em. There goes $5.00 more! That makes ten this morning and a quart of rye; I tell you this post-office business haint what it's cracked up to be. {Hank Fox enters chute ivith a mail sack. Freddie Mills and Ned sort it rapidly zvith closed zmndozas. As they work back. Hank and Si come forward.) Hank. I got another township fixed for you. That makes eighty-five votes you can count on for sure. You need only ten more. Si {rubbing his hands) . Wonderful, wonderful! It begins to look promising! To think that I should be the one to represent the glorious 14th district in Con- gress. It's too good to be true. Hank. Figures don't lie. All you need now is Baugo Township and the trick's turned. The Repub- licans don't stand no show this time, — the whole coun- try is up in arms. You are sure to sweep the district. It'll be a regular land-slide. Si. How am I going to get those other delegates? Hank. Leave it to me. I haven't studied politics ever since I wore a bib and tucker for nothing. We'll have a barbecue and you can give 'em a speech. Free beef and free cider! You can't beat that combination for results on the Wabash. Si. But I can't spiel for shucks. Hank. You can give 'em the razzle dazzle about old General Baugo, the Revolutionary hero, after whom Baugo Township was namfed. ON THE WABASH. 65 Si {leaning over table). But I don't know much about him. Hank {at other end of table, putting his hands in his pockets). Neither do I! We must get Ned to help. He can write up a speech. I'll get Tobe to compose a poem. We'll carry them off their feet afore they know it. Si {shaking his head). Tobe's poems '11 do in love, but I'm afraid of their effect in politics. Ned's all right, — but cut out Tobe. Hank. What the boys want is words, words — and no thought. Tobe's poems come nigher to filling that bill than anything I know. Si. Maybe he'll throw one in for that five spot. Hank. Sure ! Just ask him ! Tell him to get busy ! That his name is just as good as made. {Freddie Mills begins thumping zvith his canceler and Ned stops assorting the mail.) Ned. What are you conspirators up to now ? Hank. We were wondering if you could be at the barbecue and circulate among the delegates in behalf of Si's candidacy. And we want you to get up a fine speech for him. Ned. Speech ? That's my long suit. I took a prize for oratory before I got out of knee-pants. I can put over a dandy curve in that line, — one that will keep 'em all guessing. Hank. You're the man we're looking for. Oratory is the ticket. I hate to see the harpoon slung into Si. They're whetting their knives to take his scalp. {Si reaches up and feels his hair in trepidation.) 66 ON THE WABASH. Ned. In that case, I'm his Indian. He's done too much for me to forsake him now when his scalp is in danger. Hank. Bully! Put it there! (Extends hand.) I knew you were true blue. Si {or at or ic ally) . I'm making no promises, Edward, but if I'm nominated, I'm the same as elected; I'll need a private secretary to go to Washington to attend the balls, and dance with the daughters of the foreign ambassadors and do the other swallow-tail business be- longing and appertaining to the exalted position of Congressman, and — Hank. Go on — go on! You're doing fine. Si. As I was saying, I need a Sancho Panza to help me mount that fiery Rocinante called the people. {Thrusts one hand in his bosom and the other thru his hair in the traditional manner.) I bar none in weight and size better fitted for Dapple's seat than my friend, Nedward Owles — er — er, than Edward Knowles — the Giant Haw-Tree of the Wabash ! Hank. Bravo! {He stamps his heels vigorously on the floor. Si sits at end of table with great dignity. Constable Told enters and stands by G. D. zcindozv.) Told {quietly). Edward Knowles? Then I'm on the right trail after all ! {Pulls out revolver.) Ned {turns towards Si and speaks simply). I ap- preciate your homely humor, and realize underneath your light manner there lies a depth of true feeling. You have touched a tender spot thru your kindly offices to me. I shall do all I can to assist you in the further- ance of your great ambition. As to any return, I thank you, but I can accept none. The opportunity to show my gratitude in deeds is all I ask. {He turns to ON THE WABASH. 67 assort letters. Freddie Mills goes to work quietly. Hank Fox wipes his nose and looks out zvindow. Si Cart blozi'S his nose vigorously and furtively dries a tear.) Hank (brokenly). He's true blue, true blue. Ned (opens G. D. zvindow. Constable Told shoves rez'olver in his .face.) O ! Hello ! Told. Hands up! Ned (dodges down, picks up Tobe's goggles, puts them on and confronts him). I beg your pardon! Were you speaking to me ? Told (still holding the gun). Be you Edward Knowles ? Ned (cooly). I hardly know who I am at this mo- ment ! What do you want ? Who are you ? Are you a robber or a practical joker? Told. I'll show you who I am. I want Edward Knowles, student. I heard his name spoken. He's here. (Goes rapidly thru private entrance. Points gun at Si and Fred — Hank skips out chute — but not until Told fires at him.) Hands up! (They hold up hands.) I'mi an officer of the law, I am. I'm here in the performance of duty. I demand the body of Ed- ward Knowles. Ned. Do you want it dead or alive? Told. Shut up ! I've got a warrant for him. He's the slipperiest, ornariest cuss on earth. Where is he? (To Si.) Do you hear? (To Ned.) You better not try and hide him ! — If you do, it won't go well with you. (To Freddie Mills.) Speak up, sonny. Freddie (his teeth chattering). I don't know, — that is— I— I— 68 ON THE WABASH. Told. Then go look for him ! Tell him a friend is here and wants to see him. (Freddie runs out timidly.) Si. That was him you shot at ! Told. Well, I hope I hit him ! But he was an older man, it 'pears to me ; tho he did get out pretty spry. (Hank FoXf Tobe Stoodenzvhacker, Mrs, Stooden- zifJiacker, Pauline MacKinny, Gwennie Cart, Hal IVhopp, Sal Slope and James Maul enter with other villagers. They sneak around the corrider and peek in the boxes, trying to get sight of the highwayman. They carry pitchforks, shovels, guns, revolvers, rakes, etc. Tobe Stoodenwhacker, armed with a hoe, pushes thru the private door and advances to strike Told.) Si. Halt! (Raises his hand to Tobe.) There is your man! Told (whirls on Tobe). Drop that hoe! (Points gun in his face.) I arrest you in the name of the law ! (He slips the nippers on Tobe after a short struggle. The villagers troop inside.) Tobe. Arrest me ? You don't know who I am ! Samantha (excitedly) . He is not the one. Si (holding up his hand). Silence, Samantha! He has arrested his man! This is a federal office^ — it is government ground. I am in full control. Let him take his prisoner and depart. Maul. No ! Ride him on a rail ! Hank Fox. String him to a lamp post! Hal Whopp. T-tar and f-feather him ! Omnes. Hang him! Hang him! (They advance threateningly.) ON THE WABASH. 69 Told. I'll shoot the first man who touches me! (Waves his revolver.) I'm an officer, and I've got more right in here than all of you 'cept him. (To Si.) Are you going to protect me or not ? Si. Surely, surely. (To the crozud.) Now get out of here, all of you. (They don't move. Si motions to Told to take Tobe out.) Told (to Tobe). Come on with mte! (He drags Tobe off thru the mail chute. The crozifd follows.) Samantha (to Si). But why? Why did you let him take Tobe instead of Ned? I can't understand. Si (earnestly) . Samantha, your son is a poet. A few days in jail will do him good. It will fire his genius. I must have a poem on General Baugo that will fetch the delegates from Baugo Township. — Tobe's the man for the job. He can do it, if he only has the chance ; besides, I need Ned here, — so do you. How would you get your mail without Ned? Do you want your mail every day regular? Samantha (blubbering). I don't care for my mail, I want my Tobe ! Si. I'll get him out soon enough. It's no disgrace to serve a short term for principle. He's doing it to save Ned and to help me. It's noble of him, and we all appreciate his sacrifice and yours, too. When he comes back, he can be elected Mayor, if he wants to run. You'll leave it to me, won't you Samantha ? Samantha. I sup — suppose I'll have to. But you're a tormented old fool, that's what you are ! Pauline (spitefully) . Ned Knowles, you're a brute to let Tobe go to jail in your place! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. 70 ON THE WABASH. Ned. But he said I stole his $5.00. Pauline. But he took it back again ! Come on, Mrs. Stoodenwhacker, we'll see him off together. The whole town will be there. {They go out.) Si {dubiously). I guess I better mosey down to the interurban station, too ; something might go off with all that powder in the air. {He follozvs them.) GwENNiE. Oh, Ned! Aren't you going, too? Ned. In a minute ! {He closes G. D. zmndozv, shuts P. M.'s door, pulls dozim curtain and steals up to Gwennie and slips an arm around her waist.) Are you ready? Gwennie {removing his arm). Not that way! {She starts out.) Ned. What's the hurry? Can't you stay a minute? The car doesn't leave for half an hour. Gwennie. I forgot to ask Tobe about ''whichever" and "whatever". I must see him before they take him away. Ned. Oh, bother Tobe! It's Tobe this, and Tobe that, until you can't rest. I don't see what there is in him for you to run after! Gwennie. It isn't running after him to ask him a question, is it? And then I want to bid him good-bye, before he goes to prison — for your sake. Ned. For my sake ! That's so. I didn't think of it that way. Hold on — I'll get his copy of "Black Hya- cinths" — it'll help him while his time away. You know, its author went to jail too. Gwennie. I didn't know it, but I thought he ought to. ON THE WABASH. 71 Ned (tenderly). It seems heartless to joke about an honest fellow like Tobe ; I feel ashamed of myself for doing it. He is really the best friend I have in the world — that is — of male persuasion. GwENNiE. And do you count so many among my sex? Ned. Only my mother. I'll never forget her; she died when I was quite young and — GwENNiE. Do you miss her like I do mine, I won- der? Ned. It was years before I could go to sleep with- out my eyes filling over her absence from my bedside. I ought not to talk of her to you. Please forgive me. If you weren't my friend — GwENNiE (shyly). Friendships aren't all there are in life. Ned. Friendships lead on to something more, some- thing better. Gwennie. I can't be considered your friend yet. You are a comparative stranger to me. Ned. Stranger? After all we've gone thru together? Gwennie. I don't know your folks and they don't know mine. What you just said about your mother is the first thing I've heard about her. And I haven't told you a word about mine. Ned (leads her gently to a chair and stands beside her). I wish you would tell me now. I want to share whatever burden your heart bears. We smile, we laugh, we dance together, and we never get nearer than arms-length, because we are so self-absorbed. I — I don't want to be that way. Why, I feel like I could embrace the whole world; — my heart is so big after I have talked to you five minutes. 72 ON THE WABASH. GwENNiE. But I don't want you to embrace the whole world! Ned. Well — I won't try then ; it's a pretty stiff job anyhow. But tell me about her, please do. GvvENNiE. She was so good, so beautiful ! I have her picture in my locket ; would you like to see it ? {Shozvs it to him.) Ned. Isn't she wonderful? And you — you are her very imlage. GwENNiE. Do you think so? When papa gets to talking about mama, — which he rarely does, he looks at me so strangely and sighs — so sadly — it brings tears to my eyes. But there (rising) I mustn't tell you any more. Besides, you're forgetting about Tobe's book. Aren't you going to take it to him ? Ned. That's so. Come, let's carry it down togeth- er. (He gets book, changes his office coat for a street coat, puts on his hat, takes Gwennies arm and goes out. Freddie Mills enters in time to see them leave, and shakes his fist at Ned. He goes to Ned's window and takes a registered package from box and slips it into Ned's zuorking coat pocket. He hides coat and goes out as the curtain falls.) ACT III. A garden. A cottage porch projects from the left. A small table zvith chairs, and a tree zvith bench. There is a lane leading (right) to the barbecue and (left) to the town. The garden fence is covered with trailing vines, clematis and arbutus, all abloom. Samantha (crocheting in rocker. To Pauline, who is sitting on tree bench). I got a long letter from Tobe last week. He spoke about missing you. He's anxious to be free once more. His time's up, but he isn't quite sure he'll be let out when they promised him. Pauline (with joy). He's coming back to-day! Aren't you glad? I am just crazy to see him. Here's his letter. (Handing it to her.) Samantha. I must tidy up his room a bit, and put some fresh daisies in his vase. Tobe just loves flow- ers! Pauline. Indeed he does. But wasn't he heroic to go thru his whole term without disclosing his identity, so as to enable Ned Knowles to work for Si's nomina- tion. Not many men would have done so much for a friend. Samantha. No Stoodenwhacker ever served three months in jail afore — except his pap at Andersonville, and he wouldn't have done that if the Rebs hadn't caught him! 74 ON THE WABASH. Pauline. Tobe is a martyr to his principles, — the same as his father. It's no disgrace to suffer imprison- ment for a good cause. Samantha. Why, in the namie of common sense, didn't he tell 'em his name? That's what makes me the maddest. He wouldn't have had to serve one day if he'd told 'em who he was. Pauline. They'd have taken Ned, and that would have spoiled all of Si's plans. — No; Tobe did just right. He acted most nobly. I could almost love him for it. Samantha (oracularly) . When a man gets so am- bitious that he's in for punishing the innocent and let- ting the guilty escape, it's time his schemes were brok- en up. I don't think Si stands a show of being nomi- nated Congressman anyhow. He isn't a fit man for the place. Pauline. But I thought you liked Si. He is so attentive to you. And surely his defeat would make you feel sorry, after he's worked so hard to capture the prize. Samantha. Oh ! I don't say but what he's got his good points, but justice is not one of them. If he could get the office honorably, I'd like to see him have it, but not in the way he's going about it; sacrificing everybody in pure selfishness ! Pauline. Tobe has had the use of the prison library; you know what that mteans to him. No doubt we have missed him more than he has us. Samantha. When he sticks his nose between two pages of a book, he doesn't know whether he's in jail or out. ON THE WABASH. 75 Pauline. I blame Ned Knowles the most. He could have saved all the trouble by announcing his name at first; but he didn't, — he let Tobe suffer in his place without one pang. Samantha. Oh, I don't knov^ as I blame Ned much ! Si's wrapped Ned around his little finger : whenever Si crooks it, Ned jumps. Pauline (anxiously). They say that Ned is in love with Gwennie. Do you believe it? Samantha. I couldn't say as to Ned; — but she is dead gone on him, — anyone can see that with one eye shut. Pauline. I thought he liked me at one time. He almost said so, — but I never fancied him much. Samantha. Ned Knowles is one of the measly kind that falls in love with every pretty face he sees. That's what keeps him in hot water all the time. He's a regular polygamist, that's what he is. Pauline. I know he's quite a flirt. I prefer a steady young man like Tobe to Ned. Samantha (coming to her). Tobe Stoodenwhack- er has what I call genuine character. He may sacri- fice himself for his friends, but he'll never do any- thing to make them ashamed of him. (James Maul enters, stops, and comes to garden gate.) Maul. Be this (pointing right) the way to the bar- becue ? Samantha. Yes ; just keep on following that long nose of yours and you'll get there all right. Maul (stiffens up and starts out). My nose may be long, but it's never been stuck in nobody else's bus- iness. 76 ON THE WABASH. Samantha. Do tell! I'd rather hear that from your neighbors than from you. (Maul starts, then runs on.) Pauline. The barbecue is quite an attraction. Samantha. So it is, and from the reports, it's likely to keep on attracting 'em as long as the hard cider lasts. (Hal Whopp and Sal Slope come in.) Keep right on ahead, two mile down that lane. Sal Slope. Thank you tho muth. Come on, Hallie ! Hal Whopp (stops). Is-is Tobe b-back yet? Samantha. If he is, he's down there. I hardly know whether I have a son any more since Si Cart's gone into politics. Sal Slope. We'll thee hin^ there. Come on, Hal- lie, leth hurry up! Hal Whopp. L-let loose of my hand ; y-you're always dragging me around after you ! I don't want t-to hurry up. Sal Slope. You're tho thlow. We'll never get there in time for the doingth, — all our folkth have been there for an hour. They'll eat up that cow, if you don't hurry. Hal Whopp. I d-don't care about the cow ; all I want is the c-cider. (They go out.) Pauline (at garden gate). Why, the lane is just crowded ! There must be an awful lot of people going. Samantha. Where there's free drinks and free eats the Democrats will flock. Pauline. Plow about the Republicans? Then there's Mr. Maul. He is a Prohibitionist. Samantha. Oh, a few rubbishers of all parties will go, including Socialists and Anarchists. ON THE WABASH. 7! Pauline. But there are no Anarchists in Wau- seon, are there? Samantha. Hank Fox is one if I don't miss my guess. He claims to be a Republican, and works for a Democrat. I don't know what this country's com- ing to, I declare. (Mrs. Stoodenwhacker goes into house. Freddie Mills comes to gate to speak to Paul- ine.) Freddie. Hello, Pauline! Why aren't you at the barbecue ? Paulinie. Why aren't you ? Everybody is going. Freddie. Won't you come with me? Ned Knowles is going to be there. Pauline. That's a good reason for me to stay here. Freddie. Don't you like him? {She shakes her head dubiously.) Neither do I. He's too stuck up. Say, do you know, I think his folks being so rich and all that is just a bluflF. I bet they're as poor as church mice, only he wants to impress the Reubens, as he calls us, with his tall stories. Pauline. He never called me that ! Freddie. He has me. {Mysteriously.) Do you know, there's been queer goings on in the post-office ever since he has been deputy. He got out of that trouble about Tobe's five dollars awful lucky, but there's another registered package mlissing, — he's sign- ed his name for it, too. He'll have to give an account of it, and there'll be a mess for him. Another man will be taken to jail from the post-office, and it won't be Tobe Stoodenwhacker either! 78 ON THE WABASH. Pauline. ] bet you have been up to some mean trick ! Freddie. I ? Don't you believe it ! — But aren't you going down there with me? Pauline. Say, sonny, you better run along, — it'll be dark before you get there, and the cows might bite you. Freddie. Fll go, but — but — you'll regret what you said! (Pauline goes into the house. He runs down the lane. Si Cart enters from the zvoods. He looks around furtively, spies Mrs. Stoodenwhacker s sezuing on the table, takes it up, and lays it down again.) Samantha (opens door, discovers him, waits until his back is turned, and then steals out to rocker. As he turns she pretends to be surprised.) What! You here? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. (Sits in rocker and takes up sewing.) Who dropped my needles ? You have been pawing over my sewing ! It's just like you ! Nothing is safe with a man like you around! (Looks at him as he stands by fence.) Well, haven't you any manners? Why don't you sit down? Si (with alacrity). Thanks — thank you, Samlantha; I will, since you put it that way! (Sits at table.) Samantha. How's the barbecue getting along? Have they ate everything up yet ? Si (drily). No, but Hank Fox is cutting down the size of the rations. It's getting to be a regular tea party except the hard cider. We can't cut down the glasses. We'll have to start the pump agoing soon ! Samantha. Water won't hurt them any. How's Baugo Township coming along? ON THE WABASH. 19 Si. Just the same as ever. Hank and Tobe are looking after it all O. K. Samantha. Tobe ? Is he there ? How's he looking ? Si. Fine ! We got him out just in time to read his poem. It took great ; you ought to have heard it. Samantha. I should 've liked to. So you think it went good ? Si. You bet it did. The editor of the Squall's go- ing to publish it in his paper. He calls it a regular masterpiece. Samantha. I must send out and get a copy. (Rises and goes towards lane.) Si. The paper isn't out yet, — he's holding it back to announce my nomination. Samantha {returning to rocker). You talk as if you were dead certain of picking off the plum. You might drop it afore you bite it. Si. Hank Fox is tasting the postmastership already. And there are others with a similar flavor in their mouths. Samantha. Hank Fox aint fit to be postmaster! Why, he can't hardly sign his own name. Si. He can use a rubber stamlp, same's I do. Poli- tics is easy after you catch on. Samantha. Some folks never catch on. Si. Yes, and some never let loose. {Ned Knowles strolls in from the woods.) Hello! You back! Did I make your speech all right. Ned {warmly). You delivered it better than I could myself. It took great. Almost as great as Tobe's poem. 80 ON THE WABASH. Si. rm glad of that. I forgot in one place and got tangled up in another, but I guess they were all too full of hard cider to notice. You write grand, — you are a regular Demosthenes. Samantha. Some say Tobe's poem took right smart. Ned. It did so, Mrs. Stoodenwhacker. You should be very proud of your son. He's destined to make his mark in the world some day. He'll rank up with the best of our minor poets, I'm satisfied. Samantha. He will if he keeps from going to jail in somebody else's place! Ned. But he thanked me warmly for giving him the chance. He said imprisonment inspired him, — the village bastile proved a great boon to his style. Samantha (disgustedly) . That's just his torment- ed foolishness ! He'll forget that grass is green, if he don't look out. (Prosaically.) But excuse me; I smell the taters burning. (She goes out.) Si (testily to Ned). When you saw us alone, why didn't you mosey? I've been trying to tell her some- thing for a coon's age, — and just as I was opening my bazoo, here you come poling along. Everything's go- ing wrong to-day. (He sits on steps moodily.) Ned (patting him on the shoulder). You're just nervous, that's all. Wait until you're nominated for Congress; she'll jump at you. Si. How are the Baugo boys coming? Still stick- ing to their boss? Ned. Yes. They are voting for George Washing- ton Slick, first, last, and all the time. Si. They'll get tired of him after a while. But will they swing to me, that's the question? ON THE WABASH. 81 Ned. Their leader says he won't come over until he's been pledged the deputy postmastership of Wau- seon. Hank Fox won't promise him. He says he's fixed that up for another man. Si {clapping on his hat). He has, has he? He's getting a little premature with what isn't his. I'll straighten out that kink in one jerk of a lamb's tail. {He zualks out rapidly thru woods.) GwENNiE {enters from lane; stops in center). Hello, Ned ! When did you return from the barbecue ? Ned. a moment ago. GwEN'NiE. You pretended you didn't see me there. You are such a great man now, that you haint — haven't — any time for me any more, with your speech- es and politics and so on. Ned {going thru gate to her and bringing her down to tree bench. It grozi's darker. The moon shines thru the leaves.) You shouldn't talk like that. You know I had my hands full with the arrangements. Be- sides, Hank Fox is tipsy, and if I hadn't watched close- ly, all our plans would have been knocked into a cock- ed hat, — and then you could never have been a Con- gressman's daughter. GwENNiE. And I wouldn't have cared, either! That's all you think of me anyways ; — you don't like me as I am. You've been trying to make a grand lady out of me ever since you met me. I wish I'd never taken a single grammar lesson from you. {She turns away.) Ned. Oh, you needn't worry about that ! You didn't take enough to spoil you! {She pouts.) But Gwen- nie^ — 82 ON THE WABASH. GwENNiE. You can call me Miss Cart, if you please. NiED, Miss Cart! (Walks away.) This is going too far ! Miss Cart indeed ! After all we've gone thru together. GwENNiE. Yes ; but whose fault was it that we went thru so much? Did I ask you to run after me every night since you've been in town? — At the church, at the rink, at my home? Why, you haven't given me one moment to myself. Ned. That's it! Pour it on good and thick! It's all my fault, of course! Who came to the post-office every day, I'd like to know? GwENNiE. I had a right to get my mail, didn't I? Ned. Your mail ? You never got one letter, — and — GwENNiE. That's not true! You were so mean you didn't want me to write Tobe Stoodenwhacker when he was in prison in your place. You wouldn't allow me to cheer him up. Ned. Yes, cheer him up! (He bangs his first on the table.) I suppose you call it cheering him up when you put a dozen crosses at the bottom of every letter and marked them kisses ! That's very cheering ! GwENNiE (cunningly). Well, isn't it? Besides, you had no business to open my letters. Ned. No, but your father had ! It's a good thing he took advantage of his right, too! GwENNiE. And then you accuse me of not getting any mail ! When you wouldn't let me write, and dad wouldn't let me read! Ned (conciliatingly). Well, perhaps I was a little hasty. I didn't mean anything. Will you forgive me ? ON THE WABASH. 83 GwENNiE (getting out her handkerchief and dab- bing it to her eyes). You are always throwing things up to me that aint so. Ned (leaning over and trying to look into her eyes). It's because — it's because — well, I don't know just what to say, — but I guess it's because I can't bear you to have anything to do with another fellow. (The light sifts thru the clouds and lifts the tzvo out of the surround- ing gloom.) Thru you I have learned to value things at their real worth ; responsibility, — business, — friends — and — yes — and love. GwENNiE. Love ? NiED. Yes, love ! You helped me find myself. You made me see the things of real importance, — you made a man of me, and I can never pay you back. GwENNiE. I, — why, I haven't done anything. — I just listened to you talk, that's all. — There can never be anything serious between us. You belong to the big world — I, to this little village. Your family would not consent for you to marry a poor girl like me. Ned. Marry? (Releasing her hand.) By Jove! I never thought of that! GwENNiE. But you see I did ! I could not love you without marrying you, could I ? (She sinks on bench.) Ned (coming to her). Why not? GwENNiE. You ask me that? Ned. No ; you don't understand me ! — Why couldn't I take you back with me? That would be only one mjore mistake father'd have to forgive me. Gwennie. Yes, it would be a great mistake, — the greatest of all! One that would pass even his bounds of leniency. — No, Ned; it can never be. (She starts tozvards door.) 84 ON THE WABASH. Ned. But if I write and get his permission ? GwENNiE. He would return your letter unopened just as he has all the others. Ned (drops on steps, puts his face in his hands). That's true! I'm up a blind alley. GwENNiE. Why don't you ask dad? He's so re- sourceful ; he'll think of some way out. Ned. You're right! Si could solve a regular Chi- nese puzzle! {He goes out and she enters house. Sal Slope and Hal Whopp enter. She carries a sack of flour and he two jugs of cider. They stop at the gar- den gate to rest. Sal puts the sack of flour on the fence and Hal sets jugs on bench.) Sal Slope. Gee ! That ith heavy. Hal Whopp. I-it must weigh f-fifty pounds or more. Sal Slope. Haint Thi a nith man tho? To give uth thith thider and flour ! — We can thtart houth keep- ing now, can't we, Hal ? And you have only gone with me thinth dog dayth ! Hal Whopp. Y-you bet we can; — I'll get the 1-license to-morrow. Sal Slope. You ith just a dandy boy. — Come on, we muth get theth thingth home before it ith too dark or thome one will think we thole 'em. {She grabs sack, shoulders it and starts out. Hal follows her with a cider jug in each hand. James Maul enters rather unsteadily with Maria following. She is a thin^ raw- boned personage. Thru long suifering she has attained peace.) Maul. Come on, Maria! We'll never get home this way. {He jerks her towards him.) I'm against ON THE WABASH. 85 such doin's, such debauchery, such eatin' an' drinkin' ! Why, Si Cart must think the voters of SpUgo County are worse'n hogs. Sweet cider ! It didn't taste very sweet to me, although I did drink more'n forty glasses. {He leans over gate. She stands patiently behind him.) It had a dash of them nail bitters in it, I bet. Si's a slick one, if he don't know how to run the post- office. I never get my mail right ! — Now he's gone and lost a registered package for me, — or some of his help has stolen it. {He knocks on door.) But I'm goin' to get it or make trouble, that's what. Samantha {appearing) . Well? Maul. Where's Si Cart? I want to see him on business, and no monkey- work either. I'm tired of the way he has been losing my mail, and I'm going to make a kick. Samantha. He's gone back to the barbecue. You should have met him on the lane. Maul. Well, we didn't, did we, Maria? {She shakes her head forlornly.) He must have seen me coming and dodged. — I'll wait right here until he gets back. {Sits down.) Samantha. Yes; do sit down. Won't you come in? {Mrs. Maul shakes her head.) Well, make your- self at home. He won't be gone long. Maul. You don't need to tell me anything about him. I know him better than you do! He's a smooth politician with a serpent's tongue. He thinks he can fool 'em all, — but here's one he can't. He can't pull the wool over my eyes any more, — can he, Maria? {She shakes her head.) 86 ON THE WABASH. Samantha. What was the nature of your pack- age? Was it very valuable? Maul. That's for me to know. It wasn't trash or it wouldn't have been registered. He's got to fix it up with me or I'll have the law on him. I've got a clue where it is. If he don't find it and send it by special delivery, I'll make my own search — and with a war- rant, too. He's emiployed too many dude clerks in that post-office for his own good. Samantha. You don't mean Freddie Mills ? He is a little queer, but then Si raised him, you might say, from a baby, and overlooks a lot in him that he wouldn't in anyone else. Maul. Freddie Mills is a gentleman. It's no mat- ter who I mean. It'll all come out in the government investigation under the postal inspector. But some- body better get busy before that time, if he doesn't want to see the inside of four walls. Maria, what you standing there for ? Didn't I tell you to go on and get supper ? (He jerks her out. An aggregation of rustics follow, occasionally giving vent to a "Whoopee", ''Hur- rah for Si Cart". Tobe Stoodenwhacker enters.) Samantha. Well, Tobe Stoodenwhacker! It's a wonder you wouldn't say howdy to your ma ! Tobe {broadly). Howdy, ma! How's all the folks? Samantha. They're better'n you be, you bad pen- ny! {She pulls his ear admiringly.) I've heard tell how you're getting to be a regular politicianer. — Going to jail seems to agree with you as much as it did with your poor old dad ! Tobe. When you suffer for a good cause, you gain by it, mother. ON THE WABASH. 87 Samantha. Well, I'm glad you're out, anyhow. It was getting awful lonesomle here. (Stops in alarm.) But I smell the meat a-burning! (She rushes into house.) Hank Fox (comes in, stops, extends hand to Tobe). Put 'er there, pard. We turned the trick, we did. The post-office is ours ! It's me for Si's place and you for Ned's. There'll be some sore Reubs in Wauseon, I'm thinking. ToBE (Tidth glasses pushed up on his forehead and his hat on the back of his head). But do you think that is the proper place for a poet? I hardly know whether to accept your offer or not. I'm in a quandary. Hank. Haint a poet as good as a durned orator? (He comes thru gate and stands by table, and empha- sises his remarks by pounding on the table zuith his ^st.) I'll not have that long- whiskered jay from Bau- go Township in there long. The first slip he makes, I'll nail him. Then Tobe, my boy, you jump in! I like you, I do, if you are a natural. You see, you can't help it, being a son of old Hi Stoodenwhacker, the orneriest mule driver in the army. You don't re- member him, do you ? Tobe. No ; he died when I was quite young. Hank. Well, him and me were bunkies in Com- pany F, 22nd Indiana Artillery. We were always fight- ing about our blanket. He 'lowed I wanted it all. One night at Chickamauga, we fought over it something terrible. "Cut it in two", says he. "Cut it in two", says I. So cut it in two we did. After that we got along peaceful as two clams. The boys used to call him "Cut-it-in-two". But he was true blue, — ^he was, true blue! (Sits dozim and wipes his eyes.) You are 88 ON THE WABASH. just like your dad ; same weak eyes, — can't look a gun in the face, — but true blue — true blue ! {He sleeps, his head on the table.) ToBE {goes to door and tries to open it, — it resists, he shakes it resentfully). Hey there! Pauline {appearing). It's a wonder you wouldn't shake the house down. {Turns on porch-light — spies Hank.) Why, who in the world is that? ToBE. It's Hank Fox. He's tired out from the con- vention. We nominated Si for Congress ! Pauline. I'm so glad. He deserves it. Hadn't you better bring him in the house and let him sleep on the sofa, poor fellow? ToBE {shakes Hank). Hey, wake up! {No re- sponse. An idea strikes him.) Cut it in two) Cut it in two! Hank {jumps up). All right, you blanket hog, — I'll cut it in two for you. {Reaches for his knife.) ToBE. We can get the shears in the house. {He leads Hank to door ) Hank. You're just a joshing me like your dad, — but he was true blue, true blue! {Tobe gets him in, conies out and closes door.) To'BE. He'll fall asleep as soon as he touches the lounge. Pauline. Of course ! Politics is such a strenuous affair. I'm glad it's over and that you won out. You must feel like a regular conqueror. Tqibe {at bench). So I do. But the campaign's only begun. There's a pile of work between convention and election. ON THE WABASH. 89 Pauline {gets up). There's a pile of work right here. Your mother will have her hands full; such a big company's coming. ToBE {comes to her). You can help her after while. I want you here for a minute first. Pauline {in alarm). Why, Tobe, how dififerently you talk from what you used to ! You are so positive. You must have suffered terribly in that prison to have caused such a change in you. Tobe. ^ I learned to speak up for myself, that's all. I found if I didn't, no one else would. Pauline, I want to ask you a question. Pauline. Are you sure you do, to-night? Hadn't you better wait ? Tobe. Maybe I've waited too long already ! I — I— Pauline. Yes ? Tobe. I want to talk to your mother about you. Pauline. You can, Fm sure. But why do you want to see her first ? Can't you tell me ? Tobe. I — I thought I could, but I can't. Pauline. It must be a terribly hard question. Does it have anything to do with me? Tobe. Yes. Pauline. And anyone else ? Tobe. Yes. Pauline. I wonder who? Tobe. Why, with me, of course. I want to get married. Pauline. To get married? Not right away, do you? Tobe {taking hold of her). I want to marry you. 90 ON THE WABASH. Pauline (trying to release herself). Tobe, let me go! {She struggles in vain. He kisses her. She breaks loose and runs to the front door.) I'll tell your ma on you, that's what I'll do! (Slams door.) Tobe. Whew! (He puts his hands in his pockets — paces back and forth — stops irresolutely and then dashes into the house. ) Si (entering from the zcoods zmth Ned). Did you see Tobe? I believe he's actually got some spunk in him, after all. Ned. Oh, Tobe's all right! I knew he would come out of his shell. All he lacked was opportunity. Si. That thirty days in jail seems to have been his opportunity! He lined up those Baugo kickers in great shape. Wouldn't take no for an answer. I owe my nomination to him. Ned. Nonsense! You owe it to yourself, and to promising the deputyship to their boss, — instead of to Tobe. Si. Perhaps I do. (They sit.) But I'll see that Tobe's taken care of just the same. Ned. You haven't told me what you intend to do with regard to my case. — You're letting your victory overshadow my defeat. Si. Get me a telegraph blank! — Wait! Here — (Reaches in his pocket, pulls out a slip of paper, takes a pencil and begins to write.) Tobe's poem! I hate to mutilate a work of art like that ; but I've got to do it. (Scratches his head.) Let's see, that's eleven words. (Crosses out one. Hands paper to Ned.) How's that? ON THE WABASH. 91 Ned (reads). "Mr. Melancthon Knowles, Presi- dent 3d National Bank, Indianapolis. Papa wants Ned for Secretary at Washington. Please wire con- sent. Gwennie Cart, daughter of Si Cart. Nominee for Congress 14th Dist. Indiana." Why do you sign her name instead of yours ? I don't quite understand — Si. Never mind, sonny! If that doesn't stir up your old man, my name is not Si Cart. (Boys go thru lane returning from barbecue.) Here, lad, take this down to the telegraph office and tell them I said "Rush". Wait, here's a nickel. (Boy grins and takes message and runs out left.) And now I must break the good news to Samantha. She'll be glad to hear it. (On the porch.) Is there anyone in there that you'd like particularly to see? If there is, I might send her out to look at — the moonshine, — eh? (He chuckles and enters house. In a moment Gwennie appears.) Gwennie (discovering Ned in the shade of the tree). Why, Ned, are you ill? Father said you were took bad with ingrowing pains. Ned (faking grandly). Yes, Gwennie, and so I am. I've a pain right here. (Points to his heart.) Home- sick. I want to go back and see my folks. Gwennie (sitting dozvn beside him). And leave me here all alone? Ned. I'll try and get their consent to come back to you. Gwennie. You would meet some pretty girl in your set — some society belle — and you would soon for- get all about poor me. Ned. Never ! Do I look like a society man ? 92 ON THE WABASH. GwENNiE. Yes, you would ! You'd put down your experience here as a little harmless flirtation — like some of your others. You wouldn't think how it effects me; — you wouldn't care, either. Ned. Do you take me for a brute? I'll never for- get you, I swear it. GwENNiE. How many times have you sworn to that before? Ned. Well— I— (Stops.) I never, that is, I— GwENNiE. There ! You see I've caught you ! You daren't deny it. Ned. How about you ? Didn't you ever let another fellow make love to you? Are you positive I'm the first? GwENNiE. Letting and doing are two different things. I'm not to blame for how others act. Ned. a woman lets, a man does. You're in the same boat with me. GwiENNiE. A woman can't help being loved ; a man can help making love. Ned. There is a test — a different one than you are applying. Gwennie. a test? Ned. Yes ; whether one pretends or really feels. I have been carried away at times by gusts of passion; but then nature is full of squalls. What one does in cold blood is all that really counts. Gwennie. Are you still speaking of love? I hardly understand you. ON THE WABASH. _ 93 Ned (standing before her). Then I'll make it plain. I want you for my wife, and I want you for my com- panion. I can't get along without you, and I don't be- lieve you want to get along without me. GwENNiE. But it doesn't seem possible. Your folks may not like me; they may be ashamed of me; I shouldn't look to any one so much higher than I am. Ned. Higher! Fiddle sticks! What have I done that puts so much distance between us ? Nothing. The fact that I have an old curmudgeon for a dad, who has cut me off without a cent, makes me your inferior; you, with your really fine father. No, Gwennie; you are mine; you can't hold out. You gave me back my old self, my old courage, my old independence. I don't care whether my folks ever take me back or not, — I can get along without their help now, — but I know one thing ; if they do take me back, they've got to take you with me. (He draws her to him. James Maul^ Hal Whopp, Sal Slope, villagers, rustics, etc., enter zuith village hand. Cheers and calls for Si Cart, "Our Next Congressman". Ned leaves Gwennie and stands on porch. To crowd'.) What do you want? Crowd. "Speech from Si Cart! Our next Con- gressman!" {Whistles and cheers.) Maul. Before he makes his speech I want Ned Knowles to explain what he has done with my regis- tered package. Ned. Package? Maul. Yes, package, — the one you stole, if you want to know. I've been making an investigation on my own account ; I've sent a man down to the post- office to look it up. He'll be here in a minute and you 94 ON THE WABASH. better make yourself scarce, if you don't want to get pinched or hire a substitute Hke you did before. Ned. I made every search for your package I could. Someone must have tampered with my drawer. If you will state its value, I'll be glad to pay you double its worth. But if you intend to accuse me of theft, you'll have to prove it. Maul. I'll prove it all right, — you just wait and see. Ned. You will? By whom? Maul. Here he is now ! Freddie (runs in breathlessly with Ned's working coat). Here it is! (Hands coat to Maul.) You'll find it in the right hand pocket. — He hid it there. Maul (to Ned). Is this your coat? Ned. It certainly is ; — my working coat. Where did you find it? I've missed it ever since Tobe went away. Maul (feeling in coat, pulls out registered pack- age). Can you explain what this is doing in your pocket ? Ned (cooly). Certainly. Freddie Mills put it there and then hid my coat. (Presents him with a register book.) Please sign here. Maul (reluctantly signing). But, but — I don't like to settle the trouble like that. Ned (pleasantly) . It's all right. (Tearing off wrap- per and discovering a bottle.) Whiskey! — That's what I thought! Now you can stand treat to the crowd. You ought to after what you said. Maul. No, you don't! That's my snake medicine! Here, Maria, take care of it. (She takes bottle and wraps it in her apron.) You know, we have to be pre- ON THE WABASH. 95 pared for accidents down on the marsh. But I'll get even with you yet. {He goes out with Maria.) Ned {to Freddie Mills). You better trot along after them. He may make an exception and invite you, as long as you're a member of his party. Freddie. You got out of it again ; you won't the next time ! You better watch out ! {He leaves.) Si {appearing in doorzvay). What appears to be the matter? {Cries of ''Speech", "Speech". Mrs. Stoodemuhacker, Pauline, Tobe, and Hank Fox come out and stand behind Si; Gwennie and Ned stand by lower end of porch.) But — but — I made my speech this afternoon, — that's all I know. {Applause and cheers. He comes to Ned.) Tell me what to say, — help me out, and I'll give you anything you want. Ned. I want Gwennie. Si. Take her and God bless you, but get me out of this scrape. Ned {to Si). Friends, neighbors, and fellow citi- zens — ■ Si {repeating) . Neighbors and fellow citizens — Ned. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now — Si. If you have ears, prepare to shed them now — {Applause.) Ned. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. Si {stooping down to Ned). You'll have to repeat that. Ned {whispers in his ear). Si. I come to praise Caesar, not to bury him. {Cheers and applause. To Ned.) That's pretty good, — give 'em some more. 96 ON THE WABASH. Ned. That's all I know. I've forgotten the rest. Si. Oh, hell! (Tttriiing to Tohe.) Think of some- thing, Tobe, quick. ToBE. Give 'em my poem. Si {turns to crozi^d). From your eyes divine, Love lights shine, The beauty of the rose Is in your pose, And will you pose for me — my lily? (Cheers. He turns back.) I can't do it! It's too cruel. You try it, Hank I Hank. Boys ! Haint you had enough fun tor- mentin' Si Cart? You all know that he can't make a speech. Why did you come up here and badger him for? He'll make you a good representative as they run — blamed sight better than you deserve ! — Now, get out, every one of you, and go home to your mas. Bill Popp. What we want to know is who's going to be our next postmaster. Hank. If that's all, I'll tell you. It's me. (Ap- plause. Cries of ''Hurrah for Hank Fox". The crozud leaves.) Si (shakes hands with Hank). Hank, you're the man of the hour. I wish there were two post-offices in Wauseon ; I'd give you both of 'em. . Samantha. If you're thru with your tormented foolishness, come in to supper. The victuals is all get- ting dried up, I swan. (All go into the house save Tobe and Pauline.) ToBE. Oh, Pauline, I haven't told you that I sold one of my poems while I was away. ON THE WABASH. 97 Pauline. No, did you? For how much? ToBE. For $10.00, and I got the money, too. I want to apologize to you for the way I acted. Will you forgive me? Pauline. I will if you won't try to repeat it. You know I have never been kissed before. To'BE. Really? Well, that was my first one, too. I guess it was an outburst of poetic feeling. Pauline. Maybe it was inspired by hard cider. ToBE. Well, it was good anyways, wasn't it? Pauline (tapping him playfully on his lips). No — it was bad — very bad — but come on in to supper! ToBE. I'm not hungry! Pauline. Neither am I, but we must pretend to be, or they'll all notice us. (She pulls him into the house. Boy enters, passes gate and raps on door. Mrs. Stoodenwhacker appears and takes a telegram from him.) Samantha. Telegram for Si Cart, I do declare ! I wonder who it's from? (Calls back into house.) Si- las I Silas Cart ! Si (appears eating a large sandwich). What do you want? (Sees boy and signs. Boy leaves.) Oh, a telegram. You read it ; I forgot my glasses. Samantha (reading). Hon. Silas Cart, Wauseon, Ind. We have elected Edward Knowles the 4th Vice- President of our bank. We need him at the State Capital, more than you do at the National Capital! — If he can't come alone, let him bring his wife with him. Melancthon Knowles. 98 ON THE WABASH. Whew! — who does he mean, I wonder? Ned ain't married, is he? Si. Not yet, but it looks a Httle like he might be soon. ^ ill. Samantha. Do tell ! Not to Pauline ? Si. She's taken by another fellow, you ought to know that. Samantha. I thought she had taken a shine to Ned. Si. Tobe's got her all wrapped up in a little brown package. Samantha. You don't say! I'm glad to hear it, but that leaves me all alone. Si. Yes, and Gwen going to marry Ned, leaves me all alone, too. Samantha. Seeing all of 'em took so sudden makes me feel like crying! {She sniffs.) Si. Here, don't go on that way. What's the mat- ter of you and me hitching up double? Samantha. Do you really mean it, Silas? (She zvraps her hands in her apron.) Si {takes her in his arms). I do, Samantha Stood- cnwhacker, I do {smacks her) for better or for worse. Samantha. It's so sudden! But come on in and finish your supper; it's getting stone cold. {She takes his arm and leads him into the house.) Ned {entering by lane with Gzvennie and reading the telegram). Bring my wife! That's just like dad. When he makes up his mind he goes the whole way, — no half distances with him. ON THE WABASH. 99 j GwENNiE (innocently) . But who does he mean, I i wonder? Did you marry one of those college widows ' at Paul? j Ned. Why, Gwennie Cart! How could you ask ; such a question ? I may have been somewhat of a trif- I ler, but trifling with matrimony was not one of my ! faults. This is my first ofifense. (Holds her out ivith j both arms and looks at her admiringly.) ■ Gwennie. I hope it will be your last one, too. \ Ned. So do I ! I guess it will be, since I've re- ■ formed. \ Gwennie. Since I've reformed you, you mean. Your father will be proud of you now. ; Ned. And of you, too. He likes dark eyes just as \ well as I do! ' Gwennie. Oh, Ned, you ought to be ashamed of yourself I Ned. Yes, I ought to, but I'm not. ! Gwennie. *'And you have only gone with me thinth i dog dayth!" \ Arthur Sonlen A Comedy in Three Acts Price 50 cents. Paper Covers. This play has been read and pubHcly or privately commented on by a number of the leading literary men and women of the United States and England. Critics are divided into two camps ; those who denounce it virulently, and those who praise it highly. No one interested in drama should miss reading the play. "Arthur Sonten deals humorously, facetiously and \ at the same time seriously with present-day life." — The South Bend Neim. i * * * * I i "The play might be truthfully characterized as real- \ istic." — The New York Call. 1 For copies, terms of production, etc., address THE STAGE SOCIETY, SOUTH BEND, INDIANA. ANNOUNCEMENT. In the realistic comedy of "Arthur Sonten" the playwright has endeavored to picture three stages in the mental evolu- tion of an artist. The first act shows him as a boy just awak- ening into manhood. His environment is in a strictly puri- tanical home of the orthodox Christian religion. He is so affected by his surroundings that he gives his heart to Christ, only to learn in the dramatic day of his baptism, that pro- fession and practice are widely different matters. In the sec- ond act the artist's tendency to idealism is displayed by his joining the Socialist party and instead of postponing the day of grace until the hereafter, he endeavors to help bring it about on this earth. Again he meets conditions that make for his disillusionment, and under strong pressure from with- in he hands in his resignation. — The third act shows him find- ing himself in work of his own choice, — painting humanity as a scientist paints nature, with disregard for everything except the truth. He realizes that this course is difficult, and beset with many almost insurmountable obstacles, but he grimly resolves to stick to his course, for on this road lies happiness. The play is more cheerful than the realistic works of the 19th century, for the author is a materialistic monist, and teaches that life is best lived in continual fight for intellec- tual development. While "Arthur Sonten" has been compared with some of the works of Hauptmann and of Shaw, we feel that it is superior in its philosophical aspect to any of the plays of these leading contemporary dramatists, and at the same time compares favorably with the realism of the German's plays, and the humor of the Irishman's. The fact that our author is making some impression in the world of dramatic values can be gathered from the long reviews that have been given "Ar- thur Sonten" in "The Green Book Magazine," in "The New York Call," etc., and from the private letters of such well- known figures in the radical and literary world as Emma Goldman, Mary Marcy, Jack London, Paul Grummann, Ar- thur C. Fifield, William Marion Reedy, Israel Zangwill, and Joseph McCabe. Without advertising or production, the com- edy already is better known to the intellectual and dramatic world than many current "successes" on the purely commer- cial stage. Mr. Dunbar's work is mainly adapted to the advanced theatre and to societies which are active in progres- sive movements. Yet among his list of plays, several are destined to become popular, — "On the Wabash" among them. This Society has among its plans the production of sev- eral of these plays in the near future. In the meantime it has its work cut out for it in the publication of the dramas. It feels that publication should precede production in this day of universal reading, and that the Society will be the gainer by obtaining the benefit of stimulating criticism. Only those plays which are so lacking in truth as to be unable to stand the ordeal of print, prefer to see the stage before they view the press. Romantic and idealistic authors naturally shrink from the test of cold type ; realistic ones court it, for if the criticism is true, they adopt it ; if it is false, they tolerate it. We make this announcement of our purpose here as we feel it will do good, for we seek co-laborers and helpers in the work of civilizing the stage. We are on the dawn of a new movement, the movement of the international comity of let- ters. Science knows no country ; its discoveries are adopted by the world as soon as announced. So with letters and art; they have lost their particular national character and have become world-appealing. Haeckel's "The Riddle of the Universe" has been translated into every well-known tongue and covers the earth. The pioneer writers of any race are those who aided the feeling for national consciousness ; thus Aeschylus, Moliere, Shakespeare and Goethe. After the nations are born, they need authors of wider appeal than mere boundary lines. So we have Darwin, Spencer and DeVries, who are cosmopolites. They gave universally to all they wrote and belong only acci- dentally to a particular land. The locale of "On the Wabash" is Indiana, and the color is true to the soil. The habitat of "Arthur Sonten" is Amer- ica, and fits its environment. The appeal of the former is more provincial, of the latter more universal. Both are des- tined to find their places alongside the works of the movers for progress; "On the Wabash", to lighten the journey; "Arthur Sonten" to furnish it direction. Any club, society or individual who feels interested in this work is invited to write this organization and have the name inscribed on its rolls for the purpose of receiving all commu- nications to be issued in connection with the furtherance of its purpose; — the spread of the spirit of internationalism in drama. THE STAGE SOCIETY, ODD fellows' block. South Bend, Indiana. Tribune Printing Co. South Bend, Indiana. W^ il^i ■■>;