-^^ ' 111 mil nil limn Hill II 
 
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 iaiien under tLe wheel."— -Ba2./rq/f' in Txiryene;^^ s ''Fathers and Sons." 
 
 UNDER THE WHEEL 
 
 A MODEPN PLAY IN SIX SCENES. 
 
 By HAMLIN GAELAXD. 
 
 ALL EI&HTS EESEL^TED. 
 
 PRICE ^5 CENTS 
 
 BOSTON, :\IASS: 
 THE BARTA PRESS, 148 HIGH STREET. 
 
 1S90. 
 
THG 
 UNIYGRSITY Of CALlfORNlfl 
 LIBRARY 
 
 7e) f' 
 
 
I have fallen under the wheel.'-/.'.'-..'r.,r, m Turoenefs -Fathers and Sons.'' 
 
 UNDEE THE AVIIEEL, 
 
 A MODERN PLAY IN SIX SCENES, 
 
 BY 
 
 HAMLIN GARLAND. 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 
 
 BOSTON, MASS: 
 
 THE BARTA PRESS. 148 HIGH STREET. 
 
 1890. 
 
AUTHOE'S PREFACE. 
 
 Theee is a phrase current among western horsemen which 
 always had a deeply pathetic meaning to me. — " That horse, sii', 
 will go till he goes under the wheel." Or one man will say to 
 another in a boast, " My bay can put yoiu' soitcI under the wheel, " 
 meaning in each case that a fine high-spii'ited horse will travel 
 till he drops dead in the harness. With this in my mind I won- 
 dered if Bazaroff, Turgeneft's hero, had not some such dim pic- 
 tm-e in his mind when he muttered, "All is over. I have fallen 
 under the wheel." As for the body of the play, it aims to pre- 
 sent first of all a picture of certain phases of American life, and 
 secondarily a problem, because no section of life, carefully consid- 
 ered, fails to present j^hases of shortcomings, injustices, "^and suf- 
 ferings calculated to make the thoughtful man fall into deep 
 thought. 
 
 For eight years I have been growing steadily in the belief that 
 I have heard the riddle of the sphinx answered, not by one 
 voice but by many. I have very definite beliefs as to the fine of 
 remedial action but I do not insist on the infallibility of my 
 belief. I simply say I am satisfied that the destruction of ail 
 monopoly in land by a single governmental levy upon the social 
 or site-value of land is the heroic cure for most — if not all — of 
 the disease and deformity of our social life. 
 
 This I have suggested in my play and occasionally in my 
 stories, never I hope to the great injury of their literary value. 
 I have also aimed at setting forth in a modest way the gro^-inor 
 desire of the modern woman to stand as an individual beside 
 man. Ahce Edwards, in a dim, searching way, is walking toward 
 the light, as I see her. In rejecting charity and demanding jus- 
 tice she is voicing the expanding person aUty of the modern man 
 and woman. 
 
 I should be very glad to hear from those to whom the story of 
 Jason Edwards and his daughter comes with new meaning, or as 
 a new statement. 
 
 HAMLIX GARLAXD, 
 
 Xo. 7 Beacon Street. 
 
 4344;^" 
 
UNDEK THE WHEEL. 
 
 A MODEEN Play in Six Scenes 
 
 BY HAMLIN G ARLAXD. 
 
 .' I have fallen under the wheel."-Bazaro/ in TurgenejT^ "Fathers and Sons." 
 seen. «..,.-A Me.hanic;sTenement. .tone ^^X-l^GtSl'llQ^r'- 
 f fn'e ■St-/>?iSTa"lr?i'r^. S f !4.-A Charity bU. 
 
 Persons Represented: 
 Jason Edwabds, J/ecftamc. Hank Whttisg. Proj,ri.ior ITestem 
 
 Yri/FowrED.^ Fban"k'gbaha.., Wamburger Grocery. 
 
 f ^T?E LivOm (nine). JOHKSOS, " Fannin' it." 
 
 Event),. TnvrrFv ToM BLACKSMITH, and 
 
 Mrs. Murtagh. ionguey ±om, -l> 
 
 JCLIAN Be«<^h j^^^g Balser, Land Agmt^ Attorney , Boomer. 
 
 (Copyrighted by Hamlix GARLA^^). AH rights reserved.) 
 
 Scene First.— A Mechanic's Tenement. 
 
 A square room, carpeted with V.^e^P^.^.^^P^J ^,S •''I0& rig^^^ 
 seat chairs standing about; table m centre scantily spread sofa ngaiirop i^^jicates that 
 bureau left back; small tab e .\e" ^^ronV co\^ered witn D001.5. |. j ^^ ^^^ the shrill 
 this is general living room^;;;^,^^? ^n^i^ al oft fi^To'clock and very hot. Linnie is dram- 
 aVfh^'^S.^^ilE^a^r'iis'is'Jo^i^n? 'ace is sweet, but worn 
 
 and apathetic. 
 
 Mrs. E. « Linnie." , 
 
 Limxie (juminngfrom the stool). " What, momma . 
 Mrs E. " You didn't put on the <iups and saucers. 
 (Lbmie flies <y^M into the kitchen. 3Irs. Edimrds drops into a 
 cfmir .cearily, and putting her hands to her head sighs deeply, 
 
 ^'^Li^re'' {returning and arranging cnps) " I^^^^^'^^^^f ^^^^ 
 lovely, momma, sitting up there before all those people . ^^ i wish 
 I was a graduate so I could sing and wear a white dress. 
 
 Mrs. E. (rising sloidy). "Be patient, child, an mebbe you 
 will be. If father has good luck you can go to the conservatory. 
 Mebbe we won't always be s' poor." 
 
Linnie. " What makes so many people poor, momma ? " 
 
 Mrs. E. " Oh, I don't know, chUd. Ask Mr. Reeves ; he's an 
 editor, and ought t' know. I don't know." 
 
 {Boy x>eexjs in tJie door, throics himself into an attitude of 
 pitching a ball.) « Hi, there ! Git onto me curves ! " 
 
 Linnie. " Oh, let me see I Where 'd y' get it, Teddy ? " 
 
 Teddy. « I found it — bought it, I mean." 
 
 Linnie. "Found it! Where?" (Teddy hesitates.) '^O 
 Teddy I" ^ J ) ^ 
 
 Teddy {reproachfully). « Well, what's a feller t' do wen 
 Brooters bangs a high foul over de fence square up agin y'r leo- ? 
 Look out fer me razzle-dazzle now ! Get onto me snake now, 
 Clarkson's in de box ! Now see me pitch a side-drop. Oh, dat's 
 de ball dat razzle-dazzles de coon wid de stick ! " i Pantomime of 
 throwing.) 
 
 Linnie {looking on icith interest). " I'll bet I can do it. Let 
 me try." 
 
 Teddy. " I've got ' a ' go home in a minnit, but I'll give yeh a 
 pointer or tAvo." 
 
 {As they talk in the corner 3frs. Jfurtagh, a middle-aged Irish- 
 woman vnth x>leasant face, enters icith a dish in her hand. As 
 she talks Mrs. E. keeps about her loork, causing the visitor to 
 raise and lower her voice cdternately.) 
 
 3Irs. Mirrtagh. "Arrah! And have ye haird the noos ? 
 Timmy Sheehan has broken the hid ov Mike O'Lary f'r darin' t' 
 chpake ill ov Mary McGrill. The more honor to him ! and Mrs. 
 O'Hoolilian's old man caam home full o' paches, wild as an injin 
 
 — and oh ! the cirrcus they had wud raise the hairs of ye ! y' 
 
 should be on me side o' the house. Y'd ha' thought the bloody 
 fiends o' hell wor havin' a free fight. It's a foine woman is Mrs. 
 O'HooHhan, an' her arms are beautiful wid mooscle ; the divil a 
 mon c'n walk over her hid — " 
 
 _ Mrs. Edwards. « Sh ! Don't talk of that, I don't like to have 
 Linme hear it. She hears too much now." 
 
 Mrs. M. {loicering her voice). « It's little she moinds what oim 
 a-sayin,' wid Teddy tachin' her some o' his schmart tricks. He 
 takes after his father, does Teddy." ( With adroit turn to flattery.) 
 " But it's a blissid home y' have here sure, wid four swate little 
 rooms on the second floight front. An' think o' me jist, wid six 
 childer an' three rooms three floights back ! It's a lucky woman 
 ye air so ye air, Mrs. Edwards." 
 
 Mrs. Edwards. " Yes, I 'spose I be, compared with others ; 
 but my home aint what I wish it was." 
 
 Mrs. 3f. " Xot what ye wish it was ! What'll ye be wantin' 
 
 — theairth?" ^ 
 
 Mrs. E. {musing a moment at the table). " Yes, that's just it. 
 
It is the earth I'm wantin'. I want 'o hve where they's a place 
 for my children to play. Seems 's if I never could get recon- 
 ciled to their playin' in the streets. I want a little yard with 
 apple-trees in it and a pear-tree, and — and — a — home — this aint a 
 home, it's only a stopping-place." 
 
 Mrs. 31. " Glory be to God. WTiin ye git that y'll be wid the 
 saints ! Be gorry, the loikes o' that '11 nivir come t' the loikes av 
 us. But would ye lind me the loan av a cuup o' tay ? It's out o' 
 tay I am and me nairves in that state ! And the childer that 
 crazy." (A crash on the stairs and screams ofbahe. Jlrs. Mf/.r- 
 tagh rushes to the door and yells like a fog horn.) "Phwat air 
 ye doin' up there ? Gaw back in the room wid ye I If ye dhrop 
 the babby over the bannister again I'll baste the skin av ye ! 
 Teddy, run up an' see phawt the spalpane Patsey is doin'." 
 {Teddy pays no heed.) {Coming back to the centre calmly 
 taking up her jxdaver.) 
 
 "As I was sayiu', ye've been s' kind to a poor — " {At this 
 point she sees Alice Edicards entering icith Walter JReeves and 
 scuttles into kitchen kft, looks out icith a comical leer., sloxdy 
 closing the door. Alice is a girl of ticenty with a thoughtful 
 face ; she is dressed in a light-colored modish dress. She enters 
 the room and turns., smiling faintly at Reeves icho is talking to 
 someone in the hall. Beeves is a handsome., alert man of thirty., 
 dressed richly. His hair is pushed straight up from his fore- 
 head ; he has a quizziccd look about his eyes.) 
 
 Beeves (still looking into hall). " Pat, none o' y'r grinnin' now. 
 It's the divil's own time I'd be ha-vin' wid yez if y' lave anither 
 banany-skin on the stairway." {Entering he takes Teddy by the 
 napje of the neck.) "Two's company, Teddy, three's a crowd." 
 
 Teddy {rebelliously) . " Wy don't y' put'/^.er out?" {pointing 
 at Linnie.) 
 
 Linnie. "O Teddy Murtagh. I guess — " 
 
 Reeves. " Xo words — Teddy — no recriminations. Pun 
 along — I think I smell y'r supper waitin' f er yeh — " 
 
 Linnie {icho has whispered to Alice). " Oh, I'll go meet papa." 
 {Runs out back.) 
 
 Reeves to Alice. " Eh, well I Privacy and tenement houses 
 are mutually destructive terms. As a prying newspaper man, I'm 
 getting a dose of my own medicine. They all take a great inter- 
 est in my affah's." 
 
 (Alice smiles but faintly at his fun. She remains seated^ eyes 
 held do ten in thought.) 
 
 Reeves {sinking i?ito a chair). " Another graduation recital 
 would lay me out in the morgue. That tall girl who punished 
 Schumann — well, let that pass and come back to the matter in 
 hand. That's all you'll promise me, is it ? 
 
 9" 
 
Alice (very gravely) . " Yes." 
 
 Reeves. *' To marry me — sometime ! " 
 
 Alice {smiling a little) . " Aint that enough ? "" 
 
 Reeves {rising). "No. It's too indefinite. Enough, to a man 
 who wants you and the earth ! Now just think how indefinite 
 that sounds — sometime ! Why not put a mete and a bound to 
 it! Why not say next Fourth of July?" {She smiles and 
 shakes her head.) "Thanksgiving?" {She shakes head less 
 emphatically.) " Christmas ? Ah ! now I'm getting at it. Say a 
 year from to-day. Now that's a tremendous sacrifice on my part. 
 Come now ! " 
 
 Alice (smilijig) . " Well, I — will — " 
 
 Reeves {leaping up). " Good ! " 
 
 Alice {thrusting him back). " — think of it." 
 
 Reeves. " What's that ? " 
 
 Alice. " I said I'd think of it." 
 
 Reeves {turning wildly away). "Nothing of the kind! Alice, 
 you are wildly exasperating. To think of the sermons, recitals, 
 and graduating elocutionists I've listened to, to hear you sing ! 
 To think of the ice-cream sodas — " 
 
 Alice {xvarningly). " Walter ! " 
 
 Reeves {sinking down into a chair). " All diss haff I endured 
 mit a batient shrug — only for this, only for this!" {Groans^ 
 hides face.) 
 
 Alice {^sternly). "How can you make light of it I " 
 
 Reeves {looking up). " Make light of it ! Do I look like a man 
 making light of anything ? " {Becoming grave.) " Alice, this is 
 nonsense. Just look at it from my standpoint a moment. Here 
 I amj good salary, a little land and railway stock — eye on a dove 
 of a cottage in Meadow- view. Queen Anne, piazza all the way 
 round — " 
 
 Alice. " I know — but — " 
 
 Reeves. "But what?" 
 
 Alice {smiling) . « I'm happy now — " 
 
 Reeves {dolorously). " But I aint." 
 
 Alice. "I have my music, and father, and mother, and 
 Linnie. Don't ask too much of me. Why can't you be 
 patient ? " 
 
 Reeves. "lam. Job aint a circumstance to me." 
 Alice {with enthusiasm). "I love my music; I can't stop 
 now just when I am beginning to master it. I must succeed in 
 that first. I want to show people that I can earn my own liv- 
 ing—" 
 
 Reeves {earnestly). " Dearest girl, all I have is thine ! " 
 Alice {firmly). " No, it aint. I want money all my own. I 
 want to lift my people out of this — Oh, wouldn't it be*^ glorious ? 
 
That's what I've worked for — dreamed about ! I can't give it 
 up now — " 
 
 Iteei:es. " Oh, these modern women ! Oh, for the soft and 
 yielding heroine of romance ! " 
 
 Alice {going on). " You got your place by your own work ; I 
 want to show how much I can do." 
 
 Beeves. " You mean how little." 
 
 Alice {stamping her foot). " I mean how much ! I'm proud 
 of you because you got your place by merit ; I'm going to see if 
 I can't do something — " 
 
 Reeves {secretly achniring Iter). " Xonsense I I can do work 
 enough for two. I don't want you to work — " 
 
 Alice. " I know you don't, but — " 
 
 Beeves. " But what ? " 
 
 Alice. " I want to work. Can't you wait ? Let me have my 
 freedom another year to see what I can do." 
 
 Beeves {a little nettled). " Freedom I Come, now, that's going 
 too far. As if you couldn't do just as you please after marry- 
 ing me ! " 
 
 Alice {eluding him). "I'm not so sure about that I Don't 
 vou remember calling me the modern woman a few moments 
 ago ? " 
 
 Beeves {surprised at her turn). "Yes." 
 
 Alice {^icith returning archness). " Well, the modern woman 
 doesn't marry young." 
 
 Beeves. " The modern woman better look out or she'll get out 
 o' the habit and not marry at all ! Say, Alice, do you know I'm 
 getting old ? I am, too near thirty, altogether. Come and look 
 at my hair — gray, eh ? " 
 
 Alice {jnishing her hand through his hair). "Gray! There 
 isn't a gray hair in it — and if — " 
 
 Beeves. "And if there was, it would be due to dissipation. 
 Oh, that's what you were going to say ! Now that's — " 
 
 Alice {protesting). " No, no I I didn't mean that — I meant — " 
 
 Beeves. " Oh, you can't ST\'itch off onto Back-Bay parties and 
 summer hotels ; but there is something in these five o'clock recep- 
 tions — the tea I knoic is wearing on me. But come back to the 
 matter in hand." 
 
 Alice (freeing herself and going). " Xow I won't argue any 
 more. You sit down and keep delightfully quiet." 
 
 Beeves. " But hold on. I — " ^ 
 
 Alice {hangs up her hat and sits at 2yici7io. Droicns out his 
 voice, and then asks demurely), " What were vou about saving, 
 Walter?" 
 
 Beeves {savagely). " I was merely remarking that I'll go home 
 and write a ferocious article on the modern woman." 
 
Alice {sxoeethj). "Do, and I'll add another year to your proba- 
 tion. The tyrant man must be taught his real weakness. Woman 
 is becoming his equal, nay, his conqueror ! " 
 
 Beeves {in mock despair). " Oh, that I was born so late ! " 
 
 (^5 she2jl<iys softly he rises and goes over to her and puts his 
 hand on her shoulder. Wkeyi she ceases p>layi7ig he says in a nexn 
 tone of voice^) — " Lovers always enjoy telling each other what 
 they thought and felt the first time they met — " 
 
 Alice {looking up). " Yes, go on." 
 
 Reeves. " I never could tell what I thought when I saw you 
 first — I met you on the street, you remember — " 
 
 Alice. '^ I remember." 
 
 Reeves. "But I clipped a little poem to-day, that comes as 
 near expressing my thought as anything can." 
 
 Alice. " Oh, read it I Won't you, please ? " 
 
 Reeves. " How do you know it's complimentary ? " 
 
 Alice. " I don't." 
 
 Reeves {smiling). " Yes, you do, or you wouldn't plead for it. 
 Well, it went something like this — if my memory serves : — 
 
 She passed me on the street 
 And saw me not I 
 As some sweet singer, far 
 From its swaying nest 
 Beside some half-hid stream 
 Deep in the wooded west, 
 Musing she moved with eyes 
 Upon some other far-off skies. 
 
 Knowing not rice, nor hunger's ways, 
 With pure, unthinking, child-like eyes, 
 She passed me, but I caught 
 The glorious beauty of her face! 
 Beneath her garments, perfume fraught, 
 She moved with such a splendid grace 
 I thought a strain of music passed 
 And with its passing held me fast ! 
 
 So purely pure her happy face, 
 
 So delicate each rounded limb, 
 So perfect was the line of grace 
 That swept from breast to dainty rim 
 Of swaying dress, no sculptor's dream 
 Of angelhood had half the spell 
 That in her living beauty lay — 
 She passed! And I, so eager-eyed — " 
 
 {As Reeves repeats this poem to Alice., she keeps her eyes on the 
 floor. As he hesitates on the last verse she takes his hand in hers., 
 and lays her cheek on it. As he finishes she looks up and says :) 
 
 " Did you — Oh, how you idealize me ! If it were only true that 
 we knew neither vice nor hunger I But there is no escaping — " 
 
{Knocking at the door^ and enter Mrs. Murtagh^ followed by 
 Mrs. Edicards^ icho places a dish on the table.) 
 
 3frs. M. {elaborately to Heeves). " Good evenin', Mister Iditorr. 
 Good evenin', Miss Edwards. It's a bloody thief I feel loike ; 
 but Murtagh '11 be waitin', an' waitin' makes him that angry. 
 It's the divil's own task t' come bechune two swatehaiits sittin' 
 loike two dooves in a nist — " 
 
 Beeves. " There, never mind that." 
 
 Mrs. 31. " Oh, it's not on me own account — " 
 
 Teddy Qmtting his head in at the door). " Six t' four in favor 
 de Bostons, Clarkson in de box." 
 
 Reeves. " How's that ?" 
 
 Teddy {icith certainty). " You bet yerlife when Clark, is in de 
 points dey go out, one., toe^ tree. He c'n make ol' Anson fan de air." 
 
 Beeves. " The modern boy." 
 
 Mrs. M. " He's the curse o' me loife. As I was — " 
 
 Alice {quickly). " There, there, Mrs. Murtagh, don't say any- 
 thing more about it. I didn't know — " 
 
 Mrs. 31. " Av coorse y' didn't, bless the swate two eyes av 
 yeh ! An' yer moother sayin' I'll knock on the dure. Dawn't 
 do it, s'si. I know what it is to resave cal — " 
 
 Beeves {sternly 'protesting), "Madam, look — " 
 
 Mrs. M. " Didgy hear that, now ? Madam., s's 'e ! Good 
 luck t' yeh f'r the same token — " {Curtseys. Bow outside.) 
 
 Beeves. " Aint that Teddy howling ? " 
 
 3rrs. M. {listening an instant). " Foightin' is he ? Mother o' 
 God ! that b'y's the divil himsilf . Good luck t' the bawth o' ye. 
 I'll dance at y'r weddin' till y'll think it's bechune sixteen an' 
 twenty I am." {Goes out hurriedly). 
 
 Beeves {with a sigh). " Heavens and earth, what a scourge I" 
 
 Alice. " Oh, she^s not bad. She's good at heart. But there 
 «?'e people in our block who are dreadful, and it is so hard to 
 escape them in the city, where human life presses so hard." 
 
 Beeves {tenderly). "My poor little girl, what a life for you! 
 "Why will 3'ou not let me take you out of it? " 
 
 Alice {with significcmt gravity). " And leave my peojjle in it ? 
 Oh, wouldn't it be glorious if I could get a place to sing I If I 
 go through the course, my teacher says — " 
 
 Beeves {icith a despairing sigh). "There she goes again! 
 Well, I must go back to the office. You're a modern woman 
 with a vengeance." 
 
 Mrs. E. {coming forward). " Won't you stay t' supper? Jason 
 '11 be glad—" 
 
 Beeves. " No, thank you, I've got a little work at the office, 
 and then I've to go out and report an anti-poverty meeting at the 
 Temple. Special job." 
 
Alice. *' What kind of a meeting is that, for pity's sake ? " 
 J^eeves {^x^reparing to go). " Oh, a cranky kind. Henry George 
 started it. Some absm*d idea about abolishing poverty." 
 
 Alice {with a profound sigh). « I -w^sh it wasn't so absurd. I 
 don't see why poverty is so persistent in this age of invention." 
 
 Beeves (as if struck by her v:ords). " Come to think of it, it is 
 more absurd to think the abolition of poverty absurd. Why 
 shouldn't it be abolished? AVhat's the good of progress if it 
 doesn't abolish it ? " {He muses.) " I don't see where the 
 iaugh comes in myself. Do you know, I've been thinking and 
 writing on these things of late ? I don't kno-.v why ; it's in the air, 
 I guess. Everybody's got some cure." {Leans his elbovj on a 
 chair, speaks in slow, deep, musing voice.) "I stood on the 
 Brooklyn bridge the other day and looked down on New York. 
 Over me soared and sung those stupendous cables, the marvel of 
 man's skill, etched on the sky, dehcate as a spider's web. I 
 stood there looking down at the sea of grimy roofs, a lava-like, 
 hideous flood of brick and mortar, cracked, and seamed, and 
 monstrous for its lack of line or touch of b'^auty, a modern city. 
 I saw men running to and fro like ants, lost in the tumult of life 
 and death struggle. I saw pale girls sewing there in dens reek- 
 ing with pestilence. I saw myriads of home's where the children 
 could play only in the street or on the sooty roof, colonies of 
 hopeless settlers sixty feet from their mother earth. And over 
 me soared the bridge to testify to the inventive genius of man. 
 And I said then what I say now, that men have invented a thou- 
 sand ways of producing wealth, but not one for properly distribu- 
 ting it. I don't know where the trouble is. If we once knew 
 the trouble, somebody'd find a cure. Abolition of poverty." {He 
 muses a 7no7nent, then starts.) " Well, good-by, I'll write this up 
 in a leader." ( With a return to his cheerfid manner, takes 
 her hand, makes an elaborate obeisance) " I await your pleasure. 
 Farewell, my queen." ( Goes out icithout looking back.) 
 
 Alice {looks after him smilingly. As she comes back the smile 
 fades from h er face) . 
 
 " Isn't it terrible to be poor, mother ? " 
 
 Mrs. E. {irith quiet pathos). « Yes, dear ; but I've kind o' got 
 used to it. I don't look f'r anything else now. I don't care s' 
 much f'r m'self, but I'd like t' see my children safe from it." 
 
 Alice {seated, ocith bent head). « Oh, how sweet it must be to be 
 free from the fear of poverty ! To feel that you don't need to 
 scrimp and pinch, and turn dresses and dye feathers, and wear 
 old shoes ; to feel that food will come when you need it ; to 
 have the soul set free for art." {Leaping up, her face agloic.) 
 '• But I'll win yet, mother ; I feel in my soul that I have the gift. 
 I'll take you out of this — " 
 
Mrs. M. {entering., with a grin). "Can y' loan me the lavin o' 
 sugar? I have a euiip." 
 
 Mrs. E. {takes the cup and goes to kitchen. Mrs. M. turns to 
 Alice icho is x>laying softly). " A foine yoong mon thot. A rale 
 mon if he does look a bit av a jewd. It maad me think o' the 
 toime when Murtagh caam a-coortin' me — in the ould country — 
 may the smile o' God fall on it ! — an' a foine broth av a b'y was 
 Murtagh, an' a rare loomp av a gurrul was misilf — axin' yer 
 })ardin — an' it's well I remember the green turrf , an' the coos, 
 an' the pegs in the pin, an' the trees. Sorry the tree I've clapped 
 me two eyes on since the day of Saint Patrick." ( To 31rs. E.., 
 mith sugar). " Thank ye, mum, glory t' God ! y're a joowell. Be 
 gob! and phwat is the world comin' to whin the half av us 
 niver see the blissid soon rise 'r set ; an' niver a blaad o' grass n'r 
 a shavin o' mood f r the childer t' roll on savin' the gutter, an' a 
 cop on the corner waitin' t' braak y'r hid, 'r a ply-carrd sayin' 
 kaape a£f the grass. Faith ! an' if this is free Amurriky, what'U 
 be the Amurriky that'll be comin' -svid the faall o' waages and the 
 rise o' rint?" 
 
 Alice. " ^"Miy, Mrs. M., you're quite an orator. I didn't know 
 you thought of these things." 
 
 Mrs. M. " Tought of ^m ? Me ! wid six childer an' Mike's 
 waages cuut down t' tin dollars the wake ? Who shud tink av 
 thum?" 
 
 Alice. " But you're always so cheery — " 
 
 3Irs. M. " So I am ! Fer what's the use wapin' over shpilt 
 milk ? Monny a mon shmiles wid a sore heart under the vist av 
 'im. Whin I tink av ould Oireland, the gem o' the say, an' the 
 tousands and tins o' tousands driven out lavin' the ould father 
 and moother alone in the turrf-hut it's shmilin' sure I'll be 
 'r wapin' — " {lifts her cqyron to her eyes ami goes out). 
 
 Alice {clasping her hands tcildly). " O mother, mother ! Are 
 there any happy people in the world — any happy working- 
 people ? " 
 
 Mrs. E. " It don't seem so now, dear. But when I was 
 young, back t' Derry, seemed 's if everybuddy was forehanded ; 
 but now eveiybuddy is strugglin' f'r dear life — " 
 
 {Enter Linnie from the hall ^ joyously.) "Poppa's coming, 
 poppa's coming." 
 
 {Enter Jason Edicards^ a middle-aged man in grimy cloth- 
 ing^ a tin pail in his hands. His face is gloomy but he strives 
 to hide it. As Linnie runs to him he takes her in his hayids 
 and raises her to his face.) " Heigho, little one, look out f'r 
 grease." 
 
 {As he hangs up his coat and hat, she folloics him about.) " O 
 poppa, just think, I made a cake t'day all alone ! Mother didn't 
 
help me hardly any, did y', mother ? Aint I gettin' t' be quite a 
 cook?" 
 
 Edwards {^rolling up his sleeves). "Well, I should say so. I 
 don't know what we'd do without our girls, do we, mother ? " 
 
 Linnie. " And O poppa, Mr. Reeves was here. And when he 
 went away he — " 
 
 Alice (^warm7igly). "Linnie." 
 
 Edwards (icith assumed cheerfulness). " Ho, ho ! Xow we're 
 getting at it. Go on, I want to know what goes on when I'm 
 away. They can't nuthin' go on in this ward without little Miss 
 Brighteyes knowin' all about it." {Goes out into kitchen.) 
 
 Alice. " Linnie, dear, you need discipline." 
 
 Linnie. " Wliat's discipUne ? " 
 
 Alice. " Horrors, what an inflection ! Discipline is teaching 
 little girls not to tell tales out o' school and not to talk like Teddy 
 Murtagh." {She goes out and returns icith an apron^ helps at 
 table.) 
 
 {Edwards enters^ icijjing his face. While he is rolling down his 
 sleeves^ Linnie climbs into a chair and gets the comb out of the 
 case itnder mirror.) 
 
 Linnie. " I'm all ready, poppa. Sit down in the rocking-chair." 
 
 {Edwards sits, takes her on his lap)., claspnng her around her 
 waist ichile she talks.) 
 
 " Aint you glad you've got someone t' comb your hair for you 
 when you're tired ? " 
 
 Edwards. " I guess I am. We'd surrender without our girls, 
 wouldn't we, mother ? But you're gettin' t' be such a great big 
 girl now, I'm afraid I sha'n't have y' much longer." {Edwards 
 looks at Alice, meaningly.) 
 
 Linnie. " I'm goin' t' sit on your lap till I'm big as Alice — 
 yes, a good 'eal longer." 
 
 JEdwards. " Oh, no, you'll be goin' off an gittin' married one o' 
 these days, an' forgit y'r ol' daddy." 
 
 Linnie. " I won't neither ! Now you stop talkin' that way. 
 I aint never goin' t' get married." 
 
 Edwards {^rising). "Don't be too sure of that ! Well, Jennie, 
 how goes it with you to-day? Seems turrible hot in here. I 
 swear it's worse'n the shop." 
 
 Mrs. E. (patiently). " It always is, Jason, when the wind is in 
 the southwest." 
 
 Edwards. " Why don't you open the door ? " 
 
 3L's. E. " I can't stand the noise and smell t'night, my head 
 aches. Sometimes it seems 's if I couldn't bear it, but I think o' 
 people who don't have as much as we do, an' so I keep a-goin'." 
 
 Edicards {walking about). "That's about the only way, t' be 
 patient. It makes me wild sometimes." {Goes to lounge and 
 
drops heavily upon it. Alice taJces a fan from the icall and fans 
 him^ stoops and kisses him.) 
 
 Alice. " Poor papa — it's dreadful to see you come home so 
 tired." {Brushes the hair back from his forehead.) 
 
 Edicards (bitterly). " It's just one eternal grind, not a day off. 
 I'm glad I don't believe in another world — I wouldn't be sure o' 
 rest after I got there." • 
 
 Mrs. E. {shocked). " Why, Jason, what are you sayin'? You 
 must 've hed a hard day in the shop. It's dretful hot f'r the first 
 week in June." 
 
 Edirards {raising to his elboic). " First week in June I Wny, 
 mother, it's just thirty-two years next week since we was married. 
 D* you remember how old Deny looked that day? Flowers, and 
 berries, and daisies, an' birds, {rising) — why, mother, that was 
 heaven an' we didn't know it ! Down here in this cussed alley 
 we don't know anything about Jime, only it makes our tenements 
 hotter and sicklier. I s'pose the cows up there are knee-deep in 
 the grass, and the wind smellin' like the front door o' heaven. 
 We didn't look f'r this kind o' thing when we left Derry, did 
 we ? We didn't look forward to a tenement '? " 
 
 3Irs, E. " Xo, Jason, — but set up an' eat sumpthin'." 
 
 Linnie. " Poppa, I wish we could go up in the reed country this 
 summer — you know you 23romised — " 
 
 Alice. " Sh I Linnie ; papa will do his best." 
 
 Edicards {going to the table) . " I'll try, little one, but I'm afraid 
 there aint no vacation for us. The fight gets harder every year. 
 Oh, I'm too tired to eat, Jennie. Well, Allie, how'd y' come out 
 T^dth your recital t' day ? " 
 
 Alice {putting her hand in his). "Very well, father, only I 
 wished you could have been there." 
 
 Edicards. " I ^4sht I could, but I can't. I got 'o keep goin'. 
 Rent an' taxes go on when I picnic, but wages don't." {Shoves 
 hack from the table and sits dejectedly^ 
 
 Linnie {starting upj). "O poj^pa, a man put a bill under our 
 door that said Rent on it. I'll get it." {Brings it from the corner^ 
 reads it slowly.) 
 JLinnie (reading). 
 
 Dear Sir : — At the expiration of your lease, July Isr, your rent will be 
 increased five dollars per month. Please notify us if you intend to remain, 
 
 John Xorcross, Agent. 
 
 Edicards. " Good God ! and my wages cut down last week. 
 Haint they got no mercy, these human wolves ? Haint I got all I 
 can stand now ? Look at it I" {Booking at the icalls.) " Look at 
 this tenement ! Hotter, rottener, sliabbier, but rent must go up. 
 Jennie I Children ! I don't know what I'm goin' t' do. I don't 
 see any way out ; I can see we're bein' crushed — " 
 
Linnie {going to him). " Don't cry, poppa, don't mind him." 
 
 {As Edimrds sits thus icith bowed head^ Jidian Berg, a pale^ 
 student-like German, enters at the door. He is accompanied by 
 a full-bearded, sinister-looking man, icho stajids hi the doorway^ 
 stolidly smoking a long pipe. Berg holds a rent bill.) 
 
 Berg. " Aha ! Vat say you now ? Is it nodt dime doo 
 brotest ? Our vages is reduced dwice alretty in four years — te 
 rendt haff been raist four dimes. How? It is hell, is it nodt? 
 Vat you do ?" 
 
 Edicards {vnthout looking up). " I don't know." 
 
 Berg {darkly, looking at Alice). " I know vat I do. I magke 
 brotest so I shall pe heardt. It is nodt doo be born wit. I 
 giff in my name to-night." {He starts toward the door.) 
 
 Alice {stoppnng ?iim). " Don't do that. Keep away from those 
 Anarchists, Mr. Berg. They will hurt you. They don't belong 
 here. Such meetings are wrong in a free country — " 
 
 Berg {turning). "Free? Free doo bay rendt in. I fly from 
 de tyrandts ofe my native landt, I reach a free landt ! Bah ! I 
 am only slave under anodder name, dat is all. De mardch of 
 feudalism is here even. I say there is no free blace left. Ledt 
 dem tage care, I shall fight. I am a volf ad bay. If I fall now, 
 I trag someding wit me." {He starts to go.) 
 
 Alice {stopping him). " Don't go with those men. You're not 
 yourself to-night. Stay with your mother." 
 
 Berg {moved by her v-ord and hand on his arm). " For your 
 sake, I vill stay. I am nodt veil. It is true." 
 
 Alice {recoiling). "Ko, no; not for my sake, but for your 
 mother's sake." 
 
 Berg. " For you haff ask me I stay." {He turns to the figure 
 at the door.) " You hear, I go nodt oud." {Figure at the door 
 goes.) " I \4sh to dalk mit you — I haff—" 
 
 {Alice stands speaking in a loio voice to Berg. At last he nods.) 
 « I promise — ant I vill gome again soon ? " {Exit.) 
 
 Alice {turning to her father) . "Can't something be done — 
 can't you strike?" 
 
 Edwards {spiritlessly). "No, we can't strike, — at least it 
 wouldn't do any good." 
 
 Alice. " Why not ? " 
 
 Edicards. " What can men do strikin' with families as I 
 have needin' every dollar they c'n earn ? Rents due an' no 
 money t' pay it with. I don't know which way t' turn." 
 
 3frs. E. "Don't give up, Jason. We'll git along some way. 
 We can move into a cheaper tenement, — " 
 
 Edwards {indignantly). "I don't want y' to do that, Jennie. 
 You're low enough ; I've been hopin' t' move into a better 
 one." 
 
Alice (resolutely/). " I'll give up my course at the Conservatory 
 and go to teaching. I'll do my part." 
 
 £dicards. " It wouldn't save us, m' girl, for next year the 
 rents would be higher an' wages lower. It aint the present that 
 scares me, it's the /V^i^re.-' I could pull through for a year or 
 two if 'twant for the turrible uncertainty of the future. If I 
 should be laid up fr a month — I'm gettin' old an' liable t' be — 
 I don' know what we'd all do. John jest about makes a livin' 
 for his family — he can't help us. Linnie must go t' school, an' 
 Alice mtght to go on with her music — " 
 
 Alice {Jirynly). "No, father, I'll give up the Conservatory for 
 the present. I'll find something to do, I'll be a help." 
 
 Linnie. " So'll I." 
 
 Echrards (jyutting his arms around theni). " You're a help to 
 me now, Allie ; nothin' cheered me more all day long than the 
 thought o' your havin' a good time with your musical friends." 
 
 {Alice has a thoughtful look on her face. She is thinking of 
 Reeves^ and his question and her answer.) 
 
 Mrs. E. {with a sigh). "What's the world comin' to, Jason, 
 when hard-workin' people can't make a decent living? " 
 
 Edwards {in the same gloomy tone). "I don't know, Jennie. 
 I tell ye I've done a 2)ile o' thinkin' lately. I've looked at the 
 whole matter fore and aft, and they haint no other way to it. 
 It's a plain case o' rents goin' up an' wages goin' down. Ten 
 men fr every job — me gettin' old." {A long jx' use.) 
 
 Mrs. Edwards {hesitatingly). "We couldn't go back to Derry 
 an' go to farmin' agin, could we? They say they's deserted 
 farms there that can be bought — " 
 
 Edwards (bitterly). " TTV^y are they deserted ? B'cause people 
 couldn't make a hvin' off 'em. Can we do any better ? If I 
 was a young man — if you was young and the girls didn't 
 need schoohn', they'd be jest one way out — the way out fr so 
 many b'fore us — I mean go west an' get free land and start 
 aginl" 
 
 Alice {feeling her icay). "Why don't you go west now? 
 We'll go with you. I'm sorry we're not boys, we'd be of more 
 use." {With groxcing conviction.) "Of course that's the way 
 out ! Why didn't we think of that before, mother ? Everybody 
 is happy and successful that goes west — it's the refuge for all 
 like us. Let's go this very summer ! Maybe I can find a place 
 to teach music out there." 
 
 Edwards {rising and going to his coat). " Wal, now you've 
 said s' much, Allie, I'll own up I've ben thinkin' a good 'eal of 
 it f r some time. I've jest about wore these maps out lookin' at 
 'em. {He sxfreads some railway maps out on the taUe^ and they 
 all look at them. He grows ejithusiastic.) 
 
Edwards {pointing). " Now here's Boston, an' there's Chicago, 
 an' you follow that black line away out there an' that's Boom- 
 town an' free land. D'ye hear, mother ? free land ! The place 
 we're all dreamin' about ! " 
 
 Linnie. " What d' you mean by free land, poppa?" 
 
 EdvKirds (raising his head). "Where there aint no landlords 
 an' no rents. Where there aint no rich n'r no poor. Where 
 people don't live in holes like this. Where they raise such ears 
 o' corn as that, and have farms like that" {holds uj) tvm gay- 
 colored 2^osters), "with cows, an' pigs, an' clover, an' brooks near 
 by, full o' trout. Mother, I've been hungry f 'r a farm all my life ; 
 let's try it agen, eh ? " 
 
 3frs. E. " Very well, Jason, if you think best." 
 
 Linnie {dancing about), "Oh, yes, let's! I'm tired of this old 
 city, aint you, Alice ? " {Alice remains strangely silent 7ioto.) 
 
 Edwards {in growAng enthusiasm). " AYal, now, this is a way 
 out of it. I didn't dare t' say anything about it f'r fear you'd all 
 say no. We'll git a piece o' that free land — Ed Ruble is out 
 there an' his father — you remember old Sam Ruble, Jennie — 
 an' they crack the country up great ! Of course we won't expect 
 much the first year or two — we'll be satisfied with a log house. 
 We'll build near a river somewhere — " 
 
 Alice {corning out of her reverie). " Oh, won't it be delicious to 
 get back to the birds and bees, and trees and clouds ! " 
 
 3Irs. E. {catching the spirit). "Yes, if our house aint very 
 much it'll be ours. We can't never hope to have a home of our 
 own here — but it'll take money 't git out there, an' we aint got 
 much t' spare, Jason." 
 
 Edwards. " We'll manage somehow, now we've made up our 
 minds. We'll have t' sell off our furniture ; 't won't pay t' ship 'em 
 way out there." 
 
 Alice {ruefully) . " Must we do that, father ? It'll seem horri- 
 ble to sell our dear old things. They aint worth much in money. 
 Can't we store them and — " 
 
 Edwards. " It's going to take every cent we c'n rake an' 
 scrape t' git out there and get started, Allie." 
 
 3frs. E. " Of course there aint no other way — don't bother 
 your father, AUce. That ol' blue chiny set th't Captain Bascom 
 give gran'raother '11 bring a hundred dollars — that man from 
 Dawley's offered 's much." 
 
 EdiiKvrds {pondering the mapj). " There's the road leading to 
 the West, to wealth, health, and freedom — hey, mother? Good- 
 by to work in a shop ! Good-by to rent ! Good-by to the filth 
 and noise of the tenement ! We'll go west, where my girl \ seizing 
 Linnie'] will grow up strong, and sweet as a Avild rosebush. I 
 feel as if a pile-driver had rolled off my neck." 
 
Alice (^smiling). "You look it, father. I haven't seen you so 
 jolly in years — have you, mother? " 
 
 Limiie (^with a poster in eodi Jiand^ reads :) "Harvest ex — 
 excursions. Go by the Albeit Lea route. Free farms in the 
 garden spot of the glorious West." 
 
 £dicards. " Mother, what was that old song you used to sing 
 about going West ? Something about ' O'er the hills an' prairies,' 
 'r sumthin' like that — buffalo and — " 
 
 {Ifrs. Edmards smiling^ Jnans an old tune). 
 
 Linnie. " Oh, I know, ' O'er the Hills in Legions.' " 
 
 (^Alice goes to the piano ; they break out icith the icords ;) — 
 
 " Cheer up, brothers, as we go 
 
 O'er The mountains we'^trvard ho! 
 While herds of deer and buffalo furnish the cheer. 
 Then o'er the hills in legions, boys, fair freedom's star 
 Points to the sunset regions, boys, ha, ha, ha, hal " 
 
 Edwards flourishes a hurje poster in one hand, holding Linnie with the other. 
 Ends by "winding poster round her neck. As they sing the second verse, Mrs. M. 
 comes to the door back, and looks in. in icild surprise. Berg is also seen. As the 
 chorus begins the curtain goes doicn. 
 
 If curtain rises again, discover them all seated around the table. Mrs. J/., 
 Berg, and all. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 ScEXE Second. — A Boomee's Dex. 
 
 Five rears later. Boomtown, 1S89.— Jtdy. Office of Judge Balser, Land-agent and Attoraey- 
 at-law. Small room, bare floor, plain plaster walls, with maps hung here and there. Three 
 or four oSce chairs. A table in the centre littered with papers and mk . Door and two win- 
 dows at back looking out on a bright, sunny, quiet street of small, battlemented wooden 
 stores. 
 
 Judne. wearing a neat summer suit and a neat pearl-gray plus, is seated at P.joht Front, his 
 feet on the desk of his bookcase. He is reading aloud and smoking. When he pauses the 
 silence is profound. 
 
 Frank Graham, in his shirt-sleeves. wearin3 a neat dark-bpown suit aad a derby hat. is 
 seated wi'h his back to the Jud?e, looking out of the door, his feet on the table in the centre. 
 He has wicker cuffs on his wrists and bright-colored armlets above his elbows. 
 
 Bank Whiting,&lio in his shirt-sleeves, has on a hickory shirt, without collar or vest, 
 wide white hat. His feet are on the window-sill at left of door. 
 
 " Tonguey " Tom, similarly attired, is seated in the door-way. 
 
 Curtai?i rises. 
 
 Judge (^reading). "'It is with sorrow therefore that we see 
 the noble profession of journalism trampled in the mire by 
 such vandal hoofs." {Judge pausing and hloicing a mhiff of 
 smoke.) "Hoofs aint bad. ' By such vandal hoofs as those ot 
 the editor of the Belleplain Argus. Were we the only ones to 
 suffer from the vile vituperations of the paltrv poltroon and limit- 
 less bar'— " 
 
 Frank {icithout looking around). "Quite a Shakspearean 
 touch there. Limitless liar is immense.' 
 
 Judge {proceeding). " Limitless liar and troglodyte as runs or 
 rather craids., the Belleplain Argus.'' " 
 
Frank (listlessly) . *' That aint bad. A new hand on the Pul- 
 verizer. Don't he pay his respects to us, the major, and the 
 Boomtown Daily Spike?'''' 
 
 Judge {y aiming and laying down paper). " That feller aint 
 got any gall ! " 
 
 Frank. "Who ? Yanktown Pulverizer ? " 
 
 Judge {rising and removing his coat). " No, the Argus. It 
 says our boom is busted. Everything on the down grade. And 
 that the railroad is buying largely and secretly m Belleplain." 
 
 Frank {stretching and yaioning). " Well, it is purty slow 
 these days." 
 
 Whiting. « We'll git there, Eli — after harvest." 
 
 Judge. « You bet. This is a sort of a breathing- spell — every- 
 body letting go to get a better holt." {Sits again.) 
 
 Frank. « What I'm 'fraid of is that this light crop is goin' t' 
 down a lot o' these fellers like John Boyle and Jason Edwards. " 
 {in the drowsy pause a chicken cackles) " Say, Judge, you'd better 
 go wring the necks o' them chickens, they give the town dead 
 away. They sound too pastoral. It takes the wire edge off your 
 talk about street-cars to have a hen cackle m the weeds." 
 
 Whiting. " That wouldn't faze him. He'd swear she was in 
 a coop." 
 
 Frank {after a pause., during which the lazy chuckle of a loaded 
 wagon and the buzz of flies on the windoirs are heard). " Boyle 
 is goin' t' fall into your jaw sure, Judge, and Edwards — " 
 
 Judge {a little impatiently). "Yes, I know. They're both 
 cussm' the country, but what could they expect ? Come' out here 
 expectin' t' find free land la^in' around loose? A man can't 
 start in a new country without money." 
 
 Frank {significantly). " Where can he start better?" 
 
 Judge {icheeling about in his sicivel chair). "That's nothin' t' 
 do with it. As I told Boyle when I sold him his land, you c'n 
 take y'r choice, — go thirty miles from a railway and get that free 
 land you've heard about, or give me ten dollars an acre f r mine. 
 He took mine. It was his own choice. Same way with 
 Edwards. A man ought 'o stand by himself " 
 
 Frank {musingly). " A man once jumped of his own choice into 
 the sea — only the steamer was on fire — that's all. It was his choice." 
 
 Whiting. " Nasby Blume says the girl gits a pile o' letters from 
 a feller in Boston. Nothin'. like bein' postmaster t' find out such 
 things. Nasby says the letters kind o' fell off — " 
 
 Judge {busy at desk). " Has the girl's dude ever been out ?" 
 
 Frank. " I think he has once or t^-ice, but I didn't see him ; 
 drove over from Belleplain, I guess — Hullo! What's this? 
 Keep quiet — sh ! " 
 
 ( Ujicle Johnson meeting Daddy BuUe just outside the door. 
 
As they shake hands and taJk\ the Judge sits at desl: and. inrites. 
 Frank ajol Whiitin(f icink at each other and listen. Johnson is 
 a tall man, dressed like a farmer. Kahle icears a seedy suit and 
 a ''>plug'' hat.) 
 
 Uncle Johnson (icith a jug in his hand and a rake on his 
 shoulder). " How air ye, Daddy ? How's this f r high ? '' 
 
 Daddy {in a high key). " Puity high, how's the craps?" 
 
 Johnson (jjutting doica jug and rake). " Purty dry, prnty 
 dry. Dry an' hot." {3Io2js his face.) 
 
 Ruble. " Purty tiiff on the farmers." 
 
 Johnson (as they seat themselces on a bench, on the sideicalk 
 under the icindow through ichich their heads shoic). '• Spaicially 
 ^^-ith sugar-trusts puttin' sugar up, and Coal- Kings reggelatin' the 
 price o' coal. This admin'stration — " 
 
 Daddy Ruble {in a high key). " Xow go on ! Lay the weather 
 to- the admin'stration. Course it's the fault of the admin'stra- 
 tion I Ecerytliing kin be laid to the admin'stration." 
 
 Johnson {icagging his head violently). " Well, it'd help us t' 
 pull through if the admin'stration would let sugar come in free, 
 an' wool — " 
 
 Ruble {rising). " Oh, go on, go on I " 
 
 Johnson {sarcastically). " Oh, I'm goin' on ; don't you worry! 
 TTe was all goin' to see a big boom when this — " 
 
 Ruble {hotly). " You'd lay the hot wind to the administration 
 if you could, you ol' fool." 
 
 Johnson {more coolly). "Set down, set down, an' don't tear 
 your shirt. You'll hve jest as long." ( They sit.) 
 
 Frank {laughing silently at Whiting). "See them two ol' 
 seeds! They think they run Congress, and they don't neither of 
 'em know Jackson's dead. Xow watch 'em, they'll fight sure. 
 Xow listen — Johnson'll wind Ruble up, like a watch. Xow let 
 her go, Gallagher ! They're at it ! " 
 
 Johnsoris voice {rising out of the murmur ichich has been 
 going on during Frank^s talk). " What I'm a-sayin' is this. We 
 don't get no protection on our wheat an' too dum much on our 
 sugar. I don't believe in taxin' the many fur the few." 
 
 Ruble {shaking his trembling fist). " Shut up, you old copper- 
 head ! You're in f'r free-trade, I c'n see — " 
 
 Johnson {sternly). "Set down, you ol' fool, an' talk sense! 
 When I corner yeh, y' alwiz go off — " 
 
 Ruble {still frantic). "I aint a-goin' off . Yeh can't corner 
 nawthin'. I'm goin' t' stay right here." 
 
 {Frank and Wliiting laugh silently but mightily. Ruble and 
 Johnson argue in dumb shoic, gesticulating violently.) 
 
 Frank {to the others). " Xow listen. He's goin' to rip the old 
 man up the back. See his Uttle game ? He always does." 
 
Johnson. " Did you make it worth that money? Did you do 
 anything to them lots ? Aint you reapin' where you aint sowed, 
 you infernal ol' sponge?" 
 
 Ruble {excitedly raising his cane). "Don't you call me a 
 sponge, you old blag'ard." 
 
 {Frank going to the door to stop them.) 
 
 Johnson. " I'll call you a sponge all I'm a-min' to, jest as long 
 as you live off somebody else, an' if I don't double the taxes on 
 you speculators, call me a horse. I'll make you use'r sell, one o' 
 the six." 
 
 Ruble {inild icith rage). "You're a dummed ol' single tax 
 crank." 
 
 Joh?ison. " Well, that's what I am, an' Fll wind up you specu- 
 lators 'r die a-tryin', as the fella says. You can't set around 
 here on your pants and git rich out of — " 
 
 (Ruble makes as if to strike him., Frank goes to the door.) 
 
 Frank. " Hold on there I No fighting allowed on the grounds. 
 Daddy, if you can't keep your whipple-tree off the wheel, don't 
 kick out at the dashboard. Gentlemen, both, allow me to inform 
 you that General Jackson is dead and that the cruel war is over. 
 In the words of our great General ' Let us have peace.' " 
 
 {As Johnson turns to go he slyly sicings the rakers tail around 
 andknocks Rubles plug hat off., then scrambles away out of sight. 
 This causes a general shout, at the close is heard a penetrat- 
 ing pjeal of laughter., followed by others in rhythms like the drum- 
 onin. I of a pheasant., an irresistible chorus.) 
 
 Frank. " Hello ! Happy Elliot is in town. Been kind o' 
 hungry f'r his laff fr a week. Here he comes." 
 
 Enter Elliot {a fat man with a red face. Ap)pears at the door 
 %chere he puts his hands on the sides of the door and laughs). 
 
 Frank. "Hello, you old porpus. How do you stand the 
 heat?" 
 
 Elliot {putting his thumbs in arm-holes of vest) . " Poorty nigh 
 imsodders me." {Laughs.) " Hello, Judge ! Judge allays looks 
 t' me like a red-headed slick-bellied ol' spider waitin' f'r flies." 
 (Laughs.) " Oh, see that linen collar ! " 
 
 Frank {looking out the window). " Sweat some, these days? " 
 
 Elliot. " 'Bout enough t' keep me from season-checking." 
 
 Frank. " How d'ye feel anyhow?" 
 
 Elliot. " All broke up by the hot wave on my wheat." 
 
 Judge {elegantly smoking). "You look it." 
 
 Elliot {admiringly). "Aint he a daisy, a tulip? While 
 Edwards and th-e rest of us are worried about to death over our 
 crops, the Judge sets here cool as a toad in a cellar, an' haiwests 
 hi:=? mortgages slick 's a cat can lick her ear." 
 
 Judge. "" Foresight ! Nothin' like bein' on the ground first." 
 
Q)? 
 
 Elliot (to Frank). " Has he got a heart ? 
 
 Frank. " Who ? Judge ? Na-a-w ! His heart's only a little 
 hydraulic ram." ( Whiting and Elliot laugh. Judge goes on 
 icriting.) " Set down, set down, live as long." 
 
 Elliot. " Wal, this w^on't do f r me. I must go and look 
 after my crop — I mean the Judge's croj). See yeh later." {Exit.) 
 
 Whiting. "That's right, get a move on yeh. Elliot sheds 
 trouble like punkins off a hay-stack." 
 
 Frank. " His laugh 's as good as a brass-band ; everybody's 
 got 'o keep step." {Begins to sing.) 
 
 " There's a boomin' ol' boomer 
 On the lake beloAv, 
 Oh, how I long to see that day ; 
 
 Up to his neck in the brimstone flood — " 
 
 {Breaks of looks out the idndoio .) " Great Caesar's ghost ! " 
 Judge and Whiting ask languidly. " Dog-fight ?" 
 Frank. " A plug hat — " 
 Judge and Whitmg {in great excitement). "What! what! 
 
 what! what!" 
 
 Frank. " Tailor-made suit." 
 
 Judge. " Xo !" 
 
 Frank. " Yes." 
 
 Jicdge. " No ; it can't be." 
 
 Frank. " I say yes." 
 
 Judge. " WheVe, for heaven's sake ! " 
 
 Frank. " Coming up the street ! Coming here ! " 
 
 ( They crowd over one another to look out the icindow without 
 heinq seen.) 
 
 The Judge {devoutly). " Thank heaven ! " 
 
 {As the rest seat themselves the Judge goes to a Ug hook and 
 studies in it intently. As Walter Reeves enters Judge turns to 
 Frank, saying, as if continuing a conversation :) "Xo, Graham, 
 I can't let vou liave that lot for any such figger. Why, it's 
 worth a thousand dollars if it's worth a cent." {Xods carelessly 
 at Beeves.) " How^ de do, how de do! Take a seat. See 
 you in a minute. Xo, I can't — " {Telephone hell rings, 
 Jud(i6 rises and goes to the receiver.) "Hello, Sherman 
 House ? Oh, all right, Billy. Xo. Seventeen ? All sold, Billy. 
 Awfully sorry — I ^ay I'm sorry, but the Standard Oil took the 
 whole bus— . What's that? Oh! three thousand, unbroken 
 lot. What ? What they going to do with it ? Going to put up 
 a warehouse. I say, is Godfrey there yet? Godfrey? All 
 right. Graham is here, and has offered seven fifty for the lot 
 on sixteen. I'll sell at nine hundred cash. All right. Good-by." 
 
{Bell rings.) " Godfrey ? All right, let'er go ! Eight fifty ? 
 Can't do it, Godfrey. Eight seventy-five ? All right ; come 
 around." {Tarns.) " I hated to sell that lot at that figger, it's 
 worth more money. Can't I suit you with another lot ? " 
 
 Frank {gravely). "No, I wanted that identical lot. It's 
 handy. I don't want any lot on the north side anyhow." {Bell 
 rings again.) 
 
 Judge to Beeves. " You'll excuse me, won't you ? " 
 
 Beeves {assuming a confiding air). "Certainly. Don't allow 
 me to interfere with your business. I just dropped in to ask — " 
 
 Judge {at the telephone). " Sherman House ? All right. About 
 No. Fourteen? Hold on a minute, I'll see. Graham, look up 
 No. Fourteen, corner lot near the park." 
 
 Frank {turning the leaves). " All sold but one lot." 
 
 Judge {significantly to Frank). " Say, Graham, what's going 
 on down at the Sherman House ? Some nigger in the fence ? 
 They won't ketch this weasel asleep. Can't be they've got wind 
 of the railway plan — " 
 
 {Bell rings sharjjly.) " Wait a minute, can't you ? Hello I I 
 can let you have one lot — can't say now. Call me up again in 
 a few moments. All right, good-bye." ( To Frank.) " I'll jest call 
 up the Major and see what's going on." {Bings bell.) " Hello I 
 Gimme the Spike office. Hello, Major ! Say, Major, anything 
 in from Hall? What? You don't say ! Good. I'm onto the 
 snap. Good-bye." 
 
 Judge sits dovm and dashes off a telegram. " Here, Tom, 
 take this down to the office. Can't trust the telephone on this." 
 
 Beeves {still in affectedly simple vmy). " Business is rawther 
 brisk, I take it." {Exit Tom.) 
 
 Judge {carelessly). "Oh, pooty fair — but I've got some dandy 
 bargains." 
 
 Beeves. " I just dropped in to ask if you could get me a 
 good — " 
 
 Judge. " Certainly. Get you anything." ( Gets hook and takes 
 it to Beeves.) " Now, there is a lot on nine that's a jim dandy. 
 Dirt cheap, at that. That lot is bound to be worth two thousand 
 dollars before snow flies." 
 
 Beeves. " You don't say ! " 
 
 Judge. "You bet it is." 
 
 Beeves. " What's going to make it so ?" 
 
 Judge. " Why, the boom on this town. Look at the lines of 
 road — seven lines of road running into the town, and a grade 
 that -will be ironed this fall. And then there is the plow factory, 
 capital, hundred thousand, — grist-mill going up — " 
 
 Frank. " And the twine factory y' know." 
 
 Judge. " That's so ! One o' the biggest schemes in the north- 
 
west — millions of tons o' flax burned every year — millions o' 
 pounds o' twine bought in every harvest — now a stock company 
 is formed ; theyVe bought Xo. Ten, entire — five thousand dollars 
 — and put up works costing seventy-five thousand — " 
 
 Reeves {in mock siinplicHy). "Very intristing indeed. But I 
 fancied you'd tell me about this timber-claim matter. I bought 
 a claim of a fella a short time ago, don t you know, and when I 
 saw it to-day it hadn't a tree in sight." 
 
 Jadye {xjlo.cidhj^ irldle Frank laughs). " A timber-claim, my 
 dear sir, is not a claim T^-ith trees on it, but one on which the 
 government wants trees." 
 
 Beei-es. " Yo' don't say ! " 
 
 Judge. " I do say." 
 
 Beeves. " But, you know, the fella said the timber would be 
 immensely valuable after a few years." 
 
 Frank {much amused). " So it will, fifty years from now, when 
 you've growed it." 
 
 Reeves. " Then according to that, you tliink I'm done." 
 
 Frank. *' Done brown. Xo mistake." 
 
 Judge {carelessly). "Xo doubt of it. Got to keep an eye out. 
 Xow to get out o' this scrape you'd better invest with me. I've got 
 a lot here that is bound to go up. On Main Street. See ! It's 
 worth two thousand, but I'll let you have it at seventeen fifty, 
 seeing you were let down by that other fellah." 
 
 Reeves. " Verv kind of vou. But what's to make it go up as 
 you say ? " 
 
 Judge. " Why, the boom in the town, the people coming, and 
 the scarcity of land. See I " 
 
 Reeves. " But there isri't a scarcity of land I I never saw so 
 much land in my life. By George I it's astonishing what a coun- 
 try you've got here, and such high prices I I thought this was the 
 country of free land." 
 
 Frank. " Oh, that's one o' the lies we print in our papers to 
 bring people out here. It's free at so much — see! " 
 
 Reeves {resuming his alert manner and crisp voice). "Yes, I 
 see, all that and a good deal more. I see you're a set o' land- 
 sharks, and live off the industry of the town. You can't give 
 me anv points on that. I make it my business to down such 
 fellows.'' 
 
 Frank {leaping up). "What? you! lookin' as you do?" 
 
 Reeves {ccdmly). " Looking as I do. See how my hair stands 
 up. I've seen the cat." 
 
 Frank {icith a glow of friendliness). " So've I, gi'me y'r 
 hand." ( They shake and keep shaking.) " You look like a dude, 
 but you've got the grip of an honest man. I don't know where 
 ye come from but I know where ye'll go to. Thunder an' blue 
 
mud ! why didn't you say so before I " {Judge slips out.) " Goin' 
 t' stop long in town ? " 
 
 Reeves. " Yes, several days." 
 
 Frank, " Visiting friends ? " 
 
 Reeves. " Yes, the Edwards family." 
 
 Frank {ichisths). "Oh, I see! Certainly! You're that 
 du — ced good fellow from Boston." {Taking him hy the hand.) 
 " Success to you, comrade. She's a bonanza." 
 
 Reeves {smilitig). "Thank you." 
 
 Frank. " Prospected 'round there myself till I saw 'twant no 
 use, — claim pre-empted. Case of monopoly, see ? Say, look 
 here, send your things right over to my house. I keep open 
 house for such chaps. Xot a word, got 'a' be done." 
 
 Reeves {going to the telephone). "Well, if you insist." 
 
 Frank. " You bet I insist." 
 
 Reeves. " All right. I'll just ring up Billy down at the Sher- 
 man House." {Turtis crank. Tom., looking at vjindoic^ grins.) 
 
 Frank {smothering his laughter). "I would." 
 
 Reeves {still turning crank). " What the deuce do vou call 
 this thing ? " 
 
 Frank {shouting). "Coffee-mill." 
 
 Reeves {still grinding). "Well, so should I." 
 
 Frank {laughing yet). "Oh, let up on it! That's only an 
 innocent little joke for roping in tenderfeet. But never mind, 
 I'll jest send a boy around." 
 
 Reeves. " Xow look here ! You don't mean to tell me that 
 that telephoning was all bogus ? " 
 
 Frank. " That's what it was. There's a button under the 
 table there that rings the bell. See?" {Pushes button and the 
 hell rings.) 
 
 Reeves {in blank surjyrise. Whiting goes off laughing), 
 
 " Well, for ways that are dark 
 And tricks that are vain, 
 The western land-shark is — oriorinal." 
 
 Frank. " Almost equal to stock gamblers. Well, how's 
 things in Boston ? By the way, I don't know your name. Don't 
 make any difference — handier, that's all." 
 
 Reeves. " Walter Reeves, Daily Events.^"* 
 
 Frank. " Mine's Graham — Frank Graham. Say ! " {Looks 
 around., sees Tom.) " Tom, you run down to the Sherman and 
 tell Billy to send Mr. Reeves' things up to my house." (Exit 
 Tom.) " Old man, if I wasn't a married man, that girl of yours — 
 well, let that pass. I congratulate you." 
 
 Reeves {gravely). " Graham, can you tell me anything about 
 how things are going with them this year ?" 
 
Fran'k. " Yes, they're going pretty hard." 
 
 Reeves. " I feared so. In what way"? " 
 
 Frank. " In all ways.'' 
 
 Reeves, " They're needy as ever ? ' 
 
 Frank. " Well, they're poor enough. But that girl — well, 
 she's the mainstay of the family now. She's all that keeps 'em 
 np. Old man, why don't you step in there and give 'em a lift ? 
 Excuse me, but I can't help saying that.'' 
 
 Reeves. " I wanted to, years ago, before they came west." 
 
 Frank. " And she objected ? " 
 
 Reeves. " Yes, she objected.'' 
 
 Frank. "Why?" 
 
 Reeves. " Oh, I don't know — sort of pride I Edwards is one 
 of these men who'll die in the harness, and go under the wheel 
 before he'll give up, and she has a good deal of the same spirit." 
 
 Frank. " I see I Obstinacy, we call it here. Well, if they 
 don't have a good crop this year I'm afraid he'U go under the 
 wheel, sure. "He's failing. By the way, want my team to drive 
 out with ?'' 
 
 Reeves. " You are a friend indeed.*' 
 
 Frank {looking out of the irindoic). •• Xothin' too good — Hello ! 
 My wife coming to call me to dinner. Lucky I've got you ^Wth 
 me to keep her off." (Frank^s icife, a pretty young girl^ appears 
 at the ivindow as they go to the door. Frank introduces Reeves 
 in dumb shoio outside and they go off. A moment of quiet ^ then 
 enter Judge, stranger, and Tom.) 
 
 Judge. "Now you just wait a moment and I'll ring up 
 Griggs." {Rings telephone htU.) "Hello? Gimme Griggs and 
 Mullens. Griggs? Well. Griggs, I've got an offer for your lot 
 of seven-tiftv — take it ? Better take — nice man — grocery. 
 What ? Take it ? All right, it goes." 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 Scene Third. — A Mid-day Peaikie. 
 
 A small shantv on a wide, sea-like expanse of shimmering plain. Not a tree or shrub 
 is in sight. In hollow back of the house, a vellow field of grain. The house stands on the left; 
 on the nsht is a well and small granarv. The well has a wheel, and two buckets, and a jellow- 
 piine curCins. At the back right are hav-stacks and sheds, and above and beyond them the 
 mottled prairie stretches infinitelv. flooded with a hot, yellow glare of light. It is about two 
 o'clock, and in the shadow cast bvthe little shanty, the action takes place. The occasional flute- 
 lite note of the prairie-lark is heard, and the sound of fowls. 
 
 Curtain discovers Alice seated in a Imo rocking-chair, near a 
 little stand, in the shadow of the house. She seics, looking often 
 away on the pAain. Linnie is singing inside. Wlien curtain is 
 icell up, Linnie comes out and takes seat on door-sill. 
 
Linnie. "My goodness! Aint it hot! Phew! I hope 
 mother won't try t' come home before sundown. Do y' s'pose he 
 got in last night, Allie ? " 
 
 Alice {wearily laying her ^c or Jc down). " Oh, I don't know, 
 I don't know ! I've looked so long across this endless prairie 
 that my eyes ache. I can't look any more." {Rising.) " Come 
 and look, dear. Isn't that a team ? there, see I just rising the 
 hill bej'ond the school-section." 
 
 Linnie {looking aicay). " Yes, that's a team. You c'n just see 
 the buggy-toj)." 
 
 Alice (nervously). " Oh, if it shouldn't be Walter this time I 
 should sink with disappointment. See how plainly the team can be 
 seen now! 1 hwic it's Walter. How swiftly and how silently 
 it comes." {Putting her hands to her eyes.) "Oh, this plain, this 
 plain ! It is so vast and so lonesome, there is no place so dreary 
 to watch and wait in. It is so pitiless, so beautiful, and so impas- 
 sive, like a dead sea. It crushes me — I think it will make me 
 crazy." 
 
 Linnie {her chin in her ^^cdms). " I'm sick of it, too. It's bad 
 as livin' back on Pleasant Street." 
 Alice. " Almost, not quite." 
 
 Linnie {firmly). « I do' know. I wish I could hear the little 
 German band play as they used to, an' see the circus parades and 
 the boys' regiment on the common. A monkev and a hand-organ 
 just now would be gorgeous ! Oh, I'm so tired o' this hot "old 
 prairie. I w4sh I was a fairy ? Do you know what I'd do ? " 
 Alice {with eyes distract). "No, dear." 
 
 Linnie {icith enthusiasin). " I'd cause a great big hill all covered 
 with real trees to spring up right out there. And I'd have a 
 waterfall on it, and deer in it, and I'd have a fence around it and 
 charge a dollar f walkm' around it, and a quarter f'r lookiu' at it, 
 wouldn't that be a bonanzy ? " 
 
 Alice. " Why, child, what an idea." 
 
 Linnie {calmly). " Frank Graham says that's the American 
 idea — the fellow that owns the land always gets there. Oh, I 
 wish that team'd hurry up. I don't know which I'd ruther die of, 
 lonesomeness out here, or starve t' death in Boston." {Looks off.) 
 Alice {imlking about, looking aioay). "I think it must be Walter. 
 He's at the second moggason now. I hope it is ! " 
 Linnie {shortly). "What y' goin' t' do if it is ? " 
 Alice {stopping short in a sort of 7ieio terror). "Oh, I don't 
 know ! I haven't thought so far." 
 
 Linnie {with j^ositive inflection). "I know what L\l do. I 
 wish a Boston editor was comin' after me, I bet I'd go quicker'n 
 scat." 
 
 Alice {turning). " Linnie, what do you mean by — " 
 
Linnie (decidedly). "2Iean what I say. I never'll marry any 
 of these men and live out here, if — I — I'd ruther die an old 
 maid in Boston than have forty husbands out here." 
 
 Aiire {with an effort to he calm). " I am afraid to meet him — I 
 wish I knew." 
 
 Linnie {looking ainay again). " I wish J did, but I don't. He's 
 drivin* f'r home, whoever he is. He's in a hurry, f r a hot day, 
 and he's a-gitt'n' there. I hope he won't stay t' supper anyway. 
 There aint any bread, and it's too hot t' make biscuit. Aint it 
 awful on the grain ? I can see father out there walkin' about in 
 the wheat ; he don't do nothin' else lately but watch the wheat 
 an' the sky." {^Alice starts to go in.) « AYhy don't y' wait and 
 see who it is ? " 
 
 Alice {in groxring excitement). "I must go in. I can't stand 
 out here and stare at him as he comes." 
 
 Linnie. "All right; I can stare enough f'r two. I'm goin' t' 
 stand rio'ht here and see who it is. Teams are too scarce on this 
 prairie to lose the excitement. Mebbe it aint Walter, anyhow, 
 but they'll stop and get a drink o' water. Frank Graham says he 
 don't see what there is wonderful about the water in our well, but 
 there must be, f'r all the young fellows in the county drive 
 around this way t' git a drink. I'm sure I don't understand it." 
 
 Alice. " Linnie, how can you joke ? " 
 
 Linnie. "I don't know'm sure. Effect of the ozone in the 
 air, as Frank says." 
 
 Alice {going in). " You'll tell me, dear, won't you? " 
 
 Linnie. " Yup. I'll keep my eye on him. Say, Allie, here 
 comes father with a jug t' get s"m water." 
 
 Alice {in the dooricag). " Don't say anything about my looking 
 for Walter, to him. I want to see him alone, and then he 7)iag 
 not come — please don't say anything, will you f "' 
 
 {Linjiie 2nits her arm about her and 7iods her head^ ichispering 
 to her. Alice goes in. Edwards comes on right., jug in his 
 hand., tchich he proceeds to fill at the icell with a dipper. ILe is 
 very gloomy. LLe is without coat or vest and his hickory shirt 
 is \net with siceat.) 
 
 Linnie {going to him). " How is the haying, father? Poor 
 poppa, how hot you are ; come and sit down here in the shade." 
 
 Edwards {taking off his hat and irApAng face). "They aint 
 no rest for me, my daughter. If I should set around in the 
 shade my girls wouldn't have any home soon. Rain 'r shine I've 
 got 'o keep goin' " ( in a low \'oice) " till I drop. Where's 
 mother ? " 
 
 Linnie. " Over t' Mrs. Elliot." 
 
 Edwards. " Where's Alice ? " 
 
 Linnie. "In the house, Iving down, I guess." 
 
Edwards {tenderly). " Poor girl, she ought 'a' stayed in Boston. 
 I don't know what we'd 'a ' done without her, but" she aint fit t' 
 live here — it's killin' her." ( Groans.) " 3Iy God ! aint there no 
 restin' place f r us ? " ( Scans the clouds.) "If it would only rain, 
 only rain." {Takes vp his jug and starts otF, Linnie looking at 
 him tearfully.) " Dry as ashes I" {He goes off. Zinnie iroiches 
 him., then turns and gazes aicay left as before.) 
 
 Linn ie {calling) . " Allie, Allie, it is Walter, no other man would 
 wear a plug hat out here. He's alone, and he's got Frank's 
 team. I know every horse on this road." 
 
 {Seats herself coolly on the doorstep and listens to the apprroach- 
 ing wheels. Sound of voice speaking to horses.) 
 
 {Enter Beeves. Alice, seeing him from the door, hesitates, then 
 goes to his opjen arms. He kisses her.) 
 
 Reeves. "What's this? Crying? Why I thought you'd 
 laugh when you saAv me." {Raises her face'^to his.) " It's your 
 guilty conscience. Little woman, that face shows care — life' out 
 here is killing you." 
 
 Alice {smiling again). " I'm only crying because — I've longed 
 to see you — I've watched the road oh, so many hours, Walter. 
 It was too much to expect, but I thought you'd come. It's so 
 lonesome here." {E:dt Linnie.) 
 
 Walter (quizzically, looking down at her). " Your letters didn't 
 read that way, I can tell you that ; they were cold and formal 
 enough." 
 
 Alice. " I didn't dare write what I felt." 
 
 Reeves. " Why not ? " 
 
 Alice. " Oh, because I was afraid I " 
 
 Reeves. " Afraid I'd come and get you, eh ? " 
 ^ Alice {evading him). " Don't ask me now. Let me enjoy your 
 visit without thinking, — tell me about dear old Boston. Sit here 
 while I get you a drink. You must be thirsty." 
 
 Reeves {tenderly, smilingly). "Yes, thirsty for the sight of 
 you." {Alice goes into the house. Reeves walks about, glcincing 
 keenly at all points of thepAain.) " So this is the reality of the 
 emigrant's dream ! The homestead in the free West, the house 
 beside the river embowered in trees ! 
 
 A wide dun land where the fierce suns smite, 
 
 And the wind is a furnace breath ; 
 "Where the beautiful sky has a sinister light, 
 
 And the earth lies dread and dry as death: 
 "Where the sod lies scorching, and" the wan grass sighs, 
 
 And the hot, red morning lias no birds — 
 
 My God ! what a place for my beautiful girl — for anybody's 
 girl, — a wide- walled grave." 
 
 {Alice enters with a glass which she fills and hands to him. 
 
He (Jrinl's^ saying :) " In a land like this the gift of water must 
 mean as it does with the Arabs, the highest hospitality.'' 
 
 Alice. " I can't say how much I — we — shall — "' 
 
 Reeves {putting his arm about ?ier). " Don't try. It I had 
 only known your real feelings — but how could I from those 
 letters?" {Looking ojf left.) "What in the world is that girl 
 doing? She's unhitching my team! I'll stop her." (^£^x. 1, 
 talking to Linnie.) 
 
 Alice {(Calking about). " How can I let him go again? Have I 
 the strength ? But I must, I must I I can't leave father now, at 
 the height of his terrible struggle. I must stay.'' 
 
 Walter {re-enters icith Linnie, holding her by the hands). "I 
 suppose this is Linnie — anyhow the little witch was unhitching 
 my team ; another minute and she might have had a runaway." 
 
 Linnie {scornfully). "Runaway nothing ! What do you take 
 me for ? Allie and I hitch up the horses and go out in the fields 
 
 — we plow, and drive harvester — and we help shock the wheat 
 
 — don\ we, Allie ? " 
 
 Reeces {surprised^. " Do yoit do that ? With this hand, that I 
 used to love to watch on the piano? O horror I " {Strokes it.) 
 " Poor bruised little hand." {Kisses it.) 
 
 Linnie {goes orf in mock disgust). " Girls like me don't count. 
 My hand can get -weU itself f r all you care. Wal 'n so it goes." 
 {Goes into house.) 
 
 Reeces. " And you live there ?'' {pjointing at house.) 
 
 Alice. " Yes, with my people." 
 
 Reeves. " Through your horrible winters ? '' 
 
 Alice {quietly). " Yes, and there are days when that hut, poor 
 as it is, seems like a palace. Last winter it seemed as if the snow 
 would never tire of slidmg to and fro on the plains. Days and 
 days we were shut up here.'' 
 
 Reeves {deeply affected). "Heavens, what a prison I And yet I 
 saw dozens not so good as I came along." 
 
 Alice {quietly). "We lived in tJai.t sod-shanty a year." 
 
 Reeves {lifting his head). " And this is the free and glorious 
 West! Oh, it makes me wild to think of you living there — it's 
 worse than the tenement-house." 
 
 Alice {frmly but sweetly). "There was no other way. They 
 couldn't have lived without me. My little teaching has kept us 
 in groceries, and besides, there have been days when father was 
 too lame to work and I have worked in the fields, and taken care 
 of the cattle in the barn — " 
 
 Reeves {seizing her hands). "Don't tell me anymore — I'll 
 rage — I'll swear." 
 
 Alice. " We must bear it." 
 
 Reeves {savagehj). "Bear it I 7 won't bear it. I'll expose 
 
the whole infernal matter in a four-column leader. I'll smash 
 the next boomer that says free land to me. Free land! if this is 
 gettmg free land, what the devil — " 
 Alice {stop2ntig him). " Hush, hush ! " 
 
 Reeves {freeing himself). " I say, if this is free land what in 
 the devil Avould you call high-priced land ? The settler pays for 
 his free land all that makes life worth living ; these families have 
 purchased their bare and miserable acres with blood and sweat 
 and tears. Free land ! Bah ! For a century there has been no 
 free land in America." 
 
 Alice {trying to he calm). "I know it, but it only makes it 
 worse to think of it." 
 
 Reeves {quickly). "Forget it, then, for I've come to take you 
 out of it. Hush, now! Not a word. I've let you spoil five of 
 the best years of my life. You sha'n't say a word — I must be 
 heard now." 
 
 Alice. " I can't, I daren't let you go on — I — " 
 Reeves {sternly^ almost angrily). "Alice, you can and you 
 must — I'm master now." * 
 
 Alice {repulsing him). "You're 7iot\ You go too far — " 
 Reeves. "Alice, listen. I didn't mean that — forgive — " 
 Alice {with stern resolutio7i). "You did — you meant it. 
 Listen to me." 
 
 Reeves {goi7ig on impetuously). " I wiYHisten, when you talk 
 sense. I won't be put off any longer. You must decide. If you 
 refuse — " 
 
 Alice (^feeling a covert threat). " What then ? Suppose I do ?" 
 Reeves. "Then we never see each other again. There is a 
 limit to my patience — be careful ! " 
 
 Alice {feeling his earnestness). " Yon are the one to be care- 
 ful! You are unjust. Am I here to please myself? You're harsh, 
 unfeeling — " 
 
 Reeves {iimrningly) . "Alice, Alice! " 
 
 Alice {panting with emotion). "It's true! Does my suffer- 
 ing count for nothing? My sacrifices? I see and feel all 
 that you feel — and more. I feel that I can't leave my parents, 
 and I won't leave them — now — while they are old, and poor, 
 and need me so. You have no right to expect — " 
 Reeves. " What good has your sacrifices — " 
 Alice {going on siciftly). " See these hands — you don't know 
 the half. I plow, I milk the cows ; every hand is needed on the 
 American farm. There is no law against child labor or woman 
 labor there! But I could bear all this if yon did not sneer — if 
 you appreciated my sacrifices." {Reeves hows his head.) " I didn't 
 expect that from you, Walter." {In softer mood.) " Wait another 
 year — be patient ; father may yet — " 
 
Heeves {rousiyig up). "I don't mean to be hard, but you forget 
 my side of it all. You forget how long I've waited. Another 
 year and one of us may be dead ; a railway accident, a stray 
 bullet in the street, and we may be cheated. Alice ! Alice ! Don't 
 send me back again with empty hands ; don't do it. I can't 
 stand that ; I won't try.'' {She mal:es no moveme/it.) " What is 
 life worth out here — in this desert ? " 
 
 Alice. '• Xothing, but I must live it." 
 
 Beeves. " What do you hope to do by it?" 
 
 Alice. " Xothing. I'm past hope ; I'm only enduring." 
 
 Beeves. " Alice, are you crazed ? Has the silence and loneli- 
 ness of this plain — " 
 
 Alice. " I don't know. Don't press me." 
 
 Beeves (in despair). '» You are sacrificing us both, and all to 
 no purpose. Answer me, what are you going to do ? " 
 
 Alice {flaming up again). " Stay here ! Wait I " 
 
 Beeves (i?i (lesjminng rage). "Then you don't care for me; 
 if you did — " 
 
 Alice {shrinJting). " Walter, you have hurt me !"' 
 
 Beeves {leaping hastily toirard her). "Forgive me, I didn't 
 mean that I Don't mind me, I'm wild. Alice, you must not send me 
 away. It is the law of life for daughters to leave their pdrents." 
 
 Alice {in a dull., hutfrm tone). " It is not the law of mg life. 
 The walls of the beautiful home you offer me could never shut 
 out the thought of their sorrows and privations. In the thunders 
 of Brahms and Wagner, I should hear the wild wind blowing 
 around this cabin here." {ZTnclasping his hands.) 
 
 Beeves. " But think — think." 
 
 Alice {turning wildly). " TYnViZ.'.^ I ^< c/ /rethought till my brain 
 whirled. In the awful silence of this praii'ie, you can't help but 
 think. I've grown old in thinking. I seem to have lived three 
 years in one. I saw my father toiling in the fruitless fields, my 
 sister growing up in ignorance, the splendor of the great world 
 of music lost to me, you lost to me ! I've thought, and thought., 
 till death would be a relief." 
 
 Bee"es. " Give it up to me, dearest. Let me help you. Let 
 me take care of you — all. I'll put your father on his feet — " 
 
 Alice {icith love in her face). ^''1 kneic you'd saj^ that. You 
 meant it all the while. But he would never consent. He's so 
 proucl — stubborn, if you will — when he bends he will break. 
 Mother no longer comforts him, he turns to me for comfort and 
 s^Tiipathy. He needs /ne more than he needs money. Xo, dear, 
 there is no present help for it. You must go back to your splendid 
 life in the city, and I must stay to help my father tight his almost 
 hopeless battle.'' {She raises her hand.) " It is useless, cruel to 
 say more. I have my father's pride — " 
 
Beeves. " And his wilfulness ; but I loill not leave you so." 
 Alice {irith a look of iron resolution). "Walter, you must.'' 
 {They stand cmd face each other in silence., gazing into each 
 ether s eyes. It is a battle of wills. There is no yielding in her 
 steady eyes. At last he turns in a sudden anger and starts away. 
 She relaxes, her head sicays, her eyes close ; but as he turns v:ith 
 a look of great sorrow, extending his arms, "Alice, Alice, 
 love !" she resumes her implacable mood, lifting her hand and 
 speaki7ig the single word " duty ! " He bows h \s head and goes out. 
 She stands long gazing after him, silent, her wide eyes fixed on 
 the horizon, then melts like a figure of snow, falling without icord 
 or sound.) 
 
 Curtain sloidy falls. 
 
 ScEXE FouETH. — A Settler's Harvest. 
 
 Lajidscape as before. It is later and the sun is lower. Clouds are seen in the distance. It is 
 very still the crickets are chirping drowsily. Mrs. E. sitting as if wearied, has her bonnet on 
 and IS rocking to and fro in the chair. Alice is seated with her work before her%ilentlylookii^ 
 out on the plain. Linnie is washing potatoes. ^^ 
 
 3Trs. E. " Linnie, girl, did you shut up the little turkies, as I 
 told you to?"' 
 
 Linnie {in the doorioay). "Yes, mamma, but you needn't 
 think it's going to rain. I b'lieve as father does, it can't rain." 
 
 Mrs. E. " Where is he *? " 
 
 Linnie. " Looking at the wheat, I guess." 
 
 Mrs. E. {sighing). "Well, 1 guess you'd better start a fire, 
 Linnie, and make some biscuit." 
 
 Linnie. "Oh, it's too hot to start a fire. Let's eat bread and 
 milk t' night." 
 
 IL's. E. " No, your jm ought 'o have a good supper ; he haint 
 hed much appetite lately. I do' know what keeps him up." 
 
 Alice {turning suddenly). "Mother, Linnie, don't tell father 
 of my — of him — not to-night ; he's got all he can bear now.. I 
 dont want him to know anything about it, not just yet." 
 
 Linnie {takes up the potatoes she lias been w.ashing, and goes in. 
 Mrs. E. turns to Alice). " I know what Mister Reeves wanted, 
 AUie, dear." 
 
 Alice. " Yes, he wanted me ; he came expecting me to o-o 
 back with him." 
 
 Mrs. E. " Poor child, I wish you could go." 
 
 Alice {' dm ost fiercely). " And' leave you'all here on the prairie 
 to starve and die? And father almost crazy. — I'm not so heart- 
 less as that ! " {Rising, and prressing her hands to her head. ) 
 "But, oh, I don't see why the world should be so cruel — I don't 
 see why, if God is good, life should be such a ceaseless battle I " 
 
J//'.?. E. {sighing deeply^. *' I don't see how we could^X along 
 without you. Why didn't he stay t' supper an' see Jason i " 
 
 Alice {sternly'). " Because I sent him away — I couldn't hold 
 out much longer. O mother, mother I '' ( Goes to her^ and lays 
 her head in her kip.) " I must be right, for I have given all I 
 hoped for, to do this.'' 
 
 Mrs. E, {stroking her hair). " I'm afraid you Avas wrong, I'm 
 afraid so." 
 
 Alice {brokenly). "I know what you mean, mother. O 
 mother, I sent him away — without a kiss ! I didn't dare be 
 tender, I was so weak. Oh, will the night of poverty never lift ? 
 Is this the whole of life, for us to toil, and moil, and die on this 
 hot, drear plain ? " 
 
 Mrs. E. {;resignedly). " I s'pose it's the Lord's will, Allie. " 
 
 Alice. " I don't. The Lor«i is good ; men and men's laws are 
 bad. God never created us for such lives as this. He never in- 
 tended we should lack any good thing," 
 
 Mrs. E. " How you talk I Surely we can't complain." 
 
 Alice {going on). " AVe are not here because He asked it, but 
 because men push us out. Everyrv^here men are pushed to the 
 wall ; everywhere the poor work and get nothing — " 
 
 Mrs. E. {rising). "There, there, child, don't you — " 
 
 {A voice is heard faintly singing:) 
 
 " The South may sing of her su-u-u-n-i-i-i-y clime ; 
 
 The East of her hoarded weahh . . . ' . 
 But the West, the West, the beautiful West .... ♦ 
 
 I can see thee in my dreams ; 
 From a far-off soil my feet have trod 
 
 I can see her laughing streams." 
 
 Elliot {enters right., goes to irelU takes dipjpjer of mater. Xods 
 to Alice). " Hot, aint it ? Nothing special in this water ? " ( :^ips 
 rneditaticely., laughs. Linnie comes to the door .) " I s'pose no 
 man under fifty can find the dipper. Haf t' ask for a glass. Oh, 
 I'm onto their little game I " {Laughs. To Mrs. E.) "You'd 
 better think agin before refusing my offer on the ' spark arrester.' 
 Anotiier year and you'll be over-run by 'em.'' 
 
 Linnie {corning toicard him). " What m the world are you 
 talking about ? " 
 
 Elliot. " Spark arrester — prevents trouble — arrests all 
 sparks — indispensable to all mothers of girls." {I^aughs. Linnie 
 turns in disgust.) " Hot, aint it ? ^yhich"d vou rather do 'r go 
 a-fishin'?" 
 
 Linnie. "Goa-fishm'." 
 
 Mrs. E. " Oh, I do so long for fish ! I'd give anA-thing for a 
 good fresh lobster.'' 
 
 Elliot. " Lobster I I'd as soon eat a t'rantler." 
 
Alice {putting on a icide hat). "I'll go call father, mother." 
 ( Goes sloidy out.) 
 
 ( Voice heard again singing nearer^ 
 
 " Don't you see the dark clouds risin' ober yander? 
 
 Don't y' tink wese gwine t' hab a rain, 
 Oh yes, as sure as shootin' 
 There's the lightnin' scootin' 
 
 Like wese gwine t' hab a jimmycane! " 
 
 {Enter Frank Graham and Judge Balser in huggy. Frank 
 is in his shirt sleeves., his feet on the dash-board^ and is very 
 comfortable. As the Judge pulls %ip., Frank goes into the 
 chorus pointing at the clouds.) 
 
 " Look away there now, suthin' gwine drap ; 
 Look away there — thunder aint it warm ! 
 Lightnin' bugs a scootin', 
 Thunder guns a shootin', 
 Bet — your — life we're goin' t' have a storm." 
 
 {Leaps out and comes forward greeting Mrs. E. and Linnie., 
 gives a prodigious start at seeing Elliot.) " Ett too, Brooty ? 
 Great Ceesar, has it come to this ! That a man of your weight 
 m the community," — ( To Liimie.) " Will you bring me' a 
 glass ? " 
 
 Elliot {shaking with laughter). "Why here's a dipper in the 
 bucket. That's too thin." 
 
 Frank {in great surprise). " Why so there is ! " 
 
 Elliot. " Same old trick." 
 
 {Linnie hands Frank a glass^he turns the water from cup into 
 glass and drinks.) " Thanks, a sweeter draught from a fairer 
 hand was hardly ever quaffed. I'm a married man now and I'm 
 obliged to modify my words." ( To 3Trs. E.) " How is your 
 health these days?" 
 
 Mrs. E. " Not very well. How are your folks ? " 
 
 Frank. " Oh, so's t' be round. I tell 'em we might as well 
 laugh as cry ; it'll rain jest as quick, mebbe a little quicker." 
 
 {Re-enter Alice.) " How de do, ^Miss Edwards." 
 
 Alice {greets him and the rest quietly^ then says to the Judge) : 
 " I'd like to speak with you." 
 
 Judge {elaborately) . " Desire is mutual, I assure you." {As he 
 and Alice move forward^ Frank and, Linnie remain at the well. 
 Elliot ojid 3Irs. E. converse^ p)ointing at the sky.) 
 
 Alice {appealingly). "Judge, can't you be easy on father this 
 year? Can't you let the mortgage run? And the interest? It 
 seems as if he'd go crazy with worry. Oh, if you only could — 
 wait till another crop — " 
 
 Judge {hastily). " I should be very glad to do so, Miss Edwards, 
 if it was possible ; but you see I've nothing to do with the busi- 
 
ness. I'm only an agent of the syndicate. There are thousands 
 of other farmers in the same fix, and if I let one go they'd all 
 want — "' 
 
 Alice {despairingly). " Then take the land. Don't delude us 
 with the idea of ownership, when there is only slavery — '' 
 
 Judge. " But we don't irant the land. "We've got more land 
 now than we know what to do with. All we want is the 
 interest on mortgages." 
 
 Alice {muses^a moment. Elliot is heard laughing. At last 
 Alice lifts her face). "I see ! It pays better to let us think we 
 own the land than it would to pay us wages. We work cheaper. 
 You're right I Your system h perfect — and heartless. It 
 means death to us and all like us. We are homeless again."' 
 ( Claspin q her hands in agony.) " Homeless and almost hopeless. 
 O father I" 
 
 {Buries her face in her handkerchief and goes out.) 
 
 Frank {(conderingly). " Now I wonder what all that means. 
 Well, we must vamoose. Good-day, Mrs. Edwards. You tell 
 Jason that I'll stand between him an'' the .Judge if it takes a leg.'' 
 ( To Linn ie.) " Aw ressy^'ore, Miss Linnie." ( To Judge ^ as they 
 go out.) " A day of reckoning is coming for you, you infernal 
 old blood-sucker." 
 
 (As they drive off his clear young voice takes up another song.) 
 
 " So look out there. Judge, suthin' gwine to drap. 
 
 Look out there, better peel y'r eye ; 
 Speckylation fallin', 
 
 Speckylation fallin', 
 Farmers gwiue okkypy de Ian'." 
 
 Elliot. " Well, I must be moseyin' back home. I tell yeh it's 
 goin' to rain." {Exit.) 
 
 Mrs. E. " Can y' see y'r pa comin' ? " 
 
 Linnie. " Yes, he's coming with Alice. Oh, dear, what shall I 
 have for supper ? " ( Goes in.) 
 
 {Enter Alice and Edwards. He has a handful of blighted 
 wheat in his hand.) 
 
 Alice {trying to cheer him up,). "It's going to rain, father, I 
 know it is. See the clouds gathermg over there in the west. 
 We'll hear the thunder giant begin to walk pretty soon."' 
 
 Edwards {sinking into a seat^and staring at the heads of wheat 
 in his hands). ''Bain ! It can't rain now. Them clouds'll pass 
 right by, jest as they've done f"r the last six weeks. See that 
 wheat out there, swash like water? Y' wouldn't think t' seek 
 from here thet the ground was dry an' hot as ashes — but it is. 
 Rain ! A man migh^ pray an' pull till his eyes dropped out an' 
 he couldn't draw one cloud an inch nearer. We might jest as 
 well give it up." {Flings the wheat to the ground.) 
 
Alice (2)leading loUh him^ her orin on his neck), "Don't give 
 up now, father. Please don't talk so, it hurts us. Mother, talk 
 to him — cheer him up." 
 
 Mrs. E. (in a dull iilacid icay). "Can't you eat sumpthin', 
 Jason ? Linnie, I guess we'll leave the table inside t'night, it's a 
 little cooler since the sun went under the cloud." 
 
 Alice. " Let's fight just as long as we can." 
 
 Edioards. " It aint no use, AUie, my girl, everything's aginst 
 us. Everything — " 
 
 Alice {^plckiiig up the loheat). "But if the rain comes now?" 
 
 Ed/icards. " It can't save it. See them heads — an' then jest 
 see them white spots in the field." 
 
 Alice {after looking vnth tecirful eyes). "I see them, what 
 does it mean ? " 
 
 Edwards {sloidy^ bitterly). " It means blight. It means my 
 third crop is burnt to ashes. It means failure, that's what it 
 means. It means the foreclosure of that morgige. " 
 
 Alice. " Is there no hope ? " 
 
 Edicards. " IS'o. We're^n the jaws of a machine. We was 
 squeezed out o' Derry, we was squeezed out o' the city, an' now 
 we're bein' squeezed out for the last time in a territory o' free land. 
 I'm jest about ready to quit. I've lost my grip." 
 
 Alice {at her vnts* end). " Oh, I wish I could do something — 
 say something to help you ! It frightens me when vou begin 
 to fail." 
 
 Edwards. " There's a quarter-section o' wheat dry enough t' 
 burn — a field of empty heads — empty as my hands when they 
 ought t' be as heavy as my head feels. Oh, I can't stand this ! " 
 {Hises, 2Kices to and fro in agony., then sits again xoith head in 
 hands.) 
 
 Mrs. Edicards {from the door). "Come, Jason, and have s'm 
 tea — it'll do y' good." 
 
 Edwards {wit/iout raising his head). "I can't eat. I don't 
 feel as if I could ever eat another mouthfle as lonor as I live." 
 
 Alice. " Try to eat, for our sakes." 
 
 Linnie {coming out). " Come, poppa, the tea's most ready." 
 
 Edwards {after a pause) . "It aint no use, Jennie, childern ! 
 I've got to the end o' my rope. We've tried our last chance 
 an' we've failed. This is the upshot of our dream. The great 
 free West ! Free t' starve in. Just as a desert is free. I've 
 strained every muscle all my life and this is the result of it. 
 If the blight, 'r the frost, 'r the drouth didn't take m' crop, taxes, 
 an' the railroads, and the landlords did. Every year puts us 
 deeper in a hole." 
 
 {Alice is stroking his hair., Linnie has buried her face in Mrs. 
 Edicards'' Icqy.) 
 
" My life is a failure. Jennie, y'r mother an' me have worked 
 every well day of our lives, rain 'r shine, winter 'r summer ; we 
 aint had the necessities t' say nuthin' of the luxuries o' life. 
 Rents, an' fuel, an' food went up an' up, an' wages down, an' then 
 we tried our last chance, an' here we are." 
 
 {Faint far aicay is heard the boom of thunder.) 
 
 Linnie {leaping up). ^^Ilarh! It's going to rain sure!" 
 {Runs to the corner of the house.) 
 
 Edwards {in the same tone). *' The poor house is the next 
 thing. My strength is almost gone. Old and worse than use- 
 less. Life aint worth livin', jest work, work till y' die." 
 
 3Irs. E. " Can't we sell an' go back, Jason ? " 
 
 Edtmrds (bitterly). " Sell ! We aint got nuthin' t' sell, and if 
 we had, nobody'd buy in this God-forsaken country. No, there 
 aint DO place left 'cept — " 
 
 {Boom^ Boom^ Boom.) 
 
 Mrs. E. {rising). " I believe it will rain ! " 
 
 Linnie {dancing about). " I knoio it will ! O Allie, come and 
 see how fast the clouds are coming." {Stage darkens.) " Oh, how 
 dark it's gettin' — oh, oh, oh, I'm afraid ! It's goin' to lightning." 
 
 Alice {joining her at the back). "It's only a sudden wind- 
 shower. Isn't it grand? See that gigantic dust-colored cloud 
 rolling before the wind ! It reaches almost across the whole hori- 
 zon. It ^Y\\\ be here in a moment. It's going to blow frightfully 
 and it is going to rain, father." 
 
 {Boom^ Boom., Boom.) 
 
 {Stage darkens^ figures groio dim.) 
 
 Edwards {loithout rising). "It's too late to save — " 
 
 3Trs. E. " I must shut the windows." ( Goes iii.) 
 
 { Crash^ boom^ boom. A far-aioay crescendo.^ appalling roar is 
 heard., accompanied by a hissing sound.) 
 
 Alice {fascinated by the sight). "How it sweeps on. Isn't it 
 grand, Linnie ? See how the clouds roll and spread ! What 
 majesty of motion ! See, Linnie, that dusty-gray veil behind the 
 storm-cloud is the falling rain. How like the sea the plain is 
 now ! The clouds rush against each other — Oh, see that mon- 
 strous swirl, father ! " {As she speaks theroar deepens.) " See ! it 
 looks like a vast eye — a yellow-green Ught streams from its 
 centre. Look, a beautiful silvery- white veil falls from it and trails 
 along the ground — it shimmers like snow ! Hear it roar ! 
 father, what is it ? " 
 
 Edwards rises and rushes to her side. The hissing, roaring 
 sound deepens., nears. Alice lifts Iter face in inquiry., Linnie 
 flies to her mother v:ho has joined them. 
 
 Edv:ards cries hoarsely, " In with ye, quick ! " 
 
 Mrs. E. and Linnie retreat to the dooricay. Alice remains 
 
by her father' s side. Edtcards with set and sidlen face made 
 limdhy the lightning's yellow -green glare, lifts his hand, half 
 groans, half irnjyrecates : — 
 
 " Hail, by the livin' God I " 
 
 The lightning again fashes. The storm and the wind rushes 
 xipon them carrying away the roof of the kitchen icith a crash. 
 Edwards is seen to fall with Alice clinging to him, and amid 
 the screams of the women, the roar of the wind amd hail, dark- 
 ness faUs on the scene. 
 
 Curtain, 
 
 ScEXE Fifth. — A Game of Quoits. 
 
 A cool and dewy morning in Boomtown. A side street. At the centre, bark, is the 
 DiacKsmith shop of Ole Kettleson, its battlemented end standine to the street. At the left 
 IS a vacant lot. and over it the plain is seen in the distance, with here and there small cot- 
 tages. The vacant lot is grown up to wild sun-flowers, now in their finest Moom. To the 
 ngbt of the shop is a lumber-pile, and over it the plain and skv. The crickets are chirping, 
 
 On the right, forming a third of the side of the stage, is the •• Wamburger Grocer}-." On the 
 left, similarly situated, is the " Oat Bin Saloon." There is a side door in the saluon. 
 
 The buildings are all battlemented, and are painted white on the front. The blacksmith- 
 shop is unpainted. Before it a group of men are good-natured iv disiJUting over a game. 
 
 The men are mainly in their shirt-sleeves, and wearing broad, areasv white hats. Frank 
 Graham wears a derby hat and dark clothes, his coat being laid aside. Judge is dre^ised wir'i 
 usual studious neatness, and takes little part in the affair, smoking daintilv as he watches the 
 game. Elliot has no vest and no hat on, and his hickorj- shirt is rolled to"the elbows. A red 
 handkerchief is tucked into his suspenders. The rest have a similar bandanna around their 
 necks or tucked into their hip pockets. 
 
 The door of the shop is open and icithin the smith is dimly 
 seen and the sound of his hammer is heard. As the curtain 
 rises the crowd are bent around a p>eg at the left. Frank is at 
 the right, poising to throio his last horse-shoe. ' Tomjjkins, with 
 legs wide apart, and hands in pockets is near him. Frank yells 
 warn inghj. 
 
 " Stand away from there, you fellers, you're too previous. 
 I've got another shoe yet. Xow watch ^me make a ringer. 
 ^Tioo — oop ! " ( Throws, and cuts a capjtr. The rest all rush 
 for the peg.) 
 
 All. " It's a tie, a tie I " 
 
 Frank. " Tie nothin' ! That's mine. Oh, come off ! hold on ! 
 Measure it, Tonguey, leave it to Tonguey." {Tonguey picks up a 
 straw and measures it carefully .) 
 
 Elliot. " Careful now ! Xo'thumbin' that shoe." 
 
 {Tonguey rises and kicks the shoes, nodding at Frank who 
 hoicls and pummels Elliot on the back.) 
 
 Frank. " Xo bulldozing, Tonguey, you old jumbo.*' ( T7ie 
 blacksmith comes to the door arid looks on.) 
 
 Elliot. « Wal, that's one on me. Let 'er go, Smith." 
 
Frank. " All right ; here goes for a hubl)er." ( Throxcs. 
 Shoe rolls out of sight. JFrayik ichistles to it.) 
 
 Elliot {shouting icith merriment^. ''Put a bell on that shoe, 
 Tonguey, it'll get lost. Now see 7ne put a ringer on that peg." 
 {JIakts elaborate 2yi'^2^(t''*^^^^^^i turning the shoe round and round 
 in his hand.) 
 
 Frank (icildlg). "See him! He's witching the shoe. Say, 
 let up on that hoodoo business, or I'll — " 
 
 Elliot {throws^ shouting). " A hubber, a hubber ! " 
 
 Frank. "'Tis, hayl I'll fix it." {Throics seco/id shoe and 
 knocks the other doicn^ rushes after it.) 
 
 Elliot (excitedly). " Watch him, Tonguey, watch 'im." {Pre- 
 jKires to throic, leaning far over.) "See me plat this right 
 inside 'em both." ( Throws^ and as he rushes for the peg^ Frank 
 sjyrings before him and they go round and round the stake.) 
 
 {Frank croicding him aicay^ and calling icildly :) 
 
 •• Measure it, Tonguey, measure it — I must — " {Here he 
 slips out of the icay and Elliot rolls on the ground. All roar 
 icith laughter, but Tonguey gravely takes up Elliofs shoes and 
 handa them to him. Frank and Elliot noio retire to the other 
 peg while their partners throw. After each throw they croicd 
 over the peg to see ichich shoe is Clearest, encouraging the 
 others by word, and action.) 
 
 Frank. " Now, partner, knock that hubber off, 'r I'll dock 
 ye." {Partner throws, Elliot fans it back with his hat.) " Aw I 
 no good. A little more steam, Hank." 
 
 Hank. " Waal, that air hoodoo's scarin' m' shoes." ( Throws 
 again.) " How's that ? " 
 
 Frank. '• That's better, but you've got to stand by me a little 
 better or we're beat." {Elliot roars and picks up his shoes. 
 Pte'-es enters rear and stands looking on.) 
 
 Elliot. " That makes us ten, twelve's the game. Here goes f r 
 two." ( Throws. Yells with delight.) " Another hubber." 
 
 Frank. " Hubber nawthin' I " 
 
 Elliot {stretching out irrodigiously). "Now, now see me." 
 
 Frank {excitedly). " Yes, I see yeh, you old hippotaymos — I 
 see you getting your foot away from that peg. H'are I Hold 
 on I Why don't you carry the shoe over ?" 
 
 Elliot {pausing). " I don't need to as bad's you do." ( Throws 
 and groans.) 
 
 Frank. " Serves y' right." {As he is throwing, Johnson comes 
 on with a sickle in his hand, which he leans \ip against the shop 
 door, and comes down to lohere Daddy Ruble is standing, cack- 
 ling at the game.) 
 
 Johnson. "Hello, you old moss-back." 
 
 Puble. " Hello, you old copperhead." 
 
Johnson. " Aint ye got nothin' better'n this t' do ?" 
 
 Ruble. "Xo, I haint." {The croicd laugh at their game, and 
 the old men turn to look.) 
 
 Johnson. " You might be prayin' f r a wind t' hist the grain. 
 Some fields look 's if a herd of ellvfunts had bin waltzin' on top 
 of it." 
 
 Bad/I.y. " Bad as that ! " 
 
 Johnson {savagely). "Yes, an' worse. Old Jason Edwards' 
 grain is jest pounded clear out o' sight, an' his house blowed six 
 ways f'r Sunday. I've got sixty acres that won't pay t' cut." 
 
 Frank (is heard saying :) " Hold on, let Tonguey — " 
 
 Daddy Ituble. " Can't lay this t' taxation 'r anythincr, can 
 ye?" 
 
 Johnson. " You bet I can. If 'twant f'r monopoly in land, 
 we wouldn't be crowded away out here on this cussed prairie — 
 we'd be li\dng where it can rain without blowin' hard enough t' 
 tear the ears off a cast-iron bulldog." 
 
 Ulliot {coming up to them). " At it again, are yeh ? I'd like 
 t' see you ol' seeds quit quarrelin' an' go to fightin'." {Exit John- 
 son.^ after giving his sickle to the smith.) 
 
 {Enter a tall., avikinard hoy carrying a large., ichite jug. He 
 wears a sheepish grin^ and is in a hurry to get by. Elliot stopjs 
 him.) 
 
 Elliot. " Hold on there, young man." ( The rest echo the cry. 
 " What's your hurry, bub ? ^Yhat's in it ? 'Lasses, I reckon. Gin 
 I hope. Wait a little," etc. 
 
 Elliot {icith gravity) . " Young man, I am notary of the public, 
 and must note all public things of this nature. Show up." 
 
 {£oy turns the Jug, dis/jlaying in large, black letters on the Jug, 
 Boiled Oil.) " Boiled oil, hay ? I take no man's word, much 
 less a jug's." {Pulls stopper, smells. Boy grins. Elliot repAaces 
 stop/per, unth a icave of the hand.) "O. K., pass. Stand aside, 
 gents, and let the cortege pass. Xow, who in this crowd's got 
 any conceit of himself on quates? Hay! Xo one speaks. I'll 
 try ten points f r beer f'r the crowd — hay ? " 
 
 Whiting. « I'll take yeh — if Frank don't." 
 
 Frank. " I don't play f r beer." 
 
 Elliot. "All right, Frank, here goes." {Game goes on.) 
 
 Frank {coming over ichere Reeves is standing). " How'd you 
 leave the old man ?" 
 
 Reeves {gravely). "Xot much change. His fever is high. By 
 the way, a man would hardly realize that the land had been 
 swept by a frightful storm, to see these fellows here in the bright 
 morning sunshine pitching quates, eh I So goes the way o' the 
 world, comedy holding the hand of tragedy." 
 
 Frank. " Yes, there's alwiz a raft of just such lahees, my- 
 
self included, who'd laugh if their mother-in-law died. Elliot, 
 there, does nothing but laugh and grow fat ; a fella might as well. 
 Hail did knock things galley- west sure." 
 
 Reeves. " Your climate is so sinister in its beauty, so delusive 
 in its brightness, I don't realize, myself, what's been done ; the 
 horror of last nig;ht seems like the exaororeration of a dream. 
 The plain is so fresh, the air so soft and fragrant. There is no 
 receding swell like that on the ocean to tell of the devastation that 
 has just marched with the tempest." 
 
 ^ranJc. " I guess the Edwards family find it reality." 
 
 Reeves {reaching out his hand). "Graham, old man, it's due 
 to you that they are sheltered and cared for." 
 
 Franl\ " Oh, drop that. That's nawthin' ! " 
 
 Reeves {inuses sadly afeio moments. The players go into the 
 saloon laughing). " I guess the old man's work is about finished. 
 It isn't a thing to be altogether sorry for, either. I don't suppose 
 he ever knew freedom from care — few of us do. Our whole 
 infernal civilization is a struggle. We are climbing a perpendic- 
 ular cliff with a bottomless gulf below — clinging desperately 
 to tiny roots and crevices and toiling upward, eyes fixed on the 
 green and pleasant slopes above. We strain and strive, now slip- 
 ping, now gaining, while our hair whitens T\'ith the agony of our 
 aching, failing muscles. One by one we give up and fall with wild 
 curse or groan — but the others keep on not daring to look down 
 — there is no place to rest from torturing thought save, perhaps, 
 in the black depths beneath. Graham, I don't suppose Edwards 
 knows what rest is. It makes me savage when I think of such 
 men grinding away from youth to age, and getting nothing for it." 
 
 Frank. " Knocks an eye out of the American eagle, sure's 
 you're born. But there's just one class o' men who don't need to 
 be thin'kers or workers." 
 
 Reeves. " I know. You mean — " 
 
 Frank. " The man who owns the earth." 
 
 Judge {apxrroaching from left). "Fine morning after the 
 shower." 
 
 Frank. " Call it a shower do you, you old boomer." 
 
 Judge. " Oh yes ; little severe of course. Grain blown down a 
 little here and there — every State in the Union liable to such — 
 damage merely nominal. Wind'll lift it during the day." 
 
 Frank. " Well, you are a daisy I " 
 
 Reeves {savagely). " The whole of this settlement is unnatural. 
 Yq-cCyq flung out here — pushed on by speculation. This country 
 ought to have been twenty years settling. Would have been 
 only that the millions of acres of unused land between here and 
 Chicago are oicned by railway sjmdicates and private specula- 
 tors who are waitinsr to lew tribute on — " 
 
{Tfie Judge is getting uneasy, looks at his loatch. FranJc is 
 smiling. Elliot coming to the side door of the saloon.) "Gents, 
 come an' take sumj^thin'." 
 
 Judge {going). " Don't care if I do. Lemonade." 
 
 JSlliot (to har-heeper within). " Lemonade. 3Iix one o' the 
 Judge's lemonades. Come in, Frank. To-day don't count." 
 {Judge and Elliot go in.) 
 
 Frank. " Every day counts with my pledge. If you wan' to 
 shorten y'r life ten years {Elliot disap2)ears) why! go ahead! 
 Life aint s' cheap with me as that." {Xoise inside.) " Guzzle, 
 you infernal idiots ! You'd drink when y'r wives and children 
 hadn't a shoe to their feet. Oh, you make me tired." {Sings, 
 iohile throwing the shoes.) 
 
 {Reeves goes to the door of shojy. Croicd re-enters from the 
 left. Elliot and Judge bringing 'up the rear, they join in the 
 song. The blacksmith goes into shop and begins to hammer. 
 Players take their ptlaces. Judge come^ forward folloioed by 
 Elliot %cho is telling a story. The croicd surround him. They 
 all burst into loild laughter. Elliot looks swprised. The Judge 
 looks foolish.) 
 
 Elliot {yelling above the roar). « What the devil y' all laugh- 
 ing at?" 
 
 {All laugh and thump Elliot and the Judge.) 
 
 {Johnson entering from the left, stopjs the croicd with a wild 
 gesture and sjyeaks savagely.) 
 
 *' Oh, you fellers 're awful chipper, but just look there ! " ( They 
 turn to look where he points, in silence.) "There goes Charley 
 Severson, as fine a man as ever lived, on his way to the insane 
 asylum, a ravin' maniac. He couldn't stand the strain. They 
 say they aint a spear o' wheat standin' on his land, but he's rich 
 now ! He's got through a little earlier than the rest of us." 
 
 {Two men holding Severson come on left andpjass rapidly 
 across the stage. The maniac looks wildly from his broken hat. 
 Behind him icalks a handsome Norwegian girl, in sorroio too 
 great for tears or cries, /She leads two children. As they p)ciss 
 the curtain falls.) 
 
 ScEJTE Sixth. — A Charity Bed. 
 
 nJl™^^,' t^^'^ morning, two days after the storm. Set, parlor and bedroom in Frank 
 "Lrranam s nouse. Parlor left, bedroom right, door connecting. Windows are open in parlor 
 ana tne oriiiiant prairie can be seen beyond. On the bed, right upper corner bed-room, Jason 
 ^hl^^!^ - ^^ '"^'1 ^^^^} ^? death. Around him are signs of medicine, bottles, glasses, etc. 
 ihe rooms are cheaply but pleasantly furnished and all is cheerful The chirp of insects 
 and noise of fowls can be heard entering open windows. 
 
 {As the curtain rises Alice is discovered flitting about the 
 room. She comes occasionally to the bed to study the face of 
 
Jier father. At last she goes out into the parlor and ineets 
 Frank G-raham^ %cho is entering at the opposite door.) 
 
 Alice. " Good-morning, Mr. Graham. Did you see the doctor 
 when he was here this morning ? What did he say ? " 
 
 Frank. "Not much of anything. Pinched his chin in the 
 usual manner and looked as wise as he could. I take it he's in 
 no present danger — sort of nervous prostration, very fashionable 
 just now. Is he sleeping yet? " 
 
 Alice {in a troubled tone). "Yes, and it frightens me. He 
 hasn't spoken to me in thirty-six hours. Since that terrible 
 moment he has lain there, so like the dead ! " 
 
 Frank. " That shows how worn out he was. Sleep is just 
 what he needs. He'll come out all right in a day or two." 
 
 Alice. " \\Tio watched with him after Walter went away?" 
 
 Frank. " Walter didn't go away." 
 
 Alice. " Why, he promised he would ! " 
 
 Frank. "Well, he stayed right here, wouldn't hear to my 
 sitting up. He went down street a little while ago to get a cup 
 of coSee — be back soon." 
 
 Alice, " How good he — you all are." 
 
 Frank. " Yes, we're all right now. But let me give you a 
 word of ad^■ice. Reeves is touchy as a bear with sore ears. 
 You treat him carefully. Whatever he plans you carry out — 
 now mind that." 
 
 Alice. " What do you mean ? " 
 
 Frank (grimly). "I've said." {Exit I.) 
 
 (Alice stands musing. Beeves enters left., grave almost stern, 
 she does not hear him., he puts his arm about her shoulders. She 
 starts slightly, looks up and smiles.) " How kind, how generous 
 you are to us ! " 
 
 Reeves (looking doion at her). " Nothing of the kind, I assure 
 you. We're all egotists at bottom — even in our charities. I'm 
 no exception, don't think I am. How is he now ? " 
 
 Alice (fondly). "As if you didn't know, you stubborn boy! 
 I've found out how you obey my orders. You sat here beside his 
 bed all night." 
 
 Reeves. " That was to ease my conscience. He's still sleep- 
 
 mg?" 
 
 Alice. " Yes, so soundly ! What does it mean ? " 
 Reeves. " It means rest. As I sat by his side last night I saw 
 the congested blood slowly retreat from his head till his face grew 
 white, and his pulse more natural, till his swoon became sleep. 
 And sitting there I thought and thought, till thought became 
 resolution." (Approaching her again.) "Alice, my dearest, 
 are you satisfied? Will you give up the battle? It's been a 
 hopeless struggle from the first. You are helpless and homeless 
 
now. Will you refuse my help again ? It was morbid use- 
 less." 
 
 Alice {evading his eyes). " My first duty was to my parents. 
 O Walter, Walter, to think what they have*^ suffered ! Think of 
 the unutterable tragedy of such a life — to work all one's days 
 in storm and heat — and then lie there ! " 
 
 Walter {firmly). "Don't evade me — you sha'n't evade me 
 now. Will you come to me, you and yours ? Will you let me 
 care for you? Look at me. Don't look away — answer me 
 nowP 
 
 Alice {yielding to him at last^puts her arms about his neck). 
 " If I am worth so much." 
 
 Walter {triumphantly). « So much! You are worth acres of 
 diamonds ! " 
 
 Alice {smili7ig). "Oh, you say so now." 
 
 Reeves {in the same exultant strain). " And I'll say so ever ! 
 Now let Rome in Tiber melt and the wide-arched — what's the 
 rest of it? I'll be generous indeed, I'll forgive and forget. But 
 dearest, what a tragedy had been, had I married some other Bos- 
 ton girl during those years ! " 
 
 Alice. " I was afraid you would — I couldn't have blamed you 
 if you had." 
 
 Reeves {with a ijvofound sigh). " All that saved you was your 
 coldness. The more I couldn't get you, the more, of course, I 
 wanted you ; it's the way." 
 
 Alice. "According to that reasoning, I've done wrong to 
 promise anything now." 
 
 Reeves. " That's a non sequitur. You're mine — " 
 Alice. " Yes, but — " 
 
 Reeves. " But me no buts. I won't stand it ! " 
 Alice. " But father is so inflexible, he hates charity so. He 
 may not consent to be helped even now — " 
 
 Reeves. " Trust the whole matter to me. I'll be a sort of 
 special providence, — nothing flatters a man more than to be a 
 sort of lieutenant to God." {Tenderly, almost reproachfully.) 
 " Allie, Allie, what happy years were lost, what sorrowful ones 
 suffered by his pride and your wilfulness. " 
 Alice. " It was not ^vilfulness, it was — " 
 Reeves {hastily). "I'll retract! I'll retract! It was heroism. 
 — Only, forget it all now. Let the hand of labor swell, and 
 the weary head bow. Let the wind lay hard on the icy plain 
 and the hail of summer trample the wheat. Let the roar and 
 rush of trade go on in its granite grooves. You are out of 
 the press. My lily, my life shall be devoted to making you for- 
 
 Alice {ynusing sadly). "I am out of the press, hut not by my 
 
own merit. Hush, you know what I mean ! I hate charity, 
 because it is not justice, and after all, I am saved by a sort of 
 charity. The world's injustice. remains, my failure remains.'' 
 
 Heeves {with a sigh). " True. But you and I can't bring the 
 millennium by living apart and suffering needlessly. So look up, 
 my flower ! The failure is not so hopeless." 
 
 {Enter Jlrs. E. and Frank., Alice meets her mother., Frank 
 and Reeces talk apart.) 
 
 Jlrs. E. " Why didn't you wake me up ? " 
 
 Alice. " It wasn't necessary, Walter — " 
 
 Mrs. E. " How is he now? " 
 
 Alice. " Walter and the doctor think he is better and that 
 when he wakes he -svill know us." 
 
 ( TTiei/ quietly enter and stand looking dmcn on the sleeping 
 man. Reeves and, Frank talk apmrt^ 
 
 Frank {bursting out). "Good! that's — " 
 
 Beeves. " To-day, you understand." 
 
 Frank. "I savvy.'' 
 
 Reeves. "As soon as Edwards is able to give his consent." 
 
 Frank. " That's business, that's the way we do it out here. 
 Civil contract. Xo frills, no nonsense." 
 
 Reeves. " The Judge will do, he'll have to do. Xow see 
 that everything is O. K., papers, etc." 
 
 Frank {going out). "Trust me, old man." 
 
 (As Reeves enters the bedroom., Einnie.,icith hair flying., comes 
 bounding in^ joyfully^ childishly.) " Oh, poppa's better, I know 
 he is ! " 
 
 {They silence her. Edwards stirs slightly then opens his eyes 
 clear and quiet. Alice falls on her knees by his side. At length 
 he speaks.) " Good mornin', mother, Allie." {His voice is husky, 
 his lips dry.) 
 
 Alice. " Don't you want a drink of water ? " 
 
 (He sips it.) " Where's my — where's my baby ? " 
 
 Xinnie. " Here I be, poppa." 
 
 (Edwards pjuts his arm feebly over her head and snuggles her 
 face down by his cheek. He sees Reeves., looks at him wonder- 
 ingly. Extends his hand.) " How d' do, sir — didn't know yeh 
 at first." (Looking around the room.) " Why, we aint in Boston ! 
 Is this your house, sir ? " 
 
 Alice. " Xo, this is Frank Graham's, father." (He doesrCt under- 
 stand., she explains.) " Don't you know how the storm came and 
 blew down — " 
 
 (He remembers now.) " Is it passed off ? " 
 
 Mrs. E. " All clear and bright, Jason. 
 
 Edwards. " Then it icas blowed down." 
 
 Alice. " Yes, father, the shed was torn away and every win- 
 
dow broken. I dragged you in and then Mr. Elliot and Frank 
 came — " 
 
 Edv:rirds (in the same slow if^coj). "An' the wheat's all cut t' 
 pieces ? " 
 
 3Ti's. E. " Yes, Jason, worse'n you c'n think." 
 
 Eduiards {after a long pause). " Then I may jes' 's well die. It 
 aiut no use ! I can't never git up agin, with all them morgiges 
 weighin' me down — " 
 
 Sirs. E. " O Jason, Jason ! " 
 
 Alice. " Live for our sakes, father, for Linnie." 
 
 Lxnrde. " You must get well, poppa, I won't let you die. We 
 won't have a home without you." 
 
 Edwards. " I'd onlv be a burden to veh, stid of a blessin'. 
 I'm old, old ! So old Idon't feel as if — " " ( To Beeves.) « An' it 
 was all tromped down ? " 
 
 Beeves. " AU destroyed. The centre of the — the storm 
 seemed to move right across." 
 
 Edwards {ire deep bitterness) . "Of course! God an' man 
 joined hands t' break me down. They aint but jest one place 
 left, jest one little spot made an' purvided f r such as me — 
 that's the grave. They'd crowd me out o' there if they could, but 
 they can't, they aint any landlords in the grave. I c'n rest easy 
 there."' 
 
 {All are weep^ing^ Alice stroking his hair. Ei/mie icith her head 
 buried in thepAllow.) 
 
 Mrs. E. {rising hastily). " I'll go an' git y' s'm tea, Jason. I 
 guess that'll hearten you up some." {Goes out tcith tearful face. 
 Meets Frank Graham and his 'wife and all go out together.) 
 
 Edwards {looks at Beeves). " You've been a good friend to us 
 all, young man. Y'll never git y'r pay f'r waitin' s' long. I've 
 never felt just right about it. But I couldn't see no way out of 
 it. Allie wouldn't — " 
 
 Beeves. " Xever mind about that. I'll get my pay." {To 
 Alice.) " There's a curious sort of morbid pleasure in denying 
 oneself a pleasure. You know it I " 
 
 Linnie {caressing Edwards). "Don't give up, poppa. Just 
 see how nice the prairie looks, mebbe the wheat aint all spoiled." 
 
 Edwards {after a long pja"se^ brokenly.) " I'm no account from 
 this time on. I've got through. All I'd want now is t' git back 
 t' the old town where I played. Seems 's if I could jest 
 kinda git where I could hear the sound of water once more an' 
 see the old green hills I'd die more satisfied, someway." 
 
 Beeves {with great eagerness^ kneeling), " Listen to me, father, 
 I'm going to take things in my own hands now. I'm going to 
 make Alice my wife. From this time on, her home is your home. 
 You needn't worry about their future ; just enjoy — " 
 
Edwards {stopping him vnth a rjesture). "Hold on, young 
 man ! I'm sixty years of age. F'r fifty years I've travelled, and 
 I've always i^aid my way. Up t' this day I've earned every 
 criimb I've eet, every dollar I've spent. I never was beholden to 
 any man before, and I wouldn't be now if, — but don't talk t' me 
 about enjoyiiib — it aint in me, a pauper !"' 
 
 Alice {indignantly). "You're not a pauper." 
 
 Reeves {rising qiiickh/). "He's a hero! He has fought 
 heroically. No battle with bayonet and ball can test the courage 
 of a man like this hopeless battle against the injustice of the 
 world, this grinding, endless, ferocious war against hunger and 
 cold." 
 
 Alice {fondly^ impidsivehj). " Walter, you are — an angel ! " 
 
 Beeves {smiling and x>ressing her cheek against his shoulder). 
 "A very tnilitant angel, I assure you, with an absorbing love for 
 earthly heroes and heroines." {Bending over Edi'-ards and tak- 
 ing him by the hand.) " I know how hard it is for a brave sol- 
 dier to go to the rear. I've heard my father say — he's dead, he 
 was in the Wilderness, as you were, — I've heard him say that 
 men shot down in a charge, used to bind up their wounds and 
 stagger on streaming with blood rather than go to the rear, their 
 eyes blazing from their livid faces, unconquered and unconquera- 
 ble, and when they weakened and fell, they'd swing their caps 
 and cheer as the column passed on into the smoke of the enemy's 
 cannon." {Tenderly^ kneeling.) " Old man, you've gone down in 
 a greater and more ferocious battle than the Wilderness. You're 
 old and disabled ; let me carry you to the rear. Let me take you 
 back to Derry." {Enter Mrs. E.^.icith ])lcitter.) 
 
 Alice {jyleading). "Yes, father, you've done your part. 
 You're not to blame. You'll die here — mother, plead with him. 
 Father, I've fought with you, but I can't fight longer. I'm worn 
 out ^^th it all. I've given up." 
 
 Edicards {after a long pause). "I surrender. I'm beat. I 
 give up, but it hurts, it hurts ! I'm like an old broken scythe, 
 hung up, t' rust in the rain ; I aint no use to y' now, Jennie ! 
 Here's my hand, young man — Walter, my son, take her back 
 t' Boston w^here she ought t' be, an' take me back t' Derry. 
 I sha'n't be a burden to y' long. I don't s'pose I'm wuth the 
 trouble, but I'd kindo like t' be buried back there. I hate t' die 
 out on this hot prairie with no tree t' be buried under ; seems 's if 
 I couldn't rest, an' rest is the sweetest thing in the world f'r a 
 man like me, the only thing left — I can't lose that." 
 
 Linnie {tJcroics herself on his knees). " Oh, poppa, poppa, you 
 make my heart ache so." 
 
 Edwards {stroking her hair), " I hope you won't have t' 
 suffer as Allie has, little girl." 
 
Beeves {with deepest earnestness). "I say you are fallen, but 
 the column has passed on, the battle will yet be won. Courage, 
 you will yet live to see the outposts of the enemy carried, and 
 Linnie will live to see a larger and grander^ abolition cause, 
 carried to a bloodless Appomattox, the abolition of industrial 
 slavery." 
 
 {Linnie lifts her face.) 
 
 Alice. " Do you think so ? Is there hope, Walter ? " 
 
 Beeves. " There is sjreat hope." 
 
 Edwards. " If I could believe that, I'd feel easier. If I c'd 
 feel that my children, and my children's children could have a 
 better chance than I've had, I mean without your help or any- 
 body's help, — all I ask is a fair chance — " 
 
 Beeves. " That's what I mean. A fair chance for every man 
 — ifs coining I^"* 
 
 Alice. " Do you think so ? " 
 
 Beeces {expanding icith enthusiasm). "I know it. Just as I 
 know spring will come again." 
 
 Eduxirds. " If I could b'lieve that." 
 
 Beeves {in the same tone). " You can't help believing it, as you 
 live the next five years, the air is already electrical with inquiry. 
 Over us the shadow still hangs, but far in the west a faint^ ever- 
 widening crescent of light tells of clear skies beyond. Live for 
 that time, it's worth living for. Strike hands with me. Let me 
 carrv vour knapsack. Believe in the future — " 
 
 Edwards. " I'll try." ( Theg clasp hands.) 
 
 Alice. « How much you are to us, Walter. You have given 
 us all new life." 
 
 Beeves. " I've only begun to be something to you. Now we 
 are readv to begin life together, and they shall rest easy — " 
 
 3Irs. Edwards. " Here's y'r tea, Jason." 
 
 Edwards {tryiJig to rise). " Help me up." 
 
 Mrs . Edwards. " Wait a minute. Linnie, bring some water and 
 a towel ; Alhe, bring that bowl o' broth. Don't try to get up, 
 Jason, till I get some more pillows." ( The icomen go out.) 
 
 {Edwards struggles to rise., Beeves x>uts his arm about his 
 shoulders, as he does so a lool' of horror 2)(isses over the old 
 man's face. He stares at Beeves, at last whisp>ers :) " My God, I 
 can't move my feet ! " 
 
 Beeves {comprehending). «Xo, no. Great God, man, that 
 would be too horrible. It's only temporary numbness — " 
 
 {Edwards ma'kes another desperate effort and falls hack on his 
 pillow, w'ithset, despairing fcLce, a groan bursts from his lips.) 
 
 " Xo, no — it's true — Tm paralyzed! " 
 
 Alice {^re-entering hears, stands for a7i instant appalled — rushes 
 to his side). " Oh, it can't be true — I — " 
 
Edwards (on impulse to shield). "Sh! Don't teU - them - 
 
 "t;^7cS"iiL... stand horrified, ,azing into eachother^s 
 
 fii/f<i Linnie enters dancing^ inhistUng. 
 
 ^LinZ -And. now 4'11 go back to Boston, wont we, 
 
 Curtain, 
 
.^mm 
 
 i|iiil|,HiHII,J|llll|l|l III, . ■< 
 
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