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 I 
 
Stewart «St Kidd Dramatic Series 
 
 The Portmanteau Plays 
 
 By Stuart Walker 
 
 Edited and with an Introduction by 
 Edward Hale Bierstadt 
 
 Vol. 1— Portmanteau Plays 
 
 Introduction 
 
 The Trimplet 
 
 Nevertheless 
 
 Six Who Pass While the Lintels 
 
 Boil 
 Medicine Show 
 
 Vol. 2— More Portmanteau Plays 
 
 Introduction 
 
 The Lady of the Weeping Wil- 
 low Tree 
 The Very Naked Boy 
 Jonathan Makes a Wish 
 
 Vol. S—Portmanteau Adapta^ 
 tions 
 
 Introduction 
 
 Gammer Gurton's Needle 
 
 The Birthday of the Infanta 
 
 "Seventeen" 
 
 Each of the above three volumes handsomely 
 bound and illustrated. Per volum.e net $1.75 
 
 STEWART & KIDD CO., PUBLISHERS 
 
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MORE 
 PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 STUART WALKER 
 
 Author of Portmanteau Plays 
 
 Edited, and with an Introduction by 
 
 EDWARD HALE BIERSTADT 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 STEWART ^ KIDD COMPANY 
 
 1919 
 
^ 
 
 "'O 
 
 
 <^!^>\ 
 
 •< 
 
 Copyright, 1919, by 
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Copyright in England 
 
 All public performances of these 
 plays are forbidden, and all dra- 
 matic and producing rights are 
 reserved by the author, Stuart 
 Walker, who may be ad- 
 dressed at 304 Carnegie 
 Hall, New York City 
 
 *t(^ 2/ '919 
 
 ©CI, A5 30 9 65 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Stuart Walker with the Working Model of 
 
 His Portmanteau Theatre . . . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree, Act 
 
 HI 34 
 
 The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree, Act 
 III 63 
 
 The Very Naked Boy 80 
 
 Jonathan Makes a Wish, Act I 130 
 
 Jonathan Makes a Wish, Act II . . . . . 149 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 During the period which has elapsed between 
 the publication of Portmanteau Plays, and that of 
 the present volume our country entered upon the 
 greatest war In history, and emerged victorious. 
 It is far too early to estimate what effect that war 
 has had or may have upon all art In general, and 
 upon the dramatic and theatric arts In particular, 
 but there is every indication that the curtain is 
 about to rise on the great romantic revival which 
 we have watched and waited for, and of which 
 Stuart Walker has been one of the major prophets. 
 
 During the actual period of the war many 
 of the creative and interpretative artists of the 
 theater were engaged either directly in army work 
 or in one of its auxiliary branches. It is amusing 
 to recall that the present writer met Schuyler 
 Ladd serving as Mess Sergeant for a Base Hos- 
 pital in France, Alexander Wollcott, late dramatic 
 critic of the New York Times, attached to the 
 Stars and Stripes in Paris, and Douglas Stuart, 
 the London producer. In an English hospital at 
 Etretat, the while he himself was serving as an en- 
 listed man on the staff of the same hospital. 
 These are minor Instances, but when they have 
 been multiplied several hundred times one begins 
 to see how closely the actor, the critic, and the 
 producer were Involved in the struggle. Again 
 the problem of providing proper entertainment 
 for the troops was, and still is, a serious one. In 
 the great number of cases it seems highly prob- 
 
 V 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 able that the entertainment along such lines done 
 by the men themselves was far more effective 
 than that provided by outside organizations. 
 More than once, however, it appeared to the 
 writer that here was a field especially suited to the 
 Portmanteau Theater and to its repertory. The 
 question of transportation, always a crucial point 
 with such a venture, was no more difficult than 
 that presented by many companies already In the 
 field, and doing immensely inferior work. My 
 return to America put me in possession of the 
 facts of the matter, and without desiring in any 
 way to cast blame, much less to indict, or to em- 
 phasize unduly a relatively unimportant point, it 
 seems only fitting that there should be included in 
 this record the reasons for what has seemed to 
 many of us a lost opportunity. They are at least 
 much more brief than the apologia which precedes 
 them. 
 
 The Portmanteau Theater^ its repertory of 
 forty-eight plays, and its trained company, was 
 offered for war purposes under the following con- 
 ditions: no royalty was to be paid for any of the 
 plays, no salary was to be paid Mr. Walker; the 
 company was to go wherever sent, whether in or 
 out of shell fire, in France or in England; the 
 only stipulation being that the members of the 
 company should be remunerated at the same rate 
 paid an enlisted man in the United States army, 
 and that the principal members should receive the 
 pay of subalterns. On the whole an arrangement 
 so generous that it is almost absurd. To this 
 offer the Y. M. C. A. turned a deaf ear. Their 
 attention was concentrated on vaudeville at the 
 
 vi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 moment, and with one hand they covered their 
 eyes while with the other they clutched their purse 
 strings. The War Camp Community Service 
 could see no way in which the Theater could func- 
 tion for the men either at home or abroad. The 
 Povtmanteau was, in a word, too " high-brow " a 
 venture for them. The reader is referred to the 
 Appendix of this volume showing the repertory 
 in use at that time. Another official contented 
 himself with the statement that the problem of 
 transportation involved rendered the project im- 
 practicable. The matter is too lengthy to discuss 
 here, but the writer, who was able to observe the 
 situation at first hand, knows this to be an error. 
 The navy then asked for plans and estimates so 
 that a number of Portmanteau Theaters might be 
 constructed aboard the ships. Mr. Walker of- 
 fered to put all his patents at the complete dis- 
 posal of the Navy Department, and himself was 
 ready to draw plans and make suggestions. The 
 navy approved the idea, and with sublime assur- 
 ance requested Mr. Walker to proceed with the 
 work of construction — at his own expense. It 
 was impossible; the money could not be afforded, 
 and the venture was abandoned. It is therefore 
 very evident that there was an opportunity, and 
 that that opportunity was lost; but it was not the 
 Portmanteau which lost It. At any rate we are 
 left free to take up the history of Mr. Walker's 
 theater and his plays at the point where we left 
 off in the first book of the series. 
 
 The close of the highly successful season at the 
 Princess Theater In New York, the winter of 
 19 1 5-1 9 1 6, was followed by twelve weeks on the 
 
 vii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 road, three of which were spent in Chicago, and 
 then by thirteen weeks in Indianapolis. It was 
 in this last city that the production of the adapta- 
 tion of Booth Tarkington's book, " Seventeen," 
 changed all plans by its instant popularity. On 
 the way East, a stop was made in Chicago, and 
 before that city had time to do much more than 
 voice its enthusiasm, the company left for New 
 York. During the fall of 19 17 Seventeen was 
 played regularly, with the addition of some spe- 
 cial performances of the repertory. Seventeen 
 was played in New York for two hundred and 
 fifty-eight performances (Chicago had already 
 had one hundred), and the special performances 
 of The Book of Job were renewed in the spring. 
 It was during the next fall, that of 19 18, that a 
 second Seventeen company was sent out on the 
 road. That company is still out, the total play- 
 ing time for the work since its production being 
 (April, 1919) just one hundred and four weeks. 
 The next summer, 19 18, included a repertory 
 season of thirteen weeks, again at Indianapolis, 
 and four in Cincinnati, while the following winter, 
 just past, claimed ten weeks of repertory at the 
 Punch and Judy Theater in New York. To sum 
 up in brief then — Mr. Walker has, beginning 
 In the spring of 19 16 and ending in the spring of 
 19 19, played seventy-six weeks of repertory, In 
 which he has produced forty-eight plays. This 
 does not include the Seventeen run which, as I 
 have said, totals one hundred and four weeks to 
 date. It Is safe to claim that this represents as 
 successful repertory work as has been done In the 
 
 vlli 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 United States so far. We shall, however, return 
 to that presently. 
 
 In the fall of 19 17, so Important to the Port- 
 manteau company, a change of management was 
 Instituted, by which the following staff came Into 
 control: Stage Director — Gregory Kelly: Stage 
 Manager — Morgan Farley: Musical Director 
 ■ — Michel Bernstein: Manager ^ — Harold Hol- 
 steln: Press Representative — Alta May Cole- 
 man: Treasurer — Walter Herzbrun. The 
 changes were excellent, and were thoroughly jus- 
 tified In their results. An arrangement was made 
 with the Shuberts, whereby booking was greatly 
 facilitated, and with Its structure thus reinforced, 
 the Theater was In an excellent position to " carry 
 on.'' 
 
 It may be remembered by those who read the 
 first book of the Portmanteau Series that in my 
 introduction I placed the greater portion of my 
 emphasis on the theatrical side; that Is, the Port- 
 manteau as a portable theater rather than as a 
 repertory company. It is my Intention here to 
 reverse the process, and this for two reasons. 
 First: Mr. Walker has in the last two years by 
 no means confined himself to the Portmanteau 
 stage. The recent run at the Punch and Judy 
 Theater in New York was upon a full size stage, 
 and this was not at all an exception. The Port- 
 manteau was, and is, an idea, but that idea has 
 no very definite connection with repertory as such. 
 There Is no longer the need. In this particular 
 instance, that there once was, for the invariable 
 use of the Portmanteau^ except as convenience rc- 
 
 Ix 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 quires. At the very beginning, when the company 
 often played for private persons, the portable 
 stage was indispensable. But so thoroughly did 
 the Portmanteau idea justify itself that from be- 
 ing a crutch it grew into a handy staff, always 
 valuable, but no longer essential. All that has 
 been said of it, and of its possibilities, is quite as 
 true today as ever it was, but now having proved 
 his original thesis, if so it may be called, Mr. 
 Walker may well be content to work out the future 
 gradually and in his own way. Second : the reper- 
 tory idea is certainly of infinitely more importance 
 than any theatrical device or contrivance, however 
 interesting and valuable such a departure may be 
 in itself. As to any difference in the acting ne- 
 cessitated by the change from a small to a large 
 stage that amounts to little. It is entirely a dif- 
 ference in quality, an ability to temper the inter- 
 pretation to the surroundings, and as such would 
 apply as readily to the staging and setting of a 
 play as to the acting itself. On a large stage one 
 might take three steps to convey an impression 
 where on a small stage one step would produce 
 the same effect. An arch or pylon would obvi- 
 ously have to be of greater proportions on a large 
 stage than on a small one. Yet in both these in- 
 stances the ultimate effect is precisely the same. 
 Let us turn then to a consideration of the Port- 
 manteau, not as a theater, but as a repertory com- 
 pany. 
 
 There is certainly no space here, and just as 
 certainly no necessity, for dwelling long upon the 
 prime importance of repertory. Several excellent 
 books have been written on that a-bsorbing subject, 
 
 X 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 and. we may surely take for granted that which 
 we know beyond all doubt to be the truth, namely, 
 that repertory as opposed to the " long run " and 
 to the " star " system is the ultimate solution of 
 a most vexatious and perplexing problem — how 
 to change the modern theater from an industry to 
 an art. The disadvantages of the present mode 
 of procedure are too evident to call for recapitu- 
 lation; witness the results obtained. On the other 
 hand there can be no question that there Is a prac- 
 ticable and simple panacea in repertory; see what 
 has been done by the Abbey company in Dublin, 
 by Miss Horniman's players in Manchester, by 
 the Scottish Repertory Theater, on a smaller scale, 
 in Glasgow, by John Drinkwater's repertory thea- 
 ter in Birmingham, concerning which I have, un- 
 fortunately, no exact data, but which I understand 
 Is doing remarkable work with distinct success, 
 and by the Portmanteau company in the United 
 States. It would be well also to include Charles 
 Frohman's season at the Duke of York's Reper- 
 tory Theater in London; in fact the inclusion of 
 this seventeen weeks' season would be inevitable. 
 Where the experiment has failed it has failed 
 for reasons which did not, in any way, shape or 
 manner, invalidate the principle at stake. Thus, 
 to cite the great example on our own side of the 
 water, the ISfew Theater was doomed to failure 
 from the very start in the fact that it was born 
 crippled. It may be restated to advantage, just 
 here, that from the spring of 191 6 to the spring 
 of 19 19, a period of three years, Mr. Walker 
 has produced forty-eight plays, has given seventy- 
 six weeks of repertory, and has had a nearly un- 
 
 xi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 broken run of one hundred and four weeks with 
 one play which has been commercially successful 
 beyond the others. Of the forty-eight plays pro- 
 duced during this time eighteen had never been 
 seen before on any stage; four were entirely new 
 to America (except for a possible itinerant ama- 
 teur performance) ; and twenty-six were revivals, 
 modern, semi-modern, and classical. It is my 
 belief that this record will take a creditable 
 position in the history of American repertory. 
 Abroad, however, its place is less secure, but 
 even here the Portmanteau is by no means snowed 
 under. 
 
 In the other great English speaking country 
 there are four outstanding examples of repertory 
 work, as has already been stated. On the Conti- 
 nent the situation is entirely different; there is 
 no '' problem " there, for the repertory theater 
 has long been an established fact. France, in the 
 Comedie-FratK^aise, and Germany, in several of 
 her theaters before the war, merely provide us 
 with a criterion. In Great Britain, however, and 
 in America, we are in the process of building and 
 adjusting, so that the examples of one will rea- 
 sonably affect the other. At the risk of being 
 misunderstood we shall pause long enough to call 
 attention to the Irving Place Theatre,^ of New 
 York, a German house supporting German plays, 
 and attended very largely by a German clientele, 
 but notwithstanding all this a repertory theater of 
 standing, and of some distinction, from which we 
 might learn several useful lessons. However, it 
 
 1 Since America's entrance in the War given over to the 
 " movies." 
 
 XU 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 is with the Anglo-American stage that we have to 
 do at the moment. 
 
 Doubtless, first in Importance comes the Abbey 
 Theater Company of Dublin. From December, 
 1905, to December, 19 12, there were produced 
 at the Abbey Theater (I am unfortunately unable 
 to include the several important tours made) 
 seventy-four plays, of which seven were transla- 
 tions. Of the rest but few were revivals, as the 
 history of the Irish literary movement will show. 
 They were plays written especially for the theater, 
 for particular audiences, and to achieve definite 
 purpose as propaganda. Moreover, when the 
 Abbey was tottering on the brink of failure, Miss 
 Hornlman came to the rescue with a substantial 
 subsidy which enabled the theater not only to pro- 
 ceed, but finally to establish itself on a sound run- 
 ning basis. Mr. Walker's company has had to 
 fight Its own way from the very start. 
 
 In Manchester, Miss Horniman's own reper- 
 tory company at the Midland Theater and finally 
 at the Gaiety has been distinctly and brilliantly 
 successful. In a period of a little more than two 
 years there were produced fifty-five plays; twenty- 
 eight new, seventeen revivals of modern English 
 plays, five modern translations, and five classics. 
 This is a repertory as well balanced as it is wide. 
 In 1 9 10, however, there was inaugurated the 
 practise of producing each play for a run of one 
 week, so that from that time on the theater was 
 open to the criticism of being not a repertory in 
 the fullest sense of the term, but a short run 
 theater. But for that matter, I do not think that 
 there is a repertory theater either in England or in 
 
 xiii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 America which fulfills the ideal conditions set 
 down by William Archer who had in mind, as he 
 wrote, the repertory theater of the Continent. 
 
 " When we speak of a repertory, we mean a 
 number of plays always ready for performance, 
 with nothing more than a ' run through ' rehearsal, 
 which, therefore, can be, and are, acted In such 
 alternation that three, four or five different plays 
 may be given in the course of a week. New 
 plays are from time to time added to the repertory, 
 and those of them which succeed may be per- 
 formed fifty, seventy, a hundred times, or even 
 more, in the course of one season; but no play 
 is ever performed more than two or three times 
 in uninterrupted succession." ^ 
 
 This applies exactly to the Comedie-Frangalse, 
 which, in the year 1909, presented one hundred 
 and fifteen plays, eighteen of which were per- 
 
 1 Mr. John Palmer, in his book, " The Future of the Theater," 
 gives the following as the programme for the then, 1913, pro- 
 jected National Theater. The war intervened, however, and 
 the venture has been lost sight of for the moment. This state- 
 ment is even more reasonable than that of Mr. Archer, for this 
 is intended for practical use in England while his was merely 
 taken from France. 
 
 "... it seems desirable to state that a repertory theater 
 should be held to mean a theater able to present at least two 
 different plays of full length at evening performances in each 
 completed week during the annual season, and at least three 
 different plays at evening performances and matinees taken to- 
 gether . . . and the number of plays presented in a year should 
 not be less than twenty-five. A play of full length means a play 
 occupying at least two-thirds of the whole time of any perform- 
 ance. But two two-act plays, or three one-act plays, composing 
 a single programme, should, for the purposes of this statute, be 
 reckoned as equivalent to a play of full length." 
 
 As Mr, Palmer remarks " this statute is both elastic and water- 
 tight." 
 
 E. H. B. 
 
 xiv 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 formed for the first time, the remainder being a 
 part of the regular body of the repertory of that 
 theater. In the first decade of the present cen- 
 tury there were no less than two hundred and 
 eighty-two plays added to the repertory of the 
 Comedie. It may be of service to remember, 
 however, that the Comedie-Francaise was estab- 
 lished by royal decree in 1680. If the Globe 
 Theater of Shakespeare's day had lived and pros- 
 pered up to the present we might have an example 
 to match that of France. 
 
 It is probable that if one were to use the phrase 
 " repertory in America " the wise ones of the 
 theater would raise their eye-brows stiffly and 
 remark, " There is none." That would be nearly 
 true, but not altogether so. It is my desire here 
 to sketch in brief the early beginnings of what has 
 been termed the " independent theater " move- 
 ment,^ from which repertory in this country un- 
 questionably grew, up to the time of the estab- 
 lishment of the " little theaters " which now dot 
 the country, and into which movement that of the 
 " independent theater " eventually merged. 
 
 In 1887 there was inaugurated by A. M. Pal- 
 mer at the Madison Square Theater, of which he 
 was manager at that time, a series of " author's 
 matinees " which appear to have been in some 
 sense try-outs for a possible repertory season. 
 Only three plays were produced, however, before 
 Mr. Palmer decided against the scheme as im- 
 practicable. It is interesting to note that these 
 three plays were all by American authors — How- 
 ells, Matthews, and Lathrop. The attempt was 
 
 ^ See Appendix for complete repertories. 
 
 XV 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 actually not repertory In the strict sense, but It un- 
 doubtedly marks a tendency, slight, but evident, 
 to incline in the right direction. 
 
 Some four years later, in the fall of 1891, a 
 Mr. McDowell, son of General McDowell of 
 Civil War fame, started the Theater of Arts and 
 Letters with the idea of bringing literature and the 
 drama into closer relationship. Five plays were 
 produced, and among the names of the authors 
 (again they were all natives) one finds several 
 which have since become famous. Commercially, 
 the venture was a total failure, and the authors 
 did not even collect their full royalties. A short 
 tour was made with several of the more successful 
 plays, one by Clyde Fitch (a one-act which was 
 afterwards expanded into The Moth and the 
 Flame) ^ one by Richard Harding Davis, and one 
 by Brander Matthews. All three of these were 
 one-act. American authors were willing enough 
 to write plays, but they apparently could not suc- 
 ceed, except in isolated instances, in writing good 
 ones. There was evidently an utter dearth of 
 suitable material. Nevertheless, when foreign 
 plays were put on no better fortune ensued, un- 
 less they represented the old school of pseudo 
 melodrama, and farce adapted from the French 
 and German, such as Augustin Daly delighted 
 in. Daly too had discovered that to encourage 
 the American playwright was to court disaster. 
 
 In 1897 The Criterion, a New York review of 
 rather eccentric merit, endeavored to establish the 
 Criterion Independent Theater modeled on the 
 Theatre-Libre of Antoine. A company was re- 
 cruited, headed by E. J. Henley, and performances 
 
 xvi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 were given at first the Madison Square Theater, 
 and then the Berkeley Lyceum. It was frankly in- 
 tended that the appeal should be to a small, select 
 audience, and. In spite of the jeers of the press, 
 five plays were produced — one Norwegian, one 
 Italian, one French, one Spanish, and one Amer- 
 ican. A glance through the list shows us that 
 the American play, by Augustus Thomas, Is the 
 only one which has not since entered into the 
 permanent literature of the stage. Internal dif- 
 ferences, and imperfect rehearsals combined to 
 overthrow the venture which, after one season, 
 was abandoned. The success of the last produc- 
 tion, however. El Gran Galeoto, Inspired Mr. 
 John Blair to produce Ibsen's Ghosts with Miss 
 Mary Shaw at the Carnegie Lyceum in 1899. 
 From this sprang The Independent Theater, gen- 
 erously backed financially by Mr. George Peabody 
 Eustis of Washington. 
 
 The list of the patrons of this theater reads like 
 a chapter from " Who's Who." Many of the 
 men associated with the plan gave their services 
 free or at a nominal cost. The three persons 
 more directly responsible for the artistic side of 
 the work were Charles Henry Meltzer, John 
 Blair, and Vaughan Kester, while among the pa- 
 trons were W. D. Howells, Bronson Howard, E. 
 C. Stedman, E. H. Sothern, Charles and Daniel 
 Frohman, and Sir Henry Irving. Six plays were 
 given, this time none of them of American origin. 
 The press and critics were most bitter in their 
 denunciation of these foreign importations, as 
 they had been on the previous occasion. There 
 was, however, on the part of the audiences a defi- 
 
 xvii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 nite tendency to let drop the scales from their 
 eyes, and to awake to the new forces in the drama 
 and the theater as represented by Ibsen, Hervieu, 
 the Theatre-Libre, and the Independent Theater. 
 But in spite of all this, one season's work saw the 
 conclusion of the project. A part of the reper- 
 tory was given in other cities, notably Boston and 
 Washington, but, though a very real interest was 
 aroused, it was not sufficient to permit the com- 
 pany to continue. About two thousand dollars 
 represented the deficit at the end of the season; 
 by no means a discreditable balance, albeit on the 
 wrong side of the ledger, when one considers the 
 circumstances. The actual results of the work 
 are summed up in a privately printed pamphlet 
 written by Mr. Meltzer than whom no one was 
 more closely in touch with the whole independent 
 movement. 
 
 *' What have the American ' Independents ' 
 achieved by their efforts? 
 
 *' They have succeeded, thanks to Mr. George 
 Peabody Eustis, the general manager of the 
 scheme, in giving twenty-two performances of 
 plays recognized everywhere abroad as charac- 
 teristic, interesting, and literary. 
 
 *' They have extended the ' Independent ' move- 
 ment from New York to Boston and Washington. 
 
 " They have encouraged at least one ' regular * 
 manager to announce the production next season 
 of an Ibsen play. 
 
 ** They have revived discussion of the general 
 tendencies of modern drama. 
 
 " They have interested, and occasionally 
 charmed, an intelligent minority of playgoers, 
 
 xviii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 who have grown weary of the rank insipidity, vul- 
 garity, and improbabihty of current drama. 
 
 " They have bored, angered, and distressed a 
 less intelligent majority of playgoers and critics. 
 
 " They have discovered at least one new actress 
 of unusual worth. 
 
 " They have prepared the way, at a by no means 
 inconsiderable cost of time, thought, and money, 
 for future, and perhaps, more prosperous move- 
 ments aiming at the reform of the American 
 stage." 
 
 Coming at the time it did, sponsored by the best 
 minds In America, and worked to its conclusion by 
 whole hearted enthusiasts. The Independent Thea- 
 ter did, beyond all doubt, have a very vitalizing 
 effect on both the stage and the drama of this 
 country. The next step, perhaps the climactic one 
 of the series, was longer in coming (1909). 
 
 The New Theater has been our greatest at- 
 tempt and our greatest failure. The details of 
 these two seasons have been placed before the 
 public so many times that there Is no necessity for 
 doing more here than suggesting a broad outline. 
 If the enterprise had, from Its very inception, 
 been in the hands of capable men who knew their 
 work, instead of being handicapped by wealthy 
 amateurs the history of a failure might never 
 have been written. In Its first season The New 
 Theater presented thirteen plays at Intervals of a 
 fortnight. Of these, four were classics, three 
 were original works by native authors, and two 
 by contemporary British dramatists. During the 
 second season, at the end of which the idea was 
 given up and the New Theater abandoned, eleven 
 
 xix 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 plays were produced; six of these were of British 
 origin, semi-modern; one was a classic; three were 
 Belgian, and one was American. I have counted 
 in this season, two plays produced the season be- 
 fore, the only revivals. Altogether then, twenty- 
 two plays were given, only five of which can be 
 considered as home products. Mr. Ames, the 
 Director, was balked at every turn by the com- 
 bined forces of Fifth Avenue and Wall Street, 
 while the outrageous and impossible construction 
 of the theater itself proved an insurmountable 
 handicap. In addition it was now found almost 
 impossible to Induce the American dramatist to 
 turn from the great profits of the long run Broad- 
 way theaters to the acceptance of one hundred and 
 fifty dollars a performance at the New Theater. 
 There was something to be said on both sides. 
 The New Theater was a splendid and costly at- 
 tempt, and it taught us several invaluable lessons, 
 chief among them the occasional unimportance of 
 money. 
 
 Probably next in order comes the short reper- 
 tory of Miss Grace George at the Playhouse in 
 19 1 5 and 19 17. This lasted for about one sea- 
 son and a half, and, while there was promise of 
 continuation, the project was finally abandoned. 
 It is only fair to say that Miss George worked 
 under the peculiar disadvantage of entire lack of 
 sympathy, and Indeed, open antagonism as well, 
 on the part of several of her most important 
 confreres. The real trouble seemed to be one 
 of those that affected the New Theater^ that Is, 
 Miss George was totally unable to secure Amer- 
 ican plays for her purposes. In the period of 
 
 XX 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 her project she produced seven plays; five the 
 first year, and two the next. Of these, five were 
 modern British plays, one was a translation from 
 the French, and one was semi-modern American. 
 Again it will be observed that American plays 
 were simply not forthcoming, a condition widely 
 different from that obtaining during the nineties 
 when the Theater of Arts and Letters^ and the 
 Criterion Independent held their short sway. 
 Miss George's effort was distinctly worth while, 
 but In the end there was added only another grave- 
 stone to the cemetery of buried hopes. ^ 
 
 With the advent of the " little theater " move- 
 ment, from about 1905, there are many small 
 companies and theaters which can, In a broad 
 sense, fairly be termed repertory. To discuss 
 any number of them would require a book In It- 
 self, and the reader is referred to '' The Insurgent 
 Theater '^ by Professor Dickenson as the work 
 most nearly fulfilling this need. Probably the 
 Washington Square Players of New York are 
 typical, more or less, of them all, and their reper- 
 tory for two years is given in the Appendix. 
 Aside from the natural conditions resulting from 
 the war, one reason of their failure seems to 
 have been their pernicious desire to be " differ- 
 ent " at any cost. In spite of their excellent work 
 they ultimately found that cost to be prohibitive, 
 but the discovery was made too late.^ The ma- 
 jority of the little theaters are, however, too en- 
 
 1 Announcement has just been made that Miss George will 
 continue her repertory during the season of 1919-1920. 
 
 2 They only failed for $3000, however: the rent of a Broad- 
 way theater for a week. 
 
 xxi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 tirely provincial in their appeal to warrant an 
 assumption of any great influence, in spite of their 
 vital and unquestionable importance.^ 
 
 It will be observed that in speaking of Stuart 
 Walker's work I have used the phrase repertory 
 company^ not, repertory theater. That is, of 
 course, part of the secret. A theater anchored 
 to one spot is obviously at a disadvantage. It 
 cannot seek its audience, but must sit with what 
 patience and capital it has at its disposal, and wait 
 for the audience to come to it. With a touring 
 company the odds are more even. An unsuccess- 
 ful month in one city may be made up by a suc- 
 cessful one in another. The type of play that 
 captivates the west may not go at all in the east, 
 and the other way about. There are plays now 
 on the road, and which have been there literally 
 for years, doing excellent business, which have 
 never ventured to storm the very rocky coast 
 bounding New York. And there are plays which 
 have had crowded houses in the metropolis which 
 have slumped, and deservedly so, most dismally 
 when they were taken out where audiences were 
 possessed of a clearer vision. Hence it is easy 
 to see that Mr. Walker, playing in both the east 
 and the west, in small cities and in large ones, 
 can do what the New Theater and the Playhouse 
 could not do. True, they could send their com- 
 panies out on tour, but the New Theater with its 
 huge stage and panoramic scenery could find but 
 
 1 This statement hardly applies to The Neighborhood Thea- 
 ter, or to that successor to The Washington Square Players, The 
 Theater Guild, the work of which at the Garrick Theater, New 
 York, during the first part of 1919 has been excellent in the 
 very highest degree. 
 
 xxii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 few theaters which could house it, and the whole 
 idea of both that and Miss George's company 
 was a fixed repertory theater. Indeed in both of 
 them the faults of the " star " system were never 
 wholly absent. 
 
 The facts that I have been able to give here 
 seem to point to but one conclusion. That is, 
 that Stuart Walker's repertory company stands 
 numerically on a par with anything else of the kind 
 ever attempted in the United States, and that it is 
 not unworthy of comparison with the best reper- 
 tory work in England. It must be borne in mind 
 that, in some measure, all this has been done on a 
 fairly small scale. There has not been the money 
 at hand to do it otherwise, nor has there been 
 the necessity. The company may be compared 
 better with the Gaiety of Manchester than with 
 the Duke of York's Theater. And too, as with 
 the Gaiety^ many of the players have been rela- 
 tively unknown before their advent on the Port- 
 manteau stage. It is the definite mission, or some 
 part of it at any rate, of the repertory company to 
 encourage new dramatists, new players, and new 
 stage effects when such encouragement is advis- 
 able. To be merely different is by no means to be 
 worth while. 
 
 The three plays included In this volume have all 
 been presented successfully both in the east and 
 in the west. The two long plays — The Lady of 
 the Weeping Willow Tree and Jonathan Makes a 
 Wish — both have the distinction of being popu- 
 lar with audiences and unpopular with critics, a 
 condition of affairs not as unique as it might seem. 
 As for the third. The Very Naked Boy, it is a thor- 
 
 xxiii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 oughly delightful trifle, unimportant as drama, 
 yet very perfect in Itself, and has been liked by 
 nearly everyone. Combining, as it does, comedy 
 and sentiment, it possesses all the elements that go 
 to make for success with the average audience. 
 
 The Lady of the Weeping fVillow Tree is 
 founded on an old Japanese legend, how old no 
 one knows. Mr. Walker became Interested in 
 Japanese folk-lore through a collection of bal- 
 lads; it is amusing to observe how his fondness 
 for ballads has followed him through all his work, 
 and this play was the result. From the first it 
 went well. Apparently no one could resist the 
 pathos of the intensely human story which culmi- 
 nated in so tragic a form. One might think that 
 the appeal in a play of this type, written by an 
 author so well known as an artist in stage-craft, 
 would be largely visual. While that appeal is 
 unquestionably there in abundance, the real essence 
 of the tale is the vitally human quality of its char- 
 acters. One is indeed inclined to believe that we 
 take our pleasures sadly, when he has seen an 
 audience quite dissolved in tears at a perform- 
 ance of this play, and all the while enjoying them- 
 selves unutterably. It is a drama of Imagination 
 and of emotion. The cold, hard, and more often 
 than not deceiving light of the intellect plays but a 
 small part. It Is the human heart with its pas- 
 sions, its fears, its regrets, and its aspirations that 
 concerns us here; not the human mind with its 
 essentially microcosmic point of view, and its petty, 
 festering egoism. The play is beautiful because 
 it is true, and equally it is true because it is beau- 
 tiful. It seems to me quite the best and soundest 
 
 xxiv 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 piece of work Mr. Walker has done so far, though 
 he himself prefers his later play, Jonathan Makes 
 
 a Wish. 
 
 This last play is more realistic — stupid term 1 
 — than anything of a serious nature that the au- 
 thor has so far attempted. It is, however, the 
 realism of Barrie rather than that of Brieux, and 
 this at any rate is consoling. The first act is ex- 
 traordinary, splendid in thought, in technique, and 
 in execution. Therein lies the trouble, if trouble 
 there be. Neither of the two acts following can 
 reach the level of the first, and with the opening 
 of the second act the play gradually, though hardly 
 perceptibly, declines, not in interest, but in 
 strength. The transposition of the character of 
 the Tramp from an easy going good nature in 
 the first act to that of a Dickens villain in the 
 second may require explanation. The last sensa- 
 tion the boy has is that of the blow on his head, 
 and his last visualization is that of the^ Tramp's 
 face bending over him. Thus, in his delirium, the 
 two would inevitably be associated. The story of 
 the delirium, the second act, is peculiarly well 
 done. One feels the slight haziness of outline, 
 the great consequence of actually inconsequential 
 events, the morbid terror lurking always in the 
 near background, which are a very part and parcel 
 of that strange psychological condition which is 
 here made to play a spiritual part. The last act 
 suffers for want of material. In reality, all that 
 is necessary is to wind up the play speedily and 
 happily. It seems probable that the Introduction 
 of the deliclously charming Frenchwoman, played 
 so dehghtfuUy by Margaret Mower, would give 
 
 XXV 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 the needed color and substance to this portion. 
 As It Is, one feels a little something lacking — but 
 only a little. That the play Is, as one pseudo- 
 critic remarked, an argument In favor of Infant 
 playwrights, is too absurd to discuss. If It argues 
 at all, it Is that the relationship between the child 
 world and the adult must be democratic, not ty- 
 rannic, and that flowers grow, like weeds, only 
 when they are encouraged, not trod upon. The 
 play Is Interesting, true, and imaginative to a de- 
 gree ; if It Is not wholly satisfactory, it but partakes 
 of the faults of virtue. Audiences, young, old, 
 metropolitan and urban, have responded to the 
 work in a manner which left no doubt of their 
 approval. In New York It was slow in taking 
 hold, and unfortunately the company was obliged 
 to leave to fill other engagements just at the time 
 when a more definite success was at hand. In 
 the west the spirit of the thing caught at once; 
 there was no hesitation there. 
 
 From the beginning there has been a very defi- 
 nite plan in Mr. Walker's mind as to what his 
 objective point was to be, and especially in view 
 of what I have said of his company in connection 
 with repertory it may be interesting to suggest 
 the outline of that plan here. This is no less than 
 to establish in some city a permanent repertory 
 theater and company, and to use the Portmanteau 
 Theater and company for touring purposes. It is 
 an amusing thought; the little theater would shoot 
 out from under the wing of Its parent as a raiding 
 party detaches itself from its company, but the 
 consequences would be, one hopes, less destructive 
 on both sides. The thought, however, is really 
 
 xxvi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 much more than amusing; It is of very real con- 
 sequence and importance. It will readily be seen 
 that in this we have a combination of the advan- 
 tages of both the stationary and the touring rep- 
 ertory company, and hence, double the chances of 
 success. And Mr. Walker would by no means be 
 restricted to one Portmanteau Theater. If con- 
 ditions warranted it he could as easily construct 
 and send out a dozen on the road, taking his work 
 into every nook and corner of the theater-loving 
 country. In fact the ramifications of the idea are 
 so vast that it is useless to endeavor to do more 
 than suggest them here. The reader will see for 
 himself what great possibilities are involved, and 
 what an effect this might have on all repertory 
 work in America. 
 
 During the last two years the work of Mr. 
 Walker's company has improved in every way. 
 The addition of new members, such as Margaret 
 Mower, and particularly George Gaul, whose 
 performance in The Book of Job was, in my opin- 
 ion, one of the finest ever seen on the American 
 stage, has naturally served to strengthen the fab- 
 ric greatly. The older members of the company, 
 Gregory Kelly, McKay Morris, Edgar Stehli and 
 many others, have all improved in their work, 
 increasing in assurance and finish. The success 
 that has attended the fortunes of the theater has 
 made possible finer stage effects (the Dunsany pro- 
 ductions have been immensely improved) and the 
 repertory has been greatly enriched by some really 
 fine plays, and has been enhanced by others of a 
 more popular character. One thing must be said, 
 however, in all fairness. It has seemed to the 
 
 xxvii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 writer that of late there has been an increasing 
 tendency on the part of Mr. Walker's scenic art- 
 ists and costume designers to fall away from the 
 plain surfaces and unbroken lines of the new stage- 
 craft, and to achieve an effect which one can only 
 characterize as " spotty." This can best be ap- 
 preciated by those who know the two American 
 productions of Dunsany's one-act play, The Tents 
 of the Arabs. I am rather regretfully of the 
 opinion that, aside from the actual playing and 
 reading of the parts, Sam Hume's production was 
 superior to that of Mr. Walker. An opulence of 
 variegated colors does not always suggest as much 
 as flat masses. The set used by Mrs. Hapgood 
 in her production of Torrence's Simon the Cyre- 
 nian Illustrates excellently the desired result. 
 It Is, however, Stuart Walker's privilege to adapt 
 the new Ideas, and to make such use of the old, as 
 seems best to him. One is sometimes inclined to 
 miss, nevertheless, the simplicity of his earlier 
 work, especially When It Is compared with the 
 splendor, not always well used or well advised, 
 of his later productions. His company has al- 
 ways read beautifully, and its reading Is now bet- 
 ter than ever. The only adverse criticism, if ad- 
 verse criticism there be at all, lies against the Stage 
 Director himself. I am especially glad to be able 
 to say this, for the producer whose work Is too 
 good, too smooth. Is surely stumbling to a fall. 
 The very fact that there Is definite room for Im- 
 provement in the Portmanteau presentations, 
 leads one to feel, knowing the record of the com- 
 pany, that these Improvements will be made. 
 To return for a moment to an earlier phase of 
 
 xxviii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 our discussion, It may be both Interesting and prof- 
 itable to note the fact that while the Abbey, ^ the 
 Manchester, and the New Theaters were all aided 
 by material subsidies, the Portmanteau has stood 
 on Its own legs, albeit they wabbled a trifle on oc- 
 casion, from the very start. A little, but only a 
 little, money has been borrowed, and there has 
 been just one gift, that of $5000. This last was 
 accepted for the reason that it would enable the 
 Theater to mount sets and costume plays In a 
 rather better fashion than heretofore. While it 
 was not absolutely essential to the continued ex- 
 istence of the Portmanteau It made presently pos- 
 sible productions which otherwise would have 
 been postponed indefinitely; in British army slang 
 it would be called '' bukshee," meaning extra, like 
 the thirteenth cake in the dozen. The record of 
 the Portmanteau Is its own, and that of Its many 
 friends who have been generous In contributing 
 that rarest of all gifts, sympathetic understanding. 
 Before withdrawing my intrusive finger from 
 the Portmanteau pie I should like to pay a small 
 tribute to Stuart Walker himself. I do not think 
 I have ever known a man who gave more unspar- 
 ingly of himself In all his work. That dragon of 
 the theater, the expense account, has often neces- 
 sitated someone shouldering the work of half a 
 dozen who were not there. Always It Is Mr. 
 Walker who has taken the task upon his back, 
 cheerfully and willingly, and despite physical Ills, 
 under which a less determined man would have 
 succumbed. His never wavering belief In his work 
 and his ability to do that work have brought him 
 through many a pitfall. It Is not a petty vanity, 
 
 xxlx 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 but the strong conceit of the artist; that which most 
 of us call by the vague term ideals. The spirit 
 of the Portmanteau is to be found alike in its of- 
 fices and on its stage; a spirit of unselfish belief 
 that somehow, somewhere, we all shall " live hap- 
 pily ever after " if only we do the work we are 
 set to do faithfully here and now. The theater, 
 the organization which has that behind it, in con- 
 junction with a keenly intelligent co-operation or 
 team-play, will take a great deal of punishment 
 before it goes down. Mistakes have been made, 
 of course; otherwise neither producer nor com- 
 pany were human; but it is in the acknowledgment 
 and rectification of errors that men become great. 
 
 The repertory theater, the new drama, and 
 stage craft, have an able ally in the Portmanteau, 
 We may look far afield for that elixir which will 
 transmute the base metal of the commercial thea- 
 ter to the bright gold of art, but unless we remem- 
 ber that the pot of treasure is to be found at this 
 end of the rainbow, and not the other, our search 
 will be in vain. 
 
 Edward Hale Bierstadt. 
 
 New York City, 
 April, 19 19. 
 
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 
 
 I wish to acknowledge with gratitude the assistance 
 given me by Mr. Brander Matthews, Mr. Montrose 
 Moses, and by Mr. Charles Henry Meltzer in obtaining 
 data, verifying dates and names, and by their kindly ad- 
 vice. 
 
 E. H. B. 
 
 XXX 
 
THE PROLOGUE TO THE 
 PORTMANTEAU THEATER 
 
THE PROLOGUE 
 
 As the lights in the theater are lowered the 
 voice of Memory is heard as she passes through 
 the audience to the stage, 
 
 MEMORY 
 
 Once upon a time, but not so very long ago, you 
 very grown-ups believed In all true things. You 
 believed until you met the Fourteen Doubters 
 who were so positive In their unbelief that you 
 weakly cast aside the things that made you 
 happy for the hapless things that they were call- 
 ing life. You were afraid or ashamed to per- 
 sist in your old thoughts, and strong In your 
 folly you discouraged your little boy, and other 
 people's little boys from the pastimes they had 
 loved. Yet all through the early days you had 
 been surely building magnificent cities, and all 
 about you laying out magnificent gardens, and, 
 with an April pool you had made infinite seas 
 where pirates fought or mermaids played In 
 coral caves. Then came the Doubters, laugh- 
 ing and jeering at you, and you let your cities, 
 and gardens, and seas go floating in the air — 
 unseen, unsung — wonderful cities, and gardens, 
 and seas, peopled with the realest of peo- 
 ple. ... So now you, and he, and I are met at 
 the portals. Pass through them with me. I 
 have something there that you think is lost. 
 The key Is the tiny regret for the real things, 
 the little regret that sometimes seems to weight 
 
 3 
 
THE PROLOGUE 
 
 your spirit at twilight, and compress all life into 
 a moment's longing. Come, pass through. 
 You cannot lose your way. Here are your 
 cities, your gardens, and your April pools. 
 Come through the portals of once upon a time, 
 but not so very long ago — today — now I 
 
 She passes through the soft blue curtains^ hut 
 unless you are willing to follow her, turn back 
 now. There are only play-things here. 
 
THE LADY OF THE WEEPING 
 WILLOW TREE 
 
 A Play in Three Acts 
 
Characters 
 
 0-Sode-San, an old woman 
 
 0-Katsu-San 
 
 Obaa-San 
 
 The Gaki of Kokoru, an eater of unrest 
 
 RiKi, a poet 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 ACT I 
 
 [Before the House of Ohaa-San. At the right 
 back is a weeping willow tree, at the left the^ 
 simple little house of Ohaa-San. 
 [O-Sode-San and O-Katsu-San enter, 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Oil . . . 01! . . . Obaa-San! 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Obaa-San! . . . Grandmother! 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 She Is not there. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Poor Obaa-San. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Why do you always pity Obaa-San? Are her 
 clothes not whole ? Has she not her full store 
 of rice? 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Ay! 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Then what more can one want — a full hand, 
 a full belly, and a warm body ! 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 A full heart, perhaps. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 What does Obaa-San know of a heart, silly 
 0-Katsu? She has had no husband to die and 
 leave her alone. She has had no child to die 
 and leave her arms empty. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Hal ! Hal ! She does not know. 
 
 7 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 She has had no lover to smile upon her and then- 
 — pass on. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 But Obaa-San is not happy. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Pss-s! 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 She may be lonely because she has never had 
 any one to love or to love her. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 How could one love Obaa-San? She is too 
 hideous for love. She would frighten the chil- 
 dren away — and even a drunken lover would 
 laugh in her ugly face. Obaa-San I The 
 grandmother I 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 0-Sode, might we not be too cruel to her? 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 If we could not laugh at Obaa-San, how then 
 could we laugh? She has been sent from the 
 dome of the sky for our mirth. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 I do not know I I do not know I Sometimes I 
 think I hear tears in her laugh ! 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Pss-s! That is no laugh. Obaa-San cackles 
 like an old hen. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 I think she is unhappy now and then — always, 
 perhaps. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Has she not her weeping willow tree — the 
 grandmother? 
 
 8 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Ay. She loves the tree. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 The grandmother of the weeping willow tree! 
 It's well for the misshapen, and the childless, 
 and the loveless to have a tree to love. 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 But, 0-Sode, the weeping willow tree can not 
 love her. Perhaps even old Obaa-San longs 
 for love. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 Do we not come dally to her to talk to her? 
 And to ask her all about her weeping willow 
 tree? 
 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 01 ! Obaa-San. 
 [A sigh is heard. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 What was that, 0-Katsu? 
 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Someone sighed — a deep, hard sigh. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 Oi I Obaa-San I Grandmother I 
 [The sigh is almost a moan, 
 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 It seemed to come from the weeping willow tree. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 0-Katsu I Perhaps some evil spirit haunts the 
 tree. 
 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Some hideous Gaki I Like the Gaki of Kokoru 
 — the evil ghost that can feed only on the un- 
 rest of humans. Their unhapplness is his food. 
 He has to find misery in order to live, and win 
 
 9 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 his way back once rnore to humanity. To dif- 
 ferent men he changes his shape at will, and 
 sometimes is invisible. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 Quick, Katsu, let us go to the shrine • — and pray 
 — and pray. 
 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Ay. There ! 
 
 [They go out. The Gaki appears, 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Why did you sigh? 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE TREE 
 
 Gaki of Kokoru! My heart hangs within 
 me like the weight of years on Obaa-San. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Why did you moan? 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 The tree is growing — and it tears my heart. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 1 live upon your unrest. Feed me ! Feed me I 
 \_The tree sighs and moans and The Gaki seems 
 transported with joy. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Please I Please ! Give me my freedom. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Where then should I feed? Unless I feed on 
 your unhappiness I should cease to live — and 
 I must live. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Someone else, perchance, may suffer In my 
 stead. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I care not where or how I feed. I am in the 
 sixth hell, and if I die in this shape I must re- 
 
 10 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 main in this hell through all the eternities. 
 One like me must feed his misery by making 
 others miserable. I can not rise through the 
 other five hells to human life unless I have hu- 
 man misery for my food. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Oh, can't you feed on joy — on happiness, on 
 faith? 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Faith? Yes, perhaps — but only on perfect 
 faith. If I found perfect faith — ah, then — 
 I dare not dream. — There Is no faith. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Do not make me suffer more. Let me enjoy 
 the loveliness of things. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Would you have someone else suffer In your 
 stead? 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Someone else — someone else — 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Ay — old Obaa-San — she whom they call the 
 
 grandmother. 
 
 [The Tree moans. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 She will suffer In your stead. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 No! No! She loves me! She of all the 
 world loves me ! No — not she I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 It shall be she! 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 I shall not leave I 
 
 II 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 You give me better food than I have ever 
 known. You wait! You wait I 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Here comes Obaa-SanI Do not let her suffer 
 for me I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 You shall be free — as free as anyone can be — 
 when I have made the misery of Obaa-San com- 
 plete. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 She has never fully known her misery. Her 
 heart is like an iron-bound chest long-locked, 
 with the key lost. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 We shall find the key! 'We shall find the key! 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 I shall warn her. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Try! 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Alas! I can not make her hear! I can not 
 tell her anything. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 She can not understand you ! She can not see 
 me unless I wish! Earth people never see or 
 hear ! 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Hai! Hai! Hai ! 
 
 [Obaa-San enters. She is old, very, very old, 
 and withered and misshapen. There is only 
 laughter in your heart when you look at Obaa- 
 San unless you see her eyes. Then — 
 
 12 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 My tree I My little tree! Why do you sigh? 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Hal! Hal! Hal! 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Sometimes I think I pity you. Yes, dear tree I 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Hal! Hal! Hal! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Now I am a traveller. She sees me pleasantly. 
 — Grandmother! 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Ay, sir! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Which way to Kyushu? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 You have lost your way. Far, far back beyond 
 the ferry landing at Ishlyama to your right. 
 That Is the way to Kyushu. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Ah, me ! 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 You are tired. Will you not sit and rest? — 
 Will you not have some rice? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Oh, no. — Where Is your brood, grandmother? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I have no brood. I am no grandmother. I 
 am no mother. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 What! Are there tears In your voice? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Tears! Why should I weep? 
 
 13 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I do not know, grandmother ! 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I am no grandmother! — Who sent you here 
 
 to laugh at me ? — 0-Sode-San? 'Tis she who 
 
 laughs at me, because — 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 No one, old woman — 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Yes, yes, old woman. That Is It. Old 
 woman! — Who are you? I am not wont to 
 cry my griefs to any one. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Griefs? You have griefs? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Ay! Even / — she whom they call Obaa-San 
 
 — have griefs. — Even I ! But they are locked 
 deep within me. No one knows ! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Someone must know. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I shall tell no one. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Someone must know! 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 You speak like some spirit ■ — and I feel that I 
 must obey. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Someone must know I 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I shall not speak. Who cares? — What is it 
 I shall do ? Tell my story — unlock my heart 
 
 — so that O^Sode-San may laugh and laugh and 
 
 14 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 laugh. Is It not enough that some evil spirit 
 feeds upon my deep unrest? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 How can one feed upon your unrest when you 
 lock it in your heart? {The voices of 0-Sode- 
 San and 0-Katsu-San are heard calling to Ohaa- 
 San) Here come some friends of yours. 
 Tell them your tale. 
 [He goes out. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Strange. I feel that I must speak out my heart. 
 
 [O'Sode-San and 0-Katsu-San come in. 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Good morning, grandmother! 
 OBAA-SAN {with a strange wist fulness in her tone) 
 
 Good morning, 0-Sode-San. Good morning, 
 
 O-Katsu-San. May the bright day bring you 
 
 a bright heart. 
 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 And you, Obaa-San. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 How is the weeping willow tree, grandmother? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 It is there — close to me. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 And does it speak to you, grandmother — 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I am no grandmother! I am no grandmother! 
 I am no mother ! 0-Sode, can you not under- 
 stand? I am no mother. — I am no wife. — 
 There is no one.; — I am only an old woman. — 
 In the spring I see the world turn green and I 
 hear the song of happy birds and feel the per- 
 fumed balmy air upon my cheek — and every 
 
 IS 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 spring that cheek Is older and more wrinkled 
 and I have always been alone. I see the stars 
 on a summer night and listen for the dawn — - 
 and there never has been a strong hand to touch 
 me nor tiny fingers to reach out for me. I have 
 heard the crisp autumn winds fight the falling 
 leaves and I have known that long winter days 
 and nights were coming — and I have always 
 been alone — alone. I have pretended to you 
 — what else could I do? Grandmother I 
 Grandmother! Every time you speak the 
 name, the emptiness of my life stands before me 
 like a royal Kakemono all covered with unliving 
 people. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 You never seemed to care. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Did I not care! Grandmother! Grand- 
 mother! Why? Because I loved a weeping 
 willow tree. Because to me It was real. It 
 was my baby. But no lover ever came to woo. 
 No words ever came to me. — Think you, O- 
 Sode-San, that the song of birds In the branches 
 is ease to an empty heart. Think you that the 
 wind amongst the leaves soothes the mad un- 
 rest In here. {She beats her breast) I have 
 no one — no one. I talk to my weeping willow 
 tree — but there is no answer — no answer, 
 O-Sode-San — only stillness — and yet — 
 sometimes I think I hear a sigh. — Grand- 
 mother! Grandmother! There! Is that 
 enough? I've bared my heart to you. Go 
 spread the news — I am lonely and old — old. 
 
 i6 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 — I have always been lonely. Go spread the 
 news. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 No, Obaa-San. We shall not spread the news. 
 No one shall know. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 But — we pity you. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I need no pity.— Now my heart is unlocked. 
 The dread Gaki of Kokoru who feeds upon un- 
 rest can come to me and feed upon my pain. I 
 care not. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Hal! Hal! Hai! 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Someone sighs. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Yes. It ^ Is my tree. Perhaps there, too, 
 someone In deep distress is Imprisoned — as I 
 am Imprisoned in this body. — Hal! You do 
 not know. You do not know ! 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Obaa-San — we have been hurting. I never 
 knew — I am sorry, Obaa-San. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 You have been lonely, Obaa-San, but you have 
 always been lonely. I know the having and I 
 know the losing. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Ay. 'TIs better to long for love than to have 
 it — and then lose. Look at me, whom the 
 villagers call the bitter one. He came to me 
 so long ago. — It was spring, Obaa-San, and 
 
 17 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 perfume filled the air and birds were singing 
 and his voice was like the voice from the sky- 
 dome — all clear and wonderful. Together 
 we saw the cherry trees bloom — once: and on 
 a summer night we saw the wonder of the fire- 
 fly fete. My heart was young and life was 
 beautiful. We watched the summer moon — 
 and when the autumn came — Ai ! Ai ! Ai ! 
 Obaa-San. — I knew a time of love — and oh, 
 the time of hopelessness ! And I shut my heart. 
 I did not see, Obaa-San. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 You knew his love, 0-Sode-San. You touched 
 his hand. 
 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 But what is that? To her — my little girl — 
 I gave all my dreams. I felt her baby hands 
 in mine and in the night I could reach out to 
 her. I lived for her. And then, one day — 
 Obaa-San, I had known the joy of motherhood 
 and I had known the ecstasy of — child — and 
 now — Her little life with me was only a 
 dream of spring, but still my back is warm with 
 the touch of her babyhood. The little toys still 
 dance before my eyes. Oh, that was long ago. 
 — Now all is black. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 All blackness can never fill a mother's heart. — 
 O^Katsu-San, you have known the baby's hand 
 in yours. But I am old — and I have never 
 known, can never know. — I'd go to the lowest 
 hells if once I might but know the touch of my 
 own child's hand. 
 
 i8 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Hai! Hai! Hai 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Just once — for one short day — to fill the 
 empty place in my heart that has always been 
 empty — and a pain — 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Who is that man, Obaa-San? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 There? That is a stranger seeking for Kyu- 
 shu. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 He seems to wish to speak to you. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 A strange man. 'Twas he who seemed to make 
 me unlock my heart to you. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 Then shall we go. — And we'll return, Obaa- 
 San. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Grandmother I 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 We'll laugh no more. 
 
 [They leave. Obaa-San turns to the tree. 
 
 The Gaki enters, strangely agitated. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Obaa-San, for so they called you, tell me — 
 did you say you'd go to the lowest hells if you 
 might know the touch of your own child? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Forever — could I but fill this emptiness In my 
 mother-heart. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Would you really pay? 
 
 19 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Yes, yes. But why do you ask? — Who are 
 you? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I am a stranger bound for Kyushu. / 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Why do you, too, make sport of me? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Go you Into your house and come not till I call. 
 [ObaaSan obeys under a strange compulsion. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Hal! Hal! Hal 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 You can not feed me now. That cry was the 
 wind amongst your branches. Come. I bid 
 you come to life, to human form. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 I do not wish to come. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I bid you come ! 
 
 [When he touches the trunk of the tree, Aoyagi 
 steps forth. She is small. Her little body is 
 swathed in brown and from her arms hang long 
 sleeves like the branches of the weeping willow. 
 At first she shrinks. Then freedom takes hold 
 on her and she opens her arms wide. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 You are free. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 Free! 
 THE GAKI 
 
 As free as one In life. You are bound to the 
 tree as one might be bound to his body in a 
 dream — but you may wander as one wanders 
 
 20 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 In a dream — free until the waking — then 
 when the tree suffers, you shall suffer. Though 
 you be leagues away, you shall suffer. — But 
 first you shall dream. — Now you are to be the 
 daughter of Obaa-San. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oil 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Do not call yet. — You are to wed the first 
 young man who passes here and you are to 
 follow him. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 But — Obaa-San? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 She shall feed me with her new-made misery. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 No — no — she loved me so ! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 She shall feed me. You will be happy. 
 \_He disappears. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Free! And happy I 
 
 [The Gaki's voice is heard calling Obaa-San, 
 She comes in and looks about. At last her old 
 tired eyes see Aoyagi, For a moment they 
 face each other. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Hal. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 A dream I 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Mother — 
 
 [Obaa-San stands mute. She listens — 'yearn- 
 ing for the word again. 
 
 21 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Have you lost your way? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 No., mother — 
 
 [Obaa-San does not know what to think or do. 
 A strange giddiness seizes on her and a great 
 light fills her eyes. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 How beautiful the name ! But I am only Obaa- 
 San. Your mother — 
 {She shakes her old head sadly. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Obaa-San, my mother. 
 
 [Obaa-San lays her hand upon her heart. Then 
 
 she stretches out her arms. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Obaa-San — your mother — where Is my pain? 
 And you — who are you? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I am AoyagI, mother. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 You have not lost your way? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I have but just found my way. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 My pain Is stilled. There Is no emptiness. It 
 Is a dream — a dream of spring and butterflies 
 — AoyagI ! 
 
 [She stretches out her arms and silently Aoyagi 
 glides into them — as though they had always 
 been waiting for her. 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I seem never to have known a time when you 
 were not here. 
 
 22 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh, mother dear, it Is now — and now is al- 
 ways, if we will. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 It seems as though the weeping willow tree had 
 warmed and shown its heart to me. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I am the Lady of the Weeping Willow tree ! 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I care not who or what you are. You are here 
 — close to my heart and I have waited always. 
 I know I dream — I know. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 How long I've tried to speak to you ! 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 How long my heart has yearned for you I 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Mother ! 
 
 [The Gaki appears, 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Such happiness. Already she has forgotten the 
 coming of the man. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Oh, how I've dreamed of you I When I was 
 very, very young and had my little doll, I 
 dreamed of you. I used to sing a lullaby and 
 still I sing it In my heart: 
 
 See, baby, see 
 
 The ears of the wolf are long; 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep. 
 
 Your father Is brave and strong. 
 I grew Into womanhood and still I dreamed of 
 you. And, dreaming still, I grew old. And 
 all the world it seemed to me, made sport of 
 
 23 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 my longing and my loneliness. The people of 
 the village called me grandmother. The chil- 
 dren echoed the grownups' cry and ran from 
 me. Now — AoyagI — you are here. Oh, 
 the warmth — the peace. Come let me gather 
 flowers for the house. Let me — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh, mother, dear. I am so happy here. 
 
 OBAA-SAN {suddenly becoming the solicitous 
 mother^ she handles Aoyagi as one might han- 
 dle a doll) 
 
 Are you — truly? — Are you warm? — You 
 are hungry I 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 No — I am just happy. 
 
 \_She nestles close to Ohaa-San. There is com- 
 plete contentment. 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I shall bring you — a surprise. 
 
 \_She darts into the house. Immediately The 
 
 Gaki comes in. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 You seem very happy, Aoyagi. And your 
 mother is very happy, too.- — And I am hungry 
 now. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 You will not hurt her ! Let me go back to the 
 Weeping Willow Tree — 
 THE GAKI 
 
 That would kill her — perhaps. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 No — no ■ — I should be near her then — al- 
 ways. 
 
 24 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 But where would I have my food? Not In 
 your heart, not in hers — I should starve and I 
 must live. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 What then? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Seel 
 
 [He points to the road. "Aoyagi looks in that 
 direction as The Gaki disappears. Riki comes 
 in. Occasionally one may hear a hit of a lul- 
 laby sung in the old cracked voice of Obaa-San: 
 
 See, baby, see 
 
 The ears of the wolf are long; 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep. 
 
 Your father Is brave and strong. 
 Riki is a poet, young, free, romantic. He faces 
 Aoyagi a little moment as though a wonderful 
 dragonfly had poised above his reflection in a 
 pool. 
 RIKI 
 
 You are she I 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 My — who — are — you ? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I am a poet — I have sought everywhere for 
 you. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I am the Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree I 
 
 RIKI 
 
 You are my love. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I am the daughter of Obaa-San, 
 
 25 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I love you so ! 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes — I love you so ! - — But I love Obaa-San, 
 my mother — 
 RIKI 
 
 Come with me. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 But Obaa-San- — 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Come with me. 
 
 Butterfly, butterfly, alight upon the Willow Tree 
 And if you rest not well, then fly home to me. 
 See ! I make a little verse for you. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 But — Obaa-San — Is very old and very lonely. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 She Is your mother. — She must be glad to let 
 you go. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 She does not know you. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I know you. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes — but I can not leave Obaa-San. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 We can not stay with Obaa-San. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Can we not take her with us? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 No — like the Oshidorl — we can go only by 
 two and two along the silent stream — and as 
 Oshidorl in silence and in happiness float on and 
 on and seem to cleave the mirrored sky that lies 
 
 26 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 deep within the dark waters, so we must go, we 
 two, just you and I, to some silent place where 
 only you and I may be — and look and look 
 until we see the thousand years of love in each 
 other's hearts. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Something speaks to me above the pity for poor 
 Obaa-San. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 It is love. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I love Obaa-San. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 This is love beyond love. This is earth and 
 air — sea and sky. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I do not even know your name. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 What does my name matter? I am I — you 
 are you. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I love Obaa-San, my mother. — I feel happy in 
 her arms; — I felt at peace; — but now I feel 
 that I must go to you. — I am fearful — yet I 
 must go. — You are — 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I am RIki. But what can Riki mean that al- 
 ready my eyes have not said? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I feel a strange unrest — that is happiness. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Come! 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 First let me speak to Obaa-San. 
 
 27 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Look — out there — a mountain gleaming In 
 the fresh spring air. — Amongst the trees I 
 know a glade that waits for you and me. — A 
 little stream comes plashing by and silver fishes 
 leap from pool to pool — dazzling jewels in 
 the leaf-broken sunlight. Tall bamboo trees 
 planted deep in the father earth reach up to the 
 sky. — And there the hand of some great god 
 can reach down to us and feed our happiness — 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Riki — I must go — I feel the strong hand 
 leading me — I feel the happy pain — I long 
 — I would stay with Obaa-San; but, Riki, I 
 must go. — Yon mountain gleaming in the sun 
 • — the bamboo trees — the silver fishes — 
 you — 
 
 [Obaa-San enters carrying an armful of wista- 
 ria blossoms. She is radiant. Then • — she 
 sees the lovers — and she understands. The 
 blossoms slip from her arms, 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 When do you go? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Obaa-San, my mother — something outside of 
 me calls and I must obey. 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I understand.- — It must be wonderful, my little 
 daughter. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Mother I — This Is RIkl. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Riki I r — See that you bring her happiness. 
 
 28 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I could not fall. I have searched for her al- 
 ways. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 We always search for someone — we humans. 
 — Sometimes we find ■ — sometimes we wait al- 
 ways. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 RikI, I must not go. Obaa-San is my mother 
 ■ — and I am all she has. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Yes, Aoyagi, you are all I have and that is why 
 I can let you go. Be happy — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 But you, my mother. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 For my sake, be happy. Some day I shall be 
 Obaa-San no more — and what of you then? 
 Go, my little darling, go with Riki. — Some day, 
 you will return. 
 RIKI 
 
 We shall return some day, Obaa-San. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 Farewell. 
 
 [Very shnply she steps into Ohaa-San^s out- 
 stretched arms and then, as though they had 
 been forever empty, Obaa-San stands gazing 
 into space with her arms outstretched, Aoyagi 
 and Riki go out, 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Hal!— Hail 
 
 [She lays her hand upon her heart and, looking 
 into space, turns to the house. There is the 
 
 29 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 empty tree — her empty heart! The Gaki 
 comes in. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Oi ! Obaa-San! 
 
 [0 baa-San turns mechanically. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Did you not find your way? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I found my way.- — But why this unhappiness in 
 
 your eyes? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I am very lonely. I have lived my lifelong 
 dream of spring and butterflies a single instant 
 — and it is gone. 
 [She turns to go. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I feed! I feed! 
 
 [The voices of 0-Sode and 0-Katsu are heard 
 
 calling Obaa-San. 
 
 Here are your friends again. 
 
 [0-Sode and 0-Katsu come in. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 Hai! Obaa-San, a little lady passed and told 
 us you were lonely. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I am lonely. — But I have always been lonely. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 What has happened? 
 
 [The Gaki, hidden, has been triumphant. Sud- 
 denly he seems to shrivel as if drawn with rage. 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I waited, oh so long — you know. — I opened 
 my arms. — My dream came true. — I sang my 
 
 30 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 lullaby — to my child. — A lover came ; — they 
 have gone. 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 She is a-wander In her mind. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I opened my arms here — like this. — She 
 stepped into them as though she had been there 
 always — and now she has gone. — In one short 
 moment I lived my mother-life. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 It was magic! Come, Obaa-San, we'll make 
 some prayers to burn. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Some evil ghost. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 No ! No ! Some kindly spirit from the sky- 
 dome came to me. — I have had one moment of 
 happiness complete. — I dreamed and I have 
 known. Now I shall dream again — a greater 
 dream — a greater dream. 
 {The old women go into the house. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 What! I can not feed! My Lady of the 
 Weeping Willow Tree is gone! Obaa-San has 
 built a circle of happiness about her head. 
 Hai ! I shall die In this shape. — I must feed. 
 — Perhaps she tries to trick me.- — I shall lis- 
 ten.— Why does she not weep ? — Why do they 
 not wail? 
 
 [He starts for the house. As he nears it, the 
 voice of Obaa-San is heard crooning the little 
 lullaby : 
 
 See, baby, see 
 
 The ears of the wolf are long; 
 
 31 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep, 
 
 Your father Is brave and strong. 
 THE GAKI {defeated, seems beside himself. Sud- 
 denly he looks out and sees the mountain-peak) 
 I'll find them in the bamboo glade. Perhaps I 
 can make unhapplness there. Riki and Ao- 
 yagi! 
 
 The Curtains Close, 
 
 32 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 ACT II 
 
 A Bamboo Glade on the Mountain-side, 
 [The Gaki comes in. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 This is the glade on the mountain side • — the 
 glade where Aoyagi and Riki think to find their 
 happiness. Here must I feed or I shall die in 
 this shape. — Hai ! — They come. 
 [Riki and Aoyagi enter. 
 RIKI 
 
 . . . and so like every other prince who is a 
 real prince, he charged to the top of the hill 
 before his men; and they, following him, fell 
 upon the enemy and victory was theirs. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 And then — ? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 And then the Princess laid her hand upon her 
 heart. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Is that all? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Is that all? What more need there be? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Did they not wed and have great happiness? 
 RIKI 
 
 You. can answer that. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I? I never heard the story before. 
 
 33 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 RIKI 
 
 One may always end a story = — just right. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Not a weeping willow tree? 
 RIKI 
 
 Even a weeping willow tree I 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 How ? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I'll show you. — Stand right here.^ — So I I 
 stand here. — Now look at me. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I am looking. 
 RIKI 
 
 Place your hand upon your heart. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Ay. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Now I am the Prince. With sword in hand I 
 come to you. From Kyushu to Koban Pve 
 fought my way to you ; — through forest, marsh 
 and mountain path I've striven for you. Now 
 I am here. — Look at me. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Ah! 
 
 [With a cry of delight she rushes to his arms, 
 RIKI 
 
 And did they wed? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Ah, love beyond love. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 And did they have great happiness? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Ah! 
 
 34 
 
The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree 
 Act III. 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 [She nestles close to him, 
 RIKI 
 
 My little princess ! I did not come to you 
 sword In hand; I did not fight my way from 
 Kyushu to Koban. But I strove for you 
 through forest, marsh and mountain pass. — 
 Within me throbbed a mighty song that I could 
 not sing. I saw almost all the world, It seems, 
 and once I heard a voice that seemed to call to 
 me alone. It was at the ferry of Ishlyama. I 
 followed the sound — and there she stood all 
 aglow In the morning sunlight. But when I 
 saw, the song still throbbed within my heart and 
 I could not sing to her. — Someone else called to 
 me— '*Hai! Hal! HalP' 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 And what of her — the vision at the ferry of 
 Ishlyama? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 For all I know she may still be standing there 
 In the morning sunlight all aglow. — I have 
 found you I 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 And was she — fair? 
 RIKI 
 
 Ay — how can I say? Now all the world Is 
 fair because I see only you in earth and sky and 
 everything. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 She was aglow in the morning sun. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 How can I say? I heard her voice; — a song 
 was In my heart — a song for you. — I saw her 
 — the song staid locked in my heart for you. 
 
 3S 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Riki — Riki — 
 
 RIKI 
 
 A dream that's true. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I do not understand It all. — Obaa-San — you 
 — this happiness. — I have known happiness, 
 but not like this. — When I was in the weeping 
 willow tree — sometimes I was happy and 
 sometimes I was hurt. — Oh, Riki, Riki, this 
 glade is like the weeping willow tree ! When- 
 ever the soft air sways the leaves, I feel the 
 same sweet joy as when the little breezes played 
 amongst my branches. The rain — oh, the 
 gentle little rain that cooled me In the hot sum- 
 mer — - the drops that danced from leaf to leaf 
 and felt like smiles upon my face. Tears! 
 The rain Is not like tears, Riki. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 The dew Is tears, perhaps. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 The dew! It came to me like a cool veil that 
 the morning sun would lift and little breezes 
 bear away. Then sometimes — the voice, the 
 loneliness of Obaa-San. 
 RIKI 
 
 Look where her home lies. Far down there 
 beyond that stream, see — there Is Kyushu. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh, Riki, my Riki, my august lord, why, why 
 can I stay here In happiness with you when I 
 know that Obaa-San is miserable and alone? 
 RIKI 
 
 I can not say? lonly know that we are here — 
 
 36 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 you and I — and we are happy. Two make a 
 world, Aoyagi. Why? How? I do not 
 know. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Can we not send a message to Obaa-San? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Yes. I shall go down the mountain to the road 
 and tell some passer-by. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 And I? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Sit here and rest — and watch the silver stream 
 at Kyushu. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I shall wait — I shall wait. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Sayonara. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Sayonara. — Sayonara, my august lord. 
 [Riki goes out. Aoyagi^ left alone ^ feels the 
 air in the old way. She sways slightly in the 
 breeze^ then flutters toward the steps. 
 Oh, Kyushu ! The silver stream at Kyushu I 
 [She evidently sees the place where Obaa-San 
 lives. Her eyes dim a bit and slowly she hums 
 the old lullaby: 
 
 See, baby, see, 
 
 The ears of the wolf are long; 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep. 
 
 Thy father is brave and strong. 
 Poor Obaa-San I 
 [The Gaki appears. 
 THE gAki 
 
 I have lost my way. 
 
 37 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 \_Aoyagi turns quickly, questioning him almost 
 fearfully with her eyes. There is something of 
 the Aoyagi of the time when The Gaki bade her 
 leave Obaa-San. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Whither are you bound? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I am a stranger bound for Kyushu. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 There is Kyushu. (She indicates the silver 
 stream) 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I am told there is a ferry on the way to Kyushu. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes, — at Ishiyama. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 At — Ishiyama. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Why do you speak so? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I merely echoed your own words. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I did not say them so terribly. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 What is in your heart came into your voice, 
 perhaps. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 There is the way to Kyushu. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Down that path? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes. Did you not meet Riki? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Riki? 
 
 38 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes, my august lord. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I passed no one — except — a tall woman who 
 was climbing slowly and singing a wonderful 
 song — which I had heard once near the ferry 
 at Ishiyama. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 But Riki just left me here. You must have 
 passed him on the way. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 The by-paths are many and tihe trysting places 
 are secret — like this. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Riki would take no by-path. My august lord 
 needs no trysting place save this. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I do not know. I saw no Riki. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 My lord needs no trysting place. I am here. 
 He knows I am here — waidng. 
 [The Gaki looks at her, 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Riki? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He knows I am waiting ■ — > 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Riki ? — Oh, yes the name — I heard it — 
 once — at the ferry at Ishiyama. He has been 
 there. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 A poet? 
 
 39 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 He writes wonderful love-songs — they say. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 They? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Yes, — the people at Ishlyama. I heard one. — 
 It goes — let me see : 
 
 " Butterfly, butterfly, alight upon the willow 
 tree — " 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He did not speak that at Ishlyama. He made 
 that for me. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I heard It, strange to say, at Ishlyama. Per- 
 haps they brought It from — where did you 
 say? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He made that for me only yesterday. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 And I heard It — yesterday — at Ishlyama. 
 There the wonderful woman was singing. 
 {She looks at him) The one I passed just now. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 That Is a mistake. — You are wrong. — I know 
 my — Ah ! what Is It here — that hurts me, 
 tears me, seems to choke me ! RIkl I — I am 
 all In all to him — he told me that.- — He can 
 not make poems for another. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I should not have told anything.- — Forgive me. 
 — - 1 did not know. — To speak truth Is deep In 
 
 40 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 my heart. — I have no gracious subtleties. — I 
 am sorry ^ — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 In the valley there is a mist. I can no longer 
 see the silver stream at Kyushu. — Who are 
 you ? — I am afraid 1 — Riki -. — Riki — 
 [There is no answer, 
 THE GAKI 
 
 He does not seem to hear. — I shall go to meet 
 him. He went this way, you say? 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes.- — There is a mist in fhe valley and I can 
 not see the silver stream at Kyushu — 
 [She does not see The Gaki who goes in the 
 direction opposite to the one Aoyagi has indi- 
 cated. 
 
 Oh, the little day — the little day — of love 
 beyond love. — Riki — my mother, Obaa-San. 
 
 — Yesterday the mountain-top gleamed like the 
 topmost heaven in the spring sunlight. Today 
 
 — the valley dies in mist and the mountain-top 
 is lost in the sky. 
 
 RIKI {coming in singing) 
 Hai! Hai! Hai! 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi ! 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I must go back to Obaa-San, my mother. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 What has happened, Aoyagi? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 We came up the mountain path side by side, 
 Riki. Without question I gave myself to you. 
 
 41 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi ! 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I gave my love — my love beyond love. I be- 
 lieved. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Why not believe? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Your first words were — *' You are she!** I 
 did not question. And now — 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Oh, my little love, was I gone too long? 
 AOYAGI 
 
 My love knows no time, Riki. — You were gone 
 
 — how can I say? — ages. 
 RIKI 
 
 It was ages, too, to me, Aoyagi. 
 AOYAGI {softening) 
 
 I watched the silver stream at Kyushu — and I 
 
 waited. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 What, are those tears? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Nothing, Riki — but I feel so far away — from 
 Obaa-San. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 She can bridge the distance with her heart. A 
 mother can always bridge all distance with her 
 heart. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Hai! 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Our happiness is all she wants. 
 
 42 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Our happiness — (bitterly) 
 RIKI (Me goes to her. She moves away) 
 
 Why — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 The silver fishes — 
 
 RIKI 
 
 What has happened, AoyagI? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Did you send the message to Obaa-San? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Yes. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Did you go down the path? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Yes. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Did you pass a stranger on the way? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 No. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 A stranger just came by. — He came up the 
 
 mountain path, 
 RIKI 
 
 I crossed the stream. 
 AOYAGI (She takes a deep breath) 
 
 You crossed the stream. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi — little sweetheart — I cannot under- 
 stand. — What do you mean? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh, Riki, Riki, I am so alone. Tell me what 
 — why — why — 
 
 43 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 \ 
 
 RIKI 
 
 AoyagI, was I gone too long? Has some de- 
 mon come to you? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 No demon came. You were gone too long. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I went down the path and crossed the stream to 
 take a shorter way. I met a stranger — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Singing? 
 RIKI 
 
 Yes — I think she was singing. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 She was singing. 
 RIKI 
 
 What do you mean, Aoyagi? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Who was she? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I do not know. — She said she would pass Ishi- 
 
 yama. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Where did you see her? 
 RIKI 
 
 Beyond the stream — In a little glade. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Did she sing your song? 
 RIKI 
 
 My song? No. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Did she know your songs? 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi I What do you want to know? 
 
 44 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Did she know your song to me — 
 
 " Butterfly, butterfly, alight upon the willow 
 
 tree"? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Perhaps. — I made that to you years ago — 
 when you were a dream in my heart. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 At Ishlyama? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Perhaps. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Hai I — Obaa-San, my mother ! — Oh, my 
 heart — my heart — 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi — what have I done ? Let me com- 
 fort you I 
 [He goes to her, 
 AOYAGI 
 
 You leave me nothing in all the world. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I give you all my world. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Hail Hai! Hai! 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Let me go and call the lady bound for Ishl- 
 yama. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 RIkl! — ah! 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Little Aoyagi — my love — she will be tender 
 with you. — And when your tears are gone, 
 she'll bear your message on to Obaa-San. 
 
 AS 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 [He goes to her, but she draws away. For a 
 moment he is uncertain what to do; — then — - 
 he speaks, 
 I'll bring her back to you. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 RIkl ! — No ! — We came up the mountain- 
 path together — side by side. — - We — but 
 now, Riki, we go two ways. — I to Obaa-San 
 — you to — 
 
 RIKI 
 
 What do you mean? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Go sing your songs at Ishiyama ! Go make 
 your poems to the butterfly. — I — • 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I have made songs only for you. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 But the songs for me are on every tongue. 
 RIKI 
 
 Ay — I am proud of that. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 The lady at the ferry at Ishiyama — 
 
 RIKI 
 
 She learned the song to you ! 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Ah! 
 
 [Aoyagi rushes upon him and before she real- 
 izes what she is doing, she strikes him. He 
 stands petrified a moment, then faces her very 
 calmly. 
 RIKI 
 
 I shall find the stranger-woman and send her to 
 you.— I can no longer help you. 
 
 46 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 You can no longer help. — Oh — life — oh, 
 love — this too short day — 
 RIKI 
 
 I shall stay near at hand until you return to 
 Obaa-San. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I shall find the path alone. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I'll send the stranger-woman to you. 
 [Riki goes out, 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Hai ! Hai ! Hai ! I watched the sunrise 
 only yesterday and I trembled with the wonder 
 of the dew-cooled dawn. Life seemed all peace 
 and — today — I have known a mother's love 
 and my mother. — I have known a lover's touch 
 — love beyond love. — I am waking from a 
 dream. The Gaki said I'd waken — I'd be as 
 free as one in life. Oh, what is this thing they 
 call life? No happiness complete — a vision 
 of a mountain top — a climbing to the goal — a 
 bamboo glade — oh, the mist at Kyushu. — 
 When I go back to Obaa-San — I shall love her 
 so — but oh, the memory of Riki — the moun- 
 tain gleaming in the sun — 
 [She starts sadly from the path. The Gaki 
 enters, 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Lady, I am here again. It seemed to me that 
 I must return to you. Something seemed to 
 call. {Aoyagi almost collapses) I feed! I 
 feed! 
 
 47 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I can not go I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 You seem to suffer. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh — I have lost my way in life — 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Lost your way in life ? Let me help you. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I have stood on the mountain side and I have 
 seen the green valleys far below. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Talk to me — as you would to yourself. — I 
 hear but I shall not speak what I hear. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Riki — no, I can not speak even to myself. 
 Deep In me there Is a hurt. — I can not tell — 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 A woman gives all ; — the man forgets. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 But to RIkl — he knows — I brought him my 
 full belief — my all-in-all. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Your perfect faith. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Ay, my perfect faith. — He spoke to me and 
 then I bowed to my august lord. — I followed 
 him without question. — And he forgets so soon. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Are you sure he has forgotten ? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 You know — you saw the lady from Ishlyama. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 pTrue. — I saw her. 
 
 48 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 You did not meet him on the path. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 True. — I did not meet him on the path. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He crossed the stream. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Perhaps to shorten the way. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He met her In a little glade. — Hal I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 What shall you do? 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I'll go my way. I'll return to Obaa-San. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I'll guide you down the mountain side. — Come, 
 we'll take the shorter way — the by-paths — 
 across the stream — through the little glade — 
 AOYAGI {She looks about once more at the scene 
 of her happiness) 
 Hall 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Come I 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 No, let us go down the path. — I want to see my 
 footprints — side by side with his. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Perhaps they're being crushed under the feet of 
 the lady from Ishlyama ! 
 
 [Aoyagi starts a moment as though to fly along 
 the path before the lady comes. — She sways 
 slowly — and then falls in a pitiful little heap. 
 — - The Gaki takes her in his arms and, utterly 
 triumphant, starts up the mountain-side. 
 
 49 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 We'll go up — up — sweet Aoyagi, to the 
 snow peak — gleaming in the sun. — You'll find 
 the mountain-top — not lost In the sky. — Your 
 perfect faith ! — Oh, you silly human — oh, fu- 
 tile love — climb, Aoyagi — climb without 
 love. — But first we'll make footprints for the 
 lover's eyes. — Bhndness will lead him to the 
 mists at Kyushu. — Jealousy will lead you to 
 the lonely stars. 
 
 [He holds Aoyagi so that her feet touch the 
 ground — toward the downward path. Then 
 with a wild laugh, he turns toward the mountain 
 top. As the laughter dies, the voice of Riki is 
 heard calling 
 
 Aoyagi ! Aoyagi ! . . . 01 ! 
 The laugh of The Gaki is heard once more very 
 far away — as he ascends the mountain with his 
 burden. 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi I - — Aoyagi ! 
 
 [Riki comes running in. Presently he sees the 
 
 footprints. 
 
 Oi ! — Aoyagi ! 
 
 [He runs down the path. 
 
 Aoyagi ! — Aoyagi ! 
 
 [Far, very far away The Gaki^s laugh is heard. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi ! — Aoyagi ! 
 [Night has fallen slowly. 
 Aoyagi ! — Aoyagi ! 
 
 The Curtains Close, 
 
 SO 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Before the House of Obaa-San 
 
 [It is moonlight. As the curtain opens, Obaa- 
 San is heard singing the lullaby; from the dis- 
 tance the voice of Riki calls. 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi ! — Aoyagl ! — Aoyagi I — Aoyagi 1 
 
 01! 
 
 [Obaa-San appears in the doorway. 
 
 Aoyagi ! 
 OBAA-SAN (She goes toward the voice) 
 
 Oi! 
 
 [Riki enters. 
 RIKI 
 
 Obaa-San! Where is Aoyagi? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Where is Aoyagi? 
 RIKI 
 
 Is she not here? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 She is not here. Where — Riki ! 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I left her in the bamboo glade — and when I 
 returned she was gone. Her footprints pointed 
 toward the path — and then were lost. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Why did you leave her? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I left her because she — I left her. 
 
 51 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I do not know, RIki, what has come to pass — 
 but this I know - — I am waiting for her. — I am 
 waiting for her. Go seek for her -. — and bring 
 her back to me. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I shall search for her. — Obaa-San, she — < 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I care not what she did. I am waiting here for 
 her. 
 
 [Riki looks at Obaa-San a moment and then un- 
 derstands, 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi ! 
 
 {He goes out. Obaa-San turns to the empty 
 house — the empty willow tree, 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 She will come back to me, 
 [She goes into the house. The Gaki e^nters, 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Foolish Riki ! He searches In the valley. Mad 
 Aoyagi ! Alone with the lonely stars ! — Oh, 
 wondrous misery that makes Itself. 
 \^He sees Obaa-San. She enters from the house. 
 Good-morning, Obaa-San, my friend. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Good-morning, traveller. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Why do you rise before the dawn? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I could not rest. — Why are you not at Kyushu? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 There is a mist at Kyushu — and I feared to 
 lose my way. 
 
 52 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Did you pass a little lady — AoyagI, by name 
 — alone — 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 It seems — I met a little lady. — She was not 
 happy. — That one? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Where ? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I am a stranger here — ■ I cannot say. Over 
 there — or over there. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 She will come to me, perhaps. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Do you know her? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 She Is my daughter, — Aoyagi. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Do you not fear for her? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Perhaps. — She will be here soon. — RIki has 
 gone for her. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 She must know the way. 
 
 \^The voices of 0-Sode and O-Katsu are heard. 
 This has been a restless night for age. {He 
 disappears. 0-Sode-San and 0-Katsu-San en- 
 ter) 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Good-morning, 0-Sode-San. Good-morning, 
 0-Katsu-San. — The lily hands of sleep have 
 passed you by. 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 A strange unrest has seized upon me. I think 
 
 53 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 — and think of my little one. She is glorious 
 in my heart, and words with wings seem to 
 flash before my eyes like fireflies in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 I, too, have lived In words. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Obaa-San, Is It not wonderful to put a joy or 
 pain in words? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Ah, yes — if there Is anyone to hear them. 
 All my long, long years before Aoyagi came to 
 me, my heart sang, and words freighted with 
 my dreams and my love would come to me — 
 here; and they would die because they found no 
 ear attuned to them. — Tell me what you 
 thought, 0-Sode-San. 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 The moon In calm restlessness 
 
 Shows the water grasses of the River of 
 
 Heaven, 
 
 Swaying In the cool spring air — 
 
 I know the time to meet my lover 
 
 Is not too far away. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Every one has a poem In his heart, I believe.- — 
 What was your poem, O-Katsu? 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Oh, messenger of the other world, 
 My little one is young; 
 She can not find her way — 
 Do you kindly take my little one 
 Upon your warm, broad back 
 Along the twilight path. 
 
 54 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 And you, Obaa-San, — was it words that kept 
 sleep from your eyes? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Ay, bitter dream-words. And for the bitter- 
 ness I am paying dearly. — Over and over the 
 words came to me : 
 
 Here lies my daughter's sleeping body 
 On the mat beside me. 
 But her soul is far away 
 Asleep in her lover's arms — 
 And I, her white-haired mother, 
 Hold only an empty shell. 
 
 Oh, I am ashamed — ashamed. — And just now 
 Riki came to me — and told me he could not 
 find Aoyagi. 
 
 O-KATSU-SAN AND O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Hail 
 
 O-SODE-SAN 
 
 Can we not search for her? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I am waiting here. — She may find her way 
 back. — I would not have her come to an empty 
 house. — Come — let's go within — and dream 
 that yours and yours and mine are on their way 
 to us. 
 
 [The old women go into the house. There is 
 just a moment's silence — then: 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Hail Hai! Hail 
 
 [Aoyagi, utterly forlorn, enters. She looks at 
 the house, turns and sees the mountains, covers 
 
 55 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 her eyes, and drags herself wearily to the willow 
 tree. She moans as though winter had fallen 
 upon the world and were taunting her. The 
 Gaki enters. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 So you have found your way • — in life, 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh, let me go back to my tree I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 No, little Aoyagi — you would be happy then, 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Let me die ! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 One can not die. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Hail 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Where have you been? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 So far — so far 1 — I am weary. — When I 
 awoke, I was on the mountain-top — alone. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Were there no stars? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh — the stars, the lonely, lonely stars ! I 
 tried to touch them — they seemed so near. — I 
 found the path — the glade — our footprints 
 — strange people — I am here. Let me back I 
 Let me back I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 And what of Riki? 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He does not care. 
 
 56 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 And what of Obaa-San? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 What can I give to Obaa-San now — but mis- 
 ery? Am I never to be free? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 What would you do if you were free — climb 
 to the mountain top to see the lonely stars? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Hal! — RIkl! — Obaa-San! 
 
 \_0 baa-San enters. The Gaki disappears, 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Was my name spoken in the dawn? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Mother ! 
 
 [With a cry of joy, Obaa-San enfolds Aoyagi 
 in her arms, 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Nadeshiko! My little girl! 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Where is RIki? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 He has gone to search for you. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Was he alone? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Alone? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes. Was there no woman with him — a lady 
 from Ishlyama? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 A lady from — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Yes — tall — fair — singing — 
 
 57 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 He was alone. A lady from Ishiyama — {Ao- 
 yagi shudders with dread) brought me a mes- 
 sage In the early night — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 It was she — young? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 No — old. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Had she seen RIki? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Yes. On the mountain-side — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 The stranger said she was young and fair. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Perhaps the stranger did not see with honest 
 eyes. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He would not lie. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Sometimes the eyes and the ears lie. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Ahl 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 And if she had been young and fair? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Riki met her In a glade. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Did you see them meet? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 No — she was singing. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 A happy song, perhaps. 
 
 58 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 She sang the song he made to me. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 How do you know? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 RIkl said she knew his song to me. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Ah, that is beautiful, that she should love his 
 song to you. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He — 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 My little darling, I do not know what really 
 happened; but this I know, you did not speak 
 fairly to Riki or Riki did not speak fairly to 
 you. Almost every unhappiness comes because 
 we speak too much of our pride and speak too 
 little of our hearts. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I asked him if he saw her. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Why? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 A stranger told me -. — 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Was it the stranger you believed before Riki 
 could defend himself? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 But, mother, I gave my all in all to Riki. He 
 does not care. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Do you know? 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I asked Riki if they met? 
 
 59 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Did he tell you ? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He seemed to be proud to tell. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Then he was unashamed to tell — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 I asked him questions. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 But did you ask him the great question in your 
 heart? 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh — 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Did you say, " Riki, my love, you are in all my 
 heart. Am I in all yours? " 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He told me that. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 And did you believe? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Above all the world I 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Then why doubt him later? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 The lady from Ishiyama passed by. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 My child, a lady bound for Ishiyama passed 
 by I Had she been singing all the love-songs 
 of all the worlds; had she been fairer than the 
 lotus-flower, why should you have doubted 
 Riki? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 A stranger — 
 
 60 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 A Stranger ! — a stranger ! — Oh, why — why 
 
 — why do the eyes of love grow blind because 
 a stranger speaks? You, AoyagI, did not see 
 the lady bound for Ishiyama. You did not 
 hear her song — and yet upon the ears and eyes 
 of a stranger you would shatter your love. — I 
 saw the lady. — She was singing, — She was not 
 fair.— If she had been — Oh, my little child 
 
 — Riki is Riki, your august lord, the lord of 
 your life. When he comes back, go to him and 
 speak from your heart. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 What shall I say? 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 I need not tell your heart. — It is only your head 
 that can not learn to speak unprompted. — Do 
 you love Riki ? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Ay — so dearly ! 
 
 [^The voice of Riki is heard, 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi ! 
 AOYAGI 
 
 He is coming! 
 
 [O baa-San, unnoticed, goes into the house. 
 
 Riki enters, 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi ! 
 
 [When he sees she is safe, he drops suddenly. 
 
 She goes to him. 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Riki, my august lord, listen to my heart. — 
 
 6i 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 Forget my anger. — Tell me once again that 
 you love me. — I'll believe. 
 RIKI 
 
 You know — I have always loved you. — When 
 you were a song in my heart, I loved you so I 
 And now — 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Oh, RIkl, can we ever forget the blow I struck? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 That was yesterday — see, this is today: the 
 dawn has spread across the sky. What shall 
 we do? Look back upon the bitterness of yes- 
 terday, or try to see the fears of tomorrow, or 
 live in the gladness of today? 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 The Gaki of Kokoru Is here at the tree. He 
 will not let us live In happiness. He let me go 
 with you because he meant to feed upon the 
 misery of poor Obaa-San. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 He has not come upon us yet. We are strug- 
 gling against tomorrow. This is the dawning 
 of today. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 Then shall we live — today. 
 \_Obaa-San enters from the house. 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Come, Aoyagi; come, Riki. We have found 
 happiness at our door. Within there is rice 
 and tea. Come. 
 
 [^They go into the house. The Gaki enters, 
 THE GAKI 
 
 There Is love ! — Now what shall I do for mis- 
 ery? Old Obaa-San remembers happiness. 
 
 62 
 
M 
 
 Pi 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 I— I 
 
 Oh 
 
 w 
 
 H 
 
 o 
 
 Q 
 < 
 
 w 
 
 h 
 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 She has taught 0-Katsu and 0-Sode to remem- 
 ber happiness. The lovers are reunited; — 
 now they understand. — And I — I, ah, I must 
 die in this dread shape and stay in this hell 
 through all the eternities unless I bring new 
 misery to them. What can I do? {He turns 
 to see the tree) Ah — I shall kill the tree — 
 slowly — slowly — and I'll feed upon them all. 
 Aoyagi is bound to the tree as one is bound to 
 his body in a dream. — I'll kill the tree. 
 \^He draws his short sword and smites the tree. 
 There is a cry from the house and Aoyagi en- 
 ters quickly^ followed by Riki, Obaa-San, 
 0-Katsu-San, and 0-Sode-San. Aoyagi holds 
 her heart. 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi! {She droops in his arms. Obaa-San 
 lays her hand upon her dear child's head. 
 O-Katsu-San understands^ The Gaki in tri- 
 umph smiles again. Aoyagi cries out and shud- 
 ders as she clings to Riki) Oh, whatever power 
 gave strength to me and led me to my love, give 
 me the chance to save my love. 
 
 AOYAGI 
 
 The tree ! — The tree I 
 [^The Gaki smites again. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 The Gaki of Kokoru! Ay, I knowl I know I 
 I fight a fear, Obaa-San. Hold Aoyagi fast . — 
 with all your love. — I shall find the Gaki of 
 Kokoru ! ( The Gaki smites the tree again and 
 again, and at each stroke Aoyagi fails more 
 and more until she finally crumples in a heap 
 among the three old women) All strength I 
 
 63 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 All faith to me ! Into my hands give the power 
 to break the bitterest hell asunder! Into my 
 eyes put light that I may see the cowardly fears 
 that infest our way.— Gaki ! Gaki ! where are 
 you? — I pass about you and In my heart I 
 carry fearlessness and faith. — Upon your 
 wickedness I hurl belief. — Ah, now, I see you. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Let me go I Let me go ! 
 
 RIKI 
 
 You shall bring misery into no more hearts ! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Ah, pity me I Let me go ! I must feed or I 
 shall die ! 
 RIKI 
 
 You shall feed no more I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Do not let me die in this sixth hell! Do not 
 let me die ! Once I was human — like you 
 and you. I came into this hell because I was 
 bitter in life. — I made misery for others. — I 
 put mischief in their minds. — 
 RIKI {leaping upon him) 
 
 You shall make no more misery. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Let me feed! Let me live! I can not die 
 thus. 
 RIKI {throttling him) 
 
 Dread demon, the end has come I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Please — please — hear me. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Nay, you have made your last horror In our 
 lives. 
 
 64 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 RIki! Hear him — hear him. — We know not 
 what we do, perhaps. 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Then speak. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Let me go ! Do you think It did not punish 
 me to see your misery, to bring misery upon 
 you? That Is what these hells are. In hfe we 
 can not always see what wretchedness we make; 
 in the hells we see and know and understand, 
 but we can not escape our evil until we've sucked 
 the bitterness, the horror to the blackest end. 
 Oh — five hells lie between me and human life. 
 In each I may perchance forget the lesson 
 learned before. Let me live! Let me live! 
 — I can not fight your faith ! — Let me live I 
 
 RIKI 
 
 What further harm will you do ? 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I cannot help myself. I must live on you. — 
 You are young — 
 
 [He tears himself from Riki and once more 
 rushes to the tree. Aoyagi writhes a moment 
 in agony, Riki leaps upon The Gaki, throt- 
 tling him once more. The struggle is terriffic, 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Die! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Let me go ! Let me live ! — • I promise any- 
 thing — I — 
 
 RIKI , 
 
 Too late ! — You shall harm no more ! 
 \JVith one supreme effort. The Gaki draws him- 
 
 6s 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 self to his full height and seems about to crush 
 Riki. He leaps upon the prostrate Aoyagi and 
 flings her body high above his head, Riki 
 starts for him. 
 THE GAKI 
 
 I shall live ! I shall live I 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Aoyagi I 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Come not near me, RIkl, or I shall crush her at 
 your feet. I shall live ! 
 
 \^He laughs the hideous laugh of triumph which 
 rang out on the mountain side yesterday, 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Give her back to us I Feed on me ! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 In your heart there Is only hope and beautiful 
 memory. Old fool, I can not feed on you. — 
 But now in my arms I hold the precious gift by 
 which I shall pass from hell to hell. 
 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 Take me! 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Silly old woman, you, too, like Obaa-San, can 
 not feed me. Age learns to grasp at bubbles 
 and pretend that they are stars. 
 0-KATSU-SAN 
 
 But I shall dream of my little girl. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Ay, dream of her and have tender memories 
 that are not pain. 
 
 0-SODE-SAN 
 
 I shall think of him and long for him, my 
 lover. 
 
 66 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 Ay, and In the memory of the firefly fete you'll 
 make a poem that will leave you all melting-like 
 and holy — then where shall I feed? 
 
 RIKI 
 
 Obaa-San, are you content? I'll let her die at 
 my own hand before I'll let him live. 
 [He draws his dagger and leaps toward The 
 Gaki; hut old Obaa-San is too swift for him. 
 She catches his hand. 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Riki! Would you kill the evil by killing the 
 joy of us all? 
 RIKI 
 
 But the joy — my little AoyagI — can not live 
 so. See - — 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 Gaki of Kokoru — I stand before you, no 
 longer a suppliant. I am old and in my years 
 
 1 have known all the wanting, all the hopeless- 
 ness one can know in life. But in your evil 
 way, you brought to me a moment of happiness 
 yesterday and in that moment I saw the beauty 
 that I had always believed must be and yet that 
 I had never known. In your evil arms you hold 
 the treasure of my hfe — you hold the songs 
 that filled the heart of Riki. But you do not 
 feed, oh, Gaki of Kokoru. You can not feed. 
 Oh, Gaki, what is this sixth hell of yours? — 
 Who made it? Some man who was afraid of 
 the joy of life; — It was too beautiful for his 
 belief. Misery makes itself: so happiness 
 makes Itself. You stand before us, holding the 
 darling of our dreams, but there Is no misery 
 
 67 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 so great as yours. See ! I stand before you 
 
 — unafraid — and In my heart lies happiness. 
 
 — AoyagI rested in my arms and my breast Is 
 warm and there Is a glory where her dear head 
 lay. In my life — If you take her from me — 
 there will be an emptiness.— There will be long 
 silences In the days to come; but my breast will 
 still be warm with her touch and my ears will 
 still hear the sweet words you cannot unsay — 
 the lullaby I sang. — Oh, GakI — It has been 
 sung to her. — The climbing to the mountain 
 gleaming In the sun — the glade where love 
 found the perfect mystery — that cannot be 
 undone whether we live or die.- — Love that has 
 been can never be undone. 
 
 [The Gaki looks from one to the other ^ hut finds 
 only that splendid happiness that is almost pain. 
 He loosens his hold upon Aoyagi and turns to 
 Riki with her. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 She Is yours I — I have met perfect faith. — 
 Five hells He before me — but I have met a 
 perfect faith. — You cannot know what wonder 
 I am knowing. From the sixth hell I have seen 
 a perfect faith. — I am content to die in this 
 shape. Strike, Riki I 
 
 RIKI 
 
 I have my love. 
 
 THE GAKI 
 
 But a peace has come upon me, a peace that I 
 have never known. — I seem to be on wings — 
 afloat in the sky. — Stars and suns swing gently 
 by — and cool clouds brush my brow. — Five 
 hells lie before me. — Can It be, in each I shall 
 
 68 
 
WEEPING WILLOW TREE 
 
 find peace like this? — {He falls on his knees) 
 Now a fire rages deep in me — a pain — I'm 
 torn. — Oh, Obaa-San, I die — I die. — Come 
 to me — touch me — let me feel your gentle 
 hands. — So ! So ! — I have never known such 
 gentleness. — Oh, I am cold — cold I Hold 
 me — 
 
 \^He rises ^ — sways — and falls. It is full day. 
 The Gaki rises wonderfully. 
 Obaa-San — I see — I see. — The hells were 
 made by some man afraid of the joy of life. — 
 It was too beautiful for his belief. — Riki — 
 Aoyagi, there is the mountain gleaming in the 
 morning light. — Go — see your footprints side 
 by side. — A Gaki's feet trod upon them, but 
 left no mark — and they are there side by side. 
 
 — 0-Sode-San, I look across the River of 
 Heaven; — there stands your lover waiting for 
 you — an empty boat is here to bear you to him. 
 
 — 0-Katsu-San, — the messenger of the other 
 world bears your little one upon his broad, 
 warm back. — They are smiling, 0-Katsu-San 
 
 — Obaa-San — 
 
 \^He points to Riki and Aoyagi. Obaa-San goes 
 to them and lays her hands upon them, 
 
 OBAA-SAN 
 
 My little girl! — my little boy! — Today the 
 sun is very bright. 
 
 The Curtains Close. 
 
 69 
 
THE VERY NAKED BOY 
 
 An Interlude Before the Curtain 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 She 
 
 He 
 
 Brother 
 
 The scene is half way to a proposal. 
 
 A hallway with a heavily -curtained doorway in 
 the centre. Right of this are two chairs with 
 a tabouret between them. Right and Left are 
 curtained arches. 
 
THE VERY NAKED BOY 
 
 She enters quickly y crossing to the chairs, 
 
 HE {following breathlessly and almost colliding 
 
 with her as she stops) 
 
 Genevieve I 
 SHE (with a calmness strangely at variance with 
 
 her entrance) 
 
 Well? 
 
 HE 
 
 Why did you ■ — • 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't. 
 
 HE 
 
 I beg your pardon, you may not have known It, 
 but you did. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't. 
 
 HE 
 
 If you'll only say you didn't mean it. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't do It. 
 
 HE 
 
 Now, Genevieve, you know — ^ 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't. 
 
 HE 
 
 Well, why did you — ? 
 
 SHE 
 
 / didn't do it! 
 HE (meltingly but without humor or subtlety) 
 
 Well, if you didn't do it, dear — 
 
 [She is adamant. 
 
 Why did you run away the moment I came up 
 
 to you? 
 
 73 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't run away — 
 
 \[He looks at her quizzically. 
 
 I just came out here. 
 HE {hoping it isn't true) 
 
 But you seemed to be trying to avoid me. 
 SHE (with sphinx-like indifference) 
 
 Why should I avoid you? 
 
 HE 
 
 Genevieve! You make it impossible for me 
 to talk to you. . . . I'll apologise if it will help. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Why should you apologise? 
 
 HE 
 
 Perhaps I've misconstrued your meaning. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't mean anything — 
 
 [He smiles pleasantly with more hope than dis' 
 
 cretion. 
 
 — because I didn't do it. 
 
 HE 
 
 Now, Genevieve, I saw you do it. 
 
 SHE 
 
 You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Gordon, from 
 further discussion. 
 
 [She seats herself, fully prepared for 'all the 
 discussion she can force from him. 
 
 HE 
 
 But, Genevieve — 
 [He seats himself, 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't do it — and besides if I did what dif- 
 ference does it make? I'm free white and 
 twenty-one. 
 
 74 
 
THE VERY NAKED BOY 
 
 HE {with a frail attempt at humor) 
 How old did you say? 
 
 SHE 
 
 I said I was free white. 
 
 HE 
 
 But, Genevieve, you must admit that — 
 
 SHE 
 
 Mr. Gordon! 
 
 HE 
 
 Please call me Henry. {In his emotion he pro- 
 nounces it Hennery) 
 
 SHE 
 
 I don't see why I should. 
 
 HE 
 
 You did last night. 
 
 SHE 
 
 That was different. You were Dr. Jekyll last 
 night. 
 HE 
 
 Oh, Genevieve — 
 
 SHE 
 
 You're showing your true colors tonight. 
 HE {appealingly) 
 
 I'm — sorry — 
 SHE 
 
 You're a tyrant. 
 
 HE 
 
 I don't mean to be. I think you're wo — 
 
 SHE . J . 
 
 Now don't be personal. I'm not mterested m 
 
 your thoughts. 
 
 HE 
 
 But, Genevieve, won't you tell me why you did 
 
 it? 
 
 IS 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 SHE 
 
 I did it because — I've told you often enough I 
 didn't do it. 
 HE (bitterly) 
 Joe — 
 
 SHE 
 
 Joe — what? 
 
 HE 
 
 Joe squeezed your hand. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Well, it's my hand, and besides I don't see why 
 I should be cross-questioned by you. 
 
 HE 
 
 You know Tm ■ — 
 
 \_He leans toward her and she moves away. 
 
 SHE 
 
 You're what? 
 
 HE 
 
 Pm crazy about you. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Please, Mr. Gordon I 
 
 HE 
 
 Call me Henry! Just once. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I don't see why I should. 
 HE 
 
 Please, Genevieve. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Now don't be silly ! 
 
 HE 
 
 Oh, Genevieve, if you only knew how it hurt me 
 when you did it! 
 SHE 
 
 Did It hurt you? 
 
 76 
 
THE VERY NAKED BOY 
 
 HE 
 
 I could have killed Joe — gladly. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Honest! 
 
 HE 
 
 You know — you must know! 
 
 SHE 
 
 You certainly are calm about It. 
 HE {in the most absurd position that hopeless love 
 can twist a man into) 
 What can I do? I can't be ridiculous. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Did you really see us? 
 
 HE 
 
 Yes, I saw you. 
 
 SHE 
 
 You seemed terribly tied up with Ethel. 
 
 HE 
 
 I had to sit by her. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I don't see why. 
 
 HE 
 
 I didn't have any place else to go. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I knew you were looking. 
 
 HE 
 
 Then why did you do It? 
 
 SHE 
 
 Don't ask me why. I loathe why. 
 
 HE 
 
 But oh, Genevieve, I love you so! 
 
 [He grasps her hand, not too violently. She 
 
 gasps slightly, smiles pleasantly and becomes 
 
 stern. 
 
 77 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 SHE {encouragingly) 
 
 Please, let go of my hand. 
 
 [^He does so. She looks at him in mingled 
 
 wonder and chagrin* 
 HE 
 
 Genevieve, Isn't there any chance for me? 
 
 SHE 
 
 I've never thought of such a thing. What do 
 you mean I 
 HE 
 
 I mean I love you. 
 
 SHE 
 
 . . . Yes? 
 HE {taking her scarf in his hand) 
 Aren't you Interested? 
 
 SHE 
 
 Why, really, Mr. Gordon, you ask such strange 
 questions. 
 HE 
 
 Oh, Genevieve — Genevieve — 
 
 [He kisses the scarf gently. 
 SHE {looking at him in wonder , disappointment 
 
 and delight. 
 
 Don't be silly. 
 HE 
 
 When a man's In love he always does silly 
 
 things. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Always? 
 
 HE 
 
 Oh, Genevieve — 
 
 [He reaches for her hand reverently and this 
 time she seems content to let matters rest, 
 SHE {making conversation) 
 
 78 
 
THE VERY NAKED BOY 
 
 I have the next dance with — 
 
 [She racks her memory. 
 HE 
 
 Joe, I suppose. 
 
 [He rises and crosses to the far side of the 
 
 centre arch. 
 SHE {drawing her scarf about her and brushing 
 
 against him as she passes. 
 
 Excuse me, please. 
 HE (torrentially) 
 
 You shall not go. You shall listen to me. 
 
 You have no right to treat me as a plaything 
 
 when I love you so! I love you so! I love 
 
 you so ! I think of you all day long, I lie awake 
 
 at night wondering what stars are looking upon 
 
 you and I find myself envying them — every 
 
 one of them. 
 
 [She tries to speak, but he presses her head 
 
 against his shoulder. 
 
 I won't listen. You must hear me out. I've 
 
 waited days and days and days for this chance 
 
 to speak to you, and you've trailed me about 
 
 like — like — like a poodle. I'm tired of it 
 
 because I love you so. 
 
 [She tries to speak again; but succeeds only in 
 
 mussing her hair. 
 HE 
 
 I want you to marry me, and marry me you 
 shall if I have to carry you away with me. Oh, 
 Genevieve, my darling Genevieve, just know 
 that for this moment I am almost completely 
 happy. You are close to me and I do not feel 
 any struggle against me. Oh, if you will only 
 listen to me, I do not mean to be brutal. I 
 
 79 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 have torn your dress. I have mussed your 
 precious hair. But I love you so I I love you 
 so I 
 
 SHE 
 
 Oh, Henry — Henry — You are so wonderful ! 
 \_They embrace one long moment when an arm 
 comes out between the curtains and tugs at his 
 coat. 
 
 He lets go of her as though he had been shot, 
 turns and sees the naked arm and the top of the 
 Boy's head. 
 BOY {whispering) 
 Get her out of here I 
 
 SHE 
 
 Oh, Henry, Henry, have I been cruel to you? 
 HE {constrained) 
 
 We'd better go. 
 SHE {looks questioningly at him) 
 
 Please let's stay here. 
 
 {^He presses her head against his breast and 
 
 looks surreptitiously at the curtains. 
 
 The Boy makes as though to get out. 
 
 He starts violently — shoves the Boy hack. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I saw you first — do you remember — at 
 Poughkeepsie. 
 
 HE 
 
 Yes, yes — 
 
 SHE 
 
 I think — I liked you then. . . But I never 
 thought you'd be so wonderful. 
 
 HE 
 
 Let's go {whispering) . Darling, let's go. 
 
 80 
 
The Very Naked Boy 
 
THE VERY NAKED BOY 
 
 SHE 
 
 No, I want to stay here. I love this nook. 
 [^He laughs nervously as she crosses to the cur- 
 tains, 
 
 I should love to fill it full of great tall lilies. 
 \^By this time she has become lyric and swept 
 her arms against the curtains: with a cry, rush' 
 ing to him for protection. 
 Henry, there's a man behind those curtains I 
 
 HE 
 
 I think we'd better go. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Oh, Henry, you're not going to leave him here. 
 
 HE 
 
 We'd better. 
 BOY {poking his head and a naked arm through 
 the curtains. 
 
 Yes, you'd better, because I'm going to get out 
 of here. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Boh! You get your clothes onl 
 
 BOY 
 
 I told Mr. Gordon to get my clothes. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Mr. Gordon — 
 
 BOY 
 
 Call him Henry — just once — please, Gene- 
 vieve. 
 HE {stiffly) 
 
 I'll get your clothes. Where are they? 
 
 BOY 
 
 In my room. 
 
 8i 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 HE 
 
 What do you want? 
 
 BOY 
 
 Everything. 
 SHE {straightening up) 
 
 Don't be common, Robert. 
 \^He starts for the door, 
 
 HE 
 
 No, Fm not going. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Hen — Mr. Gordon! . . . Very well. V\\ 
 go! 
 
 HE 
 
 No, you won't go either! 
 
 SHE 
 
 Please ! 
 
 BOY 
 
 Well, I'll go. 
 
 \^Boy moves as though to part the curtains. 
 
 She screams a stifled little scream and both he 
 
 and she rush to the curtains to hold them tO' 
 
 gether, 
 
 SHE 
 
 Oh, Bob, if you won't get out I'll do anything 
 for you. 
 
 BOY 
 
 Well, I'm cold. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Mr. Gordon, please go. 
 
 HE 
 
 I won't go! 
 
 SHE 
 
 You are very strange, indeed. . . . I'll go! 
 [She nears the door. — Stops. 
 
 82 
 
THE VERY NAKED BOY 
 
 SHE 
 
 Never mind. 
 
 BOY 
 
 Oh, Henry, It's Ethel. 
 
 HE 
 
 Bob, won't you be a good sport? We'll turn 
 our backs. 
 
 BOY 
 
 But will everybody else turn their back? 
 
 HE 
 
 Old man, can't you see how It Is? We're — 
 we're going to be engaged — and Ethel is out 
 there — and — and — well — • 
 
 BOY 
 
 Joe's out there, toio. 
 
 HE 
 
 Well, yes. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Bob, I shall tell Fat'her on you. 
 [She starts. 
 BOY 
 
 All right, go .ahead. I'll tell Ethel. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Just wait. 
 BOY \ 
 
 I'll get out of here ! 
 
 [Again the two rush precipitately to hold the 
 
 Boy in place, 
 HE 
 
 Bob, be a man I You are childish and common. 
 You are old enough to know better and I think 
 it's an outrage for you to subject your sister to 
 this fright. We can't go out of here just now 
 
 83 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 — and you're making it very embarrassing for 
 us. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Mr. Gordon — there's a cape In that closet. 
 Will you get It for Bob. . . He says he's cold. 
 [He goes to the closet. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Bob, Fll get even with you. You ought to be 
 ashamed. I'm humiliated. 
 
 BOY 
 
 Why — Sis? 
 
 SHE 
 
 Imagine my being with a gentleman and having 
 a very naked boy pop Into the conversation. 
 [He returns with the cape. 
 
 HE 
 
 Here's the cape. 
 
 [He tosses it over the Boy's head and suddenly 
 leans over and kisses her. 
 BOY 
 
 Why don't you smother me I 
 [Boy begins to emerge. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Bob, be careful. 
 [He and She turn away. 
 
 The Boy rises and as he does so the cloak falls 
 about him until, when he steps out of the cur- 
 tains he discloses trousers and shoes. 
 BOY 
 
 I can't go through the hall looking like this. 
 
 SHE 
 
 You must. 
 HE {turning) 
 
 84 
 
THE VERY NAKED BOY 
 
 Go away, Bob. Your sister is very nervous. 
 [^He sees the boy fairly well clothed. He gasps, 
 HE 
 
 Why — 
 
 SHE 
 
 Bob — 
 
 [Turning she sees the hoy fairly well clothed. 
 I thought — How did you — Why didn't you 
 — What were you doing in there? 
 
 BOY 
 
 Father was going to get strict and keep me off 
 the water tonight and just as I came down here 
 to get my sweater I heard him coming to the 
 coat room so I jumped behind the curtains and 
 let him pass and then Joe and Ethel came in 
 and I couldn't let them see me this way. And 
 then somebody else came and then you came 
 in — well, I got cold. 
 
 HE {looking out) 
 
 Run on now, Bob, the hall is clear. 
 \^Boy starts. 
 
 BOY 
 
 What was it you did. Sis? 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't do it. 
 BOY 
 
 Why didn't you do it? 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't do anything 
 
 BOY 
 
 He said Joe squeezed your hand. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Absurd I 
 
 85 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 BOY 
 
 Well, I hope not, because 'he and Ethel got 
 engaged in here too ! 
 
 \^He and She look fondly at each other and 
 He murmurs, " Genevieve " as he reaches out 
 for her. 
 
 The Boy begins to sing, '^ Oh, Genevieve, Sweet 
 Genevieve,'' and they become aware of him, 
 turning upon him and pursuing him with a warn- 
 ing cry of " Bob." 
 
 The End 
 
 86 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 A Play in Three Acts 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Aunt Letitia 
 Susan Sample 
 Uncle Nathaniel 
 Uncle John 
 Jonathan 
 Mlle. Perrault 
 Hank 
 
 Albert Peet 
 Mary 
 John III 
 
ACT I 
 
 Jonathan Makes a Friend 
 
 l_The scene represents the lumber room in the 
 carriage house on John Clay's suburban estate. 
 The room is crowded with old trunks, paintings, 
 barrels, boxes, chests, furniture showing long 
 residence during slow epochs of changing taste. 
 Everything is in good order and carefully la- 
 belled. At the right of the room is a door 
 opening onto the stairs which lead to the ground 
 floor. A small window is set high in the peak 
 of the gabled end up centre. At the left a chim- 
 ney comes through the floor and cuts into the 
 roof as though it had been added by Victorian 
 standards of taste for exterior beautification. 
 An open stove intrudes its pipe into the chim- 
 ney. The single indication of the life of today 
 having touched the place is the studied arrange- 
 ment of an old rosewood square grand piano. 
 The keyboard is uncovered. On the top is a 
 tiny theatre — a model masked and touched 
 with mystery, according to early adolescent 
 standards. Two benches stand in front of the 
 piano, and the piano stool is meticulously set in 
 place. A flamboyant placard leaning against 
 the music rack announces : 
 
 89 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 TODAY 
 
 ZENOBIA 
 
 A tragedy in ten acts 
 by 
 Alexander Jefferson, Sr. 
 The light in the room is dim, although it is quite 
 bright out of doors. There are two low win- 
 dows which are heavily barred. The little thea- 
 tre is so arranged that when the manipulator 
 stands on the box to work it, his head can he 
 seen over the masking. 
 
 The curtain rises disclosing an empty room. 
 Presently laborious steps are heard on the stairs 
 and a key is turned in the lock. Then Aunt 
 Letitia enters followed by Susan Sample. Aunt 
 Letitia is a motherly old woman who has been 
 in the Clay home for many years. She may 
 have preferences, but like the buildings on the 
 estate, she stays where she is. Susan Sample is 
 a tall, slender girl of fourteen with a very gen- 
 tle manner and a way of looking at people that 
 indicates a receptivity rarely met in one so old. 
 Letitia goes to one of the trunks marked E R 
 in large white letters and unlocks it. 
 LETITIA 
 
 Here they are, my dear. Help me with the 
 hasps. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 What does E. R. really stand for, Mis' Letitia? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 E. R. . . . That's a secret, Susan, that little 
 girls aren't supposed to know. 
 
 90 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 I won^t telL 
 
 L,ETITIA 
 
 But what good would that do, my sweet? 
 Please open the windows. 
 SUSAN {opening the window and returning to her 
 question) 
 No one would know you told me. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 I would know. Yes, I would know that I had 
 told somebody else's secret. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Whose secret is it? Please. 
 
 LETITIA , . r 
 
 I've been living In this house for thirty-five 
 years, Susan, and I've known the secrets of all 
 the boys and girls from time to time. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 You know mine, too. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 And I've never told one of them, either. 
 
 SUSAN \ 
 
 Does old Mr. John ever have secrets? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Old Mr. John ! For shame ! ... Of course 
 he has secrets. 
 SUSAN 
 
 I wish I knew some of his. Mis' Letitia. 
 
 LETITIA . 
 
 My dear, you never will know them. John is 
 
 very quiet. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Who in the family didn't have any secrets at 
 all? 
 
 91 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Oh, they all had secrets when they were young. 
 Nathaniel had fewer than any of them and . . . 
 [^Her words are lost tenderly in a memory, 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Why hasn't he ever come back home? 
 
 LETITIA {as she busies herself with the contents 
 of the trunk) 
 
 That is his secret, Susan, and we mustn't ask 
 too many questions. Nathaniel is coming to- 
 day. I won't ask any questions. . . . He was 
 a fine young man. Yes, he's coming back 
 today, my dear. He was the baby of the 
 family. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 How old is he now? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 You little chatterbox! Between you and Jona- 
 than I have to fight to keep anybody's secrets. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Does Jonathan ask many questions? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 When we're alone he does. He's just like his 
 
 Uncle Nathaniel. God bless him! 
 SUSAN {seeing a costume in the trunk) 
 
 Oh, Isn't that just wonderful ! 
 LETITIA {holding the costume up for Susan to see) 
 
 That is what you can wear in the pageant, my 
 
 dear Susan. 
 SUSAN {taking the costume) 
 
 Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! . . . I wish I knew whose it 
 
 was. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Would that make It any prettier? 
 
 92 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 No, but I'd like to know just the same. . . . 
 
 Was it E. R.'s? 
 
 [J cry is heard outside, " Aunt Letty! Aunt 
 
 Letty!" 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Oh, Susan, it's Nathaniel ! It's my boy. Here 
 
 I am, dear. 
 
 [She has an armful of costumes which she drops 
 
 nervously. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Mis' Letitia, I believe you love him best of all ! 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 No, I don't, but I always understood him, I 
 think. 
 
 [The voice below calls again, "Where are 
 you?" 
 
 Come up here, my boy. Come up to the lum- 
 ber room. 
 
 [Steps are heard on the stairs, young eager 
 steps, and Nathaniel Clay hursts into the room. 
 He is an eternally young man of thirty-five, who 
 has touched the dregs and the heights of the 
 world and remained himself. 
 
 NATHANIEL {taking Letitia in his arms, then hold- 
 ing her from him as he inspects her. 
 Aunt Letty ! Not a day older. . . . But oh, so 
 wise. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Nathaniel, my boy, my darling, darling boy. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Now, now. Don't cry. 
 LETITIA 
 
 My boy, my boy. My splendid boy. 
 
 93 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 [Susan has forgotten her costume in her ad- 
 miration for Nathaniel. She puts it down on 
 the bench in front of the piano, 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 And this Is — 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 This is Susan Sample. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Not — 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Yes, time has been flying, Nathaniel. This 
 young lady is Mary Sample's daughter. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 How do you do ? I can't believe It. You were 
 only a little pink cherub up there In the sky when 
 I ran — 
 LETITIA {hurriedly interrupting him) 
 
 Yes, Susan was born three years after you went 
 away. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Oh! . . . And, Aunt Letitia, youVe opened 
 Emily's trunk! 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Yes, Susan Is golng-to be in a pageant. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Who was Emily? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 She was — 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Nathaniel dear, you must not satisfy her curi- 
 osity, 
 
 {To Susan) 
 
 You go find Jonathan, dear, and tell him that 
 his uncle is here. 
 
 94 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 ( To Nathaniel) 
 
 I'll put these things away, and we'll go Into the 
 house. 
 SUSAN {reluctantly) 
 Good-bye, Mr. Clay. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Good-bye, Susan. You'll come back, won't 
 you? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Oh, yes. Good-bye. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Good-bye. 
 [^Susan goes out. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 She hates to go. She's never seen anyone just 
 like you : and I have only seen one. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Who's Jonathan? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 He's the one. . . He^s Emily's boy. \ 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You mean Emily — 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 No, no, my dear. Emily was married, left the 
 stage. She wasn't happy. The boy was her 
 only comfort. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 He's my nephew. Why, I'm Uncle Nathaniel. 
 Oh, Aunt Letty, I'm getting to be an old man ! 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Nathaniel, Jonathan doesn't know about his 
 mother. I sent Susan away because I didn't 
 want her to associate these things with Jona- 
 than's mother. 
 
 95 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 My God, Emily didn't do anything wrong. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Well, she was an actress. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 And a good one, too. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Yes, yes, dear. All that has been talked over 
 many times, but John is the head of the family 
 and he doesn't approve of the stage. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 So ! John Is still himself. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 John Is austere, Nathaniel. He Is a Clay 
 through and through and he holds to the tradi- 
 tions of the family. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I remember the traditions, Aunt Letltla. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 I never oppose John. He feels that he Is right. 
 But it is very hard sometimes to live up to his 
 rules. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Has he rules? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Well, he has Ideas, dear — much like your fa- 
 ther's. We might call them rules. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Where is Emily? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Two years ago, Nathaniel. 
 [There is a moment^ s silence. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Did she ever go back to the stage? 
 
 96 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 No. John forbade it. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 And John Is still forbidding. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 John is the head of the family. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 So. . . The Clay family is still an absolute 
 monarchy. 
 LETITIA 
 
 Nathaniel, dear, will you promise me — 
 NATHANIEL {with a sm'ile) 
 I'll try. 
 
 LETITIA - 
 
 Will you promise not to antagonize John? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Will John antagonize me? I came back to see 
 my home — to see you, my dear aunt. But I 
 am a grown man now. \ 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Won't you try to be patient? It will be pleas- 
 anter for me. And I have waited so long to see 
 you, Nathaniel. There are seventeen very, 
 very long years for us tc talk about. Let John 
 have his way. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, I'll try for a few days. But I give you 
 warning, my ideas have been settling during the 
 past few years, too. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Remember, he is used to being obeyed just as 
 your father was. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes, I remember that, dear Aunt; but John isn't 
 
 97 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 I 
 
 my father. He is just a brother to whom fate 
 gave a fifteen years' start by birth. 
 [As a voice calls, " Nathaniel, are you up 
 there? " Nathaniel looks at Letitia. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 His voice is just the same. {Calling) Yes, 
 John, I am up here. 
 
 [The antagonism between the two brothers is 
 apparent immediately. 
 
 John Clay enters. He is an austere, pompous 
 man of fifty who has the softness of the tithe- 
 collector and the hardness of the tax-collector. 
 He speaks with an adamantine finality which is 
 destined to rude shattering. 
 JOHN 
 
 How do you do, Nathaniel? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I am very well, I thank you, John. How are 
 you? 
 
 [They shake hands perfunctorily, 
 JOHN 
 
 You arrived ahead of time. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 We haven't met for seventeen years. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No. I've been away, John. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Where have you been? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I shall be here for two weeks, John, and if I 
 should tell you all about myself today, I should 
 have nothing to talk about tomorrow. 
 
 98 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JOHN {severely) , . , xr -n 
 
 You haven't changed, Nathaniel. You are still 
 frivolous. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I shall be serious when I am your age, brother. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I came out here to ask you to be very careful ot 
 your conversation before the children. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 The children? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Yes, my two grandchildren.- — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Grandchildren! My, that makes me a great 
 uncle. I am getting old, Aunt Letitia ! 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I do not care to have them or Jonathan hear 
 about any revolutionary or other unusual ideas. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I shall try not to contaminate the children and 
 Jonathan. How old are the children? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Mary is four and John 3rd is two. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I shall try to spare their sensibilities. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 They may not understand you but they will 
 hear. 
 NATHANIEL {to Letitia) 
 How old is Jonathan? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Fourteen. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 The impressionable age. 
 
 99 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JOHN 
 
 The silly age. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Brother John, no age Is the silly age. Fourteen 
 is the age of visions and enchantments and 
 fears. What a boy of fourteen sees and hears 
 takes on a value that we cannot underestimate. 
 Most men are defeated in life between fourteen 
 and twenty. At fourteen a boy begins to make 
 a lens through which he sees life. He thinks 
 about everything. Ambition is beginning to 
 stir In him and he begins to know why he likes 
 things, why he wants to do certain things. He 
 formulates lasting plans for the future and he 
 takes In Impressions that are Indelible. Things 
 that seem nothing to old people become memo- 
 orles to him that affect his whole life. The 
 memory of a smile may encourage him to sur- 
 mount all obstacles and the memory of a bitter- 
 ness may act as an eternal barrier. 
 JOHN 
 
 Nathaniel, are you a father? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, John, I am only a bachelor who is very 
 much In love with life In general and one lady in 
 particular. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You can know nothing of children, then. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I remember myself. Most men forget their 
 younger selves and that is fatal. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 One would think to hear you talk that the most 
 
 100 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 important things in life were a boy of fourteen 
 and his moorings. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 One might know it. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You are still the same impractical theorist. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I am the same theorist — a little older, a little 
 more travelled. The trouble with you, John, 
 is that you think no age is important except 
 your own. You always thought that, even 
 when you were fourteen. Oh, I know I wasn't 
 born then, but I know you. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Did you come back to your home in order to 
 lecture me? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, no. I beg your pardon. I came back to 
 see my home and Aunt Letitia and the children 
 — and you, and I — I think — Jonathan. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Nathaniel, when your letter came telling me that 
 you had decided to come back to see us, I was 
 going to ask you not to come - — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I gave no address. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 But on second thought, I made up my mind to 
 forgive you — 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Thank you. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 To let bygones be bygones. 
 
 lOI 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 ' That Is the better way, brother : let the dead 
 
 past bury Its dead. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Why did you run away from home ? 
 
 1 NATHANIEL 
 
 Because we couldn't agree, John. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I was older than you ; my judgment was mature ; 
 I was the head of the family, in my father's 
 place 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 We didn't speak the same language. I wanted 
 something out of life that you couldn't under- 
 stand; that my father couldn't understand. I 
 determined to get It by myself. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Well? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 And SO, I ran away. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Leaving no trace, no word. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Oh, yes, I left a very Important word — " Good- 
 bye." 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You were willing to leave all the work of our 
 father's business on my shoulders. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You were willing to take It all. And I wanted 
 my freedom. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You were selfish and heartless. 
 
 102 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Selfish? Because I had my life to live and 
 meant to live it? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You should have told us where you were living. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I preferred to work out my salvation alone, 
 without interference. My going away gave 
 you a free hand. John, don't tell me that you 
 were not overjoyed that my flight gave you all 
 my father's fortune. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 It was my duty as head of the family to protect 
 you. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I didn't ask for protection. I wanted under- 
 standing. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 A boy of eighteen must not be allowed freedom. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Perhaps not, John, but he must be allowed to 
 grow toward his goal. Eighteen is not too 
 young for a man to fly through the air in de- 
 fense of his country, or you. The burden of 
 the world today is on the shoulders of men from 
 eighteen to eighty, share and share alike. . . . 
 I wanted to be a writer — 
 
 JOHN 
 
 And our brother Henry wanted to be a musical 
 composer and our sister Emily wanted to be an 
 actress! A fine putout for the leading com- 
 mercial family of this state I 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, John, our brother and our sister have 
 
 103 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 paid the final penalty. They have died. Henry 
 left a handful of worthless little tunes and Em- 
 ily left a trunkful of costumes as monuments 
 to their folly. And now Emily's boy is here 
 under your wing. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He's a dreamer like all the rest of you. 
 NATHANIEL {with interest; tenderly) 
 Yes? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He spends all his leisure time playing with that 
 fool toy there. 
 
 [He points to the model theatre, 
 Nathaniel smiles and crosses to the piano and 
 lifts the cloth that covers the theatre; then he 
 looks at the placard and laughs joyously. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 " Zenobia." " Alexander Jefferson, Sr." 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He pretends that's his name — Alexander Jef- 
 ferson, Sr! 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 People like to have other names. Look at all 
 artists — like writers, pugilists, and actors, and 
 base ball players. And the Sr. is an effort to 
 appear older. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Well, Fm breaking him of all that nonsense. I 
 allow him only a certain number of hours for 
 play. Emily used to spoil him and it's been a 
 task to conquer him. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Jonathan Is fourteen. When I was fourteen — 
 What are Jonathan's tastes? 
 
 104 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He reads all the time and he wants to write 
 plays and poetry; but I am conquering that sil- 
 liness. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I think I am going to like my nephew. John, 
 I'll come into the house shortly. I think I'll 
 look at this toy a moment and I'll get Aunt Leti- 
 tia to show me some of Emily's things. A mere 
 matter of sentiment. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Now don't put any foolishness into the boy's 
 head. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I promise you I sha'n't try to change the boy's 
 head, brother. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I play golf from ^vt to six. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Oh, you've taken up athletics? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 The doctor's advice. Will you join me? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Thank you, no. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Very well. I'll see you at dinner. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Thank you. ( John goes out. Nathaniel looks 
 musingly at Letitia who has been sitting silently 
 on Emily's trunk, knitting. Nathaniel crosses 
 to her and sits on a stool at her feet) Does 
 John always talk to you so much, little church 
 mouse? 
 
 105 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 I have been a poor relation for thirty-five years, 
 my boy, and to be a successful poor relation, 
 one must learn the art of silence. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No wonder I ran awayl 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 But you should have written to me. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Perhaps — I should — yes — I should have 
 written, but I didn't. You see, Aunt Letty, I 
 was a sensitive boy. All my life I had dreamed 
 of doing my own work. I saw Henry disap- 
 pointed in life, I saw Emily made miserable 
 enough through the traditions of the family. 
 John couldn't understand me and I couldn't un- 
 derstand him. There was no common meeting- 
 ground. John was the head of the family and 
 so deeply was the idea of submission to rule 
 ingrained in me that I could think of only one 
 way out of my restraint. I wouldn't study en- 
 gineering, and I wouldn't continue at Somerset 
 School. Well, I ran away from my ancestral 
 castle to find my way In a new world. I think I 
 have found it. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Jonathan doesn't want to study engineering, 
 either. 
 NATHANIEL (Looks closely at her a moment 
 and then smiles) 
 
 As Ibsen would say — Ghosts ! {He walks tO' 
 ward the window) Poor John I 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Poor Jonathan ! 
 
 io6 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 l^At this moment Jonathan enters the room. 
 He is a slender boy of fourteen with a deep 
 problem in his eyes. When he smiles before 
 his elders, which is seldom, he seems always 
 prepared to restrain the smile. His voice is 
 just changing and this adds to his reticence. 
 He has a tremendous capacity for expressing 
 wonderment and, as usual with one of his type, 
 he is capable of great displays of temper. He 
 gives the impression of thinking about every- 
 thing he sees. He is at the age of wonder and 
 only custom prevents the world from becoming 
 the promised land of visions and enchantments. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Poor Jonathan! 
 \^He turns and sees the boy. 
 The two stand face to face for a moment. For 
 Nathaniel it is the first moment of a new rela- 
 tionship. For Jonathan it is a moment of un- 
 certainty. He has heard himself called '' Poor 
 Jonathan '^ and he is facing another male rela- 
 tive. 
 
 Jonathan looks first at Letitia, then at Nathaniel 
 and then at Letitia. 
 LETITIA 
 
 Jonathan, this Is your Uncle Nathaniel. Na- 
 thaniel, this Is Emily's boy. 
 
 NATHANIEL {Holds out his hand which Jona- 
 than takes very shyly) 
 Jonathan ! 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 How do you do, sir? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 How tall you are I 
 
 107 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN (quite conscious of his short trousers) 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I didn't take you away from any studies, did I ? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, sir. . . I was just writing something when 
 Susan called me. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 May I ask what you were writing? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. ... 
 [He swallows, 
 ... A play. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 A play I Zenohia? 
 JONATHAN {Looks quickly for some indication 
 
 of laughter in Nathaniel* s eyes) 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 It's a tragedy, isn't it? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 In ten acts. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 There may be only eight. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Then I know who you are! (Jonathan looks 
 at him in surprise) You are the celebrated 
 dramatist, Alexander Jefferson, Sr. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Did Aunt Letltia tell you? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, sir. I read it on the billboards. {Jona- 
 
 io8 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 than laughs with a catch in his breath) And I 
 should like to attend a performance, Mr. Jef- 
 ferson. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 It isn't finished yet. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, when am I to see this theatre? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Your Uncle Nathaniel and I shall come to- 
 gether. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You've seen all the plays. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 That doesn't make any difference. I'd like to 
 see them again. 
 
 [^Jonathan looks at her to he sure she is in ear- 
 nest. Then he smiles. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'll finish Zenohia for tomorrow. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Agreed ! Can you get the scenery ready? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I painted It last week. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 You must have the orchestra, too, Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, ma'am. Susan has some new pieces. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Is Susan the orchestra? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What else have you written? 
 
 109 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 A lot of plays, sir. Mother and I used to write 
 little plays. I don't write many any more. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 Why not? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm getting too big. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Do you ever write anything beside plays? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 That's splendid. Stories? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. . . . And IVe written some po — 
 poetry. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Excellent ! 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 They're not very good, but Susan always wants 
 me to write the poetry for the music. 
 [Aunt Letitia has repacked the trunk and 
 locked it. She sees that Nathaniel and Jona- 
 than are getting on famously, 
 LETITIA 
 
 I'll go to the house now and you can talk to 
 Jonathan, Nathaniel. 
 
 [Jonathan looks appealingly at Letitia, hut 
 with a smile she goes downstairs. 
 Jonathan and Nathaniel look at each other for 
 an embarrassed minute^ then Jonathan takes 
 refuge at his theatre. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 May I see some of your plays? 
 
 IIO 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you really want to see them? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes. 
 
 [Jonathan goes to a box on the piano in which 
 there are many manuscripts carefully hound. 
 He hands one to Nathaniel, 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Here Is one that mother and I wrote. She 
 loved the theatre. 
 NATHANIEL {taking the strange-looking little 
 manuscript. Reading:) 
 " Robin Hood and His Merry Men." 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 We used to make all those old stories Into plays. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Do you like to write? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, yes. I wish I could write real plays, but 
 there's no one to help me now. My mother 
 used to correct them and tell me what was 
 wrong. She knew a lot about the theatre and 
 she used to tell me all sorts of things. But now 
 Aunt Letitia doesn't say anything. Sometimes 
 she comes to a show, but she can't help me. 
 And Uncle John doesn't like the theatre. He 
 thinks I'm too old to give shows, but I can't help 
 it. There's nothing I like so much. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 May I read this some time? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. . . Would you like to see it played? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I want to see them all. 
 
 Ill 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Forty-one of them? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Forty-one of them ! Where do you keep them 
 all? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Here In this box. 
 
 \_He shows all the manuscripts, 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What are the pink ones? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Those are the ones mother liked best and 
 these — {showing blue ones) are the ones I 
 liked best. ... I like them all now, but It used 
 to be lots of fun to choose our favorites. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What Is this one that's different from all the 
 rest? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That's one that mother wrote all by herself. 
 It's best of all. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You must save these carefully, Jonathan - — all 
 your life. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Some day you may be proud of them. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 See — she wrote this, and I wrote this. I was 
 a bad writer, wasn't I? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What do you want to do, Jonathan? 
 
 112 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You mean what do I want to be? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I want to write plays. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Is that all? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Well, I'd like to run a theatre. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What else ? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 rd — you won't tell anyone, will you? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Of course not. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You see, Uncle John wants me to go to Somer- 
 set School to study engineering and learn the 
 
 business. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 And you don't want to — Is that it? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'd rather be a writer. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 They say you can't make any money at writing. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That's what Uncle John says, but I want to just 
 the same. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 If you follow John's advice, you'll be a rich 
 man. 
 
 113 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'd rather be poor. What would you do, Un- 
 cle Nathaniel? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I — why rd — Oh, come now, Jonathan — 
 you know John is the head of the Clay family 
 and you and he must decide this question. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Wouldn't you want to be what you want to be? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Perhaps I should. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't see how anyone can decide what you 
 want to be ■- — no matter how old he is. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Have you ever talked to John? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What did he say? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He said I had to study engineering or go to 
 work in the factory next fall for good. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What do you want to do? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I want to go to a fine prep school and then to 
 college and then — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Then what? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I want to be an actor II 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I see. 
 
 114 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't tell anybody. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I won't. That's pretty far from engineering, 
 isn't It? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. But everybody can't be alike. You 
 and Uncle John aren't anything alike. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 And we're brothers, too. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you ever get all mixed up and don't know 
 what to do? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Oh, yes. I think everybody does. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 What do you do then? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I do something very silly. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you do silly things, too? 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes. I'm afraid I do. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 What do you do when you get all mixed up? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I'll tell you — It might not work with every- 
 body, you know — but it works with me. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir I 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 My mother U3ed to sing me a song called — 
 " There is a green hill far away." I always 
 liked that song because It gave me a feeling of 
 
 115 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 contentment and happiness. I Imagined that I 
 could see that hill with Its pleasant green slopes 
 and at Its foot lay a little cottage all cool and 
 pleasant and open to the winds. There were 
 no locks and bolts to keep one out or to keep one 
 In. I used to Imagine that I was climbing that 
 hill to the top of the world and when I reached 
 the summit I could see - — 
 JONATHAN {enthralled) 
 
 I know — the whole wide world. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Its very bigness made me happy In my Imag- 
 ination. . . . Then when I grew up and heavy 
 troubles came to me I remembered the Green 
 Hill Far Away and one day I found such a hill 
 and I climbed It — clear to the top — and there 
 below me lay the world — the whole wnde 
 world — and I told the world something then 
 and felt the better for It. . . . Jonathan, there 
 is nothing like a hill-top to make a man feel 
 worth while. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I know what you mean. . . . But I always want 
 to jump when I look down from any place, do 
 you? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I suppose everybody does. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Uncle John thinks every boy ought to be alike. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Many schools used to think that way. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 But boys don't all think the same. TheyVe dlf- 
 
 ii6 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 ferent just like men, only they don't know so 
 much. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Perhaps not. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Uncle John won't let me put on long pants until 
 I'm fifteen. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 He let me put them on when I was fifteen, too. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Were you as tall as I am? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Just about the same height, but my legs were 
 like pipe stems and I was very much ashamed. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 So am I. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You'll forget all about it after you're fifteen. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I can talk to you like I used to talk to my 
 mother. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Thank you. We're going to be fine friends, 
 aren't we? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You bet. Is it silly for me to like to write 
 plays? 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Why do you ask that? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Because Uncle John says it's silly. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, it all depends upon the way you look at it, 
 
 117 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 Jonathan. The world has never been able to 
 agree as to what Is and what is not silly. Mr. 
 Browning, the poet, might have considered 
 hooks and eyes the silliest things in the world; 
 but to Mr. de Long, they were, no doubt, the 
 most important things in the world. Many 
 men agree with Mr. Browning and many ladies 
 agree with Mr. de Long. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That's what I think. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You and I probably have many thoughts in 
 common. 
 
 [Susan and Mile. Perrault enter. Mile. Per- 
 rault is a Frenchwoman of exquisite grace and 
 poise. She speaks English fluently, but with a 
 charming accent and an occasional Gallic phrase 
 larding her pleasant sentences. Her entrance 
 into the room is electric. She has already won 
 Susan. 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Ah, there you are, Mr. Nathaniel Clay. I met 
 la belle Susanne in the roadway and she told 
 me you were in the lumber room in the carriage 
 house and I say to her, " We shall track him to 
 his lair." Besides, I want to see what a lum- 
 ber room is. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I was hiding from you. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Villain! And this is Jonathan. How do you 
 do? Susanne tells me you write poetry and she 
 writes music and she promise me that you will 
 sing for me. 
 
 Ii8 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 I can't sing. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Ah! Susanne tell me you have a theatre and 
 you write plays and paint scenery and write poe- 
 try and sing songs and she say if I come here 
 to the lumber room in the carriage house you 
 will play me a tragedy and sing me a song. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, ma'am. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Having Introduced yourself to everybody, will 
 you tell rne, Susan, how Mile. Perrault learned 
 so much in such a little time? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Well, I was waiting for Jonathan to call me. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, I forgot. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 She was sitting like a little fairy in the grass 
 by the roadway, and I stop my car and ask for 
 Mr. Nathaniel Clay and she say you are here In 
 the lumber room in the carriage house and she 
 tell me many things — because we like each 
 other very, very much and we walk very, very 
 slowly. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Now! Now that you know all about Miss 
 Susan Sample and Mr. Jonathan — {He real- 
 izes he doesn't know Jonathan's second name) 
 I think I shall Introduce you by your pen name, 
 Jonathan — Mr. Alexander Jefferson, Sr. 
 {To Mile. Perrault) 
 
 I am going to let them know about you. This, 
 
 119 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 lady and gentleman, is Mile. Marthe Perrault 
 of Paris, France. Mile. Perrault, may I pre- 
 sent my friend Susan and my nephew Jonathan? 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT {falling into the mood) 
 
 I am very, very pleased to see you again. Miss 
 Sample. It is a great pleasure to have the 
 honor of meeting you, Mr. Alexander Jeffer- 
 son, Sr. I am looking forward to the premiere 
 of your great tragedy, Zenohia, of which Miss 
 Sample has been telling me. 
 
 SUSAN {Puts her arms about Mile. Perrault and 
 Jonathan is uncertain whether to be happy or 
 afraid) 
 He wrote lots of others, too. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Forty-one. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I think I'll tell you two a secret. (Susan pricks 
 up her ears) Do you like secrets? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 And can you keep them? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Oh, yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, some day Mile. Perrault is going to be 
 my wife. 
 
 \^He kisses Mile. Perraulfs hand. 
 Mile. Perrault shows her engagement ring. 
 SUSAN 
 
 When? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Very soon. She Is here on some war work and 
 
 1 20 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 when she and her father go back to France I 
 shall follow and we shall be married. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Ooh — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Now you mustn't tell. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Honest. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, sir! 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Now, we have a secret. And you are going to 
 sing me a little.song. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Come on, Jona'than. Let's do the new one. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Well, ril try. 
 
 \^He is quite miserable with stage-fright. 
 Susan sits at the piano and plays a chord. 
 Then Jonathan begins to sing with much fear 
 in his voice. 
 JONATHAN {singing) 
 All on a summer's day, 
 With flowers by the way, 
 A fair young prince and his purple knight 
 Found a princess at her play. 
 So by the crescent moon 
 He asked a royal boon 
 And sat him down on a soft green knoll — 
 And the night-time came too soon. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Oh, that is just like a little French peasant 
 
 song! How does it go? 
 
 La — la — la — la — la — la. 
 
 121 
 
 V 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 [^Susan begins to play it again. 
 Jonathan sings more surely than before. 
 Slowly Mile. Perrault falls into the rhythm and 
 very simply dances a little peasant dance to 
 Jonathan's and Susan's song. The two young- 
 sters are in the seventh heaven of delight. 
 So — when one is very happy or very sad, he 
 makes a song and when he's very, very happy, 
 he dances. And when he Is very, very, very 
 unhappy he dies. You see, / am very, very 
 happy. When do you play Zenobia, Mr. Jef- 
 ferson, Sr. ? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 ril have it ready tomorrow, maybe tonight. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 We shall have a season ticket. But now, I 
 want you to meet my blessed Aunt Letltla. She 
 hasn't changed one bit In all these years. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 jTo Aunt Letltla then. Good-bye, Jonathan. 
 Tomorrow Is the day of the great premiere. 
 JONATHAN {awkwardly) 
 Thanks. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 And la belle petite Susanne, au revolt. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 I'll walk with you part of the way. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Very well. Marchons, marchons. . . . 
 [They go out. 
 NATHANIEL {holding back a little) 
 Good-bye, Mr. Manager. 
 [He goes out calling " Marthe." 
 Jonathan is left alone in his joy. As he stands , 
 
 122 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 a strange^ aimless, vacuous whistling is heard 
 outside the window as though from one am- 
 hling by. Jonathan hears it unconsciously, 
 moves to put his plays away, alternately whis- 
 tling and singing ^^ All on a summer^ s day!^ 
 Presently the whistling of the strange air is 
 heard as though coming front downstairs. It 
 stops and a voice calls out "Hi I '* 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Who is It? 
 VOICE 
 It's me. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 What do you want? 
 
 \^By this time the Voice has become a person in 
 the shape of Hank, one of the scum of creation 
 who asks nothing of life and gives nothing. He 
 was born of woman and he grew into man's 
 form, but one looking at him wonders how he 
 survived dirt and the mere effort of breathing. 
 He is stoutish with no marked coloring unless 
 it be a cross between khaki and field-gray. 
 Weather and time have conspired to render him 
 inconspicuous. When he speaks his voice is 
 produced with a careful effort to conserve en- 
 ergy. When he walks it seems to be a move- 
 ment in answer to prayer rather than a physical 
 fact. 
 
 HANK 
 Say — 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 How'd you get in here? 
 
 HANK 
 
 Well, it's this way, you see. The gate was open 
 
 123 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 out there and this looked pretty fine to me so I 
 come in. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You'd better go away before my uncle sees you. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Look here, young feller, I ain't goin' a-do no 
 harm. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Well, he doesn't allow strangers on the place. 
 
 HANK 
 
 I jus' come in to ask if I could sleep somewhere 
 around here if I worked for my sleep and 
 grub. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, he won't let you. 
 
 HANK 
 
 How do you know he won't? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 'Cause it's a rule. 
 
 [Hank whistles a snatch of the strange air and 
 
 sits down. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Where's your pa ? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He's dead. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Long? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Ten years ago. 
 HANK 
 
 How old are you? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Fourteen. 
 
 124 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 HANK 
 
 Your pa died when you were four. So did 
 mine. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Did you ever have an uncle? 
 
 HANK 
 
 How many you got? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I got two living and one dead. 
 
 HANK 
 
 All three of mine's dead. 
 
 [He whistles a snatch of the strange air and 
 takes a chew of tobacco, 
 Where's your ma? 
 JONATHAN {Is ahout to become impatient, but 
 an innate tolerance causes him to answer) 
 She died when I was twelve. 
 
 HANK 
 
 So did mine. {Whistles) We're alike in lots 
 of ways, ain't we? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 What did you do when your mother died? 
 
 HANK 
 
 I felt pretty sorry. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Did your brothers and sisters help you any? 
 
 HANK 
 
 Have you any brothers and sisters? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No — 
 
 HANK 
 
 Me neither. {Whistles casually) No one 
 took no notice of me. 
 
 125 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 What'd you do? 
 HANK 
 
 I went away. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Why didn't you try to work? 
 
 HANK 
 
 Couldn't find nothing suitable. 'T first I felt 
 sort o' worried an' then I kep' walkin' on and 
 I seen so much trouble where I went I says to 
 myself, '^ Hank, you're lucky," I says. *' You 
 ain't got no fam'ly to bother you an' you ain't 
 got nothing to worry you an' you don't have to 
 get no place In partlc'lar and you don't have to 
 stay no place. A man wot's got a wife's all the 
 time worrying about her health or her money 
 spendin' or her gaddin' or her naggin'. An' a 
 man w'ots got a fam'ly's always wondering 
 where they'll end. An' a man's wot's got a 
 home's all time worrying about keepin' It locked 
 up. I bet the poor nut wot owns this place 
 can't breathe easy for bein' scared things'll be 
 took or burnt up. W'y you — look at you — 
 {Whistles) You're wishin' Pd go 'cause 
 you're 'frald Pll take somethin'. I won't take 
 nothin', young feller, 'cause I don't need 
 nothin' now and I won't need nothin' till It's cold 
 again — and then Pll git an overcoat maybe. 
 It's too much trouble takin' things — 'cause you 
 have to carry 'em. {Whistles) You goln' to 
 let me sleep here some place? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I can't. My uncle would drive you away. 
 Maybe he'd have you arrested. 
 
 126 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 HANK 
 
 I ain't done nothin'. I ain't hurtin' nobody. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Well, he doesn't allow strangers around. 
 HANK {Whistles. At the window) 
 That's where I went by jus' now. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I heard you whistling. 
 
 HANK 
 
 That's a tune I made up once. {Whistles) 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you make up tunes ? 
 
 HANK 
 
 That's the only one I ever done. It comes in 
 handy and it don't hurt no one. 
 [Jonathan unconsciously tries to whistle a 
 phrase of the tune. 
 HANK 
 
 No, that ain't it. It's this way. 
 \_Whistles, 
 
 Jonathan tries it again and fails. 
 No. Here. 
 
 Jonathan makes it this time, 
 HANK 
 
 That's it. Say, what you got these bars for? 
 It's like jail. Are they afraid you'll jump out 
 on them rocks? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, I guess not. There Isn't much danger of 
 my wanting to jump out. 
 HANK 
 
 You never can tell for sure, young feller. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 It's to keep people from climbing in. 
 
 127 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 HANK 
 
 There ain't no bars over that one. {Pointing 
 to gable window) 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That's too high. 
 
 HANK 
 
 It'd be like fallin' off the top of a house, 
 
 wouldn't it? 
 
 [^Whistles. 
 
 Jonathan whistles '' All on a Summer's Day." 
 
 HANK 
 
 What you got there? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That's my theatre. 
 
 HANK 
 
 A show? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes. 
 
 HANK 
 
 How does It work? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 These are the actors. 
 
 HANK 
 
 What's the string fer? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You put him in a groove and pull him. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Lemme see It. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 All right. I'll show you a scene from the play 
 Fm going to play for my Uncle Nathaniel to- 
 morrow. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Fire away. 
 
 128 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 [Jonathan lights the lamps that are back of the 
 screen and pulls the blinds or some cover over 
 the barred windows. 
 
 HANK 
 
 I wouldn't have all this junk if you'd give it to 
 me. No, sir, when I move I carry my house 
 with me and there ain't much o' that now. {In- 
 dicates his clothes) 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 All ready. Now you sit there. 
 
 [Places Hank on the bench. 
 
 He goes behind the screen and taps some hells, 
 
 HANK 
 
 What's that fer? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That's to get ready. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Well, I'm ready. 
 
 [Jonathan opens the curtain and discloses a 
 scene from Zenohia. 
 That's beautiful. It's just like real. 
 [Jonathan pulls a figure across the stage. 
 Hello, old man. That's the one I jus' seen. 
 Where's the string? 
 [Jonathan lifts the string. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Here It Is. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Now where's that feller goln' to? 
 JONATHAN {coming out from behind the screen) 
 
 Well, you see, Zenohia — ; 
 HANK 
 
 Zenob — God, what a name! 
 
 129 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 They used to have names like that. 
 
 HANK 
 
 How d' you do It? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Look, I'll show you a little. 
 \^He goes behind the screen and closes the cur- 
 tain. 
 
 HANK 
 
 What you doln^ that for? I like to see that 
 picture. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm going to show you how I do it. 
 [Jonathan rings the bells. 
 HANK 
 
 All right. I'm ready. Let her go. 
 [Jonathan opens the curtain and pulls a charac- 
 ter on, then another. 
 JONATHAN {in assumed voice) 
 '' Hail, noble duke." 
 " All Is well, I ween." 
 
 HANK 
 
 Say, are they talkin' to each other? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Which Is the noble duke? 
 JONATHAN {pulling a string) 
 
 This one. 
 HANK 
 
 And the other one's name Is Iween, ain't it? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, his name Is Rollo. 
 
 130 
 
w 
 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 o 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 HANK 
 
 All right, fire ahead. I guess you know what 
 you're doing. 
 JONATHAN (in assumed voice) 
 " Hail, noble duke." 
 '' All is well, I ween." 
 *' Not very well, noble duke." 
 ** What is wrong? " 
 
 *' Queen Zenobia is very mad, noble duke." 
 *' What is she mad about, Rollo? " 
 [^Uncle John enters suddenly. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Jonathan — 
 [He sees Hank. 
 What does this mean? 
 
 HANK 
 
 I'm seein' a show. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You get out of here this instant. 
 
 HANK 
 
 I ain't hurtin' nothin', mister, but I'll git out if 
 you say so. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 What do you mean by this, Jonathan? 
 
 HANK 
 
 I'll git out. Thank you fer the show, boy. 
 [He goes out whistling. 
 John crosses to the door. 
 JOHN {calling after Hank) 
 
 Come on, get out of here quickly. 
 
 HANK {of) 
 
 I'm out, mister. 
 
 131 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Now, Jonathan, what do you mean by bringing 
 such people into this place? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I didn't bring him in. He came up while I was 
 
 working. 
 JOHN 
 
 Do you call that silly stuff working? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I was getting it ready for Uncle Nathaniel. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He's been putting that nonsense in your head, 
 has he? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He asked me to let him see all my plays. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I suppose he told you to ask that dirty tramp in 
 here. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, sir. He didn't see the tramp. 
 \^Hank is heard whistling. 
 
 John crosses to one of the windows and opens 
 it. 
 JOHN {calling) 
 
 You get away from there. Move on. 
 
 hank's VOICE 
 
 I guess the roadside's free, mister. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 We'll see about that. 
 [Hank whistles. 
 JOHN 
 
 Jonathan, I won't have you waste your time on 
 this stuff. Fve been pretty lenient with you and 
 Pve allowed you to keep your toys because 
 
 132 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 Emily spoiled you; but you're too big for such 
 things and I'm going to put my foot down right 
 now. I'm not going to have this silly stuff 
 around. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Uncle Nathaniel doesn't think It's silly. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I'll decide what Is and Is not good for you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 The same thing Isn't good for everybody. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Don't talk back to me, young man. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I've got a right to think. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Jonathan I 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 If my mother was living, she wouldn't call 
 everything I like to do silly. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Your mother didn't know what was good for 
 you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My mother was the best woman in the world. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 That will do, Jonathan. Your mother was my 
 sister and I am not saying anything against her. 
 But I do say that stuff must go. 
 [He starts for the door, 
 JONATHAN 
 
 If this theatre goes, I go, too. I'm not — 
 [John walks over to the, theatre and sweeps the 
 whole structure onto the floor. 
 
 133 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Now. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You dirty coward, you — 
 
 [John turns upon the boy and strikes him across 
 the face. 
 
 In mingled rage and humiliation Jonathan sobs 
 wildly once or twice, then controls himself and 
 glares violently at his uncle. 
 JOHN 
 
 I'll let you think about it. I'll leave you here 
 with your toys like a girl-baby. 
 [He goes out the door, closing it and turning 
 the key in the lock. 
 Jonathan runs to the door. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You let me out of here ! You let me out of 
 here I 
 
 [Jle pounds the door with his fists. 
 Then he turns in despair and humiliation. 
 He paces the floor a moment, not knowing what 
 to do. Suddenly Hank's whistle is heard. The 
 boy listens as though fascinated and goes to the 
 window and watches Hank. Jonathan goes to 
 his wrecked theatre and, taking it up, piles his 
 manuscripts, the pink and the blue, on it. He 
 hesitates to include one in the pile, offering once 
 or twice to put it in his pocket, but he finally 
 places it in grim determination with the others. 
 Then he takes it off and stuffs it in his pocket. 
 He stuffs the pile in the stove and sets a match 
 to it, watches it a moment, then writes on a 
 piece of paper, fastens it to the door. Then 
 he finds a piece of rope on a packing case, 
 
 134 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 moves the ladder under the gable window^ fas- 
 tens the rope to a peg in the wall, climbs the 
 ladder, considers a moment, returns to the stove 
 with the beloved manuscript, stuffs it in the fire, 
 remounts the ladder and lets his weight onto 
 the rope. As he disappears from view, the 
 rope breaks and a cry and sound of falling are 
 heard. 
 
 The flames from the burning theatre and manu- 
 scripts flicker against the wall for a silent mo- 
 ment. 
 
 The key is heard to turn in the lock and John 
 and Nathaniel enter, 
 JOHN 
 
 Jonathan! 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 He's hiding. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Jonathan ! 
 NATHANIEL [Sees paper on door) 
 
 What's this? 
 JOHN 
 
 What does it say? 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 ''Good-bye! . . . Jonathan." 
 JOHN {Looks suspiciously at Nathaniel) 
 
 Did you tell the silly boy about your running 
 away? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I told Jonathan nothing about myself. You 
 are the head of the Clay family and out of cus- 
 tom I respected your position; but, by God, 
 John, you're a failure with this boy. 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He — 
 
 \_Hank enters carrying Jonathan in his arms. 
 Jonathan is limp and pitiful. His clothes are 
 torn. He is moaning pitifully. 
 HANK 
 
 He fell on the rocks out there. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Put him over here. 
 
 [^Hank places Jonathan on the bench near the 
 piano. Nathaniel places the costume, which 
 Susan left there, under his head for a pillow. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 What was he doing? 
 
 HANK 
 
 He was — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 This is no time for questions, John. Call a 
 
 doctor. 
 
 {^Jonathan moans and rolls his head, looking 
 
 vacantly at Hank now and then. 
 JONATHAN {moaning) 
 
 Good-bye. . . . Jonathan. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 We'd better take him in the house. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My mother was the best woman — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 He'd better stay here until the doctor comes. 
 [John exits. 
 JONATHAN, 
 
 All on a summer's day — 
 
 \_All the time Nathaniel has been passing his 
 
 hands over Jonathan. 
 
 136 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 HANK 
 
 He's out of his head, ain't he? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Perhaps, but sometimes one's heart speaks in 
 a delirium. 
 
 HANK 
 
 He acts like his back's broke. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 My God — his back ! 
 \^T ouches the boy's back. 
 Jonathan winces with pain. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My back's broken, Hank. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Listen, he's saying my name. We wuz pals, 
 sure nuff. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My back's broken. Hank. 
 
 Curtain, 
 
 137 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Six years have elapsed since Act I as years elapse In a boy's 
 imaginings. 
 
 Throughout this act the characters are disclosed without reason 
 as in a dream ; and the movement of the act represents four 
 terrors of a delirium — anxious effort to make oneself known, a 
 feeling of fetters, climbing and a sudden fall. 
 
 Jonathan Builds a Fear 
 
 {^Before the curtain rises the voices of Jona- 
 than, Hank, Nathaniel and John are heard, 
 muffled and far away, 
 HANK 
 
 He fell on the rocks out there. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Put him over here. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 What was he doing? 
 
 HANK 
 
 He was — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 This Is no time for questions, John. Call a 
 doctor. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Good-bye. . . . Jonathan. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 We'd better take him In the house. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My mother was the best woman — 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 He'd better stay here until the doctor comes. 
 
 139 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 All on a summer's day — 
 HANK 
 
 He's out of his head, ain't he? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Perhaps, but sometimes one's heart speaks in a 
 delirium. 
 
 HANK 
 
 He acts like his back's broke. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 My God — his back ! 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My back's broken, Hank. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Listen, he's saying my name. We wuz pals, 
 sure nuff. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My back's broken, Hank. 
 \^The curtain has risen unnoticed. 
 A faint light that grows steadily brighter as 
 light does when one comes out of a swoon dis- 
 closes Jonathan and Hank seated on a log at 
 the left of the stage, where the bench had been. 
 Jonathan seems much older, and he is crooked 
 and dirty and unkempt, and Hank is somewhat 
 brutalised, less negative. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My back's broken, Hank. 
 [JJank looks at him. 
 Tired? 
 
 HANK 
 
 Sure. ... 
 
 140 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I think Uncle Nathaniel would help me if he 
 
 saw me. 
 HANK 
 
 He couldn't do nothin' for you. You can't 
 
 straighten a crooked back. . . . 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Hank, I'm tired of this and I'm going back. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Going back where? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm going back home. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Your Uncle John won't let you In. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Uncle Nathaniel will take me In. 
 
 HANK 
 
 He ain't there no more and besides he won't 
 know you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Honest — don't you think he would? 
 
 HANK 
 
 Sure, he wouldn't. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I wish I hadn't run away. 
 
 HANK 
 
 If you don't quit wishing V\l run away from 
 you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You wouldn't leave me, would you. Hank? 
 
 HANK 
 
 Sure, I'd leave you. . . . What do you think I 
 am — a wishing stone? ... I want peace, I 
 
 141 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 do. . . . An' your wishlng's disturbing my 
 peace. . . . Every day fer six years you squeal 
 about what you done. . . . Your Uncle John 
 swatted you and you burned your theatre things 
 and jumped out o' the window and broke your 
 back and I saved you. . . . 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I can't do anything with a broken back! 
 
 HANK 
 
 What do you want to do anything for? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Sometimes Fd like to write a little. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Go ahead. . . , I'll wait for you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 And I'd like to give a show. You know, Hank, 
 I used to want to be an actor. . . . 
 
 HANK 
 
 Sure, all kids want to be actors or go in a circus 
 or do something where a lot o' people are 
 lookln' on. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 But I can't be an actor now, because nobody'd 
 want to look at me. 
 HANK 
 
 You act like that hump's ruined your life, when 
 all you got to do's crouch over a little more 
 and look sad and you can get anything 
 you want. Why, It's money In your pocket, 
 that's what that hump is; it's money in your 
 pocket. 
 
 [He closes the conversation by whistling. 
 Say, go on over to that house and get us some- 
 thing to eat. 
 
 142 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 [Jonathan prepares for the quest and Hank 
 rolls over to go to sleep. 
 
 As Jonathan crosses, lights disclose a hill with 
 pleasant green slopes. At its foot stands a 
 little cottage, all cool and pleasant with great 
 glass doors. There are no locks and bolts to 
 keep one out or to keep one in. A high plas- 
 ter and brick wall flanks the cottage. 
 As Jonathan nears the cottage he meets Uncle 
 John, whose austerity is more apparent than 
 ever. 
 
 Jonathan cowers a moment, then attempts to 
 smile. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Hank said you'd turn me away If I came back. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Were you talking to me, boy? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm so sorry I ran away, Uncle John. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Uncle John? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you know me. Sir? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Indeed I do not. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm Jonathan — 
 JOHN 
 
 Jonathan I My nephew Jonathan? — Hal 
 Ha! 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you remember I didn't want to study en- 
 gineering — I didn't want to go to Somerset 
 School? 
 
 143 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Where Is Jonathan? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm Jonathan, sir. You remember I jumped 
 out of the window and I tried to run away. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You seem to know a lot about It. Where is 
 Jonathan? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I tell you I am Jonathan. . . . Don't you re- 
 member you struck me — You struck me across 
 the face — that's what made me run away. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I should have whipped him and put him to bed. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I would have run away just the same, Uncle 
 John. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Don't call me Uncle John I 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 But you are my Uncle John. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I ask you where is Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Would you like to see him? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I should like to know what has become of him. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Would you let him come back home? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 No. When he ran away, I cast him out for- 
 ever. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Couldn't you forgive him if he was very, very 
 
 144 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 sorry for what he had done? . . . Couldn't 
 you forgive me, sir? ... I am Jonathan. 
 Honest I am Jonathan. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Don't try to deceive me. Jonathan was Im- 
 pudent as you are; but he was a Clay: he was 
 straight and fine. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 But I broke my back. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Tell me where Jonathan Is, you Imposter. 
 
 [^He takes Jonathan by the arm and twists it 
 
 brutally. 
 
 Tell me. . . . Tell me. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't know. . . . Let me go. . . . I'm not 
 Jonathan. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Tell me. . . . 
 JONATHAN {in desperation) 
 He's dead. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 What! 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He's dead. He died somewhere. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 And so you tried to palm yourself off as Jona- 
 than. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm sorry. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Don't you know you can't make your way with 
 lies? 
 
 145 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You ought to be whipped, but I suppose you 
 don't know any better. I should have you ar- 
 rested for vagrancy. 
 [Jonathan winces. 
 
 But I won't. I pity you, you dirty little beggar. 
 [He starts to walk. 
 
 You ought to wash your hands and face at 
 least. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Please, sir - — one minute. . . . How are Mary 
 and John third? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Mary is ten — a big girl — and John third is 
 eight — a strapping boy who will be a great 
 help to me. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 And — how is Aunt Letitia ? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 My aunt died of a broken heart. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 A broken heart? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Because Jonathan ran away. 
 
 [Jonathan buries his face in his arms. 
 
 There I Don't cry for someone you've never 
 
 seen. . . . Here, here, take this — 
 
 [He presses a coin into J onathan^ s hand and 
 
 goes out. 
 
 Jonathan looks at the coin, then after John, and 
 
 seems to close his heart. He crosses to the 
 
 sleeping Hank. 
 
 146 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Here, Hank. 
 HANK {taking the coin) 
 What'd he say? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He didn't know me. 
 
 HANK 
 
 I guess you're not going back home now ! 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, I haven't any home. 
 HANK 
 
 Then quit your snifflin' an' go on over to that 
 house. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 All right, Hank. 
 
 [Hank curls up and goes to sleep again. 
 Jonathan crosses to the cottage and finally sum- 
 mons the courage to knock on the door. As 
 he does so the lights within grow bright and 
 disclose a lovely little room with a beautiful 
 piano in the centre. In a moment a young 
 woman appears and opens the doors. It is 
 Susan Sample. She is charmingly older; but 
 she is dressed almost as she was in the old lum- 
 ber room. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Please, Miss — why — 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 What do you want? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I — don't you know me? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 No, I don't know you, little boy. What do you 
 want? 
 
 147 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I ~ don't you really know me? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 I've never seen you before. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I know you. . . . YouVe Susan Sample. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Who told you? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Pm — {He becomes conscious of his hack) 
 Why Jonathan told me. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Have you seen Jonathan? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Where Is he? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't know. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 He ran away. Why doesn't he come home? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Because — oh, I don't know. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Who are you? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Pm a vagrant. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Are you hungry? 
 JONATHAN {looking toward Hank) 
 
 No. Pm not. . . . Pm not begging. . . . 
 
 But will you do something for me? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Yes, if I can. , 
 
 148 
 
:^ 
 
 < 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Will you play for me? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Oh, yes. . . . What shall I play? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 Anything. 
 
 \_Jonathan notices his dirty hands. 
 Excuse me a moment. 
 
 [He goes to a bird-bath and washes his hands, 
 wipes them and returns to the piano. 
 Susan plays a bit of a nocturne with ease and 
 grace. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you remember this? 
 
 [He hums ^^ All on a Summer Day!^ 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Oh, yes. 
 
 [She plays the tune in a sophisticated musical 
 way J but Jonathan is disappointed. 
 SUSAN 
 
 You don't like it? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That isn't exactly the way it goes. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Oh, yes, it is. 
 
 [She plays it once more and sings it. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No — no — no. It ought to go this way. 
 [He sings it as he had sung it years before. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 You sing that just as Jonathan used to sing 
 it. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I like i-t that way. 
 
 149 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Did Jonathan teach It to you? . 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes. ... A long time ago. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Did he tell you — 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 About the lovely lady who danced to the tune? 
 Oh, she was wonderful ! 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Jona»than ran away — and he never wrote to me 
 or thought of me. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He thought of you and he talked of you and he 
 sang of you. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 No ... I can't believe that. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Jonathan loves you very much. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 If a man loves a woman very much he can't go 
 away from her for years and years. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Suppose Jonathan had pride and was ashamed 
 to let you know that he had failed. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Jonathan wouldn't fail. I know Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He — Susan Sample! 
 
 [Susan plays softly. She is lovely in the sun- 
 light which is lengthening across the lawn. 
 [Jonathan watches her quietly. The love of 
 the boy fans into flame and he reaches out to 
 
 150 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 her J then in the consciousness of his deformity 
 he turns ctway. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Will you tell me where Jonathan was when you 
 last saw him? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't know — The last time I saw Jonathan 
 — he was tall and straight — and making his 
 way. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Oh, well. 
 
 [Albert Peet enters. He is a tittle man of 
 
 immaculate a,ppearance and great preciseness. 
 
 ALBERT 
 
 Ah, Susan. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Albert, you are late. 
 
 ALBERT 
 
 W^ho Is this? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 This Is a friend of Jonathan's. 
 
 ALBERT 
 
 Jonathan who? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Don't you remember Jonathan who had the toy 
 theatre? He ran away from home. 
 
 ALBERT 
 
 Oh . . . and this Is his friend? How do you 
 do?. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Do you remember this? I used to play It for 
 
 [She begins '' All on a Summer^ s Day** 
 Jonathan and I made It up. 
 
 151 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 ALBERT {laughing) 
 
 Oh, yes. 
 SUSAN {to Jonathan) 
 
 Come on and sing It. 
 
 [Jonathan is not sure of the status of Albert 
 
 Peet. 
 
 [Susan plays and she and Jonathan sing with 
 
 great feeling, 
 ALBERT {looking at his watch. 
 
 Well, all this Is very pleasant Indeed, but we'll 
 
 have to go, Susan dear. 
 
 [At the ^' Susan, dear '^ Jonathan turns quickly 
 
 and sees the two holding hands. Susan holds 
 
 up her left hand and shows an engagement ring 
 
 on it. Jonathan is utterly crushed. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I think rd better say good-bye. 
 
 [He takes up his cap. 
 SUSAN 
 
 Good-bye. If you see Jonathan, tell him 
 I'm going to marry Albert Peet. He'll 
 know. 
 
 ALBERT 
 
 Good-bye. 
 
 [Albert and Susan walk of happily in the sun- 
 shine. 
 
 Jonathan looks after them. 
 Mile. Perrault enters followed by Mary and 
 John jrd. Mile. Perraulfs dress is almost like 
 the one she had worn when she first met Jona- 
 than in the lumber-room, except that the colors 
 are reversed and more brilliant. Mary is a 
 lovely little yellow-haired child of ten and John 
 ^rd is a stoical matter-of-fact boy of eight. 
 
 152 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 The two children are evidently very fond of 
 Mile, Perrault, as fond as Jonathan and Susan 
 had seemed. If the children seem thoughtless 
 and cruel, it is because they are children and life 
 has not yet laid a hard hand upon them. The 
 sun rays are very low against the wall now so 
 that anyone walking near it will cast a very 
 heavy shadow. 
 MARY 
 
 John, look — he's a hunchback. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 'Sh! Children. 
 
 [^The children whisper. 
 
 Jonathan turns and seeing Mile. Perrault 
 
 smiles. 
 
 How do you do, little man. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I am well, I thank you. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 What are you doing here? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I am with Hank. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Hank? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, Hank's my pal. There he is — asleep. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Oh, what a dreadful person. . . . Children, 
 don't go near him. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He's not so bad. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 But he Is a vagrant — a tramp. Why does he 
 
 do nothing: 
 
 ? 
 
 153 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He's happier that way. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Are you his son? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, no. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Where is your mother? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My mother's dead. 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Where did she live? 
 JONATHAN (Looks for a trace of recognition) 
 I'd better not tell you. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Oh, please tell us. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'd better not. 
 
 MARY 
 
 You ask him, John. 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 Uh-uh! 
 
 MARY 
 
 Why not? 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 I don't want to know. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Why don't you want to tell us? We won't tell 
 anybody. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Nabody'll believe me. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Why? 
 
 154 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You see, I ran away from home — 
 JOHN m 
 
 When you run away from home, you're no 
 good. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Now, John, that isn't always so. 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 It is. 
 
 MARY 
 
 It isn't. Goldilocks and the Babes in the 
 Wood and the Marquis of Carabas were all 
 good, and they ran away from home. 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 But they had bad homes. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Was your home bad? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I thought it was. 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 You thought it was. But was it? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No. 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 Then you're no good. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Oh, John. 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 No, he isn't. Grandfather said nobody who 
 ran away from home was any good ! 
 
 MARY 
 
 Why did you run away from home? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I mustn't tell. 
 
 155 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 MARY 
 
 Oh, you won't tell anything ! 
 JOHN III {pointing to Hank) 
 
 What did you say he was, Ma'mselle? 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 He is a vagrant — 
 
 MARY AND JOHN HI 
 
 What's a vagrant? 
 
 MARY 
 
 Ooh — 
 
 [Puts up her hand to make a wish. 
 JOHN m 
 
 Aw, I'm not going to make a wish. Grand- 
 father'll get it for me anyway if I want it. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Now, John Clay III — 
 [Jonathan looks up quickly. 
 You always spoil things. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Is that Mary Clay and John Clay? 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Yes. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 They don't remember Jonathan, do they? 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 You mean Jonathan who ran away? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, ma'am. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Who's Jonathan? 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 He's David's friend. I know that. And he 
 was very good. 
 
 156 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 What do you know about Jonathan? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I knew him once — 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 He was a splendid little man ! He could make 
 such lovely songs. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you remember the one he and Susan Sample 
 made up? 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Let's see — how did it go? 
 [Hums a little — tries several folk tunes. The 
 children edge up to Jonathan during this and 
 manage to touch his back several times, each 
 keeping count. Jonathan smiles at them, 
 thinking it's attention. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, it went this way. 
 
 {He sings a little of the song and Mile. Per- 
 rault joins him. As he stops singing she 
 switches the time to waltz time and begins to 
 sway to it. The music is taken up as by a 
 dream-orchestra and Mile. Perrault dances a 
 very lovely little waltz. 
 JOHN HI 
 
 Oh, look at your shadow I 
 
 [Mile. Perrault turns and sees her shadow on 
 
 the wall. 
 
 I can make a bigger one than that. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Oh, come on, ma'mselle, let's all make shadows. 
 [The three of them stand in front of the 
 wall, 
 
 157 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JOHN III 
 
 Boy, you come, too. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 Come, boy. 
 
 [Jonathan joins them standing so that his de- 
 formity doesn't show in the shadow. 
 Now, let's dance — Give me your hand — -so. 
 [The four dance, while Mile. Perrault hums 
 '^ All on a Summer's Day." They are having a 
 very good time when Susan and Albert enter. 
 Jonathan is a little conscious of Susan and Al- 
 bert, and he jnanages to fnake several awkward 
 moves. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Now, let's make everybody's shadow dance by 
 itself. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Oh, come on. 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 You first, Mile. 
 
 MARY 
 
 It's your turn. Mile. 
 
 [Mile. Perrault stands before the wall and 
 makes a very lovely shadow. 
 John, you do It now. 
 JOHN HI 
 
 I won't. Pm going to be next to last . . 
 
 He's going to be last. 
 
 [Mary makes a pretty '' statue.'* 
 
 MARY 
 
 Now, John — 
 
 [John III, holding a staf, stands bow-legged 
 
 and pigeon-toed. 
 
 All of them laugh. 
 
 158 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT {to John III) 
 You little Jackanapes! You! 
 
 JOHN III (to Jonathan) 
 You can't do that. 
 
 [Jonathan, still conscious of Susan, but more in 
 the spirit of the game nevertheless, laughs al- 
 most gleefully. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You just wait. 
 
 [He stands in front of the wall and does some 
 comical movements with his feet and legs, then 
 he turns in such a way that for the first time 
 the shadow of his hump is thrown into a pitiful 
 distortion on the wall. He doesn't see it at 
 first, for he is lost in the game with the chil- 
 dren. 
 
 JOHN HI (yelling suddenly) 
 Oh, look! 
 
 [The children laugh immoderately, and Jona- 
 than turns his head quickly, hut in so doing 
 alters the shadow. He smiles joyfully and then 
 once more falls into the distorted picture. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Ooh — 
 JOHN m 
 
 That's funnier than mine. 
 
 [Jonathan turns his head this time and sees the 
 
 full horror of the thing. 
 
 Mile. Perrault and Susan have realized too late 
 
 to protect Jonathan. 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 John! Mary! Tell the little boy good-bye. 
 
 We must go. 
 
 [Jonathan looks toward Susan and Albert. 
 
 159 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 There is pity in Susan* s eyes and a smile in Al- 
 berths. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Albert, come — let's go ! 
 
 \_They pass into the house, 
 JOHN III (Almost as Susan speaks. 
 
 Wasn't he funniest of all I 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Now, run along, children. Run along. 
 
 MARY 
 
 Look, I can make a hump-back. 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 So can L 
 
 MARY 
 
 Not a good one! 
 
 JOHN HI 
 
 You can't touch mine. 
 
 [He smacks Mary on the back and runs of, 
 Mary following him, 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Little man, I'm very sorry. You mustn't let 
 them hurt you. They are only children. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, ma'am. . . . Thank you. 
 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 May I do something for you? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, ma'am ... if you please ... I must go 
 
 to Hank. 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 Here, take this — •. 
 
 [She offers a coin, 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, no, ma'am. . . . 
 
 1 60 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 \_He puts his hand behind him. 
 MLLE. PERRAULT 
 
 I am sorry. . . . Very, very sorry. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, ma'am. 
 
 [Mile. Perrault goes out silently^ and in a 
 moment she is heard to call *' Marie " — 
 " John,'' and a distant answer is heard. 
 Susan comes to the door and sees Jonathan. 
 She crosses to him. He looks at her almost 
 with madness in his eyes. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 They didn't mean to hurt you. 
 [She lays her hand on his arm. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, I know. 
 
 [There is a moment of the tenderest, most un- 
 derstanding silence. He turns away. 
 Susan starts to reach in her bag, she even takes 
 her purse out; but she replaces it unopened, and 
 instead of bestowing alms, she takes a flower 
 from her hair and presses it in Jonathan's 
 hands. 
 
 He looks at her with years of pent-up gratitude 
 loosed from his heart. 
 
 Silently, she turns away and goes into the house. 
 Jonathan, left alone, turns so that his hump 
 once more shows in the most distorted shadow. 
 He lifts the flower and for a single moment, its 
 shadow rises above the shadow of the hump, a 
 tiny cross on his little Calvary. Then he lays 
 the flower against his cheek and sits upon the 
 log near Hank. 
 Hank awakens. 
 
 i6i 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 HANK (looking up stupidly) 
 
 What you got? 
 JONATHAN (hiding the flower)' 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Come across, Humpy. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you call me that! 
 
 HANK 
 
 So — ho! What you yelling at me for? 
 [He sits up. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Nothing. ... I didn't mean to yell. 
 
 HANK 
 
 What you got there? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I tell you I haven't got anything, Hank. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Come on. Come across. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 It's not for you. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Come on. 
 JONATHAN (Rises and moves away) 
 
 No. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Gimme it here. . . . 
 
 [He grabs Jonathan and tears the flower from 
 his hand. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Stop that! 
 
 HANK 
 
 Great God ! ( Throwing the crushed petals on 
 the ground) Say, what's the matter with you? 
 
 162 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I tell you, I'm going back. . . . Vm going back 
 to my home. . . . I'm going to find my Uncle 
 Nathaniel. I know he'll take me in. He 
 won't blame me because I'm a cripple. ... I 
 know. ... I know. . . . Didn't he say, *' Poor 
 Jonathan "? . . . 
 
 [At this moment Nathaniel enters, and the two 
 stand face to face as they had stood in the lum- 
 ber-room at their first meeting. 
 Hank slinks away. 
 
 Nathaniel is untouched by the years. Jona- 
 than looks at him hopefully, but there is no 
 glint of recognition in Nathaniel's eye, 
 JONATHAN (timidly) 
 Uncle Nathariiel. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What did you say, my boy? 
 JONATHAN (Less and less audible, as his dis- 
 appointment increases) 
 Uncle Nathaniel. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I can't hear you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You — - are — my — Uncle Nathaniel. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Come, come, my boy. I can't hear you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Aren't you — Mr. — Nathaniel — Clay? 
 NATHANIEL (kindly, but as to a stranger) 
 
 Yes, I am Mr. Nathaniel Clay. 
 
 [Jonathan smiles one of his old half smiles, 
 JONATHAN 
 
 My name's — Jonathan. 
 
 163 . 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Jonathan! ... I had a nephew whose name 
 was Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you know me? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You must forgive me, little man — but I do 
 not remember you. Boys grow so quickly. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you remember Zenohiaf 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Zenohiaf W,ho was she? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you remember the little theatre? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Oh, yes, my nephew Jonathan had a little 
 toy theatre, and he wrote a play called Zenobia. 
 . . . He burnt them. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Was It wrong to burn them? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I don't know. You see Jonathan ran away, 
 and I have never seen him since. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you blame him? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, I can't say. When a fine boy like Jona- 
 than runs away from home, he may have what 
 he considers a good reason. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you know why he ran away? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I think I know. 
 
 164 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Would you tell me why? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 That wouldn't do any good, my boy. ... If 
 you had an uncle who liked you very much, 
 would you run away? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, sir — not If I had another chance. . . . 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What do you mean? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you really know me? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I'm sorry — no ! 
 JONATHAN {pointing to Hank) 
 Do you know him ? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 That tramp? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. . . . That's Hank. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Hank? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, the one I ran away with. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Did you run away, too? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir; I jumped out the window, and I fell 
 and broke my back. Hank said — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What a dirty man I 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He's my pal. 
 
 165 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You're evidently a fine young man inside. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, I'm sorry, sir, that I ran away. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You can't undo 'the past, my boy, but you can 
 make the future. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I can't straighten my back. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Perhaps not, but you can straighten your life. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm only a beggar, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 There Is something everybody can do. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 There Isn't any place for me. . . . 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 My boy, there is a place for everybody who 
 wants a place. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you remember what your nephew wanted 
 to do ? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes, he wanted to write plays and run a theatre 
 and be an actor. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I couldn't ever be an actor, could I ? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, my boy. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Supposing you had your heart set on something 
 and couldn't do It, what would you do? 
 
 1 66 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I'd not give up. . . . I'd try something else. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Supposing I were your nephew, what would you 
 do? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I'd find out what you wanted to be. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't I look like Jonathan? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Jonathan must be very tall now. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 If Jonathan weren't tall? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 But he is tall and splendid. I know Jonathan I 
 And he's doing what he set out to do. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I hope you'll find him, sir, and I hope he'll 
 make you proud. 
 NATHANIEL (very earnestly) 
 My boy, how old are you ? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm twenty. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Twenty. . . . Will you try to pull yourself out 
 of the rut? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 What do you mean, sir? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Look at that man. What is he to you? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He's my pal. 
 
 167 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You mustn't waste your life on such emptiness 
 as his. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Tm going to try, sir. . . . And If I make good, 
 will you believe I'm Jonathan? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 ril believe you are you. . . . Here. . . . 
 \_He ofers Jonathan a coin, 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, no, sir. ... I can't — from you — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, you are a strange beggar — 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm not a beggar at heart. ... I don't want to 
 be what I am. But I don't know which way to 
 turn. I'm all mixed up. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 All mixed up ? 
 
 [Nathaniel turns and looks toward the hill. 
 Boy, there Is a green hill far away. Climb to 
 the top of It, look about and you will see — 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I know : the whole wide world I 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Exactly. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Go to the hilltop alone — and cry out to your 
 heart's content. — There's nothing like a hilltop 
 to make a man feel worth while ! 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I knew that, sir ; but I forgot It. I'm going — 
 
 i68 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Good-bye, boy; God bless you. 
 
 [The two clasp hands and Nathaniel goes, 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He believes in me. . . . 
 
 \_He watches Nathaniel with wide eyes, then 
 
 calls to Hank. 
 
 Hank! Hank! 
 
 HANK 
 
 What you want? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He didn't know me ! 
 
 HANK 
 
 Who didn't know you? 
 [Hank lies down, 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Uncle Nathaniel. . . . He just passed by. . . . 
 But, Hank, he believed in me I He believed 
 I'd make good. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Say, what's the matter with you today? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm goin' to leave you, Hank. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Huh? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Old pal, I'm going to leave you forever. 
 You've stuck by me — 
 
 HANK 
 
 Sure, I've stuck by you. 
 [Makes himself comfortable. 
 Ain't you saved me a heap o' trouble? 
 
 169 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 But Vm going now, Hank. Good-bye. I'm 
 going to the green hill far away. 
 [He starts away leaving Hank alone and asleep. 
 The lights fade out. 
 
 Soft music is heard through the darkness and 
 slowly the outline of the green hill appears 
 close at hand, Jonathan outlined against the 
 sky appears at the edge of the hill, climbing 
 with difficulty. 
 NATHANIEL ( The voice is heard with the music) 
 Nine ninety-nine — one thousand. YouVe 
 nearly there, Boy. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Nine hundred and ninety-nine — one thousand 
 — I'm almost there. 
 NATHANIEL {far away) 
 
 A thousand and one — a thousand and two — 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 A thousand and one, a thousand and two ■ — I 
 am here ! 
 
 NATHANIEL {far away) 
 The world is here. 
 
 JONATHAN {as though addressing the world) 
 Listen. ... I ran away. I ran away. I was 
 fourteen. I saw visions of great things. I 
 heard voices of the past and the future. I 
 wanted to tell what I saw and heard. . . . Oh, 
 you who made sport of my dreams, I am here at 
 the top of the world ! Uncle John, I have 
 heard things you will never hear, and I have 
 seen things you will never see. 
 
 JOHN {far away) 
 
 But your back's broken. 
 
 170 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, Susan — Susan Sample — see — see. I 
 told you I wasn't a beggar. See — see — 
 Jonathan stands at the top of the world I 
 
 SUSAN {faintly) 
 
 But your back's broken. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, people of all the world, I am a boy who 
 asks you to hear me and to understand. I only 
 wanted to work out my way. ... I planned 
 my way because I couldn't help It — I wanted to 
 build my own world — alone. ... I climbed 
 clear to the top — Jonathan stands before 
 you — 
 
 VOICES 
 
 Jonathan's dead. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Dead? . . . Oh, see the wreck of everything. 
 . . , Jonathan is dead I 
 [He falls, 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Boy — boy — Jonathan I — I believe you are 
 you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Uncle Nathaniel! 
 [He rises slowly. 
 
 Oh, people of all the world, my Uncle Nathan- 
 iel understands. — I speak for all the boys of all 
 times. Have patience — patience and under- 
 standing. Don't you remember when you were 
 young? We come to you with hopes and 
 dreams and wishes and fears, — and these arc 
 the things that life is made of — 
 
 171 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I am here, Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm coming to you. I'm coming back to you 
 with all my hopes and dreams. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 We're waiting for you, Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I've made my wish that's coming true 1 1 
 [^He jumps into space. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 172 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Jonathan Makes a Wish 
 
 [The scene is a summer house on the estate of 
 John Clay. It is charmingly furnished with 
 wicker chairs and a table. The building is 
 hexagon shape and we look into half the hexa- 
 gon. The doors at the left open on to the path 
 that leads from the house. The doors at the 
 hack open onto a garden path that leads to a 
 gate. Eight weeks have elapsed since the first 
 act. 
 
 The curtain rises disclosing an empty stage. 
 It is early evening and sunset is leaving only the 
 faintest tinge above the hills. After a moment 
 Jonathan enters. He is unchanged except that 
 he still carries in his eyes some of the horror 
 of his delirium. He opens the hack windows 
 and then sits above the table and begins to look 
 at an illustrated paper. 
 
 Nathaniel enters carrying a manuscript. He 
 seems a bit less carefree than at his home- 
 coming f and he also seems closer to Jonathan. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, my boy — 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Uncle Jonathan, did you know that Caproni was 
 an artist? 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You mean the Caproni who makes the wonder- 
 ful aeroplanes? 
 
 173 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, I didn't know It; but Fm not surprised. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Aren't these pictures fine ? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Excellent. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 He made them. . . . They're like great 
 dragon-flies, aren't they? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 A whole swarm of them. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 It must feel funny to fly through air. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Would you like to try it some time? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes . . . but I'd have to get used to it. . . . It 
 must be like diving. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 When you were very ill you seemed to imagine 
 you were falling. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Did I talk much when I was unconscious? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You talked almost continuously. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Did I? . . . You said you'd tell me what I 
 said — when I was strong enough. . , . I'm 
 pretty strong now. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Do you know what I did? 
 
 174 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't know. 
 NATHANIEL (showing manuscript) 
 
 Can you guess? 
 JONATHAN (Looks at manuscript) 
 
 " Jonathan Builds a Fear." What does that 
 
 mean? 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 When you were delirious I listened to what you 
 said and then I made a story out of It. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You mean this Is all about me? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 It's about a little hunchback who thought he was 
 you. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I know. I was always trying to make some- 
 body know me, and finally I thought I jumped 
 from the top of a hill and I seemed to be fall- 
 ing for years and years. . . . 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Those were terrible days, my boy, and do 
 you know, we were afraid you wouldn't 
 live. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 It was a terrible feeling. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I know, but all that's over now; and there's the 
 
 whole story about the little hunchback you never 
 
 were. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 [Hank's whistle is heard. Jonathan rises very 
 
 quickly and looks at Nathaniel, 
 
 175 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 He comes every now and then to ask about you 
 and to get something to eat. 
 [Hank whistles again. 
 hank's voice {at hack) 
 Hi! 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Come in, Hank. — 
 
 HANK 
 
 Is the old man here? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No. 
 HANK {Enters through the gateway whistling) 
 
 Hello, boy. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm well now. How are you? 
 
 HANK 
 
 I'm beginning to get cold, so I think I'll go 
 south tomorrow and I thought I'd drop in to say 
 good-bye. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I'll give you an overcoat, Hank. 
 
 HANK 
 
 No, thanks. It's too hot to carry It. I'll get 
 one when I really need it, maybe. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, here's something for you. 
 \^He offers him a five dollar bill. 
 Five dollars ! No, thanks. If I had that 
 much money I'd lose it maybe. Give me two 
 bits and call it square. 
 [^Nathaniel hands him a quarter. 
 Thanks. . . . Well . . . good-bye. . . . I'm glad 
 your back wasn't broke. 
 
 176 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Good-bye, Hank. 
 
 HANK 
 
 Good-bye, Mister. . . . I'll see you next year 
 maybe, when It's warm. — Say, kid, I'd like to 
 see that Zenohia show again: — "Hail, noble 
 duke," " All's well, Irene." " Not very well, 
 noble duke." 
 
 \^He goes out^ chuckling to himself. 
 Aunt Letitia enters. As usual she has some- 
 thing to keep her hands busy. She seats her-- 
 self comfortably in a chair that custom has evi- 
 dently made her very own. In her work she 
 shows the effect of time upon her eyes and she 
 may feel a tiny draught that causes her to close 
 the doors behind her and draw her scarf a bit 
 more closely about her. Never has Aunt Le- 
 titia seemed more successfully the poor relation. 
 LETITIA 
 
 I thought you were out with John. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No. 
 
 [Jonathan is looking at the manuscript, 
 LETITIA (to Jonathan) 
 How do you feel, dear? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Fine ; . . . I think I'll go In the house and read 
 
 this. 
 
 (To Nathaniel) 
 
 I'm glad it isn't true. 
 
 \_He goes out, 
 
 NATHANIEL . 
 
 It's the story of his delirium. I thought it 
 would Interest him — and relieve him. 
 
 177 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 =3 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Has John gone? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Only for a stroll — the doctor's orders. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Well? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Sit down. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 In John's chair? 
 LETITIA 
 
 If you wish. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 John's chair! The throne of the head of the 
 family! {He sits in John^s chair) Well? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Nathaniel dear, you are making John very un- 
 happy. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 And John has made me very unhappy, dearest 
 Aunt Letty. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 The feeling at the dinner table was almost un- 
 bearable tonight. There we sat strained and 
 silent. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I am sorry. I try to avoid meals with John as 
 much as possible. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 You've been here eight weeks and John and I 
 know nothing of you. For me It Is enough that 
 you are here ; but John Is the head of the fam- 
 
 178 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 ily and he feels that you ought to treat him with 
 greater deference. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 It is revolting to me to have a tsar in the family. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Your father and your father's father and grand- 
 father were rulers of the Clay family. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I don't question that. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 You can't change John. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I don't want to change John. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Then why not tell him something about your- 
 self? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 It is none of John's affairs how or why I live. 
 It is none of his affair how or why or when I 
 shall marry Mile. Perrault. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Perhaps not. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 When I tell him anything, Aunt Letty, it will 
 be one thing — I have stayed here because I 
 love Jonathan, because he needs me. And I 
 have listened to the boy's fears and to his hopes 
 as they came out of his poor tortured little soul 
 in his delirium. I have watched him during his 
 convalescence, and I see in him a growing man 
 in prison. John sees in him only the potential 
 head of the family; but he is my flesh and blood 
 as much as he is John's and I intend to set him 
 free. 
 
 179 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 My beloved Nathaniel, John will not give Jona- 
 than up to you. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I don't want Jonathan unless he wants to 
 come to me, but I do want Jonathan's free- 
 dom. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Isn't he a bit young to have freedom. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Aunt Letitia, I don't mean a silly license. — - 1 
 mean freedom. If you are cultivating a peach- 
 tree you don't expect oranges on It even If It 
 could wish to be an orange tree, but you can 
 help to make it bear better peaches. Jonathan 
 isn't a mechanical business person. His bent is 
 in another direction. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 What are you going to do? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Frankly, I do not know. 
 
 {Up to window. 
 
 All I know now is that I shall stay here until I 
 
 find a plan. 
 
 {Jonathan enters. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Where is Uncle John? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 He has gone for a stroll. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 What do you want, my dear? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Uncle John sent word that he wanted to see me 
 here at 7 :30. 
 
 180 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 \_Letitia and Nathaniel look at each other. 
 Jonathan takes out a large silver watch. 
 It's 7:29 now. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 John will be on time — count sixty slowly — 
 [John enters. He is rather pale, seems pre- 
 occupied and even more unapproachable then 
 ever. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Did you have a pleasant stroll? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I wasn't walking. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 I shall go Into the house, I think. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 No, Aunt Letltia, I would rather you'd wait. If 
 you please. 
 
 [Nathaniel is an interested spectator. He can- 
 not understand why Jonathan should he present 
 for what will probably be an eventful family 
 scene. 
 Nathaniel, will you sit down? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Certainly. — Where? 
 JOHN {tartly) 
 
 Would you like my chair? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Thank you. 
 
 [He sits in John^s chair ^ much to John's annoy- 
 ance. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Jonathan, sit down. 
 
 [Jonathan sits. John also sits. Aunt Letitia 
 knows what to expect. Nathaniel is more curi- 
 
 181 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 Otis than angry. Jonathan is attending his first 
 family conference. 
 
 Jonathan, I've sent for you because I want to 
 talk to you seriously. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Do you think the boy is strong enough? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 The doctor told me today that he would be quite 
 equal to It. . . . Eight weeks ago, Jonathan, 
 you made an effort to run away from your 
 home, because I punished you. In your foolish 
 defiance of all family authority you suffered a 
 fall that might have resulted In a lasting and 
 serious Injury. Fortunately you have recov- 
 ered fully from the result of your fall. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Excuse me, John, but all of us know this. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 One moment, please, Nathaniel. ... I have 
 now arranged that you begin your preparation 
 for your life work Immediately. You will 
 leave for Somerset School the day after tomor- 
 row. 
 JONATHAN {desperately) 
 
 Uncle John, I don't want to go to Somerset 
 School. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You will leave for Somerset day after tomor- 
 row. Good night, Jonathan. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Why Somerset? 
 
 182 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Good night, Jonathan. 
 [Jonathan, dazed, goes out, 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Jonathan will never go to Somerset School. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Nathaniel, you forfeited your rights in the fam- 
 ily councils when you ran away from home sev- 
 enteen years ago. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 This boy will run away again and again and I 
 mean to save him from what I have suffered, if 
 I can. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Nathaniel, by what right do you attempt to 
 interfere with my decisions? 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 By the right of blood and understanding. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Blood and understanding? Where were you 
 when Emily had to leave her husband and 
 brought her boy Into my home. Where were 
 you when Emily died? I took Emily in and 
 I took her boy in. As head of the family 
 it was my duty to do so and as head of 
 the family it is my duty to see that the boy 
 is brought up in the best traditions of the 
 family. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 John, you can't force this boy into a mold. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 A boy of fourteen doesn't know his mind. . . . 
 Do you know what Jonathan wants to be? 
 
 183 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes, a writer of plays, a theatre director, and 
 an actor. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Imagine ! . . . And I suppose you encouraged 
 him. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, but I didn't discourage him. The selection 
 was wide enough for him to find some lasting 
 life work. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He never told me he wanted to be an actor. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Oh, my brother, every growing boy has a deep 
 secret wish that he cannot bring himself to dis- 
 close ! As you know, I always wanted to be a 
 writer, but most of all I wanted to be a left- 
 handed base ball pitcher. And although I'm 
 irretrievably right handed I used to practice — 
 religiously — pitching with my left hand. 
 JOHN 
 
 That was juvenile foolishness. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes, but it was genuine. 
 
 [John starts to speak. 
 
 What am I now? I am going to tell you, John 
 
 — by and by. First, we must dispose of the 
 
 boy. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I shall decide about the boy. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, John; the boy must decide for himself. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He'd decide to be an actor. 
 
 184 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 If he did, what of it? 
 JOHN 
 
 I want members of my family to do useful work. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What is useful work? An actor serves his pur- 
 pose just as a plumber or lawyer serves his. 
 . . . The only difference is that all of us are 
 not plumbers or lawyers while all of us are 
 actors. Yes, John, we're all playing something 
 — you are playing at head of the family, I'm — 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Still I do not regard acting as a worth-while 
 or lucrative profession. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You never know, John. . . . Five generations 
 ago the Clays were respectable carpenters. 
 They weren't wealthy and they gave no promise 
 of becoming wealthy. Then suddenly our re- 
 vered ancestor became a successful maker of 
 cypress drain pipes — sewer pipes, I think we 
 used to call them! The family fortunes were 
 founded!! Our ancestor bought a high hat 
 and the esteem of his neighbors. Cypress was 
 in time replaced by pottery. Conduits for 
 wires and terra cotta building materials were 
 added to our achievements and then^ in your 
 regime superfine sewers became a specialty. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Every kind of concrete work! 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I beg your pardon ! Concrete sewers and other 
 concrete things. — Such is the foundation of the 
 family. 
 
 185 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You are evidently ashamed of our business. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Not at all, but I cannot consider the manufac- 
 turing of sewers a greater achievement than act- 
 ing. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Nathaniel, are you an actor? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 What are you? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 For the present I am Jonathan's uncle. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You have nothing to do with Jonathan. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 The boy is not going to Somerset School. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Nathaniel, I shall not tolerate your interfer- 
 ence. Now I must ask you to leave this house. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What? 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 John . . . Nathaniel . . . my boys, it isn't my 
 way to interfere; but please for my sake, for 
 your mother's sake — think what you're doing. 
 JOHN {With some tenderness he lays his hand 
 on Letitia*s) 
 
 I have thought. Aunt Letitia. I can not allow 
 this boy's life to be ruined as Emily's and Hen- 
 ry's and Nathaniel's were. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Ruined? John, I'll tell you how ruined my 
 
 i86 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 life has been and I'll tell you in terms you'll 
 unders'tand. My income last year was over 
 $350,000! 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Are you acting now? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes, I'm acting — I'm acting in terms that you 
 will understand. . . . You know that I'm your 
 brother Nathaniel. Do you know who else 
 I am? I am a writer ana a playwright and a 
 director in the United Baking Company and a 
 stockholder in fhe National Munitions Com- 
 pany — munitions, John; think of it, millions, 
 millions in them — and I'm willing and eager 
 to take Emily's boy and educate him in the way 
 he wants to live his life. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 What are these heroics? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I mean what I say. If need be I shall use brute 
 force, financial force or any kind of force to 
 free Jonathan from the misery that I endured 
 in this house. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You had everything you wanted. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Everything except freedom to think my own 
 thoughts. John, some people are like rein- 
 forced concrete. Someone builds the iron 
 frame and the wooden molds, then pours the 
 cement and when it has hardened, the molds are 
 removed and lo, you have a monolith — a soHd 
 unchangeable stone. 
 
 187 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JOHN 
 
 You talk very well, Nathaniel, but I shall 
 insist upon bringing up my sister's child In my 
 way. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Would you have him run away as I did? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 He will never run away again. He has had his 
 lesson. 
 
 [Jonathan enters carrying a suit case, 
 JONATHAN 
 
 May I speak to you, Uncle John? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 What are you doing with that suit case? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Fm going away. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Who gave you permission? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Nobody. . . I've been thinking since a little 
 while ago and at first I thought Pd run away 
 again; but that wouldn't be quite fair — so I 
 came to tell you. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Take that suit case back into the house. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, sir I Pm going and nobody can keep me 
 here unless they tie me. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Well, Pll tell you one thing — if you leave this 
 house without my permission Pll cut you off 
 without a penny and you'll never be allowed to 
 come back again. 
 
 i88 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. I know that; but I'm going and I 
 came to tell you good-bye. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Very well. You've made your choice — and I 
 never want to see you again as long as you live. 
 Good-bye, Jonathan. Good-bye, Nathaniel. 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 John, don't say things you'll regret. Jonathan 
 doesn't mean what he's saying. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes'm, I do mean what I say. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Good night. 
 [He goes out, 
 
 LETITIA 
 
 Boys, you are so hot-headed — so much 
 alike. . . . 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You dear, you have always been content to com- 
 promise while we two must go our own ways or 
 not at all. You go to John. Help him as you 
 can. He's not a bad man — he's just a struc- 
 ture of reinforced concrete. You love John 
 and he in his way loves you. Go to John and 
 comfort his outraged authority. 
 LETITIA 
 
 I'm sorry things have turned out this way. 
 {She kisses them) Good night, my dears. 
 Wait until morning if you can, my darling Na- 
 thaniel. 
 [She goes out, 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Now you've done It! 
 
 189 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I couldn't help it. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 What are you going to do? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't know. . . . They say there's plenty of 
 work on farms. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You can't write if you work on a farm. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I can earn some more money and save. Other 
 boys have worked their way through school and 
 college. I can do that. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Of course — that Is a way out of It. Yes . . . 
 
 of course. . . . 
 
 [Nathaniel opens the hack doors and sees 
 
 the thinnest crescent moon hanging in the 
 
 sky. 
 
 The new moon. . . . They say If you make a 
 
 wish on the new moon It will come true. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You have to see it over your right shoulder. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You saw It over your right shoulder. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't believe that, do you? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Well, suppose It were true, what would you 
 wish? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You mean for right away? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes. 
 
 190 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN {carefully looking over his right 
 shoulder. 
 I'd wish to be with you. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 More than anything? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes, sir. 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 More than being a writer or a theatre director 
 •or an actor? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh, yes, I'm too young to start right away. I 
 have to have an education first. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Suppose that wish couldn't be, then what would 
 you wish? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That you'd write me long letters and let me 
 write you long letters. 
 [ Takes up his suit case, 
 I'd better be going now. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Aren't you going to tell John and Aunt Letltia 
 good-bye ? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, sir. I don't think I'd better. Uncle John 
 doesn't care and Aunt Letltia will understand. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes, she always understands somehow. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Good-bye, sir. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Jonathan, suppose we go away together. I'm 
 not wanted and you're not wanted. , 
 
 191 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You're going to Paris to marry Mile. Perrault ! 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Would you let me be your father, Jonathan? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Sir? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You shall go to the schools where you will 
 find the work you want. . . . Will you be my 
 son? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you like me that much? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I like you more than that much. You'll get 
 some long trousers and we'll plan and plan. 
 Suppose we run away together. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Do you think we ought to leave some word, 
 Uncle Nathaniel? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Of course. How stupid of me. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You write It. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, we'll both write it. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't know what to say. I've only run away 
 once. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 So have I. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Did you ever run away? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes — when I was eighteen. 
 
 192 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Oh! 
 NATHANIEL (taking Up paper) 
 
 The message ought to be short. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Why did you run away? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I wanted to write. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 You did! 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Didn't you know I ran away? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 No, sir; they never would tell me what became 
 of you. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 They didn't know. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 How could you keep it from them? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I changed my name — Mr. Alexander Jeffer- 
 son, Sr! What shall I say? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I can't think. . . Did Uncle John lock you in? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 No, I just ran away. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 How long did it take you to make up your mind 
 to go? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I thought about it first when I was twelve. My 
 father was still living then. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Did you go to Somerset School? 
 
 193 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Yes — for three years. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 What did you do after you ran away? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I had a very hard time, my boy — at first. I 
 worked at anything I could get, then I got into 
 a newspaper office, then I wrote *' autobiog- 
 raphies " of famous men. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I thought you had to write your own autobiog- 
 raphy — 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Not nowadays. Then I wrote some successful 
 short stories, then some very successful long 
 ones — and now I am independent; but it took 
 me ten bitter years to make my first success. 
 . . . What shall I write here ? 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I never could think of things to say when I was 
 going away. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Neither could I. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you think " good-bye " would be enough? 
 NATHANIEL (writing) 
 
 Capital. . . . '' Good-Bye — Nathaniel.'* Now 
 
 you sign it. 
 JONATHAN (Signs) 
 
 *' Jonathan." . . . Maybe we ought to put a 
 line under it so Aunt Letitia won't feel so bad. 
 NATHANIEL (makes a line) 
 
 Dear Aunt Letitia will understand. She is the 
 blessed kind who always does. Now, where 
 
 194 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 shall we put It? . . . On John's chair, and 
 maybe he'll understand too. 
 [He pins the note to John's chair. 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Don't you want to pack your things? 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 I'll wire for them. 
 [Susan enters. 
 
 On second thought, I'll ask Aunt Letltia to send 
 them. 
 
 [He goes out, 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Hello, Susan. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Jonathan, I just saw Miss Letltia and she was 
 crying. . . . What's the matter? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm going away, Susan. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Where are you going? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'm going with Uncle Nathaniel. I'm going to 
 be his son. And I'm going to a fine prep, 
 school and learn to write and do what I like. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 When are you coming back? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't know. When I'm older maybe. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Can't we write any more songs? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'll send some words to you In letters. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Will you write every week? 
 
 195 
 
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Yes. . . . Will you? 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Yes. I wish I was going, too. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 So do I. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Maybe I'll come to see you graduate. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 That will be fine! 
 SUSAN {She kisses hhn very simply) 
 Good-bye, Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Good-bye, Susan. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 I can hardly wait until you graduate. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Neither can I. . . . Good-bye. 
 [Nathaniel enters, 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 On third thought, I decided to wire for my 
 things. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Good-bye, Mr. Nathaniel. I hope you'll have 
 a nice time. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Good-bye, Susan. 
 
 [He kisses her. She goes out. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 Good-bye, Susan. 
 SUSAN (calling) 
 
 Send me some picture postcards, Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 I will. 
 
 196 
 
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
 
 \^He watches her. 
 NATHANIEL {Goes to window) 
 
 Don't you want to make your wish on the new 
 moon, Jonathan? 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I don't know what to wish now. The only one 
 I could think of has come true. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 Good . . . come, my boy. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 I'll write a long letter to Susan Sample every 
 week. 
 
 NATHANIEL 
 
 You can write her a long letter from New York. 
 
 JONATHAN 
 
 And I can send her picture postcards from every 
 
 place we go to. 
 
 \^Arm in arm they go out talking. 
 
 The Curtain Falls. 
 
 197 
 
APPENDIX 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 A. M. PALMER — AUTHOR'S MATINEES 
 
 Madison Square Theater 1887 
 
 Marjorie's Lovers Brander Matthews 
 
 Elaine (from Tennyson) . . G. P. Lathrop 
 A Foregone Conclusion. W. D. Howells 
 
 THE THEATER OF ARTS AND LETTERS 
 
 2jrd Street Theater 1891 
 
 Giles Corey Mary E. Wilkins 
 
 Squirrel Inn (from Frank 
 
 Stockton) Frank Presbrey 
 
 The Other Woman Richard Harding 
 
 Davis 
 
 Harvest Clyde Fitch 
 
 The Decision of the 
 
 Court Brander Matthews 
 
 Frederick J. Stimson 
 
 THE CRITERION INDEPENDENT 
 THEATER 
 
 Madison Square Theater 1897 
 
 Berkeley Lyceum 
 
 OHN Gabriel Bjorkman. Ibsen 
 
 The Rights of the Soul Giacosa 
 
 That Overcoat Augustus Thomas 
 
 From a Clear Sky Henri Dumay 
 
 LL Gran Galeoto Echegaray 
 
 201 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 THE INDEPENDENT THEATER 
 
 Carnegie Lyceum 1^99 
 
 El Gran Galeoto Echegaray 
 
 Ties Hervieu 
 
 The Master Builder . . Ibsen 
 
 The Storm . Ostrovsky 
 
 The Heather Field . . . Martyn 
 A Troubadour Coppe 
 
 THE NEW THEATER 
 
 1909--1911 
 First Season 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra . . Shakespeare 
 The Cottage in the Air . Knoblauch 
 
 Strife Galszvorthy 
 
 The Nigger . Sheldon 
 
 The School for Scandal Sheridan 
 
 [ Liz the Mother Fenn and Bryce 
 
 I Don Besier 
 
 Twelfth Night Shakespeare 
 
 The Witch (adapted from 
 
 Scandinavian by Hag adorn {Wiers- 
 
 Jensscn) 
 r Brand (act IV con- 
 densed) Ibsen 
 
 [ Sister Beatrice Maeterlinck 
 
 The Winter's Tale Shakespeare 
 
 Beethoven Fauchois 
 
 Second Season 
 
 The Blue Bird Maeterlinck 
 
 The Merry Wives of 
 
 Windsor Shakespeare 
 
 202 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 The Thunderbolt Pinero 
 
 J Don Besier 
 
 \ Sister Beatrice Maeterlinck 
 
 Mary Magdalene Maeterlinck 
 
 Old Heidelberg Meyer-Foerster 
 
 Vanity Fair R. Hichens and C. 
 
 Gordan Lennox 
 
 The Piper Marks 
 
 Nobody's Daughter Paston 
 
 The Arrow Maker Austin 
 
 In addition there was a borrowed production of 
 A Song of the People . . . Michaelis 
 
 MISS GRACE GEORGE — THE 
 PLAYHOUSE 
 
 The Playhouse 19 15-19 17 
 
 1st Season 
 
 The New York Idea . . . Mitchell 
 
 The Liars Jones 
 
 Earth Fagan 
 
 Major Barbara Shaw 
 
 Captain Brassbound's 
 
 Conversion Shaw 
 
 2nd Season 
 
 Eve's Daughter Ramsey 
 
 Elevation Bernstein 
 
 WASHINGTON SQUARE PLAYERS ^ 
 
 Bandbox and Comedy Theaters 19 15-19 17 
 
 Interior Maeterlinck 
 
 1 Taken from Prof. Dickenson's book, "The Insurgent 
 Theater," in which a number of interesting and more recent 
 repertories of " independent " theaters are given. 
 
 203 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 EuGENiCALLY SPEAKING . . Goodman 
 
 Licensed Lawrence 
 
 Another Interior » 
 
 Love of One's Neighbor . Andreyev 
 
 MooNDOWN Reed 
 
 My Lady's Honor Pemberton 
 
 Two Blind Beggars and . 
 
 One Less Blind Moeller 
 
 The Shepherd in the Dis- 
 tance (pantomime) . . . Hudson 
 The Miracle of St. An- 
 tony Maeterlinck 
 
 In April Stokes 
 
 Forbidden Fruit Feuillet 
 
 Saviours Goodman 
 
 The Bear Tchekhov 
 
 Helena's Husband Moeller 
 
 Fire and Water . White 
 
 The Antick MacKaye 
 
 A Night of Snows Bracco 
 
 Literature ...... .\ Schnitzler 
 
 The Honourable Lover . Bracco 
 
 Whims -Musset 
 
 Overtones . Gerstenherg 
 
 The Clod . . Beach 
 
 The Road-House in Ar- 
 
 DEN :. . Moeller 
 
 The Tenor Wedekind 
 
 The Red Cloak (panto- 
 mime) Meyer 
 
 Children Bolton and Carlton 
 
 The Age of Reason . . . Dorrian 
 The Magical City ..... Akins 
 
 Monsieur Pierre Patelin ........ . . . 
 
 204 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Aglavaine and Selysette Maeterlinck 
 
 The Sea Gull Tchekhov 
 
 A Merry Death ........ Evreinev 
 
 Lover's Luck Porto-Riche 
 
 The Sugar House Brown 
 
 Sisters of Susanna Moeller 
 
 BusHiDO Izumo 
 
 Trifles Glaspell 
 
 Another Way Out Langner 
 
 Altruism EttUnger 
 
 The Death of Tintagiles Maeterlinck 
 
 The Last Straw Crocker 
 
 The Hero of Santa Ma- 
 ria Goodman and 
 
 Hecht 
 
 Impudence Auemheimer 
 
 Plots and Playwrights . Massey 
 
 The Life of Man Andreyev 
 
 Sganarelle Moliere 
 
 The Poor Fool Bahr 
 
 Ghosts Ibsen 
 
 Pariah Strindberg 
 
 REPERTORY OF THE STUART WALKER 
 
 COMPANY 
 
 The Trimplet Walker 
 
 A Fan and Two Candle-. 
 
 sticks MacMillan 
 
 Six Who Pass While the 
 
 Lentils Boil Walker 
 
 The Seven Gifts (a pan- 
 tomime) Walker 
 
 The Moon Lady (a panto- 
 mime) Walker 
 
 205 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Nevertheless Walker 
 
 Gammer Gurton's Needle 
 
 ( adapted by Mr. Walker) Stevenson 
 
 The Lady of the Weeping 
 
 Willow Tree Walker 
 
 The Golden Doom Dunsany 
 
 Voices Flexner 
 
 The Crier by Night Bottomley 
 
 The Gods of the Moun- 
 tain Dunsany 
 
 The Medicine Show . . . Walker 
 
 The Very Naked Boy . . Walker 
 
 The Birthday of the In- 
 fanta (from Oscar 
 Wilde's story) Walker 
 
 King Argimenes and the 
 
 Unknown Warrior . . . Dunsany 
 
 It Pays to Advertise .... Megrue 
 
 The Dummy O'Higgins and Ford 
 
 The Concert Bahr 
 
 Kick In Mack 
 
 Seventeen Walker 
 
 Seven Keys to Baldpate . Cohan 
 
 The Country Boy Selwyn 
 
 You Never Can Tell . . . Shaw 
 
 Officer 666 McHugh 
 
 Broadway Jones Cohan 
 
 The Woman DeMille 
 
 The Show Shop Forbes 
 
 A Night in Avignon .... Rice 
 
 The Son of Isis Kelly 
 
 Stingy Parry 
 
 The Book of Job 
 
 Romance Sheldon 
 
 206 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Stop Thief Moore 
 
 The Hero Brown 
 
 The Misleading Lady . . Goddard and Dic- 
 key 
 Alias Jimmy Valentine 
 
 (from O. Henry's story) Armstrong 
 
 Passers By Chambers 
 
 Seven Up Coleman 
 
 The Three of Us Crothers 
 
 The Fortune Hunter . Smith 
 Alice Sit by the Fire . . . Barrie 
 The Workhouse Ward . Gregory 
 
 The Wolf Walter 
 
 The Truth Fitch 
 
 Jonathan Makes a Wish Walker 
 The Laughter of the 
 
 Gods Dunsany 
 
 The Tents of the Arabs. Dunsany 
 The Cinderella Man . . . Carpenter 
 Good Gracious Annabelle Kummer 
 Leah Kleschna ........ MacClellan 
 
 Over Night Bartholomae 
 
 The Passing of the Third 
 
 Floor Back Jerome 
 
 Milestones ,. . Bennett and Kno- 
 
 block 
 
 Kismet Knoblock 
 
 Don Besier 
 
 The Gibson Upright .... Tarkington and Ail- 
 
 son 
 
 The Murderers Dunsany 
 
 Too Many Cooks Craven 
 
 207 
 
CASTS 
 
 The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree 
 cast for opening 
 
 0-SODE Harrie Fumade 
 
 O-Katsu Annie Lowry 
 
 Obaa-San Florence JVollersen 
 
 The Gaki of Kokoru . . . McKay Morris 
 
 AOYAGI Nancy Winston 
 
 RiKi JVilmot Heitland 
 
 The Very Naked Boy 
 
 cast for OPENING 
 
 He Willard Webster 
 
 She Dorothea Carothers 
 
 Boy ,. Gregory Kelly 
 
 Jonathan Makes a Wish 
 new york cast 
 
 Aunt Letitia Elizabeth Patterson 
 
 Susan Sample Beatrice Maude 
 
 Uncle Nathaniel George Gaul 
 
 Uncle John Ainsworth Arnold 
 
 Jonathan Gregory Kelly 
 
 Mlle. Perrault ........ Margaret Mower 
 
 Hank Edgar Stehli 
 
 Albert Peet Joseph Graham 
 
 Mary . Elizabeth Black 
 
 John III John Talbott 
 
 First produced at the Murat Theatre, Indian- 
 apolis, August 12, 19 1 8. 
 
 208 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 At the Princess Theatre, New York premiere, 
 September ii, 191 8, Elizabeth Patterson played 
 Aunt Letitia, which was played in Indianapolis by 
 Judith Lowry. 
 
 209 
 
A SELECTED LIST 
 
 OF 
 
 DRAMATIC 
 LITERATURE 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 European Theories of the Drama 
 
 An Anthology of Dramatic Theory and Criticism from 
 
 Aristotle to the Present Day, in a Series of Selected 
 
 Texts, iviik Commentaries, Biographies and 
 
 Bibliographies 
 
 By BARRETT H. CLARK 
 
 Author of " Contemporary French Dramatists," " The 
 
 Continental Drama of Today," " British and 
 
 American Drama of Today," etc., etc. 
 
 A book of paramount importance. This monumental 
 anthology brings together for the first time the epoch- 
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 down to the present day. Beginning with Aristotle, each 
 utterance on the subject has been chosen with reference to 
 its importance, and its effect on subsequent dramatic 
 writing. The texts alone would be of great interest and 
 value, but the author, Barrett H. Clark, has so connected 
 each period by means of inter-chapters that his comments 
 taken as a whole constitute a veritable history of dramatic 
 criticism, in which each text bears out his statements. 
 
 Nowhere else is so important a body of doctrine on the 
 subject of the drama to be obtained. It cannot fail to 
 appeal to any one who is interested in the theater, and 
 will be indispensable to students. 
 
 The introduction to each section of the book is followed 
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 index, which is worked out in great detail. 
 
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 Large 8vo, 500 pages Net, $3.50 
 
STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 Plays and Players 
 
 Leaves from a Critic's Scrapbook 
 
 BY WALTER PRICHARD EATON 
 PREFACE BY BARRETT H. CLARK 
 A new volume of criticisms of plays and papers on act- 
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 Large l2mo. About 420 pages, 10 full-page illustra- 
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 Gilt top. ^ Maroon Turkey Morocco Net 6.50 
 
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 Francois de CureFs The Fossils 
 
 Jean Jullien's The Serenade 
 
 Georges de Porto-Riche's 
 
 Francoise' Luck 
 
 Georges Ancey's The Dupe 
 
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 Handsomely Bound. i2mo. Cloth Net, $1-75 
 
DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 Contemporary French Dramatists 
 
 By BARRETT H. CLARK 
 
 In "Contemporary Trench Dramatists" Mr. Barrett H. 
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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 The Antigone of Sophocles 
 
 By PROF. JOSEPH EDWARD HARRY 
 
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STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 44 
 
 European Dramatists ' ' 
 
 By ARCHIBALD HENDERSON 
 Author of "George Bernard Shaw: His Life and Works." 
 In the present nvork the famous dramatic critic and 
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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 At Last 
 
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 HIS LIFE AND WORKS 
 
 A CRITICAL BIOGRAPHY (Authorized) 
 
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 The Changing Drama 
 
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 of the evolution of form and spirit, and the differentia- 
 tion of the forces — spiritual, intellectual and social — 
 which are making the theatre what it is today . . . we 
 can recollect no book of recent times which has such con- 
 temporaneousness, yet which regards the subject with such 
 excellent perspective . . . almost indispensable to the gen- 
 eral student of drama ... a book of rich perspective and 
 sound analysis. The style is simple and direct." 
 
 Geo. Middleton in La Follette's: "The best attempt 
 to formulate the tendencies which the drama is now taking 
 in its evolutionary course." 
 
 Argonaut: " Marked by insight, discernment and en- 
 thusiasm." 
 
 Large l2mo. Dignified binding Net, $1.75 
 
DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 Short Plays 
 
 By MARY MAC MILLAN 
 
 To fill a long-felt ivant. All have been successfully 
 presented. Suitable for Women's Clubs, Girls' Schools, 
 etc. While elaborate enough for big presentation, they 
 may be given very simply. 
 [Review of Reviews: 
 
 "Mary MacMillan offers 'Short Plays,' a collec- 
 tion of pleasant one to three-act plays for wonoien's 
 clubs, girls' schools, and home parlor production. 
 Some are pure comedies, others gentle satires on 
 women's faults and foibles. 'The Futurists,' a skit 
 on a woman's club in the year 1882, is highly amus- 
 ing. 'Entr' Act' is a charming trifle that brings two 
 quarreling lovers together through a ridiculous pri- 
 vate theatrical. 'The Ring' carries us gracefully back 
 to the days of Shakespeare; and 'The Shadowed Star,* 
 the best of the collection, is a Christmas Eve tragedy. 
 The Star is shadowed by our thoughtless inhumanity 
 to those who serve us and our forgetfulness of the 
 needy. The Old Woman, gone daft, who babbles in 
 a kind of mongrel Kiltartan, of the Shepherds, the 
 Blessed Babe, of the Fairies, rowan berries, roses and 
 dancing, while her daughter dies on Christmas Eve, is 
 a splendid characterization." 
 Boston Transcript: 
 
 "Those who consigned the writer of these plays to 
 solitude and prison fare evidently knew that 'needs 
 must' is a sharp stimulus to high powers. If we find 
 humor, gay or rich. If we find brilliant wit; if we 
 find constructive ability joined with dialogue which 
 moves like an arrow ; if we find delicate and keen 
 characterization, with a touch of genius in the choice 
 of names; if we find poetic power which moves on 
 easy wing — the gentle jailers of the writer are justi- 
 fied, and the gentle reader thanks their severity." 
 
 Salt Lake Tribune: 
 
 "The Plays are ten In number, all of goodly length. 
 We prophesy great things for this gifted dramatist." 
 Bookseller, News Dealer & Stationer: 
 
 "The dialogue Is permeated with graceful satire, 
 snatches of wit, picturesque phraseology, and tender, 
 often exquisite, expressions of sentiment." 
 Handsomely Bound. l2mo. Cloth. Net, $1.75 
 
DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 More Short Plays 
 
 BY MARY MacMILLAN 
 
 Plays that act well may read well. Miss MacMillan's 
 plays are good reading. Nor is literary excellence a 
 detriment to dramatic performance. They were put on 
 the stage before they were put into print. They differ 
 slightly from those in the former volume. Two of them, 
 " The Pioneers," a story of the settlement of the Ohio 
 Valley, and " Honey," a little mountain girl cotton-mill 
 worker, are longer. The other six, " In Mendelesia," 
 Parts I and II, "The Dryad," "The Dress Rehearsal of 
 Hamlet," "At the Church," and "His Second Girl," 
 contain the spirit of humor, something of subtlety, and 
 something of fantasy. 
 
 Brooklyn Daily Eagle: "Mary MacMillan, whose 
 first volume of short plays proved that she possessed 
 unusual gifts as a dramatist, has justified tihe hopes 
 of her friends in a second volume, * More Short Plays,' 
 which reveal the author as the possessor of a charm- 
 ing literary style coupled with a sure dramatic sense 
 that never leads her idea astray. ... In them all the 
 reader will find a rich and delicate charm, a bounti- 
 ful endowment of humor and wit, a penetrating knowl- 
 edge of human nature, and a deft touch in the drawing 
 of character. They are delicately and sympatnetically 
 done and their literary charm is undeniable." 
 
 Uniform with "Short Plays" .... Net, $1-75 
 
STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 The Gift 
 
 A Poetic Drama 
 By MARGARET DOUGLAS ROGERS 
 
 A dramatic poem in t<wo acts, treating in altogether 
 neiJU fashion the ivorld old story of Pandora, the first 
 ivoman. 
 
 New Haven Times Leader: 
 
 "Well written and attractive." 
 E V angelical M essenger : 
 
 "A very beautifully written portrayal of the old 
 story of Pandora." 
 Rochester Post Dispatch: 
 
 "There is much poetic feeling in the treatment of 
 the subject." 
 Grand Rapids Herald: 
 
 "The Gift, dealing with this ever interesting 
 mythological story, is a valuable addition to the dramas 
 of the day." 
 St, Xavier Calendar: 
 
 "The story of Pandora is so set down as to bring 
 out its stage possibilities. Told by Mrs. Rogers in 
 exquisite language." 
 Salt Lake Tribune: 
 
 "The tale is charmingly wrought and has possibil- 
 ities as a simple dramatic production, as well as being 
 a delightful morsel of light reading." 
 Cincinnati Enquirer: 
 
 "The love story is delightfully told and the dra- 
 matic action of the play is swift and strong." 
 Buffalo Express: 
 
 "It is a delightful bit of fancy with a dramatic and 
 poetic setting." 
 Boston Woman's Journal: 
 
 "Epimetheus and Pandora and her box are charm- 
 ingly presented." 
 Worcester Gazette: 
 
 "It is absolutely refreshing to find a writer willing 
 to risk a venture harking back to the times of the 
 Muses and the other worthies of mythological fame. 
 * * * The ttory of Pandora's box told in verse by a 
 woman. It may be said it could not have been better 
 written had a representative of the one who only as- 
 sisted at the opening been responsible for the play." 
 Handsomely hound silk cloth Net, $l.oo 
 
DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 Comedies of Words 
 and Other Plays 
 
 BY ARTHUR SCHNITZLER 
 TRANSLATED BY PIERRE LOVING 
 
 The contents are < 
 
 " The Hour of Recognition " 
 
 " Great Scenes " 
 
 " The Festival of Bacchus " 
 
 " His Helpmate " 
 
 " Literature,'* 
 
 In his "Comedies of Words," Arthur Schnitzler, the 
 great Austrian Dramatist, has penetrated to newer and 
 profounder regions of human psychology. According to 
 Schnitzler, the keenly compelling problems of earth are: 
 the adjustment of a man to one woman, a woman to one 
 man, the children to their parents, the artist to life, the 
 individual to his most cherished beliefs, and how can we 
 accomplish this adjustment when, try as we please, there 
 is a destiny which sweeps our little plans away like help- 
 less chessmen from the board? Since the creation of An- 
 atol, that delightful toy philosopher, so popular in almost 
 every theater of the world, the great Physician-Dramatist 
 has pushed on both as World-Dramatist and reconnoiterer 
 beyond the misty frontiers of man's conscious existence. 
 He has attempted in an artistic way to get beneath what 
 Freud calls the " Psychic Censor " which edits all our 
 suppressed desires. Reading Schnitzler is like going to 
 school to Life itself! 
 
 Bound uniform ivith the S & K Dramatic Series, Net $1.75 
 
DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 Lucky Pehr 
 
 By AUGUST STRINDBERG 
 
 Authorized Translation by Velma Sivansion Hotvard. 
 
 An allegorical drama in five acts. Compared favorably 
 
 to Barriers "Peter Pan" and Maeterlinck's "The Blue 
 
 Bird." 
 
 Rochester Post Express: 
 
 Strindberg has written many plays which might be 
 described as realistic nightmares. But this remark does 
 not apply to "Lucky Pehr." * * * This drama is one 
 of the most favorable specimens of Strindberg's 
 genius. 
 
 New York World: 
 
 "Pehr" is lucky because, having tested all things, 
 he finds that only love and duty are true. 
 
 New York Times: 
 
 "Lucky Pehr" clothes cynicism in real entertain- 
 ment instead of in gloom. And it has its surprises. 
 Can this be August Strindberg, who ends his drama 
 so sweetly on the note of the woman-soul, leading up- 
 ward and on? 
 
 Worcester Gazette: 
 
 From a city of Ohio comes this product of Swedish 
 fancy in most attractive attire, attesting that the pos- 
 sibilities of dramatic art have not entirely ceased in 
 this age of vaudeville and moving pictures. A great 
 sermon in altruism is preached in these pages, which 
 we would that millions might see and hear. To those 
 who think or would like to think, "Lucky Pehr" will 
 prove a most readable book. * * * An allegory, it is 
 true, but so are y?isop's Fables, the Parables of the 
 Scriptures and many others of the most effective les- 
 sons ever given. 
 
 Boston Globe: 
 
 A popular drama. * * * There Is no doubt about 
 the book being a delightful companion in the library. 
 In charm of fancy and grace of imagery the story may 
 not be unfairly classed with "The Blue Bird" and 
 "Peter Pan." 
 Photogravure frontispiece of Strindberg etched by 
 
 Zorn. Also, a reproduction of Velma S'wanston Hoivard's 
 
 authorization. 
 
 Handsomely bound. Gilt top Net, $1-75 
 
STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 Raster 
 
 (A Play in Three Acts) 
 AND STORIES BY AUGUST STRINDBERG 
 
 Authorized translation by Velma Sivanston Howard. 
 In this <work the author reveals a broad tolerance, a rare 
 poetic tenderness augmented by an almost divine under- 
 standing of human frailties as marking certain natural 
 stages in evolution of the soul. 
 Louisville Courier=Journal : 
 
 Here is a major key of cheerfulness and idealism 
 — a relief to a reader who has passed through some 
 of the author's morbid pages. * * * Some critics find 
 in this play (Easter) less of the thrust of a distinctive 
 art than is found in the author's more lugubrious 
 dramas. There is indeed less sting in it. Neverthe- 
 less it has a nobler tone. It more ably fulfills the 
 purpose of good drama — the chastening of the spec- 
 tators' hearts through their participation in the suf- 
 fering of the dramatic personages. There is in the 
 play a mystical exaltation, a belief and trust in good 
 and its power to embrace all in its beneficence, to bring 
 all confusion to harmony. 
 The Nation: 
 
 Those who like the variety of symbolism which 
 Maeterlinck has often employed — most notably in the 
 "Bluebird" — will turn with pleasure to the short stories 
 of Strindberg which Mrs. Howard has included in her 
 volume. * * * They are one and all diverting on ac- 
 count of the author's facility in dealing with fanciful 
 details. 
 Bookseller: 
 
 "Easter" is a play of six characters illustrative of 
 human frailties and the effect of the divine power 
 of tolerance and charity. * * * There is a symbolism, 
 a poetic quality, a spiritual insight in the author's 
 work that make a direct appeal to the cultured. * * * 
 The Dial: 
 
 One play from his (Strindberg's) third, or sym- 
 bolistic period stands almost alone. This is "Easter." 
 There is a sweet, sane, life-giving spirit about it. 
 Photogravure frontispiece of Strindberg etched by 
 Zorn. Also, a reproduction of Velma Snvanston Howard's 
 authorization. 
 Handsomely bound. Gilt top Net, $1.75 
 
STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 The Hamlet Problem and Its Solution 
 
 By EMERSON VENABLE 
 
 The tragedy of Hamlet has ne'ver been adequately in- 
 terpreted. Tnvo hundred years of critical discussion has 
 not sufficed to reconcile conflicting impressions regarding 
 the scope of Shakespeare's design in this, the first of his 
 great philosophic tragedies. We believe that all those 
 students ivho are interested in the study of Shakespeare 
 ivill find this 'volume of great 'value. 
 The Louisville Courier=Journal: 
 
 "Mr. Venable's Hamlet is a 'protagonist of a drama 
 of triumphant moral achievement.' He rises through 
 the play from an elected agent of vengeance to a 
 man gravely impressed with *an imperative sense of 
 moral obligation, tragic in its depth, felt toward the 
 world.' " 
 E. H. Sothern: 
 
 "Your ideas of Hamlet so entirely agree with my 
 own that the book has been a real delight to me. I 
 have always had exactly this feeling about the char- 
 acter of Hamlet. I think you have wiped away a 
 great many cobwebs, and I believe your book will 
 prove to be most convincing to many people who may 
 yet be a trifle in the dark." 
 The Book News Monthly: 
 
 "Mr. Venable is the latest critic to apply himself 
 to the 'Hamlet' problem, and he offers a solution in 
 an admirably written little book which is sure to at- 
 tract readers. Undeterred by the formidable names 
 of Goethe and Coleridge, Mr. Venable pronounces un- 
 tenable the theories which those great authors pro- 
 pounded to account for the extraordinary figure of 
 the Prince of Denmark. * * * Mr. Venable looks in 
 another direction for the solution of the problem. 
 * * * The solution offered by the author is just the 
 reverse of that proposed by Goethe. * * * From Mr. 
 Venable's viewpoint the key to 'Hamlet' is found in 
 the famous soliloquies, and his book is based upon 
 a close study of those utterances which bring us with- 
 in the portals of the soul of the real Hamlet. The 
 reader with an open mind will find in Mr. Venable a 
 writer whose breadth of view and searching thought 
 gives weight to this competent study of the most inter- 
 esting of Shakespearean problems." 
 l6mo. Silk cloth Net, $I.oo 
 
STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 Portmanteau Plays 
 
 BY STUART WALKER 
 
 Edited and with an Introduction by 
 
 EDWARD HALE BIERSTADT 
 
 This volume contains four One Act Plays by the in- 
 ventor and director of the Portmanteau Theater. They 
 are all included in the regular repertory of the Theater 
 and the four contained in this volume comprise in them- 
 selves an evening's bill. 
 
 There is also an Introduction by Edward Hale Bier- 
 stadt on the Portmanteau Theater in theory and practice. 
 
 The book is illustrated by pictures taken from actual 
 presentations of the plays. 
 
 The first play, the ** Trimpletf* deals with the search 
 for a certain magic thing called a trimplet which can cure 
 all the ills of whoever finds it. The search and the find- 
 ing constitute the action of the piece. 
 
 Second play, ** Six who Pass While the Lentils 
 Boil," is perhaps the most popular in Mr. Walker's 
 repertory. The story is of a Queen who, having stepped 
 on the ring-toe of the King's great-aunt, is condemned 
 to die before the clock strikes twelve. The Six who pass 
 the pot in which boil the lentils are on their way to the 
 execution. 
 
 Next comes " Nevertheless,** which tells of a burglar 
 who oddly enough reaches regeneration through two chil- 
 dren and a dictionary. 
 
 And last of all is the " Medicine'Show,** which is a 
 character study situated on the banks of the Mississippi. 
 One does not see either the Show or the Mississippi, but 
 the characters are so all sufficient that one does not miss 
 the others. 
 
 All of these plays are fanciful — symbolic if you like 
 — but all of them have a very distinct raison d'etre in 
 themselves, quite apart from any ulterior meaning. 
 
 With Mr. Walker it is always "the story first," and 
 herein he is at one with Lord Dunsany and others of his 
 ilk. The plays have body, force, and beauty always; and 
 if the reader desires to read in anything else surely that 
 is his privilege. 
 
 Each play, and even the Theater itself has a prologue, 
 and with the help of these one is enabled to pass from one 
 charming tale to the next without a break in the continuity. 
 With five full-page illustrations on cameo paper. 
 
 J2mo. Silk cloth $1-75 
 
DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 The Truth 
 
 About The Theater 
 
 Anonymous 
 
 Precisely what the title indicates — facts as they 
 are, plain and unmistakable without veneer of any 
 sort. It goes directly to the heart of the whole 
 matter. Behind the writer of it — who is one of 
 the best known theatrical men in New York — are 
 long years of experience. He recites what he 
 knows, what he has seen, and his quiet, calm, au- 
 thoritative account of conditions as they are is with- 
 out adornment, excuse or exaggeration. It is in- 
 tended to be helpful to those who want the facts, 
 and for them it will prove of immeasurable value. 
 
 " The Truth About the Theater," in brief, lifts 
 the curtain on the American stage. It leaves no 
 phase of the subject untouched. To those who are 
 ambitious to serve the theater, either as players or 
 as playwrights, or, again, in some managerial ca- 
 pacity, the book is invaluable. To those, too, who 
 would know more about the theater that they may 
 come to some fair estimate of the worth of the in- 
 numerable theories nowadays advanced, the book 
 will again prove its value. 
 
 Net $1,00