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 Society and Babe Robinson 
 
 or 
 
 The Streets of Old 
 San Francisco 
 
 A Play 
 
 ' Shall a ccleslial spark ^e quenched in the dark 
 and an angel be bartered for gold? " 
 
 By ELLA STERLING MIGHELS 
 
 (Sorn Oar*) 
 
 Author 0/ "The Full Glory of Diantha, " "The Story of the Files of 
 California," "Little Mountain Princess," etc. 
 
Society and Babe Robinson 
 
 or the 
 
 Streets of Old San Francisco 
 
 J Play 
 
 -^'^rnv^/*^-'^^ 
 
 Containing also frontispiece, "Where Babe Met Morton Again;" Intro- 
 duction, Biographical sketch and portrait of author, 
 and a "Word to theReader." 
 
 I'acific Tublication Company, 
 
 88 J'iist Street, San Krancisc 
 
 19H. 
 

 DEC -8 1914 
 )CI,D 3903 i 
 
'J'o Mr. S. Ilartman, of Merced 
 All early Californian, a faithful American and a true 
 friend of long acquaintance who has always encouraged 
 nie in my work from my youth up till now. 
 
ed. Copyright 1914. 
 ing Mighels. 
 
•^ Sen 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 This play of "Societ\- and Babe Robinson or the Streets of old San 
 [•"rancisco." by Ella Sterling- Mighels, a daughter of the Golden West, 
 will appeal to all classes, the rich and the poor alike, at home and abroad. 
 And in book form it will make a unique addition to collections of "Cali- 
 fornia." The first and the second acts of the play were written as a short 
 story, and it was read in public at an entertainment given for the benefit of 
 the "San Francisco Girls' Union," the first non-sectarian attempt made 
 for the helping of working-girls in our city. This was given at Irving 
 Hall on Post street, near Kearny, on Tuesdays evening, June 9th, 1885. 
 
 The author was applauded to the echo. Not only that, she was 
 also urged to turn her chapters into a serial for the "San Franciscan,"' 
 but that weekly journal had passed away before the tale was completed. 
 Always she met someone on the street who stopped to ask about 
 "poor little Babe Robinson," as if the child were a living, breathing 
 human entity. Wherever she went. Babe Robinson walked by her 
 side, entreating companionship. And so grew the complex situation 
 copied from the life of the city of that day, interwoven with the 
 types familiar to our streets. Each one of these types is modeled 
 from a real human being of that time. 
 
 The story from which this play has been dramatized was written 
 under the influence of the undying melodramas of that period, "The 
 Two Orphans," "The Lights of London," "The Shadows of a Great 
 City" and "Romany Rye." For the sen.sational tale of "Society and 
 Babe Robinson" has the streets of old San Francisco for a back- 
 ground, as the others have Paris, London and New York for theirs. 
 
 Thus it is that that old time has been thus preserved for those 
 of future generations, to reveal to- them -what is lost now and gone 
 forever, as if it were a happening of only yesterday. 
 
 The two lines used on the cover to express the spirit of the drama 
 were written by a poet of the early days who died in the n-iines of 
 mountain-fever, while still a youth. The other lines used elsewhere were 
 written by the author of the play. 
 
 Owing to the romantic life-story of the author of this original drama, 
 without which as a background, doubtless "Society and Babe Robinson" 
 would never have come into being, it has .seemed only a natural thing 
 that it should be told here in the form of a biographical sketch. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR 
 
 l!y Sarah Coxxell 
 
 The birthplace uf Airs. Ella Sterling Mighels was in Sacramento 
 county, in the mines near Sonoma where James Alarshall found the 
 first piece of gold. She is the posthumous daughter of the late 
 Sterling B. F. Clark of Rutland, Vermont. He had crossed the plains 
 early in 1849 and had settled at Mormon Island in the midst of the 
 first "'gold-diggings" in the state. Soon after arriving he was recog- 
 nized for his ability, and as "Alcalde Clark" he presided over a rough 
 court-of-justice such as prevailed in those times. Every turn of 
 his hand brought him good fortune, so that in three years he owned 
 not only flume and water-rights but also a hotel and other property, 
 as well as land in San Jose and Sacramento. 
 
 It was not strange under these favorable circumstances that he 
 should decide to return to the Eastern States via Panama and marry 
 the "girl he had left behind him" in Pennsylvania, and fetch his 
 young bride to the home he hoped to establish. Upon his arrival 
 in California for the second time, returning to San Francisc-o by 
 ship, he arose early, went on shore and returned with the fruits of 
 the season to display to his young bride. He was stricken suddenly 
 with symptoms resembling cholera and was carried upon a stretcher 
 to the old Rassette House on Bush street, attended by his wife, 
 "a stranger in a strange land." There two weeks later he died, at 
 the age of twenty-eight. His last words were these, "Dear Rachie, 
 promise to keep me in the remembrance of the little one that is 
 coming." 
 
 Mrs. Clark, a bride of three months, exchanged her bridal garb 
 for deepest mourning. From the grave of her husband in Yerba 
 Buena cemetery (where now cross McAllister and Polk streets), 
 she went to Mormon Island where she entered into possession of 
 the estate left to her. The judge of the probate-court made a special 
 ruling to suit the circumstances of the case and set apart two-thirds 
 of the estate as the separate property of the unborn child, including 
 in this division, the land in Sacramento. (Upon this land today is 
 located the Capitol and the governor's mansion at Sacramento.) So 
 great was the interest of the entire community in the tragic bereave- 
 ment of Mrs. Clark, that everybody sought to serve her. Never w^ere 
 women more devoted. Never was the innate chivalry of man more 
 beautifull}-, more delicately revealed and portrayed. At that earlv 
 time the children were running wild and among them, some big 
 uncouth boys who did not know their letters at twelve years of age. 
 A committee of men came one day to urge that Mrs. Clark should 
 turn her little canvas house into a school for the sake of the com- 
 munity and the young. This she did, thus starting the first public 
 school in that region, which was also a Sunday school for them all 
 week long, where they learned morals and manners as well as books. 
 She even taught them the stars. In after years bearded men sought 
 her out in the Sierras to express their gratitude to her for the culture 
 they had received in that little home-of-learning. This location is 
 pointed out today by a landmark-sign placed upon a big tree beside 
 the road, three miles from Folsom, on Hoxie's ranch. 
 
Plere, surrounded Iiy the women and children, the young widow 
 kept apart from the world, and in the following year, on May 5th, 
 1853, in this school-house was born the posthumous child of Sterling 
 B. ^. Clark. The miners who had been his friends and comrades, 
 grieved sincerely over the plight qf the fatljerless babe. A deputation 
 of stalwart citizens came with a gift of theif own. They had brought 
 her a gold-rocker to take the place of the traditional cradle, and each 
 man took his turn in rocking and soothing her to sleep in this unique 
 bed, with his own mother's lullabies upon his lips. In a measure 
 it was as if they had adopted her, and so "Little Ella," as she was 
 always known to them (even after she grew up), became the ward 
 of the community, belonging to men and to women alike. 
 
 When the little girl was fourteen months old, there was a wed- 
 ding in the canvas church, and Mrs. Clark was led to the altar by a 
 man from Maine, Dudley Haines Haskell. As they walked down 
 the'aisle together, he stopped and claimed the child as well as the 
 mother, saying : "I have my wife on this arm, now give me my child 
 on the other." And the women were all weeping as he went forth 
 with them both from the church-door to be always faithful to his 
 trust to his last daj^ on earth. So it came that the little girl had a 
 particular father of her own even though all men were her fathers. 
 And she also had brothers and sisters to whom she became a little 
 mother of solicitude herself, and whom she loved with all the ardor 
 of her nature. 
 
 Her mother never ceased telling her as soon as she could talk, 
 of the message left to her from her own father, and impressing upon 
 the childish mind that she herself belonged to California and Cali- 
 fornia belonged to her more than any other child, historically, because 
 of these circumstances peculiar to the early times. And especially 
 because she had been cradled in the gold-rocker which had been 
 taken from its use on the banks of the American river to serve her 
 instead of washing gold. Always she repeated to the child the story 
 of these stern strong men who forgot the gold in their desire to serve 
 a child, and who were like fathers to her when she was a helpless 
 little thing, and the mother urged upon the little girl never to forget 
 them to her latest day. 
 
 Thus she grew up amongst the miners not only in Mormon 
 Island but also in Esmeralda county in the Sierras, where again she 
 met the same men, grown older, but still in pursuit of gold and silver. 
 She was their pet and playfellow, and gathered an endless repertory 
 of true stories to tell to future generations of the big, kind-hearted 
 men and the consideration and indulgence they always showed to the 
 young of early days. So it came to pass that Ella Sterling Clark 
 grew up to womanhood believing in her destin}', that she was to be 
 the connecting link between the old times and the new. and was to 
 stand as witness of the splendid worth of these early men never 
 chronicled by any of our historians. 
 
 Mrs. Mighels has been quite a traveler, having crossed the conti- 
 nent twelve times and the Isthmus of Panama twice. Born near the 
 banks of the American, her first school days were passed within the 
 sound of the waters of the floodtides of the restless Sacramento, but 
 there are other memories. Before she was ten years old. she knew 
 the Androscoggin in Maine and the "blue Juniata" in Penns\lvania. 
 
She has walked beside the Hudson, the Thames and the Seine, as well 
 as by the Shannon, which derived its name from some of her far-off 
 ancestors on one side of the family. On the Clark side she counts 
 her descent from New England colonists as far back as 1640. Rivers 
 have left a deep impression on her memory, and she speaks, too, of 
 the red rushing torrent of the Colorado, the majestic glory of the 
 Columbia, the tossing current of the Kern, the beauties of the Merced, 
 the weird sensation produced by gazing down from a mountain in 
 Modoc county upon Goose Lake, the source of the Sacramento, and 
 the sublimity of that frozen river, the Muir Glacier, upon which she 
 has walked for miles. 
 
 Though never posed as an infant prodigy. Mrs. Mighels showed 
 her literary proclivities very early in life. She began to write little 
 stories when she was yet a child and she is still writing. "The 
 Little Mountain Princess," a story of Lake Tahoe, the first novel 
 written by a native Californian, published in 1881. was hers. After 
 the death of her first husband, the late Adley H. Cummins, in 1889, 
 she turned to the work of compiling and publishing "The Story of 
 the Files of California," the standard, in fact, the only available source 
 of information concerning the early literary history of the state. 
 Later, another novel. "The Full Glory of Diantha." was published. 
 Caspar, the virginal, elemental hero of the story was modeled from 
 her own ideal of a man. Adley H. Cummins. 
 
 After an absence of sixteen years, twelve of which were spent 
 in New York and four in London, ;Mrs. Mighels returned to Cali- 
 fornia. Having lost her only child and her second husband by death, 
 she is devoting herself to two objects, the completion of her own 
 literary work, and the welfare of the children of her neighborhood. 
 
 Her home at 1605 Baker street, is a port of refuge and a center 
 of culture for them. Irrespective of creed, class or country, they 
 flock to "Aunt Ella." From the babies yet led by the hand to the 
 youths and maidens on the threshold of the larger life, they come for 
 amusement, advice or assistance in their school studies. "A Child's 
 Library" without any of the restrictions of an institution is one of 
 the features. Here there are the colored pictures and large print that 
 are a joy to the youngest infants; fairy tales and children's classics, 
 histories, biographies and the school-books of earlier days act as lure 
 and stimulant. The standard good books which have stood the test 
 of generations are available to the older lads and lasses, as well as 
 the mothers and fathers. X'arious. but always advantageous, are the 
 occupations which find interest. One may drop in upon the old- 
 fashioned spelling-match, or it may be the enactment of a fairy story 
 or a series of tableaux presenting patriotic and historical scenes and 
 events or perhaps a recitation of poems. Mrs. Mighels is following 
 the system established by her own mother away back in the fifties. 
 before the school system was in practical working order, and churches. 
 except in the larger settlements, were few and far between. While 
 these little neighborhood boys and girls and their big sisters and 
 brothers are apparently only having the best kind of a time, they are 
 also learning moderation of speech, good language, good manners, 
 good taste and an appreciation of all good things. They call them- 
 selves the "Ark-adian Brothers and Sisters of California," and the 
 one rule they must observe is, "Thou shalt keep the peace." 
 
Already these children have attrucied attention in their classes 
 at school as being brighter than their fellows, for Mrs. Mighels, like 
 her mother, has also taught them the stars as well as books. 
 
 V.Aunt Ella" believes that for the sake of Young Life we should 
 lay stress, not on the evil which we, do not wjsh to see propagated, but 
 oh the good we would see prosper. Her ruTe of guidance is not the 
 negative but the affirmative, and the children learn to act not because 
 "I didn't know it was wrong" but because "I knew it was right." Their 
 motto is "Work for the right and fight for it." Her aim and object 
 is to "KEEP THE INNOCEXT INNOCENT," for the sake of the 
 family, the state and society, as she was taught in her own childhood. 
 
 She urges a revival of the almost obsolete term. Friendship, to 
 take the place of the misused and misapplied modern expression, 
 Love. She maintains that Love is a house on fire, destructive while 
 it lasts, but quickly dying down to leave only cold ashes, while 
 Frieirdship is a controlled fire in an open grate, giving forth warmth 
 and providing peace and comfort. All men and women should main- 
 tain towards each other the attitude of Brothers and Sisters, for 
 the good of Society, and, as in the old fairy stories, there should be 
 but one prince and one princess in each life ; all others are wicked 
 magicians and old witches. Children should be taught to be friendly 
 with the neighbors, and neighbors should be friends to the children. 
 Her interpretation of the old fairy myths is original — that the real 
 fairies are the elderly folks who care more for children than they do 
 about fashions, so the}' are always portrayed in rags. But when 
 children are good and considerate the fairies are ready to wave the 
 magic wand and transform everything in the twinkling of an eye, 
 and if the children of today were polite and respectful to those whose 
 heads are gray, both men and women, the}-, too, would meet fairies, 
 for politeness invites the fairies while rudeness drives them away. 
 In the play. "Society and Babe Robinson," founded partly on fact, 
 she shows how a poor little girl, unfortunate and alone, without in- 
 fluence, succeeded in making good friends to come to her relief and 
 bring her happiness. 
 
A WORD TO THE READER 
 
 This play is a dramatized version of an unpublished novel of the 
 same name which has claimed my attention ever since 1885. It is 
 now being published in book-form, not so much to display a knowl- 
 edge of dramatic technique, as to reveal the workings of the human 
 heart, of rougher human nature, and to picture the streets of old San 
 Francisco briefly and with vividness. A good stage-manager mav 
 easily prepare this mental offspring of mine for stage-presentation, 
 but doubtless he would make changes requiring someone to be 
 "married off" in the last act. To my mind the conventional ending 
 of a play, in wedding, divorce or death, does not seem to be the only 
 one, although it does appeal to the average publisher and stage- 
 manager. 
 
 1 interpret the great "Hook of Life" differently, and I believe that 
 the general public is coming to read it according to the more natural 
 way, too. 
 
 To survive is the first law of our nature. Therefore in "Society" 
 you will find all, the high and the low, the rich as well as the poor, 
 the parasites and the cravens, the innocent and the crafty, all waging 
 war, one against the other, in the "Battle for Gain," which to some 
 merely means "BREAD." In the midst of the struggle is the forlorn 
 figure of a Babe Robinson, trying to pick up a crumb here and there. 
 
 ^^'hat wonder, in the midst of the clashing and resounding of 
 arms, that the still small voice of Duty is hushed by the clamorous 
 cry of Self-interest, and the child is crushed under foot? And yet, 
 there is a holy fatherhood and a holy motherhood in human nature, 
 which comes to the relief of the forlorn child and preserves her to 
 the world. Paternal and maternal solicitude over the young being 
 the highest and most thrilling exercise of human feeling, it cannot be 
 crushed out. It survives in spite of everything as a saving grace to 
 prevent this poor old world from rushing to its doom of extinction. 
 It survives in the heart of a stage-driver, of a gambler, of a reporter, 
 of an old maiden lady, of an old Irish woman, of a high-bred society 
 dame, at the opportune moment to be exercised for the sake of a 
 Babe Robinson. It was true then, away back in 1881 in our San 
 Francisco. And it is true now in this year of 1914. 
 
 It is my desire to preser\'e the original story just as it is. It is 
 my wish to maintain from first to last the simplicity and delicacy 
 
of the suppressed tragedy revealed in the under-current of this play. 
 It is my sincere belief that more tragic than the retribution of evil, 
 more poignant than the remorse of the wrong-doer, are the trials 
 of'the innocent. 
 
 I take this stand : tha.t whatever nifly be the status of a man, 
 whatever of misfortune or even of evil that ma}- have entered into 
 his life, on one point he should be firm. As in the early days of our 
 land, he should shine with a radiance like that of the angels guarding 
 the young from harm, and strengthening them, in their innocence. 
 I insist that there is no duty, no obligation on earth which goes 
 before PROTECTION OF YOUNG LIFE. And in the early days 
 we had it. That is the message I bring to each one of you from the 
 mining-times and from the miners themselves. They were my 
 coAipanions and playmates. They deplored their own lapses from 
 grace, but entreated the children to be good, and nobly, generously, 
 helped them to that which was good. 
 
 As these men went tramping from one mining-camp to another in 
 quest of the ever-elusive gold and silver, these men fell into nameless 
 graves. But I say to you that their message to you of today in this 
 play of mine is worth more than jewels of pearls and diamonds: 
 "Keep the innocent, innocent." 
 
 Ella Sterlixg Mighels. 
 (Born Clark.) 
 
Society and Babe Robinson 
 
 or the 
 
 Streets of Old San Francisco 
 
 In a Prologue and Five Ads 
 
 By 
 Ella Sterling Mighels 
 
 "Shall a celestial spark be quenched in the dark 
 And an angel be bartered for gold?" 
 
 (From Lyman Goodman, an early Califor 
 
 Time, 1879-'81. Placed in Nevada and in California. 
 Prologue. A stage-station in the wilds of Nevada. Parting of P.ahe 
 and Steve, the stage-driver. 
 
 "Move patiently on, O Earth, 
 Till patience no more can bear." 
 
 (Lapse of twenty-four hours.) 
 
 Act. L Scene 1. San Francisco, ferry-landing. Babe meets Belmonv, 
 the gambler, and Morton, the reporter. Scene 2. Babe falls undei 
 the spell of Mollie Darling. Scene 3. Babe runs to the arms of 
 Sister Gertrude. 
 
 "Till Justice shall fly to the home of its birth 
 And justice on earth declare." 
 
 (Lapse of one year.) 
 
 Act IL Scene 1. Window of Manning's Oyster Grotto and outside of 
 Bohemian Club, Art Association and California Market on Pine 
 street, between Montgomery and Kearny. Babe meets Morton 
 again. Scene 2. Inside of Grotto. Morton finds friends for Babe 
 before he goes to write up the hanging. 
 
 "There are grains of gold in the darksome earth, 
 
 There are lustrous pearls in the deep, deep sea." 
 
 (Lapse of si.x months.) 
 
 Act III. Scene 1. Howard near Fifth street, rooming-house of jioor 
 people. Mrs. Spangler's home where Kate and Lily have taken Babe 
 under their protection. Scene 2. Room inside of house. Scene 3. 
 Hall outside of room. Morton listens to the fog-horn. Scene 4 
 (after the curtain has gone down and up again). Alley-way. P.el- 
 mour's hiding place. 
 
 "And a mighty heart is beating still 
 Underneath the world's great misery." 
 (Lapse of six months.) 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. Nob Hill, California street. Exterior of Miss Har- 
 rington's mansion. Scene 2. Interior of same. Wedding of Kate 
 and Will Harrington. Babe's first appearance in Society. Babe 
 '' gives her promise to Morton. 
 
 "Beneatli the darkest cloud the*^ilver gleams." 
 
 Act \'. Scene 1. Room at Mrs. Spangler's house again. Mollie 
 Darling seeks Babe. I5abe breaks her promise. Morton turns from 
 her. Scene 2. Belmour's hiding-place. Babe learns who it is that 
 murdered Steve. Scene 3. At the dock of the China steamer. Babe 
 forgives Belmour. Scene 4. Ehd of dock. Babe is rescued. Miss 
 Harrington is moved to compassion ; orders her carriage to be 
 brought and takes the child as a guest to her own home. One by 
 ^ one they all depart save one, the faithful Keyman, who stands gazing 
 at the distant ship bound for China. 
 
 "Iti every soul there is a point that redeems." 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 Steve, the stage-driver. 
 Tom, the other stage-driver. 
 
 T.M.L HiGHWAVM.VX. 
 
 Short Highw.\vm.\n (addressed as "liart"). 
 
 P.\RSON HaGER. 
 
 BABE ROBINSON, fourteen vears old, a waif from the mountains 
 
 OTHER ACTS 
 
 josE^-H MofeTON, a reporter. 
 Robert Belmour, a gambler. 
 Mr. MaLoney, a political boss. 
 
 Parson Hager, searching for his long-lost daughter. 
 Malcolm Strong^ a young bookkeeper, brother of Kate. 
 Will Harrington, who is in love with Kate. He is the \oung half- 
 brother of the wealthy society- woman. Miss Harrington, who frowns 
 upon Kate. 
 Jim CastLetON, a society man, in love with Lily White. 
 George French, a capper for gamblers, called "Frenchy." 
 
 / Alfred Kercheval, the weakling son of a rich man in Sacramento. 
 
 \ BoBBV Spangler, son of an Irish mother and an English father, his 
 
 / mother, Mrs. Spangler, being now a widow. 
 
 / Henry Schlosser, the keyman of San Francisco, a castaway of 
 V German type. (These three being hoodlums and friends.) 
 
MuRKAY, the butler at Miss Harrington's. ' 
 
 Dr. Kercheval of Sacramento. 
 Billy Barney', a negro minstrel, out of a job. 
 Neighbor O'Neil, a wealthy working man. 
 
 Emperor Norton, a character from the early days, alvva)-s passing along 
 the street in the parade of fashion, stopping to give the rosebud 
 from his buttonhole to some pretty little girl. 
 BABE ROBINSON, the waif from the mountains, hoping to get work 
 
 to do in the city. 
 MoLLiE Darling, an adventuress, companion of Bclmour. 
 Miss Wiggins, a kind old school teacher. 
 
 Sister Gertrude, a night-nurse of a semi-religious sisterhood. 
 K.\TE Strong, land-ofifice clerk, helping to get her brother through Heald's 
 
 Business College. 
 Lily \^^HITE, a very beautiful girl, a sales-lady in a fashionable cloak 
 store. 
 
 BuxxiE, the infant. 
 
 Mrs. Emmons, who adopts Bunnie. 
 
 Mrs. Richmond, a very beautiful woman, owner of the \\'oman's Co- 
 operative Printing Company, with whom Babe finds congenial work 
 to do, at four dollars a week. 
 
 Mrs. Spangler, once Maggie Maginnis, the "queen of Antrim County," 
 but now the landlady of a rooming-house for poor people, and the 
 proud mother of Bobby Spangler. 
 
 Mrs. Biddy Egan, the weird old sister of Mrs. Spangler, called "the 
 bogie" by the roomers, a poor scrub woman with a big heart. 
 
 Mrs. Gusset, who lives in the basement, a poor widow who makes shirts 
 for Beamish and Company to support herself and five children. Mrs. 
 Gusset appears in the background apologetically trying to keep the 
 children from annoying every one. 
 
 Minerva, who plays with the Gussets. 
 
 society people 
 
 Miss H \rrington \ ^'''^^ ^""^ trying to make a match between 
 
 Mrs. Castleton | o7 M?s "caTtleSn" ''"'' °"' °^ "'" ^l^^ghters 
 
 Mi.ss Marie Castleton, who has a kindly feeling for Morton, the 
 reporter. 
 
 Mrs. Morton, an Eastern woman. 
 
 LiNA ( 
 
 Jenny 'i younger daughters, who are merely in the background. 
 
 Two Young Society Men, also in the background. 
 
 Men, Women, Children. Deti-ctives, Dockmex, Workers, etc. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 SCENE. (Stage station for changing horses near by but not in 
 sight. Wild country of Ne^'ada. Sagebrush. Morning light slozvly un- 
 folds from darkness into pink and purple. Hiding in the brush are ttvo 
 forms of men. They are disguised and ivrapped in gunny-sacks zvith 
 black masks obscuring their faces. A sound of distant zvheels sounds 
 faintly. Men arouse themselves. One creeps out from under cover and 
 puts ear to the ground.) 
 
 First Man : I hear it — it's the stage all right coining down. Now, 
 Bart, you go up the road and be ready to stop the horses when it goes 
 back, and (grimly) I'll hold up the driver and make him throw down 
 the Wells Fargo ! It's a big haul this time. Don't lose your nerve — keep 
 cool. 
 
 B.<\RT. (standing up as he starts to obey instructions, showing him- 
 self to be shorter than the first man) : Wish I was as cool as you. But 
 this is my first time, you know, (pantomime follozvs. They creep behind 
 the brush and disappear. 
 
 Closer comes the clatter of ivhecls. I'oiccs are heard calling and 
 giving orders about the baggage. There is considerable bustle and noise 
 as of trunks being transferred from one stage to the other.) 
 
 Voice of Tom, the other stagedriver: Wait a minute, Steve, I've 
 got to tell you something. 
 
 Steve (coming in sight while speaking) : All right, Tom. Be ready 
 in a minute. (Steve is leading Babe by the hand. She clings to him and 
 is zveeping. He is a tine specimen of rugged manhood, zcith iron-gray 
 touches in his hair and short beard. Babe is still childlike and simple in 
 spite of her fourteen years, and is given to outbursts of feeling. She is 
 dressed in an all-red outfit, merino frock and red-and-black plaid shazvl; 
 on her head is a man's hat of black felt, and it is tied under her chin zvith 
 red ribbons. The hat has a zjuay of slipping back and making a halo around 
 her face. Her shazvl is flying loose most of the time. Her short reddish- 
 brozvn hair hangs in curling clusters about her face. In her hand she 
 holds an old-fashioned carpet-sack zvith faded flozvers on. shozving that 
 it is much the zvorse for zvear.) I've got to say good-bye to the little gal 
 first, (to Babe) Now cheer up, for I'll be down there witli you in a 
 few days to look after ye and then we'll be goiu' to the Cliiif House 
 (crooningh to divert her grief), an' the theatre, an' to Woodward's 
 Gardens.' My, what a grand time we'll be havin' ! No more sagebrush 
 then an' alkali. 
 
 B.\EE (sighing) : Yes, I know, but even a few days is a long time 
 to be away from you. 
 
 Steve (objecting) : No, 'taint, any such thing! Only you've got to 
 be keerful. By the way (pauses, unbelts the revolver from his zvaist) here 
 (impulsively) take this! 
 
 Babe: What? Your six shooter? Won't you need it? 
 
 Steve: Of course not, I've got another! (Babe puts it in her 
 satchel.) Now, look-a-here. if any feller gets fresh, ye jest take it out— 
 
SOCIETY AMD babe ROBIXSOX 
 
 jvind o" keerless-like, l)ut let him see y've got it, an' it'll set him to thinkin' 
 tliet ye ain't no slouch about lookin' out for yerself. Thet'll give him a 
 good scare, (pauses meditatively) An'«jet (hits himself a blozc over 
 the heart) d'ye know, Babe, I've half a notion to take you back with me 
 again? It is such an awful big world down there at the Bay. And 
 I'm gettin' scared for you, already ! 
 
 B.\BE (childishly) : Yes, I know, but it would be the same thing 
 over again. The boys and girls would go on calling me names, for 
 something I never did. 
 
 Ste\e (zi'ith a groan) : That's true. I'll have to let you go. 
 
 B.ABE (quesfioniiigly) : But, Steve, I'd like to ask you a question: 
 >Vhat's it all saddled on to me for ? That's what I can't understand. Be- 
 cause my mother went — and married — the man — that killed my father 
 (pause) — why should I be punished? I am innocent! 
 
 Steve (mildly) : Well, there is something in the Good Book about 
 the innocent havin' to be punished for the guilty to the third and fourth 
 generations. It is a kind of ca,st-iron rule of this yere airth that you 
 can't do.nothin' with. 
 
 B.\EE (resentfully) : Well, ^ wish I had the makin" n' some of tliem 
 cast-iron rules ! I'd rub that one out, pretty quick. 
 
 Sten'e (pityingly) : Well, ye see. Babe, that was got up to make 
 parents behave theirselves for the sake of the innocent, so's they'd be 
 ashamed to do anything wrong. 
 
 Babe: Well, it didn't happen to work in my case, did it? (medi- 
 tates). But you can bet that I'm never going to do anything that will 
 make my poor little children ashamed of me. I'm going to "walk a 
 chalk-line" through thick and thin for their sakes, just like I wish my 
 mother had done for me. 
 
 Ste\'e (seriously) : If there's any way to beat that rule. I'll bet 
 that's it. You stick to that. Babe, an' you'll come out all right. 
 
 (Clatter of hoofs is heard. Man on small blaek mule appears. It is 
 Parson Hager.) 
 
 Steve: Hello, Parson! You're just in time to say good-bje to 
 the little gal. She's on Ikt way to San Francisco, in all her glory. 
 (Parson dismounts.) 
 
 Parson Hager : Do you think it is safe to let her go to the great 
 city all alone? (meditatively) I once knew of a girl who went to the 
 city alone, and her father never saw her again. 
 
 Babe (szvinging her earpet-sack restlessly) : That's all settled, 
 Parson. You know how everybody throws it up to me about my 
 troubles, and, besides (pulling up her sleeve) see what my step-father 
 did the other night, when he had been drinking. He threw something 
 at me and cut my wrist. I don't want to go back. If I do, I'll run 
 away and marry the first man that asks me, just to get away, for it's 
 no home to me! I've promised Steve to be a good girl and "walk a 
 chalk-line," and he'll be down in a few weeks to look out for me. So 
 there ! 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBINSON xxiii 
 
 Steve (meditating an.viously) : Yes, in a few weeks. Can't you 
 ask a blessing for the little gal, to keep her safe? It might help! 
 
 Parson Hager (n'ith uplifted hands) : Father in Heaven, protect 
 this child and keep her safe from harm, .^men ! (mounts his mule and 
 goes. ) 
 
 Tom (falling from icithin): Hurry up. Steve, got to be on time! 
 Don"t forget the other stage has to connect with the cars at Reno. 
 
 Steve (holds her tzvo hands): Now, all right? Got your carpet- 
 sack and your six-shooter? 
 
 (Babe puts her hand into the satchel and takes pistol out leith a 
 flourish. I 
 
 Babe (confidently) : \\\\tn I get below. Til just belt it on and let 
 everybody see that I can take care of myself, see if I don't ! 
 
 (Entrance of Tom. the other stagedrivcr.) 
 
 Tom (coming close to Steve and speaking confidentially, with his 
 hand to his mouth, for secrecy) : Look out for the Wells-Fargo ! Got 
 a big treasure aboard this trip. 'Bout ten thousand, I guess. 
 
 Steve (laughing) : That's all right. Don't you worry about me, 
 Tom, I ain't going to give it to the first feller that asks me for it, you 
 can bet! (turns to Babe) Good-bye, little gal, just for a few weeks, 
 till I can get down there. You stop at the Cosmopolitan till you find a 
 nice lady to board with, and let me know, right away, for I'll be terrible 
 lonesome, you know. 
 
 Babe (hanging on to his coat-sleez'c and burying her face against 
 his arm) : Good-bye, Steve, good-bye. (Bill grabs her carpet-bag. which 
 falls to the ground, takes her hand and drags her along. She and Steve 
 turn for another zvave of the hand and another farezvell. She goes to 
 the stage dozvn the road. Stez'c goes up the road. Steve is heard taking 
 charge of his horses. Clatter of zvhcels and hoofs of horses.) 
 
 (Voice of highivaymen) : Halt ! Throw down that box, and be 
 quick about it! (stage stops. Shooting. Cry of some one zvounded. 
 Confusion. Struggle is heard. Highzvayman, the tall one, comes in 
 zvith heavy box. Breaks it open zvith a stone. Pours the gold into a 
 sack. Other man comes in stumbling — falls dead. Tall highzvayman 
 puts hand to heart.) 
 
 Tall Highwayman: Dead! So that's the end of Bart! Mustn't 
 leave any papers, (puts his hand in pocket, drazvs out papers and puts 
 them into his sack. Lifts and places body under the bushes. Lifts sack. 
 Drags it after him heavily. Goes to rear and crazds dozvn over the rocks 
 to place of safety, dozvn belozv.) 
 
 (Clatter of hoofs. Parson Hager appears on mule and dismounts.) 
 
 Parson Hager: Shots! What does it mean ? What has happened? 
 (Hastens in direction of stage up road. Returns, assisting Steve.) 
 
 Steve (faintly) : They've done for me this time. I'll never go 
 down to look out for the little gal. Oh. God! what'll become of her? 
 Parson, promise to go and find her! (dies) 
 
 (Parson prays.) 
 
ACT I. Scene I. 
 
 (W'alcr^jroni, wharf. San Francisco, arrival of ferryboat from 
 Oakland. Crude, primitii'c landing. Gang-plank. Array of typical Sa)i 
 Franciscans of that time. Passing off and on the boat. }lingling and 
 meeting during the progress of this scene.) 
 
 ENSEMBLE OF CHARACTERS IN THE FOLLOWING SCENE : 
 
 (Elderly lady, Miss Harrington, wealthy in her own right, and her 
 much younger brother, Will Harrington, about to go on the boat, zvhen 
 they meet the rich and aristocratic Mrs. Castleton and her tivo daughters 
 coming off. As these two zvomen desire to make a match between the 
 brother and one of the daughters, they stop to talk. Joining the group 
 comes Jim Castleton. a young society man of not good reputation. Coming 
 off the boat arc t:oo ;j^irls together. One is Lily White, a pretty saleslady 
 in a fashionable cloukstore ; and to this pretty girl Castleton nods 
 familiarly. With her is her friend, Kate Strong, zvith whom Miss Har- 
 rington's brother is in loz'e. Already Kate has refused to marry him. 
 owing to his sister's strong opposition, because Kate is a clerk in the land 
 office. Miss Harrington zvishes her brother to marry some one in her 
 own social set. Emperor Norton passes on to the boat. 
 
 A youth comes to meet Kate and Lily. It is Kate's brother. Malcolm 
 Strong, a student at Heald's Business College, zvhere his sister is paying 
 his zvay. He is modest and unassuming, a nice boy. 
 
 Tzvo men come together, Morton the reporter, and Belniour the 
 gambler, dozvn the gang-plank. 
 
 Belmour is very tall and fair and zvith drooping moustache, zvears a 
 fur-lined overcoat. Morton is dark zvith short moustache. Belmour is 
 inclined to be grave, Morton to be serio-comic. Both men wear soft hats 
 of the so-called "slouched" variety.) 
 
 Morton: Let us wait and get another look at tliat funny cliilil 
 in the red dress, with a gun belted on to her. I never saw anything <|uite 
 as queer as that before. 
 
 Belmour (abstractedly) : She looks like someone I used to know. 
 
 Morton: Must be some one very innocent, (laughs) 
 
 Belmour : She has the eyes of my little sister who died twenty 
 years ago. 
 
 Morton : Here she is, and the hotel-runners after her. (Babe comes 
 running dozvn gang-plank, dragging her ralise azvay from the runners 
 of the hotels. Turns on them.) 
 
 Babe: Don't you dare to touch my carpet-sack! 
 
 (Runners close in around her calling: "Russouse." "Wot Cheer," 
 "International 'Otel," "Lickouse." 
 
SOCIRTV .IXO BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 One of Them: Oh. you'd better go with me. my dear. I'll take 
 yen to a good place. 
 
 Babe: I guess you won't. -You bet*,I can take care of myself. 
 (snatches her valise away from another one, zvho tries to take it. Every- 
 body looks. Her shawl comes off and she throws it over her arm while 
 battling to get her carpet-sack azvay from the man wlw ha.'; it in his strong 
 grasp. Society n'omen all look at her coldly.) 
 
 Belmour (advancing) : Drop it. (his authority and caol manner 
 affect them instantly. Each runs., calling as before, the name of the 
 hotel he is running for as if nothing had happened.) 
 
 Babe (turns to Belmour, gratefully) : I thank you ever so much! 
 Why. I thought they were going to take my carpet-sack away from me. 
 ' Belmour (coldly): Where is it you want to go? 
 
 Babe (innocently) : Is the Cosmopolitan Hotel a nice i^lace? 
 
 (Belmour turns and looks at the group of ladies near, but they be- 
 gin talking among themselves again, pointedly, so as not to be consulted. 
 Belmour turns to Morton.) 
 
 Belm.our (to Morton) : It is no place for a child to he alone. 
 
 Morton : Where is she from ? 
 
 Belmour: You'd better ask her. 
 
 Morton: Where are you from, Miss? 
 
 Babe (on guard ) : That's my business, if you please. 
 
 Morton (laughing) : And have you any name, or do you expect 
 to get along without one? 
 
 Babe (guardedly) : No. I don't mind telling my name. It is Miss 
 Robinson. (Belmour and Morton discuss what to do.) 
 
 (Enter a handsome woman. Moltie Darling. She stands, looking on, 
 from one side.) 
 
 Mollie: So he has arrived at last! AMiat is he doing with that 
 child? (a Keynian lumbers into sight with a big bunch of keys on Iiis 
 back and another in his hands. The Irish 7coman. Mrs. Spongier, comes 
 off the boat ivith her son Bobby, a big, flashily-dressed fellow. They 
 stop on seeing the Keyman.) 
 
 Keyman : Hello ! 
 
 Bobby: Hello yourself. Henry! .\ny news about me gittin' on the 
 force ? 
 
 Keyman : Yes. You hang around here a minit an' watch me 
 doin' politics. Maloney's down here now. 
 
 (Maloney comes to the center and bows to Miss Harrington. 
 
 Mrs. Spanglcr, mother of Bobby, in a transport of joy.) 
 
 Bobby : What ! Maloney ? 
 
 Keyman: Yep! Boss of 'em all! If I could only git ye inter- 
 dooced to 'im by a gent you'd be fixed. You'd git "on the force" all 
 right. 
 
 Mrs. Spangler: Oh. Henner\- ! 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 (Enters Al Kercbcval. a weakling, son of rich parents, in toi^' of a 
 rounder. He is dressed like a dude. The man he is zvith is a capper, 
 shorving him around. The Keyman recognizees the capper.) 
 
 Keyman : Here's your chanct, Bobby, I knows clat guy. Come 
 along. He's a pal o" mine. Jest you mind me, an' I'll git ye inter good 
 sassiety with them high-toned fellers, (to capper) Dat you, Frenchy? 
 Want ye to do a favor fer a fren' o' mine. 
 
 Capper: Hello, Hennery! Wot d'ye want? 
 
 Keyman: I don't want nothin' fer myself (scozvling), but I want 
 ye to interdooce my fren', Robert Spangler — him an' me went to school 
 together — to IMaloney. 
 
 Capper : Ye don't want much, do ye ? Interdooce him to Alaloney ? 
 Keyman : Ye see, he wants a job on the force, so's to help his 
 poor old mudder. You interdooce this dude o' yours, ye picked up some- 
 wlieres an' then my fren' right after him, like they was brothers. 
 
 Capper (laughing) : Brothers ! That's a good one ! And may be 
 you want to count in too as triplets? 
 
 Keyman: No, I don't. I'd give the hull thing away, by bein' 
 around. I'll make myself scarce, and leave it all to you. If you don't, 
 I'll go tell that feller ye picked up somewheres a few things 'bout you. 
 Frenchy the Capper (putting up a hand to hush him up): Sh! 
 Leave that to me. I'll do it up brown, (he introduces the Irish boy to 
 the young dude and presently they go forward and intercept Moloney, 
 zi'ho holds the center of the stage, an object of general admiration.) 
 
 Frenchy (continuing) : Good day, I\Ir. Maloney, may I present 
 two friends of mine, who are very anxious to meet such a man as your- 
 self? This is Mr. Kercheval of Sacramento, visiting our city for the 
 first time. And this is Mr. Spangler, an old school-mate, and he wants 
 to get on the force. Ye see. he is a Native Son, and he wants to help 
 his old mother along. 
 
 Maloney (benevolently): Quite right, my son. quite right I I'll 
 see what we can do for you. (shakes hands with both. They fall back, 
 each to his place.) 
 
 Molue: That young fellow must have some money to throw 
 around, or George would not be wasting his time on liim. (Capper and 
 Kercheval pass near her, and she says softly: "How are xou, George?" 
 Capper returns and introduces Kercheval.) 
 
 Capper: Shall I bring my good friend around to see you tonight. 
 at the hotel ? I see Belmour's returned from his mining-trip." What's he 
 doing with the kid and the carpet-sack ? Looks too funny for anything ! 
 MoLLiE : Yes. doesn't it ? But he generally knows what he's about. 
 (Passing near her, going to the boat, is a woman, in severe costume 
 of Quaker gray, and beside her a trained nurse. The latter is very hand- 
 some, but subdued in manner. Mollie draws back as she and the nurse 
 face each other for a brief second.) 
 
 Capper (looking after her) : Why, that is Sister Gertrude, isn't it? 
 MoLLiE (angrily) : Yes, .she seems to dog my steps wherever I go. 
 
28 SOCIETY AND BABE ROB IX SOX 
 
 (As the lii'o xcoiiicn pass on. Miss Harrington speaks to them kindly, 
 ana they go on to the boat unobserved by Morton whose back is turned 
 as they pass. Jim Castletonand Lily exchtuige a word. William Har- 
 rington tries to detain Kate and her brother. Babe stands, looking with 
 round-eyed zvonder at all the people. As Moloney passes her, he sees 
 hozv innocent she is, and he takes off his hat to her as he goes up the 
 gang-plank. Conversation resumed betzveen Morton and Belmour.) 
 
 Belmour: Now, Morton, being a reporter, you know the ins and 
 outs of the city better than I do. Certainly you know some place where 
 this child could go, better than to a public hotel. 
 
 Morton (sharpening his pencil) : She's too old for the Orphan 
 Asylum and too young for the Old Ladies' Home. Rather guess you've 
 got/ a problem on your hands, old man. 
 
 Babe (catching this conversation ) : A reporter! H'm ! He'd soon 
 be finding out why I left home. I'm not going to talk to that man. I 
 don't like him at all (childishly petulant). 
 
 Morton: Oh, I have it! There's an old school teacher. Miss 
 Wiggins, and her friend, Sister Gertrude, a trained nurse, they could tell 
 you what to do. Here's their luimber on Howard street, (writes ad- 
 dress on card.) 
 
 Belmour: That's more like it. I'll take her there myself. 
 
 B.vbe: But why can't I go to the Cosmopolitan Hotel? My friend 
 Steve thought it would be all right, antl he's comin' down to look out for 
 me. 
 
 Belmour (coldly) : You tell her, Morton. 
 
 Morton : \^'ell, because it's changed hands now. Miss Robinson. 
 It's a kind of a go-as-you-please ! 'Taint going to be a hotel any more. 
 It's been sold out for another kind of business. 
 
 B.\be: Oh, I don't mind. I'm not at all particular. 
 
 Morton : Great heavens ! What are you going to do with her ? 
 
 Belmour (resolutely) : I'm going to take her to your Miss Wig- 
 gins, (takes up the faded carpet-sack and leads the zvay. To Babe) 
 ■You need some one to look after you. The hotel's no place for you. 
 
 Morton (zvith a serio-comic smile and lift of his hat in mock 
 politeness) : Good afternoon. Miss Robinson. 
 
 B.^BE (zvith great assumption of dignity): Good afternoon, Mr. 
 Reporter. (follozi'S Belmour) 
 
 Morton (looking after them both): Thank Heaven, it is none of 
 my affair (pauses), and yet, I can't help wondering what is to become 
 of her. 
 
 (End of First Scene, First -A.ct.) 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Parlor of Mollie Darling. Cosmopolitan Hotel. Evening. 
 Enter Mollie and Babe together. 
 Mollie: Now just make yourself at home, my dear, and may be 
 I'll sing for you after a while. Are you fond of music? 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 29 
 
 Babe: H'm. I should think I ami Ahnost as fond of it as I am 
 of reading, only not quite, (turns to book held in her hand, with finger 
 keeping place.) I never read a book like this before. It's kind of French, 
 isn't it? (Reads title) Less Miserables — queer sort of name, isn't it? 
 
 MoLLiE (correcting her pronunciation) : Lay Meesir-ah-ble. 
 
 B.JiBE (obediently) : Lay ]Meesir-ah-ble. But I can make it out all 
 right, because it tells about a poor little girl and a good man who looks 
 out for her, just like my Steve. 
 
 Mollie: Shut up your book a minute, and let's have a talk, all 
 about your own sweet little self. 
 
 Babe (sturdily) : No. I ain't very sweet, I can tell you that, right 
 now, but I can look out for iinsclf, you can bet, and that's what sweet 
 people can't do. 
 
 Mollie (playfitlly. shaking her linger at her} : With a great big 
 pistol belted on to your waist, like you were when I saw _\ou first, today ! 
 (she laughs merrily) 
 
 Babe (mortified): I suppose it wasn't quite the thing, was it? 
 
 Mollie: No, it was not comme il faut. 
 
 Babe: Oh, you can talk French? 
 
 Mollie: How do you know it's French? 
 
 Babe (cunningly) : Oh, I know a few things. I am not as green 
 as I look. I can say "Donny moy de pang si vous plait," when I'm 
 hungry. 
 
 Mollie (laughs and pats her approi'ingly) : Now, tell me what 
 do you intend to do? 
 
 Babe: Oh, I'm going to get some kind of work to do. Steve thinks 
 I'm a baby, but I'll show him I can take of myself. 
 
 Mollie: Who is this Steve you speak of? 
 
 Babe: Oh, he's a kind of an adopted father of mine, and he's 
 coming down in a few weeks to look after me. 
 
 Mollie: How would you like to stay with me? You would not 
 have to soil your hands, but keep them white and soft. 
 
 Babe (holding up her hands and looking at them, disapproi'ingly) : 
 Humph ! They've never been white, and I don't care if they ain't. They're 
 useful hands, (abruptly) But what would I have to do? 
 
 Mollie: I would like to have you for a little companion, to go 
 shopping with me, and to wait on me. 
 
 Babe: Would you learn me French? 
 
 Mollie (correcting her) : Teach you French, you mean. You 
 would have to do the learning. 
 
 Babe (subdued) : Yes, teach. A\'ould you teach me French? 
 
 Mollie: Of course, 1 would. 1 have lieen in Paris, and they say 
 I talk like a native. 
 
 Babe (clapping hands, childishly) : Oh ! won't that be fine ! How 
 glad I am that that Miss Wiggins and that Sister Gertrude were not at 
 home when !Mr. Belmour took me there today. 
 
30 , SOCfETV .-LXD BABE ROB IX SOX 
 
 s, Mollie: I'm surprised at him, for they're not nice people, at all. 
 
 Babe : How glad I am that he let me j|ome here, or I should never 
 have met you. Is it true tltat it ain't going to be a hotel pretty soon, 
 that it's been sold out for another kind of business? 
 
 Mollie: Who told you that? 
 
 Babe: Why, Mr. Belmour's friend. He said it was no place for 
 me (looking around the zvalls.) But I don't see anything the matter. You 
 can't believe these men. 
 
 Mollie: Of course not. He was just fooling. Now how would 
 you like it? to stay with me? and you could go driving with me in my 
 little phaeton, and have a lovely time. But you would have to change 
 you/ name to something nice and stylish. 
 
 Babe (abruptly) : Huh ? Change my name ? Oh, no. Steve told 
 me not to do anything like that. He said it was like a snake changing 
 its skin every year, but bein' the same old snake, just the same. 
 
 ^Igllie (angry. Gets up suddenly and drags a chair out of its 
 place with such force it is knocked over. Turns to her again ] : \Miat a 
 simple child- you are! You've got an awful lot to learn if you're going 
 to stay with me! 
 
 Babe: Yoti are not mad at me. are you, Mollie? 
 
 Mollie (smiling) : Not in the least. 
 
 Babe (hesitating) : It does not seem quite right, does it? that I 
 should go on calling you just "Mollie," but you see, I wasn't introduced, 
 and so I don't know your other name. 
 
 Mollie (reserved and uncomfortable) : That's all right. I'll intro- 
 duce myself: Miss Mary Belle Darling, only they call me "Mollie." 
 
 Babe: What a pretty name, and it just suits you too. 
 
 Mollie (slyly) : What a pity your name isn't Alabel Sinclair. That 
 would suit you to a T. It is so stylish ! And, you know, you have to be 
 stylish if you want to get along in a big city like San Francisco. 
 
 Babe (nonchalantly) : Oh I I don't know I Steve doesn't think so. 
 He says, "If you keep on the chalk-line, you'll be all right." 
 
 AloLLiE (angrily) : You'll have to stop talking about "Steve" if 
 you're going to stay with me. He'll spoil all your chances to get on, 
 I can tell you. He is nothing but an old fogy. The times have cnanged 
 since he was young. 
 
 Babe (opening her book, irresolutely ) : That's all right, but I 
 wouldn't give up my Steve for the whole world! So, I'll hurry up and 
 finish the book and give it back to you. Miss Darling. 
 
 Mollie (changing at once): Oh! I was only saying that to try 
 you. Of course, he is all right, and a pretty fine man, I should judge, 
 by all you say of him. Now, I am going to have company, to-night, .so 
 you just sit down and read your book in peace, (knock at the door, Babe 
 pays no attention. Finds a corner on a sofa, and curls herself up over her 
 book and becomes so abstracted she hears no one and sees no one. Enter 
 George, Frenchy the capper, and Alf Kercheval. Give greetings and 
 suggest a game of cards. Mollie gets out a card-table and sets the chairs. 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 Another knock is heard.. Enter Morton, asking for Bclnwnr. MoUie 
 explains that he zi'ill be back presently. Iniites Morton in. He looks 
 around and sees Babe.) 
 
 Morton (aside) : I thought so. Miss Wiggins was not at home, 
 and so she insisted on coming here. Even a sportsman will give a bird 
 one chance for its life ! I promise that I will give her two. I will wait here 
 till Belmour comes, so I might as well join in the game, (keeps looking 
 at Babe, zvho is absorbed in her book.) 
 
 Mollie: We ought to have one more hand, (goes over to the 
 sofa and rouses Babe, and drazvs her forward to introduce her.) Gentle- 
 men ! This is my little cousin, and her name is Mabel Sinclair. 
 
 B.\BE (as if startled into defiance, giz'cs her hair a shake out of her 
 eyes, and throzi-s back her head) : No, you don't. Mollie! I'm nobody's 
 cousin, and my name is Babe Robinson. 
 
 Mollie (laughing): That's just a little joke of mine. Sit down 
 and talk to Mr. Kercheval. a minute. He's from Sacramento. 
 
 I].\i!E (still zi'ith book in hand) : Oh. from Sacramento! They have 
 lovely roses there, haven't they? 
 
 Kerchev.al: Ya-as — roses — doncher — know? (he slips his fin- 
 gers into his collar, and rubs his neck against it zcifh a nerz'ous tzt.'ist.) 
 
 B.\iiE: How long since you came from there? 
 
 Kercheval (zvith halting utterance, in a high pitched voice) : I 
 came down — I came down — doncher know I Well, I ran away — doncher 
 know. It ain't no good to stay up there, and have my father send me 
 to school — and college — and all those things — yes ! when I can run away, 
 and see the world, yes, see the world (voice runs dozvn to faintness.) 
 
 B.\be: Did you run away from home because your folks was real 
 miserable, and you couldn't stand it no longer? 
 
 Kercheval (zvith a vacant laugh): Oh, no! They're real rich 
 and all I've got to do is to telegraph for more money. 
 
 Babe: Oh! I should think your mother would feel awful. 
 
 Frenchy the Capper: Which shall it be. Mr. Kercheval, euchre 
 or whist? (he shuffles the cards.) 
 
 Kercheval (coming to table) : I ain't much on whist, but I'm 
 pretty slick on poker. 
 
 Mollie: Come, Babe, sit next to me. 
 
 Morton : Babe ! What a name. Still it seems to suit her, somehow. 
 
 Capper: Come, help us out, we need yon, little one. (lie shuffles 
 cards.) 
 
 B.VBE (zi.'onderingly ) : Cards? Do you pla}' cards in the city? 
 \\'hy ! I thought that nobody but poor wretches, who got landed high-and- 
 dry in a played-out mining-camp, ever played cards 'cause there was 
 nothing else to do. Oh, I hate the sight of 'em, and I promised Steve 
 never to touch one. if I died for it. He said they were the devil's visit- 
 ing cards. 
 
 (Capper and Mollie arise and shtnc signs of sudden anger.) 
 
32 SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 Kercheval (witli knoicing waggle of his head I : I ain't afraid of 
 'iiim, no, I ain't afraid of him. The devil can't scare me — 'cause there 
 ain't no devil. _ ' * 
 
 Capper (chipping liiin on the back ) : You're a brick, Kercheval. 
 Good for you! (Babe goes back to the sofa and her book as before.) ■ 
 
 Morton (aside) : Can't I make something happen — somehow ? I 
 never felt so helpless in my life. 
 
 Capper (resuming his play) : Oh, let's make it a dollar a chip. 
 There isn't much excitement in just playing for fun. 
 
 Kercheval: It's all right, doncher know? (he puts his hand in 
 his pocket and takes out a couple of l-a'ciities and puts them on the table. 
 MoUie's eyes glitter. 
 
 Enter Behnoiir. He is very pale and tired-looking but more alert 
 mentally than ever. They all greet him noisily, save Morton, zvho rises 
 and stands, waiting for a chance to speak to him aside.) 
 
 Belmour (rubbing his hands together) : I'm chilled by the night- 
 wind. This is a devil of a climate. Haven't you anything warm? 
 
 (Moflie gets decanters and glasses, passes around to the men, zvho 
 all drink, save Morton, zvho still stands. Cigars are lighted. Mollie 
 takes a cigarette. Babe lost in her book, comes to a touching part ivhere 
 poor little Cosette is in danger of losing her good man by his being- 
 buried alive in the coffin. She cannot restrain herself and begins to sob.) 
 
 Belmour: What the devil is that child doing here? I told you, 
 Mollie, I didn't want her around. 
 
 Mollie (lays dozen her cigarette, goes to her side and pets her 
 affectionately) : Why, Babe, crying over a book as if you did not have 
 troubles enough of your own to cry over. There, there ! 
 
 Morton : I'd like to speak to you a minute, Belmour. 
 
 Belmour (turns to him. Others chat to themselves) : What i'- it, 
 Morton ? 
 
 Morton : Say, look here ! I thought you were going to do dif- 
 ferently by the child. See how young and innocent she is. She ought 
 not to be here. You said she had the eyes of your little sister. Now 
 you wouldn't want a sister of yours to w^ind up like this, would you? 
 
 Belmour (impassiz'ely) : I tried to find your Miss Wiggins. It 
 was no use. The child w^as determined to come here. I tried to keep 
 her away from Mollie. She walked straight into her arms. Don't you 
 see it is Fate? We may as well give it up. 
 
 Babe (recovering) : I know I'm awful foolish, but I was just 
 thinking about that poor little Cossety. 
 
 Mollie (correcting) : Cosette. 
 
 Babe (obediently) : Cosette. 
 
 French Y the Capper: There, take the evening paper to read, 
 little one. (he hands over one that he takes out of his pocket. Maybe 
 you'll find something in it to make you laugh, (sings from the opera 
 of "Lucretia Borgia:") "It is better to laugh than be sighing." (Mor- 
 ton still stands, irresolute. The others sit at the card-table.) 
 
SOClh'lY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 MoLLiE (to Bclmour): What's the matter? You look so strange. 
 
 Belmour (dealing the cards with a graceful movement) : I've 
 taken a bad cold on my lungs, but I don't think it is going to be fatal. 
 (said as an attempt at a joke.) 
 
 Babe (reading the paper, giz'cs a terrible, sharp scream): Oh! 
 Oh ! Oh ! It's my Steve, my Steve ! He's dead ! He's been killed by 
 a stage-robber! What shall I do! (buries her head in her arm on the 
 sofa-arm. All are shocked save Kercheval who smiles inanely.) 
 
 Capper (explaining) : Of course, I'd no idea— I knew there 
 was a new stage hold-up on the Wellington road away up in Nevada, 
 but how was I to know where she came from? 
 
 Morton (going over to her, trying to win her confidence) : But 
 what has this to do with you. Miss Robinson? 
 
 Babe: It was my Steve — my friend — my adopted father, who has 
 known me since I was a baby, and he was coming down here to look 
 after me — but now there is no one ! (her tears start afresh, and she 
 feels in her pocket for the handkerchief ivhich is not there.) 
 
 Morton (pressing his fresh pocket-handkerchief into her hand.) 
 (aside) : As long as she hangs on to my handkerchief, I'm going to 
 hang on to her. It shall be a bond between us. (he turns to Belmour) 
 Fate is a curious thing, Belmour, isn't it? You know we were just 
 speaking of fate. To think of there being just one man in the whole 
 world standing between little Miss Robinson here, and the world — let 
 us say — and, by a singular fatality some ordinary ruffian going to work 
 and selecting that particular stage, and taking off that one man of all 
 men ! By Jove ! I don't know what you think about it, but I call it 
 mighty rough. 
 
 (The nczvspapcr is being passed around.) 
 
 Belmour: I don't feel like cards tonight. This cold's getting worse. 
 What do you do for a cold, anyway? 
 
 Kercheval (in a high key): Whiskey's pretty good! My father's 
 a doctor, and he always takes whiskey. 
 
 (Morton turns back to Babe. She has assumed stolidity. Offers him 
 back his handkerchief.) 
 
 Morton (indulgently) : I want you to keep it. I was in hopes 
 it would be a kind of a bond between us, and that it would help you to 
 know and understand that I wanted to be your friend. 
 
 Babe: I'm sorry, but somehow I don't seem to like you, Mr. 
 Morton. You tried to deceive me, and keep me from coming here. 
 Mollie told me you were just fooling, and that your Miss Wiggins and 
 Sister Gertrude were not nice at all. 
 
 Morton (suddenly): Don't you know that Mollie lies? That her 
 hellish face is painted, and that this is no place for a child like you? 
 Steve wouldn't like it at all. (Babe is stunned. She still thinks he is 
 fooling, but gives a look at Mollie. Near the piano stand Belmour. Mollie 
 and the capper.) 
 
 Mollie: That young one is simply awful. But I'll break her in, 
 in a (lav or two. 
 
34 . SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 ■■ Capper: With that innocent aii: of hers, she'll be worth thousands 
 to us. J, 
 
 Belmour (in suppressed anger) : I won't have her around. She 
 shall leave the hotel tomorrow. 
 
 MoLLiE (surprised) : But I've taken a fancy to Iier. 
 
 Belmour (fiercely) : And I say she leaves here tomorrow, damn 
 you! 
 
 (Knock at the door. Bell-boy enters, -zcitli card, ivhicli he hands to 
 Belmour.) 
 
 MoLLiE (crossly) : Who is it that conies so late? 
 
 Belmour (with hand up for silence) : Hush ! It is a lady. 
 
 (Enter lady of prim appearance in gray garments, with gray hair.) 
 
 Miss Wiggins (advancing to Belmour) : Is this the gentleman 
 who left a note for Miss Wiggins ? I know it is late, but I only arrived 
 at home a few moments ago, and decided to come at once. 
 
 (Babe is scanning the faces of them all. She is amaced to see hoxv 
 pale every one is but Mollie.) 
 
 Belmour: I thank you for coming. The child is here. I want 
 you to take her away with you. (he puts his hand into his pocket and 
 draws out a handful of twenties, and offers them to her.) When you 
 need more, let me know. 
 
 Miss Wiggins: I am poor, it is true, but I came to befriend the 
 child without any thought of compensation. 
 
 Belmour: I am aware of that, madam. Take it and put it in 
 your bag for her. (sJie accepts it. He turns around, peremptorily). 
 Mollie! Make that child put on iier things and go with Miss Wiggins 
 at once! 
 
 Mollie: What? Now? So late! It is twelve o'clock! 
 
 Belmour (fiercely) : Do as I tell you ! 
 
 Morton (aside) : Who would have ever taken Miss Wiggins for 
 an angel in disguise ! 
 
 Mollie (to Babe, unzvillingly) : Come, Babe, the lady has come 
 to take you away. Belmour says you are to go with her. 
 
 Babe (stupidly) : What? Not to go away from you, Mollie? Does 
 he say that? (She is puzzled.) 
 
 Mollie (sullenly) : That's what he says. 
 
 Babe (looking from one face to another) : Not now? 
 
 Belmour (sternly) : Yes, the sooner, the better. 
 
 Morton (aside) : Great Jehosaphat ! The stupidity of innocence 
 simply surpasses belief! 
 
 Miss Wiggins (advancing and putting her hand on the girl's 
 shoulder, gently) : I am sure, dear child, the gentleman speaks nothing 
 but the truth. This is not a place for a young girl like you. 
 
 Babe (beginning to tremble, as the reality dazvns on her) : Why, 
 I'm so dazed, reading the book and seeing so many strange faces that 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 35 
 
 it seems as if I was in a kind of dream ; and perhaps it is a horrible 
 dream — all of it — and my Steve is not dead, after all. 
 
 Miss Wiggins (kindly, but Urmly) : Come, my child, get your 
 hat and come with me. 
 
 Babe (looks around from face to face, coming to that of MoUie, 
 last of all. She sees there the paint and the mocking smile. She turns 
 to Miss Wiggins and clings to her arm) : Oh! take me away! It isn't 
 a terrible dream. It is true, all of it. (door opens, Sister Gertrude 
 enters. Babe runs to her. The tzvo zvomen lead her from the room. 
 The capper and Ko^rhcval and Morton take their leave and go. Mollie 
 and Bcbnour arc left standing in the middle of the floor, facing each 
 other.) 
 
 ]\Iollie: Why did you take so much trouble about this little fool? 
 
 Belmour: She reminded me of some one. 
 
 Mollie: Bah! I know youVe been away somewhere, and you 
 have come back with plenty of money. You were pale as death, tonight. 
 What does it mean ? You were afraid, you were afraid. Don't you fool 
 yourself. I know as well as if you had told me why you sent her away. 
 You are afraid. You are afraid. 
 
 Belmour : You devil ! Do you think I am going to stand your 
 vile temper much longer? 
 
 Mollie : That's it ! Get me started ! Have nie tell you the whole 
 story, for though you've fooled the detectives you can't fool me. (she 
 makes a sudden move. Drops down in front of him, puts her head close 
 to the floor. Then springs up, alert and triumphant.) I know where 
 you've been. I can smell the sage-brush on your boots. You've been 
 to Nevada. 
 
 Belmour (zi'ith sudden move tozcard her, then restrains himself, 
 hoarsely spoken) : Well! what do you mean to do about it? 
 
 Mollie: That depends on you. I could do almost anything if 
 you should leave me, as you sometimes threaten. I don't propose to 
 come down in the world and be kicked about from pillar to post. We 
 get along, all right. Why shouldn't we keep it up? I mean that you 
 shall stay with me. That's what I mean — that you shall never leave me 
 now ! 
 
 Belmour (sinking into a chair zvcakly. holding a handkerchief to his 
 lips. As he catches it azvav, there is a crimson stain upon it) : \"ery 
 well. 
 
 Mollie (springing to his side): What is that? Oh. poor Robert! 
 (applies remedies.) I'll nurse you ! I'll take good care of you. 
 (significantly.) Remember, that as long as you stay with me, you will 
 be perfectly safe. 
 
 (End of Scene.) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 (Hotel corridor. Morton zcaiting and zcalking up and dozvn. Enter 
 Miss Wiggins and Sister Gertrude, zcilh Babe sobbing. Miss Wiggins 
 has the old carpet-sack. I 
 
36 SOCIETY AXD BADE ROBINSON 
 
 , Miss Wiggins: Oh, dear! The poor Httle thing has been crying 
 so, we haven't a dry handkerchief left. 
 
 Morton : Let me carry that for you to the cars. 
 
 Miss Wiggins: Be careful! There's a horrid pistol in it. 
 
 Babe (rousing up) : I don't want that old pistol any more. It's no 
 good. That don't help you any to take care of yourself. 
 
 Miss Wiggins: That's just what I've been telling her. Won't you 
 take it, Mr. Morton, and keep it for us? 
 
 Babe (childishly) : Yes, please. It was Steve's : but I'd ratlier 
 you'd have it. 
 
 Sister Gertrude (getting it out, and passing it over to him): I'm 
 siire it will be best for all of us, for Miss Wiggins is not at all well, 
 and it makes her very nervous to have it around. 
 
 Morton (putting the six-shooter into his pocket) : Ah ! what would 
 we do without women like you in this old world? You are the salt of 
 the earth, that's sure, (to Babe, checringly.) Don't you worry, little Miss 
 Robinson, as long as you have friends like these, you are perfectly safe. 
 (Takes up. carpet-sack, and ivalks along with them.) 
 
 (End of First Act, Third Scene.) 
 (Lapse of One Year.) 
 
ACT 
 
 (Manning's Oyster Grotto. Street scene, Pine hctzveen Montgomery 
 and Kearny. Bohemian Club. Art Association. Market on ground- 
 floor. People coming out and going in. Jim Castleton and Harrington 
 meet Lily White and Kate Strong. Jim puts a ring on Lily's hand Kate 
 savs "No" to Harrington, as before. Emperor Norton zvalks along, in 
 full regalia. Stops, and gives a child the button-hole-bouquet, from his 
 lapel. The Keyman comes shuffling along, stops to look at some laborers 
 in the street. 'They put dozvn their dinner pails. Along comes a very 
 poor specimen of a youth, tattered and torn. It is Al Kercheval. He 
 stops and looks at these dinner pails, goes up to one, and takes out a 
 piece of bread, turns around to cat it zvhite looking in the zvindozv of the 
 restaurant.) 
 
 Keyman (going up to him and giving him a slap on the back) : 
 Knowed ye the minit I seen ye. Wot ye doin'? 
 
 Kercheval (frightened) : Don't tell on me. I'm seein' the world! 
 
 Keyman : Yes, ye are ! Like a little lamb. Where's yer fren' ? 
 Where's Frenchy, the capper? 
 
 Kercheval: Sh! (looking around, piteously.) A sailor stabbed 
 him with a knife, an' I run away. 
 
 ivEYMAN : But you ! you're a gent ! You can talk to ]\Ialoney. 
 Wot d'ye say? Come along wid me an' help my fren" to git on de force, 
 and I'll look out for ye! (zvaves his hand to some one) Here he is 
 now. (Bobby Spongier, in flashy clothes, appears.) Don't you 'member 
 him? Ye was both interdooced to Maloney ter wanst! (to Bobby.) 
 Here's the swell guy that kin git ye on de force. Let's take him home 
 and dress him up and set him up on his pins again ! He's a gent, he is, 
 but he don't know any too much (tapping his forehead significantlv). 
 
 Kerche\al (protesting) : I'm seein' the world, Yaas, I'm seein' 
 the world. 
 
 (Enter /Ti'o, Behnour. z^'ith his hat pulled dozvn over his eyes, over- 
 coat pulled up. and Mollie Darling, in large zvrap, concealing her figure, 
 and heaz'ily veiled.) 
 
 Kercheval (s)niles inanely at them, goes up and extends his hand, 
 and drazi'ls) : How do you do. Miss Darling? I haven't seen you for 
 a long time. No, I haven't seen you ! 
 
 Mollie (lifting her veil): Why, it's Mr. Kercheval! You iiaven't 
 been having very good luck lately, have you? You must let me give 
 you something. 
 
 Kercheval (protesting) : No. T only wanted to speak to vou, 
 that's all, and here are my "friends, (he tries to tell their names. .Mollie 
 smiles on them.) 
 
38 SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 MoLLiE (aside) : Robert ! Speak to them. They ir.a_\- be of use 
 to us. (Belmour shakes hands tvith themj 
 
 Mollie: You must c^ome and see me* soon. Now, remember, (she 
 puts something into the Keyman's hand for Kerchcval, and gives him 
 her address. Pulls her veil down again.) 
 
 Mollie (szveetly, to Keyman) : Take good care of Mr. Kercheval. 
 (to Belmour.) I shouldn't wonder if we could get that fellow with the 
 keys to help us. He looks clever, (policeman passes, viezvs them closely) 
 
 Belmour : I shall not come out again and run such a risk as this. 
 
 Mollie: No, we'll have to be more careful, and you'll have to go 
 away pretty soon. 
 ' Belmour: Yes, but where? (they depart.) 
 
 Keym.\n: I ain't a wise gezabo, huh? Never said a word! An' 
 look ! See what she gimme fer Kertch ! That's wot comes o' bein' in wid 
 a gent. 
 
 Kercheval (mildly and hesitatingly) : Are we pards? 
 Keyman : You bet we're pards ! An' now I'm goin' ter take ye 
 home wid me, an' learn ye the key-biznes. (the tivo go out together.) 
 
 Mrs. Spangler comes out of the market ivith her bundles, and Bobby 
 goes along with her. 
 
 A small figure appears, coming along slozcly. It is Babe Robin- 
 son, in a shabby frock, with circular cape and small sailor-hat on her" 
 head. She is very pale.) 
 
 Babe (stopping to look into The Grotto zvindow) : I don't know 
 what I'm going to do next. It is always bad luck for me. Maybe it's 
 no good — my walking a chalk line ! Maybe nothing good is ever going 
 to happen to me ! Why should I be punished ! I am innocent. If only 
 I could get something to eat! Why should the world be full of good 
 things for everybody, and nothing for me? 
 
 (Enter Morton. He stops and looks at his watch.) 
 
 Morton : I've just an hour to spare. The hanging is at one o'clock. 
 That gives me time for my lunch and a smoke. First, it's a wedding, 
 then a murder, then a hanging. Great Jupiter ! What a way for a man 
 to spend his life ! If only my grandfather had not started on that law- 
 suit, and swamped the whole family, I should now be a young blood 
 myself, and have enjoyed life with the best of them. Well! Who knows! 
 We may win it yet. (he'zvalks to the entrance of the Grotto. Sees thii 
 girl standing there. Begins to scan her and then zcalks up to her.) Why, 
 bless my soul! Is this little Miss Robinson? 
 
 Babe (gives a quick look) : Yes, it's me, Mr. Morton. 
 
 Morton : Dear me ! How you've changed ! Where are those good 
 friends of yours, Miss Wiggins and Sister Gertrude? 
 
 Babe: Miss Wiggins died at the hospital, six months ago, and 
 Sister Gertrude is away, traveling with a patient. 
 
 Morton: And where do you live now? 
 
 Babe: Oh, there's a good-natured Irish woman lets me have a 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 39 
 
 little room at her house. But she's very poor too, and can't look out for 
 me. 
 
 Morton : I'm going in to luncheon here. Won't you come in and 
 keep me company ? 
 
 Babe (hesitating) : Is it a real nice restaurant, where nice ladies 
 go? 
 
 Morton (coniprehending) : Why, of course! The best ladies and 
 the best society in San Francisco come here. I'll take you in, and show 
 you how nice they are ! But they won't let a man go upstairs, not if he 
 was the Governor of the State of California, nor a minister of the gospel, 
 to sit with those nice folks, unless he has a lady with him. So you see, 
 you'll have to take me there, otherwise I'll have to sit down-stairs with 
 the miserable men. (jokingly. He opens the door and waits for her to 
 pass in. She smiles zvanly.) 
 
 (End of First Scene.) 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 (Restaurant tables. Morton and Babe seek a table. When the 
 shrimps* are set before them, she begins to tear off the shells and eat them 
 eagerly, with big bites of bread and butter.) 
 
 B.\BE (talking nervously, and very fast) : I didn't know much when 
 I came down here last year, did I, Mr. Morton? But, oh! I know lots 
 now, and I tell you, it's a mighty tough world ! That's what it is ! I've 
 had a terrible time, since my darling Miss Wiggins died. I've done al- 
 most everything. I've 'tended babies and run errands, and yesterday 
 I tried to sew some shirts. But would you believe it? I sewed the 
 sleeves in wrong, and the man wouldn't pay me, of course, and I — well, 
 I get pretty hungry. It's a pity that a good dinner like this can't last a 
 week, isn't it? If only we didn't have to eat! Why, that is the greatest 
 nuisance of it all! 
 
 Morton (perceiving that she has been almost starving) : And are 
 you actually alone? Why, where are Belmour and Mollie Darling? 
 
 B.A.BE: Oh, I've never seen anything of them since that night. It 
 was good of Mr. Belmour to make me go with Miss Wiggins, and pay 
 my board, enough for six months, in advance, wasn't it? I'll always be 
 grateful to him for that ! 
 
 Morton : Yes, that was pretty white of Belmour ! By the way, 
 have you ever heard anything about the robber who killed your friend, 
 Steve? I heard, today, something about it. They think that they have 
 got on his trail. You know that there is a five-thousand-dollar reward 
 for him, dead or alive, and somebody wants to get it! 
 
 Babe: I hope they will find him. A man like that ought to be 
 made to sufTer ! When you kill anybody for money, that's awful ! 
 
 Morton: So it is! (aside.) Great Jupiter! My conscience is 
 snowing me under, I've got to do something for this child. Giving her 
 a dinner is not the end of my duty in this matter. Hang it all ! it is' only 
 the beginning, (to Babe.) If my mother were here— but she's in New 
 
 •It was the custom at that time to serve shrimps free while one studied the bill of fare. 
 
40 SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 York — she'd know what to do. Why don't you get a trade, you poor 
 Htfle Miss Robinson? 
 
 Babe (joyously) : Brii^g on your trarte ! I'll learn anything any- 
 body will let me. 
 
 Morton: How would you like book-binding, or type-setting? The 
 only trouble is — how would you live till you learned how? 
 
 Babe: I can manage to get along on three dollars a week. Don't 
 you suppose I could make that much? 
 
 Morton : Good Lord ! And I spend more than that on cigars and 
 drinks! (he looks around. Sees people he knows, but to whom he 
 could not introduce his poor little zcaif. Marie Castleton gives him a 
 nod, but her mother and sisters and Miss Harrington ignore him. They 
 arc too stylish. Then a business zvoman. Mrs. Richmond, comes in. Takes 
 her seat, and two girls, Kate Strong and Lily White, arrive, looking 
 around for a place to sit.) 
 
 Mrs. Richmond: Oh, Miss Strong, come here, and sit with me, 
 and your friend, too. 
 
 Babe (zvonderingiy) : I know them. I know those two pretty 
 young ladies ; but they don't know me ! They live in the same house that 
 I do, with Mrs. Spangler. Only I am away up stairs, in the attic. 
 
 Morton (zvith suppressed emotion) : What is it, Miss Robinson, 
 that helps you to keep from stealing, or anything else, when you get so 
 hungry and forlorn? And how do you keep up your courage? 
 
 Babe: Because, I've never done anything mean, and I ain't a-going 
 to. And shall I tell you everything? It's because I don't ever want to 
 do anything that will make my poor little children ashamed of me. 
 
 Morton: Well (he hits his fist on the table), if this big city can't 
 find honest work for a child like you, it is fit for the fate of Sodom and 
 Gomorrah. Do you see that lady over there? I know her. She has 
 a co-operative printing business, and I am going to try to get you over 
 to that table where you belong, with those young ladies that you know 
 and who do not know you, though they live under the same roof! Now 
 you just watch me do it, for I've got to run away in just a minute. 
 (Morton arises, goes over to the table, most gracefidly.) 
 
 Morton: Why, Mrs. Richmond, how do you do? (she intro- 
 duces Lily White and Kate Strong. He bows and smiles zvith all his 
 art. His manner is most irresistible.) I have a favor to ask of you, 
 Mrs. Richmond. Can't you make a place here for a child who is alone 
 in the world, and let her learn to set type down at your co-operative 
 printing? I'll stand sponsor for her? 
 
 Mrs. Richmond (bttsiness zvoman) : Of course, I will, Mr. Mor- 
 ton, for you have done many a favor for me. Where is she? 
 
 Morton: Right here. Shall I bring her over? And, by the way, 
 she lives in the same house with Miss White and Aliss Strong, (he 
 fetches her over.) 
 
 Miss Strong: So she does. Poor little thing! I have seen her 
 looking over the banisters. Haven't you, Lily? 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 41 
 
 Lily: Why, yes. 
 
 Morton (introducing them. Aside): My God! To think that 
 this is left to me to do ! (to Babe.) But I must go. I have an appoint- 
 ment at one. Good-bye, Miss Robinson. Good afternoon, ladies. I hope 
 you will all become great friends! (aside, as he reaches the door and 
 looks back once more.) The child is no longer alone in the world. 
 
 (End of .A.ct Two, Scene Two.) 
 (Lapse of Four Months.) 
 
ACT 111. -Scene I. 
 
 (Street scene. It is bright morning. Outside of rooming-house of 
 Mrs. Spangler, Howard street near Fifth. Three stories and hasemeni} 
 of dilapidated house, with wide front steps. As curtain goes up, it dis- 
 closes Minerva, a tall, lanky girl, Dickie Gusset, a rough boy, Billy Gusset, 
 a weak little fellozv, ahvays tumbling down, Kree Gusset, a lame girl 
 with a big shoe on one foot, and five other children of various sizes and 
 sorts playing "Ring-a-round-a-Rosy" in front of Mrs. Spangler's rooming- 
 house for poor people.) 
 
 Minerva: Oh, let's play Old Diggelly Bones? 
 
 Chorus (in rapture) : Old Diggelly Bones ! (they all run for the 
 steps and seat themselves in e.vpcctation, save Minerva, Dickie and Kree.) 
 
 Dickie: Me! Me! I'm goin' ter be "old Diggelly Bones." 
 
 Minerva: And I'll be Big Sister. 
 
 Chorus: No! let Kree be the Sister. She knows how to take care 
 of children, she does ! 
 
 Minerva: All right, then, I'll be the mother, (she begins to name 
 them according to the game.) Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, 
 Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Now, Big Sister, you take care of the 
 children and don't let old Diggelly Bones get them. (Minerva goes off.) 
 
 Dickie (tvith staccato voice, coming forivard) : Gimme a match ! to 
 light my pipe, or else — 
 
 (Door opens at top of steps. The scrub-woman appears, Biddy the 
 Bogie, Mrs. Spangler's old sister, still redolent of the bogs of old Ireland. 
 She is a witchlike figure zvith head tied up in a three-cornered handker- 
 chief, and many thick petticoats on, and a ragged apron over all, as if 
 she labored under the hallucination that the more terrible one looks ivhile 
 at work the better the work will be done. She has pails and mops and 
 brooms ready at hand. Is very stern and forbidding. Waves a feather- 
 duster at the children, ivho become very angry at this interruption of 
 their dearly beloved game.) 
 
 Biddy, the Bogie : Whisht wid ye ! Go away at wanst and lave a 
 buddy in pace ! Some leddies and gents is comin' an' dey can't git in ! 
 
 (Children raise an outcry at being driven away, all save little lame 
 Kree zuho stands apart from the rest, a pathetic figure. Biddy shakes her 
 fist at Dickie zvho defies her. Minerva, in revenge, starts a neiv game 
 in derision of the poor scrub-zvoman and presently all but Kree are in 
 couples marching up and dozvn. Kree still stands.) 
 
 Children (singing) : 
 
 Here we go, two by two, 
 Dressed in yeller, pink and blue. 
 Not afraid of Boogie Boo 
 Here she comes! O-o-o-o-h! 
 
SOCIETY AND BABIL ROBINSON 
 
 (Ending with a [^rctcndcd scream of terror as they run down the 
 street.) 
 
 Biddy, the Bogie: Xoav, thin. I'll la\?e me things here an' git the 
 rist of thim. (Goes within and closes the door. As she does so, the 
 children all rush Inick to the steps and begin "Old Diggelly Bones" again 
 where they had left off.) 
 
 Dickie (with staccato voice supposed to be blood-curdling) : Give 
 me a match to light my pipe, or else — 
 
 Voice (from zvithin, ivearily) : Car-o-line ! Car-o-line ! 
 
 Minerva: Kree, your mother's calling you. 
 
 Kree (cheerfully) : Yes, Ma, I'm coming, (to the children) I 
 guess the baby waked up. (Kree departs. Goes in small gate to base- 
 ment-door. Discussion arises. Who is to take the place of Kree, nozv 
 left vacant.) 
 
 Saturd.w: Can't I be Big Sister? 
 
 Minerva: No, I'll be the Big Sister because that is the most im- 
 portant. Saturday, you can be the mother. 
 
 Dickie (advancing trying to look ferocious, repeats in staccato) : 
 Gimme a match to light my pipe, or else Diggelly Digelly Bones'll get ye ! 
 (door opens suddenly and Biddy appears and they all run helter-skelter, 
 tumbling over each other.) 
 
 Biddy (standing ivith a paper bag in her hands) : Come back wid 
 yees 1 Here's a cookie fur ye — an' now be good byes an' girrls an' lemme 
 git the work done, (they croivd around her laughing and talking. She 
 gives each one a cookie.) Now, be off wid yees! I'm goin' ter clane the 
 steps, (begins to szveep. They go off skipping and are disappearing one 
 by one. Kree comes out zvith a baby in her arms.) 
 
 Kree: Dickie and Billy, Ma wants you, right away. 
 
 (The tzvo boys hold up their cookies and give her a bite as they pass 
 her and go zvithin. Biddy leans over and gives her the paper-bag of cakes. 
 Kree smiles and follozvs the boys zvithin. Almost immediately Dickie 
 and Billy come out again holding a very large market-basket betzveen 
 them by the handle, and go slozvly down the street.) 
 
 Biddy, the Bogie (leaning over and calling out' to neighbor, ne.vt 
 door, through the open zvindozv zvhere he sits reading the morning-paper) : 
 An' how arr ye this marnin', Misther O'Neil? 
 
 Neighbor O'Neil (from ne.vt door) : An' is ut yersilf, Mistliress 
 Egan? 
 
 Biddy, the Bogie: It is that same. Misther O'Neil! .^n' wot's the 
 news? 
 
 Neighbor O'Neil: Great things is happenin' ! Great things! But 
 wait an' I'll be comin' to tell ye. (appears in his morning- gozvn and slip- 
 pers and smoking-cap, the picture of a prosperous comfortable citizen of 
 that time.) Wot d'ye think? Th' Anti-Coolie question is goin' to pass 
 in Washington, D. C. Gineral Garfield is nominated fur prisidint. an' 
 wot's the biggest thing of all, theer's goin' to be a rollin'-mill put up by 
 me friend, Peter Donohue,* down on First and Mission street. It's fur 
 
 *The statuary-group "Mechanics" which l>eautifies Market street, near First, is here placed 
 in honor of Peter Donohue, and this rollinR-mill, now no more. 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 45 
 
 the wurkin' man ! An' all he's got to do is to take his dinner-pail in his 
 hand and go down theer an' git a job! That's the best news fnr manny 
 a day ! An' the name o' Donohue will go on roUin' down the ages, sure ! 
 
 Biddy, the Bogie (surprised and gratified but mystified) : Think of 
 thot now ! (she catches sight of Billy Barney, the negro minstrel, coming 
 out from the little gate at the basement cautiously as if to elude notice, and 
 leans over to intercept him.) An' have ye got the rint riddy yit, Misther 
 Barney — it's been owin' this two months sure? (enter Barney.) 
 
 Barney (visibly shrinking but putting up a bold front, lifts his hat 
 to her gallantly) : So it is, Mrs. Egan, I'd quite forgotten! But I hope 
 to get a job soon. If the managers were n't so jealous of me and bound 
 to keep me down, I'd have had one long ago. 
 
 Biddy, the Bogie (relentlessly) : Yis, but wheer's the rint ? 
 
 Barney (with the anger of despair) : I'll go and pawn my Ijanjo 
 and GIVE you the money! (goes in angrily and returns zvith his banjo, 
 carrying it jauntily as he starts off dozen the street.) This is the way they 
 treat ARTISTSf in San Francisco! And this will go "rolling" down the 
 ages, too! (Goes off haughtily.) 
 
 Neighbor O'Neil (looking after him curiously) : Poor divil ! 
 
 Biddy the Bogie (haughtily) : I pities thim as belongs to a 
 theayter ! 
 
 Neighbor O'Neil (proudly) : As fur mesilf, I'd ruther be a work- 
 in' man! But I must be goin". I he returns to his oiun house.) Good- 
 day, Misthress Egan. 
 
 Biddy the Bogie: Good-day, jMisther O'Neil. (meditatively, lean- 
 ing on her broom.) I wunner, I guess not, I dunno, wot is a rollin'-mill? 
 (she catches sight of her younger sister, Mrs. Spangler, as she comes- 
 from market dressed in her best broche shazvl and velvet bonnet zvith a 
 lot of crushed red roses on it zvith the cotton sticking out from them 
 shozving the zvear and tear of time. But Mrs. Spangler. being buxom 
 and gay. holds her head proudly. The tzvo sisters always have high zvords 
 zvith each other zvhen they meet. Enter Mrs. Spangler.) 
 
 Biddy, the Bogie (eyeing her sister moodily) : Foine feathers 
 make foine burrds, they say, but it's sorry I am for you, ^laggie Mc- 
 Ginnis, wearin' yer best bonnet tuh market ! 
 
 Mrs. Spangler (tossing her head and shrugging her slwulders) : 
 If I didn't have one, I couldn't wear it. A leddy must look like a leddy, 
 aven wen she goes to market, an' many's the foine gintleman as has taken 
 ofif his hat to me this mornin'! 
 
 Bogie (relentlessly) : .\n' it's a poor mother your son has got this 
 day! 
 
 tNo tablet is yet placed in memory of the merry-makers of this period who held forth 
 in the old Bush Street Theatre. Nevertheless we sang their songs, we repeated their brilliant 
 sallies of wit, we named our pets after them, we referred to them as authorities. They became 
 as household gods by their elegance, personality and quality. They gave us real wit in those 
 days, clean and free from vulgarity. They soothed us in many an hour of distraction or 
 grief by their merry quips and turns, though they had many sorrows of their own. Foremost 
 among all of these were William Courtright, Charlie Reed, Billy Emerson, Billy Cotton and 
 Carroll Johnson. 
 
46 ■ SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 ' Mrs. S. (losing her jaiintiness, suddenly) : Biddy ! fer the love of 
 Hiven, wet's happened to my boy? -Ye know4,he's the apple of me eye! 
 
 The Bogie (opens the door) : Here ye are, Bobby. Yer mither has 
 come. (Bobby comes out and gives zvay to his feelings.) 
 
 Bobby: Well, Mawther, wot d'ye think's bruck loose, now? Here 
 they've gone an' got a new rule fer to get on the force. A man's got to 
 be 26, an' theer's me application in, statin' that me age is 24. 
 
 Mrs. S. (throwing her shazvl over her head, and sitting doivn on the 
 steps, and zvailing) : O-oh, Bobby ! ye'll niver git on, at all, at all ! 
 
 Bobby : If I had foive dollars to give Maloney, I cud git it out an' 
 put in another application statin' me age is 26. 
 
 Mrs. S. (arousing herself in surprise) : Och. I\Iy ! Bobby, what a 
 foine head ye've got on ye ! 
 
 Bobby: Yes, but wheer's the foive dollars? 
 
 Mrs. S. (winking prodigiously) : Ye jist lave it to me. I'll borry it 
 from somebudy. (ttirns to her sister unctuously.) Biddy, wouldn't ye be 
 lending' me. foive dollars, for Bobby to help him to git on the force? 
 
 The Bogie (indignantly) : Och, an' it's sorry I am for ye, Maggie 
 Maginnis ! Ye may have been the belle of Antrim County wen ye was 
 back in ould Ireland but it is a poor sowl ye are now, gitten into that rat- 
 hole o' polly ticks ! (lifts her head haughtily.) 
 
 Mrs. Sp.\ngler (to Bobby): Niver ye mind, me jewel. I'll borry 
 it from somebuddy else, (she goes inside. 
 
 Bobby stops and blarneys his aunt. She smiles upon him. slips her 
 hand into a capacious pocket in her petticoat and drazcs out five dollars and 
 gives it to him.) 
 
 The Bogie: Say nothin' to nobuddy an' ye can have it. Not a 
 wurrd out of ye! Remimber! Now run along an' give it to Misther 
 Maloney. 
 
 (Bobby kisses her and runs along. She looks after him fondly.) 
 
 Bogie (emotionally) : He's morr moine than he is hern. Didn't I 
 sing the old songs to him wen he was a babby, wen she was goin' to 
 parties and dancin'? an' a proud day it'll be fer his Aunt Biddy wen she 
 can walk up and down an' see 'im in his foine uniform, standin' on his 
 beat. 
 
 Mrs. S. (comes out on the step again) : Where's Bobby? 
 
 Bogie (gathers up her mops and brooms) : He's gone to see Misther 
 Maloney. (she goes in proudly. 
 
 Enter Sister Gertrude. Greeted by Mrs. Spongier, warmly.) 
 
 Sister Gertrude: I can't stop a minute. I only came to tell you 
 I am back again, and I'm at the Clay Street Hospital, for women. I had 
 a letter from Babe, and she says you have been very kind to her, and I 
 am so glad. 
 
 Mrs. S. : That's true. Sister Gertrude ; but we're all bavin' such 
 a hard time oursilves that it's a wonner we can do anything for anny 
 bodv. 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 47 
 
 Sister Gertrude: Well, Maggie, you know it's the poor that helps 
 the poor. 
 
 Mrs. S. : So it is, so it is ! She's a rale nice little gell, an' we all 
 like her. An' wot d'ye think, Misther Morton's got a room here now too. 
 He's savin' his money fer to fetch his mother out from the East. He's 
 a foine gentleman an' Miss Lilly and Miss Kate help him to look after 
 the little gell. 
 
 Sister Gertrude: How glad I am the poor child has so many 
 friends. You tell her I have come back. Now I must go. (she turns 
 and sees a stranger. She gives another look and starts, then turns about 
 in the opposite direction, drawing her veil over her face and goes zvithout 
 another word. But she is overcome zvith emotion. 
 Enter Parson Hager.) 
 
 Parson Hager (to Mrs. Spanglcr) : You have rooms to rent, 
 Madam? 
 
 Mrs. Spangler: That I has, sorr, clane and nate, if I do say so as 
 who should not. (at this moment, Babe arrives, in tidy clothes, and full 
 of content.) 
 
 Habe: How de do, Mrs. Spangler, an' how's everybody today? I've 
 got a half-holiday, and I'm going to get up a nice lunch for the girls — 
 hot biscuits and apple sauce and fried potatoes and sliced tomatoes. Won't 
 they be surprised, though? 
 
 Parson Hager (advancing zvith amis held out) : Why, Babe, is this 
 you? I've hunted for you every where. Steve made me promise to go 
 and find you, just before he died. 
 
 Babe (thunderstruck) : Parson! You here? (she stands, hesita- 
 ting, then buries her head in her arm, like a child, and gives zvay to 
 suppressed grief.) 
 
 Parson (going to her) : What is the matter ? Don't you want to 
 see me? I bring you news, sad news. 
 
 Babe (in a low voice) : I have made friends for myself, down here. 
 They would not like me if they knew about my old troubles, and that my 
 mother had married the man — who — killed my father. Promise me you 
 will keep it a secret. 
 
 Parson: I promise! For that is all over, now. Your mother is 
 dead. Her sorrows are no more. 
 
 Babe (sorrozvfully) : Poor mother ! But I still have to bear the 
 burden. Why! all my good friends would turn away from me if they 
 knew. Why do the innocent have to suffer for the guilty ? 
 
 Parson : You are young. How can you understand ? But I am old, 
 and I have suffered too. I had a daughter. She ran away with a wicked 
 woman. Her mother's heart was broken and she died. ' But I still live 
 on — and I suffer. 
 
 Babe (clinging to him): How glad I am you came! For now we 
 can sympathize with each other. It will be fine for you to have a room 
 here, (she introduces him to Mrs. Spangler. The three go in. 
 
 As they go in a figure closely veiled, comes up to the door but hesitates 
 
48 ■ SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 about ringing the bell. Enter Keyman and IVcakUng. Mollie Darling 
 conies down the steps to them.) ■ «, 
 
 Al Kercheval (takes oif his hat gracefully) : How are you, Miss 
 Darling? I haven't — seen — you — for — some — time. No, — I — haven't — 
 seen — you. 
 
 Keyman (roughly) : Cheese it, Kertch ! Don't be callin' her name 
 out Hke dat ! She's on the quiet, now. An' we ain't goin' to give 'er away ! 
 Anythin' wanted? Keys or somethin'? 
 
 Mollie (in suppressed tones): Yes. Can you clean a revolver? 
 and put it in good shape ? It doesn't go very well, (she produces a pis- 
 tol from her hand-bag, and gives it to him. He looks it over critically.) 
 ' Keyman : Dat ain't no good. Ye want a better one dan dat. (she 
 takes out her purse. He scoivls.) No, yer don't ! I can git you one. Do 
 you want it fur him ? 
 
 Mollie: Yes. Can you take it to him? The detectives follow me 
 now. I have to keep away ! Will you look after him ? I'll pay you. 
 
 Keyman : No, yer don't ! He's my fren' ! He treats me wite, an' 
 so do you.' I'll look after him, all right. Don't you worry. (Mollie tries 
 to thank him, goes.) Come on, Ketch. Let's go in. (they go in by side- 
 entrance. 
 
 Jim Castleton and Lily IVIiitc appear, talking in low tones. Castleton 
 looks at his watch.) 
 
 Castleton : I'll have to go. I have an engagement. 
 
 Lily: Is that all you can say to me? 
 
 Castleton (nervously) : What else can I say? 
 
 Lily : But it is life and death ! It is death to me ! Oh, what shall 
 I do ? You promised ! You promised ! 
 
 Castleton (looking around) : Don't make a scene, for God's sake ! 
 I'll get some money and send it to you. 
 
 Lily (zvildly): Money? My heart is breaking, and you talk of 
 money ! You promised. 
 
 Castleton: I've got to go. I can't stay another minute. My 
 mother and sisters are waiting for me to join them, in their box at the 
 matinee. I promised to be there. 
 
 Lily (pressing her hand to her heart) : What are your promises 
 worth ? You have no honor. 
 
 Castleton : There you go ! tragic again ! I can't stand it. Good- 
 bye, (he starts to go. She turns after him. trying vaiidy to keep him.) 
 
 Lily: Jim! Is this the end of everything? Shall I never see you 
 again ? 
 
 Castleton: What's the good of it? You want me to marry you. 
 I know I promised, but I can't do it. My position in society forbids it. 
 My mother would disown me, and cut me off. So there is no use in talk- 
 ing about it. I must go. 
 
 (He hurries azvay, glad to escape. Lily clings to the railing of the 
 front porch, as she struggles to get control of herself, and goes zvithin, 
 weakly. Biddy the Bogie opens the door, as she enters.) 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 49 
 
 Bogie: Yer not feelin' well. Miss Lily. Wot ye want is a cup o' 
 tay. Ye'll find the little gell gettin' riddy fer you. (looks at her scrutin- 
 izinnly as she passes unthin. Broom in hand, Biddy looks dozvn the street. 
 
 Enter the tzvo stnall Gitsset boys dragging a big market-basket be- 
 tween them filled tvith pieces of bread, cooked potatoes, etc., from a restau- 
 rant. As they jerk and pull, pieces hai'c fallen out on the street leaving 
 a line behind them.) 
 
 Dickie (complainingly ) : Aw, Tm tired pullin' this! 
 
 Billy: Me, too. 
 
 Dickie (turning around observes the tine of bread): Jiminy-gosh! 
 look at that ? 
 
 Billy : Wot you goina do, Dickie ? 
 
 Dickie (in despair) : I'm tired. I'm gonna sit down and rest ! (sits 
 in one side of the basket.) 
 
 Billy: I'm tired, too. Lemme sit down. 
 
 Dickie: No, I'm the biggest. 
 
 Billy: I'm the littlest! 
 
 Dickie: Gimme — there now! (they tussle, pulling at tlie basket 
 till it is overturned. 
 
 Enter Morton on a rush, but stops suddoily.) 
 
 MoRTOx : Hello, you little scamps ! what's this ? I've been wonder- 
 ing where all this good bread came from. Say, Dick, why don't you pick 
 it up again. Don't you know it is wicked to throw bread around ? 
 
 (Enter Mrs. Gusset zi'ith large bundle of seicing under her arm.) 
 
 Mrs. Gusset (shrinking back) : Oh, children, how can you mortify 
 me so? Help me to pick it up. (she stoops to do this when little Kree, the 
 lame girl, comes out from within and helps her, instead of the boys.) 
 
 Dickie (carefully explaining) : Well, the restaurant man filled the 
 basket too full and Billy wiggled his side so't it dropped out — 
 
 Billy : I never did ! it was your side ! 
 
 Dickie: He wouldn't go back and pick it up nuther w'd I (airily). 
 Ye don't ketch me pickin' up bread out o' the streets ! 
 
 (.Mrs. Gusset takes up the basket and runs in zcitli it.) 
 
 Little L.\me Kree (disapprovingly) : You bad, bad things! isn't 
 she the best mother in the world to stay and take care of us since pa went 
 off and left us? and don't she work till her back is most broke? O, you 
 mean things! Come in and be ashamed o' yourselves. (Kree grabs each 
 by the hand and drags them in. As they are doing this, enters Barney, 
 the negro-minstrel, banjo in hand. The Bogie fetches donni her broom 
 and .n^'ccps up the remnants, meanwhile eyeing him carefully. Barney 
 lifts liis hat to her '^allautlw He and .Morton e.vcham^e t^reetiui^s cor- 
 dially.) 
 
 Morton (to Barney) : Isn't it terrible hc-iw that poor woman keeps 
 tliose young ones alive? 
 
 B.\RNEY (striking his banjo): Isn't it terrible how any of us keep 
 alive? (looks at Bogie, significantly.) Just saved my banjo from being 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 pawnee} to pay my rent to Mrs. Egan, here! Yes, sir, got a new job 
 (voice breaks). Old man, congratulate nn%! I feel as if I were a boy 
 again ! (Bogie scrutinises Him to see if he is fooling.) 
 
 Morton (extcndiui^ Iiis hand) : Well. I do congratulate you, Barney, 
 how could society get alon- w itliout you to amuse them? A fair exchange 
 is no robbery. Music i> iiKincy — you have some of the former to exchange 
 for some of the latter, you sing for your supper like little Tommy Tucker, 
 of course. Going to give the great public "Flewy-flewy" for the eleventh 
 hundred and second time — your great masterpiece? 
 
 Barney: Yes, and I'm going to give them something new, too. 
 (tunes hi^ banjo and sings:) 
 
 ' "The next that came was a little green snake — ahm — 
 
 The next that came was a little green snake. 
 And he crawled around the wedding cake — ahm — '" 
 Morton : Why, man ! that's as old as the hills ! 
 Barney (cheerfully) : That's the very reason they'll like it — it's so 
 old that they'll think it is new again. 
 
 Morton: Good for you — and say, I've got good luck, too. My 
 family back East has won a great lawsuit. And what do you think I am 
 going to do, Mrs. Egan? You can't guess. I'm going to pack my trunk 
 and go back East tomorrow morning. Early train, (the tzvo men shake 
 ha\ids. Morton puts his hand in his pocket and takes out some silver.) 
 Here, Barney, take this in and give it to that poor woman. I'm a hard- 
 hearted wretch — but I can't stand this (pointing to the bread on the street). 
 B.vrney: Same here. I'll put a dollar to it. (goes in drumming on 
 his banjo, singing nc.rt verse:) 
 
 "The next that came were two little bugs — ahm — 
 The next that came were two little bugs. 
 And they set on the cider jugs — ahm — " 
 
 Bogie (doubtfully, leaning on her broom like an old zcitch): Is it 
 the thruth, or arr ye foolin' me, the both of yees? 
 
 Morton (holding up his hand) : It's the truth ! 
 
 Bogie (affected to tears) : Och, Misther Morton ! An" ye'll be lavin' 
 us? 
 
 Morton : Yes. And I want you to help me. I had a telegram that 
 that old lawsuit had been compromised, and I am to go and fetch my 
 mother out. Mighty good luck for our folks it came before we were all 
 dead. Now, will you let me leave my traps here till I come back? 
 
 Biddy: Av coorse. The byes is here, and they can carry them up 
 to the attic fur ye. But wot'U the little gcll be doin' 'ithout ye? I'm 
 thinkin' she'll take it hard ! 
 
 Morton : Oh, I'll be back soon, and I'm going to get my mother to 
 look out for Babe. I'm almost sure she'll do it. Now let us go and see 
 about those traps of mine, for I've got lots to do to get away by the early 
 morning train. 
 
 Biddy: Yis, Misther Morion, I'm a comin'. (both go zcitlii)i. En- 
 ter Malcolm.) 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSOiX 51 
 
 Malcolm (gleefully) : Won't my sister be pleased when I tell her 
 the great news that I've got a raise of a whole dollar a week? (he goes 
 n'itlun.J 
 
 (End of First Scene of Act III.) 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 (Afternoon, clouding up, dull and dark. 
 
 Room in Mrs. Spanglcr's rooming-house, where the three girls, 
 Lily, Kate and Babe, have their co-operative home together. A table, a 
 couch, zvhat-not in the corner, with sea shells and books — pictures of 
 Jl'ashington and of Grant's family on the walls. Small side-room in- 
 dicated by door. 
 
 Babe has set table, and then gives zvay to melancholy. Sits dozvn 
 zvith back to door of entrance leading from hall.) 
 
 Bahe: I wonder if anything good will ever happen to me? if I 
 can ever forget my sorrows? (buries her head in her arm for an instant, 
 then lifts her head and wipes her eyes roughly.) Oh! I've got to make 
 the best of everything. I ought to be thankful that I earn four dollars 
 a week and that I have such kind friends. (In her abstraction she does 
 not notice that some one had opened the door softly, and is stealing tozvard 
 her. It is Malcolm, zvho plans to take his sister by surprise, thinking it 
 is Kate sitting there. He cautiouslx adzvnccs and puts his hand over 
 her eyes.) 
 
 r.AisE: Oh! Who's that? Is that you, Kate? Xo, your hands are 
 smaller than these ! (feels the hands.) 
 
 Malcolm (horrified at taking such a liberty z^'ith a strange girl) : 
 What! Have I made a mistake? How can I get out of here? (looks at 
 the door zvarily. Makes a dash for the door and goes clattering doz^'n the 
 stairs.) 
 
 Rare (jumping to her feet): Why, it's Kate's brother. He took 
 nie for Kate, (laughs merrily. Enter Morton.) 
 
 Morton: What's the matter? You seem very merry! Wasn't 
 that Malcolm, running away? 
 
 Ww.E (still laughing) : Yes. He took nie for Kate and put his 
 hands over my eyes and when he found out who it was, he ran away 
 as fast as he could ! To think of me nearly scaring a young man to 
 death ! 
 
 Morton (briefly) : I'm going to leave in the morning. Going East, 
 to fetch my mother out here. Had a telegram. That lawsuit's been 
 won. I am to fetch her to California! So I shall not see vou for a little 
 while. 
 
 Ii.\i;E (ready to cry): Oh! You are going away! Suppose you 
 never come back ? 
 
 Morton: Never fear. I love California too well. I'll never live 
 anywhere else. So, you will see me soon. Be a good child, and just keep 
 out of trouble till I get back, and may lie I can get my mother to be a 
 
52 ■ SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 mother to you. That's what you need more than anything else, Babe, 
 and to go to school. , * 
 
 B.ABE (solemnly) : I know it. 
 
 Morton (letting his voice fall) : And by the way. Babe, I heard 
 something about— you know, Steve — I don't like to speak about it, be- 
 cause it only makes you think about sorrowful things — but a detective 
 told me that they're on the trail of the stage-robber — it seems he came 
 down on the boat the very morning after. My ! but he was a sharp 
 fellow ! 
 
 B,\BE (ivonderingly) : He did ? Why, that was the boat I came 
 oiv don't you remember? 
 
 Morton : So it was ! Well, they're going to get him pretty soon, 
 now. 
 
 Babe (grimly) : And — I — hope — he'll — be — hanged ! My poor 
 darling old Steve! What would I have done, if it had not been for 
 Mr. Belmour and you? He gave me money but you found me WORK 
 to do. 
 
 Morton : You poor little thing, you — I hope now to show you what 
 I can do — to make things better. 
 
 (Biddy Egan appears. She comes into the room with the Keymaii 
 and Al Kercheval behind her. carrying a trunk betiueen them, and zvith 
 their arms full of bundles and books. They set the trunk doivn and the 
 other things slip from their arms and fall upon the floor, while the two 
 fellozvs scramble azvkzvardly to pick them up again.) 
 
 Bogie (zi'ith authority) : Here's the byes, Misther Morton, wid 
 the thraps. W'ill ye go along an' show us ware yo'd like 'um to be putt? 
 
 (In the tussle zvith one of the bundles, it breaks open and a bright 
 flash of .^trrl ill the shape of a revolver shozvs itself. The Keyman falls 
 upon it iniiiicdiuicly and gives a surreptitious glance around. No one 
 has perceived it. lie zvhisks it into his pocket like lightning and drazvs 
 out a cigarette zvhich he leisurely puts between his teeth and asks Kerch 
 for a match, to cover up his action. Scolding them both, and forbidding 
 the lighting of the cigarette till he leaz'es the attic, the Bogie gathers up 
 the scattered contents of the bundle, ties it together and carries it out 
 herself.) 
 
 Morton : Thank you, Mrs. Egan, I'm much obliged. 
 
 (As Morton and the boys and the Bogie are leaving, Kate conies. 
 Her face is set and zvhite. Morton touches his hat to her as he passes 
 and so does Kercheval. Babe stands in doubt. She realises that some- 
 thing has gone zvrong. Kate throz^'s herself into a chair by the table and 
 buries her face in her hands.) 
 
 B.\BE (bezvildcrcd) : Why, Kate ! is something the matter ? 
 
 Kate (briefly) : Nothing much. Lost my job, that's all. Malcolm 
 will have to give up business college. 
 
 (Enter Lily from side-roo)n. z'cry pale and listless. Sits dozi'ii, say- 
 ing nothing.) 
 
 Babe (to Kate): How could you lose your job? \\'hy, you have 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 53 
 
 the very highest influence down there ! And it's a Government position 
 to be working in the land office. 
 
 Kate (sullenly) : I know. But I resigned 
 
 B..\BE AND Lily (together) : RESIGNED ? 
 
 Kate: Yes. To escape the attentions of a man I detest. For three 
 months he has been trying to get me to go to a French dinner with him. 
 And I said "No." So, today he said: "Well, you know what you can 
 do, don't you, Miss Strong?" And I said: "Yes, I can resign." He is a 
 married man. 
 
 Babe: But, what will you do? 
 
 Kate: Oh! Buy guns and pistols and poisons and cannons I sup- 
 pose, and put an end to myself! I thought I was so smart, and so in- 
 dependent! But I'm not! I'm just as weak as all the other women are. 
 I begin to envy the women who have a husband, home and children to 
 work for : for then you have a roof over your head : and a woman can't 
 get along without a roof. That's certain ! I'll have to go and tell 
 Malcolm. 
 
 Bare: He was here to see you: but somehow, I scared him away, 
 and he ran down the stairs when he saw that you were not here and that 
 I was! 
 
 Kate (zceavily) : Yes, that's just like him! He'll have to get over 
 all that nonsense now. I must go down to Cluff's and tell him. (Kate 
 goes.) 
 
 Babe : Do you know, Lily, I think Kate is giving in ! I believe 
 that if Mr. Harrington asked her to marry him now, she would do it! 
 What a pity he does not know ! Do you think it would be wrong if I 
 should send him a note? 
 
 Lily (listlessly) : What could you say? Men do not care if women 
 suffer. 
 
 Babe: Why, Lily, what is the matter with you? Of course 
 a good man cares, and Mr. Harrington is a good man. Now I 
 could write something like this (begins to ivrite) : Mr. Harrington : Dear 
 Sir (she hesitates) : My friend, Miss Kate Strong, has resigned her 
 position in the land office. (So far, so good.) And I think she would like 
 to get another position as soon as possible. She went to see her brother, 
 who is on Second street at Cluff's grocery store, to tell hirn the sad news. 
 You could find her there. I am sending this to you — How am I going to 
 send it, Lily? 
 
 Lily (bitterly): Oh, I'm sure I don't know; — do you think you 
 should send it? 
 
 Babe: Why not? I'm not a 'fraid cat! I hear Bobby Spangler 
 talking. He might take it. (she runs to the door.) Bobby, is that you? 
 Come here! Do you want to do a favor for me? 
 
 Bobby (enters slowly and eautiously) : Wot it is? 
 
 Babe: Why. it is a letter! and I want you to deliver it at the Oc- 
 cidental Hotel, to a gentleman there, Mr. William Harrington. 
 
 Bobby : Has he got the inflooence wid the bosses ? 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 1. Babe: Of course he has. And he'll be so pleased to get this letter, 
 that you can ask him to help you get on the force. I'll put it in the letter 
 (repeats). I am sending this to you by Rtitjert Spangler, who has been 
 trying to get on the force for years, but he has no influence with the 
 bosses. May be you could tell him what to do next. Very truly yours, 
 Miss B. Robinson. Now, Bobby, here is the chance of your life. You 
 just go for him. He is there, somewhere, and you find him. (puts note in 
 envelope, addresses and hands it over) Don't you drop it in the street 
 and get it muddy ! and don't mash it up in your great big paws. Put it 
 in your hat, and then you'll know where it is. Now rush ! (he does as she 
 says, aiukwardly.) 
 
 Bobby (full of determination, dratcs down his bron's and assumes a 
 mtst important air, delays an insfa)it) : Do you think he knows Mr. 
 Maloney? 
 
 B.^be: Mr. Maloney? Why. of course he does. Hurry up, you 
 slow poke ! (Bobby goes. She runs to the zvindow to look after him. and 
 bursts out laughing.) Oh, Lily ! You ought to come and see him. That's 
 the very first time in his life he ever hurried! Oh, he has jumped on the 
 car. If he' doesn't find Mr. Harrington nobody ever will. 
 
 Lily (listlessly) : He won't care — Mr. Harrington won't care. 
 
 Babe: What is the matter with you, Lily? 
 
 Lily : Oh, nothing, (she sighs.) 
 
 B.\BE : Do cheer up, Lily, you give nie the blues. Here comes the 
 Bogie. I'm going to have some fun with her. 
 
 (Enter the Bogie, with mops and brooms and dusters.) 
 
 Bogie: Oi've come to finish the room, gells. Ye can't wash the 
 windies whin the sun is shinin" on 'um. So I will jist do it now. (begins 
 to luork.) 
 
 Babe (to Lily) : Now, watch the Bogie ! I'm going to a.stonish 
 her. (verv demurely.) Have you heard the great news? Kate is going 
 to be married, (she adds) Maybe. 
 
 Bogie : Och, poor thing ! 
 
 Babe (indignantly) : Don't you be calling hei' "a poor thing." 
 
 Bogie (zvith eyes lifted up to Hea-ren) : Oi've been married mesilf 
 an' doan't Oi know? 
 
 Babe (ivickedly) : Why don't you get married again? 
 
 Bogie (zvith arms folded) : None o' that now ! Married agin, is it? 
 Noa, noa, indade. Oi'm better off as Oi am. Whin Oi arns me dollar fer 
 washin' Oi kin go home an' know that no man kin take it away from 
 me. Noa, noa, indade! 
 
 Babe (curiously scanning her over) : Say, you've had a tough time 
 ever since you were born, haven't you ? 
 
 Bogie: Yes, Miss, look at me bonds! They is full of holes from 
 washin' an' .scrubbin'. 
 
 Babe: Don't you think \(>u would have been better off if you had 
 never been born? 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 55 
 
 Bogie: That Oi belaves, but now that Oi'm here Oi wants to kape 
 on livin'. 
 
 PiAHE : What ! And work as hard as you have done for another 
 (she hesitates) fifty years? 
 
 BociE (proudly) : Foarty-five, Miss, foarty-five ! That Oi wud 
 aven a hundred, now Oi'm here. Oi will work an' do wot Oi kin, as long 
 as God gives me the stringth, an' thin whin Oi'm too wake to do anny 
 more, the payples'll see that Oi'm keered for. 
 
 B.MiE (astonished at the Bogie's faith) : What! Do you believe that 
 people are as good as all that ? Listen to that, Lily ? 
 
 Bogie : Oi do, Oi do, Oi belaves that the most av payples has good 
 hearts that will never see an honest wurkin' man or wummin go hungry 
 for bread, if they knows it. (changing her tone to indignation) But if 
 they is lazy thin they'd ought to go widout anythin'. 
 
 Babe (earnestly, looking at the Bogie intently, zvith head propped up 
 by hands, clbozn's on the table) : And so — you believe — that if — a person 
 tries — to be honest and good — they will — come out — all right — in the 
 end ^ 
 
 Bogie: Oi do. Oi belaves it. An' that payples has good hearts. 
 (she hobbles out for a duster.) 
 
 LiLV : How could you tell her that Kate was going to be married ? 
 
 Babe: Well, it might happen just by contraries! Who knows? 
 Lots of mysterious things happen. Come on, Lily, let us eat our lunch 
 and clear up these dishes and get them out of the way. 
 
 Lily : I don't want anything. 
 
 Babe: You might pretend that you do, just to please me. Come 
 on now, be a good child, and "do as you are bid" — that was in my primer. 
 Don't you remember that? 
 
 Lily (sloivly) : I don't think I had the same primer that you had. 
 Babe, (she smiles faintly and sits doicu and tries to pretend that she 
 -.i'auts something to eat.) 
 
 Babe (cheerfully) : That's it ! I thought I could coax you. It's a 
 pity to waste a nice lunch like this. Don't you think so, Lily? 
 
 (As Lily nods in reply, the curtain goes down for one minute. When 
 it rises the dishes are cleared away, and the two girls having changed 
 positions sit at the table busy zvith darning and mending. But zvhile Babe 
 is trying to darn a stocking, Lily lets her sezving lie in her lap idly, she 
 being in a state of abstraction. Not a zvord is spoken. Occasionally a 
 faint zi'ail is heard from the far distance, as of a disconsolate dog baying, 
 but it is very softened and subdued at first. Some one comes and stands 
 at the door zvhich is ajar. It is Malcolm. Enter Malcolm, holding a 
 bunch of z'iolets in one hand and a fancv-bo.v in the other hand, azvk- 
 zcardly.) 
 
 Malcolm (bozvs and yeiiioi'es his hat. and speaks precisely to cover 
 up his embarrassment) : How do you do. Miss White? Kate sent me 
 with ;i message, (ignores Babe, who looks at him inquiringly, zvith 
 purscd-up mouth at being left out so utterly.) 
 
56 SOCIETY A.W BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 Lily (surprised) : A message ? 
 
 Malcolm (still embarrassed) : Yes, my sister says (takes a fresh 
 breath and begins over again) — my sister says she won't be here tonight. 
 She's going to stay with Miss Harrington for a while. She's got a 
 position as Miss Harrington's private secretary and is going traveHng 
 with her. 
 
 Babe: What? 
 
 Malcolm (still embarrassed) : Yes! Yes! And she's going to be 
 married ! 
 
 Babe : Wha — a — at ! 
 
 Malcolm : Yes. yes ! And she says she's going to invite everybody 
 tg the wedding ! 
 
 Babe: Glory — all of us? 
 
 Malcolm : Yes, everybody, and )ou too, I mean. And you more 
 than anybody else in the world, and Mr. Harrington sent you these flowers, 
 and this box of candy ; and they say they owe all their happiness to you. 
 (hands them over.) 
 
 Babe' (holding bouquet in one hand and box in the other, full of sur- 
 prise, looking from one to the other): Do you hear that, Lily? Wake 
 up I You said men do not care if women suffer ! and here is your answer. 
 They do care. Don't they, ^Malcolm ? You'd care if I suffered, wouldn't 
 you ? 
 
 AL\lcolm (forgetting his shyness): Well, I rather think I would! 
 And if anybody ever makes you suffer, just you let me know, and I'll 
 punch him between the eyes. 
 
 Lily (looks at him pitifully) : You are a good boy, Malcolm. I 
 wish you were my brother. I need a brother very much. 
 
 AL-\lcolm (at his ease) : All right! You can adopt me, if you like. 
 
 (Enter Barney, the negro-minstrel, banjo in hand.) 
 
 Barney (eagerly): Do you want to hear my new song? Expect 
 to make a hit with it. 
 
 1!ai;k: Why. of course we ilo. .\nd maybe it will cheer Lily up a 
 little. 
 
 Barney : Thank you. I need somebody to practice on, you know. 
 (thrums.) 
 
 Malcolm : Go ahead. I'd like to hear it. (Barney begins.) 
 
 Barney' : 
 
 "A frog went a courting, he did ride — a hm — 
 A frog went a courting, he did ride 
 With a sword and a pistol at his side — a hm — 
 He rode till he came to the lady mouse's hall — a hum — 
 He rode till he came to the lady mouse's hall. 
 And there he stopped. 
 And he loud did call — a hum " 
 
 (In response to the fascinating picking of the banjo and the li'eird 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSON 57 
 
 cadence of the song, conies first the Bogie, zvhoin Babe motions to a 
 chair. Next comes Mrs. Spangler. Then Morton, zvho is much amused.) 
 Babe (cheerfully) : Poor Mr. Barney is going to practice on us. 
 So listen and help him out. (all join in the refrain "a hm.") 
 Barney : 
 
 He said, "Lady mouse, are you within?" — a hm — 
 He said, "Lady mouse, are you within?" 
 "Oh, yes, kind sir. I sit and spin" — a hm — 
 He took Lady mouse upon his knee — a hm — 
 He took Lady mouse upon his knee, 
 And said, "Lady mouse, will you marry me?" — a hm — 
 Lady mouse blushed and hung her head — a hm — 
 Lady mouse blushed and hung her head, 
 "You must ask my L'ncle Rat," she said — a hm — 
 LTncle Rat laughed and shook his fat sides — a hm — 
 Uncle Rat laughed and shook his fat sides. 
 And he said, "Lady mouse shall be your bride" — a hm — 
 
 (Ne.rt come the Kcyman and Kcrchcval, who sit on the floor. 
 Neighbor O'Neil ventures in and listens, also Dickie and Billy peep in 
 the door. Babe zvaves them in to sit down beside the Kcyman. Last of 
 all appears Bobby Spangler, throzuing his hat up in the air and trying to 
 catch it on his head. He is gay and yet self-contained. He is posing as 
 if in a pantomime, drazving attention to himself. One by one each drazvs 
 attention to the other regarding his actions. They knozv something is 
 going to happen. He begins to dance a jig all of his ozvn to the thrum- 
 ming of the banjo, and the cadence of the refrain. Without stopping, he 
 meanders to zvhere Biddy the Bogie is sitting, and grabs her out of her 
 chair and zi'altzes her around the room, in and out and around amid the 
 mops and pails upon the floor, to zvhich she lends herself, for she is a 
 natural-born dancer, yet nteanzvhile pretending to object to his being such 
 "a glegeen." He zvon't let her go, and the others take up the refrain and 
 clap "juba." as never stopping he goes to his mother and gives her his 
 other hand and then begins dancing thcin both, one zvith each am. This 
 is in imitation of the style in vogue at the Grand Opera House on Mission 
 street, zvhere Bonfanti and Sangalli are holding high revel zvith th' 
 Maestro of the Ballet. The Bogie is the first to come to her senses o'ld 
 she tries to drazv azvay.) 
 
 Biddy the Bogie: What d'ye want to be such "a glegeen" fur! 
 Yer always "on a killarach !" Let me go! (she pulls azvay from him and 
 Mrs. Spangler recovers her dignity also and reprimands him. At this, 
 left partnerless and alone. Bobby e.vecntes a pas seul: holding up 
 imaginary ballet-skirts, he makes a grand pirouette, and stands in the 
 center of the room.) 
 
 Bobuy: Wot d'ye think! I'm "on the foorce!" As luck would have 
 it, Maloney was right there, an' Miss Kate's young man jist spoke to him, 
 dat's all! an' I'm "on" — I'm goin' on tonight. (they all indulge in a 
 grand hand-clapping. Mrs. Spangler runs to him and embraces him. On 
 the floor, amid the mops and pails, crouches Biddy the Bogie, zvith her 
 apron over her head, and she is sobbing, convulsively. She can stand bad 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABJl ROBIXSON 
 
 liicjc. but good luck is more than she can bear. BiU^by runs to her and 
 gets do7vn on the floor with her.) 
 
 Bobby: Sure, I'd never. lived to grow '^ip, Aunt Ritldy. if it hadn't 
 been fur you! Manny's the time you've gone hungry so I'd be fat an' 
 sassy. Ye've been a mither to me. ye've give manny a foive-dollar-piece 
 to pay the bosses! an" sure I'm goin' to look out fur ye from now on. Ye 
 shan't worrk so hard, fer now I'll be havin' a hunderd a month. 
 
 (Biddy the Bogie takes her apron off her head and stands admiringly 
 ga:;ing at her nephezv, saying) : "He's morre mine than he's hern. .Ain't 
 he jist said I was a mither to'm? (zvecps for pure joy. 
 
 Bobby begins to shake hands with every one. Comes to Key man.) 
 
 Bobby: It was you done it, Hennery! It was you got me "onto 
 the'foorce!" 
 
 Keyman : Naw ! (growls, as if to show he is i}nperz'ious to flattery. 
 Points to Kercheval.) 'Twas Kertch done it. He interdooced ye to 
 Maloney. (Bobby looks bewildered. Shakes Kertch by the hand.) 
 
 ]M.'\LCOLM : Say ! You fellows ! It seems to me as if this young lady 
 had something to do with it. She wrote the letter, didn't she? 
 
 Mrs. Spangler (overflowing with feeling) : Sure! little gell, it was 
 you as got 'im on the force. 
 
 Morton : We all tried our best, but it was Babe, after all ! (he 
 shakes hands zvith her, and everybody congratulates her on her success. 
 Bogie gathers up her traps and goes out. Mrs. Spangler and Bobby, 
 Kertch and Keyman, all go, Morton and Malcolm last. Sound of the 
 fog-horn is heard in between times growing louder and more distinct.) 
 
 Babk (goes and looks out of the zcindozv) : Oh, the fog is coming 
 in. I think we'd better have the fire made. I'll go and get some kindling. 
 (goes. 
 
 Lily gets up and tries to sta)id. She z^'rings her hands. Puts her 
 hands oz'er her eyes. Sobs. Sighs.) 
 
 Lily: What am I going to do? I don't know! 
 
 (Babe returns, zi'ith Bogie carrying a hod of coal. Babe is carrying 
 a salz'er containing a tea-pot and some sandzi'ichcs and cake.) 
 
 Babe (cheerfully) : Mrs. Spangler's a good soul. She sent this up 
 for our supper, Lily, and I'm glad of it. Now, we can eat our candy in 
 peace. Won't you have one, .\unt Biddy? .And you can smell my violets, 
 too. 
 
 (While they are talking Lily gives zcay to her despair. The Bogie 
 takes notice.) 
 
 Bogie: Och, indade. Miss Lily! You'll be bavin" a chill. Hurry 
 an' git a drink of the tay. t'U do ye good, ]\Iiss. (Babe pours it out. And 
 one cup for the Bogie and one for herself. Fire blaces up. Fog-horn is 
 heard again. Babe passes box of szceets to Lily; but she waz'cs it azvay. 
 Bogie takes notice.) 
 
 Bogie: Indade, Miss Lily, an' Oi'U be in here wid a pail o' hot 
 wather and some mustard fur ye to put yer futs in. before ye go to bed 
 this night ! 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSON 59 
 
 LiLV : lint there's nothing the matter, — only that old fog-horn. It 
 sounds so melancholy, as if the end of the world had come. 
 
 Babe (mischievously to Bogie) : Now, I suppose you will be want- 
 ing to go out there, somewhere, and get at that old fog-horn, and hush 
 it up just 'cause it worries Lily. It would be just like you ! 
 
 Bogie (earnestly): An' why not, thin? Wasn't Oi a young gell 
 mesilf onct, and didn't everything be a throuble to me? It's sorry I am 
 fcr ye, ye pore young .sowls gittin' in luve an" all that? Now, if she's 
 no betther ye must let me know an' Oi'll be a mither to hur ! (starts to go. 
 Babe runs after her, puts her arms around her. and gives her a good 
 hug. Bogie goes. ) 
 
 B.\BE (returns to tire and warms her hands) : Well, it is nice to 
 think of Kate being so happy. She deserves it. Those who are honest 
 and good, ought to have a happy end to their lives. But they don't, al- 
 ways. 
 
 (Lily shiz'ers. and co2'ers her face zcith her hands, l 
 
 B.\BE (continuing) : This is a tough old world, Lily, isn't it? A 
 whole family may be respected and be nice for generations; but just let 
 one black sheep of a woman be among them, and she can pull the whole 
 of them down together, and the poor unfortunate generations ahead of 
 them, even. It's the old story! The innocent for the guilty. 
 
 LiLV (startled): Why, Babe! What do you mean? 
 
 Babe: Well, I'm just thinking what an awful serious thing it is to 
 be born a woman. If she does wrong, her shame can never die out. It 
 lives on and on, and all her kith and kin have to suffer for her wrong- 
 doing. It doesn't seem right that they who are good and honest should 
 have to bear the shame, does it, Lily? (listlessly Babe turns her gaze 
 upon her companion's face. Suddenly she feels herself drawn, as by a 
 spell. Lily's eyes are fixed upon her zvith a horror that tells of a secret 
 ago)iy z^'ithin. struggling for utterance.) 
 
 Babe (z^'hispers) : Why, Lily! How you frighten me! What is it? 
 
 Lily (regaining self-command. Fog-horn Zi.'ails) : Nonsense! I 
 tell you, it is that awful sound! and you go on talking about such horrid 
 things that I've got a regular fit of the blues, (she covers her face zvith 
 her hands zi'hile Babe begs her forgiveness, and tries to be more cheerful.) 
 
 Babe: It is getting late. I guess we'd better make up the bed- 
 lounge, and find out how we two are going to get along together, now 
 that Kate is gone. You know, she was our main-stay, (goes to bed- 
 lounge, opens it. and begins to prepare for retiring.) Perhaps sleep will 
 make us forget our troubles, and then we'll wake up all bright and happy 
 in the morning. (spoken joyously. 
 
 Lily puts her head on the table and begins to sob. Babe runs to her 
 to comfort her.) 
 
 LiLV: I shall never, never, never wake up blight and iiappy in the 
 morning again. (Babe comforts her. After a pause.) I'm in great 
 trouble. Babe, great trouble. I don't believe any one can helji me. 
 
 B.\BE : I will help you. You can trust me. Don't I know what 
 trouble is? 
 
60 SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 Lily: But never such trouble as mine. 
 
 Babe : Oh. don"t say that ! You make me think it is something 
 terrible ! _ ■ *. 
 
 LiLV : Well, it is terrible. Come close. Let nie whisper. (Babe 
 puts her ear for the confession.) 
 
 Babe (draiving away in horror) : Not that ! Xot that ! You had 
 only one thing in the world worth having, and that was your good name. 
 And now you have lost that? Oh my ! Oh my ! {Lily wails in her deep 
 despair, and Babe joins her. Tliey weep together.) 
 
 (End of Scene Two.) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 (Scene outside the door in the hall. Morton is passing. He stops 
 and is bewildered. Presently the Bogie comes in. in her big frilled night- 
 cap and thick petticoat and short jacket, z^'itli pail in hand.) 
 
 Morton: Mrs. Egan! Please won't you go in and see what is the 
 matter. Something must be wrong. 
 
 Biddy: That Oi will, Mr. Morton! You know gells will be gells. 
 Oi've me pail o' hot wather. all riddy. fur Oi"ni tliinkin" Miss Lily's got 
 a chill. 
 
 Morton : Do hurr}-. ami let me know if I can be of any use. 
 
 Biddy: That Oi will, sure I (she goes in. Presently a worse wail 
 goes up, like the voice of a banshee. It is the Bogie joining the other tzvo.) 
 
 Morton (apprehensively) : Great Heavens ! What can be going on 
 in there? I hope nothing has happened to poor little Babe! (Enter the 
 Bogie.) 
 
 The Bogie (in pozccrfiil stage whispers, placing her hand on Mor- 
 ton's shoulder) : Pore sow! ! (she zceeps again.) 
 
 Morton (entreatingly) : Who is a poor soul? Not Babe? 
 
 Bogie: Go 'long wid ye ! .Av coorse not. The swate childer ! But 
 she wants to help the ither wan. .\n' Oi'm goin" tub help all Oi kin! 
 (voice breaks.) 
 
 Morton (an.viously) : What can I do? 
 
 Bogie: Misther Morton, cud ye git worrd tuh Sister Gertrude the 
 night? Thot pore Lily! (cries again) She's bin betrayed by a villynn — 
 he promussed to marry her. 
 
 Morton (enraged) : The hound ! He ought to be killed ! 
 
 Bogie: He tould her her culdn't kape his worrd 'cause his folks 
 was in Serciety. 
 
 Morton : He shall answer to me. the cur ! 
 
 The Bogie: Och, IMi.sther Morton, she .says she doesn't want to 
 live! She hopes she'll die— an" Oi'm afeard she will— she's thot wake 
 and faint, like she has no stringth left in her. 
 
 Morton (strangely affected) : Mrs. Egan, promise me to take good 
 care of Babe while I am away. I'll stay over a day and help you— help 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBINSON 61 
 
 you all I can. Now, I'll go for Sister Gertrude. (Morton goes. JVails 
 of fog-horn and voices commingled.) 
 
 (End of Thir.l Scene.) 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 (Small alley near Tehama and Fourth streets. Fog-horn heard at in- 
 tenrils. .4 high board-fence zcith door cut in. a? ;/ it were once an old 
 carpenter-shop. Boarded up and abandoned. Children zvalking up and 
 down and playing games and quarreling. Mollie Darling passes by 
 quickly. Tzvo detectives are slon-iy following her. She catches sight of 
 them and hastens away. Schlosser, the keyman, meets them. He gives 
 no sign, nor does Mollie. Schlosser goes on to the end of the alley-way, 
 and then retraces his steps. That door in the fence has a fascination for 
 him. Finally he gives a signal and tattoo at the dooi . Some one responds. 
 A bolt is drawn.) 
 
 Keym.\n : It's me. Henry ! I got it ! Here it is. and a pretty fine 
 shooter, too. I found it. 
 
 Belmour: That's good. Thank you. Henry. 
 
 Keyman : Now, if only I kin git the money, ye kin sure git away. 
 I'm keepin' on trvin", an' thin ve kin go off on the China steamer, fer ver 
 health. 
 
 Belmour: Too good to be true. How's Mollie" (his face shozvs 
 zvhite and tense.) 
 
 Keyman : She's a leadin' them fellers a merry chase. That's what ! 
 but she's got enough for one ticket, almost. 
 
 (Measured step is heard on the zvooden side-zvalk. It !S slozt.' and 
 steady, as if the nezu-comer has all the time in the zvorld at !:is disposal. 
 It is the majestic footfall of the lazv.) 
 
 Keyman (whispering) : It is a cop. Never knowed one riown here 
 before, (he clings to the Zi'all, trying to make himself as flat as possible. 
 The steps come very near, then the guardian of the peace turnr about 
 leisurely and zvalks back again, head up. eye straight forzcard. As the 
 policeman reaches the corner and goes around, the Keyman breatlies freelv 
 once more.) 
 
 Keyman: That's a close call! Guess I'll make a sneak. 
 
 Belmour: Good night. 
 
 Keyman: Same to you. (Belmour draz^'S the bolt. 
 
 As the Keyman ventures up to the corner and rounds it, he finds 
 himself caught in the arms of a mighty policeman. He tries to shrink 
 out of the clutch of the man until he hears a guffazv bursting from the 
 burly form of him, and recognises him as Bobby Spongier.) 
 
 Spangler: I t'ought I'd skeer yous. I knowed it was you goin' 
 down there. Ha! Ha! 
 
 Keyman (faintly): I knowed it was you, too. Ha! Ha! 
 
 Spangler (indifferently) : What was ye after? (And then in a 
 clumsy attempt to he satirical.) Was it the big reward of the Wells 
 
62 ^ SOCIET)' .1X1) BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 Fargo fur that stage-robber, up there somevvheres ? Sloss ! We'd do 
 a fine thing, if we cud git that! .My! but^it wud set us up in business 
 fur they've made it five thousand, now, so T\Ialoney says. 
 
 Keyman (trying to conceal his feelings of astonishment) : Ha! Ha! 
 (He looks up into the face of Sfaiii^lcr with a furtive expression, as 
 sinister emotions begin to surge throii_i:;h him.) But what did the poor 
 devil ever do to us? 
 
 Spangler : Nawthin. Only somebody's goin' to git it, and it might 
 as well be us ! But this is the end of my beat, and I must go back, (slaps 
 Keyman on the back.) Little did we think wen we was goin" to the Rincon 
 School, that we'd be walking along like this, talkin" about gittin' rich all 
 at pnct. Good-bye. (turns back.) 
 
 Keyman: So long! See yer termorrer! (makes a peculiar cou- 
 tortion, wrestling zi'ith the temptation, suddenly thrust upon him.) It's 
 him ! He's a stage-robber, an' he's kilt the stage-driver ! Five thousand 
 dollars! (to himself, violently, as if catching hold of another person than 
 himself. Beats himself on the breast.) No ! ye don't ! Not wile Fm here ! 
 lie's l)een wite to me. He's my fren" ! (shambles off. Wail of fog-horn.) 
 
 (End of Fourth Scene of Third Act.) 
 
ACT IV. Scene I. 
 
 (\'ob Hill. Calif uniia street, near Taylor. Exterior of Miss Harring- 
 ton's mansion. Carpet spread icith canopy over from entrance to the 
 edge of the sidczvalk shozi'ing that slippered feet are to pass that zvay. 
 The marriage at the church is over, and zvcdding-guests and bridal-party 
 are returning home for the reception. Poor people are gathering to gaze 
 on the scene. A policeman comes and amiably directs them to stand on 
 each side instead of blocking the way. Among the poor people are a 
 ]'oung IVonian. a Child, an Old Woman, and an Old Man. These make 
 comments on the zvedding-giiests as they arrive.) 
 
 Child (clapping her hands) : Oh, there she comes. Ain't she a 
 pretty bride, though? 
 
 Young Woman: And see the groom! He's handsome, too. 
 
 Old VVom.vn : Well, they've got my good wishes ! for she deserves 
 all the luck in the world, for she had to work for her livin' ! An' she was 
 good to her brother, too. 
 
 (Bride and groom pass by wliile bursts of music of Mendelssohn's 
 n'cddi)ig March come from z^'itliin. Miss Harrington follows with Mal- 
 colm as escort.) 
 
 Old Man (indifferently, as if he did not care cither way, only speaks 
 to shozv that he knoz>.'s a thi)ig or tivo, himself) : An' who's the proud 
 dame that has the "Silver threads among the gold?" 
 
 Old Woman (zvarningly) : Hush, she'll hear you! That's ^liss 
 Harrington, one of the leaders of Society. She does lots of things for 
 ])oor folks. 
 
 Old Man I draz^'lingly) : Wall, I wish — she'd — do — something — for 
 u>. 
 
 Old Woman (zvar)iingly) : Hush! That isn't polite! 
 
 (Door is zvide open. Music continues. .Murray, the butler, stands 
 stately and grand, directing guests. Maids lead the zcay. Dr. Kercheval 
 of Sacramento, Captain Emmons and zcife pass by and go zvithin.) 
 
 Old M.\n : There's style for you. Regular 'ristocrats I call 'em. 
 
 (Morton and his mother appear. Mrs. Morton is Z'crv cleganflv 
 attired in brocaded silk and ermine cloak, zcith hair i)i z^'hite puffs over 
 her head.) 
 
 YouNt; Woman: .My! What beautiful white hair ! She looks like 
 a duchess. 
 
 Old Man (familiarly) : Oh, I know him. Why. that's ^Morton, the 
 new.spaper man. He's just come into a fortune. 
 
 (Passing by are Miss Marie Castleton zcith her sisters, Lina and 
 .Jenny, accompanied by escorts, zvhile Mrs. Castleton is being escorted by 
 her son. Jim Castleton.) 
 
64 • SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 Young Woman : My ! But them girls have a good time ! They're 
 always havin' routs and balls and'horse-baftk parties an' silk dresses an' 
 everything they want. 
 
 Old Man (in high-keyed voice) : Wall, that young feller's no good. 
 I don't take no stock in him. 
 
 Old Woman : No, nor I. Did you see how poor Lily White was 
 buried the other day? Poor thing! He promised to marry her, but he 
 said he couldn't keep his word, 'cause his folks was in Society. An' she 
 died of a broken heart. 
 
 Young Woman: You don't say? Isn't that just too pitiful? 
 , Old Woman : Yes. And if she hadn't had some good friends at 
 the last, she'd a been buried in the I'otter's Field. 
 
 Young Woman : Mercy, mercy me ! 
 
 Old Woman: Yes, and her baby's in the Infant Shelter! and a rich 
 lady has adopted it! It's one of the most beautiful little things you ever 
 saw in your life. 
 
 Young Woman: You don't say so? 
 
 Old Man : Quit yer talkin'. 'Taint proper. But who's this 
 a-comin'? Some queer folks fur a weddin' like this. Ain't they? 
 
 (Appears a motley group at this moment in irregular marching order. 
 Mrs. Spangler is in a tawdry red velvet gozvn trimmed zvith gold lace 
 like a theatrical queen. In a dress suit is her son. Bobby Spangler. In her 
 sister's broche shazd and best velvet bonnet hobbles along the Bogie 
 muttering to herself like a zvitch that has lost her zvay. Then follozv Mr. 
 O'Neil and Barney faultlessly gotten tip, and zvalking together.) 
 
 Young Woman : Oh, that must be the nurse of the bride when she 
 was a baby and she's invited the whole raft of them ! You can see that 
 easy enough. 
 
 Old Wom.\n : Xo, it ain't; That's Mrs. Spangler, and she used to 
 be the bride's landlady. And I think it was very nice of the bride to 
 invite her 'old friends to the weddin' even if they are poor. 
 
 Old Man: What air you a talkin' about? Why, that's O'Neil, the 
 workin' man ! He collects rents all over town. An' the other ! Why, 
 he's Barney, the nigger-minstrel, and he's "some punkins" I kin tell you ! 
 Even the 'ristocrats pay their good money to hear him sing '"Flewy- 
 flewy." He's a great man, he is ! 
 
 (Next come Mrs. Gusset and Kree and Dickie and Billy, the latter 
 tzvo pointing their lingers, and Krce trying to keep them from doing so. 
 Next follozvs Parson Hager zi'ith a young lady on his arm. She is in a 
 goiiii of green satin zi'ith terra-cotta ruffles, very elaborated and 
 Frenchified, zi'ith angel sleeves and long train. The zcaist is zrry tightly 
 laced in. This creation from Paris has lain in the bottom of a trunk for 
 tzventy-Hvc years. The ozi'ner Zi-as in mourning zchen it arrived and it 
 zvent out of style so quickly that she could never zcear it. After many 
 years this trunk zvas passed on to a dealer in second-hand clothes. Mrs. 
 Spangler haz'ing chosen a red velvet gozvn for herself, adz'ises the child 
 to try on this creation. It tits her to perfection and it is brand-nezi.\ 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 65 
 
 "Lcddies alius ivears trails to zveddin's," ur^cs the i^ood-hcartcd Irish 
 li'oman. So the bargain is made and thus they are arrayed for this grand 
 occasion. Inside this zconderful green satin and terra-cotta combination 
 is Babe Robinson, ill at ease and uneonifortable — a child masquerading as 
 a young lady in grotesquerie.) 
 
 - Young Woman (slightly surprised): My I don't that one look 
 queer ? 
 
 Old Woman: She's a nice httle gal just the same, even it she is 
 fixed up too much. 
 
 Old Man: .\nd them! What's them? Wall, by gum. if it ain't 
 the Keyman an' his chump ! 
 
 (Follozving closely come the last of this motley group, two young 
 men in full dress suits. One is faultless in his bearing as if to the manner 
 born: this is Alfred Kercheval. The other is slouching along zvith an 
 invisible load of keys on his back, glozvering and suspicious but endeavor- 
 ing to look like a zvedding-guest. This is Henry Schlosser, the Keyman. 
 They pass zznthin.) 
 
 Young Woman: Well, of all things! 
 
 Old Man (drazAinglyj : I — always — did — say — a — dress-suit — 
 don't — care — who — wears — it. 
 
 (Murray, the butler, directs these last guests and then closes the door. 
 Outside loiterers sigh, and one by one. depart.) 
 
 Old Woman : Well, I must say I enjoyed it all very much. .\nd I 
 hope the bride will be happy. 
 
 Young ^^'o.^lA.N : So do I. (The last one goes.) 
 ( End of First Scene of Fourth .Kct.) 
 
 SCENE H. 
 
 (Interior of Miss Harrington's draz^'i)ig room. Music, dancing of 
 couples, bride and groom standing. ]]' edding-gucsts offering congratu- 
 lations.) 
 
 Kate (to Malcolm): I can't understand it. You say they haven't 
 come )-et? (greets ne.vt guest — Captain and Mrs. Emmons.) So yon are 
 leaving on the China steamer, tomorrow, too? 
 
 Mrs. Emmon.s: Yes. With my adopted baby. She is such a little 
 beauty. 
 
 M.\RiE Castleton : Indeed, she is! You know she was the pet 
 of the Infant Shelter! .\nd we could hardly give her up. only it was 
 best for her, of course. 
 
 K.\TE (to Malcolm) : Go and see if you can't find them. I am afraid 
 Miss Harrington has sent them away. You know she didn't want them 
 to come: but I was determined that my old friends should share my 
 happiness. 
 
 Miss Harrington (a.ude to the bullrr): MiuTay! Did you put 
 those people down stairs, as I told you? 
 
 Murray (deferentially): I did. Miss Harrington. 
 
66 ■ SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 Miss Harrington: You may serve them down there, .^[urray. 
 Give them all the ice-cream and 'cake thef. can eat; but do not let them 
 come up-stairs. 
 
 Murray: Yes, Miss Harrington. No, Miss Harrington, (bows 
 mechanically. 
 
 Kate sees Malcolm, fetching them all i^'itli him. Murray tries to keep 
 them back, but at the resistance put up. he yields and steps to one side to 
 let them pass, so in they come, quite a iv'ild group all together. Mrs. 
 Spangler, Bobby zvith Biddy the Bogie at the head of the procession; .Mrs. 
 Gusset and zvith children still pointing fingers at everything they see: 
 Babe and the Parson, Barney and O'Xeil, Schlosser and Al Kercheval. 
 Everybody looks in amazement. Miss Harrington is shaking her head in 
 displeasure at Murray. Dr. Kercheval, ivho is talking to Mrs. Castleton, 
 starts at sight of his runazvay son. Morton, at sight of Babe, is azvare 
 that his mother zcill not "take" to such a dozvdy, as she appears to be. 
 The Castleton girls and tlieir escorts are smiling, but Marie, the kindest- 
 hearted of the family, joins them to help present them to Kate zvith less 
 embarrassment. People are all inclined to ridicule the bride for having 
 such friends. But Kate receives them all bravely, and keeps Babe by 
 the hand zvhile she zvhispers to Malcolm to take them all back again to 
 zi'here he found them.) 
 
 Kate: Now. Malcolm, you see to their comfort, and I will lie there 
 later. 
 
 (Marie takes little Kree by the hand and Malcolm the tzvo little boys. 
 As all are going, one of the escorts of the Castle:on girls intercepts the 
 group, delightedly claiming acquaintance zvith Barney, zvho is a great 
 favorite zvith the public. Barney introduces his friend, O'Neil, and these 
 tzvo are then introduced by the young man to his crozvd zvho make a great 
 fuss over them. They think O'Neil is a minstrel, too. Lina and Jenny 
 rattle on at a great rate talking about "Flezvy-flezvy" and "My Father 
 Sold Charcoal" and "My Gal, My Gal," "Over the Garden Wall" and the 
 popular songs of the hour. The others of the group disappear.) 
 
 Miss Harrington (obz-iously relieved, as she sees them retiring) : 
 That was the bride's old nurse and her family. She is so charitable she 
 did not wish to leave them out. You ought to get her to join some of 
 your societies, Mrs. Castleton. You know. I do believe in charity. 
 
 Mrs. Castleton : So do I. May be Marie could get her to help 
 in the Infant Shelter! You know, that is where Mrs. Emmons got that 
 beautiful baby to adopt, that she is going to take with her to China. And. 
 by the way, we are going down tomorrow to sec her off. ^\'on't you 
 come too, Miss Harrington? and we can all see the bride otT, too. 
 
 Miss Harrington : I certainly will. I like to see those great ships 
 leaving our port. It is so interesting, (murmur together.) 
 
 Kate (to Babe, zvhom she detains, holding her by the hand) : \Miy 
 didn't you wear the dress I sent you ? — a simple dress of white satin ? 
 
 Babe (zvith zvide-opened eyes): I get a dress? Do you think I 
 would have worn a queer thing like this, if I had? 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 67 
 
 Katic: I sent one, when I sent the box for the Gussets. 'I'here 
 must have been a mistake. 
 
 Babe (sturdily) : It can't be helped, now ! I've got to put it through 
 in this wild toggery. Do I look so very awful? 
 
 K.\te: \'ery awful indeed! Why, you look like a comic valentine! 
 I can't imagine, but yes, I can. It is Mrs. Spangler's doings, of course. 
 
 (Will Harrington, the husband, introduces some men-friends of his, 
 and Babe is edged to one side. She looks mournfully around the room, 
 at the faces of the rvedding-guests. She sees Morton standing beside a 
 handsome elderly lady, with snccvy puffs of hair. She knoxvs it is his 
 mother — the mother he had told her would be her friend. But Morton 
 makes no move toward her. She realises that he is ashamed of her be- 
 cause of her clothes. Hozvever. some one is standing near, and it is 
 Malcolm.) 
 
 Malcolm: Well, how are you enjoying the wedding? 
 
 Babe (zvith a bursting heart) : What? Are \ou not afraid to speak 
 to me in such an old-fashioned gown as this ? 
 
 Malcolm: Why! What's the matter with it? It looks pretty fine 
 silk to me. You look as if you had just stepped out of a picture. You 
 do, really ! 
 
 Morton (to himself): Great Heavens! What am I going to do? 
 She's gone and spoiled everything! I know that mother will freeze up 
 at sight of such a little dowdy as this. Where, under the sun, did she 
 get- such a crazy rig? Poor little thing! I've got to make the best of it, 
 somehow. (Morton crosses the room, and offers his arm to Babe. 7^'ith 
 the air of a martyr. She looks at him. gravely.) 
 
 Morton (to Babe) : I want to have you meet my mother. (Babe 
 takes his arm. He leads her across, and goes through the form of intro- 
 duction, zt'ithout any ccst. zvhatevcr.) Miss Robinson, this is my mother, 
 Mrs. Morton. 
 
 (The child looks at her, yearningly, but her train gets in the zt'ay, 
 and she stumbles over it, while Mrs. Morton gazes coldly at her, and 
 'icishes her son zvould pay his attentions to Miss Castlcton, instead of to 
 this crude person. Babe takes it all in. She realiccs she is a failure. And 
 at once she leaves them, and makes for the door, and there is no one to 
 say: "Don't go," for Morton is too mortified to speak.) 
 
 Babe (tearfully) : I know what I'll do. I'll go and hide myself 
 and my foolish gown from all the world ! (as she attempts to go through 
 the door, some one catches her by Iter zcide sleeve that is so out-of-date, 
 and detains her. It is Malcolm.) 
 
 Malcolm : What's the matter ? Doesn't Joe ]\Iorton like your 
 green satin dress? Well, I do. It looks just like the French picture on 
 the wall up there — like the Empress Eugenie and her Court. See. if it 
 doesn't! Where did you get it ? 
 
 Babe (mournfully): It was at a second-hand shop. It came out of 
 a trunk of a very rich lad\- who has been dead for nian\- \ears. Xobodv 
 
68 SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 ever had this dress on, because the lady w^^ in mourning when it came, 
 but she kept it in her trunk j'ust the same, because it was made in Paris. 
 
 Malcolm (defiantly) : Of course. Anybodj could see that ! As 
 for Joe IMorton ! I'll go and punch his head for him. What do you care? 
 He's nothing much to go back on a girl on account of her clothes. 
 (scornfully.) 
 
 Babe (childishly) : Of — course — fashions — are — always — changing 
 — all — the — time. 
 
 Malcolm (chuckling) : Of course! Besides Kate said for me to 
 keep you here till she came. Something's going to happen. You are 
 going to have a big surprise. 
 
 (She starts for the hall to escape. She docs not understand. Enter 
 Kate from the hall, hurriedly.) 
 
 Kate: Why, Babe! \\'here are you going? 
 
 Babe (bluntly) : Home ! Society and I don"t get along together, 
 very well. 
 
 KL\TE : Nonsense ! I could not rest, the way things were, so I went 
 up stairs to my room, and found your dress was sent to me by mistake, 
 and there it is ! Just you run up to my room and put it on. The French 
 maid is waiting for you ! Be as quick as you can. 
 
 Babe (stupidly) : \\'hat ? ^^"hat do you mean. Kate ? 
 
 Kate: Oh, you little goose. Run along! And Malcolm will be 
 here, waiting for you when you come back. Hurry ! 
 
 (With a final stumble over her train. Babe goes. Kate resumes her 
 place beside her husband. Will Harrington, and continues talking to her 
 guests animatedly. Jim Castlcton and ti^'O young men. the escorts of 
 Lina and Jenny, approach Malcolm xchere he stands. First young man 
 shakes hands, and then second young man.) 
 
 First Youxg Max : \\'eli, Malcolm, I suppose you're going to help 
 us try our WTiitehall boat, tomorrow? 
 
 Malcolm : Yes, I won't forget. 
 
 Second Young Man: We depend on you. Malcolm! 
 
 ^Ialcolm: All right. Fll be there. 
 
 Jim Castleton (patronizingly, holding out his hand) : Flow are 
 you. ^lalcolm: 
 
 ^F\LCOLM (starts back suddenly and puts his hand behind him) : I 
 don't know you, sir. 
 
 Jim Castleton: Hear that, boys? He says he doesn't know me! 
 Introduce me. (has been drinking champagne./ 
 
 First Young ^Lan: This is Jim — one of the fellows you know — 
 a good, all-round sport. 
 
 Second Young Max : He helps us in lots of things ! Does lots for 
 charitj'. 
 
 ^L\lcolm (stubbornly) : I don't know him. and I don't want to 
 know him. 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 69 
 
 Jim: What! ^'ou ! You lianoer-on of Harrington's ! You scamp! 
 Do you mean to insult me? 
 
 Malcolm: Yes. And I'm too good to know you ! I'm an ad(ipted 
 brother of Lily White's and you don't think a brother of hers would want 
 to shake hands with you. do you? 
 
 (Jim gets a shock from these zcords. He gasps for breath, and reels 
 backzvard.) ■ 
 
 Mrs. Castleton (coming fonvard) : Oh, my son I What is the 
 matter? I fear he is going to have one of his attacks! 
 
 First Young Man : He's all right, he just needs a little fresh air. 
 
 Second Young Man (throzcs up the zvindotv. They go out of sight. 
 
 Enter Babe, who is a vision of beauty, in a white satin gozvn, 
 princess st\h\ made short, zvith zvhite slippers on and zvhite ribbons in 
 her hair, zvhich is tied back in youthful style A fluffy, zvhite. circular fan 
 hangs by a zvhite ribbon at her side. She stands near Malcolm, zvho 
 slozl'ly azi'akens to the fact that she is there. He offers her his arm, and 
 takes her to Kate, zvho introduces her to her husband all over again, and 
 he understands, and introduces her to his friends, as if she zvere a Cin- 
 derella, arrived at the ball late.) 
 
 Babe (confidentially to Malcolm j : Don't let anybody know I am 
 the same girl that was in the green gown, will you? 
 
 Malcolm : No. But I liked the other dress too. It was picture-skew.* 
 
 Mrs. Emmons (to Marie Castleton) : Who is the beautiful young 
 girl talking to Mrs. Harrington? 
 
 Marie: Why, I don't know, (turning to Mrs. Morton and her son. 
 Joe Morton.) Mr. Morton, do you know who it is? Mrs. Emmons 
 would like to know — that charming little girl who just came in? 
 
 Morton (gazing at her in amacement j : I think I do know. Yes. 
 Ah ! I know her very well. I'll bring her to meet you all. I have spoken 
 of her to my mother. You know, mother, little Babe Robinson, (he 
 goes to the group, zvhere Babe is talking animatedly zvith some of Mr. 
 Harrington's friends, zvaving her fan slozvly. and trying to do credit to 
 Katc.)^ 
 
 Morton (zvith a frozvn. and yet offering his arm. for the second 
 time) : Babe! I want to introduce you to my mother. 
 
 Babe (zvith playful sarcasm): What? Again? 
 
 Morton (seriously, Zi<ith a shrug) : Have you been doing this to 
 try me ? 
 
 Babe (zvaz'ing her fan) : You can make out of it what you like. 
 
 Morton: I admit that I was a coward. I was willing to dare all 
 the world for your sake, but I could not make myself ridiculous in the eyes 
 of Society. 
 
 Babe (gravely in earnest) : I know. Society is the most important 
 thing in the world. 
 
 Morton : I am ashamed to think how vour clothes should make 
 
70 SOCIETY AND BABE ROBINSON 
 
 such a difference to the world, and how it should make none to me, 
 w-^o knew you so well. And yet it did. 1 am angry at myself. And I 
 will confess it. I am jealous! They all are ready to welcome you now; 
 but I insist' you are my little girl and not theirs, (he leads her to his 
 grou(>. and introduces her to each one, coming last of all to his mother, 
 Airs. Morton.) 
 
 Morton (proudly) : Mother, this is my little friend. Babe Robin- 
 son. The little girl I want you to take under your wing, and look out 
 for. She has had a hard time in the past ; but I want }ou now to take her 
 to your heart, and be a mother to her. 
 
 Mrs. M. ([luzzled. yet beaming delightfully on the daintily attired 
 young creature) : Yes. my dear, I have heard of you, and I hope I may 
 have die pleasure of having you come to us as soon as we get settled. 
 
 (All Babe can do is to take the hand, extended to her. and then to 
 kiss the cheek of the tvhite-haired dame, impulsiz'ely.) 
 
 Babe: Thank you. You are very kind. 
 
 Mrs. M. (still perplexed) : But, Joseph, I thought you introduced 
 me to a Miss Robinson, earlier in the evening. A different young lady- 
 much older? 
 
 jMortox (briskly, to change the subject) : Oh yes ! another family, 
 altogether. One of the theatrical folks : a real good girl, though : but not 
 my Babe Robinson, mother. 
 
 B.\BE (to Morton): So this is the way they talk in Society, is it? 
 (to Mrs. Morton) Do you believe everything your son tells you, Mrs. 
 Morton ? 
 
 Mrs. M. (smiling indulgently) : \\'ell, I have to use my own judg- 
 ment — sometimes. 
 
 B.\BE (throzcing her head back. a)id laughing merrily) : Well, I 
 should think so ! 
 
 Morton (wishing to change the subject) : Have you been in the 
 conservatory yet, Babe? 
 
 Babe (trying to be prim) : Xo. I have not. 
 
 Morton: Then let us go. 
 
 Mrs. M. (detaining him) : But. Joseph, the promenade for the 
 banquet is announced. See, they are all forming in line. 
 
 Morton : So they are ! Well, we'll take Babe along with us. (he 
 offers an arm to each. Babe is in an ecstasy of joy.) 
 
 Babe: Xo wonder everybody is trying to get into Society, when it 
 is all as fine as this! My! Isn't it just like Heaven? 
 
 (March, led by bride and groom, all folloxv and disappear. Reception 
 room deserted. Music strikes up in the distance. Then come in, 
 higgledy piggledy, the poor people, peering in at the door. Then, gradually 
 entering in and trying the different chairs and sofas. Bobby Spongier, 
 Mrs. Spongier, Aunt Biddy the Bogie. Mrs. Gusset and children, still 
 pointing fingers at everything, and Schlosser and Kercheval. and the 
 Parson zcho alone maintains his dignity.) 
 
SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSON 71 
 
 .AFrs. Si'angi.kr : My ! and what a foine thing to be rich, sure ! (fans 
 herself n'ith large sivoops of her fan.) 
 
 Biddy : F'wot a power o' windys to be washed, an' all this carpet 
 to be swept, Hennery ! 
 
 Bobby (to Schlosser) : Little did we think, wen we was goin' to 
 the Rincon Grammar School, that we'd be sliinin' like dis, in high toned 
 Sassiety. 
 
 Kic'iMAN : Aw ! Come off ycr perch ! Dey don't keer nuffin fer us! 
 
 Kkuciifa'ai. : Say. Henry — 
 
 ( E.ntcr Malcolm, li-ith Dr. Kcrchez'al.) 
 
 M Aixoi.M : He is here. Dr. Kercheval. He is here with the Keyman ! 
 
 Kercheval ( gk'ing a ncrrons twist to his high collar, and turning to 
 his comrade): Game's up, Henry. This is my father! 
 
 Keyman: Howly Moses! 
 
 Dk. Kercheval: Mv son! my son! How glad your poor mother 
 will be ! 
 
 Kercheval (begins) : I ain't no fdol^to stay up in Sacramento to — 
 when I can be seein' the world — yes — seein' the world — 
 
 Keyman (scornfully) : Shut up that racket — yer the doggondest 
 fool I ever see iii all my born days. Go home with the old man. and learn 
 sumpin'. Ye don't know any too much. 
 
 Malcolm (introducing the doctor to the Keyman) : This is Henry 
 Schlosser. He has looked out for your son for six months, or more. As 
 my sister is always saying: "It's the poor that helps the poor." 
 
 Dr. Kercheval (in a lozv voice) : Permit me to thank you for your 
 kindness, and I should like to take Alfred home with me in the early 
 train. How happy his mother will be. Xame any sum as a recompense 
 for your trouble. 
 
 Keyman : No, ye don't ! I ain't done nothin'. 
 
 Alfred (iveakly) : Yes, he was real good to me, pa. I was nippin' 
 the bread and milk off the door-steps, when he found me. But I couldn't 
 — I couldn't learn the key-business. It's too much for me. He rented the 
 clothes I got on now, so't I could come^here — tonight — (voice dies down 
 like a clock) — yes — tonight — 
 
 (Dr. Kercheval puts his hand in his pocket, draws out some twenties, 
 and holds out to Schlosser.) 
 
 Keyman: Wot d'ye take me fer? (sconis) I ain't done nothin'. 
 \\'e was f rens, I tell ye ! 
 
 Dr. Kercheval: I owe you a debt I can never repay. By trying to 
 teach my son your trade you have benefited him more than all- the 
 schooling I have tried to give him. (extends hand XK.'ith money in it.) 
 
 Alfred: You'd better take it, Henry. You know you was sayin' 
 only yesterday you wished you had three hundred dollars. 
 
 (lilth a sudden start, the Keyman's zuholc bearing changes. His 
 small eyes light up into a preternatural cunning. He extends his hand 
 and takes the money offered him, almost rudely.) 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 Dr. Kercheval : I'll give you a check for the remainder. You can 
 get it cashed in the morning. Can you get me a pen. Mr. Strong? 
 (Malcolm gets one for hint. The. check is u'ritten out and {massed over to 
 the Keyman. Keyman seems like one in a trance, as Dr. Kerchezal hands 
 over the check.) 
 
 Key.m.w (hoarsely): All right, if ye say so! (aside.) Durn my 
 hide, if I hadn't a'most forgot Belmour. I must git Kerch to buy them 
 tickets fur the China steamer in the momin' an' git him to give 'em to 
 Mollie. I couldn't have nothin' to do with it! I'd give the game clean 
 away, jist by bein' around. KerchU have to give 'em to her so's the 
 cops'll catch on and foller him on a blind trail to Sacramento, an' then 
 Belmour kin git away. He's allers been wite to me. He's allers treated 
 me like a gentleman. But Kerch'll have to help. An" Kerch don't know 
 arty too much. I'll have to be a wise gezabo. (to son of Dr. Kerchezal.) 
 Kerch, tell the ole man yer goin' home with me ter git yer clothes. We'll 
 jist nachelly vamose the ranch. See? Cose I've got some important 
 business on board. Du ye want to do a favor fur Miss Darling? You 
 know she wus pretty nice to you. 
 
 Alfred: Of course! I'd like to do her a favor, an' Id like to say 
 "Good-bye" to her before I leave for Sacramento — yes. for Sacramento — 
 
 (Thev converse with Dr. Kerchcz-al and the Keyman is in a state of 
 e-vcitemcnt to get auvy. Presently they go to'u-ard the door.) 
 
 Keym.\n (meaningly): Come on. Kertch. let's make ourselves 
 scarce. 
 
 (Malcolm tries to lead the others azcay to the other room, as Morton 
 and Babe return: but they all surround Babe, zvith protestations of 
 admiration. The little lame girl. Kree. takes the fluffy fan into her hand 
 to wave, and the others zcant to smell the perfume on it. Finally Malcolm 
 gets them to go with him. He stands a vioment. looking at the tzi'O.) 
 
 Malcolm : So. Babe's forgiven him. already. I don't think he's 
 good enough for her. (sighs heaznly. Leads them all azcay. 
 
 Morton and Babe seat themselves in the part of the room where the 
 consen-atory show.'s. but Babe is listening to the music.) 
 
 Morton : You are angry with me. You know you are ! 
 
 B.\BE (impatiently) : What do we want to stay here for. quarreling? 
 I can hear the music in the ball-room : and I should love to go and see 
 the dancing. 
 
 Morton: How can I make my peace with you? I'll do am-thing 
 \ou say! But, you know, you are my little girl! 
 
 B.\BE I with dignity) : Well. That's no reason for you to presume! 
 You must promise to never think of such a thing as ever — as ever — 
 kissing — ^my cheek, again. 
 
 Morton : That's pretty hard ! I know I'll break it. 
 
 B.\EE (meeting his admiring gase unfalteringly) : Well. Mr. 
 Morton, you may as well know now as at any other time, that I am 
 sa\-ing my kisses for my husband ! 
 
 Morton (springing to his feet) : And I want to be that man ! 
 
SOClllTV .1X0 n.lBI- ROIUXSOX 
 
 Habe (turns azi-'ay from him ) : Hut you may not like mc vei"\- tiuich . 
 It is only my pretty dress that you like. 
 
 Morton: I swear that it is not! Vou need not ho afraiil to trust 
 nic. Vou are to come and live with nn mother, and go to school for a 
 year or two, and then — well — then, we'll talk of love and the future. 
 
 B.\i!E (looking at him, and then hanging her head) : But you do not 
 know my .secret, Joe ! You do not know anything- ahout my — father — 
 my mother — and my step-father. 
 
 Morton (generously) : I know you, and what a hrave little girl you 
 are, and that's enough for me. I can imagine that your steji-father 
 wasn't very good to \ou, and that _\ou ran away. Wasn't that ahout the 
 truth? 
 
 B.\BE (looking at him, trying to think i^'lictlicr to say any more, and 
 dreading to do so.) 
 
 Morton: \Miat is it, dear? What is it that makes you look that 
 way? 
 
 B.VBE (ready to break doz^'n I : There is more to tell — there is more. 
 But I cannot bear to. Oh! ^'ou will hate mc ! (coz-ers her face zi'ith her 
 hands.) 
 
 Morton (generous again): My dear little girl! You can set your 
 mind at rest, now and forever, on that score. You belong to me, and I 
 propose to take care of you, in spite of everything. You are to forget the 
 past and all its sorrows, and begin all over again. It shall be a new life, 
 with mother and me. Look me in the eyes. Babe! (dra'ws her hands 
 dozen, laughingly.) Don't I mean what I say? (Babe smiles and has 
 faith in him.) 
 
 Morton : I shall never forget the first time I ever saw you in that 
 red frock. 
 
 B.\BE : 1 looked like a country girl, didn't ] ? 
 
 Morton : I kept saying. "It's none of my affair : but what's going 
 to become of her?" And, somehow, I felt responsible! You know! 
 That was why I followed you! And when I found you there, at Mollie 
 Darling's (bites his Hi's, to hold haek zc'hat he zvould say.) By the way! 
 What is over is past ! But I want you to promise me, Babe, that yo.i 
 will never speak to Mollie Darling, or to Belmour again. They are not 
 the sort of people that I want my future wife to recognize, even. If 
 you pass them in the street, you must act as if you did not see them — 
 as if you were not aware of their existence. 
 
 Babe (readily): \Xhy. of course! But then, I can't tell what may 
 happen ; and you know, Mr. Belmour was very good to me. The mone\' 
 he gave Miss Wiggin kept me alive for six months — until she died. I 
 shouldn't want to be really ungrateful, should I ? 
 
 Morton (fetulantly) : Oh, well! Such people are not deserving of 
 much gratitude. I don't know what Belmour's motive was in separating 
 you from Alollie so absolutely, but I'll bet anything, there was a selfish 
 one, underneath it all. I shall not be satisfied unless you give me your 
 word that you will not have anything to do with either of them, under 
 pain of losing all my affection and respect. 
 
SOCIETY AXD' BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 B.\BE (laughing at Morton's sctcrc tone and St-riousncss i : Why, 
 nr^rive YOU my word, twice over! I hope that they may never cross 
 my path again. Xow that I know that the\»i,are queer persons, and not 
 nice, I certainly shall take pains to avoid them, and I am sure that no 
 one is more anxious tlian I to forget that I ever heard of them. even. 
 
 MoRTX^x (looking into her eyes that meet his gasc unfalteringly) : I 
 am satisfied. 
 
 (All the guests return. The bride takes her departure, to hotel to 
 leax-e on China steamer next day. The. group of friends, gathering around 
 Mrs. Ennnons. plan to see them off. ne.rt day, at the zcharf, zchere they 
 are to take the steamer, ifaleolm agrees to go zvith the tzco young 
 fellozcs. to try the Whitehall boat and be there too. The tzvo society men 
 shake hands with Barney and O'Xeil in most friendly fashion.) 
 
 O'Neil (to Barney): Yer a kick>- dawg, Barney — ^xe've taken me 
 inter Sassiety. he ! he ! an' tliot's wot no man i\nr did fur me beforre. I 
 owe ye tin dollars fur that an' morre! If I wasn't a worrkin' man I'd 
 ruther be a nigger-minstrel, (they go.) 
 
 Mrs. Castletox (giz'ing orders to her three daughters): Marie? 
 Did vou ask' Mr. Morton to call, and bring his mother to see us? And 
 say that we shall call? 
 
 M.\rie: I think it would be in better taste for you to do it, mamma, 
 {.Mrs. Castleton gives the inz'itation. xcith a great flourish.) 
 
 MoRTOX (aside to Marie) : And do you think society will receive 
 my little protegee? 
 
 M.xrie: Money gilds ever\thing! With such friends as Mr. and 
 Mrs. Harrington, and yourself and your mother, and her owti winsome 
 personalitv, it ought to' be easy for her to make her way. I She says it 
 bravely, but is faint at heart: for she has alzvays cared for .Morton, exen 
 before he got his money.) 
 
 Morton- : And will you be her friend, too? Babe will have to be 
 sent away to school, of course, she is so young — and then — I suppose you 
 can guess my intentions ? But with what success can I hope to introduce 
 mv wife, who was once a type-setter ? Do you tliink society could forgive 
 it ? ( .Morton takes Marie's hand in his ozcn. and holds it, as he is speaking.) 
 
 M.xRiE (earnestly) : Have her voice cultivated, Mr. Morton. I hear 
 that she has a lovely voice. Have her learn to sing ballads, and she can 
 go anywhere. Society will welcome her. 
 
 Morton: Thank you. Miss Castleton. 
 
 Marie (aside) : How happy he seems, tonight. 
 
 Mrs. Castletox (calling) : Come, Marie, we are ready to go. 
 Will you see us to the carriage. Mr. Monon? (Morton turns to crplain 
 to Babe, and Icazes her for the moment. Babe stands, looking after him. 
 .Malcolm is by Babe's side. ) 
 
 Malcolm : So you have forgiven him for being ashamed of you in 
 your old-fashioned gown? 
 
 B.\be (gravely): Oh! He couldn't make himself ridiculous in 
 Society, you know ! Society's the most important thing in the world I 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 75 
 
 Malcolm fzi'itli fi-cliitg) : Yes. I had forgotten that. Shall you be 
 down at the China steamer, tomorrow? 
 
 Babe: Yes. Mrs. Emmons is the lady who has adopted little 
 Bunnie, and I am going to see her off. and say "Good-bye." W'e shall 
 miss dear little Bunnie, very much. But I am going to go away to 
 school, and learn to sing! \Von't that be lovely? 
 
 Malcolm (heartily) : I congratulate you, Babe. That is good news. 
 
 Babe (eagerly) : But here comes Mr. Morton. 
 
 (Morton returns. Malcolm turns to Mrs. Gusset, the Bogie. Mrs. 
 Spongier, ete., and helps them to the carriage, zchich is to take them home.) 
 
 Malcolm (calls): Come, Babe! There is a place for you! 
 
 Morton : Good-bye, my little darling ! Tomorrow I shall come to 
 take you away forever, (he kisses her on the forehead, and drazi's the 
 zi'hite shazi'l around her closely.) 
 
 Babe (repeating) : Tomorrow ? Joe, do you really love me ? Are 
 you sure? 
 
 Morton : I do, indeed, my little girl. You are like a little pet lamb, 
 to me. 
 
 Babe: Better than you do Marie Castleton? 
 
 Morton : Better than any one, you absurd little creature. 
 
 Babe: And will you come just the same as this tomorrow? 
 
 Mortons Just the same tomorrow ! and all the tomorrows to come. 
 (Babe buries her head against his coat-sleeve.) 
 
 Babe: It seems too good to be true! 
 
 Malcolm: Come, Babe, we are waiting for you! 
 . Babe : I must go ! (gives Morton her hand. He kisses it and lets 
 her go. She joins Malcolm and departs. Morton's mother appears in an 
 ermine cloak. He gives her his arm to escort her to the carriage. 
 Miss Harrington, like a grande dame, stands, saying the last farezvell. 
 As the last guest departs, she turns to find Murray standing there, like a 
 sentinel, carved in stone.) 
 
 Miss Harrington (haughtily) : Murray, you may put out the 
 lights, and restore order. 
 
 MfRRAV (obsequiously) : Yes. Miss Harrington, (and Murray 
 goes about quietly and effectively, till all the place is darkened.) 
 
 Miss Harrington : That will do, Murray. 
 
 Murray: Yes, iliss Harrington, (she departs. 
 
 Murray stands a brief second, in meditation, then lifts his head, 
 proudly, and departs also.) 
 
 (End of Act Four.) 
 
ACT V. Scene I. 
 
 (Lotta's Fountain. Golden Rule Bamar. Geary street and Market 
 and Kearny in back-ground. Early a. m. Mollie Darling, heavily veiled. 
 Two detectives follozcing Iter. Men and a few women passing. Schlosser 
 the Keyman, ivith a great roll of keys hung across his back, slouches by. 
 Mollie goes up the street and returns. She has a letter in her hand ad- 
 dressed "Robert Bclmour." Kercheval appears, jauntilv attired, valise in 
 hand. He zcalks up to Mollie. lifts his hat politely. She gives him the 
 letter.) 
 
 Mollie: Good morning! \\'ill you take the letter? Xow be careful. 
 and be sure to give it to him. (Mcairu'hile, Kercheval giz^es her a bunch 
 of violets in which are concealed the tivo tickets to the China steamer.) 
 Oh. thank you. These are lovely! 
 
 Kercheval: I thought you'd like them — yes, like them! 
 
 Mollie: So I do. And give my love to all the friends in Sacra- 
 mento. Thank you, so much I (takes the violets, and passes on. Key- 
 man stops and looks vacantly dozen Market street. Kercheval passes on 
 dozen Market street to the ferry. Mollie goes up the street past the 
 keyman. and murmurs, "I've got them:") 
 
 Detective (to the other one) : Did you see that, Sam ? Tiiat 
 feller's carryin' a message from her to her pal ? He must be hiding up 
 in Sacramento. 
 
 Sam: Aw, 1 dunuo ! Looks like a slick game, to me: but ye'd 
 better go along and git that letter. I Other detectiz'c follozes Kercheval. 
 zeho disappears from the play.*) 
 
 Mollie (zeaiting by Lotta's Fountain a nioineiit I : So far. so good. 
 Xow what next? I have an idea, if only 1 could carry it out. I've got 
 to get this ticket to him. Some one has got to go with it, and get him 
 down there to the .steamer. Some one who doesn't know anything! Oh, 
 Robert! What if everything should fail! (detective Zi'alks by her, 
 leisurely. After he has passed, she continues in a tumult of feeling.) 
 Do I know anybody who is honest and good? Whom no one would 
 suspect? Would I'abe Robinson do it for him? Kercheval told me she 
 was there, at the wedding last night. The moment I heard her name 
 1 began to think of it. He did her a favor. Why should she not do 
 one for him? .-\nd she is living at the Irish woman's house! I can 
 but try. But I must act the part carefully so she won't find out. What 
 if she did find out? Xo, no, she mustn't find out the truth, (she stops to 
 look in the zi'indozi' of the Golden Rule Bazaar — then zealks along leisurely. 
 Detective follows.) 
 
 •The fact is that Kercheval finally hecame a usrfvil mcmljcr of society. Ry his father's 
 aiu-officer. He was especially fitted for this pos 
 If so often, he knew every nook and cranny in 
 of an undesired education. 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSO.V 
 
 , SCENE II. *. 
 
 (Same scoie in Mrs. Spangler's as in Third Act. Babe is packing up 
 her things, preparatory to going aicav from the place forever. She is 
 singing: "Scenes That Are Brightest May Charm for a While" in snatches, 
 betzi'een bundling up old books and clothes. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Spongier.) 
 
 ]\Irs. Spangler (holding up both hands): Fur the love o' Hiven ! 
 Don't be singing so airly in the mornin". "Sing before breakfast, an' 
 ye'll be cryin' afther dinner." 
 
 'Babe: \^'ell. I don't care! I'm glad I can sing when I feel like 
 it. I've got a great surprise for you. Mrs. Spangler. I'm going away 
 to school ! 
 
 Mrs. Spaxgler: An' is that wot yer singin' about? Yer so glad 
 to lave me? Glad to lave Biddy an' me. is it? Och, an' I wouldn't av 
 thought it av ye. afther bein" my little gal all this time, (head pokes in 
 the door. It is Biddy the Bogie, in rags, as usual.) Och, Biddy, an' 
 that's wy she's singin'. She's goin' away to school, an' to live wid the 
 high-toned leddies and jints. 
 
 (Biddy throzi's her apron over her head, and Zi.'ails in true Irish 
 fashion.) 
 
 Biddy: Och, me darlinti An' thim is no good, at all. at all. 
 
 Babe (indignantly I : I should think you'd be glad I'm going to get 
 some education. 
 
 Mrs. Spaxgler : So we are, me darlint ! but it'll be a lonely house 
 whin ye are gone. 
 
 f The bell rings. Mrs. Spangler and the Bogie go out to see li'ho it is.) 
 
 Mrs. Spaxgler (outside the door) : Sure, n' she's in, mam. Jist 
 knock at the dure ! (a knock at Babe's door.) 
 
 Babe (starts) : Who can it be, so early in the morning? Come in! 
 (she stands looking in mute astonishment as the presence of Mollie 
 Darling stands revealed. What had she promised, only the night before? 
 It zi'as never to speak to Mollie or Belmour again. She drau's back. 
 Mollie comes in slozi-ly. Her face is set and ivhite behind her flozi'ing 
 veil. Her eyes are singularly restless. } 
 
 B.\BE (coldly) : Well? (It conzrys z^'hat she means: "State your 
 business, and go.'') 
 
 !MoLLiE (giz-ing zi-ay before that cold )nonosyllable. she pushes up the 
 veil from off her face, and seems to choke) : Oh, Babe ! I have come to 
 you to help me. You are the only one I dare ask ! I am in great trouble ! 
 
 Babe (hard-heartedly) : Oh, you're in great trouble, are you ? Then 
 I'm just the the person to come to. of course ! Whenever this big. old world 
 has troubles of its own it can't fix. why. it always sends them to me. 
 Marriages, births, deaths and funerals seem to have to wait for me to 
 look after them. It's all right. I haven't any troubles of my own. Which 
 is yours? Marriage, birth or death? (Babe' folds her arms, and seats 
 herself, nonchalantly, on the little table in the room, szcinging her feet in 
 
SOCir.TY .-IXD BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 a l^irtciisc at biarado. zcliich she is far from feeling.) It doesn't pay to 
 have such an awful good time every minute, does it? With fluffy feathers 
 hanging down your back, and wearing silks and satins and wraps, and 
 having a dear little phaeton and a horse to drive! You might have known 
 it wouldn't last! I tell you, it's the chalk line that pays best in the end? 
 That's what Steve told me, and it's true, (she hardly k)wzvs zchat she is 
 saxing in her confusion, and zcondering zchat to do next, to kee[> her 
 promise to Morton. 
 
 MoUie tears off the veil ii'hich falls dozen over her face again, and 
 zcalks up and dozvn in desperation like a zuild creature. Babe watches her 
 curiously. Mollic turns and looks at Babe like a creature at bay.) 
 
 Mollie: You always were fond of preaching, but it's too late to 
 talk of the "chalk line." now. I'm in distress. I'm being hunted to death, 
 and you can save me ! 
 
 Babe (assuming surprise) : Whew ! It's astonishing what con- 
 fidence people have in me ! Say. Mollie. w hat does all this play-acting 
 mean? What are you so w^orked up about? 
 
 Mollie (zi'ith tragic gesture to the zi'indozv) : Look out there ! 
 Wherever I go, that man follows me. Generally there are two. I am 
 watched and hunted every moment. 
 
 B.-\i!E (giz'es a quick look and turns to Mollie, zeith sympathetic 
 zchispers) : Oh. Mollie ! Is it as bad as that ? 
 
 Mollie (zi'ith arms extended) : You can — save — us ! 
 
 B.ABE (starting back, zvith repulsion in her every feature): US? 
 Vou mean — Mr. — Belmour? (slozcly.) 
 
 Mollie (mutely) : Yes. 
 
 B.ABE (going back to the table, and assuming an indifferent mood 
 agai)i): Xuh ! Ain't in the savin" business, this year, (gives a shrug 
 of disdain.) 
 
 Mollie : What ! Not when he saved you. when you were alone in 
 the world? 
 
 B.\i!E : Can't help it ! 
 
 Mollie: What! Not when he saved you from worse than that? 
 Don't you know that he saved you — from — from — me? That is why you 
 are honest and good todav ! You can go anvwhere ! And vou owe it to 
 him! 
 
 B.\be (meditatively): I suppose that is so: I never thought of it 
 before. I was so stupid (is covered zvith confusion, hesitates, then begins 
 again). You say I am honest and good. Well, that is about all there is 
 of me ! And if I should go into a skittish thing, like this, I'm afraid there 
 wouldn't be anything of me left. 
 
 Mollie (in a keen zvhisper) : It is life or death to him! 
 
 B.MiE (arousing herself) : And it is life or death to me too! Why, 
 Mollie Darling, if that is your name, I am to leave this poor little place 
 and go into a real home, with a lovely lady to look after me. I am to go 
 away to school, and then after that. I am to go into Societv ! Isn't that 
 life and death to nie? Why can't you get some one else to help vou out? 
 
80 SOCIETY .4.\D BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 Molue: We can't trust them ! The\^ would tell the police, and 
 divide the reward among them. 
 
 Babe: What wretches! (she looks into Mollic's eves and hci;!ns to 
 come under the influence of the spell cast upon her.) 
 
 MoLLiE (in a lozv. persuasive tone) : He was good to you when 
 you were in distress. He helped you when you had no other friend. He 
 stood between you — and — me ! and changed your life in consequence. I 
 don't know why : but he did. You are honest and good, and you will save 
 him from all these wretches, who would give him up for the reward. 
 
 B.XBE (taking another look out of the ivindozv) : He is still there. 
 ' MoLLiE (bitterly) : Yes ! He dogs my steps, day after day. 
 
 Babe (quickly) : Tell me what I am to do ! What have you planned ? 
 
 MoLLiE (eagerly) : The steamer leaves for China today. I have 
 the tickets. I want you to carry the word and get him down to the 
 docks. He is very sick. \'ery weak. You would hardly know him ! 
 
 Babe (zvaking up) : Did you say China steamer? I know a lady. 
 She is the captain's wife. She is going on it today. She is taking a little 
 baby with her that she's adopted. 
 
 ]\IoLLiE (alertly): Has she a nurse for it? 
 
 B.\BE : No ! Nobody wanted to go to Hong Kong. 
 
 I^IOLLiE (urgently) : Tell me her name! (live me her address! I 
 will go as the nurse. I will get cap and aprons, and pass myself oft" for a 
 French maid. You know I can spealt French. It will be easy. 1 see my 
 way clear. 
 
 B.\BE (sadlv depressed ) : How did you know how to find me? 
 
 Mollie: It was Kercheval told me. His father was at the wedding, 
 and gave the Ke\mTan some money, and he had it on his mind to tell me 
 about your being there too. Poor creature! But it has been an in- 
 spiration to me. And the Keyman got Kercheval to buy the tickets, and 
 give them to me. But I couldn't take the tickets to Belmour. Neither 
 could the keyman. He is likely to be arrested any minute. He is the 
 only one who is faithful and that we can trust ! But he couldn't take him 
 down to the steamer. It needs some one like you. .\nd here is the 
 address. 
 
 Babe (sighing, as she takes it): What a miserable world! Just 
 when everything seems to be all right, then you have to lose everything. 
 
 Mollie: I am sorry, Babe, to be the one to trouble you, but he 
 helped you — he saved your life, and you owe him something. Remember, 
 I trust in you as I never did in a human being before, and I promise, if 
 we escape, our lives shall be dift'erent. (tics her veil on rapidly.) 
 
 V>.\be: You are dreadfully nervous, aren't you? Well (sighs). I 
 have promised to help. I should rather lose all my happiness than to feel 
 I had been ungrateful. I'll do my level best. I can't promise any more 
 than that. 
 
 (Mollie goes out of door. Babe goes to the win doze to look out. 
 Sees the man leisurely folloz'.'ing Mollie dozen the street, and some one 
 else coming along. It is Joe Morton.) 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSON 81 
 
 Babe (joyfully) : Oh, there's Joe ! How glad I am ! He's looking 
 up. (site waz^es her hand.) But he seems so strange. He's coming in. 
 My ! Tve got on my old dress, and the room is in a regular upset. 
 
 (Knock on the door. Babe runs and opens the door. Morton comes 
 in.) 
 
 Babe (joyously) : Oh ! I'm glad you came ! You see — (starts, 
 bites her lip, draws back.) What's the matter. Joe? Why, you look so 
 strange! (seriously) But you promised, last night to come in the 
 morning, ju.st the same! (7<'ist fully.) 
 
 MoRTO.N (ga::;ing on her 7^'ith close scrutiny, speaks harshly) : Was 
 Mollie Darling here? 
 
 Babe (nods gravely) : She was here. I couldn't keep licr from 
 coming, could I ? 
 
 Morton (peremptorily) : What — did — she — want ? 
 
 Babe (zvistfiilly) : It wouldn't be right for me to tell on her. poor 
 thing, would it? (she takes hold of the table, for it seems as if the -a'orld 
 7cere going round.) 
 
 Morton (eagerly) : I insist upon knowing. Why — why — last night 
 you promised me never to have anything more to do with her. And here, 
 early in the morning, I come, sooner than expected, and find her leaving 
 your door. What does it mean? What does she want? For Heaven's 
 sake. Babe ! Confess the whole thing to me, and I will believe you, even 
 now ! Let me take you away from this den of thieves, and put an end to 
 these dreadful suspicions! But I insist, first that you shall tell me what 
 she wants of you. 
 
 Babe (zceakly) : Dear Joe ! I don't know what to do ! (clasps her 
 hands together.) 
 
 AIoRTOX (drazi'ing out his zvatch) : Babe ! I have only five minutes 
 to spare. I will give you that five minutes. If during this time you 
 refuse to explain this thing to me — (voice breaks. Turns away over- 
 come.) 
 
 B.M'.E (springing to his side, she puts her head against his arm, and 
 he clasps her hand in his) : Oh. Joe! has it come to this, so soon? Can't 
 you trust me the least little bit ? Vou know you have been a reporter, and 
 you are very hard-hearted. It isn't my secret. I can't tell you. because 
 it would be wicked and mean, and you wouldn't have me lie wicked and 
 mean, would you ? 
 
 Morton (hoarsely) : You owe that woman nothing — nothing ! And 
 I have forbidden you to speak to her. That should be enough for you. 
 Oh. Babe! Don't you see how this will ruin our lives? 
 
 Babe I feeling herself tempted to fell) : .\\l right — it's nothing to 
 me. Xo. no! I can't tell. I won't tell. I don't care what happens to me. 
 
 Morton (rela.d)ig his hold) : \'ery well ! I might have known ! But 
 your fresh young face and your innocent eyes have deceived me, for I 
 believed you to be honest and good, in spite of all the mysteries that have 
 surrounded you from the beginning. You have tried me once too often. 
 We ma\ as well say "Ciood-hye." (turns toward the door.) 
 
82 SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 "Babe (running to intercept him. and putting Iter hand out to detain 
 him) : Oh, no! don't go a\va>; angrV with mti^ Why. Mr. Morton. I'll 
 tell you even-thing! It's nothing to me! 
 
 MoRTOX (turning to her fiercely) : Now then! What is it: ^^■hat 
 did she want ? 
 
 B.\BE (clutching at the door, to hold herself up) : Oh ! I can't ! I 
 won't ! 
 
 Morton (jealously) : It must be something very strange. I believe 
 it is Belmour, who sent her. The hound I I could kill him with my own 
 hands ! 
 
 j3abe (gently): Hush! What would you want to kill anyone for? 
 Killing is a — horrible — thing — and — it — is — always — the — innocent — who 
 — have — to — suffer — for — the — guilty. 
 
 MoRTOX (looking at her in amazement i : What a strange child you 
 are! Do you know you could deceive the devil himself with those 
 innocent eyes and ways of yours. Once more : \\'ill you tell me what she 
 came for? Was it not something about Belmour? 
 
 (Babe looks at him mutely.) 
 
 Morton : I can read it in your eyes. Bah ! I am a fool. Let me 
 get out of here, into the fresh air! (he goes out like one bereft of his 
 senses.) 
 
 Babe (follozcing him) : Tomorrow — tomorrow — I'll tell you. To- 
 morrow, ^Ir. Morton, (he is gone. She puts her hand to her head.) 
 ^^"hat's that? My head is going round. I've got too much to do. I puts 
 her hand into the zcater-pitcher and splashes a handful into her face.) 
 Oh, dear! I can't think of my own troubles, today. I'll put them off 
 till tomorrow. He is there, weak and sick! And he saved me! (puts 
 on her little cape and sailor-bat. takes up the address and ticket and goes 
 out zcistfully.) 
 
 (End of Second Scene. > 
 
 SCENE III, 
 
 (Allev in Tehama street, near Fourth. A door is cut in fence leading 
 to back room in a tumble-dozen house. Room is forlorn. A couch, zi-ooden 
 chair and table, ragged curtain at Zi'indozi: Sounds of children's voices 
 fighting and screaming in the alley. Belmour. lying on couch, pale, beard 
 grozvn; is frayed zcith the stress of existence. Is playing solitaire. Puts 
 the cards down, absently.) 
 
 Belmour : And yet, I go on thinking ! Life is a game that is not 
 worth the candle. All my years I have been seeking an ignis fatuus and 
 now. at last memon,- has its revenge. I hear children's voices wrangling 
 and jangling, and my mind insists on going back to when I was myself 
 a child. I can't get away from it! Headstrong, self-willed, petted and 
 spoiled by an indulgent mother. How exquisite she was, in ever>- way! 
 I can see her, and my little sister Ida, as plainly as if they stood before 
 me, on the day I returned home from college, as they stood there on the 
 long verandah! If only I could forget that picture! In spite of all my 
 wild career. I see them still, standing there! Ever}-thing else is blotted 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSOX 83 
 
 out but that picture! Had I stayed there with them, should I now be 
 different from what I am? A Southern gentleman of family and stand- 
 ing, instead of — this? (he glances around the room.) Lying in durance 
 vile, a fugitive from justice with a price upon my head, with my sole 
 companion, a poor, uncouth hoodlum, to whom I owe my very life? 
 (takes up the pack of cards, and begins to plav solitaire ai^ain. Screams 
 of children in the alley, some playing ball, some drumming. Bitterly 
 lets the cards drop from his hands. ) 
 
 Belmour: I can see them there— all in white, like angels, in a 
 dream. But I did not realize then, how great was to be my fall ! (takes 
 up the cards again. 
 
 Suddenly there conies a quick knock at the door, and a quick tattoo, 
 not quite according to the signal. He drops the cards, and quickly snatches 
 his revolver from under the pillozv of his couch, and looks in the direction 
 of the door. ii.-ith a zvhite, set face. His mind is made up that he «•/// die 
 rather than be taken alive.) 
 
 \'oiCE (from without) : It is a friend. I bring good news. 
 
 Belmour (hoarsely) : Who is there 
 
 \'oice: Some one from Mollie. 
 
 (Belmour is staggered by this reply. He puts dozi'u his pistol and 
 dral^.•s on a great coat n'ith fur collar, closely about him. Feebly, he makes 
 his zi-ay to the door, drazcs back the bolt, and Babe Robinson enters.) 
 
 Belmour: Wait a moment. I shall have to lie down again, (he 
 looks at her zi'ith a grim expression, keeping his hand on his pistol in the 
 pocket of his coat.) 
 
 Babe (trying to do her best) : I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Belmour. to 
 see you in such a plight : but I bring )-ou good news from ^lollie. Here is 
 the ticket for the China steamer, and I have promised to get you down 
 there safely. 
 
 Belmour (zi-arily): When did you see Mollie? 
 
 B.VBE (innocently) : Just a little while ago, about twenty minutes. 
 Of course, I didn't like to do it at first, but she reminded me of how you 
 made me go with Miss Wiggins — that — night! And what do you think? 
 Just outside. I was met by a policeman — and it was nobody but Bobby 
 Spangler. I knew him before he was on the force, so I told him I was 
 coming to see a sick friend, and it'll be all right ! He'll do anything for 
 me! (another knock, zcith the proper tattoo, is heard.) 
 
 B.\BE: Shall I open the door ? (Belmour nods. She opens the door, 
 and admits the Keyman.) 
 
 Kevmax (scozclittg) : Wot's she doin' here ? Winmien always 
 spoil everything, an' how'd she git here? 
 
 P)ELM0ur: Mollie sent her with the ticket to the China steamer, 
 and we are to listen, and not talk. 
 
 Kevmax (to Babe) : I don't think much o' ye wimmin. My 
 mawther trowed me out, wen I was a kid, 'cause I was so ugly, an' I've 
 hated ye all ever sense, but I guess you're pretty wite to be hel])in' uv 
 Mr. Belmour. You know I'm his pal. 
 
^ SOCIETY JXD B.-IBE ROBIXSOX 
 
 B.\PE l\i-ith sudden misgix'iiig): I don't know what is it you have 
 done. Mr. P.elmonr, to get into such trouble asihis. indeed. I did not stop 
 to think and ask. because I hope it isn't anything awfully bad. is it? 
 Because I wouldn't like to think I had had a hand in it. It wouldn't be 
 fair to me. 
 
 Bexmour (in SHf<{>rcsscd tone) : Just a scrape. 
 
 Keymax (gloatingly) : Yes, and a might>- big one too. None of 
 yer little, mean, petty larceny cases fur him. He's too proud ! 
 
 Belmour ( sitting up) : To tell you the truth, I'm not fit to have 
 you come to help me. It would be better for you to go away again, (he 
 soys this zcith a Ht'tc expression coming into his face, half smile, half 
 CO m nriseration .) 
 
 Babe (doubtfully ) : Oh, no ! you were good to me once, and I am 
 sure it is only right that I should help you. when you are in trouble. But 
 I hope it is not so ven,- bad. whatever you have done, to have the 
 detectives hunting you so! Because, of course, it would be awful, if 
 what Schlosser says is true, (looks xaguely from one to the other.) 
 
 Kevmax f^riHiiiH^ gruesomely): Of course it's true! Wot d'ye 
 take me fur? D'ye think I'd be yere if it was a ordinary case? Xo! 
 There's five thousand dollars reward offered fur him! 
 
 (Belmour rises, staggers to the chair from the couch, resolved to tc.: 
 her. himself.) 
 
 Belmour: It is true that I am charged with stage-robben,-. (his 
 z'oice fails him. Wonder, terror, nameless dread hold Babe speechless as 
 she looks from the one face, full of diabolical glee, to the other, so tvhite. 
 so xcorked upon by inxcard emotion. Belmour continues, brokenly.) It 
 was a mistake. I didn't mean it. My pistol went off. He fell. But I 
 did not mean it, before God, I did not! 
 
 (A sudden, sharp scream bursts from Babe's lips, as the truth flasius 
 ox'er her.) 
 
 Bake: Oh! (thivi in forced tones.) It was you! It was you. who 
 killed my Steve! I know it! I feel it! God has brought me here to 
 avenge his death ! I am to be the one to bring you to justice ! Now I 
 shall see you draggetl to the scaffold. Thank God for that, (she Xi'rings 
 her hands in e.rcitement. 
 
 The Keyman is approaching, cox-t^rtly. as if to seise .!•• j A '?' A-.-r 
 Belmour shakes his head.) 
 
 Belmoi-r: Let her alone. Let her have her say. 
 
 Babe (considers): Xo, death is too good for you. Yo.i cuj^'u lo 
 be torUired, I hope the rope will break, and that the sheriff will have to 
 do it over again, and tliat you will be a long time dying. Oh, Steve ! my 
 good, kind friend, you are to be avenged, at last ! I will go out. and call 
 the policeiran outside, and have you punished for your wicked murder of 
 my poor Steve! 
 
 (Belmour arises from his chair. He looks x-ery tall and thin in the 
 long, fur-lined coat. He is deadly xehite. sax'c for those red spots biasing 
 in his cheeks. The Kevman stands to I'Morrf the Xi'ov to the door. } 
 
SOCIETY .L\D B.ABE ROBIXSOX 85 
 
 Belmour: Aery well! Ami you will get the reward. 
 
 Babe (starting as if she had been struck i)t the face) : The reward! 
 As if I would soil my fingers with it! No! No one shall have any 
 reward. It is merely the justice of it that I want ! 
 
 {Belmour sinks do7cn again into the chair. He gaces at her /j.ivrf/y. 
 She -walks up and doxi'n, clasping her hands together, the Keynian xeatch- 
 ing her ci'ery move. At last she comes to a stop once more in front of 
 Belmour.) 
 
 B.vnE (in a /ore suppressed tone): It would be better if I killed 
 you, myself. 
 
 (Belmour e.x-tends his pistol to her coolly.) 
 
 Belmolr : Take it and satisfy your wish. It will save me the trouble, 
 for I won't be taken alive. 
 
 (Sloiely she takes the xceapon from him. looks at it strangely, and 
 then at him. ti.redly. Keyman tries to get behind the closet door.) 
 
 Babe: Where — did — you — get — this? \\here — did — ^jou — get — 
 this? 
 
 (Belmour zcares his hand toxi'ard the Keyman, vaguely. 
 
 Babe turns to the Keyman. holding the -weapon out to-ward him, -wait- 
 ing for a reply, zvhile he shrinks, trying to get out of range.) 
 
 Babe : Tell me the truth : or it will be the worse for }ou. 
 
 Keymax (un-willinglyl : I found it. 
 
 Babe : Where ? 
 
 Kevmax: Up-stairs. It come out of a bundle of Joe Morton's an' 
 I took it — fur 'im ! 
 
 Babe: Yes. Yes. It's Steve's pistol, that he gave me. and I gave 
 it to Mr. Morton, to keep for me. (her z'oiee gets faint.) It's Steve's.that 
 he put in my hand when he said good-bye. Oh ! Oh ! What shall I do ? 
 
 (She 'ii.-az-ers. and to keep from falling, sits don'n on the floor, from 
 -weakness, and -weeps violently.! 
 
 B.vbe: Oh. Steve! My dear old Steve! I have seen him, and I 
 know him; but I can do nothing! I know this is a sign to me. You 
 wouldn't want me to do anything like that. You alwavs wanted me to 
 he good, and I know it would be wrong to kill him. He will have to be 
 let live — live, 
 
 (The pistol slips from her hand and sla-wlv keeps on slid in >r till it is 
 on the rough boards of the floor. This the Keyman sees, and ti.ves his 
 ga::e upon it. She is -weeping again, and dra-w'ing her little print dress 
 to her eyes for something to dry her tears upon.) 
 
 B.vbe: And I've lost my other friend, too. just bv coming here to 
 help you out. Joe Morton says he'll never speak to me' again, because I 
 wouldn't tell him what :Mollie wanted of me. I can't bear'it ! 
 
 (The Keyman is slozdy craivling along on the floor, to-ward the 
 revoher. to get it. But suddenly she seems electrified bv a ne-w thought. 
 She pulls the hem of her skirt from her eyes roughly, and stands up -with 
 a ne-w strength and resolution. The Kevnian shrinks back aeain. ) 
 
86 SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 "Bahe (af'ologetically, to Bcliiiourj : I forgot! It is true! You were 
 good to me, Mr. Belmour! You did save me^frora MoUie. She told me 
 so this morning. What would have become of me, if it hadn't been for 
 you ? You did try to atone for Steve's death. I won't try to forgive you ; 
 but I will help you to get away. 
 
 (Takes notice of Keyman trying to reacJi the rezuilver. She l^ushes 
 it tozcard him zvith her foot, scornfully. He takes it shcef'ishiy. Slips it 
 into his pocket.) 
 
 Babe: Take it. I don't want it. (she turns to the gambler once 
 more.) There is one thing, though, that you will have to do. 
 
 Belmour (zcith an eloquent gesture. He has eloquent hands) : Do 
 witlyme as you will. 
 
 Babe: If you will marry poor Mollie, before you go, I will help you 
 down to the China steamer. 
 
 Belmour: I am willing; but it is impossible. We cannot run any 
 risk. 
 
 Babe : If you will promise, I will make it perfectly safe. You owe it 
 to her! Whatever she is, she is faithful to you. (eagerly) 1 know a good 
 old parson, who will do anything for me. I can get him here in a few 
 minutes, and her too. 
 
 Belmour (briefly) : Go ahead. 
 
 (Babe goes to the door, and out. without another icord. After she is 
 gone. Belmour turns to the ivaiting Keyman and fixes his gaze upon him.) 
 
 Belmour : You've been a good friend to me. You've kept me alive 
 here. You've done everything. You did not give me up for the reward. 
 
 Kevman (roughly): Cheese it! Wot d'ye take me fur? Ain't ye 
 my pal? Ain't we frens? 
 
 Belmour: I'm going to ask a great favor of you, Henry! What- 
 ever happens, today, whether I get away, or whether I am nabbed, I want 
 you to go to Joe Morton, and give him back that six-shooter, and tell him 
 what happened here today. \\'e don't want her to lose any more of her 
 friends on account of us. 
 
 Keyman : Don't you be afeard of me. I ain't goin' back on her. 
 She's wite, she is ! 
 
 Belmour (falling back z^nth e.vhaustion) : Help me to dress, and 
 then let me be quiet for a little while. 
 
 (Keyman gets out clothes, and curtain falls for one minute. 
 
 Curtain rises. Same scene. Belmour lying on couch, dressed, zi'ith 
 over-coat off. Keyman tidying up the room. Tattoo and signal at the 
 door. Enter Babe tmth the Parson and a French nurse, arrayed in dark 
 straight skirt, long zi'hite apron, freshly starched linen cap, frilled about 
 her head, black hair, parted and drazi'n dozen over her ears, and a baby 
 heavily zvrapped, in her arms. It is asleep, and remains asleep.) 
 
 Belmour (arouses himself, as the French maid comes to his side) : 
 Is this— Mollie? 
 
 MoLLiE (replying in French j: .Ml is well. We shall get away. 
 Onlv hurrv. 
 
SOCIETY JXD BADE ROBIXSOX 87 
 
 Babe: Come, Parson Hager ! I want you to marry these two 
 people. 
 
 (Thf two stand up. Parson Hager begins a brief service. At the 
 sound of bis voice Mollie shrinks atvay.) 
 
 Belmour : What is it ? Are you ill ? 
 
 Mollie:- Oh, I am afraid! You remember Gertrude? This is her 
 father. 
 
 Beluovr (breathing heavily) : My God ! What next? 
 
 B.xbe: We have no time to lose. \\'hat is the matter? \\'hy don't 
 you go on, Parson ? 
 
 (Parson Hager pulls at his old-fashioned crazat as if choki)ig zvith 
 emotion.) 
 
 B.\HE (to Mollie) : YouVe not his daughter, not the daughter he has 
 been hunting everywhere for the last ten years? Don't tell me that. I 
 couldn't stand it ! 
 
 ^loLLiE (still shrinhing azvay) : No. I am not : but I know where 
 she is, if you want me to tell you. 
 
 P.\RSON (mournfully) : Yes, it is time to make restitution for the 
 past. But, can you restore her to me as she w^as then, when you played 
 upon her mind with your temptations and your arts? Can you give her 
 back to me, young and innocent, again? (he groans, and covers his eyes 
 7eith his hand.) 
 
 Mollie (moodily) : She always was strong-willed. She has escaped 
 what you most fear. You will find her at the hospital in Clay street. She 
 has been a night-nurse for years. 
 
 B.\BE (fairly zvild at these li'ords) : Sister Gertrude? And she was 
 the one who came with Miss Wiggins to save me, that night, and Mr. 
 Belmour made me go. Yes, yes! What a strange world it is ! (turning 
 to the parson, zchile the Keyman looks on in the background.) Let us be 
 thankful. Parson Hager. Go on, and marry these two. They have got 
 to go on the China steamer as soon as possible, and then I will take you 
 to see your daughter. She will be down there to see the poor little baby 
 otY I Be glad ; for she is one of the noblest women in San Francisco. 
 
 (Parson holds out his hands. What folloius is in pantomime. Then 
 he and Babe, and Mollie zcith the baby in her arms go forth, quietly. The 
 Keyman. full of concern, shakes hands zcith Belmour and slouches forth, 
 his keys on his back, as usual. Babe returns zcith Policeman Spangler, 
 zcho helps to get Belmour to the door, and to the carriage. (Carriage 
 zeheels are heard.) 
 
 (End of Scene. Curtain Falls.) 
 
 LAST SCENE 
 
 I Dock. End of Third street. Big ship. Rough surroundings. Gang- 
 plank, zcith passengers going up. Tearful fareicells. Young Irishman 
 goes up and sits near the rail, and zceeps copiously, his friends being on 
 the dock. The dock-men begin to guv him, giz'ing cat-calls, and )naking 
 his grief ridiculous. His handkerchief becomes so saturated zcith tears 
 
SOCIETY .IXD BABE ROBIXSON 
 
 he writ^jis it out. Dockntan liuldiiig up a quarter of a dollar as one 
 ■would bribe a child, "Here's tii'o bits fur ye. if ye'll stop yer cryiu'." 
 
 ' Yonng Irishman, changing from grief to aii^er, stands up and cries, 
 "Shurc. it's Dennis O'Rourke can z^'hip the uliole o' ycc. Come on ivid 
 ycz." 
 
 Sister, on the dock, implores liiin to go inside. Returning to his 
 I'iolcnt li'ceping again, he obeys and goes within the cabin. 
 
 Arrives a group, Miss Harrington, Kate, now- Mrs. Harrington. Mr. 
 Harrington, the Castletons, and tlieir escorts, and Malcolm. Malcolm 
 says a good-bye to his sister, and he and the young men come dozen the 
 gang-plank to get into their IVhitehall boat, to follozv the steamer. They 
 refer to, their boat as they go. Exit Malcolm and the young men: escorts 
 of the young ladies. 
 
 Arrives another group. Captain Emmons, z^'ifc and French maid zcith 
 cliild in arms. Nurse is talking French to the baby; as she comes up the 
 gang-plank tzvo detectives admire the trim figure of the French maid. 
 Detective has a telegram from his fellow zdio zvent to Sacramento. Says 
 he got the letter, from that szvell guy; but it was only a blank sheet inside. 
 They've lost our trail. She's give us the slip, somehozv! But zi'e've got a 
 pointer on that Keyman! They say he knozvs something. We're going to 
 zeatch him nozv. See, there he is! Keyman slouches into sight. Stands near 
 a post on the dock, burdened dozen zcith keys on his back, and in bag. held 
 in his hand. Gases at cz'crything indifferently, as if he took no interest 
 in anything. Parson arrives, looks around an.viously. Joe Morton ar- 
 riz'cs, zeith his mother, zvho says good-bye to Mrs. Emmons. The Castle- 
 tons arc there, all gaiety and merriment, and Miss Harrington. Sister 
 Gertrude is in the background. Emperor Xorton. in full uniform, passes 
 by. bozeing to all. Gives a rose from his button-hole to a little girl, zeho 
 takes it. much honored. 
 
 Mrs. Spangler and her sister, Biddy the Bogie, appear, to zcave a 
 good-bye to the baby, in the arms of the French maid. They join Sister 
 Gertrude, presently. Then a man and a girl, alighting from a carriage, are 
 made zvay for by an important policeman. Bobby Spangler cannot resist 
 shozving off.) 
 
 Bobby Spanglkr (policeman) : This way, sor, Hope ye'll have a 
 pleasant journey! 
 
 (As they reach the gang-plank, Babe, in her rusty little cape and felt 
 hat. that makes a halo effect around her young face, feels her courage fail 
 her at sight of those on board whom she knozvs, saying good-bye to the 
 baby, but zvhom she doesn't wish to meet.) 
 
 Babe: I won't go any farther, (making an effort at acting.) Good- 
 bye ! Give my love to your wife, Mr. Morgan. 
 
 Belmour (zvho seems like some traveler, seeking his health, in a sca- 
 z'oyage. zvith shazvl on his shoulders, no longer alert, cane in hand) : 
 Good-bye, little angel of God ! (but he docs not e.rtend his hand, nor does 
 she hers.) 
 
 Babe (simply) : You saved me, and I have tried to save you. 
 
SOCIETY ASD BABE ROBINSON 89 
 
 Belmour: You were, to me, like my little sister. 
 
 Babe: If Steve could have chosen, he would have had it this way. 
 He would have sjiven his life for me, I know ! 
 
 (Belmour i^ocs on his ivay, sloivly up the gang-plank. Babe steps to 
 one side. A man in the crowd speaks.) 
 
 M.\N (pityingly) : I guess that's about the last journey that poor 
 fellow will ever take. He's in the last stages of consumption. 
 
 B.\BE (despairingly) : Now what shall I do ? Everybody's gone, 
 even the baby ! I have no friends left ! I'll go off alone, by myself some- 
 where, and watch the ship going out the Golden Gate. .\nd after that — 
 what? (goes out of sight, up to farther end of dock. 
 
 Morton leaves his mother n'ith Miss Harrington, etc. ll'alks slozcly 
 dozi'u the gang-plank. Seeks Parson Hager and stands ne.vt to him. as if 
 b\ accident. They salute each other.) 
 
 MoRTOx ; Parson, did you know a woman by the name of Mollie 
 Darling? (looks into his face intently.) 
 
 Parson (zvcarily) : It sounds more like the name of a song, than 
 of a woman. 
 
 Morton : You are right : but I knew a woman who took the name 
 of the song for her own, and I have a grudge against that woman ! I feel 
 as if I could tear the cap from her head and the wig, and make known 
 to all here who it is that has just crossed the plank and boarded the 
 China steamer in disguise. 
 
 Parson (in beivilderment) : Why, my dear sir! What has she done 
 to you ? I thought she was her own worst enemy ! 
 
 Morton (brokenly) : She has pursued an inn(icent child. She has 
 destroyed all my faith and trust in one I cherished, w itii all my — heart. 
 
 Parson (tremulously) : Of whom do you speak? 
 
 ]\IoRTON : Babe ! The child you knew up countr\-. Little Miss 
 Robinson ! 
 
 Parson (zcitli a joyful smile): Vou are mistaken! You are de- 
 ceived ! I would to God, He had given me such a daughter as liabe 
 Robinson ! 
 
 Morton : I should like to believe you. I must have the whole truth, 
 for I can endure no more ! What was the matter, up in the country ? Why 
 did she leave her home, and make such a mystery of it? 
 
 Parson: Her mother married the wrong man, my dear sir! The 
 children threw it up to her. 
 
 MoKTON ; Wrong man? What do you mean? 
 
 I'.arson: It was a terrible tragedy! The mother should not have 
 married him! He had killed Mr. Robinson, by accident, they said. He 
 was sorry for it, and married the widow, to provide for her and the 
 child: but it was wrong! And poor little Babe had to do the suffering! 
 The children threw it up to her, and Steve decided it was best for her 
 to go where no one knew her ! And as you know, Steve was killed, so 
 she had not a friend left in the world! 
 
W SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 AIcJKTOX (da::cd): And so that's all there is of the mystery? 
 
 Parson: All! That's all! • «. 
 
 Morton : But there is more to explain. 1 saw her, with my own 
 eyes, in Mollie Darling's parlor, the first night she arrived from the 
 country. Last night she gave me her promise that she would never again 
 speak to Mollie nor her partner again ; and this morning, I found that 
 the woman had been to see her ; and Babe admitted to me that they had 
 a secret together. What am I to believe? That she is innocent, still? 
 
 Parson (solemnly) : For years. I have sought to find my long 
 lost daughter. This morning, Babe came to me to have me perform the 
 marriage service for a couple who had never been married, though they 
 had lived together for years, as man and wife. And, through that, I have 
 news of my daughter. Can you understand what all this means to me? 
 As for the couple ; they have crossed that plank to go away to a foreign 
 land, to begin their lives over again, and you call the wife's name — (cuter 
 detective.) 
 
 Detective : Hello, Morton ! Glad to hear of your good fortune. 
 (shakes hands.) ■ As you are not a reporter, any more. I'm going to tell 
 you about that man we've been after so long. We've been on the trail 
 of Mollie Darling for the past three months. She gave us the slip this 
 morning, somehow ; but we'll pick up the trail again pretty soon. From 
 this news, you can guess who it is W'ells Fargo are after. Five thousand 
 reward for me and my mate, to divide between us. I know you'll keep 
 it safe till we get our bracelets on him. 
 
 Morton (hoarsely) : Not Belmour, the gambler ? Was he the one 
 who killed the stage-driver? 
 
 Detective : Yep, and he'll swing for it too. (c.vit.) 
 
 Morton : Parson, did you know this ? 
 
 Parson : No, I did not. 
 
 Morton : Let them escape, and good riddance to them ! Hush ! 
 Not a word ! 
 
 (Vessel swings out, into the stream. Tug-boat 7iihistles. (Afotion 
 picture of departing ship. Kcyman slouches in close to the tzco men, 
 looking apprehensively after the detectives.) 
 
 Kevman (in hoarse zvhisper) : Say. You, Joe Morton ! I want 
 ter speak to ye a minnit! (Morton turns around, nods to the Kcyman.) 
 It's a letter fur ye, tellin' ye the sand in that little gal, Babe Robinson. 
 She's wite, she is ! An' I believe she could kill a man as quick as a wink 
 if she wanted to. (Morton takes the note, reads it quickly, only a few 
 li'ords.) 
 
 Morton (angrily) : But she didn't know that it was Belmour who 
 killed Steve? 
 
 Keyman (zvarningly) : H'sh! Ye wouldn't be givin' him away, 
 wud ye. wen she forgive 'im 'erself? Coorse she did! An' was goin' 
 ter kill 'im 'erself. An' then, wen he give her the pistol to do it with, 
 she thought it over, for she had seen that there shooter afore, an' she 
 said Steve had give it to her, and she had give it to you, an' I found it on 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBIXSOX 91 
 
 the flure and took it fur "im, an' there it was! An' she cried jest like a 
 gal, and said no one should have the reward, an' she'd 'elp 'im git away. 
 An" )^ere's yer pistol — I promised Belmour I'd giv it to ye. (slinks back 
 again, out of sight.) 
 
 Morton : My God ! To think of that child, that innocent child ! In 
 such a place as that ! Let us find her, and take her home ! 
 
 (Ensemble of society people. Miss Harrington, Mrs. Morton. Mrs. 
 Castleton and Marie. Nearer, are Mrs. Spangler, the Bogie, Sister Ger- 
 trude. Mr. Morton.) 
 
 Marie C.-vstleton : We are wondering why Babe did not come 
 down to say good-bye to little Bunnie. Have you seen her? 
 
 The Parsox : She was here a few moments ago. She is going to 
 take me to see my daughter (he trembles) who is called "Sister Gertrude." 
 (Sister Gertrude turns azvay, half fainting.) 
 
 Mrs. Spangler (effusively) : Then here she is, then ! Spake up ! 
 Spake up to yer feyther, my dear I An' a fine gyurl she is, sor. One of 
 the best wimmin in the worrld ! 
 
 Sister Gertrude: Father! (turns to him.) 
 Parson (enfolding her) : Thank God ! 
 
 Sister Gertrude (arousing herself) : But where is she — the little 
 dear who has done so much for all of us? She has kept even my heart 
 from turning to stone ! She is the one that saved poor little Bunnie ! 
 Mrs. Si'.\xgler : She's here, somewhere, shure. 
 Keymax (coming out from the back-ground) : Oh! I seen 'er! 
 She was walkin' down the edge o' the dock, dreamin' like. Ef I hadn't 
 a knowed she was so full o' grit, I'd a thought she was a goin' to fall in. 
 Morton (starting) : W'hkh way " Where has the child gone? Let 
 us take her home ! 
 
 Marie Castleton: Oh, Mr. Morton! can't I go too? Poor little 
 thing ! We must all be her friends. She did save Bunnie's life ! 
 
 Morton: As if she should have to marry me! I won't hold her! 
 Who am I? The selfish, the conceited, compared with that innocent little 
 heart ? She is only sixteen. She needs a brother, and a father, and that's 
 wiiat I am going to be to her! Let us find her and take her home, (all 
 follow, tc'/'//i Keyman in the lead. 
 
 Scene changes in the back-ground, to the point of the dock, zvhere 
 the figure of Babe stands revealed, poised for the fatal plunge. Whitehall 
 boat comes in sight.) 
 
 Babe (forlornly): There's no hope for me, at all! I've lost my 
 best friend, and helped my worst enemy. Little Bunnie's been taken 
 away, and there's nothing left to love, the bay will be a kinder friend 
 to me than the cruel old city, (whispers.) How black and cold the 
 water looks ! Oh, God ! Let me drown quickly. I'm sorry ! I'm sorry ! 
 (plunges in. 
 
 Morton comes, running! Cry from the H'hitrhall boat! Some one 
 leaps from it. into the z^vves. As the form of Babe comes up, the rescuer 
 
92 SOCIETY AND BABE ROBIXSOX 
 
 grasps /uV ;';( his anus. Morton tears off his coat, rushes to the edge of 
 the dock. Others gather, zvriiiging their hands. ^Boat reaches zvharf. 
 Keyman throzvs doivn a rope, tied t'o the dock. Rescuer seizes it. Those 
 in the boat help together. Morton and others rfraa' up the form of Babe, 
 and the rescuer, both dripping zvet.j 
 
 Rescuer: Look out for Babe, I'm all right! 
 
 Marie : Why, Malcolm ! 
 
 (Morton extends his hand to liini silently.) 
 Mrs. Spangler and the Bogie (both zceeping) : The pore choild! 
 
 (Marie takes off her cloak. Sister Gertrude puts her shazcl about 
 Babe. Bobby Spangler produces a flash, and a little zchiskey is poured 
 dozvn her throat. Morton, kneeling by her side, takes her hand. Presently 
 Babe gives a shiver and the blue eyes open. Keyman observes this.) 
 
 Keyman: Jes' in nick of time. A minnit more and she'd been a 
 goner ! 
 
 (Babe looks zconderingly from one to another: till at last, her eyes 
 meet Morton's. Then she begins to z^'cep, and Iier body shakes z^ntli con- 
 vulsive sobs.) 
 
 Morton: Don't cry. dear! don't he wurricd! All your tronhles are 
 over now. 
 
 Babe (sitting up sluiAy and z^'istfully) : What's the use of trying to 
 keep me alive? My troubles can never be over. There is no way for me 
 to be happy in this world. I was just put here to carry out the punishment 
 of the innocent for the guilty ! 
 
 Morton (holding up his hand, in protest) : I know everything, 
 little girl. The parson has told me. (the parson kneels by her and assures 
 her this is so.) And how brave you have been. And there is an answer 
 to all your trotibles, dear Babe. Just one ! 
 
 (Babe leans forzcard, eagerly, as Sister Gertrude holds Iter arms 
 around her.) 
 
 Morton : Love is the answer to all our troubles and woes. Isn't it, 
 friends ? Love and sympathy ? 
 
 (Murmur of voices blended in an affirmative response. 
 
 Babe attempts to rise, zvith 7iezv hope stirring zvithin her.) 
 
 Babe (delaying) : Yes. But there is one thing more which one must 
 have in order to be really happy. 
 
 Morton: What is it? I promise you. beforehand, that you shall 
 have it. 
 
 I'.AiiE (rising to her feet. Zv'ith Sister Gertrude helping her) : Society ! 
 We cannot live without SOCIETY! We must have friends and com- 
 panions, or life is very sad. 
 
 (They laugh, and drazc the shazv'ls around her. Marie kisses her on 
 the cheek: zi'hile Miss Harrington scolds her a little, and then orders her 
 carriage to drive up.) 
 
 Miss Harrington: Now, Sister Gertrude, you and your father can 
 
SOCIETY AXD BABE ROBINSON 93 
 
 take Malcolm and Habo in my carriage, to my home, and \ve"ll look out 
 for these children. 
 
 Morton : But, my dear Miss Harrington, Babe belongs to us I She 
 is going to stay with my mother — why, mother ? 
 
 (But Mrs. Morton being a cold-hearted Eastern woman shrinks azi'ay 
 at the r'l-ry thought, and Morton is covered zi'ith mortification. Miss 
 Haryin;^loi'. smiles in a superior zvay and turns to Sister Gertrude. Sister 
 Gertrude lakes her hand gently. Miss Harrington is filled ivith compassion 
 for the homeless child. J 
 
 Miss Harrington {authoritatively) : Not a word! It pleases me 
 to do this. And won't you all come and dine with me tonight ? 
 
 M.\LcoLM : Well! I'll see -to it that Babe has all the friends she 
 wants, for I'm going to be her brother ! And Joe Morton, won't you be 
 a kind of an adopted father to us both till Kate comes back ? 
 
 (Morton closes in and gives him a bearish kind of Invid-clasp and 
 paternal embrace. Murray arrives.) 
 
 Miss Harrington (haughtily) : ^Murray, will you tell Dennis to 
 drive here? (Alurray bozvs and goes. Miss Harrington turns to Malcolm 
 with a smile.) And why can't I be an adopted aunt to you both ? 
 
 Malcolm (zvarmly) : So you shall ! Won't that be fine, Babe ? 
 
 Babe: Yes, it will ! And see (she turns to Morton and points in the 
 direction of the Golden Gate) the ship is away out, going through the 
 Gate with all its burden of sorrow ! And I am here — safe with 
 FRIENDS! 
 
 (Murray comes zcith Dennis and the carriage. Babe turns to Morton 
 and to Marie zvho help her to do as Miss Harrington bids, authoritatively, 
 z^hich is to enter the carriage, zvith Sister Gertrude, and Malcolm follozvs 
 zcith the Parson. Carriage driven azvay. Miss Harrington, Mrs. Morton. 
 Joe Morton, Marie Castleton depart. Mrs. Spongier, Bobby and the 
 Bogie zvalk away leisurely. The Keyman stands like one carved from 
 stone, looking after the departing ship.) 
 
 tllic luid.) 
 
 "^^^^^WM 
 
A Friend of the People, by Theodore Bonnet. A play in four acts 
 w ith a prefatory epistle to Ashton Stevens, who pronounced it a drama of 
 "upbuilding conflict." Published by the Pacific Publishing Company, 88 
 First street, San Francisco. On sale at the leading bookstores. $1.50. 
 
 The Story of the Fh.es of Cvlifornia. A Review of California 
 Literature, containing many portraits and extracts from the writings of 
 the early writers of the Pacific Coast, from 1853 to 1893. By Ella Sterling 
 Mighels. Price, $4.00. "This book represents an enormous amount of 
 painstaking work and is of singular charm because of the author's enthusi- 
 asm and love of her theme. In brief space she has given admirable 
 estimates of all the leading California authors," George Hamlin Fitch, 
 author of "Comfort to Be Found in Old Books," "Modern Books of 
 Power," etc. "This work entitles the author to the gratitude of California 
 for all time," Ina Coolbrith. author of "Songs from the Golden Gate," "A 
 Perfect Dav and Other Poems." 
 
 The Fur.L Glory of Dl\ntha, a Novel, by Ella Sterling Mighcls. 
 Price, $1.25. Published by Forbes and Co., Chicago. On sale H. S. 
 Crocker and Co., S. F. "This is a strong, bright novel with much to read 
 between the lines." Edwin Markhani, author of "Lincoln and Other 
 Poems," etc. 
 
 Sa.\ Fr.wclsco Rediviyl's, an Open Letter to All Californians, by 
 Ella Sterling Mighels ; to be obtained from the author, 1605 Baker street. 
 This is a booklet written the year after the fire and urging protection of 
 the family and the home as the best security for the city itself. Price, ten 
 cents. This belongs to collections of California. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 940 945