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 PS 2677 
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 Copy 1 
 
 The Two Paths 
 
 A Play in 
 Four Acts 
 
' 
 
 
The Two Paths 
 
 A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Copyrighted A by 
 
 George L. Raymond, 
 
 1810 N St. Washington, D. C. 
 
 IjtO 
 

 PfieS6 Of BYRON 8. ADAMS. WASH. . 0. C. 
 
 C-CI.D 21270 
 
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 Characters 
 
 Roger Reed — A young clerk in the brokers' office of Noel & Co., 
 engaged to Faith. 
 
 Professor Elder — Holding a position in a Country College, father 
 of Faith and father-in-law of Donald. 
 
 Donald Dexter — A young Professor in the same college, married 
 to a sister of Faith. 
 
 Pitkin — A confidential clerk and agent of Noel <& Co. 
 
 Noel — Head of the brokers' firm of Noel & Co. 
 
 First and Second Brokers. 
 
 First and Second Policemen. 
 
 Faith Elder — Daughter of Professor Elder, engaged to Roger. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin — Wife of Pitkin. 
 
 A Maid — A servant of Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Street Crowd attracted by Street Music and Dancing. 
 
Plot 
 
 Act I. — Young Roger Reed is trying to make a fortune by specu- 
 lating in Wall Street, before he devotes himself to scholarship 
 and literature for which he is fitted ; and before he marries 
 Faith Elder, to whom he is engaged. He is urged by her father, 
 Professor Elder, and by Donald Dexter, the Professor's son-in- 
 law, to leave Wall Street, and accept, at once, an opening in a 
 College. He does not accede to their requests. While they ar- 
 gue, Mrs. Pitkin, wife of a confidential agent of Noel & Co., who 
 employ Roger, enters and exhibits apparent intimacy with him, as 
 well as her own doubtful character. When all have left, Mr. 
 Pitkin enters and reveals the fraudulent nature of certain copper 
 stock that Roger is especially commissioned to sell. Left alone, 
 Roger, in great perplexity, falls asleep and dreams. In the dream, 
 Mrs. Pitkin returns, and, a little later, Mr. Pitkin. The two de- 
 velop, to the extreme, the disreputable and dishonest traits that 
 their real life has already suggested to Roger. They end by black- 
 mailing him out of his previous savings. 
 
 Act II. — Roger goes on to dream that, on the next morning at his 
 office, he tries to escape the responsibility of selling the fraudulent 
 stock. He refuses it to brokers who apply for it; but when Pit- 
 kin, who has a right to receive it, demands it, Roger surrenders 
 it, and takes a receipt for the signed certificates which he sur- 
 renders. Mrs. Pitkin steals this receipt. Faith sees her do it, 
 and, to save Roger when his employer demands the receipt, she 
 contrives to get it from Mrs. Pitkin. Immediately after, Mr. Pit- 
 kin enters, and, as he is getting it from Faith, Roger enters. 
 Faith summons the police, but, when they arrive, the Pitkins 
 manage to have not themselves but Roger and Faith appear ac- 
 countable for the disturbance. The Pitkins get the receipt and 
 keep it. 
 
 Act III. — Faith and Roger, trying to get back the receipt, call at 
 the Pitkins' apartments — first, as, respectively, a messenger boy 
 and fruit vender — and then as a street-dancer and violin-player. 
 Just as Faith enters Pitkin's room alone, and steals the receipt, he 
 discovers her. To save her from his rascality, Roger breaks into 
 the apartment and accidentally kills him. Two policemen, with 
 the Professor and Donald, enter, and arrest Faith and Roger for 
 theft and murder. Roger, in trying to help Faith escape, is felled 
 to the ground by a policeman. 
 
 Act IV. — Roger is awakened from his dream in the morning by 
 Pitkin, and arranges that Pitkin shall take charge of the business 
 of the office from which he telegraphs his resignation to his ab- 
 sent employer on the ground of an appointment to a scholastic 
 and literary position, which he wishes to accept. The Professor 
 and Donald now urge him to continue in Wall Street, and make 
 his fortune before turning to literature. Faith, however, agrees 
 with him, and he turns to a method of gaining a livelihood far 
 less lucrative, but, also, far more in accordance with his traits 
 and aspirations. 
 
The Two Paths 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. Roger Reed's Reception Room in an Apartment House. 
 Among other things, it should contain a sofa on which one can 
 lie dozvn with a rising end or a pillow to support the head; a 
 small table near it on which is a lighted lamp, and a ladys fan, 
 at the Left is a room in which, on a waiter, is a bottle con- 
 taining wine and two glasses. Entrances by doors at the 
 Back Center and at the Left. The rising curtain reveals Faith, 
 the Professor and Donald, all in outdoor costume just entering 
 from the Back Center. 
 
 Professor. These rooms are his? 
 
 Donald. They are. 
 
 Professor. This is a world where we must judge of most things, 
 
 as of souls, by their surroundings. The surroundings here would 
 
 argue for success. 
 Faith. Of course, they would; is just what we expected, is it not? 
 Professor. In one way, yes. But Roger yet is young and inex- 
 perienced. What seems to one success, to others may mean mere 
 
 escape from failure. 
 Faith. But to make almost a fortune, and all in two short years !— 
 Donald. What he has made no man would deem a fortune in 
 
 New York; and, if he put off marrying till he gets one, I fear 
 
 that he may marry late in life. 
 Professor. With all that he has made, I have my doubts about his 
 
 acting wisely. 
 Donald. I have few about his acting foolishly. 
 Faith. You think that any soul can ever see what lies inside 
 
 another? 
 Donald. No ; not if it lies. It ought to stand up to be seen. _ 
 Faith. But if you fail to see it rightly, then you never can judge 
 
 it rightly. 
 Donald. There are some things clear. 
 Faith. And some things only seem clear, like the water inside a 
 
 glass, because our own dull sight fails to detect the microbes 
 
 peopling it. 
 Donald. In college, all his aims were literary; and here his work 
 
 is all commercial. 
 Faith. Yes ; but when he makes a fortune — 
 
6 The Tzvo Paths. 
 
 Donald. When a man makes anything, he moulds not only it, 
 but moulds, as well, the tool with which he makes it. The sharp- 
 est blade was never keen enough to keep its own edge, was it? — 
 nor so dull but that a constant grind might sharpen it? It is 
 the same with minds. The scholar's tools are fashioned to untie, 
 for human thought, the knots that bind what life has parcelled 
 for us. If business friction make these tools too sharp they 
 never will untie what can be cut. No men who once form 
 habits of not thinking except when thought is absolutely needed 
 can take delight in thinking as a life-work. Ah, here he comes. 
 
 Enter — Left — Roger. (He is wearing a dress-suit.) 
 
 Prof, and Faith (to Roger). Good day. 
 
 Roger. Good day — are welcome. You seem to fill the whole room 
 with a draft of your own mountain air. How well you look! 
 (aside to Faith). Why, Faith, but you remind me of the fruit 
 we watch in summer, growing rosier the longer we delay in 
 plucking it ! Its time is coming, though. What men term for- 
 tune grows like a snow-ball, slowly at the start, but gathers fas- 
 ter as its weight gets greater. 
 
 Prof, (to Roger). Well, that professorship is waiting for you. 
 
 Roger. I know; but just now I am making money — much more, I 
 guess, than you can make by teaching. 
 
 Donald. But where are your ideals? 
 
 Roger. They are where they always were — beyond me in the fu- 
 ture. 
 
 Donald. And you are aimed for them? 
 
 Roger. In my own way. While you trudge off on foot, and get 
 tired out, I build my motor-car, and, by-and-by, may hurry on 
 and reach the summit first. 
 
 Donald. I fear that, by-and-by, you may become a mere machinist, 
 mesmerized by watching mere wheels that whiz and whirl till 
 you forget the work that they should further. We men talk of 
 leading such and such a life, but life is far too large for any 
 man to lead. He binds himself to it, and it leads him. 
 
 Roger. What literary men need most is leisure; and what brings 
 leisure in the world is wealth. Had I the wealth for it, I should 
 endow, not colleges, but rather college men, and hope that, 
 when relieved from outside pressure, their inward promptings 
 would reveal themselves. 
 
 Donald. Why so? 
 
 Roger. Because these promptings are the sources in souls of al- 
 most everything on earth that changes what is base because of 
 soil, to what is beautiful, because of spirit. 
 
 Donald. But you might make your fortune just as well, perhaps, 
 while teaching as while working. 
 
 Roger. How so ? 
 
The Two Paths. 7 
 
 Donald. By doing college work at stated hours, and writing, at 
 your desk, at times not stated. How many mornings would it 
 take to make a book? How many books a reputation? And 
 how much reputation to fulfill your own ideals as well as fill 
 your purse? 
 
 Roger. That sounds well, Donald. But I hardly think fulfilling 
 one's ideal the surest way of filling, too, one's purse. Who want 
 ideals? You ask our merchants; every one will say the finest 
 wares find fewest purchasers. Why not the finest writings few- 
 est readers ? You think men weigh in metal got from mire a 
 fair exchange for what is got from mind? One represents the 
 extractioning of greed, the other something given by the spirit. 
 
 Professor (to Roger). My wife enjoined me, when I came to see 
 you, to ask advice about investments for us. In thirty years of 
 college life, we two have saved in all some fifteen thousand dol- 
 lars. She thinks that you might help us to increase it. 
 
 Roger. I know, but there are risks here. 
 
 Professor. Yes, of course; but I mean such investments as you 
 wrote to Faith about. I mean the copper stock, so sure to double. 
 
 Roger. I should hardly like to sell you that. 
 
 Professor. Why not? 
 
 Roger. You have so little. It seems too much like placing all your 
 eggs in one frail basket. 
 
 Professor. But you sold some stock to Brown, our neighbor, yes- 
 terday. He told me you said the stock would double — might to- 
 morrow. I have my check-book. I can buy today, so why not 
 let me have it now? 
 
 Roger. Oh, no ; is after business hours ! 
 
 Professor. He said he knew you kept it here; and for a friend — 
 
 Roger. Oh, no! 
 
 Professor (aside to Faith). I fail to understand him. Why 
 should he refuse to help a friend? Humph! Business hours! 
 
 Faith. It may be owing to the ways they have of doing things 
 here. 
 
 Professor. Yes, perhaps it is. 
 
 Enter — Back Center — Mrs. Pitkin, smoking a cigarette. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Come, Roger, all of us are waiting for you. 
 
 Roger (to Mrs. Pitkin). Excuse me. I have friends, you see. 
 
 (Introducing her) Miss Elder, Professor Elder, my friend Dex- 
 ter — this is Madam Pitkin. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (to the visitors). Ah, I did not see you. Your par- 
 don — but, you know, he promised us a hand at bridge tonight. 
 Well, we can wait! (To Roger.) Will it be long before you can 
 be free ? 
 
 Roger. I fear it will be — not at all, tonight. 
 
The Two Paths. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Am sorry. {To the visitors) Will excuse me — 
 au revoir ! 
 
 Exit — Back Center — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Professor (to Roger). Is that a friend of yours? 
 
 Roger. A neighbor — has the next apartment to me. 
 
 Professor. Humph, she has ! Strange people, you must meet here 
 
 in New York ! She looks as if she came up from below ; and 
 
 liked the smell of smoke that she was used to. And you play 
 
 cards with her, and play for stakes? 
 Roger. I have to be polite. She is a friend of my employer ; and 
 
 the wife, as well, of his chief confidential agent. 
 Professor. That the sort that your employer here confides in? 
 
 A man who flings away or risks at night the fortune he has 
 
 tried to wrest by day? 
 Roger. But really now, the stakes are very small. 
 Professor. So, when they start, are movements of the logs that 
 
 slide down icy mountain sides in winter. 
 Roger. But I — I do not know them very well. You would not 
 
 have me rude? 
 Faith. It seemed to me that she was quite familiar with you, 
 
 Roger. 
 Roger. That is the New York manner. 
 Professor. Yes, you know, the roudy, genteel manner of New 
 
 York. Our students have it, Faith — I mean our Sophomores. 
 Roger. They always from New York. 
 Professor. They always are — those that we have to question. 
 
 They were there the night before. But now we must be going. 
 
 Good evening, Roger (turning toward the door at Back Center). 
 Donald (following the Professor and speaking to him). Shall I 
 
 help you down? 
 Faith (to the Professor). A moment — I will overtake you, 
 
 father. 
 Roger bows to the Professor and Donald. 
 
 Exeunt — Back Center — the Professor and Donald. 
 
 Faith (to Roger). You do not really like that woman, Roger? 
 
 Roger. You are not jealous of her? 
 
 Faith. Not of her, I am of you, that you should go with her. 
 You know in life, at times, the fairest hues and sweetest tones, 
 if once brought side by side with others hostile to them, lose 
 their charms and only seem the factors of a discord. 
 
 Roger. The city is to blame for that. You hear discordant whis- 
 tles from the factories ; you see discordant costumes on the 
 streets ; you feel discordant spirits all about you ; but yet, unless 
 you want to be a hermit, you have to go with those that you find 
 near you. 
 
The Two Paths. 9 
 
 Faith. One's finer senses might grow numb and tough in touch 
 with so much hardness. 
 
 Roger. Yes, they might, did other things not serve to keep them 
 still alive and thrilling. But, my gentle Faith, I yet have you. 
 
 Faith. Not when I am not here. 
 
 Roger. You little dear, I wish you always were here. But yet 
 you know, I have to work too hard; and move about with folks 
 of every sort. How could you lead with me the life you like? 
 
 Faith. The only life I feel that I should like would be a life 
 with you and for you. 
 
 Roger. That, my Faith, would be a very troubled life — of restless- 
 ness, uncertainty and risk. I might be called away — you left 
 alone, for days and weeks. I might be snared in traps. I might 
 lose all my money in an hour. 
 
 Faith. Why, Roger, I thought everything so sure ! 
 
 Roger. I hope so, but, you know, we follow here the rule of noth- 
 ing venture, nothing have ; and if you once were bound to me, 
 my sinking would drag you down with me. 
 
 Faith. But I am bound to you already. 
 
 Roger. Not by law. 
 
 Faith. By love, and that is better. Since I gave myself to you, 
 why, I belong to you, not so? Do you suppose a thing can 
 harm the form to which my soul belongs, and not harm me? 
 
 Roger. But if you were not with me? 
 
 Faith. I should feel your trouble doubly if I could not share it. 
 
 Roger. You precious darling! Do you know the wish that comes 
 to me, while you are talking this way. 
 
 Faith. What is it? 
 
 Roger. Why, to leave this business and every hope of gaining any 
 fortune, except the fortune I should own in you ! 
 
 Faith. Oh, no ; you should not think of doing that ! 
 
 Roger. You want the money, then ? 
 
 Faith. No ; I want you ; and you are what you are, and think 
 and plan. You are my sun, my source of light and life, and I 
 your satellite, attending you; you bless me most when you 
 are most yourself. 
 
 Roger. Whatever I may do? 
 
 Faith. Whatever, yes. 
 
 Roger. Were it my worst? 
 
 Faith. Your worst might be my best. A spirit's best is always 
 done just where its love has placed it. Mine has long been 
 placed where it must work for you. 
 
 Roger. A faith like yours,I half believe, could make a very fiend 
 turn god. But Donald is returning. 
 
 Faith. Yes, 
 
 Roger and Faith bid good-bye. , 
 
10 The Two Paths. 
 
 Enter — Back Center — Donald. 
 Exit— Back Center — Faith. 
 
 Donald. Am sorry for you, Roger ; pretty hard ! Too bad they saw 
 her ! 
 
 Roger. Whom? You mean that woman? 
 
 Donald. That woman, yes. 
 
 Roger. Oh, she is not so bad ! 
 
 Donald. Will seem so, though, to them. She smokes, she paints, 
 she gambles. They, you know, are from the country. 
 
 Roger. But one must be polite for policy. 
 
 Donald. Oh, that is it ! What was it made you shy the old man's 
 offer for the copper stock? 
 
 Roger. Why, he might lose. 
 
 Donald. If he, then others, too. 
 
 Roger. But they are mostly brokers, — know their trade. The 
 dealers pour their stock here on the market. Its prices rise and 
 fall; and, like a tide, they mainly float to profit those who watch 
 it. To make success in plunging anywhere, a man must first 
 learn how to swim, or sinks. 
 
 Donald. But what about the brokers' customers? Suppose they 
 lose, who is responsible? Suppose Professor Elder here, because 
 of tales that you have told to some one else, invests and loses, 
 will he blame himself, his broker, or the tales that came from 
 you? How much commission do you get for selling? 
 
 Roger. Get five per cent. 
 
 Donald. Your profits all have come from these commissions? 
 
 Roger. These, and syndicates. 
 
 Donald. And what do they do? 
 
 Roger. Buy up corporations, and merge them into one. 
 
 Donald. What for? 
 
 Roger. To make the one worth more than were the many. 
 
 Donald. How? 
 
 Roger. In every place where all have offices, by using one for 
 many offices. And so with mills, at times. This lessens cost and 
 brings more gain. 
 
 Donald. In fact and fancy both — not so? And gives the new 
 stock fancy prices. But how can one join syndicates that buy 
 rich corporations when he has no money? 
 
 Roger. Wherever gains depend the most on brains, to know may 
 make men richer than to have. One sitting here, where all 
 the^ buyers meet, may know — at least may make a knowing guess. 
 This much is to be bought and that much sold. So I subscribe 
 my hundred thousand dollars. I buy the old; I sell the new; 
 I get my ten per cent on what I have subscribed. 
 
The Two Paths. 11 
 
 Donald. Humph ! Tried on those who walk by sight, not insight, 
 presumption may do better than possession. You think it honest — 
 promising to pay what you could not pay? 
 
 Roger. They all do it here. 
 
 Donald. But that was not my question. One must look within, 
 not out, for promptings of his conscience. Suppose that no one 
 buy the new stock, then the buyers of the old stock — those like 
 you — would all be bankrupt, with no bank account. 
 
 Roger. Some would, and pass through bankruptcy, and start anew. 
 
 Donald. And your employer risks all that? 
 
 Roger. Not he ! His companies — he is director in half a dozen — 
 have big surpluses. And he could borrow at a low percentage, 
 and so get time to settle ; but meanwhile his half a dozen other 
 syndicates would, more than likely, give him, too, the money. 
 
 Donald. I see. You may forget the golden rule down here; but 
 other rules — eh? — you fulfill — like this: To him that hath it shall 
 be given. You even emphasize that last word given. You fix 
 it so you do not have to work yourselves for what you get ; 
 no, you work others. But I must go. 
 
 Roger. Now, pardon me, but, Donald, I hardly like your attitude 
 tonight. 
 
 Donald. To tell the truth, I hardly like your own. I saw the 
 look of fear and of discredit you gave to Faith here when you 
 faced the smoke and powder of your other friend. 
 
 Roger. Why I — 
 
 Donald. You told me once Faith seemed to you an angel. This 
 woman seemed to me an angle worm; and wriggling, too, like 
 bait upon a hook. 
 
 Enter — Back Center — Pitkin. 
 
 Donald bows to Roger. 
 
 Exit — Back Center — Donald. 
 
 Roger (to Pitkin). Oh, Pitkin! Had not heard you had returned. 
 
 Pitkin. Just came — is Noel home? 
 
 Roger. In Providence. 
 
 Pitkin. I have to sail tonight for Georgia. He wanted my re- 
 port — shall have to leave it. You will receipt for it, of course. 
 
 Roger (sitting at his desk and writing a receipt). Of course. I 
 hope the mine proved satisfactory. 
 
 Pitkin. Well, scarcely so. He ought to know at once. I find 
 the copper there will only last about three years. 
 
 Roger. And then? 
 
 Pitkin. Will be exhausted. So he must hurry up and sell it out. 
 
 Roger. You mean to say? — We have been promising a dividend 
 of twelve per cent. 
 
 Pitkin. Of course. It pays that now. 
 
12 The Two Paths. 
 
 Roger. But we shall have to stop it. 
 
 Pitkin. More likely, just at present, to increase it. That is, till 
 
 we ourselves sell out; and then — 
 Roger. But I am selling it, myself, and saying— 
 Pitkin. Of course, what your employers bid you say. You have 
 
 to — you must earn your salary. 
 Roger. But if they bid me say what's not the truth? 
 Pitkin. Why that is their fault. 
 Roger. Not if I, too, know it. 
 Pitkin. Why should you know it? 
 
 Roger. Do I look like one who can be made a tool unconsciously? 
 Pitkin. You look like one in need of work. You may look more 
 
 so if you keep on questioning. Why make yourself so lonesome 
 
 here in Wall Street? 
 Roger. Good God ! 
 Pitkin. Of course some people might be ugly; but then the firm 
 
 would help you out. We all together were deceived, you know. 
 
 Besides our courts here court the public sentiment. Wall Street 
 
 does not approve recrimination. 
 Roger. Suppose they held me to my promises. No clerk like me 
 
 could ever pay them back. 
 Pitkin. And if you could, by just what you had lost you would 
 
 be richer in experience. No man can be an expert without that. 
 
 Well, you will act upon the information? 
 Roger (giving Pitkin the receipt). I will. 
 Pitkin (giving Roger the report). Good night. I have to go. 
 
 (Exit — Back Center — Pitkin.) 
 
 Roger, apparently in great distress, Exits at the Left, then Enters 
 at the Left, bringing a server containing a bottle and two glasses 
 and places it on the table near the sofa; then he drinks heavily, 
 and throws himself on the sofa, after a little, turning down the 
 light that is burning on the table. When all is darkness, there 
 is a rapping at the door at the Back Center. Roger rises, turns 
 on the light, and opens the door. 
 
 Enter — Back Center — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I think I left my fan here. 
 
 Roger. I will see. Oh, yes (taking a fan from the tabic) ! En- 
 joy your bridge? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You broke it up. A bridge will always break with- 
 out its keystone. They left for more obliging company. 
 
 Roger. Your husband too? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. He just came in a minute; and now has gone again. 
 The stakes he wants are always far away — from me, at least. 
 Well, I suppose if they be far away, they must be big ones, or 
 he could not see them. Who were your country cousins? 
 
The Two Paths. 13 
 
 Roger. Think them that? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. We never let such people hang around if not our 
 
 cousins, do we? What a gawk the girl was? 
 Roger. Think so? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. No; it tires the brain to think when one can see. 
 Roger. Reason why some call you thoughtless? 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Yes — have seen too much. Why do you keep me 
 
 standing? 
 Roger, {motioning toward the sofa.) Humph! Sit down. 
 Mrs. Pitkin {sitting on the sofa, and lifting the decanter from 
 
 the table). You got this out to treat your cousins? 
 Roger {sitting on one of the chairs). No. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. For me, then? 
 Roger {pouring some of the wine into a glass). Will you have 
 
 some? 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Yes, if you will. 
 Roger. No ; I have had enough. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. For you, not me. 
 Roger. How much would be enough for that? 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Enough to make me feel that you and I were doing 
 
 exactly the same thing. 
 Roger. The sentiment is good. The thing is rather little, though, 
 
 to represent the spirit you suggest. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. It represents the spirit that is in me. I know it is 
 
 there, for I put it there {taking a sip of the wine). 
 Roger. And may you always be the better for it {filling a glass 
 
 for himself and lifting it). Your health, my lady, may you live 
 
 as long — 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Pray, do not mention it. To live my life today is 
 
 all I want. 
 Roger. But brimming full. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. And brimming over sometimes, too — not so? {Lift- 
 ing her foot.) Why see, my shoe has been unbuttoned. 
 Roger {looking at the shoe but sitting still). Yes; you take me 
 
 for a shoe shop's clerk? 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I take you for one who wants to rise in life. You 
 
 know is nothing like beginning at the foot. 
 Roger. But some that do it, stay there. I have heard that women 
 
 like to keep men at their feet. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. And I have heard that some men like to be there. 
 
 The two things go together — men and women. 
 Roger. Yes, sometimes ! Sometimes, though, they keep apart. 
 Mrs. Pitkin {looking at Roger). What makes a man like you 
 
 so good? 
 Roger. So good? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. So good. We like those that seem good to us. 
 Roger. And what if not good? 
 
14 The Two Paths. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. We may like them too. Then they seem like our- 
 selves. 
 
 Roger. I seem like you? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I said that you were good. 
 
 Roger. And you are not? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. What did your country cousins think about me? 
 
 Roger. What did you come in here for? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Company. You ought to know. You live here in 
 New York. 
 
 Roger. You think that in this crowded city, then, men are in 
 special need of company? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I do. They get so used to it — in case they get in 
 touch once with society. 
 
 Enter — Back Center — Pitkin. 
 
 Pitkin. By the eternal ! Humph ! I thought as much ! (Pulls out 
 a pistol and points it alternately at Mrs. Pitkin and Roger. 
 Both rise as if in great alarm.) Pitkin continues to Mrs. Pit- 
 kin.) You wriggling wench! Keep still! No use in screaming! 
 You play your part through. Serpents never scream. They 
 merely hiss. Keep quiet. One sound here may rouse the neighbors 
 like a cry of fire; and that — eh? — would it bring the crowd you 
 want? You think that I should fear it? I would not dare to kill 
 you, if it saw me ? Ho, ho, ho ; you have forgotten our unwritten 
 law — that men seem heroes here who show their hearts ! It 
 is the knave that brings the brain-storm on, who bears the 
 blame for lightning when it strikes. Yes, yes, down on your 
 knees ; get near the floor ! Your corpses, when they fall, will 
 make less noise ! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. But yet, you know — 
 
 Pitkin. Oh, yes, yes, I know all. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I had not been in her five minutes yet. 
 
 Pitkin. And cheeks aglow ! and eyes all sparkling, eh ! It takes 
 time, time to set a fire a-blazing. How long has yours been 
 kindling — days or weeks? (To Roger.) And you, you dressed 
 up for a target, did you? Oh, give me white to shoot at! Bless 
 that bosom ! How pretty it will look when decorated with flar- 
 ing fresh red stars ! — the first time ever that anything that 
 stirred inside your heart, has been brought out, and shown 
 outside of it. Yon canting hypocrite! You spring aleak! — Un- 
 consciously weretnade a tool of, eh? Well, tools that will not 
 bend may sometimes break. That is the way with you — sweet 
 candy-stick, that women love to suck at! Ah, I have it. The 
 dressings fit for candy-sticks are stripes; ay, prison stripes. But 
 'splicing trembling fear with them would be too merciful for 
 you — or me ! Now watch me, you shall see me turn your coward 
 
The Two Paths. 15 
 
 shaking into chronic ague. See here {taking a paper from his 
 pocket and shaking it), in signing this receipt to-night, you 
 fool, you never read it. Ha, the date is five weeks back, since 
 which your own hand proves you knew the fraud in that which 
 you were selling. 
 
 Roger. You mean ? — 
 
 Pitkin. Just what I say. 
 
 Roger. You surely would — 
 
 Pitkin. Would kill you if I had my way. But that might bring 
 expense, discomfort, even prison. What then? One need not 
 turn from what he seeks, because of dangers, if he can but dodge 
 them. The very pack of howling sea winds loosed to drive the 
 skilful pilot from his course he harnesses to his own purposes 
 by turning, twisting, bracing, while he yields, — by not attack- 
 ing what he thwarts, but tacking. So, too, a man can meet 
 opposing forces with what the world terms tact. This weilds 
 the wit that, like a fine Damascus blade, cuts through the joint- 
 ing of pretentious mail like yours — Its maker was your own 
 stupidity. Ah, next to deviltry, the devil himself likes nothing 
 better than stupidity. 
 
 Roger. But you — you gave me that report today. 
 
 Pitkin. Well, prove it, fool. Where is the writing proves it? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You are not right in your suspicions, Pitkin ; and this 
 poor gentleman — why, there are ways to harm him, and, the same 
 time, help yourself. 
 
 Pitkin. You mean? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You know 1 . 
 
 Pitkin. Oh, no, not I. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You do; you are a business man. 
 
 Pitkin. You skirted trap, you think all men will tumble when you 
 trip them? You want to free this fox, eh, for the fun of catch- 
 ing him again? You want to play your game of hell? A sinner 
 saved, you think, may fall once more? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Be fool then, if you wish it. You know that all 
 I have here comes from you. If you get more, then you have 
 more to give me. He wants the paper that you hold; and he — 
 you think that he has nothing he would swop? (To Roger.) 
 You would, not so? 
 
 Roger. Depends on what he wants. 
 
 Pitkin (shaking the paper). Think what this means to me, — an 
 implement of safe revenge ! 
 
 Roger. For what I swear was not a real offense. 
 
 Pitkin. Was not a real offense? 
 
 Roger. The whole thing was imagined, nothing more. 
 
 Pitkin. Well, come to terms. What will you give for it? Be 
 quick about it. I go south tonight; and you can settle now 
 and here — I know it. 
 
16 The Two Paths. 
 
 Roger. How much would you require? 
 
 Pitkin. Say, twenty thousand. 
 
 Roger. Impossible ! Why that would ruin me. 
 
 Pitkin. Then take your ruin in the other way. 
 
 Roger. Suppose I give you all that I have with me (motioning 
 
 toward Left) inside my safe. 
 Pitkin. How much will that be, then? 
 Roger. Will go and see. 
 
 Exit — Left — Roger. 
 
 Pitkin (to Mrs. Pitkin, laughing). An easy sheep to fleece! 
 Mrs. Pitkin. And though we take his dust away from him, you 
 
 made him sweat so, to himself, at least, he never will seem quite 
 
 so clean again. 
 
 Enter — Left — Roger. 
 
 Roger. I find that I have these securities; together they will make 
 
 about ten thousand. 
 Pitkin. Is much too little. 
 Roger. Then I can do nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I think that I would take it, Pitkin. 
 Pitkin (looking at securities Roger holds in hand). Humph! 
 Pitkin and Roger exchange papers. 
 Roger. You leave me empty as a bankrupt bank, and, of the things 
 
 you leave me, scarce one trait remains to help me get them 
 
 back again — alertness, caution or integrity. 
 Exit — Back Center — Pitkin and Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 curtain. 
 
The Two Paths. 17 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene: Office of Noel & Co., Brokers. At the Right Center is a 
 desk standing sideways with pigeon-holes above it for papers. 
 At the Back Center is an office table with a chair behind it facing 
 the audience. Left of this table is a telephone closet, and still 
 further left is a partition in which is a window. The window 
 is at the left upper corner of the stage, so situated that a person 
 looking through it from a room behind can be seen by the audi- 
 ence. Near the window is a telephone district messenger call. 
 Several chairs are on the stage. 
 
 Entrances by doors at the Right and Left. 
 
 The rising curtain reveals Roger seated behind the table at the 
 Back Center. 
 
 Enter — Right — First Broker. 
 
 Broker. Good morning. 
 
 Roger. Morning. 
 
 Broker. Pleasant day. I came to get another block of copper 
 
 stock. 
 Roger. Am sorry — have no more to sell. 
 Broker. All gone? 
 
 Roger. Yes, all there is to put upon the market. 
 Broker. Unfortunate ! My order was a large one. You know 
 
 where I can get some? 
 Roger. Not just now. 
 Broker. Too bad ! Good day. 
 Roger. Good day. 
 
 Exit — Right — First Broker. 
 
 En ter — Righ t — Faith. 
 
 Roger (rising). Why, Faith, you here? The others too? (She nods 
 and makes a gesture to Right to indicate that they are following.) 
 I had a little fear my company last night might fright them off. 
 
 Faith. It did give something of a fright to father. It struck 
 us all, I think, as waves do when they splash at parties rowing in 
 a yawl, and seem about to swamp them; but, when passed, seem 
 memories to laugh at. 
 
 Roger. I am glad your disposition is not jealous, Faith. Of all 
 inane performances, the worst is trying to call back a wandering 
 love by sending out a messenger disguised in robes of hatred, 
 as the jealous do. 
 
18 The Two Paths. 
 
 Faith. I think that love would have to waive itself, before it wel- 
 comed messengers like that ; and much more so before it sought 
 to use them. 
 
 Enter — Right — Professor and Donald. 
 
 Roger {to Professor and Donald). Good morning, glad to see 
 
 you. Will sit down? 
 Professor. And can we have that stock now? 
 Roger. None to sell you. 
 Professor. You said you had last night. 
 Roger. And so I had. 
 
 Professor. You knew I wanted it, and yet have sold it? 
 Roger. A business like ours brings obligations that have to be 
 
 fulfilled. 
 Professor. And friendship none? 
 Roger. There are investments here I should be pleased to help 
 
 you make. 
 Professor. But keep your best for others? 
 Donald. I think, myself, that Roger may be right. The floods 
 
 that rise fast, fall fast. If you wish for safety, slowness is more 
 
 safe than swiftness. 
 Professor. If he believe the stock to be unsafe, then why should 
 
 he be selling it at all? To show him not disloyal to his friends, 
 
 you hint he may be acting worse with others. 
 Donald. Not necessarily. Some news might come — 
 Professor (to Roger). Is that the case? 
 Roger. If so, the firm would own it. 
 Professor. I fail to understand. 
 Roger. I cannot make you. (He continues quiet.) 
 Professor. What are you doing? 
 Roger. Thinking. 
 Donald (to the Professor). And you know a mind that thinks 
 
 out loud works like a gun discharged before it has been fully 
 
 loaded. It harms itself and does not help its owner. 
 Professor. Humph, humph! But I have other business. (Turning 
 
 toward the Right, then looking toward Faith.) If only Faith— 
 Roger ^ (gesturing toward the Left) . Oh, she can wait in here— a 
 
 lady's room — is just what it was made for. 
 Roger, Professor and Donald exchange bows. 
 
 Exeunt — Right — Professor and Donald. 
 
 Roger conducts Faith to the Left. 
 
 Faith. But I may overhear you. 
 
 Roger. What of that? I have no secrets here to keep from you. 
 
 Exit — Left — Faith. 
 Enter — Right — Pitkin. 
 
The Two Paths. 19 
 
 Roger {to Pitkin). Good morning — thought that you had left 
 the city. 
 
 Pitkin. Have been detained — will go next week, perhaps. I hear 
 you are refusing copper? 
 
 Roger. Yes. 
 
 Pitkin. Has all been sold? 
 
 Roger. Of course not. 
 
 Pitkin. Why refuse it? 
 
 Roger. You know — at least enough to guess the answer. 
 
 Pitkin. If you refuse, and make men think it scarce, the price 
 will double. Either way you cheat them. 
 
 Roger, I see. A man may fall in such a mire that when he tries 
 to clutch a thing to rise on, he only pulls down what may sink 
 him deeper. 
 
 Pitkin. See here. Let me sell off the stock remaining. If you 
 refuse, the firm must hear of it, and learn of your disloyalty. If 
 not, if you accept, no one but us need know it. Come, come, 
 I am their agent — am I not? — and have a right to sell it. Look 
 at this {handing Roger a paper). If I demand it, you must give 
 it me. 
 
 Roger. Yes, I suppose I must. You know the stock is registered 
 at the Commercial Trust. 
 
 Pitkin. You hold the orders that the firm has signed. 
 
 Roger. Suppose I let you have my book of blanks? 
 
 Pitkin. Why, I can give you a receipt and you give me a paper 
 waiving your commissions. 
 
 Roger. Write out your papers, please, and let me see them (Pit- 
 kin sits at. the table at the rear and writes. Roger takes from his 
 desk a book containing orders for stock.) The orders number 
 here from ninety-eight up to five hundred. 
 
 Pitkin {writing). Yes, from ninety-eight, from ninety-eight, in- 
 clusive, to five hundred. These I receive {taking another paper) 
 and on them all you waive commissions? {handing the last paper 
 to Roger.) This is right, not so? 
 
 Roger {taking the last paper and holding out his hand for the for- 
 mer). It is. 
 
 Pitkin {continuing to hold the former paper). One moment, 
 please, I want to see your book. 
 
 (Roger hands the book to Pitkin who takes it and turns over its 
 leaves, while Roger goes to the desk at the right and signs the 
 paper that has been given him. Pitkin, after examining the 
 book, rises, and exchanges papers with Roger. Roger puts the 
 paper that he has received on his desk at the right. Pitkin takes 
 from Roger the book and the paper that Roger has signed.) 
 
 Pitkin. If parties want the stock, you merely say you have none — 
 not tell who has got it. 
 
 Roger. Is what I have been saying all the morning. 
 
20 The Two Paths. 
 
 Pitkin and Roger exchange bows. 
 
 Exit — Right — Pitkin. 
 
 Enter — Right — Second Broker. 
 
 Broker. I have a client for more copper stock. 
 Roger. I have no more. 
 
 Broker. Why, only yesterday you said you had. 
 Roger. I had. 
 Broker. All sold so soon? 
 Roger. All gone ! 
 
 Broker. You should have let me know about it. 
 Roger. How could I? Did not know of it myself. 
 Broker. What makes it sell so? I must telegraph the mines — 
 find out. I know an engineer there. 
 
 Exit — Right — Second Broker. 
 
 Enter — Right — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (to Roger). Ah, good day. 
 
 Roger. Good morning, Madam Pitkin. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Am glad to find that you are here alone. I saw him 
 leave. 
 
 Roger. Whom ? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Pitkin. Are you sure he will befriend you? 
 
 Roger. Why do you ask that? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Have you forgot last night? 
 
 Roger. No; never shall. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Nor I ! Strange world, this ! One could know it 
 whirled without the scientists — it jars life so! You draw your 
 plan, you build, you put together two things that seem just fitted 
 to each other ; a third drops like a wedge between them — ugh ! 
 
 Roger. At times the wedge seems brought there by the builder. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. A wedge is part of all who push themselves suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 Roger. Some think to reach his aims, half earth's as well as 
 heaven's, a man should be in part, at least, a partner of the 
 devil. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You think so? 
 
 Roger. Some people make me think so. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Too bad you lost the bonds last night ! 
 
 Roger. It is. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You ought to get them back again. 
 
 Roger. How could I? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. By having friends at court. 
 
 Roger. I should not go to court, were I not sure of having friends. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. How could you show the friendship, do you think? 
 
The Two Paths. 21 
 
 {The telephone sounds. Roger goes to the telephone closet. Mrs. 
 Pitkin looks about and snatches from the desk at the right and 
 puts into her bosom the receipt given by Pitkin to Roger. Mean- 
 time, through the window at the left, Faith is seen watching 
 Mrs. Pitkin.) 
 
 Enter— Right— Mr. Noel. 
 
 Noel (to Mrs. Pitkin), Oh, Madam Pitkin! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (to Noel). Why, good day. You came before you 
 were expected. 
 
 Noel (looking suspiciously about the room). Yes, I see; and un- 
 expected friends, when they turn up, like unexpected clogs in 
 wheels that turn, prevent life's grist from grinding smoothly, eh? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (gesturing with her head toward the telephone closet). 
 Oh, how suspicious — of a thing like that ! A spider has no rea- 
 son to be jealous because his fly is fluttering and buzzing. Enough 
 for him to know it has been caught. 
 
 Noel. Yes, if he could but know it. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. If you make an instrument of music — say a lyre — 
 
 Noel. Yes, yes ; a very apt example that ! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. It may make music for another, yet all that it makes 
 is made because of you. (Roger returns.) But I must go now. 
 Au revoir! 
 
 Noel (opening the door for her at the Right). Good day. 
 
 Exit — Right — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Noel (turning and bowing to Roger) Did not expect me? 
 
 Roger. No; — are well, I hope. 
 
 Noel (with a motion of the head toward the telephone) . What 
 
 news? 
 Roger. Our copper stock is going up. 
 Noel. How much? 
 Roger. Some fifty points. 
 Noel. Some fifty? What did you do to it? 
 Roger. Refused to sell. 
 Noel (pleased) . Well, well, of all the tricks ! I always thought 
 
 you bright, but this — it beats the lightning. 
 Roger. Last evening Pitkin came with his report. He says the 
 
 copper in the mine is good for only three years more. 
 Noel. I feared it, yes. So all the stock must go ! You are a 
 
 shrewd one ! The devil himself could not have planned it better. 
 
 Enter — Right — Professor. Telephone sounds. Roger bows to 
 Professor. 
 
 Noel (to Roger and gesturing tozvard the Professor). Your 
 friend? All right, then; let me answer it, (Noel goes inside the 
 telephone closet.) 
 
22 The Two Paths. 
 
 Professor. You know the sum that I have lost today? 
 
 Roger. How so? 
 
 Professor. You would not sell that stock to me. 
 
 Roger. Oh, that! 
 
 Professor. Yes, that — has gone up fifty points. 
 
 Roger. No danger you will buy it now, then ! 
 
 Professor. Why ? 
 
 Roger. Because the tides when highest fall the soonest. Success 
 in business depends on buying when others want to sell — so buy- 
 ing cheap; and selling when the others want to buy. 
 
 Professor. And yesterday the stock was cheap. 
 
 Roger. Tomorrow it may be cheaper. 
 
 Professor. Then you would not buy? 
 
 Roger. Not I. 
 
 Professor. I have been buying. 
 
 Roger. Sell then — quick! 
 
 Professor. But then I might cheat some one else. 
 
 Roger. Of course — to trade on Wall Street, you must be prepared 
 to solve the problem of the Wall Street life ; to cheat or to be 
 cheated — one or both. 
 
 Exit — Righ t — Professor. 
 
 Noel (returning from the telephone). The stock is going down — 
 
 so much been sold. I thought that you refused it. 
 Roger. Pitkin took it. 
 
 Noel. Good scheme ! He sold it, too, before the fall, I take it. 
 Roger. Probably. 
 Noel. How much is left? 
 Roger. He took it all. 
 Noel. Gets your commission? 
 Roger. Yes. 
 
 Noel. Too bad for you ! 
 Roger. I have another offer to teach in my old college. I should 
 
 like it. And so the sooner I withdraw from here the better. 
 Noel. Oh, you ought to think again ! The firm, the street, will 
 
 miss a man like you. Just take this deal that you have made 
 
 today. No oldest expert in the game could beat it. 
 Roger. The game has not yet ended. 
 Noel. All the better — keeps up the interest in life. Of course, 
 
 a little lightning, now and then, may strike a fellow. What of 
 
 that? It clears the air. 
 Roger. For some one else, I know ; but I prefer to breathe, not 
 
 be the incense burned to clear it. 
 Noel. I see — how do we stand, then? 
 Roger (handing him an account-book). This will show. 
 Noel (looking over the book). Yes, yes. You have besides this, too, 
 
 of course, the orders for the stock we left with you. 
 
The Two Paths. 23 
 
 Roger. Were given to Pitkin. Here is his receipt. {Looks for it 
 
 and fails to find it.) I seem to have mislaid it. 
 Noel. Oh, no matter ! No hurry — it will keep. 
 Roger (still looking for the receipt). Seems very strange! 
 Telephone sounds. Roger goes to it. 
 
 Enter — Right — Second Broker. 
 
 Broker (to Noel). And what is this we hear? 
 
 Noel. The telephone. 
 
 Broker. The telephone? Oh, you will find the air is full enough 
 of electricity to ring a thousand of them. 
 
 Noel. How is that? 
 
 Broker. You have been auctioneering all that copper stock with 
 statements that are false. 
 
 Noel. What do you mean? 
 
 Broker. A mining engineer has wired the Browns. The mines 
 are worthless. 
 
 Noel. See its dividends. 
 
 Broker. They must be stopped soon, and you know it. 
 
 Noel. I? The stock was sent here for the firm to sell. The clerk 
 that sold it may have boomed it some; but sold it only at the 
 market price. 
 
 Roger returns from the telephone. 
 
 Broker. A price marked up by fraud. 
 
 Noel. I never heard that hinted till this morning. 
 
 Roger. Nor did I until last evening. 
 
 Broker (to Roger). Yes, and so, this morning, you rushed the 
 stock upon the market, like a running boy that trails a ruined 
 kite; and by his running keeps it mounting higher. There comes 
 a time that boy grows tired and halts ; there comes a time when 
 cheating fails to cheat ; there comes a time when fraud must 
 go to jail. 
 
 Roger. No stock has been sold here today. 
 
 Broker. No stock has been sold anywhere except by you. 
 
 Roger. By me? 
 
 Broker. In your name, yes. 
 
 Roger. Why, how is that? 
 
 Broker. For you to say. 
 
 Roger. I say I didn't sell it. 
 
 Broker. Prove it, then. 
 
 Roger (looking about him). I have the proof. Just now it seems 
 mislaid. 
 
 Noel. Oh, give the boy a chance ! Meantime, at present prices, 
 you can sell and lose but little. Keep your loss to that. If you 
 suspect him of defrauding you, it might be well to cloak the fact 
 from others. Wise men who wish to guard their influence are 
 
24 The Ttvo Paths. 
 
 never quick to own themselves deceived. Besides, if he have 
 really not been straight, our firm itself will put the braces on 
 him; — will be in time for it, too. I have found dishonesty a 
 species of decay that grows more rank the longer it keeps hidden. 
 Broker. You may be right — will think the matter over. 
 
 Exit — Right — Second Broker. 
 
 Noel {to Roger). I think it might be well for me just now to 
 have some business elsewhere for a while. 
 
 Exit — Right — Noel. 
 
 Enter — Left — Faith. 
 
 Faith. I heard him — yes — the scoundrel! 
 
 Roger. Yes, the scoundrel ! No man is such a fool as he who 
 thinks to keep his own soul free to do the right, yet keep in 
 touch with those embodying the serpent traits of him we call 
 the devil. Why, all they live for is to crawl and coil ; and all 
 their coils are wound about ourselves. 
 
 Faith. I think I know where that receipt is, Roger. 
 
 Roger. You think — but do you know? 
 
 Faith. Am sure I saw that Madam Pitkin take it from your desk. 
 She put it in her breast here. 
 
 Roger. That means ruin. The stock is sold and credited to me. 
 I held it here on trust — have no receipt. 
 
 Faith. If I could find that woman, I believe that I could get back 
 that receipt from her. 
 
 Roger. Perhaps — if she still have it. 
 
 Faith. Why not have it? The surest place to hide things from 
 a man is in a woman's gown. He doesn't know or understand 
 it, and he dare not search it. 
 
 Roger. Oh, no, afraid of being pricked with pins. 
 
 Faith. Now, Roger ! — were she only here — 
 
 Roger. She will be, if but to find out how her plot is working. 
 Think how a spider must enjoy its web when thrilling with the 
 misery and music of buzzing flies that it has caught ! Here 
 that? A rustling! I believe her coming now. 
 
 Faith. Leave me alone with her. 
 
 Roger. But not for long. I must keep watch — keep close to both 
 of you. {Enter — Right — Mrs. Pitkin.) Good morning, Madam 
 Pitkin — think you know Miss Elder {introducing Faith) ; met 
 her once before — last evening. Will you sit down ? I have to 
 leave a moment. Excuse me, I will not be long. 
 
 Exit — Right — Roger. 
 
 Faith {to Mrs. Pitkin). The city seems quite a busy place. 
 
The Two Paths. 25 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Oh, yes, it is. Are not here often? 
 
 Faith. No. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Have many friends here? 
 
 Faith. Not many; so I like to meet with those that are my friends' 
 friends. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Humph ! I never hope my friends' friends to be 
 my friends. Those we meet all look at us from different points 
 of view. Some like our fronts, and some our sides, and some 
 our backs. Some think our eyes are heavenly; and some our 
 touch ; and some — the most of women — can never look beyond the 
 clothes we wear. 
 
 Faith. Of course not ! In my visits to the city, the one thing that 
 I like the most to see is just the way you city women dress. 
 How do you do it? Take your own gown now — the way your 
 skirts hang — just enough above your feet to make these play at 
 hide and seek, and never let the glance that spies them catch 
 them. You know that nothing so enchains attention as play too 
 deft to lend itself to prey. How did you choose that color for 
 your cape, too? Outside the clouds that veil the suns at even- 
 ing, I never saw such contrasts as between that cape and skirt ; 
 and then, inside of it (handling the cape), with these flaps hang- 
 ing here like little doors. I say it is a cute thing in us women 
 to make ourselves all bright and tidy here ! It seems a fitting 
 gateway then to that which holds the heart; ay, ay, and homes 
 our love. What pretty bows you wear — and collar too ! and all 
 these buttons ! One here seems unbuttoned. (She snatches the 
 receipt from Mrs. Pitkin and springs back.) 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You sneak thief — give me that! 
 
 Faith. I would if it belonged to you; but it does not. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. My God! But I shall have it (snatching out a hat- 
 pin). 
 
 Faith (seising a chair and holding it as a weapon). Not from 
 me ! As well to throw away that pin ! Come nearer here, that 
 hat of yours will be too smashed to need it! (She sounds elec- 
 tric messenger call for the police.) 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You vixen ; calling the police in, eh ! You country 
 fool ! You think you know the city ? Humph ! i" know the 
 police, and you do not; and what I say to them — mark that — 
 will go. (Faith appears frightened) And you will go to jail. 
 Oh, well — turn pale and beg, and cry, and get down on your 
 knees ! I tell you these men know the world. To them white 
 faces are no signs that show white souls. For them no tears 
 can wash away from cheeks the colors painted on them by the 
 heart. I see you think now ! Better think before they come, and 
 let me have that paper. Well? 
 
 Enter — Right — Pitkin. 
 
26 The Two Paths. 
 
 Pitkin. What is it? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (pointing to Faith). She has taken that receipt. 
 
 She snatched it from me. 
 Pitkin. I will get it back. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. She rang for the police. 
 Pitkin. Before they come. (He grapples Faith and snatches at 
 
 the paper.) 
 
 Enter — Righ t — Roger. 
 
 Roger. Aha! You will, eh? — you infernal thief! (Knocks Pit- 
 kin down.) 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin snatches the paper from Faith. 
 
 Roger (continuing to Mrs. Pitkin). Hands off her, now! I may 
 knock you down, too. No pall of any scoundrel such as that 
 (pointing to Pitkin) was ever fit to stand up in her presence. 
 
 Faith (pointing to Mrs. Pitkin). She has the paper. We must 
 get it. 
 
 Roger. Yes. 
 
 Enter — Right — two Policemen. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (to Roger). I thank you, no! You will not get it; 
 no! (To Policeman) I rang you up. This rascal (pointing 
 to Roger and then to Pitkin, who has just risen) knocked him 
 down. 
 
 First Policeman (to Roger). Must hold you for assault. Your 
 name, sir, please? 
 
 Faith. It was not she, but I, that rang you up. She came in here 
 to steal a paper from us. 
 
 Policeman. Oh, yes! We know that — heard it once too often! 
 (To Faith) Your name? 
 
 Roger. No, no ! 
 
 Policeman. Yes, yes, yes; both your names! 
 
 Roger (gesturing toward Mr. and Mrs. Pitkin). But they be- 
 gan it. 
 
 Policeman. We shall deal with them; but, first, your own name. 
 Give it. 
 
 Roger. Roger Reed. 
 
 Policeman. And this your office? 
 
 Roger. Yes. 
 
 Policeman (to Faith). And yours? 
 
 Faith. Faith Elder. 
 
 Policeman. Your residence? 
 
 Faith. South Yamouth? 
 
 Policeman (to Pitkin). Your name, now? 
 
 Pitkin. John Jones of forty-nine East Seventy-fifth Street. 
 
The Two Paths. 27 
 
 Policeman (to Mrs. Pitkin). And yours? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Jane Smith of ninety Seventy-first Street. 
 
 Policeman. All right! — will hear from me again. Meantime (to 
 
 Pitkin and Mrs. Pitkin) You two may leave. (To Roger and 
 
 Faith) And you two keep the peace. 
 
 Exeunt — Right — Pitkin and Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Faith. But these were not their names. 
 
 Policeman. You have the right to prove it, when the time comes. 
 For today, good bye — will hear from us again about this. 
 
 Exit — Right — Policeman. 
 
 Faith (to Roger). And when we do hear from them, think of 
 you — accused, not only of assault, but fraud and theft, and only 
 I, whom all will deem an interested witness, to confute them! 
 
 Roger. No trial for assault will follow, Faith. Those two, once 
 out of sight, will never come to prosecute us. 
 
 Faith. But you may be tried for fraud and theft, and have no 
 proof against them. We ought to get that paper from them, 
 Roger. 
 
 Roger. Impossible ! 
 
 Faith. All things are possible — 
 
 Roger. To him that hath — say — Faith, you think? I see no pros- 
 pect of it. 
 
 Faith. I do. 
 
 Roger. How ? 
 
 Faith. I fooled that woman once. Why not again? 
 
 Roger. Is keen. 
 
 Faith. No scent is keen for what it can not sense. You think a 
 hard and loveless thing like her could sense my simple self here 
 in a role that did not seem — say — unsophisticated? 
 
 Roger. And how should you attack her? 
 
 Faith. As we do all foes — where they are weakest. Like most 
 women who have her character, her weakest point is in her self- 
 conceit ; and self-conceit acts always like a pipe, its owners thrust 
 at every lip for music that shall lull their judgment into slumber. 
 In the mind that flattering words awake to vanity, thought moves 
 as blind as pilots on a lake on which each coming breeze blows 
 up a mist. That woman never looks behind the thing she sees. 
 This makes whatever thing she sees the very place for hostile 
 plots to hide in. 
 
 Roger. What is it you would do then? 
 
 Faith. Carry out in earnest what we used to do in play — dress 
 up and go with you, and steal it from her. 
 
 Roger. Why, what a project, Faith! You go with me? A girl 
 unmarried, and on such an errand? — in such a guise? No, no, 
 
28 The Two Paths. 
 
 Faith. You go home. — You know your father. 
 
 Faith. Yes, I know my father; and know that, if I now go home 
 to him, he may forbid my seeing you forever. No; I must not 
 go home. 
 
 Roger. Would stay with me? 
 
 Faith. It seems my duty, knowing what I do. 
 
 Roger. Stay here with an assassin, cheat, and thief? It never is 
 one's duty to do what can justly earn the disesteem of others. 
 
 Faith. Those never justly earn men's disesteem who have not 
 first earned that of their own conscience. 
 
 Roger. You must not think of this. You would be ruined. 
 
 Faith. If you were ruined, I too would be ruined. 
 
 Roger. Not really, Faith! You would, at least, escape your fath- 
 er's condemnation. 
 
 Faith. What could he say? Two years ago, 'twas he that gave 
 me to you. If then he made me yours, I still am yours. If 
 yours, I should be with you when you need me. 
 
 Roger. And by and by you may be needed, Faith — say — as a wit- 
 ness, when they come to try me; and, in a witness, one should 
 not forget that words, like wine, are valued less for what they 
 really are than for their flask and label; and so the best thing 
 one can do for others is in appearance, often, and not sub- 
 stance. 
 
 Faith. My flask and label always would be yours, and all I did 
 would be considered partial. How can I trust my testimony then 
 to words alone? Mere lips can form our words; our actions 
 are conformed to head and heart. Men hear our language, but 
 our life they heed. No testimony ever could seem weaker be- 
 cause of cords that bind the soul to it; nor could my soul for- 
 give me should you suffer for lack of what I know that I could 
 give you. 
 
 Roger. No, no, Faith; you shall never violate all laws of all pro- 
 priety for me. 
 
 Faith. A woman has a right to serve her husband. 
 
 Roger. I am not that yet. What ! — you mean I should be ? 
 
 Faith. I mean that I am yours; and will do all to righten what I 
 do, except to leave you. 
 
 Roger. And in the dark, where gleams no ray of light, you dare to 
 join me, and risk being lost? 
 
 Faith. I joined you long ago. Should I forsake you because in 
 danger? 
 
 Roger. Should we then elope? 
 
 Faith. My father long ago gave his consent. 
 
 Roger. Why do you tempt me so? 
 
 Faith. Why do I love you? 
 
 Roger. They are not tempted whom the Lord hath joined. 
 
 curtain. 
 
The Two Paths. 29 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene : A court connected with apartment houses. In the center 
 at the extreme back, is a room, its width about three-quarters of 
 that of the entire stage. At the opening of the act, the interior 
 of this room is invisible, because of a drop-curtain concealing it, 
 on which curtain are representations of the side of a house with 
 windows and blinds or screens. When this curtain lifts, as it 
 does twice, it reveals a parlor with a door at the Right Center 
 and window at the Left Center. In the parlor are chairs at the 
 left, a sofa, a table, and at the Right, a desk which can be 
 opened, in which desk are writing materials and papers in pigeon 
 holes. At the Right and Left of this back room are apartment 
 houses, and at the Left Upper a gateway connecting with a street. 
 Entrances at the Right Center into the room at the back ; at the 
 Right Upper by a door into a hall evidently connecting with the 
 room at the back; at the Right Second into a passage between 
 apartment houses; at the Left Upper, through the gateway into 
 the street; and at the Left Second into a passage between apart- 
 ment houses. 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — Professor and Donald. 
 
 Professor. To think she should have dared to marry him! 
 
 Donald. Just like a woman, though, to do it. 
 
 Professor. Why? 
 
 Donald. Why, any woman fit to be a woman would rather lose 
 
 herself than lose her lover. 
 Professor. The villian — to have let her go with him! 
 Donald. Yes, I agree to that! 
 
 Professor. What can we do? The police might help us. 
 Donald. Might, and yet might not. If Roger be not guilty — 
 Professor. But he is. 
 Donald. If so, it would not help Faith any — would it? — to add 
 
 our accusation, and increase the load of crime that she is helping 
 
 him to bear already? 
 Professor. What then can we do? 
 Donald. Can watch, and wait, and hope, unless — 
 Professor. Well, what? 
 Donald. They still are in the city. 
 Professor. Why stay here? 
 Donald. To hide, for one thing. For an active frame, a moving 
 
 screen is better than a fixture; and there is nothing like a crowd 
 
 to keep an individual inconspicuous. 
 
30 The Two Paths. 
 
 Professor. If here, still, we can find them. 
 
 Donald. Hard to do it ! The stories of a city life are printed in 
 types of many different climes and classes ; and those who often 
 meet strange characters get used to not interpreting their mean- 
 ing. It would not be so in a little village. 
 
 Professor. But we can try to find them. 
 
 Donald. Try we shall. 
 
 Exit — Left Second — the Professor and Donald. 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — Faith and Roger. Faith is dressed like a 
 Messenger Boy, and Roger like a Street Vendor, and is wheeling 
 a cart containing fruit. 
 
 Roger (to Faith). You got them? 
 
 Faith. Yes, two tickets — paid four dollars. 
 
 Roger. And you feel sure they will not think it strange to have 
 them sent as complimentary. 
 
 Faith. Humph ! — very few in this world think it strange receiving 
 anything, if complimentary. You know this play has proved a 
 partial failure; and giving tickets may insure full houses. 
 
 Roger. They may not go. 
 
 Faith. This is a problem play; and they themselves are problem- 
 atical. Most people like to see their own traits prinked and 
 staged, and everybody staring at them. 
 
 Roger. I wish that no one ever saw such plays but those who have 
 already solved the problems. 
 
 Faith. Why so? 
 
 Roger. If so, they might not try to solve them in their own lives. 
 Our thoughts are roused far less by what we know than what we 
 fail to know ; and once aroused, they are kinetoscopic. The pic- 
 tures in the play are played again, a thousand times within 
 imagination till all one's world of action, like a film, fills with 
 the impress of the inward image. Not nature's life repeats the 
 thoughts of God more than our human life the thoughts of man. 
 
 Faith. And you, the assaulter, cheat and thief, say that? 
 
 Roger (placing his hand on her and looking steadily at her). It 
 proves my point. Our deeds reflect the thought suggested by 
 the things we see. But I was interrupting you. Exactly what 
 am I to do? 
 
 Faith. To wait out here awhile, 'till I have been inside and made 
 my search. Unless they keep a safe — small chance of that — I 
 ought to find where that receipt is hidden. 
 
 Roger. In just ten minutes I shall call her out? 
 
 Faith. And I shall stay, and look about me. Now — a cigarette ! 
 
 Roger. Oh, no! you know how smoking will sap the juice from 
 hams and toughen them? It does the same, too, with the tender 
 brains of boys and girls. You wait till you are older. 
 
The Two Paths. 31 
 
 Faith. I only want to fool the woman with it. 
 
 Roger. Must fight her, as you think, with her own weapons ! And 
 so you mean to play the whole hog, eh? {Taking a cigarette from 
 his pocket, lighting it, extinguishing the light, and handing it to 
 her, then taking out a flask and handing it to her) A swig of 
 this, too, to debase your breath? (She drinks from the flask) 
 We two seem getting pretty low down, Faith. I scarcely like it. 
 
 Faith. This will brace me up. (Drinking again from the flask. 
 Roger seizes it from her suspiciously. Faith leaves him, goes 
 with cigarette in mouth to the Right Upper entrance and rings 
 a bell at the door.) 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Roger, wheeling his cart. 
 
 Enter — Right Upper — Maid. 
 
 Faith (to the Maid). Can I see Madam Pitkin? 
 Maid. Yes, I think so. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Upper — Maid and Faith. 
 
 (The back curtain now rises, disclosing the room at the rear of 
 the stage. Mrs. Pitkin is sitting in this room.) 
 
 Enter — Right Center — Maid. 
 
 Maid (to Mrs. Pitkin). A message boy. He wants to see you. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Let him. 
 
 Exit — Right Center — Maid. 
 
 Enter — Right Center — Faith. 
 
 Faith (to Mrs. Pitkin, handing her the tickets). I have some 
 tickets for you — complimentary. They want to fill the house. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (taking the tickets, and putting them in her pocket- 
 book). Oh, yes, humph, humph! What is the play. 
 
 Faith. The Lost One Found. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Aha! Good subject! I have known of several men 
 in search to find a lost one, who succeeded. It ought to make a 
 spicy plot, not so? Are you an actor? 
 
 Faith (taking the cigarette from her mouth). No; what made 
 you think it? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Are so good looking. 
 
 Faith. Am I? You an actress? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. What made you think of that? 
 
 Faith. Why I — you thought that I was one — and so — we boys, 
 you know — we have to think what, other people think. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. How old are you? 
 
32 The Two Paths. 
 
 Iaith. Sixteen. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I thought you younger. A man already! Do you 
 know some women think nothing quite as charming as are boys 
 just turning into men. Their eyes are bright, their cheeks are 
 soft. Their lips and breath are sweet as if they were mere girls, 
 and yet are men ! 
 
 Faith. I guess if you went on the street awhile you might dis- 
 cover they are not. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. How so? 
 
 Faith. By seeing how the men and women treat them. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. And how is that? 
 
 Faith. Why, make them stand around in parks and cars, while 
 they themselves sit down ; and make them run while they are walk- 
 ing! Oh, because one thing is littler than another, no reason for 
 not getting just as tired! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. But you are young. 
 
 Faith. You think the younger chickens are tougher than the older 
 ones ? Oh, no ! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. But you are just a little tough, not so? A boy that 
 smokes at your age and drinks whiskey {she indicates by snuf- 
 fing, how she has recognised these facts), comes carrying all about 
 him like a weed, an air and odor no one can mistake. The shops 
 avoid him, and the sports decoy him. Sit down here for a 
 minute {gesturing toward a chair at her side). 
 
 Faith {hesitating). I — 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Why not? Oh, you have learned your lesson early, 
 eh? to seem indifferent when one wants to see you so in- 
 terested ! Cuttgame, eh ? — #uite cute ? Come, come, sit down. 
 Why, what a bashful fellow ! Were I a boy, I would not seem 
 
 a s irl - 
 Faith. Nor I — {pointing to the writing desk which is closed). Is 
 
 that your writing desk? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. It is. 
 
 Faith. You see I am collecting monograms. Have you some 
 paper here that has been marked? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I think I have. 
 
 Faith. And may I have some then? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. My own? 
 
 Faith. Why yes, your own, or others either. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. And will you be a good boy, if I give it? 
 
 Faith. Of course I will. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. A good boy — really good? 
 
 Faith. Yes, if I get the monograms, perhaps. 
 
 (Mrs. Pitkin opens the desk and looks for monograms. Faith, 
 behind her back, carefully looks at the pigeon holes.) 
 
 Roger {calling from the outside). Bananas, oranges and straw- 
 berries! 
 
The Two Paths. 33 
 
 Enter — Right Center — Maid. 
 
 Maid (to Mrs. Pitkin). Here comes a man with fruit — seems very 
 
 cheap, too. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I will see him. (Begins to shut the desk.) 
 Faith. And I not get the monograms? 
 Mrs. Pitkin (locking the desk). Stay here; and in a little while, 
 
 expect me back. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Center — Mrs. Pitkin and the Maid. 
 
 (Faith, left alone in the room, looks carefully about her, especially 
 at the window at the Left Center, then she takes a key from the 
 door at the Right Center, and then tries the desk. While doing 
 this, Enter — Right Center — Maid. Faith stops examining the 
 desk, and the Maid apparently causes the screen which conceals 
 this room from the rest of the stage to fall.) 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Roger wheeling his cart. 
 
 Enter — Right Upper — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (handling the boxes of strawberries) Seem fresh! 
 How much for these? 
 
 Roger. Ten cents a pint. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Seem reasonable. 
 
 Roger. Yes, and think of this, — these oranges are only forty cents. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. A dozen? 
 
 Roger. Yes, bananas, too, at forty ! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (lifting a bunch of bananas). Quite cheap. 
 
 Roger. The things I sell are always cheap. I seldom come up town 
 as far as this. Down town the people know me. There they say 
 I run — they ought to say I walk — the central market on wheels. 
 They know, at least, I save them car fare. Today, too, every- 
 thing is at its cheapest — such ship loads just come in! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I see. Well, give me a pint of these (pointing to the 
 strawberries), one dozen oranges, this bunch (pointing to the 
 bananas) . How much in all ? 
 
 Roger, (putting the fruit into paper bags). Just eighty cents. 
 
 Enter — Right Upper — Faith. 
 
 Faith (to Mrs. Pitkin). I must be going. I shall lose my place. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (giving Faith a quarter). I see — take this. When 
 you have nothing better that you can do, come visit me again. 
 
 Faith (taking the quarter). I thank you; yes, when I have noth- 
 ing better that I can do, I will. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Good day. 
 
 (Faith goes toward Left Upper Entrance and stands in the gate^ 
 way). 
 
34 The Two Paths. 
 
 Roger {looking after Faith, to Mrs. Pitkin, who is handling her 
 
 purse). Nice boy! 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Humph ! All boys are alike to me. 
 Roger. They are? 
 Mrs. Pitkin. All children, too — too sharp, or else too soft. They 
 
 either scratch you, or they sponge upon you. 
 Roger. They give a scrubbing, though, that keeps us clean. You 
 
 have no children, have you? 
 Mrs. Pitkin. What of that? 
 Roger. Why, nothing! {looking around) I could see no traces of 
 
 them. It makes a difference in the fruit sometimes. 
 
 Enter — Right Upper — Maid. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin {handing Roger his money). Come bring me fruit 
 
 again. 
 Roger {pocketing the money, and handing the fruit to the maid). 
 
 I thank you, yes. 
 
 Exeunt — Right Upper — Mrs. Pitkin and the Maid, who carries 
 the fruit that has been purchased. 
 
 Roger {to Faith, who has been waiting near the Left Upper En- 
 trance). And how did you get on? 
 
 Faith. First rate ! I found the paper. 
 
 Roger. Get it? 
 
 Faith. No ; the maid came in and interrupted me ; is in her desk. 
 I saw it — recognized it by its color and crimpling. Humph ! I 
 got her door key, though {showing a key). But, once or twice, 
 I almost feared she knew me. 
 
 Roger. Why so? 
 
 Faith. She flattered, wanted me to come and sit by her. 
 
 Roger. No proof she knew you, Faith ! You make a pretty boy ; 
 and ghouls like her can never look on what is beautiful without 
 a strange, unconscious jealousy that turns what in a pure mind 
 would be love, to morbid hatred, envious to debase it. Their 
 ways would almost warrant joy in heaven when all were singing 
 imprecatory psalms. 
 
 Faith. They would indeed ! But we must get away — return the 
 fruit cart, then return ourselves. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Upper — Faith and Roger, wheeling the fruit cart. 
 
 Enter {after a moment) — Left Upper — Professor and Donald. 
 
 Donald. And nothing that you noticed in the pair appeared fa- 
 miliar? 
 Professor. No; what can you mean? 
 
The Two Paths. 35 
 
 Donald. You know that Faith and Roger both were fond of mas- 
 querading, and great mimics too. 
 
 Professor. You think that these were they? 
 
 Donald. I could not swear it. And yet, they might have been. 
 
 Professor. Should we go back and follow them? 
 
 Donald. I scarcely think it best. If they have been successful, no 
 one need assist them, and, if they have failed, they might fail 
 worse, were we to interfere. 
 
 Professor. But should we let him ruin Faith ? 
 
 Donald. Oh, he would never do that now ! She is his wife. — And 
 if he would, you think he could? Some natures are choice as 
 gems, and every tool men turn against them grinds itself, not 
 them, and all grow brighter from the process. Trust in her. 
 
 Professor. I do; but not in him, or in his wisdom. 
 
 Donald. And need not — to accept what I am urging. They have 
 some reason for the thing they do, and reason is a weapon never 
 helped by touches of another's hand than his who holds it. 
 
 (Sounds of street music are heard.) 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Pitkin, with a lighted cigar in his mouth. 
 
 Pitkin (stopping and looking back, then speaking to Donald and 
 
 the Professor). That pall of hers would better keep her home. 
 Donald. Why so? Who do you mean? 
 Pitkin. That dancing girl. A pretty girl like that out here at 
 
 night! She might get into trouble. 
 Donald. Why? Who with? 
 
 Pitkin. With anyone who knows what life is worth. 
 Donald. What is it worth? 
 Pitkin. When you have bought an orange, you suck its juice. The 
 
 rest you throw away. 
 Donald. I knew you New York people did that sort of thing in 
 
 business. 
 
 Pitkin. And New York people — they make a business of every- 
 thing. 
 
 Donald. Get out of men, first, all that they are worth, then throw, 
 or let them throw themselves, away? And when once thrown 
 away, are lost forever? 
 
 Pitkin. Not men, not always — women, though, most always! 
 
 Donald. Why so? 
 
 Pitkin. The more a thing is worth, the more it weighs; the more 
 it weighs, the more it sinks; the more it sinks, the less its likeli- 
 hood to rise itself, or to be found by others. 
 
 Donald. How many in New York would try to find it? 
 
 Pitkin. Are plenty here would find it — for themselves. 
 
 Donald. And use, and throw it further to the slums? 
 
 Pitkin. What else could it be used for ? 
 
36 The Two Patlu. 
 
 Donald. Do you know that goodness is a growth that springs 
 from seed, and seed grows finest sometimes from a soil when 
 at its vilest? 
 
 Pitkin. Ah, a preacher, eh? And you suppose I furnish soil like 
 that? 
 
 Donald. I scatter seed ; and may find soil that fits it. 
 
 Pitkin. How well you talk — with what a deal of courage ! (Look- 
 ing at the Professor, then at Donald) When two to one, a man 
 can spit out insults, and none suspect the coward that he is ! 
 
 Donald. Was I insulting you? I beg your pardon. You seemed 
 so frank in giving me the truth, I thought that you might like 
 some in return. 
 
 Pitkin. Look out, or else your life will prove a failure. I say, 
 whatever be his business, no man can make a fortune peddling 
 truth. Humph, my cigar is out ! I must be going. 
 
 Exit — Right Second — Pitkin. 
 
 Professor (to Donald, as his eyes follow Pitkin). I think that 
 
 man there might prove dangerous. 
 Donald. His way of speaking to us made me think he was an 
 
 agent of some low resort. Will scarcely trouble us again, I think. 
 
 Enter — Right Upper — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 You see that lady coming from the door? Am sure it is the one 
 
 we met last night in Roger's room. It may be he and Faith came 
 
 here to spy on her. If so, I mean to help them. 
 Professor. Speak to her? 
 Donald. Of course. 
 Professor. Then I shall leave. 
 Donald. Of course again ! No third is needed where one starts 
 
 out exchanging confidences with women. 
 Professor. Not unless he wants to have a witness in some future 
 
 blackmail suit. 
 Donald. My mail has not been gilded yet enough to make myself 
 
 a mark for blackmail, has it? Heaven never helps us more than 
 
 when it sends us obscurity. This lets us work our work just 
 
 as our spirits wish, with none to curse us or cheer us falsely. 
 
 I may find some clue for Roger's guidance. 
 Professor. I have learned that most of those that are obscure 
 
 guide others best when, like a rudder, they are following them. 
 
 I think that I will try to follow Roger. 
 
 Exit — Left — Professor. 
 
 (The stage from this on begins gradually to grow darker. After a 
 little the electric lights in the court yard are turned on. Mrs. 
 Pitkin comes toward the left of the stage.) 
 
The Two Paths. 37 
 
 Donald (to Mrs. Pitkin, taking off his hat). I beg your pardon; 
 but, if I be right, we met last evening, did we not? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Oh, yes, at Roger Reed's. You in the city still? 
 
 Donald. Should call it not the city still, but noisy. Humph! 
 Your eternal and infernal grind for gold here is about as deaf- 
 ening as mills are when they pound it from the rocks. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. The city is not still, you think, or slow — 
 
 Donald. Or comfortable. Take your streets and street cars. All 
 clogging up with crowds that pour down out the twenty stories 
 of your sky-scrapers, a man might better risk his breath and body 
 when slipping down inside a load of wheat just emptying in a 
 great grain elevator. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You scarcely seem to like our modern improvements. 
 
 Donald. They do not all improve. I think the rich should be 
 contented when they own the earth; not try to appropriate all 
 the air as well. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You like the country air the best then, eh? 
 
 Donald. There was a time I did. Today the country is filled with 
 motors shuttling to and fro, and weaving shrouds of dust and gaso- 
 line to bury everything that once was fresh and sweet. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Oh, my ! You scarcely look so old. 
 
 Donald. As what? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. As not to like the new. 
 
 Donald. The new? I like some new things. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Ah, and like to find them here in the city, now 
 and then? 
 
 Donald. Why, yes. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I like to find things — men, too, from the country. 
 
 Donald. You do? Why so? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. They come in search of change. 
 
 Donald. Humph! Most men lose more change here than they 
 find. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. But not before they have enjoyed it, do they? 
 
 Donald. They may enjoy it, now and then, a little. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. The great things in the world are very few; and 
 those that find their joy in them alone can find but little joy in 
 anything. 
 
 Donald. Quite true! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You staying near this house? 
 
 Donald. Next door. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin (pointing toward Right). My rooms are here. If 
 you find nothing better I should be pleased to see you. But, 
 you know, we have no other company this week. The house 
 would be quite quiet — only me there. 
 
 Donald. I thank you. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. You engaged this evening? 
 
 Donald. I — 
 
38 The Two Paths. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Excuse me. I was — well, you know, of course, that 
 people of position like ourselves have certain influence. So the 
 theater across the park here wishes our opinion about a new 
 play they are acting now ; and I have tickets — complimentary — 
 and just was thinking — should you care about it — I should be 
 pleased to hand you one. 
 
 Donald. I thank you. — You going this way? Let me walk with 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I should feel honored. Do you know, you look so 
 much like an old friend I used to have. Oh, yes, and we were 
 intimate, oh, very ! I sometimes think that men — like animals, 
 say, foxes, dogs and cats — 
 
 Donald. And jackasses? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Ha! ha! — are grouped; and half the joy of life 
 depends on finding which group is your own. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Second — Donald and Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — Roger and Faith. 
 
 Both are disguised, Roger as a street fiddler, and Faith as a 
 street dancer. She holds a tambourine in which, after dancing, 
 she collects money. 
 
 Faith {pointing through the dark toward the Left Second). Aha! 
 
 Our scheme has worked well ! She has left and he, too, with her. 
 Roger. Who ? 
 Faith. Who but her husband? I was afraid that one of them, 
 
 at least, might stay at home; but now the coast is clear; yet 
 
 one gets frightfully tired. 
 Roger. Yes, yes, a fact. 
 
 Faith. That drink you gave me braced me up. 
 Roger. Want more? {Taking out his flask and giving it to her. 
 
 {She drinks.) Take care! Tonight we both shall need cool 
 
 heads. 
 
 Enter — Left Upper — A Rabble. 
 
 Roger. We may be wise as serpents, Faith, but look — the draw- 
 back to a serpent is his tail. 
 
 Faith. And his defense, too, if he whirl enough, A few turns 
 more, and then we can dismiss them. (Roger plays and Faith 
 dances. While she is dancing.) 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Donald. 
 
 (Faith collects money in her tambourine.) 
 Donald {to Faith). Italian, eh? 
 Faith. Si, Signor. 
 
The Two Paths. 39 
 
 Donald. Humph! I am your senior, yes, I think, too, I can see. 
 
 Faith {aside to him, in evident trepidation). Keep quiet. Roger's 
 life depends upon it. 
 
 Donald. Yes, but I have my very grave suspicions. 
 
 Faith (pointing toward the Left Second.) Is your room vacant? 
 Can we go in it? 
 
 Donald. Yes; lift the mat and you will find the key. 
 
 Faith (pointing to the rabble and the Left Upper). Please go 
 away, and take the others with you. (She continues collecting 
 money, then she says to Roger). You follow me. I know what 
 I am doing. (To the Rabble.) We have an engagement here, must 
 bid good evening. 
 
 She bows, Roger bow\s, Donald starts for the Left Upper. 
 
 Exeunt — Left Upper — Donald followed by the Rabble. 
 
 (Faith beckons to Roger.) 
 
 Exeunt — Left Second — Faith and Roger. 
 
 Enter — Right Second — Pitkin. 
 
 Pitkin looks toward the Rabble leaving by the Left Upper, and at 
 Faith and Roger leaving by the Left Second; then opens the 
 door at the Right Upper, and — 
 
 Exit — Right Upper — Pitkin. 
 
 Enter — Left Second — Roger and Faith. 
 
 The tambourine is hanging by a cord over one of her shoulders. 
 Roger's violin and bow are carried in the same zvay. Faith holds 
 in her hand a dark lantern, which she is trying to conceal. 
 
 Faith. All clear now ! Let me go ahead of you ; and you can 
 watch outside here. 
 
 Roger. Were you caught? 
 
 Faith. Then I could say I found the door was open; and just 
 walked in to see if they were those who sent to hire our music. 
 
 Roger. Might arrest you. 
 
 Faith. Is no one but the maid there. 
 
 Roger. Yet there might be. 
 
 Faith. Then I would call, and you could help me better than if 
 you were inside with me. 
 
 Roger. I hate to have you go. So far, although accused, our acts 
 have not been what is termed illegal ; but now— 
 
 Faith. Why, it is right to get your paper. 
 
 Roger. In one sense yes ; but in another, no. Right toward our- 
 selves, but not right toward the state, whose laws, like its 
 policemen, guard both good and bad, and thus give all security. 
 
40 The Two Paths. 
 
 Faith. But you and I — we know the state is wrong; and we are 
 
 helping it to find the right. 
 Roger. The right to it is what the laws decree, until the state 
 
 that makes them makes them void. 
 Faith. Why argue with me this way? But a minute — I know 
 
 just where the paper is — and we shall have it, and the state, as 
 
 well as you and I, be saved from wrong. 
 Roger. It may be so. I feel confused tonight. 
 Faith. And so do I. But surely there are some occasions when 
 
 the laws within, not those without, must guide us. 
 Roger. And yet if these occasions come to thoughts that once have 
 
 slipped the track of truthful logic, as now I fear that ours have 
 
 done, what then ? — We risk a wreck. 
 Faith. We are wrecked now unless we get that paper. Such a 
 
 simple thing! Then, Roger, you are saved and I have saved you! 
 She goes toward the door at the Right Upper. As she does so, 
 
 a light suddenly Hashes and disappears inside the curtains of 
 
 the blinds or screens closing the windows of the room at the 
 
 rear of the stage. 
 Roger (calling to Faith). Wait, wait — a light! Faith, you are too 
 
 excited. 
 Without seeming to hear him, Faith opens the door at the Right 
 
 Upper and enters the house. Roger stands watching. 
 After a little a bright light is seen through the cracks of the blind* 
 
 or curtains of the room at the Rear. 
 Rocer pulls out a pistol, advances toward the screen and tries to 
 
 see what is going on inside the room; then he turns, looks for 
 
 a moment at the door at the Right Upper Entrance; then, as if 
 
 on a sudden impulse — 
 
 Ex it — Right Seco n d — Roger. 
 
 The back curtain on which is depicted the side of the house or the 
 screen that hides the room at the rear of the stage rises. As it lifts 
 it reveals Faith, in partial darkness, using a dark lantern, while 
 she takes a paper from the desk which she has opened. Pitkin, 
 unknown to her, is lying on the sofa. 
 
 Pitkin (suddenly starting up and turning on the electric light). 
 Why, why, you pretty girl — you came to see me? 
 
 Faith. I — I found the door was open. 
 
 Pitkin. No, not that ! I heard unlocking. How your kind do lie ! 
 But I like girls that lie. Oh, yes, I do. What did you come in 
 here for? Did you know that I was here — my wife was out? 
 
 Faith. I knew your wife was out. 
 
 Pitkin. Aha, you knew that, did you? Suppose I take you at 
 your word — what then ? Oh, I should like to take you anyway ! 
 Suppose we make up, will you? Give me back what you took 
 there, and I will be your friend. 
 
The Two Paths. 41 
 
 Faith. What I took where? 
 
 Pitkin. Oh, my, how innocent! You know I like girls who are 
 innocent. I like a peach that never has been bitten (rising and 
 approaching Faith). Will keep the thing you stole, then? I shall 
 have my fun in feeling for it till I find it. (She moves toward 
 the door at the Right Center. He seizes her.) No, I shall lock 
 the door. (Holds her with one hand, and, zvith the other, 
 opening the door, and removing the key from outside to inside, 
 locks the door and puts the key in his pocket; then smells her 
 breath.) Been drinking, eh? Are fragrant as a living whiskey 
 bottle! Young girls whose kisses bring a breath like that we 
 know are reeking ripe for anything. Oh, do not struggle. Ugh! 
 how you can kick! It is the nature of you animals. My mare, 
 she does the same when out at pasture, but when I catch and 
 give her bit and bridle, why she enjoys the drive, and so will you. 
 Oho, young miss, you have your master now. You like it, too, not 
 so ? Most animals do. No ; do not rough your feathers. _ W T hen 
 a bird like you flies in the door, it need not sing to give one 
 pleasure. It need only scold; for when it scolds, it chirps. 
 There, there, be quiet. (She struggles with slight exclamations. 
 He pulls off her hat and wig.) Why, what is this? It moults, too! 
 Think, it moults ! Why, what a beauty, really, yes you are ; and 
 how you blush ! The color makes one warm. I wonder, if I 
 made you keep on moulting, if you would keep on getting prettier. 
 Oh, now! Why dodge away? No shams for me! I know 
 your kind. A woman's modesty is her best treasure-case in which 
 to hide her morals, yes — but if a drunken thief, she probably has 
 lived so long with thieves the treasure-case is empty. Come, 
 now, come, you little devil. I am nothing but a bigger devil, give 
 the devil his due. Aha, you want to be arrested, then? Keep 
 heady, and you will be; but before it, I purpose, yes, to get a 
 little pay for what you tried to peach. You understand? 
 
 Somebody evidently tries the door at the Right Center. Then after 
 a moment Roger breaks through the window at the Left Center. 
 Following a sound of breaking glass, he lifts the sash which 
 reaches the floor. This affords an entrance to the room as low 
 and high as a door. 
 
 (Pitkin holding Faith with his left hand, draws a pistol with his 
 right hand.) Why, what is that? By God, look out! The one 
 who wants to get to hell first starts the first ; and in my own 
 room law is on my side. (To Faith.) You put back what you 
 took there from the desk and you may go. 
 
 Faith. Well, then, let go my hands. You think that you can point 
 your pistol so, with one hand, and can search me with the other? 
 Then think it. Think all night about it, too. 
 
 Pitkin. You promise you will get that paper? 
 
 Faith. Yes, I promise I will get that paper. (The moment her 
 
42 The Two Paths. 
 
 hand is free, she throws herself upon Pitkin's right arm, weighing 
 
 it down so that he cannot point the pistol). There you see how 
 
 much I love you now. (To Roger.) Quick, quick! 
 Roger leaps toward Pitkin and gives him a heavy blow on the 
 
 head. Pitkin falls. 
 Faith (bending over Pitkin). Why, Roger, you have kelled him! 
 Roger. What? Not dead? 
 Faith. He is. 
 Roger. Then we must get away at once. Have you the paper — 
 
 sure it is the right one? 
 Faith. Yes, yes. 
 Roger. Then we should go. (Enter — Left Center — Donald and the 
 
 Professor.) What? You? 
 Donald. I think so. What have you done here? 
 Roger. — Had an accident. 
 Donald (looking at Pitkin) Why, why, the man seems dead. 
 
 What does it mean? 
 Roger. Will tell you in the morning. 
 Roger and Faith try the door at the Right Center.. It is locked. 
 
 As they turn to the window at the Left Center — 
 
 Enter — Left Center — Policeman. 
 
 Policeman. Wait a moment. Why has this window pane been 
 broken in? Why is that man there lying on the floor? Keep 
 quiet now (pulling out his club, to keep all at a distance, then 
 looking at Pitkin and at the pistol lying on the floor). This man 
 received a blow. 
 
 Roger. He aimed his pistol at me. 
 
 Policeman. This your room? 
 
 Roger. No. 
 
 Policeman. Whose, then? 
 
 Roger. His. 
 
 Policeman. He had a right to aim the pistol. (Looking at Faith, 
 whose wig has been removed by Pitkin.) Who are you? Dis- 
 guised? Aha! A pretty job! (Noticing Roger carefully.) You 
 too? Well, if you meant to murder, the law will thank you for 
 this proof of it. 
 
 (Violent knocking at the door at Right Center.) 
 
 Donald. But really they — 
 
 Policeman. You an accomplice, eh? 
 
 Roger. No fault of theirs (pointing to Donald and the Professor). 
 Put all the blame on me. 
 
 Policeman. The one best proof that men are guilty, friend, comes 
 when they talk as if they were too good. 
 
 Roger (pointing toward Faith). I struck to save her from his 
 threatening. 
 
The Two Paths. 43 
 
 Policeman. How came she here? How came the danger to her? 
 {looking alternately at Faith and at Roger.) You both seem 
 drunk, but that is no excuse. 
 
 Enter — Left Center — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin {looking around, then seeing Pitkin and rushing 
 up to him). Oh! oh! {Pointing to Faith.) That creature came 
 to me in here today dressed like a boy — a messenger. She 
 Drought free tickets for the theater that I might be away tonight, 
 and then, oh, heaven, I see it ! — then they murdered him ! 
 
 Faith. No, no ; we came to get — 
 
 Policeman. You had no right to get, except by legal processes. 
 
 Faith. Not get our own? 
 
 Policeman. The man who tries to take the law in his own hands 
 is tackling what is larger than himself, and it may throw him. 
 
 Faith. But we were in the right — 
 
 Policeman. The right to lie, in word and costume? — play at burg- 
 lary? — and kill when caught at it? 
 
 Donald. That last was but an accident. 
 
 Policeman. It always is. Yet paths that lead to it are very slip- 
 pery; and those that enter them must risk the ending. The little 
 first step in the path of wrong is like the little first step of the 
 fox that springs the trap that catches him. So little, you wouldn't 
 think it could be fatal, no ! 
 
 Faith. We only meant — 
 
 Policeman. The laws are made for what men do, not what they 
 mean to do. No law could ever find that out. 
 
 Roger. You charge me then with murder? 
 
 Policeman. Yes. 
 
 Roger {pointing to Faith). Not her? 
 
 Policeman. As your accomplice. 
 
 Roger. My God! 
 
 Professor. Might better say, my devil, man ! 
 
 Donald. Nay, let him call upon the only power can save him now. 
 The sooner, too, the better. 
 
 Roger. The sooner let it be, then. Run, Faith, run; and clear 
 the window, quick ! 
 
 Roger attacks the policeman. Faith runs toward the window at the 
 Left Center. Mrs. Pitkin stops her. 
 
 Enter — Left Center — Second Policeman. 
 
 Second Policeman {arresting Faith). No quite so quick. 
 Loud knocking at the door at Right Center. 
 
 Policeman strikes Roger with his club. Roger falls. The stage is 
 suddenly darkened. 
 
 curtain. 
 
44 The Two Paths. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene: The same as in Act I. The rising curtain reveals Roger 
 lying on the sofa in the darkened room just as he was doing in 
 Act I, at the beginning of his dream. A knocking resembling that 
 at the end of Act III is heard from the door at the Back Center. 
 Roger rises. At the moment that he does so, the room becomes 
 bright. He looks about him in a bewildered ivay, and then opens 
 the door at the Back Center. 
 
 Enter — Back Center — Pitkin. 
 
 Roger. You in the city yet? — I thought that you had left for 
 Georgia. 
 
 Pitkin. I was detained. {Then looking at Roger's dress suit.) 
 And you were out all night? 
 
 Roger {looking at his clothes). I must have gone to sleep without 
 intending it. I knew that I was very tired. 
 
 Pitkin {pointing to the server on the table holding the decanter of 
 wine and the glasses). And very thirsty? — Would better get these 
 things away, not so? — too early in the morning. 
 
 During the following conversation Roger first puts the server with 
 the decanter and glasses into the room at the Left; then appears 
 and disappears with a business necktie, waistcoat, and coat, 
 which he exchanges for those of the dress suit which he is 
 wearing. 
 
 Roger. Yes ; quite true ! Last night I had to do a deal of think- 
 ing; — was up against a sudden proposition. I kept awake a 
 long time, I suppose ; and then, when sleepy, failed to notice it. 
 
 Pitkin. When sleepy, most men fail to notice things — the reason 
 why mere blunt persistency succeeds on Wall Street. Men have 
 been tired out. They sleep, they dream ; and we, we stock their 
 dream ; they take our stock, and pay us for our pains. 
 
 Roger. What I was thinking of last night was this : — I have been 
 offered a professorship, and, if I took it, I could wed, at once, the 
 girl I love. 
 
 Pitkin. Aha ! you dreamed of that ! — No wonder that you made 
 your dream a long one. 
 
 Roger. Do you suppose I could resign right off — resign, at 
 least, though staying for a little. I must — if I take that profes- 
 sorship. Would you consent to run the business until they get 
 another man? — Suppose I telegraph to Noel? — Would you take it? 
 
 Pitkin {pretending to hesitate). Why, yes, yes, yes; if it were 
 urged upon me. I think, too, you are right about the matter. 
 Last night, you seemed too squeamish. In a broker that scarcely 
 does. 
 
The Two Paths. 45 
 
 Roger. He should not squirm but squeeze; — and wring the water 
 
 on his customers? 
 Pitkin. The trouble is that you are not a sport — financial sport, I 
 
 mean. — Is just a danger that sometime you may fail to play the 
 
 game, and lose. 
 Roger (sitting at his desk and beginning to write a telegram) . I 
 
 have too much imagination. I sometimes think of — and think 
 
 with, I fear — the other fellow. 
 Pitkin. And to be successful in business a man should only think 
 
 about himself and his own interests. 
 Roger. Yes, yes — and no — is only true in part. Yet if success to 
 
 you mean sudden gain, and great gain, and obtained with little 
 
 work, you may be right. 
 Pitkin. We all seek that in Wall Street. 
 
 Roger. Humph! Some do, anywhere! (Showing Pitkin the tele- 
 gram.) Is this correct? 
 Pitkin. Exactly! Shall I take it with me? 
 Roger. Going to pass the station? 
 Pitkin. Yes. 
 Roger. Please take it then? 
 
 Exit — Back Center — Pitkin. 
 
 A knock at the Back Center. 
 
 Roger. Come in. 
 
 Enter — Back Center — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Good morning. Glad to find you here. 
 
 Roger. You think the early bird has caught the worm? 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. No, I was thinking more about the late bird — the 
 
 bird that flew away last night. I want a promise to be good, 
 
 and not break up our bridge again. I came to see you now, 
 
 before you left your room here — to make sure. 
 Roger. I beg you pardon ; but I am engaged. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Tonight? 
 Roger. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. With those people who were here last evening? 
 Roger. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Your customers, perhaps? 
 Roger. I hope so. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. I would make them pay me well. 
 Roger. For what? 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Why, for my interest. 
 
 Roger. I have it, and give it freely — are old friends of mine. 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Old friends are like old horses. When too old, are 
 
 never very lively. 
 
46 The Two Paths. 
 
 Roger. When too lively, are never very safe. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Without its risks, the game of life would not be so 
 exciting. 
 
 Roger. Without exciting, it might be more pleasant. Men know 
 more pleasures than the brutes, not so? — but Why? — The differ- 
 ence lies in self-control. Excitement makes men yield this. Say 
 they drink : — a single glass may set their thoughts to glowing ; but 
 one glass more — two glasses — they may lose both senses and sen- 
 sation — wake with headaches, and sometimes heartaches; and 
 some last forever. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Well, well, of all the changes in a man ! Where did 
 you find these notions? 
 
 Roger. In the place from which all better notions well, I think, if 
 we would only heed them, — in myself. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. No ; you are not as good as that — no, no ! — but from 
 that country girl I saw last night. 
 
 Roger. How economical ! 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Of what? 
 
 Roger. Of thought; — to have, for all results, or good or bad, a 
 single reason, — is a woman in it. 
 
 Knocking at the door at Back Center. 
 
 Roger {opening the door). Good morning. 
 Enter — Faith, Donald, and the Professor. 
 
 Faith. Good morning. 
 
 Professor. Morning. 
 
 Donald. Morning. 
 
 Roger. Glad to see you {gesturing toward Mrs. Pitkin). Is 
 Madam Pitkin. 
 
 Professor. We have met before. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Oh, yes, last evening! — will sit down with us? 
 {Gesturing toward the chairs.) 
 
 Roger. Yes, Madam Pitkin came in here to ask me to play at bridge 
 again with her tonight: and I had just refused her. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Put it off. Just think of it! So fine a player, too! 
 {To Roger.) Perhaps your friends would join with us this 
 evening. 
 
 Professor. No, thank you. 
 
 Faith. Thank you. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin. Must look elsewhere, then. {To Roger.) Drop in 
 to tea; and we will talk it over. {She bows to all.) 
 
 Exit — Back Center — Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 Professor. Humph, humph ! 
 
 Donald {looking at Roger in his evident discomfiture). I scarcely 
 
 wonder you demur. 
 Roger. Is that the way you put it? — You, too, Faith? 
 
The Two Paths. 47 
 
 Professor. Yes, what do you think, Faith? 
 
 Faith. You taught me once that wise men never trust their own 
 conclusions about the things they have not time to study. 
 
 Donald. Suppose you stay here, Faith, and study her. 
 
 Professor. Suppose she takes to mining underground. She might 
 not like to get down quite so far. 
 
 Roger. You seem to think I care for such a woman. 
 
 Donald. Is not the question. Does she care for you? 
 
 Professor. You ought to care — to keep away from her. 
 
 Roger. And I am going to do it. 
 
 Professor. Humph ! How can you ? 
 
 Roger. Suppose I leave this business for good, — take that profes- 
 sorship? 
 
 Faith. You must not, Roger. 
 
 Professor. When you are making all this money here, and in 
 a year or two will have a fortune? — 
 
 Roger. And you advise against it, then? 
 
 Professor. Why I — You know how I have worked — how hard and 
 long — and saved so little ! When one has a chance — 
 
 Roger. He ought to chance it, eh? 
 
 Professor. The hand that drops the hoe, when one has merely 
 dropt the seed, may reap no harvest, — this was what Faith meant. 
 
 Faith. I think you failed to understand me, father. (To Roger.) 
 And you, perhaps. What I was thinking was (to the Professor 
 and Donald) that Roger, if he gave his business up, would do it 
 not to please himself, but us. Have you or I? — has any one the 
 right to turn a mind from that which its own thinking has reck- 
 oned wise? 
 
 Roger. You would not change my mind? 
 
 Faith. I would not love you if I tried to do it; for you yourself 
 are what your mind has made you. 
 
 Roger (to the Professor and Donald). Strange how minds work! 
 Last night, you two opposed me. Now, that I take your view, 
 you still oppose me ! 
 
 Faith. No ; not so very strange ! Both are consistent. Last night 
 both urged a different thing from what you seemed to want. To- 
 day, both do the same. 
 
 Roger. And you? — 
 
 Faith. I want you just to please yourself. 
 
 Roger. In that you show how love and friendship differ. Love re- 
 inforces our own best desires, but friendship often merely leaves 
 us free to work out for ourselves our own salvation. 
 
 Donald. But we would not oppose you? 
 
 Roger. No — and yes. The first man in the world who had no 
 light discovered it through friction ; and, today, when wanting 
 more light, all men do the same. At times, the friction sets their 
 
48 The Two Paths. 
 
 minds aglow. At times, it splits them into splinters ; but the 
 world at large keeps getting more light still, and by that light, 
 all walk. 
 
 Donald. Some walk by Faith ! 
 
 Roger. To walk by faith and not walk hand in hand with reason, 
 also, is to walk to ruin. No; let me tell you all that you 
 mistake. I am not turning from the life I lead to suit your 
 urging. No man has the right to waive his own thought for 
 the thoughts of others, except so far as these become his own. 
 Then, like night travelers, led to lighted halls, and sometimes to 
 a dawn the sunrise brings, he can extinguish his own petty 
 lantern. 
 
 Professor. Before you leave, though, Roger, you should help us 
 in our investments — in that copper stock. 
 
 Roger. In other stock, but not in that. 
 
 Professor. Why not? 
 
 Roger. For one thing, my successor wants it. 
 
 Professor. So do I. 
 
 Roger. What he might gain by, you might lose by. 
 
 Professor. Why so? 
 
 Roger. I can not tell you. 
 
 Professor. Can not tell me? 
 
 Roger. How could I? — All our firms must have their secrets; 
 and anyone who starts to play with others — he must support the 
 team. 
 
 Professor. Why play with others? 
 
 Roger. The very question I have asked. The man who sells him- 
 self to harness in a team, be friend or foe the one who tempts 
 him to it, leaves the one place where he may meet with God and 
 starts in paths where he may meet the devil. Last night, you 
 two were right. No man is true to God and nature when untrue 
 to that to which his better inward spirit prompts. Some men 
 there are, this prompts to make a fortune — I would not criticise 
 them, let it prompt them; but, for myself, — you two were right 
 last night — it is not that to which my own wish prompts me. 
 
 Professor. Oh, no ! but as a vantage-platform where, when stand- 
 ing once, all men can see and hear you — 
 
 Roger. There are no vantage-platforms for the soul framed of 
 mere outside gettings, like the logs men cut and wedge together ; 
 they are growths; and as they spring in youth, they stay in age. 
 You split a living tree, and splice in limbs from trees around 
 it, you destroy the whole. 
 
 Professor. But if you have a chance — 
 
 Roger. You sometimes build a prison when you think it is a 
 palace. Some men, who start by gilding what they live in, keep 
 scrubbing all their days to keep it bright. 
 
 Professor. But — 
 
The Two Paths. 49 
 
 Roger. Nothing in the world is worth the owning that makes a 
 
 life-long drudge of him who owns it. 
 Professor. Would not make money, then? 
 Roger. Enough to spend; but not enough for coffers, or for coffins. 
 
 You gild a living leaf, and it will die. You cover living souls with 
 
 gold, too often they shine for others but decay for self. Their 
 
 buried best is never brought to light. 
 
 Enter — Back Center — a Telegraph Messenger. 
 
 He hands a telegram to Roger, who opens and reads it. (To 
 
 Faith.) 
 
 My resignation is accepted, Faith. What say you? — Will you 
 
 be a poor man's bride? 
 Faith. Will you then be the poor man? 
 Roger. Not with you, and my own mind and thought that has its 
 
 freedom. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 END OF THE PLAY. 
 
6 191C 
 

 One copy del. to Oat. Div. 
 

 £22!™ 0F CONGRESS 
 
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