NO PLAYS E5XHANGED. ■44 .4-4--?--— l.._J^^il T.^.DENISON 6c COMPANY CHICAGO -^; Cj *M ^"^ k.\v" -%( kr !t^-<^ DENISON'S ACTING PIAYS. .4 Partial List of Successful and Popular Plays. Lariie Cataloffue Free. Price 15 Cents Each. Postpaid Unless Different Price is Given. DRAMAS. COMEDIES. ENTER- « TAINMENTS. Etc. ■• M. F. After the Game, 2 acts, 1^ hrs (25c) 1 9 All a Mistake, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 4 4 All That Glitters Is Not Gold, 2 acts, 2 hrs 6 3 Altar of Riches, 4 acts, 2J/$ hrs. (25c) 5 5 American Hustler, 4 acts, 2^ hrs (25c) 7 4 Arabian Nights, 3 acts, 2 hrs. . . 4 5 Bank Cashier, 4 acts, 2 hrs.(2Sc) 8 4 Black Heifer, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 9 3 Bonnybell, 1 hr (25c).Optnl. Brooicdale Farm, 4 acts, 2J4 hrs. (25c) 7 3 Brother Josiah, 3 acts, 2 h.(25c) 7 4 Busy Liar, 3 acts, 2\i hrs. (25c) 7 4 Caste, 3 acts, 2i/^ hrs 5 3 Corner Drug Store, 1 hr.(25c)17 14 Cricket on the Hearth, 3 acts, • Wa hrs 7 8 Danger Signal, 2 acts, 2 hrs... 7 4 Daughter of the Desert, 4 acts, 2J4 hrs (25c) 6 4 Down i.- Dixie, 4 acts, 2J^ hrs. (25c) 8 4 East Lynne, 5 acts, 2% hrs 8 7 Editor-in-Chief. 1 hr (25c) 10 Elma, 154 hrs (25c) Optnl. Enchanted Wood, 1^ h. (35c) Optnl. Eulalia, \V2 hrs (25c) Optnl. Face at the Window, 3 acts, 2 hrs ,. .(25c) 4 4 From Sumter to Appomattox, 4 acts, 2Y2 hrs (25c) 6 2 Fun on the Podunk Limited, lYz hrs (25c) 9 14 Handy Andy(Irish),2 acts,l^ h. 8 2 Heiress of Hoetown, 3 acts, 2 hrs (25c) 8 4 High School Freshman, 3 acts, 2 h (25c) 12 Home, 3 acts, 2 hrs 4 3 Honor of a Cowboy, 4 acts, 25^ hrs (25c) 13 4 Iron Hand, 4 acts, 2 hrs. . (25c) 5 4 It's All in the Pay Streak, 3 acts, 1^ hrs (2Sc) 4 3 Jayville Junction, P/$ hrs. (25c) 14 17 Jedediah Judkins, J. P., 4 acts, 2y2 hrs (25c) 7 5 Kingdom of Heart's Content, 3 acts, 254 hrs (25c) 6 12 Light Brigade, 40 min (25c) 10 Little Buckshot, 3 acts, 2% hrs. (25c) , 7 4 Lodge of Kye Tyes, 1 hr.(25c)13 Lonelyville Social Club, 3 acts, 1J4 hrs (25c) 10 M. F. Louva, the Pauper, 5 acts, 2 h. . 9 4 Man from Borneo, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 5 2 Man from Nevada, 4 acts, 2"^ hrs (35c) 9 5 Mirandy's Minstrels. . . . (2Sc) Optnl. New Woman, 3 acts, 1 hr 3 6 Not Such a Fool as He Looks, 3 acts, 2 hrs 5 3 Odds with the Enemy, 4 acts, 154 hrs 7 4 Old Maid's Club, VA hrs. (25c) 2 16 Old School at Hick'ry Holler, Wa. hrs (25c)12 9 Only Daughter, 3 acts, VA hrs. 5 2 On the Little Big Horn, 4 acts, 2V2 hrs. (2Sc)10 4 Our Boys, 3 acts, 2 hrs 6 4 Out in the Streets, 3 acts, 1 hr. 6 4 Pet of Parson's Ranch, 5 acts, 2 h. 9 2 School Ma'am, 4 acts, 1^ hrs.. 6 5 Scrap of Paper, 3 acts, 2 hrs.. 6 6 Seth Greenback, 4 acts, 1 J4 hrs. 7 3 Soldier of Fortune, 5 acts, 2'/^ h. 8 3 Solon Shingle, 2 acts, 1^ hrs.. 7 2 Sweethearts, 2 acts, 35 min.... 2 2 Ten Nights in a Barroom, S acts, 2 hrs 7 4 Third Degree, 40 min (25c) 12 Those Dreadful Twins, 3 acts, 2 hrs (25c) 6 4 Ticket-of -Leave Man, 4 acts, 2^ hrs 8 3 Tony, The Convict, 5 acts, 2^/^ ' hrs (25c) 7 4 Topp's Twins, 4 acts, 2 h. .(25c) 6 4 Trip to Storyland, 1 J4 hrs.(25c) 17 23 Uncle Josh, 4 acts, 214 hrs. (25c) 8 3 Under the Laurels, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 6 4 Under the Spell, 4 acts, 2^^ his (25c) 7 3 Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 8 3 FARCES. COMEDIETTAS. Etc. April Fools, 30 min 3 Assessor, The, 10 min 3 2 Aunt Matilda's Birthday Party, 35 min 11 Baby Show at Pineville, 20 min. 19 Bad Job, 30 min 3 2 Betsy Baker, 45 min 2 2 Billy's Chorus Girl, 25 min... 2 3 Billy's Mishap, 20 min 2 3 Borrowed Luncheon, 20 min.. 5 Borrowing Trouble, 20 min.... 3 5 Box and Cox, 35 min 2 1 Cabman No. 93, 40 min 2 2 Case Against Casey, 40 min ... 23 Convention of Papas, 25 min. . . 7 Country Justice, 15 min 8 Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 m. 3 2 T. S. DENISON & COMI^ANY. 154 W. Randolph St., Chicago The Dream That Came True A COMEDY- DRAMA IN THREE ACTS LINDSEY BARBEE AUTHOR OF 'After the Game,'' "At the End of the Rainbow," "The Fifteentli of January^' "The Kingdom of Heart's Content," "A Trial of Hearts;' Etc. CHICAGO T. S. DENISON & COMPANY Publishers THE DREAM THAT GAME TRUE CHAR.\CTERS. (Named in order of appearance.) Nax Worthixgtox One of the People Gordon Clay Foreman of the Works Margaret Byrnes Loyal and True Mrs. Jenkins Keeper of the Boarding House Angelina Maud Her Daughter Jack Brown -i Cub Reporter *Miss Louisa Hawkins One of the Boarders Florabel Mullins 4 Poetess Miss Mehitabel Biddle 4 Suffragette Bobbie Byrnes Azerse to College J V omen Emmy Lou Norton Fond of Fairy Tales Nora -i Maid Delphine Norton A College Graduate Peggy Gilbert A Broz^^ning Fiend Billy Best Captain of the Varsity Team Mrs. Allaire The Chaperone Doris Hall -in Athletic Girl Lord Algernon Reginald Straight from England Charles Norton Ozi^ner of the Works Scene — A Factory Tozi'n. Time — Present Day. Time of Playing — About Tz^-o Hours and Fifteen Minutes. Act I — Parlor in ]^Irs. Jenkins' Boarding House, a week before Christmas. Act n — Living Room in the Norton Home, the day before Christmas. Act hi — Sun Parlor m". the Norton Home. Christmas evening. • • -" First produced by the Gamma Phi Beta Sorority of Denver University, on February 16. 1912, at the Woman's Club Building. copyright, 1913, by eben h. norris. 9 S)3:.D 34S13 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM. Act I — Gordon tells Xan of the impending strike. She promises that she will bring Norton to terms by finding **the leak in the management." "Little comrade." [Marga- ret's spirits go down as fast as the thermometer but she tries to count her blessings. Mrs. Jenkins discourses upon divorce, dancing, cards and the drama. "Ain't you heard about the Christmas house-party that old X'orton is going to give ?" ^largaret longs for the world, the flesh and even for the devil. Angelina ^laud brings in a package. Mrs. Jenkins becomes curious. The cub reporter rescues ^liss Louisa from the bargain counter. i\Iiss Louisa gives a few practical views upon Christmas and proudly displays her purchases. Florabel has "temperature" and insists upon reading her sonnet. !Mrs. Jenkins and ^Hss Biddle have a slight altercation. "It ain't so much the man that makes woman foolish, it's the lack of him." "Being a lady. Miss ^largaret, is being just like you." Gordon lends Mar- garet his handkerchief and is about to offer her something else, when Bob interrupts. "Rise up, Cinderella, shakes off the ashes." "All I want is Gordon." Xan and ^largaret watch the pictures in the fire. "If ever the time comes when you need me. I shall stand the test." Act II — Emmy Lou gives Xora a lecture upon gods and goddesses. X'^ora decides in favor of A'enus. Del- phine tells Margaret that "man individually and collec- tively has ceased to attract." Bob interrupts and Emmy Lou tells him the end of the story about the princess. Bob and Delphine discuss woman's rights with unfortu- nate results. "If you can't get her — why — Mr. Bob — why — I'm here." Billy is subjected to a rigid examination upon Browning ; he encourages his teacher, who, in turn, encourages him. "If you can't master Browning, Billy, try your hand at bridge." Doris interrupts the game, and, contrary to her hostess' expectations, proves attractive to 4 THE dr[-:am that came true. the men. Lord Algernon frequently consults his book. Nan reads business letters to Norton and subsequently makes a discovery. "The strike's on." Gordon tells of his love for another. "VW telephone you." Norton refuses to make terms. Gordon plays his last trump. "I am William Gordon." Nan bids Margaret prove that love is sacrifice. The telephone rings. Act III — Nora bewails the bewitchments of Minerva. Doris gives Bob some good advice. Bob gazes 'into an illimitable future." "It's good-bye, Gordon." Bob and Margaret make their Christmas wish. "Billy versus Brown- ing. Score 20 to in favor of Billy." Lord Algernon pleads the cause of Johnny Bull, but Doris is true to Uncle Sam. Emmy Lou leads the princess to Venus. Nan has her revenge. "The factory girl can be generous." The dream comes true ! STORY nF TinC PLAY. Nan W'orthington, a factory girl, who has risen to better things, meets in the factory town a young man, Gordon Clay, who, despite his lowly position of foreman of the works, is college bred and a gentleman. In the same board- ing house with them are Bob and Margaret Byrnes, whose fortune has been swept away and who have been brought to the small factory town where Bob holds a position in the works, given him by the owner, Mr. Ivlorton. Norton's daughter, Delphine, is Margaret's greatest friend and when the old home of the Nortons is opened for a Christ- mas house-party, Bob and Margaret are included in the list of guests. Ciordon Clay, tlie" young foreman, is inter- ested in the cause of the people ; he has an earnest helper in Nan, whose hatred for Norton is due to the fact that her brother, a factory hand, has died as a result of poor sanitary conditions in the work rooms. Clay, enthusiastic in the problem of capital and labor, distressed over the poor wages, desiring to find something by which Norton may be brought to terms and forced to consider the people's needs, thus averting a strike, persuades Nan to act as Nor- THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 5 ton's private secretary during the Christmas holidays. He tells her that years before, Norton's partner, an imprac- tical man, had left the management of his affairs to Nor- ton, and at his death had appointed Norton sole executor of the estate until the son's twenty-fifth birthday. The son, Clay's friend in college, had spent most of his life in Paris, and though his income had come to him regularly, he believed that in some way his interests had not been properly protected. Nan accepts the position and suspects from Norton's actions in regard to communications from William Gor- don (the son of his friend) that all is not well, but finds nothing definite save a letter, which has slipped behind a drawer in the desk, signed, "Louis Gordon," revoking his order to sell his share of the works and to invest the pro- ceeds in stock. On the same day Nan overhears a conver- sation between Norton and Clay, in which Clay, upon Norton's refusal to grant favorable terms to the strikers, threatens him with the name of William Gordon, dramat- ically declaring himself that same William Gordon. Nor- ton, recovering from his surprise and dismay, accepts as a fact Clay's statement, that wishing to study conditions in his own factory, he had acted as foreman under another name. Then he informs Clay that by his father's wish his share of the works had been converted into ready money and had been invested in copper stock which had proven worthless. Upon Clay's question as to the origin of the payments which he had regularly received, Norton informs him that he had sent the money, charity money to the son of his old friend. Clay refuses to believe him and declares that he will fight it out. On the next day Nan, who has connected the contents of the discovered letter with the matter in hand, confronts Norton, in Clay's presence, with his perfidy. She proves that Norton had transferred his own worthless stock to his ward, after the letter countermanding its purchase was received, even after the death of the father. Norton is unable to defend himself and Nan, who for years had longed for revenge, nobly forgets self and is generous 6 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. in the terms she demands — the restoration to Clay of his property and the speedy redress of the people's wrongs. A love plot runs through the story. Clay meeting Mar- garet in the boarding house, first admires her sweetness and courage in her altered conditions and then learns to love her. She returns his love and Clay confides in Nan. When Nan, who has loved Clay from the first, learns that his affection is given to Margaret^ she is very bitter and begs Margaret to give him up. Margaret, who has prom- ised that her friendship will stand any test, yields to Nan's entreaties. When Clay demands the cause of her change, she has no answer and he believes she has heard of his worthless inheritance. Nan, however, holds vigil with her- self and realizes that Clay's love can never be hers and that her dreams of happiness may be realized in her serv- ice to humanity. She restores Clay to Margaret and her dream and Margaret's come true. As a by-plot comes the devotion of Bob to Delphine; her struggle between Minerva's wisdom and Venus' love, and her final surrender through luiimy Lou's efforts to Venus. Then there is Billy's eff'ort to master Browning in order to win Peggy's love. His failure to pass "exam- ination" finally ends in victory for the hard-worked stu- dent and Peggy decides that Billy and football are far better than Billy and Browning. CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. Nan, in the first act, is almost anarchistic in her fierce and bitter denunciation of Norton and of the condition of the factory people. As Clay's ''little comrade" she softens and shows in her very expression her love for him. In her first act scene with Margaret she is sweet and gentle, especially at the last, when she reveals the craving for beauty, love and friendship. In the second act, with Norton, she is the self-possessed, unemotional business woman with only one passionate outburst, when referring to the people's sufferings. In the same act, with Clay, when she believes he is telling of his love for her, she is THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 7 transfigured by this very love, and when she reaHzes her mistake, she is not conventional enough to hide her emo- tion. Later, with Margaret, she is bitter, unrestrained and yet pathetic in her longing for what is denied her. In the third act she shows a new dignity, a new beauty of spirit, gained by her struggle with her self and her victory over selfishness. Her nobility in dealing with Mr. Norton, her sweetness and loyalty to Margaret and Clay, are dominant ; she shows in her very attitude toward life that her dream has come true. In the first and second acts she wears a plain shirtwaist suit, and in the last, a white gown of some kind. Margaret — Sweet, bright and winning in her way, with a keen sense of humor; always tender with Bob; loyal even when denounced by Nan, and womanly through it all. In the first act she w^ears a plain street suit and hat ; in the second, a simple afternoon gown, and in the third,, a simple evening gown. Delphine — At first absolutely dictatorial in her views upon Woman's Rights ; positive in her assertions. Later, in direct contrast, quite feminine in her jealousy of Doris, her desire to keep Bob's love, her decision that she doesn't want a career. Her afternoon and evening gowns are elaborate. Peggy — Very pedantic and exacting while coaching Billy ; in the last act just a natural, simple girl without the super- ficial veneer of cleverness which she has assumed. She wears simple afternoon and evening gowns. Mrs. Jenkins — Typical, good-natured, good-hearted landlady, with the bump of curiosity abnormally devel- oped ; gossipy. She wears a gingham dress and apron with a braid of hair quite different in color from her own. Doris — Full of life, not standing on ceremony, not co- quettish in the slightest degree, a bit slangy and unconven- tional, wholly unaffected in whatever she does. She wears a simple gown, motor coat, cap, veil, etc., in second act; torn evening gown in the last. Miss Louisa — Typical old maid, sarcastic, devoid of 8 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. sentiment, matter-of-fact. She wears a prim bonnet and old-fashioned coat. Florabel — Talks in high attected voice ; dreamy. Wears a loose, flowing, esthetic gown ; flower in hair. Miss Biddle — Mannish in appearance and action. Wears strict tailored suit, stiit collar, man's soft hat. Angelina Maud — Pert and saucy; chews gum. Only when she talks to Margaret about being a lady does she show the wistful desire for what she hasn't known. Wears a plain gingham dress; hair in pig-tails. Emmy Lou — Sweetly childish in her devotion to Bob and her desire to win the princess for him. Wears simple white dresses with ribbon sashes; bow on her hair. XoRA — Speaks with Irish brogue. Wears black dress, white cap and apron. Mrs. Allaire — Extremely fashionable, typical woman of the world. Wears elaborate, trained, afternoon gown ; carries lorgnette. Gordon — Enthusiastic in his sociological views ; broth- erly and protective in his attitude toward Xan : chivalrous in his love for Margaret ; determined and manly in his deal- ings with X^orton. Wears dark suit and sweater in first act ; plain business suit in second ; evening clothes in third. Bob — Happy, go-lucky: serious in his conversations. Wears street suit in first and second acts ; evening clothes in third. Billy — Large, slow, good-natured fellow, dejectedly earnest in his eifort to learn Browning. In contrast to his melancholy over-study is his enthusiasm when talking of athletics to Doris. Wears afternoon suit in second act, evening clothes in third. LfjRD Algernon— Blandly childlike, afifable, stilted in conversation ;. slow to understand. Extreme afternoon suit in the second act, monocle, etc. ; evening suit in third. Xorton — Brusque, stem and harsh. Wears afternoon suit in second act; evening clothes in third. Jack — Typical reporter, quick, aggressive, up-to-date. Wears plain business suit. THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. PROPERTIES. Act I — Coarse lace curtains for windows, worn rug on floor, three rocking- chairs brightly re-upholstered, small stool, old-fashioned sofa, table with gay cover, phono- graph, radiator, coal bucket, tongs, etc., fender, wood and coal for grate, picture for wall. Book for Xan. Paper for Gordon. Ice cream freezer for Mrs. Jenkins. Gum, pack- age, letter for Angelina Maud. Paper and camera for Jack. \'ariou5 bundles for Miss Louisa, including large box with broken vase, box of writing paper, coat hanger, hair re- ceiver, motto with "God Bless Our Home." Poem for Florabel. Handkerchief for Gordon. Act II — Artistic portieres, rugs, pictures, etc.. four chairs, stool, hall-tree, lamp and books for table, pillows for sofa, statues of Minerva and \'enus, piano, stool and music, palms, telephone for desk, capable of being rung off stage. Dusting cloth for Xora. Motor wraps for Doris. Lorgnette for Mrs. Allaire. Memorandum book for Lord Algernon. Pack of letters for Xan. Letter and memoran- diun book for desk drawer. Act III — Pretty bamboo or wicker furniture, table, large chair, stool and sofa, large bowl of flowers for table. A larger table with punch bowl. Palms in great abundance, statues of Venus and Miner\-a. Tray and punch glasses for X'ora. Book for Billy. Small book and large silk handkerchief for Lord Algernon. Bunch of flowers for Emmy Lou. Letter and memorandum for X'orton. Letter and memorandum for X'an. Match for Gordon. 10 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE / STAGE SETTING. ACT I. ""WlndovJ ^Wlndo 1 1 Table Door ,^<^ ^ Rocking C-^Sofa Chair Rocking p ° O Stool Chair Coal Grate Bucket O I -I In order to have action before the erate fire <;fi th^f th^ .„ r may catch the plaj- of expression, the bacL o he grate is fnfa^^^^^^^^^^^ Ihe play was successfully staged m this manner It may however' adi^afor on'Vf ' >' '''\''^ ^'"^^^- ^^ "ot convenient'io have a radiator on stage, it may be supposed to be behind a screen ACT II. f^^^T ^,-_H^-5^Han_r^ Desk Chair " T Q ^^=" Table ACT I] Door Palms- Table Q stool ^>>J Sofa Venus O STAGE DIRECTIOxNS. r'd:^ 5!e;l^f^effdri^c ^i 'e' 1^! -^'-■' '-r^'P upper entrance, etc.; D F door in fl\ ' ^'"'^ entrance; U. E., the back of the stage- up "sta^? .w. J' ""' 'u^"^r '''',"""'^ ^^^^^^ stage, near footlights' The actnr ^"^ ^5' footlights; down audience. ^ ^^^°^ ^^ supposed to be facing the THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE Act I. Scene: Sitting room in Mrs. Jenkins' boarding house. Full stage. Windows R. and L. of C. in F. with coarse lace curtains. Practical doors at R. U. E. and L. U. E., the first leading to the hall, the second to the hack of the house. Table at L. of C. near F. with phonograph. Steam radiator at L. 2 E. Grate with fender down C. at edge of stage. Coal and wood inside with electric lights in red bulbs to simulate fire. Bucket of coal, shovel, etc., R. of grate. Sofa R. of C. Rocking chairs in front of grate, dozvn R. and down L. A stool a little L. of grate. Bright carpet on floor. Picture of peculiar looking inan above table. At rise, stage is ivell illuminated since it is afternoon. Discovered, Nan in chair before the grate, reading. After a few moments she closes her hook, rises and turns to leave the room. Enter Gordon, R. U. E. Gordon {coming down C). Nan, just a moment. Nan {standing at back of chair). What's wrong in the works, Gordon? Gordon {going dozvn L. to rocking chair). Everything. I've done my best but I've failed. I've — Nan. Never. How dare you say it, when so much de- pends upon your courage, your foresight, your perse- verance — Gordon. Then I won't say it. But I can't see my way — I— '^Ai^ {excitedly). The people are despondent ? Suffering? Gordon. Despondent to the point of desperation, suf- fering from the rank lodging-houses, poor food, low wages — Nan. And complaining? 11 12 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. Gordon. Oh! They're far beyond complaining; they're threatening. You know what the next step will be— a strike. And after the strike— destruction. Nan (eagerly). And Norton? Is there any way to reach the man — to threaten him? Gordon. None. I have plead the cause as best I can; I have threatened him with the certainty of the impend- ing strike ; I have told him again and again of the wretched tenements, the half-starved children, the over-worked par- ents, but to no avail. The man has no heart. His people are no more than animated machines to grind out the dol- lars which he spends so freely. (Pulling out a paper and crossing to Nan). Look! The account of his daughter's ball, his daughter's charities, while the people of his own factory are housed like dogs in the tumble-down houses which he will not repair, are dying by inches in 'the poorly- lighted, damp-floored work rooms. Oh, I wonder that they live. I wonder that they endure — Nan (opening paper). Gordon, these people expect nothing more. They become used to poor clothing, un- couth manners. They live their litttle life from day to day with an occasional holiday, a moving picture show to make them smile. Gordon (striking hack of chair). Oh, the injustice of it! There must be help. Listen, Nan. I've begged and its failed; I've threatened and he's laughed. Only one chance remains. I must force him to yield. Will you help me? (Leans toward her.) Nan (quietly). As best I can. Gordon. Today he opens the big house at the end of the town, — a Christmas house-party ,^and he has requested a secretary, a private secretary, for the few weeks he may be there. Do you understand? Nan (thoughtfully). You mean that — Gordon. You must go. You're clever, Nan ; you're quick ; you're heart and soul for the cause. As secretary— oh, don't you see? You must discover some way to checK him, something by which we can make him come to terms. THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 13 Nan ( zeal king slozcly tozvard sofa). It's a mere chance. Gordon — a forlorn hope. Gordon. That may be, but in you're extremity we are not scorning mere chances ; we are relying even upon for- lorn hopes. Will you go? Nan {turning). I'll go. Gordon. I knew you would. Now this is all you have to work upon. Long ago Norton had a partner, a man who had no taste for business, who lived abroad and left the management of the factory to his friend. That he was impractical as he was trusting, was shown by the fact that at his death he made Norton sole administrator of his son's estate. This son, who has spent most of his life in Paris, w^as my friend in college, and though his income has been regularly received, he believes that there has not been fair play ; that in some way his interests have not been protected. It's for you to find the leak in the man- agement. Nan. But if I do not succeed ; if — Gordon. Nothing will be lost. You w^ill have given your time and energy ; but you are willing to do this, are you not? Nan (fiercely). Willing? Willing? If I could only make you understand how I hate the man ; how I would give myself to cause his ruin, to bring him to destruction, to disgrace. It's the cause of the people ; yes, but it's my own cause, my own pain, my own struggle. Oh, I wish it had been given me to live in the time of the vendetta, that I might have sworn to hunt out my enemy, to wound him and to kill him. Gordon (graz'ely). The desire of revenge is a danger- ous one, Nan ; a wicked one. You are too young to think of it. Nan (sitting, on sofa). Young? I w^as never young. I have lived a thousand years and all the griefs and hard- ships that should be waiting for me have already left their print. The beautiful things of life have never been mine; that happiness, frolic and lightheartedness that are a girl's rights, have passed me by. I am an old— old — 14 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. Gordon. Happiness cannot wholly be crowded out of one's life, Nan. Some time it must come your way. Nan. Shall I tell you why I hate this man? Why he is as truly my murderer as if he had plunged a cool, shining blade into my heart? Long ago, so long ago that I barely remember it, I had a home. There was plenty to eat, plenty to wear. By a quick stroke of fate, we, my younger brother and I, were left alone and friendless. I was put into the factory. Oh, how well I remember the shaking of the floor, the noise of the machinery, the smell of the oil, the tired, tired women ! Gordon. Don't talk of it. It's past and gone ; the mem- ory of it is a bitter one and — Nan. Don't stop me. I was quick, I was determined for better things and I made good. I was put in charge of the reports. Gordon {seating liimself in chair before grate). And then ? Nan. John, my brother, went into the factory. They put him into the machine shop. No planks on the wet, cold floor. The weeks passed. He grew pale; he had a racking cough. Gordon. And you went to Norton, I suppose. Nan. I went to him. I knew he was counted a char- itable man. I thought that his neglect of sanitary condi- tions must be due to ignorance. I went to him, I, the factory girl— Gordon. And he told you, I suppose, that he must put the business on a paying basis ; that he could spare no part of the profits for improvements. Nan. He told me that my brother was only one part of the whole and that there was no time for details; that he was giving John his living, his living, when each day brought him nearer death. (Rising.) Why do I go on with the story? You can guess the rest, and do you won- der that hatred has crowded out every other emotion that — Gordon (rising). Some deeds can never go unpun- ished. Retribution, retaliation, is inevitable. Oh, Nan, they called me a dreamer at college ; an impractical soci- THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 15 ologist ; but I have worked for my cause as others work for fame, for money. There must be some solution of the problem of capital and labor. There must be some way to aid the people, to help them. {Eagerly.) Will you help me. Nan? Will you try to make my dream come true? Nan. Oh, Gordon, in any way I can. In every way you'll let me. For I want your friendship more than any- thing else in the world. Gordon (crossing and taking her hands). Little com- rade! {Exit R. U. E. Nan sits thoughtfully in rocking chair before the fire.) Enter Margaret, R. U. E. Margaret (coming dozvn C). Merry Christmas, Nan! The weather says so, even if the calendar doesn't, and my spirits have gone down just as fast as the thermometer. Why, you could easily cover my courage with a Christmas sticker. Nan (turning). Mercury as low as that? Why, Marga- ret, what's caused the fall in temperature? Margaret (slozvly pidling off gloves). Just the merest trifle in the world. I've lost my job. Teaching school isn't especially lucrative at any time, but it's better than nothing. Nan. Losing one's job isn't necessarily fatal. Santa Claus may tuck a bigger, fatter one in the toe of your stocking. Margaret. I hardly believe that the attentions of Santa Claus this year will be so marked as to cause discussion. (Pauses, taking off her hat.) Nan, I think I must have been born on Friday. Isn't "Friday for losses?" (Goes to table at L. of C. in F. and lays hat and coat upon it.) First, the Byrneses lose the little money with which Provi- dence has endowed them ; then, strange to say, they lose their friends. Did I say, friends, Nan? Then, away goes their social prestige, and as a fitting climax Bob becomes bookkeeper in the factory and Fate plumps us down in this thriving metropolis. Funny, isn't it? Life's a huge 16 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. joke, if you only stop to think about it. (Comes liozcu C. to stool L. of grate. ) X.AN. Margaret, dear, I am so sorry. Don't lose cour- age, for — M.A.RG-\RET (taking stool and placing it by X.\x's chair). Lose courage? Why, I keep such a stift upper lip that my front teeth are in danger of being loosened. Don't worry about me (hesitates), but it is hard, it is hard, and ail the old memories, the old desires, that won't go away, arc so tightly bottled up that sometimes the cork just has to fly out. {Seating herself.) You don't mind my spilling over you, do you? X.\x {putting arm about shoulder). Not a bit of it. Marg.\ret (^rra;;ii7y). Christmas at home, the light, the frolic, the gifts, the joy of it all. Do you wonder that I miss it? Fm human, very human, and there's a lump ir. my throat that I can't swallow. I'm homesick. Xan ; I'm homesick : but I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cr\' — X.\x. '^ v'hy should you cry, when Bob is with you? \\'hy, if I had a brother, some one my \ery own, I could endure anything. I could be brave under any misfortune. Id count it the sweetest thing that life could offer. Margaret. Dear Bob ; he's so brave and cheerful. Why. Xan, until now he's never had any responsibility. He's whistled his way through life with never a care. Oh, we're not afraid of the troubles, if we're together, for I hope we're thoroughbreds enough to meet them fearlessly. {Soberly.) It's only memor}* that hurts. Xax {softly). And only memory that heals. Margaret. Riches take wings : friends fly away, but there's one thing that never leaves you, and that's love. Xax. Love has wings, they tell us. Margaret. But he doesn't use them for flying, Xan. They simply fan the flame. {After a pause. ) I am proving pretty much of a coward after all. I've plaved a comedy part so long that a bit of tragedv undoes me Therefore. I'll smile and make other people smile, for even if I ani taniished inside. I want the outside to be bright and shiny. Nax. What a darlin? bit of nonsense vou are. Provi- THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 17 dence never intended you to work. You were made to hold your hands — Margaret. Xo, I wasn't. Em too lazy, and any way ( kneeling and thrusting her hand into Xax'sj it's nicer to have them held. Oh, I've been so busy thinking of my losses, that Eve forgotten to count my tinds. For Eve found the satisfaction of self-reliance and independence. E've learned that there is more to life than fun on the side lines ; that there are people outside your own circle worth knowing. Best of all, Xan, Eve found you. Xax. But, Margaret, Em so different from the other girls. I- Margaret, \oure you: that s all. Xan {putting arins around her). And E have only my friendship to give you. Margaret. Only your friendship? {She leans her head on X'ax's shoulder.) ^M^y, X'an, friendship is the greatest gift in the world! Mrs. Jenkins ( off stage R., is heard singing ) — Count your blessings, name them one by one. Count your blessings, see what ( jod hath done. Count your blessings, X^'ame them one by one. {Girls laugh together.) Enter Mrs. Jenkins, R. U. E., carrying ice cream freezer. Margaret. Mrs. Jenkins, you're an old mind reader. How did you know I was counting my blessings? I just reached the nine hundred and ninety-ninth, when along you came and spoiled it all. Mrs. Jenkins {at hack of sofa). Law, child, if we stopped to put down every blessing the good Lord sent us, we'd be mighty busy. Blessings are just like the pretty little daisies under our feet. We never look at them, we're so bent on grabbing American Beauties. ^L\rgaret (rising and sitting on an arm of X'an's chair). Then the thorns prick us, don't they? \\\\\ you -cold me verv much if I tell vou that this verv dav I've 18 " THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. been wondering if there is any corner of the whole world specially fitted for me? Why, I've been so very desperate that the only refuge seemed {slyly) to get married! Mrs. Jenkins {setting down freezer and standing with arms akimbo). To get married! Law, child, I'd just as soon you'd be a foreign missionary; a little rather, for a savage doesn't pretend to be anything more than a savage, and you know just what you're getting, while a husband — {shrugs her shoulders, catches up freezer, crosses back of chair to L., puts freezer absent mindedly on radiator, singing) — In the sweet by and by We shall meet on that beautiful shore. Margaret {turning head). Maybe we will and maybe we won't. Mrs. Jenkins {sitting in rocking chair down L.). And I'm thinking, Miss Margaret, though it ain't orthodox and though it ain't right, that it's natural for a person to steer for the place where all his acquaintances are likely to be. Even with golden pavements, shiny wings and sounding harps, you get mighty lonesome if your friends take a toboggan slide to — to — {hesitates). Nan {laughingly). The other shore. Mrs. Jenkins {in relieved tone). The other shore, then. I can see you'd want to hitch on. Just think, though, of all the sufferin' and all the everlastin' fire, with never any — {Iceman off L. hollers ''Ice!" Mrs. Jenkins jumping up). Land sakes ! How that startled me. You might as well kill a person as to scare them to death. {Calls.) Angelina Maud! Angelina M-a-u-d ! Now where can that child be! Enter Angelina Maud^ L. U. E. Angelina Maud {coming down L. to Mr. Jenkins). Wha' do you want, Ma? Mrs. Jenkins. Angelina Maud, how often have I asked you to call me Dearest, like little Lord Fauntleroy did his mother? Angelina Maud. I've tried to, honest I have, but some- how it sticks in my throat and I just can't get it out. Any- THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 19 way, his mother didn't take off her hair at night, and her teeth belonged to her, and — Mrs. Jenkins (hastily). Angelina Maud, go give the iceman a ticket this very minute. Do you hear me? And remember that children should be seen and not heard. (Exit Angelina Maud, R. U. E. Mrs. Jenkins, resting herself in rocking chair). The bringin' up of the modern child is a great responsibility. I'm afraid I'll have to keep a tight rein on Angelina Maud. She shan't never learn to dance — ■ Margaret. Oh, why? Mrs. Jenkins {pounding chair). Dancing is the bait of Satan himself. It's the corruptin' influence of youth. It's — Margaret. Nonsense. It's as natural for a girl to dance as it is for a bird to sing. Why, youth without dancing would be springtime without flowers. Mrs. Jenkins {primly). Angelina Maud shan't never learn to play cards. I'd just as soon see her monkey'n with fire and brimstone as them little black and red spots — Nan. Why, life is just a game of cards ; hearts are trumps for some of us, diamonds fall to the lot of others and few of us may hold the joker. But our success de- pends upon the discard and upon the clever way we play our hands. Mrs. Jenkins. And what's more, Angelina Maud shan't never go to a play, she shan't never see play actin' people. Them that writes plays, them that gives plays, are hand in hand with the devil. Margaret. But Shakespeare says *'A11 the world's a stage" — Mrs. Jenkins. Shakespeare or no Shakespeare — Enter Angelina Maud, R. U. E. Angelina Maud {perching on table at L. of C. in F.). Woman to see you. Mrs. Jenkins {flustered). And me not fixed. Did you tell her to sit down and make herself to home? (Rises hastily). Angelina Maud. She's a woman with a history ! 20 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. Mrs. Jenkins (angrily). A woman with a history. (Crosses to Angelina Maud.) And you let her in my house, my perfectly respectable house? Angelina Maud, for a child that pretends to have common sense, you — (Shakes her.) Angelina Maud. Leave me go. 1 ain't done nothin'. She said it's Child's History of England and that you might get it for me. Mrs. Jenkins. Now ain't that just like them book agents? Angelina Maud, you tell her I ain't to home — Angelina Maud (slozvly getting off table). But I said you was. Mrs. Jenkins. Then say you've changed your mind. (Goes to windozu R. of C. in F.) Go on, now. {Exit Angelina Maud, R. U. E.) My sakes — {looking out of zvindozv). If there ain't the trunks goin' to the liouse party! (Turning.) Ain't you heard about the Christmas house-party that old Norton is going to give at his old house way out on the edge of town? Margaret (rising). The Nortons ! A party! Here! Oh, do you mean it? Do you mean it? Mrs. Jenkins (earning dozvn R. to sofa and seating herself). Why, Miss Margaret, what ails you? Anyone would think you knew him ! Margaret (going to zvindozv R. of C. in F.). Know him ! Why, his daughter has been my dearest friend for years — the one true friend who stayed when all the world went out. Know him! Why, he gave Bob this position, when our trouble came. We owe him everything. Nan (turning). Margaret, do you mean that he's your friend; this enemy of the factory people, this — Margaret. Nan, Nan, don't look so. He may be all these dreadful things, but he's been good to us. A house- party ! And Christmas — oh, I wish they'd ask me ! I thought I'd put the old life behind me, but I want to go, I want to go — (looks out zvindozv.) Mrs. Jenkins. I'd just as soon shut you up with the world, the flesh and the devil as to let you go to that house-party. THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 21 Margaret (turning and coming down C. to back of Nan's chair). But I love the world, I love the flesh and even if I don't love the devil, he's sometimes alluring. Enter Angelina Maud^ R. U. E., with package. Mrs. Jenkins. Angelina Maud, what are you doin'? Angelina Maud. Nothin', just bringin' in a package for Miss Biddle. Mrs. Jenkins (eagerly). What's in it? Angelina Maud (going slowly tozvard table L. of C. in F. feeling bundle). Dunno, 'tain't hard — 'tain't soft. Mrs. Jenkins. Angelina Maud, stop pryin' into other people's affairs. A real lady never is curious about things that don't concern her. Angelina Maud (scornfully). Hugh! Ladies don't meddle — don't gossip ; don't snoop. (Puts package on table.) Then most of us ain't ladies; we're just women. (Exit L. U. E.) Mrs. Jenkins. As I was saying. (Hesitates.) Now I wonder if that bundle does really belong to Miss Biddle. Angelina Maud might have made a mistake. (Rises, crosses to table and picks it up.) It sure don't weigh much ; feels just like lingery. Now, between you and I, Miss Biddle does spend a lot on frill-fralls. You wouldn't think of it, would you, and her such an old maid. (Puts it on table and moves sloivly away.) Maybe now, Angelina Maud got the string off and I'd hate her to think we'd been curious enough — (Picks it up, tears corner open.) I don't believe it's lingery. It's more like — Enter Angelina Maud, L. U. E. Mrs. Jenkins drops bundle. Margaret seats herself on sofa down R. Angelina Maud. Miss Mullins is cold and wants to know if she can have more heat? Mrs. Jenkins (haughtily). More heat; indeed not, when coal's goin' up every day. More heat ! Well, I never. Angelina Maud, you go hit those steam pipes and she'll think the steam's comin' up. (Angelina Maud wrath- fully kicks radiator. Exits L. U. E.) That there woman is plain spoiled. People want a lot for their money and 22 THE DREA.M THAT CAME TRUE. there's no way to please 'em. Now think of her com- plainin' about bem' cold when she has all the comforts of a regular home, plenty to eat, steam heat, never no dis- turbin' noises. {Someone off stage shigs scale iwisily.) Perfect peace and quiet. [Scale again.) Xow, there's that woman broke loose again. (Scale again.) Did you ever hear anything like that? She just grabs them notes and chokes the very life out of them. Enter Angelina Maud, L. U. E. Angelina Maud. Xow if you're goin' to send me to tell her to shut up, I just ain't goin' to do it. {Stands by table, pulls gum.) Mrs. Jenkins. Angelina Maud, don't talk to mother in that tone of voice. I don't want you to have no words with her. Remember, you're a lady. Listen to me. Out in the pantry T've fixed a plate with a piece of fruit cake. Take it to her with Mother's compliments and I'll warrant that'll keep her mouth shut for a spell. If it has the effect I'm plannin' she'll be hollerin' in another key before long. Don't stand there with your mouth wide open, Angelina Maud. You could swallow that there phonygraph with- out scratchin' your teeth. Nan (rising). Let the child rest. I'm going to my room anyway, so I'll take it. If the cake doesn't stop the machinery, why — Margaret (laughing). I'll bring some more. (Exit L. U. E.) Enter Jack and Miss Louisa, R. U. E., loaded zi'ith packages. Angelina Maud seats herself on table. Jack (coming dozen C, supporting Miss Louisa). Here's your Evening Tattler! (Waves paper.) Latest edition! Awful massacre in down-town department store. Many wounded in the fray. (Mrs. Jenkins grabs paper and seats herself in roeking chair down R.) Hi. there, aid to the injured! Get Miss Louisa a pillow and some smelling salts. (Margaret rises, helps Miss Louisa to rocking chair in front of grate.) I rescued her from the bargain booth, where the six hundred were making a THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 23 noble charge upon the articles marked down from a dollar to ninety-nine cents. Margaret {seating herself on sofa). My, but you look like Santa Claus ! Jack {piling bundles around Miss Louisa.) If Santa Claus had been cussed in as many dili'erent languages as we have been, I think the old fellow would give up his job. Miss Louisa {rocking violently). Vvn most tuckered out. If Christmas came more than once a year, mighty few people would live to see another. Jack {taking small kodak from pocket). Just a mo- ment, please. Alay I ask you to stand as you are until I take a time exposure ? A fitting illustration of my article on "The Christmas Spirit." (Miss "Lov is a- stands limply. Jack snaps camera, puts it in his pocket, seats himself in front of grate.) Miss Louisa {dropping in chair). You can talk of it if you want, about the loving thoughts and tender wishes that go into Christmas gifts, but I'm telling you that if the real truth came out, you'd hear a mighty different story. {Scornfully.) Loving thoughts, indeed; it's such a blessed relief to get the last bit of tissue paper and red ribbon out of the house — that — Margaret. Oh, but you lose the true meaning of the day. It isn't the gift but the thought. Miss Louisa. That's just where you're wrong. People don't thank you to send them thoughts and picture cards iind booklets and nothing else. {Turning head.) By the way, Mrs. Jenkins, did a package come for me? Mrs. Jenkins {rocking z'iolentiy and reading paper). I didn't see any. Miss Louisa. Then it didn't come. That's just like Aunt Eliza, waiting till the last minute. Like as not I won't get her present till Christmas Day. Jack (putting coal on the fire). And why, fair damsel, in distress, are you opposed to receiving the token of love on the 25th of December? Miss Louisa. I ain't got no sentimental ideas about Christmas. Now if Aunt Eliza has sent me some trash. 24 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. do you think I'm going to let her have something worth while? Not much. Mrs. Jenkins {peering curiously over paper). What is the long, big package? It looks like a doll. Now if you've gone and bought Angelina Maud a doll — Miss Louisa. Angelina Maud. 1 guess not. I'd like to get her a muzzle. Mrs. Jenkins {ivith dignity). Angelina Maud, darlin', leave the room. You shan't have your feelin's hurt. You're Mother's little lady, even if — Angelina Maud (jumping off table and sitting on floor L. of Miss Louisa). Oh, ]\Ia, I ain't got no feelin's. I've been raised in a boarding house. Miss Louisa. Now, Mrs. Jenkins, you needn't fly off the handle like that. I'm not blaming the child ; land sakes, no; she comes by it naturally. (Mrs. Jenkins turns chair around, still reads.) Margaret (hastily). Oh, let's open the package and see the pretty things. Miss Louisa (unwrapping package). I'm downright proud of this. It's for Cousin Jennie Johnson. She's the rich one in the family and I always send her something nice. (Mrs. Jenkins looks around, jerks head hack quickly.) Margaret {leaning forward). Oh, it's a vase, and such a ])retty one. Why, it's broken. Miss Louisa. Of course it's broken. I bought it that way. It's got to go a long distance and she'll think it was smashed on the road. Angelina Maud. Hully gee ! Ain't you the brainy one ! Mrs. Jenkins (turning head). Angelina Maud, be very careful how you talk, promiscuous like. You can't be too l^articular about them you converse with. Miss Louisa (unwrapping another and holding up a fancy box of paper.) Now, this here box of "paper's right fancy like, and if I do say it, the one who gets it will think she's right lucky. Of course the real bottom is this high up (measuring), so it don't take much paper to fill it. Swell, ain't it?' THE DREA^'^THAT CAME TRUE. 25 Jack. Simply out of sight. Miss Louisa {holding up coat hanger). This coat hanger is for Uncle Peter. He ain't never had more than one coat to his name, but that ain't none of my business. And this little hair receiver (holding up same) is for Aunt Amelia. She's worn a wig for years, but I reckon false hair has to come out sometimes. Jack. It sure has to come off. (Angelina Maud laughs shrilly, points finger at Mrs. Jenkins, wJio glares at her.) Miss Louisa. Cousin Rachel Simpson's just divorced from her husband, so it was right hard getting her a pres- ent. I finally settled on something ornamental. Ain't this too sweet for anything? And only thirty-five cents. (Holds up motto, ''God Bless Our Home.") Angelina Maud. Ma, I'm going to get you one just like it to hang over Pa's picture. (Points to picture above table.) . Mrs. Jenkins (turning chair around). Angelina Maud, don't let nobody think that your mother is a divorced lady. Your pa died in a perfectly legal fashion and — Enter Floracel, R. U. E. Florabel (at door). Dear Mrs. Jenkins, can the house be a little more quiet ? I am composing a little sonnet upon "Memory," and the spirit of the place is not in harmony with mine. Miss Louisa (turning). Come in, Florabel Mullins, and stop that nonsense. Poetry, indeed. Tommyrot ! Mrs. Jenkins (resuming her reading). Poetry broke loose in our family once, but we cured it by big doses of quinine and cod liver oil. Florabel (coming dozvn C). Oh, I don't see how Eliza- beth Barrett Browning and Edgar Allan Poe ever stood their poetic temperaments. Mine is simply killing me. Miss Louisa (sniffing). Temperature, indeed! I don't see why anybody who writes poetry should have any more temperature than other people. Jack. Due to the hot stuff they give us. 26 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. Mrs. Jenkins (rising). If you have any temperature, you're going right to bed. I ain't going to run the risk of no contagious disease in my house. Florabel Muhins, let me feel your pulse. {Crosses to her.) Florabel. Oh, you don't understand. You can't. Your aura is so different. Angelina Maud. What's an aura, INIa? Mrs. Jenkins. I don't know exactly, but it's something that belongs to a person that ain't got no backbone. (Crosses back to L and goes dozen to rocking chair.) Florabel. An aura is a surrounding vapor of a spiritual nature. If our thoughts are gloomy, the rays are black; if we are ambitious, they are orange ; if we are angry, they are purple. Mrs. Jenkins (seating herself). Fshaw ! I don't have to give forth no purple rays to show when Em mad. Florabel (crossing back of sofa). W'ould that each one of us could emit red and white rays, emblematic of all the virtues. Jack. \\'ould that my boss would see fit to emit a ten- dollar raise. Florabel (producing paper). My sonnet is upon Memory. Mrs. Jenkins (reading paper). Well, go on and read it. Florabel {coming doicn R. to front of stage). Oh, don't coax. You know how sordid it is to advertise one's own work. Mrs. Jenkins. Em not coaxing. I know we've got to listen to it sometime and we might as well have it out of the way. Miss Louisa (rising). Well, something else is going to get out of the way before that sonnet is read. Eve had a very-trying day and listening to that stuff would just fin- ish me up. Help me gather up my things, somebody. I'm going, yes, I'm going, and- (sarcasticallv) Merry Christmas ! (Margaret picks up bundles and follozvs Miss Louisa from room, R. U. E.) Florabel (reads) — THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 27 Long ago we met — like ships at sea. Can you then forget? Oh, mystery, Let now be as then — your Hps are cold. Love me once again — love as of old. Ah, the fleeting years, sorrow each brings Sunshine and its tears — tears idle things. {Long pause.) Jack. Shrieks of silence! Angelina Maud. It ain't got no sense, is it? Mrs. Jenkins {still reading). Land sakes, child; I didn't pay no attention. Florabel {turning). I shall again seek the solitude of my room. Art is for the few, and the task of elevating the masses is a liopelcss one. Jack {risincj- and taking camera). Tarry a moment, fair poetess. (Florabel faces him.) You have given to the world a sonnet of six lines, something hitherto unknown. J lumanity should be apprised of this fact. Will you re- main in that pose a moment, with the pale cast of thought upon your brow and the fire of inspiration in your pro- phetic eyes? {Snaps camera and puts it in pocket.) Thank you! {Exit Florabel, R. U. E. Jack, pulling, Angelina Maud tip from the floor). Angel child, we've had enough food for thought. Let's hie us to the pantry and minister to our carnal appetities. {Exit Angelina Maud, L. U. E.) Mrs. Jenkins. Law, Mr. Jack, you'll have some dread- ful stomach trouble eating between meals as you do. Jack {at R. U . E.). The only stomach trouble Fll ever have will be lack of somethino- to put into it. {Turns sud- denly and collides zvith Miss Biddle.) I beg your pardon; I do, I do. _ , \^ _^ ^ ^^ _ Enter Miss Biddle, R. U. E. Miss Biddle {angrily). How dare you be so familiar? How dare you put your arm around me? Jack. Heavens, woman, you don't think it was inten- tional? Miss Biddle. Impertinent creature ! Insolent viper ! {With increasing scorn.) Man — man — man! {Marches angrily down R, to sofa.) 28 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. JACK. Yes and mighty glad to be the original article and not a poor imitation. It isn't the first time I've col- lided with woman suffrage and it won't be the last. (Pro- duces camera.) Ah, that's good. That Hail the Conquer- ing Hero expression. Head a little higher, please. Don't smile; it's too feminine. Ah, the very thing to accompany my article "The Female and the Ballot." (Snaps camera.) Thank you. (E,vit R. U. E.) Miss Biddle. Mrs. Johnson-Jones-Jenkins, or whatever your abominable name is, if I were not here in the inter- , est of the woman movement, I should depart. Mrs. Jenkins (rising and moving tozvard her). Well, there'll be another kind of woman movement if you're not careful, and it'll be to another tune. Miss Biddle (crossing to table). To be thrown into con- tact with such a creature as that ma)i. Mrs. Jenkins (folloicing her). You butted in yourself. ^^'hy didn't you look where you were going? Miss Biddle (angrily, as she picks up package). Who has tampered with my package? That diabolical child of yours, I suppose. Mrs. Jenkins. Fll be talked to by no female suft'ra- gettes. Tampering with your package, indeed ! Me and Angelina Maud are perfect ladies. I'll have you to know, even if some other people ain't. We are interested in our boarders. Miss Biddle {holding up package). To this extent, I presume. Perhaps you can also read between the lines in my letters. Mrs. Jenkins (shaking her fist). Take that back, Me- hitabel Biddle, on the very spot you're standing. ]\Iiss Biddle. Take zvhat back ? The truth ^ Allow me to pass. (Pushes by her and goes out R. U. E.) Mrs. Jenkins (following her slozvly). I'll allow you to pass out that front door if you're not careful my lady. Impudent to me, and me the head of the only steam-heated boarding-house in the town? Woman suffrage indeed! It ain't so much the man tliat makes woman foolish; it's the lack of him! (Exit R. U. E.) THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. . 29 After several minutes, enter Margari:t. R. U. E. Margaret {looking around). J)ear inc, 1)atllerielan. Sliakc again! {They shah- hands ai/aiii.) Enter Lord Algernon, C. in P. Delpiiine hr.rncs to him, standing on his left. Lord Algernon (dotm C). By jove, I'm just a little oul'of breath don't you know! I've been do.ng what you ^^\::^s:i;ZT'ef^ard ta,le to his ri.kt fol- lowed by Bob). You are a little off color, aren t you? Wha Jou need is to get used to ath et.c sttmts. ToRD ^LGFRNoN (taking out small book), \oumn pa^dtn me" Miss Norton/ ,f I look at my Uttk book^ (fookina carcfullv.) Stunt; no, I haven t it. Just a list of American terms to help me understand your remark- ?aL Sngtiage (Mrs. Allaire turns on stool and Ustens ifitprp^tedlv to conversation.) ,^ Delphine ipereciving Bob). Oh, you haven t met Mr. ^^LoRD Algernon. You will pardon me, old chap, if I do not offer nv right hand (e.nending hrs ^/f '»««dV Corkhg good game: but I have, bah jove ('«f ";(/ f We .put it on the bum! (Delphine crosses to Mar- garet and perches on arm of her chair.) DoRi" I should think so. A person would 1<"0W you bad never handled a golf stick nor twir ed a rackety (Takes his hand.) Look at those hands. Theyie soft as a girl's. How do you keep them so? Torn Algernon. I usually sleep in gloves ^ZslSng closely at Mm). Do you sleep m your ''*Lord'' Algernon. Why, no; certainly not, (Aside.) T wonder what she meant? Doris (.,V^miLLY. But, Peggy, I just couldn't. It isn't in me. Peggy (coldly). Let us join the others. (Exit C. in F. followed by Billy.) Enter Norton. E. U. E., followed by Nan. He comes dozen C. and seats Jiinisclf in chair R. of table. Nan stands E of table. Nan. Mr. Norton? | Norton [brusquely). What is it? j; Nan (shozving letters). A few letters by afternoon I mail. Will you have them now? j Norton (looking at zvatch). It's late — almost too late for — no, business is business and we'll get them out of i the way. Nan (opening letter). A report from your agent expenses of the year and definite gains. Norton. What about expenses? Nan. $500 less than last year. Norton. And gains? Nan. $25,000 clear. THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 53 Norton. Ah! (To himself.) At last things come my wav— at last. {To Nan.) $25,000, you say? Nan. $25,000. Is it divided between you and your partner ? . Norton (quickly). Partner? I have no partner, it is clear gain to me—to me. Why did you ask that question? Nan. For idle curiosity. I had heard there was an- other owner. Norton (sharply). Deny any such statement hereafter. (After a pause.) Where have I seen you before, girl .^ Nan. Doubtless in your factory. I spent much of my youth there, though why you should remember me is strange. Surely among the hundreds of wage earners no face stands out distinctly. Norton. Scarcely. A wild, complaining lot of chil- dren, crying for what they do not need, ungrateful for what is given them. Bah! Go on. Nan (opening another letter). A note from Mr. Clay. Norton. Again? Nan (glancing over it). Stating that one of the work rooms is beyond use ; that its foul air, its wet floors means death to — Norton. No need to go on. Write him emphatically that I have no money— no money, understand— to use foolishly. Nan. But it w^ould take but a small sum. Norton. Which I do not care to advance. Wet floors, bad air, indeed. When did the creatures become so deh- cate, so fastidious, as to — Nan (passionately). How can you say so? How can you? Because they are poor and helpless, why should they suffer? Because they are hired for pitiful wages, why should death and illness go hand in hand with them? Norton (angrih). Young woman, enough^ I have en- gaged you as a secretary, not as ethical adviser. Do you understand? (jO on. Nan (glacing at another letter). A request for a dona- tion from a charitable organization. 54 THE DREAM THAT CAxME TRUE. Norton. Write them that I shall send them a generous check. Next ? Nan {glancing at signature of another). A letter from a certain William Gordon. Norton {quickly). Hand that to me. 1*11 attend to it. 1 hat's all. (Nan hands it over. He rises.) Very well, answer as I told you. As to that report I wish, you'll find It m the memorandum book in the left hand drawer of the table. {Exit L. U. E.) Nan {to herself). Is there nothing I can do after all? Am I to fail? Are the people to suffer? {Goes to desk R. of Cm F. and opens drazver.) The memorandum book, he said. {Pulls out drawer and letter falls.) How care- less of me. {Picking up letter.) W1iy, here's a letter It must have shipped down and back of the drawer. {Look^ at It.) What.^ Signed Lewis Gordon. It mav be a clew. Ill read it. (Reads.) "Dear Norton: My letter askin<- you to sell my share of the factory and to invest the I)roceeds m copper stock has barely started 'on its wav to you, but that sixth sense of mine, which you have so often mocked, tells me to countermand the order I am writing this note, then, to bid you retain my stock in the works and to hold it until the boy is able to care for his own. {Thoughtfully.) This does not seem to help me out, but I 11 keep It and {taking out the book) oh, this is the memorandum I want! Enter Gordon. C. in P., after hanging coat and hat on hall tree. Gordon {^^oing to Nan). Nan, what luck to find von alone, to — Nan. Gordon, I've failed! There seems to be nothin- to grasp nothing to go on. Today a letter came from you? triend Mr. Norton seized upon it immediately There must be something wrong. His actions show it and vet I cannot find out what it is Gordon. Don't think of it. Nan, for we've something- nearer home to test our strength, to trv our endurance I he strike s on. THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 55 Nan. The strike! No, no! It can't be. Gordon, couldn't you hold them? [Puts hand on his arm.) Gordon. Hold them! They're like a mob of infuriated animals. Cold • weather and no fuel ; poverty and no as- sistance ; starvation and no prospect of better times. Can you wonder that they are past control? Nan. What can we do, Gordon? Gordon {fiercely). What can we do? Fight and tight to win. Oh, Nan/ my blood is. up. I'll brook no obstacle. I'll have my way! {Crosses to L. of table.) Nan. Oh, if you only could. Gordon. I zvill succeed. Something tells me that m this very town in which I've worked and striven and learned the lesson of the common people, I shall win" my victory. Nan. Has it been worth while— this struggle in our midst? Has it brought you anything but perplexity and toil? {Scats herself in chair R. of table.) Gordon. Has it been worth while? It's brought me my crown of happiness; for if I had not cast my fortunes with the factory people, I should have missed the greatest influence that comes into a man's life— his love for another ! Nan (startled). Gordon! . x >t Gordon {crossing and leaning over chair). Nan, you re xcry dear to me. Your understanding, your sympathy have meant much more than I can say. I must share this secret with you. I must tell you of this love— Nan {to herself). I'm happy, happy, happy! Gordon. Nan, I haven't been like most men. Ive never thought of love for myself, it has seemed so far away, so intangible. But I've felt the beauty of its meaning and I've given my all— to— Margaret. Nan (bewildered). Margaret! (Rises.) Gordon. Haven't you guessed? Haven't you known .^ Oh I've felt that I must show it in every glance, every word (Notes her expression.) Oh, I've startled you. I should have remembered that you are tired, overstrung. Forgive me. / r- • r o Nan (to herself). Margaret— Margaret ! (Exit L. I E. Gordon stands gazing after her.) 56 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. Enter Margaret, R. U. E. Margaret {coming to him). Bobby! Why are you here all by yourself, when — {recognizing him) — oh, it's you! Gordon {seizing her hand). It's I — oh, Margaret, do you think I could go a day without a sight of you? The sun had dropped out of heaven since you left. Margaret {crossing and sitting on sofa). But the stars of the Jenkins constellation are still shining, aren't they? Tell me about them. Gordon {standing by her). I'm not trifling. You must listen to what I say. Prudence, wisdom, foresight, I've thrown them to the winds, for all that I realize is, that I love you. I love you. Margaret {turning away). Gordon — Gordon {leaning over her). And I'm waiting — waiting for the three little words that you'll say to me. Margaret {hiding her face). I can't. I can't. Gordon. But you can. {Sound of footsteps off L.) Margaret. Listen. Someone is coming. I must go. Gordon {glancing at tcleplione). Then I'll telephone you later. vShall I ? And will you tell me what I want to know ? Margaret {at R. U. E.). Oh, Gordon, I will, I will. (ExitR.U.E.) Enter Norton, R. U . E. He crosses to R. of table. Norton {at chair). And to what do I owe the honor of this visit, Mr. Clay? Gordon {turning). To business, solely. Enter Nan, L. 2 E., unseen by either. Conceals herself behind palms, near piano. Norton. Then be brief. My time is valuable. Gordon. A few words will state my mission. The catastrophe of which I have repeatedly w^arned you has come. The strike is declared. Norton (sarcastically). Indeed! And this, I presume, you consider the final blow, which will "bring me to terms," as you aptly put it. Gordon. I am not so optimistic. What I have to say THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 57 I am stating as a business proposition. The closing of the factory necessarily means loss of money. Norton. But not curtailment of my own expenses. It will not harm me. Gordon. But the people. Norton {turning angrily). Curse the people. What should I care what becomes of them? Blind to their own interests, they^ — Gordon {raising hand). Just a minute. A strike, I grant, means many hardships to the strikers, from one stand- point, for their material needs are best satisfied by steady work, no matter how great the burdens. From another standpoint human nature must revolt, the primitive man must fight for justice. i Norton {seating himself in chair R. of table). Socio- * logical rot. My young friend, you have mistaken the theo- retical for the practical. I knozi' with whom I am dealing. I I know what is best for my own interests, what is best for : theirs. Let them strike. Do they think they can thwart I me, frighten me, force me? I've won my way over every other man's failures. I have crushed those who dared to * oppose me. It's the law of success, the law of life. Gordon (coming close). But not the law of the broth- " erhood of man. I ask you, is this your reply to the strikers? ' Norton. This is my reply. That when they are willing I to go back to the same conditions, the factory doors will \ be open to them. If they refuse — j Gordon. Then, Mr. Norton, I play my last trump. ] With the name of William Gordon as a threat. I ask that I you yield to the demands of the strikers. I Norton (rising). Your impudence is astonishing. And ' why, may I ask, is the name of my ward dragged into I this matter? (Crosses back of table to sofa.) I Gordon. For reasons of my own. You were adminis- i trator of his father's estate, were you not, and after his i, death became trustee for his son's money? The iniprac- I tical father, regretting his own lack of business, and be- 58 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. lieving that his son inherited the characteristic, put you in charge until his son!s twenty-fifth birthday? Norton (at sofa). Quite so. Gordon. Very well. I have come to my point. William Gordon reached his twenty-fifth birthday yesterday and I ask that his possessions be handed over to me. Norton. How dare you insult me with your insolence? What do you mean by discussing my private afifairs ? What right have you to use the name of William Gordon? Gordon. The best right in the world, for I am William Gordon ! Norton. You? You? Ridiculous. What insane idea has taken possession of your brain? Gordon. I'm not through. I've lived most of my life in Paris ; in college. I became interested in sociology, and knowing that I had a share in your factory, I came on to study the conditions, and, incidentally, to watch after my own interests. As foreman I have done this, and now as part owner in this enterprise, I want a hand in the man- agement. Norton. Not so fast, young man. Gordon. You still doubt my identity? Norton. No. I'll grant it. Gordon. Then I demand that — Norton. Demand, demand — you ! Demand what? You talk so confidently about your interests. Go back to your foreman job, stick to it, for if you are William Gordon, all you have on earth is a box full of old copper stock that isn't worth a farthing. Interest in the factory. Don't you know, you young idiot, that your father sold out his small share just before his death? That all you had was invested in good-for-nothing stacks of paper. {Crosses to R. by desk.) Gordon (leaning on table). Good-for-nothing stacks of paper. And I have received the same income as before my father's death. (Turns.) Worthless stocks do not pay dividends, Mr. Norton. How do you explain the fact that the payments have come to me regularly? Norton. Explanations are sometimes brutal. THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 59 Gordon. I repeat my question. Norton {in back of chair R. of table). Shall I answer it? Gordon. Immediately ! Norton. Then, I sent the money! Gordon. You ? I do not understand. Norton. It was my money, my money, charity money if you will, given to the son of my old friend. How do you like that Foreman Clay? {Crosses to L.) Gordon. It's a lie! (Norton stops threateningly.) I repeat it, Mr. Norton ; it's a lie. I may not be so keen as you in business, underhanded business ; but I'm after my rights, and I'll never stop until I've gained them. Justice is on my side and justice will prevail. Youth is on my side and youth will conquer. So you think the matter of the strike is settled? Do you think the fight is over? I warn you, Mr. Norton, and I warn you again. It's just begun! {Exit C. in F. Norton stands looking after him, then goes out C. in F. Nan comes slowly forzvard and seats herself on sofa.) Enter Margaret almost immediately, R. U. E. Goes behind Nan and puts her arm around her neck. Margaret. Oh, Nan, Nan, isn't it the beautiful-est world that ever was ? The sky is so blue, the sun is so bright and the telephone's going to ring in just a moment! Nan {turning). So this is the test your friendship would stand ! This is the love you promised me ! This is the help you would give ''if ever the time came." Margaret {standing at back). Nan! Nan. You knew that I'd starved for beautiful things all my life; that I'd longed for love beyond all else, and just when it was within my grasp you snatched it away! Gordon's mine is mine! Do you hear? Margaret. Gordon ! Oh, Nan, I didn't know ; I didn't know. How could I? Nan. He is no more to you than a dozen other lovers. He's everything to me. He — Margaret. How dare you say such things to me — how 60 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. dare you ? I have a right to happiness as well as you ! I have a right to love and to choose my lover! Nan. You've had so much and I so little. Oh, Mar- garet, Margaret, show that friendship can be unselfish; that love is sacrifice and give him up! Margaret {leaning back of chair L. of table). Give up Gordon ! Oh, Nan, you can't ask it ! Why, it would be like giving up my life. Nan. There are so many richer, cleverer, greater, that you might have, and if you did not hold him, he would turn to me. Oh, Margaret, I'm begging you for happiness, for happiness, and it rests with you — to give it. Margaret. It rests with me — with me. Oh, Nan, I can't, I can't! {Hides face in arms.) Nan. Then it's to be as it always has been. I am to struggle on — alone. I am to be denied the good and the beautiful. (Bitterly) Oh, friendship, what a mockery you are. Oh, love, how empty are your promises ! Oh Giver of Dreams, why have you passed me by? {Pause. Telephone rings. Margaret starts fonvard eagerly, hesitates, then slowly makes her zvay to Nan and takes her hand.) Curtain. Act III. Scene: Sun-parlor of the Norton home. Wide door C. in F. showing room beyond. Palms R. of C. in P. and L. of \ C. in P. Table zvith punch bozvl L. of C. near P. Sofa down L. Large chair R. of C. Round table zmth bowl of flowers down C. Stool L. of table. Statue of Minerva R. 2 E. Statue of Venus L. 2 E. Practical door R. U. E. Stage clear at rise. Enter Nora R. U. E. with tray of ' punch glasses. She crosses room and places tray on table L. of C. in P. Nora {at table). . And begorry, I'm tired! Sure and I've been on a trot all this Christmas day! But it pays, seein' them all bavin' such a foine toime in yonder. {Look- THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 61 ing out of door) Now just look at Miss Margaret, ain't she the darlint ! And Miss Doris, talkin' loike "her tongue was hung in the middle and worked at both ends — and that fool English Lord, niver takin' his eyes off her ! And Miss Emmy Lou, lookin' so solemn loike, bless the baby. Th.en ' Miss Delphine {sighing deeply and shaking her head), oh, there's all kinds of quare doin's at this Norton house. Fm a thinkin' that Minerva goddess has bewitched us all, bad 'cess to her! Sure and she has the evil eye (crossing her- self). Even Miss Peggy with her old Blueing book, the ■■ swate child, she don't know what she's talking about either. And poor Captain IHlly ! Faith and Fm wonderin' what'll become of us all, may the saints preserve us ! (Exit R. U. E.) I Enter Doris and Boc C. in F. Doris comes doivn C. hold- I ing up torn gozvn, followed by Bob. . Bob (zvhistling). My, but you've been having a ripping I time ! ' Doris (at sofa). Been on a perfect tear all evening. • (Turns). Got any pins, class pins, frat pins, clothes pins, {■ safety pins, any old kind of pins? That cross-eyed man i caused all this havoc. He just came to my shoulder, and we i looked like Texas and Rhode Island together. Oh, I always I get home in rags and tags. Fm not meant for a ball room. I Give me a short skirt and put me on the golf links ! I Bob (going to punch bowl). Calm yourself. Atlanta and ' let me get you some punch. (Advances with glass.) Flere, 1 "drink, pretty creature, drink." ' Doris. Get sonie yourself and we'll be sociable. (Bob 1 fills a glass for himself.) Come on, sit down here and we'll : have a toast. What shall it be ? (Seats herself on sofa.) j Bob. To you fair maid! (Sits beside her). Doris. Cut it out, compliments don't go with me. Bob. And you a woman. Doris (looking at statne). Let's say to Minerva! Bob (rising). Never! Doris. What have you against her! Nice old lady; she'd make a golf fiend if she'd live in the proper age. 62 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. Bob (turning). Let's propitiate Venus and ask her help for all those in need of her. Doris (touching her glass to his). Hope I'll never need her help, don't think much of her myself but just as you say. (Drinks.) It's beginning- to work, Bob! It's begin- ning to work ! Bob (sitting). What, the punch? Doris. Talk about stupidity. Some men never get be- yond the kindergarten period and must be shown by beads and blocks. In w^ords of one syllable for young readers — she's jealous ! Bob. There's where you guess again. The new woman doesn't get jealous, "she has only psychic interest and — " Doris (disgustedly). Stuff and nonsense. The new woman is like the old woman, the primitive woman, the woman of all ages and all time and the green-eyed monster is the best weapon with wdiich to fight her. Bob. If I only knew that. Doris. There you are again, if you only knew. Why don't you find out ? Listen here, haven't you ever heard that like cures like? Throw woman's rights at her in huge chunks, talk in her own lingo and you'll see ! Enter Billy C. in F. Doris. Yes Billy (rises), here I am, slightly disfigured but still in the ring. (Takes his arm.) Don't catch your foot in this or you're a goner. (Turning) Bob, you're al- most at the last hole in the links. Don't get flustered. Keep your eye on the goal : get a firm hold, resolve to do or die. Take a long breath and let her go! Do you understand what I mean? Come on Billy. (Exeunt Doris a)id Billy C. in F.) Enter Delphi ne R. U. E. Delphine. Oh, here you are ? Bob. Very much here; come on and keep me company. Delphine (sarcastically). Isn't it strange that my value increases when the adored one is not at hand. Bob. Not strange at all. If you can't get what you want, want what you can get. THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 63 Delphine. Bob! {Seats herself on sofa L.) Bob {taking stool and crossing to her). Del, I've been thinking it over and I believe you're right about this woman movement. I must grant that the woman of today has ac- quired a keener personal consciousness, has got beyond the stolid stage and finds consciousness beginning to demand a radical and fundamental alteration of environment. {Seats himself. ) Delphine. Bob, let's not talk about that, why it's Christ- mas and — Bob. But it's the subject nearest your heart, isn't it? Therefore you shall teach me and I shall try to understand. Does the agitation of the question simply imply an increase of the social consciousness or would you trace it to the growth of individualism? Delphine. I hate the woman movement, I despise it. Bob {dreamily looking into space). I am gazing into an illimitable future. Delphine. Don't do it, you might get cross-eyed. Bob {repeating). I am gazing into an illimitable future. Delphine. Oh, Bob, how mean of you, when there's something near at hand, very much better to gaze upon. Bob. a future where progress shall not be warped and hindered by the retarding influence of surviving rudi- mentary forces. Delphine. Bob, don't! {Bitterly.) Oh, everything is so different from other Christmas days. Bob. And must be different. You have chosen your way ; I have chosen mine and the path divides. I had hoped and dreamed better things for I've loved and wanted you ever since the boy and girl days when I fought your battles and you gave me a bite of your apple. Poor as I am, Del, I had planned to ask you for yourself as a Christmas pres- ent, but — Delphine {eagerly). But what? Bob. I must not interfere with your career. {He rises and walks to L.) Delphine {rising). I haven't any career. I don't want any. Oh, Bob — {Holds out hands.) 64 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. Bob (leaning on sofa). You must not worry about me. I'll be a man in spite of it all and when you have won laurels in your chosen work, I'll try to rejoice in your gain and not to think about my loss. Merry Christmas little girl and lots of them. (Exit C. in F.) Enter Margaret R. U. E. Delphixe sits zvith head in hands. Margaret (coming to her). Del, Del, why is Gordon Clay here? Delphine {abstractedly}. Gordon Clay, Gordon Clay? Oh, the good looking foreman ! Dad insisted on my ask- ing him, I don't know why, so I did. (Sarcastically). I think I'll request him to be nice to Doris, she might feel lonely. (Exit K. U. E.) Enter Gordon C. in F. Gordon (coming to her). Margaret, Margaret — Margaret {putting out hand). Don't Gordon, oh, please don't come any nearer. Gordon. When I've longed for you, starved for you, loved you until — Margaret (sitting K. of C). Why have you come to- night ? Gordon (crossing to table) . Why indeed ! Do you think I would have entered the house of this man, if I had not been desperate for a sight of you, a word with you. Margaret. Oh, Gordon, if — Gordon (standing L. of table). Yesterday 1 was the happiest fellow in the world, for I was sure that I had your love ; then I telephoned and you would not answer. Margaret. I couldn't, I couldn't. Can't you see how all this is hurting me? Gordon. And what of me? Am I to have no explana- tion, have I no right to know why — Margaret (rising). I can't explain. Something has happened, that's all and it's good-bye, Gordon. Gordon (quickly). Something has happened ; since when ? Margaret. Since yesterday, since I saw you ! Gordon. Oh, I begin to understand. You knozu then. THE DREAM THAT CAAIE TRUE. 65 Margaret. Yes, I know. Gordon. And you say this to me? You tell me that your love is measured by dollars and cents, by my wretched money ? I don't understand. Margaret, I don't understand, for you loved me as the struggling- foreman, before you knew of my inheritance and now that the inheritance is swept away — Margaret. Inheritance? Money? I don't know what you mean, I — you're dreaming, Gordon. Gordon (bitterly). No, never again. I've awakened; and I've awakened" to the fact that love is mercenary, that faith is a disillusion, that human happiness is but a mockery. (Exit C. in F.) Enter Bob C. in F. Stands, looking after Gordon. Bob. Margaret, what has that fellow been saying to you ? Margaret. Nothing at all to make you frown, Bobbie. Bob. Sure? (Crosses to her.) Margaret (seating herself i)i chair). Sure. Don't worry dear for I'm just trying to put together Life's pic- ture puzzle and some of the parts don't fit. Bob. Two heads are better than one in picture puzzles. Come, sis, let me help you find the fragments. (Sits on arm of chair.) Margaret. Haven't you always helped me? The sky never showed continuous blue until your magic finger found the missing part; the picture itself never took definite form until you gathered together the elusive bits. Oh, Bob you were an adorable brother and you've never quite outgrown it. Bob (putting arm around her). Dear little sis, we've al- ready filled in the gay colored background of childhood, piece by piece ; now we're finding that the pieces are notched and jagged and that sometimes we cannot make them fit. Margaret. And we must find the missing fragments ourselves. It's a hard place I've come to, I'm a little dis- couraged now, but I must work out my own salvation ; and oh. Bobby boy, I must work it out alone. Bob. Alone? Oh, Margaret that hurts, we've never had that word in our vocabulary ; it's always been together. 66 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. Margaret {leaning head against him). You don't under- stand. Why I couldn't do without you. It would be like groping in the dark. But I've grown up, Bobbie dear, and as a woman I must stand my own ground. Bob. Margaret, why have you loved this man, why — Margaret. Why? There is no reason. If there were, it wouldn't be love, would it ? Bob. And that you should suffer and I powerless to — Margaret. Hush Bob, for back of the pain is the divine joy ; back of the bitterness is the sweetness ; back of the heartache is the memory. (Pause.) Bob. Oh little girl of long ago, with your yellow curls and your eyes of blue, you are slipping away from me and in your place has come a somebody whom I cannot under- stand. Margaret. Oh, little boy, I used to know, with your fearless eyes and dauntless courage, a mist is creeping be- tween us but I shall hold you fast, I shall hold you fast ! Bob. If the mist is only that of years, we have nothing to fear, for love is stronger than time; if it be the mist of sadness or sorrow, we feel that someday the sunshine will clear it away ; if it be the mist of separation, we know that the bond will be stronger, truer and tenderer still. Oh, sis, whatever be the mist, it can never become so dense that we lose sight of each other. Margaret (rising). Oh, Bobbie, I'm almost crying and I must smile on Christmas day. Bob. For Christmas light means happiness. Margaret, as children, we always stood before the old fireplace and made our Christmas wish. Do you remember ? (Rises and puts arm about her.) Margaret (softly). And what shall the wish be tonight? Bob. Only this, that on Christmas day of the coming year, of the year to follow, of all the years to be, we shall stand together. Come. (Exeunt Bob and Margaret R. U. E.) Enter Peggy C. in F. Peggy (coming dozvn C). Oh, I can't stand it any longer! I'm so miserable, so unhappy ! THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 67 Enter Emmy Lou C. in F. Emmy Lou. Peggy, someone is looking for you Peggy {turning). Tell him Em sick, dead, gone any- thing Emmy Lou. Oh, I can't go. Emmy Lou {coming closer). Why Peggy dear, what is the matter ? Peggy {zvith an effort). Nothing, why nothing. Fm happy Emmy Lou, so happy ! Why shouldn't I be ? Haven't I everything to make me happy ? Emmy Lou. You said you'd never be perfectly happy until you had that new edition of Browning. Peggy. Browning? I hate him, oh, I wish Ed never {calming herself). Run on Emmy Lou. Em just tired and oh, I've had such a beautiful 'time tonight. {Pushes her out.) Go on, Ell be out in a minute. Go on. {Exit Emmy Lou C. in F.) Oh, how can I laugh and talk and dance when Em so wretched and miserable.^ He's out there now with Doris and he hasn't even looked at me. And but I don't care. Let him go with whom he wishes. {Sits on sofa.) But I do care, I do care, more than anything else in the world and Eve let that dreadful Browning part us and — {Puts her heqd on her arms.) Enter Billy C. in F. Goes to sofa. Peggy {jumping up). Why Billy! I was so worn out that I ran in to rest. Why I haven't even said ''Merry Christmas" to you and Eve been so happy all day. And tonight, Eve never had such a good time, have you? Billy {glumly). Eve never had a worse! Peggy (sarcastically). Well, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Billy {taking book from pocket). Now see here Peggy, we might as well have this out right now. You know just how much I love you. (Peggy ^shakes head.) Oh, don't shake your head! You know, for Eve never been clever enough to hide it. Eve done my best for you, Peggy, Eve tried to make myself a man you could respect and I've been honorable as far as I know. Eve made many a thirty yard dash for you — many a touchdown ; and Eve tried never to 68 THE DREA.M JTLA'r CAME TRUE. fumble the ball. TUit there's one thing- 1 can't do and that's kick goal ; for Browning is between us and I can't kick over him. Peggy it isn't fair to judge me by my ignorance of •Browning. There are many more important things in life for me to learn and I'll be honest with you. I don't w^ant to learn him and I can't learn him and if he still keeps us apart, why, well I'll say good-bye, Peggy. (Hands her the copy of Browning. Pegc.y hesitates, takes it, places it firmly on the floor and kicks it squarely. ) Billy {rapturously). Peggy, do you mean it? (Holds out his anus and Peggy rushes into them. ) Enter Lord Algernon and Doris C. in F. They pause at door. Lord Algernon. Bah Jove, someone already here, beast- ly bore, don't you know? (Peggy and Ihu.v catch sight of them and hastily rush out L. 2 E.) Doris {coming doivn C. and looking after them). Oh, oh, is it really so ? Oh, look, Lord Algernon, look ! Great- est game of the season, Billy versus drowning ! Score 20 to 0, in favor of Billy. (Lord Algernon is silent.) Why don't you yell, man ? Lord Algernon {purjded). Ah, yes, quite so, ali — I don't quite catch your meaning — Doris. Can't you ever see anything, unless it's pointed out to you? Lord Algernon. Fancy now — Doris. Fancy nothing. Billy's won out, I say. {Dis- gustedly.) Gotten his girl — Lord Algernon. Ah, yes, I begin to understand— (laughs) bah, Jove! That's corking. {Takes book ' and -ccrites.) And we were what your charming American lan- guage calls {referring to book) butting in? {Laughs.) Doris {sitting on sofa). Mercy are you just catching on to that? Why don't you be original' and if you can't speak English, make signs! If I couldn't be the noise it- self, I wouldn't try to be the echo. {Silence for a mo- ment). Well, why don't you say something? THE DREAM THAT CAME IRUE. 69 Lord Algernon. Isn't it ripping to be here all by onr- selves? Doris. Oh, I don't know, rather nionotunuus, 1 like crowds myself. {Silence again.) Lord Algernon. Miss Doris, Lve been thinking — Doris. Fancy now ! Keep it np, you can stand a lot — Lord Algernon. That our friendship has begun to — Doris {yazviiing). Odd, isn't it, how sleepy you get, when you're not particularly interested. Lord Algernon {agitated). 1 desire — in fact, I — I — bah Jove, can't we — Doris. Sit out this dance ? Oh, I really prefer to, it's half over anyway. Lord Algernon. Bah, Jove, I believe you're trifling with me — ■ Doris. Trifling with you? \\'hy bless your heart, cliild — Lord Algernon (rising). A man can't stand everxthing. (.Ui-i'ances to front of stage, back to Doris.) Doris. Come sit down then. (Lord Algernon pays no attention.) Lord Algernon? (No anszver.) Lord Algy? Lord Algernon (sulkily). Well? Doris. Come back, just a moment, please, please. L've something to say to you. Lord Algernon (turning eagerly). Ah, bah Jove, you mean that you wdll let me (referring to book) win out? (Spreads liandkercJiief and kneels before her. ) Doris. Not so fast. Lord Algernon, not so fast. You're a dear little, sweet little English Lord and I like you, honest I do, there's my hand on it. (Offers hand.) But I want to, be under the stars and stripes. (Rises.) I want to hear the eagle screaming and Lm going to be true to Uncle Sam ! ,Come on. (Exeunt Lord Algernon zcith Doris C. in F.) ! Enter Emmy Lou R. U. E. zvith her arms full of fiozvers, \crosses to statue of Venus. Enter Delpiiine R. U. E. unseen by Emmy Lou. , Emmy Lou (kneeling). Oh, Venus, \^enus. Ell try you j:)nce more and you must give the princess to Mr. Bob, you must, you must ! See Eve brought you flowers and Eve been 70 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. true to you and I don't love Minerva any more! I Promise to be loyal and I'll bring you flowers every day and i 11, oh, Venus, Venus, grant that Mr. Bob may wm the prmcess, make her love him, make her love hmi ! Delphine (crossing). Emmy Lou, what do you mean, who is the princess? ^r t^ i i i Emmy Lou (rising). Someone that Mr. Bob loves and she's cruel and won't love him and I'm asking \ enus to help. Delphine. But Emmy Lou, Bob loves mc. Emmy Lou You, you ? And you won't love him ^ LLow dare you treat Mr. Bob like that? It's mean of you, you sha nt Delphine (putting arm around her). You don't under- stand dear. ^ , ^ , t.- tvt- Emmy Lou (stamping foot). I do, I do. Its Mmerva, isn't it^ (Points to statue.) Oh, I hate her, I hate her. Delphine, love Venus instead. Listen, suppose you don t marry you'll grow old and ugly and lonesome and there 11 be nobody to take care of you. How can you thmk of it when you might have Bob always and always. ( it istfuliy.) I don't know of anything more beautiful than that. Delphine. W'ould you have me false to my principles? Emmy Lou. Women change their minds sometimes, don't they? Do you love Minerva better than you love Bob? (Delphine is silent. Emmy Lou takes her by the hand and pulls her tozvard the statue of Venus.) Oh, Venus, Venus, she's coming, she's coming, she's almost here. It's the prin- cess, A'enus, the princess ! Bob enters C. in F. unseen by either. Emmy Lou. She loves the prince and she will be good and they are going to live happily forever after. (She looks\ around, sees Bob. rushes to him, hugs him violently and] leaves the room C. in F.) \ Bob (advancing hastily). Del? ' Delphine. Oh, Bob, here's your Christmas gift ! (Bob puts arm around her. Exeunt L. 2 E.) Enter Norton followed by Gordon. Norton (comes dozvn C. to table). I am glad my dear THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 71 Gordon, to see that you harbor no ill feeling; that you ac- cept the inevitable and have joined in our merry makinir tonight. ^ Gordon (crossing to back of sofa). You mistake my motive Mr. Norton. I have not forgotten nor forgiven and 1 should never have entered this house, had there not been another reason. Norton (crossing to Gordon). Come, come, my dear boy, don t be impractical ; forget our little controversy of yesterday and start in on a friendly basis. Your investments were unfortunate, the shrewdest of us make mistakes ; the money from my own income has been given gladly and will- ingly, not only for your father's sake, but because as ad- ministrator, I felt in some way responsible for results. Come give me your hand and let bygones be bygones. (Holds out hand.) ^ Gordon (ignoring it). I can't, Mr. Norton, I can't, for in some way I feel that your hand has been instrumental m doing me harm. Norton. You're morbid, my boy; you're like your fa- ther; not fitted for business. Here, if you won't take my word, read your father's letter to me in regard to dispos- ing of his interest in the works (Gordon takes letter), it's genuine isn't it? (Gordon nods.) And here you will find the detailed account of my stewardship, the necessary data that will stand behind my actions. (Hands memorandum.) Enter Nan R. U. E. Nan. Mr. Norton, may I have a moment? I Norton (turning). Certainly not. Miss Worthington, I'Tiy business with Mr. Clay is of a personal and private na- Iture. j Nan (coming down R. to chair). Which is known to me, bf which I have an intimate understanding. Norton (^;z^^rmo7y). So eaves-dropping is one of the nany sterling qualities that my secretary possesses. As I top to consider it Clay, it was on your recommendation hat this girl came to me. I begin to see it all. ^ Nan. Your business now, Mr. Norton, is not with Mr. Llay but with me ; and concerning his afifairs and mine. 72 THE DREAM THAT CANU- TRUE. NORTON (tkrcatcnugly) Look 1-'- S'-'l; I^'e ^tood this effrontery, this audacity of yours long cnougli. I m thi ou,n -t^. S;f:J,SV'^Mr. S^rton you- (C>.... .- ^mi (resting on arm of chmr). Let us suppose that the storv concerning the desire of your partner to dispose of h s f^torv shares is true. You forgot to mention that prevlou^ o tlte retipt of Itis letter, you yourself had invested heav- Wn copper stock. Let us assume, for the argument tha migrans erred these very shares to your friend, who, if 1 ^emeXrth'e letter corre'ctly, .lesired to invest m this same '' Norton. And if I had, the transfer, would have been '"f^. 'fen-^inly, I grant that. But your """^ f'-btless became confused at this point, for close upon thi. lette askiu"- you to sell his shares and to invest the proceeds, y.nn partner wrote another which countermanded the order_ 'Norton (advancing to tabic). It's a he a he and if you think you can threaten me, I'll show you that— N ^i But it isn't a lie. Look ( produces letter) , here s the letter in Mr. Gordon's handwriting which I founc safely hidden behind a drawer in your desk, haunting you all these vears with the fear that some day it woukl confront you with the proof of your dishonesty, would taunt you with the shame oi a trust betrayed. Norton (angril\^^. I will not listen to you. Nan "Wait Even as clever a business man as you. Mi. Norton, sometimes forgets and grows careless; for you failed to destroy that letter at the time it came, bate in- terfered, spirited it away and all these years it has been wait- ing for revenge. Norton. Wait— . , N\N The date of the lost letter is June H- 'he date of the transferrence of the stock is September 6th ot the same year. -\nd the date of Mr. Gordon's death is Tuly 12 Do you understand the significance of my memor- kndum on the three dates, Mr. Norton, or shall I add that THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. n the stock was transferred after the letter countermanding Its purchase was received and lost and also after the death of your friend ? NoRTON.^ And do you suppose that I will listen to— Nan. I'm not through. Copper stock was going down at that tmie, you realized that it would mean your ruin, so you filed your report as administrator crediting the son with your own worthless stock and keeping for yourself his share of the factory. If the letter had not been discovered, you would have lived secure in the public eye with only your inner self to reproach you with the betrayal of the trust of a friend. Norton (sitting on sofa). You can do nothing. It is ' only a threat. j Nan (rising and crossing to L. of tabic). I have the I memorandum. ^ I have the letter. You are in the shadow of (the law, Mr. Norton. You have used your ward's moi,iey J to retrieve your own fortunes and you were a coward with jt all, for you w^ere afraid to tell him and you thought that I if the regular payments reached him, he would never sus- pect. This very fear was your undoing for it is not very (likely that from the generosity of your own heart you sent ithe liberal allowance that has been his without question, .without stint. Is your position clear, do you realize that a jpublic statement of your misdeeds would bring you into the |:ourt of justice? j Norton (with head in hands). You've beaten me, fool i:hat I was, you've gained the upper hand. Well, what will j/ou do, what do you want? I Gordon (advancing to Nan.) Mr. Norton, I'm sorry, |)Ut I don't know what to say. Miss Worthington had been ^1 he master hand in this afifair and she alone shall arrange he terms of settlement. . Nan (turning). You mean it, Gordon? I Gordon. I mean it. Nan. 1 Nan. Then first, with, your permission, I shall settle my I'wn claim. Long ago, Mr. Norton, I came to you, a fac- tory girl, to ask a favor. My brother was one of your many iborers and proper sanitation in his work room would have 74 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. saved his life. (Norton draws back.) Ah, you shrink. Now you remember the face that has haunted you for days. You laughed, you refused, you sent me away with but one desire in my heart— revenge. All these years I have cher- ished it, prayed for it and my day has come. Norton. Gordon, how can you put my future into this girl's hands ? She's mad, she's — Nan. I'm not through, Mr. Norton, for I'm standing here to dictate what you shall do— I, the factory girl, I, the creature, whose brother was not worth a snap of your fingers. What do I ask you? First, that you restore to William Gordon his rightful inheritance. You agree? (Nor- ton nods.) Then that you raise immediately the present strike, granting the workmen what they demand, better con- ditions and better wage. And then — Norton. You will not prosecute, you will not satisfy that grudge of yours? Nan. And then, I shall restore you to your family with- out a breath of publicity, without a word of scandal, secure in the knowledge that only Gordon and I know your secret and that we shall never tell. Ah, this is my revenge, Mr. Norton, far different from what I had planned, had dreamed of, far different from the ruin I had hoped might overtake you. The factory girl can be generous. You crushed her spirit, you killed her brother but you couldn't kill her soul and today she gives you back to yourself, to the future it lies with you to make. (Norton rises, goes slowly to C. in F., stops, and holds out his hand. Nan hesitates, then takes it. Exit Norton C. in F.) Gordon (seimng her Jiands). Nan, dear Nan, what can I say, what can I do? Nan (drazving back). Don't Gordon, don't. I want only one thing, your friendship, oh, don't say any more, I cannot stand it tonight. Listen, the leaders of the strike are around the house, they threaten to fire it. Can you hold them with promises till I come to verify them? It will not be long. And then, will you make me one promise? Go to Margaret. Oh, it will be all right and I'm glad for you. (Exit Gordon C. in F.) THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. 75 Enter Margaret R. U. E. Nan {advancing to meet her). Margaret, do you know why i asked you to come here? Margaret. No, Nan, but there are so many things these days that I don t understand. We're never through school, are we ? Life gives us far harder problems than are ever found between our book covers. Nan {leading her to chair down R.). I lay awake all night, Margaret, pondering my own particular problem and when daylight came, it brought me peace and understand- ing We'll forget yesterday. It was one of the unhappy incidents that come without our bidding, that pass before we can meet it wisely and sanely. _ Margaret {seating herself). Let's say no more about It Nan for it's hard for you and it's hard for me. Nan {kneeling by her). But I must straighten the threads which I have so heedlessly tangled. I must make return for the beautiful loyalty you have given me. Oh, Margaret, whatever happens, I shall have that to remember. Margaret {putting her arms about her). Nan, Nan. Nan. Listen. Shall I tell you what my lesson has taught me ? Shall I pass on the philosophy that came to me while I held vigil with myself? Margaret. Not if it troubles you. Nan. I'm past that forever, for I have learned that we do not always get what we most desire, that we break our hearts trying to keep that which was never meant for us, to which we have no right. Margaret. The things that are ours, can never leave us. .Nan. Gordon's love was not mine, could never have been mine and yet, I lost sight of everything else in my blind g-roping after the unattainable. Al{ Margaret, how foolish 1 was, how little I realized that love in it's broadest, greatest Tieaning, was mine for the asking — the love of humanity — that happiness, true happiness would come to me from the happiness I gave others. Margaret. But Nan, the dream, the dream. Nan. The dream is still there. I think it will always be 76 THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE. in my heart, and some day, I know it. I feel it, I shall come into my own. .,, Margaret. Oh Nan, I pray that you will— Nan (rising). Meanwhile I shall learn to wait. 1 shall seek the wonderful way of Hfe through self-forget ulness ami happiness will come my way. {Lights go out, stage m ^kl^.) Don't be frightened Margaret, f^Vell Listen without They have cut the wires but all is well. Listen de it is darkLss now but if you will only wait and dreai. wheA the light comes again, the dream will ome true. (Exit Nan L. 2 E.) Silence-stage clear for a few minutes. Then Gordon enters and strikes a match. Gordon (calling). Margaret^ (Holding match, he makes his ivay toward her.) Curtain. Lexington By E. J. WHISLER. Price, 25 Cents Drama of the Revolutionary war, 4 acts; males, 4 females. Time, 2^^ hours. Scenes: 2 interiors, 1 exterior. Characters: Paul Revere, a patriot. Leslie, his friend. Cottrell. an innkeeper. Curtis, a blacksmith. Snaggsby, the village toper. Willoughby, Fairfield and Ogline, British soldiers. Remus, a darky servant. Dorothy, Paul's betrothed. Mrs. Maddern, her mother. Pollv, Dorothy's friend. Matilda, a colored servant. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — Snaggsby is refused liquor at the ale house. Dorothy learns a new song. Snaggsby sells the secret of the powder. Paul and Dorothy quarrel. Curtis refuses to serve the British. "I'll show you whether you will shoe my horse or not!" Paul to his assistance. "If you harm one hair of her head, I'll kill you!" Act II. — "Polly, take care of my girl." Paul discovers Snaggs- by's treachery. "I could kill you." Paul plans to checkmate the British. "If I can prevent it you will not take that ride." Act III. — Scene I: The ambush. "Take Revere, dead or alive." The signal. "In the king's name, surrender." Fairfield is killed. "The war is on!" The pursuit. Act III. — Scene II: A call in the night. "To arms, minute men!" Paul is pursued by the British. The knock at the door. "Let me save you." The discovery. "Oh, you have killed him!" Dorothy plans for Revere's escape. Leslie to the rescue. "I am going to finish Revere's side and save him!" Act IV. — Curtis is wounded. Paul and Dorothy are reconciled. "I love you more than my own soul!" The death of Curtis. "An- otlier martyr." Willoughby attempts Revere's life. "You are a prisoner of war." "We gave 'Lexington' to the largest house ever seen here, Wasliington's Birtlidav. It is great." — J. B. Roberts, Greenback, Tenn. The Fatal Necklace By JOSEPH U. HARRIS and HAROLD B. ALLEN. Price, 25 Cents. A burlesque melodrama; .3 males, 2 females. Time, 25 minutes. Characters: The Villain, "Curse Him." The Hero, "Unhand her, coward." The Heroine, "I am innocent." The Countess, "Sixteen years ago." The Villainess, "Strike her." A full evening melo- drama of thrills burlesqued and boiled down to a half hour of solid laughter. Can be produced on any platform. When the Worm Turned By KATHARINE KAVANAUGH. Price, 25 Cents. Comedy; 2 males, 1 female. Time, 25 minutes. Jenkins, a con- vival chap, somewhat under the weather, returns home at a late hour and by mistake gets into Peck's house, which adjoins his own and falls asleep on the couch. Later he is discovered by Peck, a meek little fellow whose wife is domineering and unrea- sonably jealous. He sizes up the situation and decides to teach her a lesson, hence the w orm turned wath ludicrous results. T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO The Altar of Riches By CHARLES ULRICH. Price, 25 Cents Comedy of American finance, 4 acts; 5 males, 5 females. Time, 2*/^ hours. Scenes: 2 interiors. Characters: Charles Wilberforce, a financial king. Samuel Thornton, a AVall street banker. Thomas Seward, a jobber on 'Change. Robert Fitzgerald, an attorney. Walker, a butler. Gwendolyn Mordaunt Austin, an heiress. Lucile Harcourt, a novelist. Harriet Bosworth, of the New York news service. Maria Stanford Walton, an unfortunate woman. Made- line, a maid. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — Madeline objects to being pumped. The letter. "Wil- berforce shall be our hero." A newspaper woman on the trail of a story. The agreement to fight a battle in Wall street. "Be- ware a day of judgment." Act II. — The photograph. "Is she not Miss Austin, daughter of the Copper King?" Wilberforce avows his love for Gwendolyn. "You are a financial Diomedes and who knows I am not Hercules destined to bring you to judgment?" The dispatch. Gwendolyn's discovery. Her sorrow. "I did not know." Act III. — Gwendolyn leases the hotel w'ires and is master of the situation. The theft of the letters. The battle on 'Change. A light that cost Wilberforce a million. "I have been Ijetrayed. Who are you? A woman's victory. "But I saved my father!" Act IV. — A stock jobber and novelist agree to unite their forces. A generous Wall Street king. The meeting. The rose. "He loves me." The reconciliation. Ulysses seeks Calypso. The be- trothal. The Road A^ent By CHARLES ULRICH. Price, 25 Cents. A dramatic western playlet; 3 males, 1 female. Time, 30 min- utes. The scene is laid in the west and the action deals with the fortunes of a woman whose husband, a road agent, is presum- ably killed by a Sheriff's posse. She weds thereafter and her for- mer husband unexpectedly returns. He is pursued by a Sheriff and killed. The Sheriff, who has knowledge of the woman's past, preserves silence and her husband is kept in ignorance of her secret. A big enough theme for a full evening play. Cornelia Pickle, Plaintiff By MAYME RIDDLE BITNEY. Price, 25 Cents. A burlesque trial for ladies; 15 females. Time, 40 minutes. Cornelia Pickle, a maiden lady of mature years, is heartbroken because the widow Helen Dashing has purloined the affections of her first and only admirer, one Josiah Judkins, and sues for dam- ages. The case greatly excites the inquisitive instincts of the feminine jurors and judge. There are rare touches of humor in the testimony for the widow, but "she is very, very nice," also in Cornelia's story of the injury and in the lawyer's plea to the jury. A clever satire on the new woman which will offend none and please all. T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO The Town Marshal By CHARLES ULRICH. Price, 25 Cents A comedy-drama of the rural northwest, 4 acts; 6 males, 3 females. Time 2^4 hours. Scenes: Easy to set. 2 interiors, 1 ex- terior. Characters: Harold Desmond, the town marshal. Mark Jamieson, a lawyer of evil tendencies. Uncle Jeb Jenkins, a South Dakota farmer. Willis Hartley, a wealthy grain dealer. William Torrence, a man with a past. Ikey Levinsky, a Jewish peddler, Laura Hartley, a village belle. Mary Ann Hartley, a spinster. Lucy Ames, a village hoyden. SYNOPSIS. Act L — Lucy persecuted. Levinsky hears a joke. "You are a brave man, Mr. Desmond." The plot. "He bears an assumed name!" "I am a man of honor. Farewell!" Act II. — Levinsky confides a secret to Jenkins. "I am a Jew und I never buys hogs on a Saturday." The quarrel. "My father is innocent, though a convict." Jenkins courts Mary Ann. "I shall stand before you tomorrow without shame or I shall have ceased to live!" Act III. — Desmond recognizes his father. "Arrest me, my son, it is your duty!" "I shall do my duty and free you!" A woman's sorrow. "My heart is breaking!" Act IV. — Jenkins pulls Jamieson's nose. "A new sassiety cuss word." Laura sees light at last. "He assumed his father's guilt to save him." "My faith in you will endure forever!" The be- trothal. The Hi^h School Freshman By CHARLES ULRICH. Price, 25 Cents High school comedy for boys, 3 acts; 12 males. Time, 2 hours. Scene: One set, a hall in a school building. Can be played on any platform. Characters: Harry Templeton, a freshman. Will Thornton, a senior. Jack Morrell, a football coach. James Clarke, a reckless broker's son. Charlie Jackson, a yell master. Sam Belton, from the West. Julius Cohen, from the Ghetto. Lew Sampson, a tool. Orrie Morton, a young dilettante. Si Harris, a country product. Ben Castle, not studious. Ross Finnerty, an Irish youngster. SYNOPSIS. Act L— Students discuss the coming football game. "My father is a convict!" A true friend. Si Harris makes a discovery. The accusation. Search of Templeton's locker. "I am innocent!" Act II. — Students gather for practice. Templeton refuses to play. Harris saves the day by exposing Clarke's duplicity. "We'll will the cup, boys, or die!" Act III. — Getting ready for the football game. On the trail of the thief. A villain unmasked. The telegram. "My father is in- nocent!" The ovation. • T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO OCT 23 !318 A Rustic Romeo By WALTER BEN HARE. Price, 25 Cents A musical comedy in 2 acts. 10 males, 12 females. Only 5 m. and 1 f. have lines. The rest are in the chorus. It can be played by 5 m., 4 f., eliminating the chorus. It will prove equally successful when produced without music. Time, 2M hours. Scenes: 1 exterior, 1 interior. Characters: John Jabe Doolittle, the would- be heart smasher of Chowderville. Hink Spinny, who peddles tinware, woodenware and hardware everywhere. Sid Roberts, who longs for the "Great White Way." Azariah Figg, storekeeper. Grandpaw Blue, the oldest inhabitant. Kvalina 'i uppei-, the vil- lage belle. Miss Dee, a lovelorn critter. Mrs. Spriggs, looking for the third. Honeysuckle Spriggs, her little sunbeam. The Chowderville fire brigade and its charming society leaders, con- stitute the chorus. Contains ten exceptionally clever songs, hu- morous and sentimental. "I Want a Big-Town Girl" is set to original music. The remainder are sung to familiar college airs. "Pretty Girls," "I'm Falling in Love Again," "Moonlight Sere- nade," "John Jabe's Wedding," "Over the Banister," "The Chow- der Fire Brigade," "Gay Manhattan," "Love's Waltz" and "On the P^ourth of July." A most interesting plot wound about the events of a small town, which keeps one's interest keen until Figg finally locates his $70.00 and John Jabe gets a wife. This play is a decided novelty. Directions are given with the songs, explaining in detail how the chorus may l)e drilled to march, form figures, pictures, etc., which are very effective, yet in the range of amateurs. A clever stage director should make this show equal most metropoUtan successes. Especially recommended for col- lege productions. Professional stage rights reserved and a royalty of five dollars required for amateur performance. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — Chowderville on a busy day. Honeysuckle and St. Cecelia astonish the rubes. The boy whose father was bad. "Do I look like a tall-grass sister?" " Miss Dee, a lone, lorn critter, tells of the awfulness of the w^orld. The village belle and the Rustic Romeo. "Girls, girls, girls!' A matrimonial advertisement from a clinging little blonde named Golden-haired Flossie. Hink Spin- ney tries to propose to Evalina. "If I only had $70!" Mrs. Spriggs astonishes the natives. "I'll make you think a Kansas tornado has struck vour town." A moonlight serenade. The robbery. "Who stole my $70?" Act II. — John Jabe's hotel on the Fourth of July. A country wedding. Honeysuckle and the four rubes. "Skidoo is New York talk for scat." The Fairfield Road folks com% to the w^edding. Miss Dee's wedding present, a bottle of Miggins' Stomach Balm, good "fer every ailment in the human cistern." An unwilling bridegroom. Figg catches the thief — almost. The Chowder fire brigade. A suspicious bride with a temper. Deserted on her wedding morn. "We'll be as happ.v as two little twin cubebs." A double wedding and divided wedding presents. Figg recovers his $70. Patriotic finale: On the Fourth of July. "We played 'A Rustic Romeo' a few nights ago to a packed house. A dandy play for amateurs." — Tom Conley, Luling, Texas. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS. Price 15 Cents Each. Postpaid. Unless Different Price is Given. M. F. Documentary Evidence, 25 min. 1 1 Dude in a Cyclone, 20 min..,. 4 2 Family Strike, 20 min 3 3 First-Class Hotel, 20 min 4 For Love and Honor, 20 min.. 2 1 Fudge and a Burglar, 15 min.. 5 Fun in a Photograph Gallery, 30 min 6 10 Great Doughnut Corporation, 30 min 3 5 Great Medical Dispensary, 30 m. 6