Book,. H^4-1R3 CopiglrtN'*. l^fl coFmiGm DEPosm E RAINBOW SAMUEL F .8th St., New Yorl THE RAINBOW A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS _J-J--^ AiW^HOMAS Copyright, 19 12, by A. E. Thomas Copyright, 1919, by Samuel French .III Rights Reserved «AUTION — Professionals and ed that "THE RAINBOW" the copyright laws of the royalty, and anyone prese consent of the author or h liable to the penalties by for the amateur acting- righ FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th for the professiona acting- AMERICAN PLAY CO.. 33 amateurs are hereby want- being- fully protected under United States, is subject to nting the play without the is authorized agents -will b* law provided. Applications ts must be made to SAMUEL St., New Y'ork. Applications right.s must be made to tk« West 4 2nd St., New York. New York SAMUEL FRE^-CH PUCTISHEB 2S-30 West 3Sth Street London SAMUEL FRENCH. Lm 26 SOUTHAMPTOX STREET STRAXD. W. 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Act of March 4, 1909. ©& 5,-5900 ■EB 25 1320 1 To My Friend, HENRY MILLER CAST OF CHARACTERS Neil Sumner Edward Fellows His friend and lawyer William Mortimer His friend James Judson. His friend Nicholas Hollins His racing manager Bennett His butler John Carpenter Gilmore. . . .American Consul at Lyons Ruth Sumner Neil's mife Betsy Sumner. His sister Cynthia Sumner His daughter Jane Palmer Elsie Davis Therese, Cynthia's maid Act I. A room in Sumner's apartment on River- side Drive in New York City. Act II. A room in Sumner's home at Port Wash- ington, L. I. Act III. The Villa Marchese at Mentone. NOTE:.— The little French song that is sung by Cynthia in act II is called "Ca fait peur aux oiseaux". It may be purchased from Chas. H. Ditson of Ne\r York, or another may be substituted if desired. THE RAINBOW ''The Rainbow" was first produced at the Liberty Theatre, New YorkCity in IMarch 4th, 19 12 w4th the following cast : Neil Sumner Henry Miller Edward Fellows Charles Hammond Nicholas Hollins.. Robert Stowe Gill William Mortimer H. Conway Wing field James Judson Effingham Pinto John Carpenter Gilmore Daniel Pennell Bennett George C. Pierce Ruth Sum ner Edith Barker Betsy Sumner Laura Hope Crews Cynthia Sumner Ruth Chatterton Jane Palmer Hope Latham Elsie Davis ...Ethel Martin Tiierese Ethel Lloyd THE RAINBOW ACT I. Scene: The main room in Sumner's apartment on Riverside Drive in New York City. It is an apartment that evidences wealth and cidtiva- iion on the. part of possessor. The main en- trance is through a large arch at c, hung with portieres. This opens into a spacious hallway and at back c. of the hall is seen a smaller arch and a sliding panelled door, leading into the cardroom. A door down stage l. leads into the gray room, and a door at r. leads into Neil's own room. At upper r. and running a little ob- liquely to the back walls is a large practical double zvindozu. This is draped zvith a pair of rich curtains and valence. The floor is cov- ered by a large Persian rug — leaving a good margin of the floor visible. At r. back, is a settee and at l. back, a large table. At -l. fac- ing the window opposite, is a desk and cabinet. The scene is obliqued here also. At r. and l. above doors are handsome bookcases on which are set some beautifid ornaments. Over the bookcases and table and settee at back, are hung oil paintings. The walls are tapestry covered. A smaller rug is placed before the desk at L. zvith a single chair in front of it. Large carved wood armchairs are R. and l. by the bookcases. A chair is below both doors R. and L. A round table is set r. of c. zmth S THE RAINBOW chairs at side and at back. A large lamp stands behind table. On the top of the cab- inet is set a bronzed statuette of a lion. Thf desk shows a pair of rich desk lamps lighted at rise, also handsome writing set, and a golden framed miniature is placed at lower l. of desk. The table at back is covered by a long scarf and a tray with syphon, whiskey bottle and sev- eral glasses filled with ice — which Bennett makes up into highballs. On the wall at r. of arch are placed buttons — one of which op- erates the lights, and the other calls the ser- vants. When the curtains on the window are ivithdrawn a box of blooming hyacinths is seen outside the window and, opposite, the sugges- gestion of a neighboring house. When the curtain rises the curtains are drawn, shutting out the moonlight. The room is dark except for the lighted lamps on the desk. A dim light is seen in the hall. The cardroom at rear is brightly lighted showing a card table with four players seated around. The hour is about three of a morning early in May, and there are many evidences of a long night of card playing that is just drawing to a close. The men are noisily finishing a rubber and the air is heavy with the smoke from their cigars and cigarettes. Judson is seated at back of table in his shirt-sleeves. Fellows is l. of table — Mortimer r. of table and below table with his back to audience is seated Neil Sum- ner. Bennett is seen at upper l. of the main room concocting highballs. The four players are chatting noisily until the curtain is zvell up. Judson. Well, I can't help it, old man. I couldn't tell where the ten of clubs lay. THE RAINBOW 9 Mortimer. Ten of clubs nothing! What the devil was the use of opening up clubs anyhow, when you couldn't control *em ! Fellows. Better own up, Juddy. He's got the goods on you. JuDSON. {Dealing the cards) Goods be damned! If I only had a drink. Where the deuce is Ben- nett, anyhow? I'm as dry as a temperance speech. (Sings) "Oh, give us a drink, bartender, bartender, For we love you as you know. And if you will oblige us, With another drink or so. We want no wine of a foreign vintage " Mortimer. Oh, shut up, Juddy. I am saddest when you sing. JuDSON. All right then — I'll make it no trumps. Fellows. I'll pass. JuDSON. (Rising) Oh you Bennett — Bennett! (Bennett carries a tray zvith highball glasses upon it into the room) Bennett. Coming, sir, coming! (Serves Jud- SON and Fellows first, then crosses and serves Mortimer and Sumner) Mortimer. Here's Bennett at last! JuDSON. Bennett, my preserver, my life pre- server ! Bennett. Very sorry, sir. Very sorry. JuDSON. All right, Bennett. But don't do it again. Bennett. (Coming out) No, sir, certainly not, sir. (As he passes into the inner room and places his tray on the table, the outside doorbell rings. lo THE RAINBOW Rennett crosses to table r. c. and lights the lamp, then goes up and shuts the door into the card room and goes out at R. rear. After a pause returns with Mrs. Palmer, a modish young woman of thirty- five or so — clever, a hit worn, and with a gift for sarcasm. — a woman of no illusions and fezv scruples. Mrs. Palmer comes to chair l. of table. Bennett crosses up to l. of arch and pulls the cord bringing the curtains together) Bennett. I'll speak to Mr. Sumner at once, Mrs. Palmer. He's expecting you, I believe. Mrs. Palmer. Very good — and Bennett Bennett. Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Palmer. Just look after my maid, will you? While she's waiting for me. Bennett. Certainly, ma'am, certainly. Mrs. Palmer. Thanks, Bennett. (He goes out. Mrs. Palmer crosses to l. and looks at the minia- ture on the desk. The door into card room is heard to open; the hum of voices is heard and the door closes. Then Neil enters through curtains at Neil. Ah, Jane! How are you. {They shake hands) Mrs. Palmer. And how are you, Neil? Neil. Tm able to sit up. Mrs. Palmer. Yes — I see you're sitting up. Neil. Well, now what can we do for you? We've some very rare bargains imported at great expense from the Mrs. Palmer. No, I'm not buying tonight. I've come to get something for nothing. Neil. You're in the wrong- shop. Now there's a store just around the corner Mrs. Palmer. No, I'm in the right shop. Look here, Neil, it's clear enough that something out of ordinary has brought me here, isn't it ? Neil. Why THE RAINBOW it Mrs. Palmer. Of course it is. I'm sorry to spoil your card party but Neil. Oh, that's all right. I'm dummy just now anyhow. Fire away! {They sit down) Mrs. Palmer. I don't know if you remember Dolly Winter! Nt:iL. Winter, Winter? Oh, yes, pleasing little blonde person. What became of her? Mrs. Palmer. Well, fact is, Dolly's in a bad fix. That's why I 'phoned you at this hour of the night. She's been prowling the street all night with her trouble. I haven't seen her in weeks but finally she got so desperate she rang me up just as I got home from supper after the theatre. I soon found out you're the only man who can help her, so I 'phoned you at once. Neil. I ? Mrs. Palmer. Yes, you. Oh, I know it means very little to you but it means a frightful lot to her and — well, it's this — I suppose you knew about Dolly and Nick Hollins Neil. Oh, I may have had a notion Mrs. Palmer. Well, a few months ago Dolly met a boy from her home town. He was crazy about her, and always had been, he told her, and she seems to think he's about all there is in life — at any rate she married him. He's a broker's clerk, down the street, somewhere — at twenty-five a week. Neil. Think of that. Twenty-five a week and she loves him. Wonderful ! Mrs. Palmer. So she says and I guess it's true. Neil. Well, well, this sounds like sincere de- votion. Mrs. Palmer. Doesn't it? Well, there she sat in my dressing room telling me her miserable story and weeping her heart out — I suppose she'd have been a little surprised to know that I rather envied her. 12 THE RAINBOW Neil. Why, Jane? Mrs. Palmer. Well, anyhow, she quit Nick and married this boy and they went to Uve in some dinky Httle flat up in Harlem, somewhere so far north that the vegetation is stunted. Neil. Yes, I know — you have to take the Al- bany night boat to get there. Well, I suppose she didn't tell her husband what she had been doing — about Nick, I mean. Mrs. Palmer. No. Neil. And now he's found out. Mrs. Palmer. No — that's the point; she's deathly afraid he will. Neil. But how? Mrs. Palmer. It's Nick — some how he found out where she went and came to see her day before yesterday. He's got some letters of hers, three of them, she says. She says they'd look pretty bad if her husband were to see them. Neil. I see. And Nick is holding them over her head — is that it? Mrs. Palmer. Yes. He said if she didn't come back to him in three days — that's tomorrow — he'd send the letters to her husband. Neil. H'm — pretty idea Mrs. Palmer. Charming. Neil. Why will they write letters? D'you know, I think it's quite a mistake to teach women to write at all. (She laughs) Mrs. Palmer. Or men either. (Neil laughs) Well, now, you practically keep Nick Hollins going, don't you? Neil. Well Mrs. Palmer. Anyhow, he'd hate like sin to lose the salary you pay him. I know that. Neil. Tell me, did she tell Nick how she felt about this young man? Mrs. Palmer. Yes, so she says — ^but Nick told THE RAINBOW 13 her she'd get sick of this boy soon and that she was a fool not to see it. Maybe he's right. But I don't know. It sort of seemed to me that she ought to have a chance to run straight, especially since there's nothing to prevent it except a pup like Holhns. Neil. Where is she now? Mrs. Palmer. Dolly? Oh, she didn't seem to think she could tell you about it herself, so I left her at home having hysterics. Neil. Poor little girl, poor little girl. {He rises and rings the bell) Mrs. Palmer. Yes, it's pretty tough ! Neil. Just tell her to go home to bed. Tell her that I say it will be all right. Mrs. Palmer. Ah, you'll do it, won't you? Neil. Leave it to me. She shall have those letters tomorrow afternoon. Mrs. Palmer. Don't bother about that. Just burn them up yourself. Neil. Are you sure you can trust me? Mrs. Palmer. Trust you — you ! Why Neil, you dear old boy. What funny noises you do make. Neil. Oh, well — (Enter Bennett) Oh, Ben- nett, telephone to the Turf Club. If Mr. HoUins is there ask him to take a taxi and run over here right away. If he's not there telephone his apart- ment. Say it's imperative. Bennett. Shall I wake him up, sir? Neil. Oh, he won't be in bed. He's the original night-watchman. Bennett. Very well, sir. (Goes out) Mrs. Palmer. Well, I'll be off with the good news. (She shakes hands with Neil) I knew you'd do it . Neil. Do it. Good God! I am not quite a Mrs. Palmer. No, you're not and that's a fact, beast. 14 THE RAINBOW And you may quote me as saying so to whom it may concern. Neil. Thank you, Jane, thank you. Mrs. Palmer. {Glancing about ratherwist fully) What a jolly place you've got here. Neil. Think so? Mrs. Palmer. Yes, very. You know, Neil Neil. Yes? Mrs. Palmer. I don't think I'll say it. Thank you, and good-night. Neil. Good-night, Jane, good-night. {She gives him a lingerijig hand clasp and goes out. He stands thinking a moment. Door slam is heard and then he draws the curtains aside and enters the card room., just as Bennett comes back) Well, Jimmy, what did you do? JuDSON. {Rising) You'll be surprised. They made the odd. Neil. Surprised! I certainly am. Why, with all those hearts — ! Well, Bennett ? Bennett. I couldn't get Mr. Hollins, sir, but I left word at the Club and at the apartment. Neil. All right. {The players come noisily into the room. Mor- timer with score card in hand goes to the table, sits, then begins to add the score. Fel- lows follows Mortimer to oversee the ac- counting. As they enter, Bennett goes into the card room and turns off lights.) Mortimer. {Slaps Jimmy on shoulder) My dear Jimmy, you're the worst ever. Fellows. Jimmy, why didn't you finesse your Jack? You could have won the rubber. JuDSON. You're a great help to me. Besides, 4he cards lay almost as badly as they could. Mortimer. They always do. THE RAINBOW 15 Fellows. Yes, for Jimmy. {Enter Bennett from rear.) JuDSON. I say, Bennett, 'phone for a taxi, will you ? Bennett. Certainly, Mr. Judson. {Goes out) JuDSON. {To Mortimer, who has the score) Well, Mortimer, what's the awful total? Mortimer. There you are. Two-forty-five. JuDSON. Phew ! Two-forty-five. Wow ! I'll have to dine at Childs' for a month. Neil. Let's see. {Looks at score. To Mor- timer) Mm ! You did yourselves rather well, eh ? Billy — you and Ned ? Mortimer. Not so bad. Neil. I'll give you my check. (Goes to desk to zvrite a check) Mortimer. No hurr}^ Neil. What is that they say — In God we trust- all others must— write checks. JuDSON. I hate v/riting checks. They always bob up just when you've forgotten all about 'em. (Takes wallet from pocket) Fellows. Yes, like w^ild oats. Neil. {Writing) Or people you used to like when you wxre young and didn't know any better. JuDSON. {Counting out the cash) W^ell, there's a century. {Pretends to kiss it) Farewell, sweet one — and two fifties ; good-bye little dears, and two twenties, au revoir, merry companions- and five ones. Scat, you brutes! (Puts on his over- coat and hat, and takes cane from settee at back, Mortimer rises also) Fellows. What's my share of the 1 )ot^ Mortimer. {Consulting the score) Three-seT- enty-five. Fellows. {Scooping up the cash) All right. i6 THE RAINBOW I'll take this. You can send me 3^our check for the balance. Mortimer First thing in the morning, Ned? {Neil gives him a check) JuDSON. (Attempting a joke) Well, I've had a pleasant evening; all the same, if Fm found a gory suicide in the morning, you'll know who's to — (Fellows pinches his elbow warningly, and Mortimer looks daggers at him. Neil alone smiles, though rather wanly) Oh, I say — {To Neil) I am sorry. I didn't mean to say that. Oh, I am a damned old fool. I Neil. {Goes to Judson and puts his arm over his shoulder) Jimmy, it's all right. I don't mind — really don't think of it again. It's all rig^ht. (Bennett appears.) Bennett. Your taxi, Mr. Judson. {Exits) Mortimer. Get a wiggle, Jimmy. Can't you see Ned's got something on his chest. If we don't beat it, he'll keep Neil up all night. Neil. Oh, you chaps needn't hurr}^ It isn't so late. Judson. No, it's getting earlier every minute. {Looks at his watch) Gee! And I've got to be at the office at ten. Neil. Oh, well, you'll be snoring at three-thirty. Mortimer. Yes, and swearing at eight. Neil. Have a night-cap before you go. Mortimer. No, thanks. I don't wear 'em. Judson. Not me. Fm sufficiently balmy as it is. Mortimer. {To Neil) And, by the way, don't forget, Fm coming for you with the car at noofi^ and we'll lunch at the track. Neil. Who's in the party? THE RAINBOW 17 Mortimer. Oh, Mrs. Palmer. Neil. Mr. Palmer, too.'^ Mortimer. (U^ith a grin) Yes. Thought I'd give the old chap a treat. Neil. Good — good. Mortimer. And er — Elsie Davis. Neil. {With a zvhistle of gay dismay) Phew! Elsie Davis, eh? Well, really old fellow Mortimer. Oh, your reputation will stand it, eh, Jimmy? JuDSON. Ha, ha! I should say so. He ought to be delighted. Elsie's no end of fun. Neil. So she is. Poor little chick. So she is. See you at noon, then. (Mortimer starts to go) And bring along your roll. Tierney tells me King Pepper is just on edge and bound to win his start. iloRTiMER. It listens good to me. Bye-bye. Neil. Good-night. Bye-bye, Jimmy. JuDSON. Couldn't you give a poor old man ten cents for a bed ? Neil. Get out, you rascal. Mortimer. Oh, come along, Jimmy, or I'll make you pay for the taxi. (Goes out) JuDSON. (In much dismay) My God! Wait a minute. Here — I say! (Claps on his hat and es- capes from the room on the run. A momentary pause and the outside door is heard to slam) Neil. Ha, ha ! Good fellow% Jimmy. Fellows. Yes. He'll do. (They sit down) Neil. Yes, Jimmy's all right, but a little thought- less sometimes, eh? Fellows. That zvas rather clumsy of him. Neil. Oh, I don't mind. It's an old story. But sometimes I get to feeling a little sorry for myself. I suppose we all have those moments. I couldn't keep my wife's brother from shooting himself in my house, after losing at cards to me. Fellows. Oh, vou don't have to tell me that. i8 THE RAINBOW Neil. I know it. But it does me good. I couldn't get out of playing with him even though I had promised Ruth not to do it. When you've won big money from a man and he demands satis- faction — well, what can you do? Fellows. Nothing but give it to him. Neil. And it was one of those times when I simply couldn't lose. It was the very devil, and Ruth Fellows. She couldn't see any excuse for you. Neil. Not an atom. Of course, all the news- paper row aggravated the mess, and the fact that Hanford recovered didn't in the least palliate my offense in her eyes. I had promised her not to play again with her brother and I had done it. That was enough. Fellow^s. I saw her today. Neil. Who? Fellows. Why Ruth of course. Neil. Ruth — here ? Fellows. Didn't you know it ? Neil. No. Fellows. Why, I thought of course you knew. Neil. Never heard a word of it. What brings her here, I wonder? Fellows. She got in yesterday on the Provence, telephoned me toda}' — wanted to see me about some of her business affairs, and I called at her hotel. Neil. Is — is she well? Fellow^s. Oh, yes, very. But this is what's on my mind. I think I ought to tell her. Neil. Tell her? Fellows. I mean about her brother. Neil. Oh, for heaven's sake, why did up that old affair? Fellows. I think she ought to know. Neil. After ten years? What on earth's the use? THE RAINBOW 19 Fellows. Oh, it was easy enough to keep her in the dark as long as she stayed in France and you kept on paying the interest on the money her brother stole from her estate but if she stays here long she's sure to find out about it somehow. Neil. Nonsense. Who's going to tell her ? No- body knows. Fellows. And then it's all so confoundedly un- fair to you. Here she goes on seeing in her rascally brother merely an unfortunate well-meaning victim of chance and you — while all the time he robbed her of over $200,000 and you foot the bill. Fm damned sorry you ever interfered. You ought to have let him take his medicine. Neil. Oh, dry up, Ned, dry Fellows. But it's not fair — it's not just — it's not Neil. Oh stop it, Ned, stop it. What good will it do to tell Ruth that her brother is a crook and a sv/indler as well as a gambler. If she hadn't got a legal separation with the custody of the little girl, if there were still any chance for me, I mean, it might be different, but as it is, come — come, old man, don't go and start anything after all those years. Fellows. Well, of course, I can't if you won't let me, but as your lawyer and hers, I think it's mighty bad business and as your friend Neil. Oh, I'll take all the responsibility. So let it go at that. And tell me, now, did you — did you see Cynthia? Fellows. Oh, yes, I saw her. You — you'd scarcely know her now. Neil. No — no — I suppose I shouldn't. Fellows. She's almost a woman now, you know, Neil. Almost a woman — yes, of course, she must be. (Rises) Just a second please. (Goes 20 THE RAINBOW into his room, speaks from there) I've got some- thing here I want to show you. {Returns with a little photograph in an ivory frame) Here's a por- trait of the child, taken when she was six years old. {Gives it to Fellows) Tell me, is she utterly changed — or is there some — some likeness left? Fellows. {Looking at the portrait) Oh, the resemblance is there. Neil. {Pleased) Is it? Fellows. Oh, yes, but of course, there are changes. Do you know your daughter's grown into an unusually pretty girl? Neil. Has she now? Fellows. Very slender, very dainty, yery rose- like. Neil. Is she, now? {Takes photograph and slips it back into his pocket) Fellows. But of course, you'll soon see for yourself. Neil. I'm afraid not. Fellow^s. Why not? Neil. I'm afraid. Fellows. Afraid. Neil. Yes — ah, well, it's a queer w^orld. I don't see how J could have acted differently. All the same, it's put a devilish big crimp in my life, first and last; I was really fond of her — and of the little girl — and — well, I haven't done m^^self much good and I — I've been pretty lonely. Fellows. She was pretty hard on you, old man, and that's a fact. Neil. Oh, v/ell, I suppose it's one of those things that a woman can't tmderstand. Fellows. Theie are such things. Neil. {With a little smile) Yes, a few. Ned, it's a devil of a life that most of us are leading. Fellow^s. It is, for a fact. Neil. Yesterday, I met old Underwood, out for THK RAINBOW' 21 lii.s afternoon constitutional — just as T have met him for years. Always as neat as a pin, clothes perfection, a fresh gardenia in his buttonhole, mani- cured, tailored, booted and barbered, year by year getting a little plumper, a little balder, a little more sallow, a little more wheezy, a little more selfish year after year. Some morning his valet will call him for his bath at nine o'clock as usual — and— well — he won't wake up. Hm ! — I wonder if there isn't anything more in life than that. Fellows. My dear Neil, surely you don't com- pare yourself with Neil. With old Underwood — sallow old Under- wood? Yes, I do — in a way. Year after year — on we go with our cards and oin- races and our Jane Palmers and our Elsie Davises, our theatres, our opera, our restaurants, and all our hectic frivol and froth, and what do we get — little more wheezy, a little more sallow, a little more selfish, year after year, and some morning our valets — well, I don't quite see myself ending like that Fellow^s. Gad ! I should hope not. Neil. Somehow, I've a wish that my last nap shall be taken back on the farm — up in the Berk- shires somewhere — somewhere near the soil from which my people sprang. Fellows. Well — it would be better than the dismal finish you've sketched out for old Under- wood. Neil. Yes, it would — somewhat — There'd be some dogs to miss me. anyhow. (Bell rings.) Fellows. (As they both rise) Well, I must be off. (Goes lip to the settee for his coat and hat) Neil. Let me get you a taxi. Fellows. Nothing of the sort. It's only' half 22 THE RAINBOW a dozen blocks. I'll sleep better for the walk. {Enter Hollins. He is a man of the world, clever, almost brilliant, unscrupulous, unlucky, dis- satisfied, deservedly disappointed and unreas- onably envious of people more happy than himself.) Hollins. Hello, Fellows. Neil and Fellows. Hello, Nick. Hollins. How're you, Neil. Fellows. Well, you make your calls late. Neil. Yes, Nick opens the town up every morn- ing before he goes to bed. Fellow^s. Well, bye-bye you chaps. Neil and Hollins. Good-night, etc. {Exit Fellows. The door slams lightly after him.) Neil. Sit down, Nick. Hollins. (Sitting) Sure I will, if I can have a drink. Neil. As many as you like. Hollins. Oh, no, I can't hold that many. I've tried. But what the devil's up? Neil. (Comes down to table — gives Nick the drink) Better take your drink now. (Nick about to drink — hesitates) You may not want it later. (Hollins looks puzzled, then gidps down the whis- key) Hollins. Well, I've got that anyhow. Blaze away. Neil.. {Sits) Nick, you have osme letters. I want them. Hollins. Letters? Neil. From Dolly Winter. Hollins. Well, upon my soul ! Neil. You are to bring them to me at eleven THE RAINBOW 25 a'clock tomorrow morning. HoLLiNS. See here, Neil, have you lost your mind? Neil. I think not. HoLLiNS. Damned if I ever heard the Hke. Neil. Nick, bluffs don't go. I know exactly what you've done, and it's got to stop. HoLLiNS. Has that little hussy been running to you? If she has I'll Neil. Now, don't be ridiculous. Whatever you were going to say, you won't do it. HoLLiNS. All right, then. You know so much. I suppose I may ask you what you know. Neil. Certainly. You threatened to go to her husband w^ith certain information. HoLLiNS. Oh, I did, did I ? And you're going to take the word of tliis little fly-by-night against mine? Neil. Yes, if you deny it. You see, Nick, I happen to know you pretty well. HoLLiNS. I see. I'm a devil, and you. in your new character of saint, are going to administer jus- tice. Is that it? Neil. If you like. HoLLiNS. Well, of course, the girl's lied to you. Neil. Can you suggest a motive? (A pause) All she asks it to be let alone. HoLLiNS. Well, what are you going to do about it? Neil. You admit the letters? HoLLiNS. I daresay I've got some letters. Haven't you? Neil. At eleven o'clock tomorrow morning, then. HoLLiNS. Look here, Neil, of course, this is all too absurd for words. But let me tell you just the same, that I resent your interference. Who the devil are you, I should like to know, to pass judg- .24 THE RAINBOW ment on me? I'd have you know that it comes \yith mighty bad grace from you — you — in a hoUer- than-thou attitude. Pah! If you could only see yourself. (Rising and facing Neil) I tell 3'ou, it's no affair of yours. Neil. (Rising) And I tell you I make it my aft'air. (A pause. The tzvo men confront each other) See here, Nick, do you want to quarrel with me? HoLLiNS. (His eyes dropping from the encoun- ter) Why, of course not. Only this absurd affair — Neil. I thought not. It wouldn't pay you, would it? V\>11, then, those letters at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. And Dolly and her George are ne\^er to hear from you in any way whatever. I mean that in its broadest sense. No evasions. If she comes to grief through you I shall be forced to get a new racing manager, and there will be no more of those little advances with w^hich you never seem to catch up. Do I make myself clear ? HoLLiNS. {Taking his hat from table) Excep- tionally. But I must say — well, what's the use, you know. He'll find her out just the same Neil. Well, one thing's sure — w^e w^on't help him. Have another drink. HoLLiNS. No, thanks. Neil. Then, good-night. The letters at eleven, and don't send them. Bring them. HoLLiNS. Oh, they'll be here. And much good may they do her. And it is with deep emotion that I turn my back upon the charming scene where vir- tue has triumphed and vice been overwhelmed. Neil. (With irony) Be a man, Nick. Don't give way. HoLLiNS. Ha! (IVith a sneer he goes out. A pause and door slam is heard) THE RAINBOW 25 (Neil takes the child's photograph from his pocket and looks at it. Enter Bennett at rear, and begins to set the room to rights.) Neil. Oh, never mind all that till morning, Ben- nett. Go to bed. Sorry to have kept yt^u up so late. Bennett. Oh, that's all right, sir. You're not home often of an evening nowadays, sir. Neil. No, that's true. (Goes to the door of his room) \\'ell, don't call me until eleven. Bennett. No, sir, at eleven, sir. Neil. And, before you go, suppose you open a window. This place needs a little sweetening up. Good-night. (He goes into his room) Bennett. Good-night, sir. (He goes to the ivindozv, draws the curtain, opens the window. The ' szveet night air steals in gently lifting the side-cur- tains. The butler then takes the glasses and ash- troy from the table, goes to the hall, turns off the hall-light and disappears. The curtain falls on the room lighted only by the moonlight from the win- dow. When the curtain rises one minute later, it shows the same room flooded with morning sun- shine. A little R. of c. is a small table set for break- fast for one. Bennett hovers about the table busy -with tJie last touches. A moment later Hollins coiiics in from the hall) Hollins. Well, Bennett, you old rascal, how do you hnd yourself? Bennett. I'm as well as could be expected, Mr. Hollins, and I hope you're well, sir. Hollins. (Sitting by the table) Oh, yes, yes. I'm well. There's nothing in the other thing. I've tried it. We're breakfasting rather late today, what? Bennett. (Resenting this remark a bit) That's all accordin' as you look at it, sir. 20 THE RAINBOW HoLLiNS. Haven't you heard that it's the early bird that catches the worm ? Bennett. I have, sir, many's the time. HoLLiNS. Yes — so have I, but the proverb never impressed me much. You see, Bennett, I don't happen to have a taste for worms. No more, I take it, has your master. Well, it's almost eleven, so suppose you go and route him out. Bennett. I hardly like to do that, sir. But per- haps he's stirring already. It sometimes happens that he's up when I go in to call him. {Listens at door) Yes, sir, I think he's up already. HoLLiNS. (Rising and taking a long sealed en- velope from his pocket) Oh, is he? Well, if you don't mind, Bennett — hand him this. (Bennett receives envelope then goes to door. Bennett knocks on his master's door just as the door-hell is heard to ring) Neil. (Off stage) Come in, Bennett, come in. (Bennett enters the bed room as Betsy Sumner enters at c. Betsy Sumner's sister, is some ten years younger than he. She is rather a brisk, humorous person, kindly, but shrewd, with few illusions. Her heart is big, but it doesn't prevent her keen brain from seeing the faults of those she loves. She is fond of her brother, but tempers her fondness with strong disapproval of much that he does. She dislikes Hollins exceedingly, and is at little pains to conceal it.) Hollins. Ah, good morning, Miss Sumner. Betsy. (Coldly) Good morning, Mr. Hollins. Hollins. I'll warrant you didn't hope to find me here. Betsy. (Sitting at the table) Hope is hardly the word. THE RAINBOW 27 HoLLiNS. Well, you're no more surprised than I. One doesn't often see Miss Sumner at her brother's house. Betsy. (Acidly) Oh, doesn't oneF HoLLiNS. Not this one. And it's rather a pity,, too. I think you'd like him if you knew him better. Betsy. So ? HoLLiNS. (Mockingly) Yes. I assure you, he's really not at all a bad sort. Betsy. Mr. Hollins, I don't know that your opin- ion on that point seems to me so vei-y valuable. Hollins. Well, it ought to be. I know him very well. BtlTSy. While he doesn't know you at all well. HoLi.iNS. Oh, but he does. Betsy. He can't — or he wouldn't have you about so much. Hollins. Mm ! You are in a nasty mood to- day. Betsy. Not at all. I'm feeling particularly cheerful. At least I was until — — Hollins. Until you saw me, eh ? Betsy. I didn't say it. But I wouldn't think of contradicting you. Hollins. No. You wouldn't think of it. You'd iust do it. Well, you're just like all the other reformers. Betsy. I'm no reformer. Hollins. No? Betsy. I never reformed anybody in my life. Hollins. No. Reformers never do — that's why I call you one. Betsy. (Rising) If I were I should begin with you. Hollins. With me? Betsy. Yes. I'm an ambitious woman, and you — vou're about the hardest case I know. 2S THE RAINBOW HoLLiNS. I told 3'ou you didn't know your own Brother very well. Betsy. {Pointedly) I should know him a great deal better if there weren't a lot of good-for-noth- ings always hanging about whenever I try to see him. HoLLiNS. {Seeing the point, gives himself a burlesque blow on the chin as though he had been hit hard, then reaches for his watch) Whereupon, our astute young hero, consulting his chronometer, suddenly exclaimed: "By Jove, I've an appoint- ment. Clean forgot all about it. Fair lady, will you pardon me if I run away?" Betsy. To which the lady replied sweetly : "With the greatest of pleasure." HoLLiNS. {Angry, but bowing elaborately) In that case good-morning. Betsy. {Tartly) In that case, good-bye. (Hol- LiNs goes out with a sardonic smile. Betsy sits with exclamation of disgust) Insect ! (Bennett comes out of his master's rooju.) Bennett. Good morning. Miss Betsy. Betsy. Good morning, Bennett. Bennett. Mr. Neil will be out directly, Miss Betsy. Betsy. All right. Bennett. Has Mr. HoUins gone? Betsy. He has, Bennett. Do you regret it? Bennett. Not the least in the world, ma'am. Betsy. Nor /. I don't care if he never comes back. Bennett. But he will, ma'am. Betsy. I suppose so. Bennett. He always does. Betsy. Drat him ! Bennett. I'm of the some opinion, ma'am. THE RAINBOW 29 (Enter Neil at r. He is perfectly dressed in a highly becoming morning suit, is evidently just bathed and shaved and looks as fresh and debonair as you please.) Neil. (Goes to Betsy and kisses her hand) My dear Betsy. I'm delighted. Betsy. Thank you, Neil. Neil. Delighted, charmed and astounded ! But where's Hollins? I thought Bennett said ■ Betsy. He's gone. Neil. Gone ! Betsy. Yes, I built a bonfire under him. Neil. Built a bonfire under him. Why, how inhospitable of you ! Betsy. I all but ejected the brute. Neil. Ejected — well, well, you don't come here very often. When you do, you may do as you like. Now, how's that? Betsy. That's as it should be. Neil. Mayn't I offer you some breakfast? Betsy. Breakfast ! It's almost time for lunch. Sumner. (Sitting) You do keep barbarous hours, don't you ? Betsy. I ! No, I live like a human being — not like an owl. (She sits opposite him) Neil. (Attacking the grape-fruit) The owl is the bird of wisdom. But be that as it may — and probably is — you won't mind if I Betsy. Certainly not. You eat and I'll talk. In that way each of us will be enjoying his favorite sport. Neil. Well, m.y dear sis, I don't suppose you came here just for the sake of observing me at my breakfast pranks ? Betsy. I did not. Neil. Then to what do I owe this unusual pleas- ure ? 30 THE RAINBOW Betsy. I came to bring you some news. Neil. I know — about Ruth's return? Betsy. You've heard? Neil. I heard last night. I suppose you've known for some time. You might have told me. Betsy. Yes — but there didn't seem to be any use in stirring things up. Neil. Yes, that's true. Of course you've seen her. Betsy. Yes — I've just left her. Neil. How is she — well? Betsy. Oh, yes. Neil. And — happy ? Betsy. Well, are you? Neil. My dear Betsy, there you open a large question. What is happiness. If by happiness you mean Betsy. Heavens ! I've pressed a button some- where, and it's going to make a speech. Neil. There you see! You complain that I'm frivolous and when I try to be serious Betsy. You're more frivolous than ever. Neil. I know what's the matter with you. Betsy. Oh, do you ? Neil. Nothing annoys a woman so much as to have someone else get ahead of her with a piece of news. Betsy. Well, I can at least tell you how she looks. She's getting a little gray. Neil. Is she? Well, she was always candid — I'll say that for her. Betsy. Will nothing make you serious? Neil. My dearest sis, would you like me better that way? Betsy. Honestly, I don't know. Neil. Because I don't believe you would. And anyhow, I can't do it. Life's a sort of joke anyway and it's on us. And the devil flv awav with a man THE RAINBOW 31 who can't laugh at his own expense. Just con- sider the case we're all in. We've got nothing to say about coming into this world, and less abouc leaving it. We're put here without as much as a "by your leave", and when we go we're not even asked if we're ready, and while we're suffered to stay someone pulls a string and we dance, some of us gracefully, some of us with the least grace in the world. (Bennett enters zvith tray, containing a small silver tray with coffee pot and milk pitcher and a covered dish with omelette) But dance we all must and do. Marionettes. Taht's Vv^hat we are, my dear sis, just marionettes— and, to a philosophic eye, vastly comic. (He has finished his grape-fruit) Bennett, what have you for this marionette to cat? Dancing makes him hungry. Bennett. Omelette a la Creole, Mr. Neil. (He serves it) Neil. Good. Mayn't I oft'er you a cup of coffee ? Betsy. No, thank 3'ou. You might make an- other speech. Neil. Suppose I did ? Betsy. Well — coft"ee always keeps me awake. Neil. Well, Bennett we'll excuse you. Bennett. Yes sir. (Goes out zvith tray) Neil. Well, then if you don't like my nonsense, suppose you give us some of your sense. (He at- tacks his omelette) Betsy. Very well. Now it's my turn to make a speech. Neil. Cries of ''Hear, Hear!" Betsy. Oh ! It's a very short one. Neil. Thunders of applause ! Betsy. It's this. You are about to receive a visit. Neil. You talk like a fortune teller. Is it a dark man coming with a bundle? 32 THE RAINBOW Betsy. No, it's not a man. Neil. {Suddenly serious) You don't mean Ruth ? Bptsy. No. I mean Cynthia. Neil. What? B'-TfY. Yes. Neil. God bless my soul ! Betsy. I hope he will. Neil. She's coming to see me? Betsy. Yes. Neil. Here ? Betsy. Right here. Neil. (Rising and abandoning his breakfast) God bless my soul. Betsy. She's going to stay some time. Neil. Going to stay? Betsy. K you don't mind! Neil. Mind ! Mind ! Why — why — it's wonder- ful — and — and it's quite too kind of Ruth to think of it. (Faces about in excitement) Betsy. I don't think it was Ruth's idea. Neil. Whose then? Yours? Betsy. No. Cynthia's. Neil. Cynthia ! God bless the child. Betsy. Oh, do sit down. Neil. Certainly. (He sits) Betsy. You see, Neil, your daughter, it appears, has a mind of her own. Neil. Of course she has. She's my daughter. Betsy. Well, one morning over in France, she woke up to the fact that she had mislaid her father. She'd noticed other girls' fathers, and she got the queer idea that having fathers Vv^as rather nice. Then she began to wonder where hers was and why she never saw him. So she spoke to her mother about it. Neil. Rather awkward for Ruth, eh ! Betsy. It was. But the child wouldn't be put THE RAINBOW 33 off. Nothing would do but she must see you with her own eyes. " Neil. God bless her! T^ETSv. \Vell the fact is, that she made such a fuss about it there was no resisting her. She would have it, and there w^as no end of it. "Of course", she said to her mother, "if I don't like him I don't have to stav " Neil. Kh? Betsy. ''But I've got to see him once anyhow. I've got to see him. He's the only daddy I'm ever going to have — and T want him." ^' Neil. (Much affected) Bless the child ! Bless her. Betsy. And so, you see, she's here. Neil. Oh, Betsy, supposing she shouldn't like me — supposing my girl shouldn't like me. Betsy. Well, in that case, as she herself said, she needn't stay. Neil. (Sobered) No, that's true. I couldn't make her stay, could I ? Betsy. And, on the other hand, suppose yon shouldn't like her. Neil. (Rises) Like her! Like her! Whv, Betsy, she's mine ! My own. Betsy. Yes. So's my hair — but I don't like it. Neil. Oh ! My dear, sis, will nothing make you serious ? Betsy. Oh, so I'm the frivolous one now, eh? Well, let me tell you that nothing is further from my mind than frivolity. Do you realize that this is a very grave matter? Neil. What do you mean ? Betsy. What are you going to do with her? Neil. Do? Why, I'm going to get her the moon, if she wants it. Betsy. Poor man ! He doesn't realize what it means to have a dau 4