THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 TWO PLAYS AND 
 A PREFACE 
 
 BY 
 
 DELLA J. EVANS 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS
 
 Copyright 1921, by Delia J. Evans 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
 THB GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A.
 
 ! 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Preface ......................... 5 
 
 The Rise of Comedy ............. 5 
 
 The One Act Play in America ..... 10 
 
 M R S" ..................... 17 
 
 The Younger Son ................. 47 
 
 3048959
 
 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE
 
 PREFACE 
 
 THE RISE OF COMEDY 
 
 It has been said that with all the Greeks 
 left us in the way of drama, they left us no 
 high comedy. And it seems the Greeks were 
 not the only ones who shied at having much 
 to do with it. Tis a far cry from "Ralph 
 Royster Doyster" and "Grammar Gurton s 
 Needle" to the present day, and yet there is 
 almost nothing to be had on the subject of 
 comedy, either in history or criticism. Pro 
 fessor Gayley s collection with notes, a chap 
 ter here and there, an essay by Mr. Mere 
 dith, very helpful sentences and paragraphs 
 by Mr. Brander Mathews, and one has about 
 summed it up. 
 
 Mr. Mathews has defined "High Com 
 edy" as "the comic play that deals with life 
 sincerely and satirically, without exaggerated 
 caricature in the character-drawing and with 
 out extravagant fun-making in the episodes." 
 Sir Arthur Pinero has been said to define 
 comedy as "a successful farce written by a 
 deceased author," which undoubtedly, is one 
 of those brilliant witticisms that only too 
 plainly sacrifice truth to cleverness. 
 
 5
 
 6 PREFACE 
 
 To return to the Greeks, when they did 
 deal sincerely with domestic situations, they 
 put it into the form of tragedy. And per 
 haps it is to our advantage that they did. If 
 they had not had that wide gap between 
 their farcical comedies and their great trage 
 dies, posterity would no doubt have been the 
 loser. 
 
 We are led to believe that it is from the 
 Latin and from Spain, in her more fortu 
 nate and scholarly days, that we drew the 
 impetus for our English Comedy. A num 
 ber of pre-Shakespearian and dramatists 
 contemporary with Shakespeare, brought 
 their grist to the mill of Comedy and some 
 of this has sifted down to us through cen 
 turies. Nicholas Udall, the author of Ralph 
 Royster Doyster, Ben Johnson, Chapman, 
 Massinger, all contributed, and even Lyly, 
 with all his Euphueism, gave us some 
 sprightly dialogue that had literary merits. 
 Shakespeare, as w r e are all aware, gave some 
 very vulgar comedy, but he also gave us 
 some wonderful character studies in his com 
 edy parts and it is to him perhaps that we 
 are indebted for our Romantic Comedy. One 
 need only sit in a picture show through a 
 Charlie Chaplin to realize that a good part 
 of the audience is still fond of the same 
 "slap-stick" vulgar comedy that held the
 
 PREFACE 7 
 
 stage in the Elizabethan times. A majority, 
 however, have progressed in the labyrinth of 
 comedy far enough to demand and enjoy a 
 stimulus for something besides their risibil 
 ities. 
 
 But it is indeed to the comedy of manners 
 that we must turn for an immediate precur 
 sor to our own; to Moliere, Congreve, Sher 
 idan, and particularly to Moliere. His 
 "Femmes Savantes," "Le Misanthrope," 
 "Le Bourgoise Gentlehomme," will all 
 throw light on the Comedy of today. Be 
 tween this school and the present day s are 
 a number of dramatists who wrote comedies 
 and who have all contributed their bit Os 
 car Wilde s "Lady Windermere s Fan" be 
 ing a notable example. 
 
 In time Comedy was jostled a good deal 
 out of the spot light by the so-called "Prob 
 lem Play" with Ibsen s masterpieces in the 
 lead and a following of lesser ones by his 
 conscious and unconscious imitators. Drama 
 became "a pretty serious affair" with na 
 tional characteristics. About a decade ago, 
 Mr. Mathews, in a newspaper interview, 
 very cleverly characterized the English, Con 
 tinental (particularly the French), and 
 American drama in some such manner the 
 English usually deals with caste; the French 
 with marital difficulties, notably the "trian-
 
 8 PREFACE 
 
 gle," and the American with business inter 
 ests. The Public generally particularly 
 the "tired business man" did not approve 
 of the problem play. It remained for that 
 genius George Bernard Shaw to combine the 
 problem play with enough satire to make it 
 comedy. But people would have none of it. 
 At first they turned their backs and held up 
 their hands in horror. And so Mr. Shaw 
 learned to temper his theme a bit, and 
 caused the Public to "stop, look and listen" 
 and then to admire (in a good many cases 
 against their wills) and as a result we have 
 his masterpieces of wit. Mr. Shaw, let it be 
 said, is in a class by himself. He may be 
 lonesome "the heights by great men 
 reached and kept" usually are, but he is to 
 be congratulated as a wonderful satirist and 
 a seer. It is losing too much to have one of 
 his plays without his highly diverting but 
 thoughtful prefaces and unfortunately the 
 prefaces cannot be put upon the boards even 
 with all the new ideas we have in elimination 
 and development of stage craft. There 
 were other playwrights who towed us back 
 to comedy, notably among these Mr. Barrie 
 with his whimsical and delightful comedies 
 written for delightful actresses. 
 
 Out of all this has arisen a high comedy 
 that is something more than just high come-
 
 PREFACE 9 
 
 dy. For want of a better name we shall call 
 it "super-comedy." It is something more 
 something beyond a comedy of manners, and 
 out of it with the medium of verse added we 
 are to hope for masterpieces in the near fu 
 ture. As all of us know, Mr. Rostand died 
 too young. Perhaps he would have been the 
 one to have given it to us, if we may judge 
 from such a work as "Cyrano," which he, 
 himself, I believe, called a "heroic comedy." 
 
 As it is just now, this super-comedy might 
 be compounded from some such formula as 
 the following one part of the problem play 
 to which just enough of the suggestion of 
 tragedy has been added to start something, 
 three parts of comedy, some keen satire, and 
 atmosphere to taste. 
 
 The "tired business man" does not know 
 it, but he is getting his same problem-play to 
 which he insisted his women folks "dragged" 
 him as an unwilling victim, with a sugar coat 
 ing that makes the "nasty medicine" of the 
 play-wright taste more like sweets than 
 bitters. If he is satisfied, why worry! 
 If everyone is pleased, "on with the dance" 
 and good luck to a continued rise of Comedy.
 
 io PREFACE 
 
 THE ONE-ACT PLAY IN AMERICA 
 
 The history of the One-Act Play, as such, 
 is dim in the obscurity of newness. Perhaps 
 this will appear a paradox, but there is an 
 obscurity of newness with regard to the 
 drama just as surely as there is an obscurity 
 of age. It might be said that the One-Act 
 Play as an institution is just now beginning 
 to affect us with its distinctive individuality. 
 For some time it has been strong enough and 
 old enough to stand alone, but it has only 
 very recently established a place where it 
 might be allowed to do so. 
 
 In the time of our grandparents short 
 plays, or farces, were used, just as they are 
 now, in some foreign theatres, to relieve the 
 seriousness of longer tragedies, and given 
 after them. Over twenty years ago Irving 
 and Terry used a short play as a curtain 
 raiser, and more than fifteen years ago some 
 of Barrie s charming one-act creations were 
 used to fill up the evening with such delight 
 ful things as, "Alice Sit by the Fire." "Pan 
 taloon" was a famous curtain raiser, as was 
 "The Twelve Pound Look." But no one 
 took the One-Act Play very seriously or 
 realized what a "social climber" it was to be 
 in the world of drama. Now its position is 
 unquestioned, and actors and producers are
 
 PREFACE ii 
 
 both perfectly willing to accept it. The road 
 to this success is as hard to trace as the road 
 of some climbers in the social world, but it 
 is patent that Lady Gregory, Yeats, Synge, 
 and The Irish Players who first presented 
 their plays, did much to further the cause in 
 our country. These one-act dramas as pro 
 duced by these players, advertised themselves 
 most favorably by being so true to the na 
 tive tragedy and comedy of Irish life that 
 they were resented in America by the very 
 element depicted. But this very situation, 
 although disagreeable at the time, called 
 one s attention to the fact that the One-Act 
 Play could and would be a most compelling 
 factor in the dramatic world. 
 
 In France, in England, and in Ireland, 
 The One-Act Play was accepted as such some 
 time before it was in America, and Mr. Un 
 derbill tells us in "Drama" that in Spain, "it 
 holds a well established place in the theatri 
 cal world," and what is of more importance 
 to producers and managers, "yields large re 
 turns financially." That it has not always 
 been a financial success in America, I shall 
 not hesitate to admit, but that it is an artis 
 tic success is apparent from the increasing 
 number of companies formed to play one- 
 act plays almost exclusively, and no doubt 
 the financial success will come in time. Such
 
 12 PREFACE 
 
 companies as the Washington Square Play 
 ers (that was) ; The Stuart Walker Port 
 manteau Players, now in its prime, perhaps; 
 the Provincetown group that produced Mr. 
 Eugene O Neil of "Beyond the Horizon" 
 fame and Miss Glaspell who wrote that very 
 gripping little play called "Trifles" ; the 
 Wisconsin Players; The 47 Work Shop Lit 
 tle Theatre; and all the other "Little Thea 
 tres" that are scattered over the country 
 from East to West and North to South are 
 a proof of its progress and success. 
 
 As to the writers of one-act plays they 
 are legion. Among whom are no less per 
 sons than Lord Dunsany and Granville Bar 
 ker. It is encouraging to know that such 
 men considered it worth while to publish a 
 volume of short plays. Among our own 
 writers are the two I have mentioned, Mr. 
 O Neil and Miss Glaspell, Miss Gale, of the 
 Wisconsin Players, Mary McMillan, Perci- 
 val Wilde, George Middleton, Stuart Walk 
 er, Lewis Beach, and a host of others; all 
 doing good work but helping the cause by 
 their failures as well as by their successes. 
 By their failures because they show their suc 
 cessors what not to do, and by their suc 
 cesses, because success means always the 
 growth of a cause. 
 
 The form of The One-Act Play is rather
 
 PREFACE 13 
 
 well established. It has been said more than 
 once that it, "bears the same relation to the 
 longer play that the short story does to the 
 novel." But this must be taken with restric 
 tions. That it is like the short story in one 
 respect there is no doubt and that is that it 
 must have a singleness of effect to be a suc 
 cess. It may, like the story, be written with 
 a purpose, to entertain, or just to amuse. If 
 the last, it is usually in one of three forms: 
 comedy, farce comedy, or satire. If written 
 to entertain, it must be an artistic creation so 
 exquisite in atmosphere and essential detail 
 that it creates a lasting impression. If writ 
 ten for a purpose, that purpose must be so 
 concealed by the episode itself, the situation, 
 or the atmosphere of the play, that the au 
 dience receives the stimulus of that purpose 
 almost unconsciously. And, if the playright 
 is fortunate enough in his work to combine 
 all three, purpose, amusement, and enter 
 tainment, his play is pretty sure to prove a 
 good reading drama as well as a good act 
 ing drama, and bids fair to be called a mas 
 terpiece. As to the scenic arrangements, a 
 simple scene is best as that is more adapted 
 to schools and settlement play houses where 
 the playright has the advantage of a very 
 mixed and democratic audience. It is also 
 better for the so-called "Little Theatre" as
 
 i 4 PREFACE 
 
 "the play s the thing," and too elaborate 
 or unusual scenery detracts from the single 
 ness of effect produced. 
 
 Not long ago I was deeply interested in 
 watching the effect on a very mixed audience 
 of using the same scene, a kitchen with gray 
 walls and white wood-work, in three very 
 different plays. The producer, a very suc 
 cessful person in such work, procured varied 
 effects by the use of different shaped and 
 different colored curtains at the window; a 
 slight change of furniture, a difference in 
 properties used, and a decided change in 
 color arrangement and color of costumes. 
 The three plays were : "The Old Lady Shows 
 her Medals, Three Pills in a Bottle, and The 
 Maker of Dreams." There were very few 
 of the audience, probably, who realized any 
 sameness in the scene, and the fact that there 
 was only a change of detail and costume, 
 held rather than diverted their interest. "The 
 play s the thing," after all. 
 
 Carrying out the idea of the one scene for 
 an evening I offer this suggestion it might 
 be advantageous in the future for publishers 
 of one-act plays to group them in volumes 
 under some such head as the following: 
 Plays to be Done in a Kitchen; Three Plays 
 for a Bed-room; Plays for a Living-room; 
 Drawing-room; Butchershop; Railway Star
 
 PREFACE 15 
 
 tion, etc. At first glance this may appear 
 frivolous to the serious minded, but it would 
 no doubt save the producers and managers 
 many a weary search for three one-act plays 
 (as three usually fill an evening) that can be 
 given without much change of scene. 
 
 That The One-Act Play is established 
 with us is apparent. That it may develop 
 into something else is possible, as all things 
 change, but that it makes a good reading 
 drama, if well done, as well as a good act 
 ing drama, is going to be proved by careful 
 playrights, and that it will become a source 
 of great pleasure to the multitude as it is now 
 to the few, is the hope of all those interested 
 in it.
 
 M R S" 
 
 A Play in One Act
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Miss Cordelia Crenshaw A spinster. 
 
 Betty Her younger sister, who is mar 
 ried. 
 
 Mrs. Crenshaw Her mother. 
 
 Mr. Crenshaw Her father. 
 
 Sam Crenshaw Her brother, who is 
 married. 
 
 Cordelia, Jr. Sam s daughter, a girl of 
 sixteen. 
 
 Mr. James Peabody A bachelor. 
 
 A Maid. 
 
 A Dog.
 
 SCENE I 
 
 The Crenshaw living room, about ten in 
 the morning. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 The same, about five in the afternoon. 
 SCENE III 
 
 The same as I and II, but three months 
 later and nine in the evening. 
 
 20
 
 4 M R S r 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 ( The Crenshaw living-room, about ten in 
 the morning.) Miss Cordelia Crenshaw, 
 the old maid of the family, and a good look 
 ing woman of thirty-five, is knitting rather 
 hurriedly and nervously as though she ex 
 pected to be called away the next minute. 
 The street door closes. She listens then, 
 as a young woman appears at the door, she 
 says, without looking up : 
 
 Well, Betty, what s the matter now? 
 
 BETTY 
 
 Charles and I had another row this morn 
 ing. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 What about? 
 
 BETTY 
 
 He said I loved the dog more than I did 
 him. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 Well, don t you? 
 
 BETTY 
 
 Of course, but I said I didn t. Then he 
 said I lied and always had lied to him about 
 everything. 
 
 21
 
 22 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 CORDELIA 
 And what did you say to that? 
 
 BETTY 
 
 I said it was his attitude that made me, 
 and we, neither of us, ate much breakfast, 
 and when he went out, he gave Laddie a kick 
 that made him howl, and I was furious. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 Hadn t I better keep the dog a day or two ? 
 
 BETTY 
 
 Yes and, oh Cordy, don t wear your 
 hair that way it looks awfully old-fash 
 ioned. Anyone would know you were an old 
 rnaid. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Drops the knitting in her lap and looks 
 "daggers" at her sister.) Betty, I think 
 you re just as unkind as you can be. Do you 
 realize I don t have time to primp and fuss 
 over myself as you do ? Do you realize that 
 I am home-keeper, companion, trained nurse, 
 when it s necessary, private secretary to 
 Father, and a thousand other things in this 
 home? 
 
 BETTY 
 Oh, Cordy! 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Rushing on.) and that if I weren t 
 here if I should go away and live my life 
 as every woman has a right to do, you or
 
 M R S" 23 
 
 Sam would have to come home and take care 
 of Father and Mother 
 BETTY 
 
 Well 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 and yet you, whom I am saving, come 
 and criticize my looks and call me old maid 
 in that derisive way. (Gets up and walks 
 about in an agitated manner.} 
 BETTY 
 
 Oh nonsense, Cordy. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 Oh, I wonder why it is that we "old 
 maids," as the world calls us, must submit to 
 the patronizing of women, who are married 
 women, who have succeeded in catching 
 a man, and whom we know, down in our 
 hearts, are not nearly so attractive as we are. 
 BETTY 
 
 Well, I like that! 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Turning to Betty.) I don t mean you, 
 Betty. You certainly are good to look at, 
 but you didn t marry Charles because you 
 loved him. You married him to be married, 
 so you would not be an "old maid" and you 
 go through the world, pointing a finger of 
 scorn at any woman who has not landed a 
 man (She dabs her eyes with her hand 
 kerchief and takes up her knitting again.)
 
 24 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 BETTY 
 Cordy, you re not fair. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 Indeed I am fair, but I m not nice, I m 
 horrid! (Trying to be more agreeable.} 
 Where are you going this morning? 
 
 BETTY 
 
 I m going to a meeting to talk about help 
 ing unfortunate children. Mrs. Borden 
 asked me, and, of course, I couldn t refuse 
 her. She said they had had a hard time to 
 persuade women to come. 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Drops her knitting to her lap.) Why, I 
 should love to have gone. 
 BETTY 
 
 They didn t ask any unmarried women. 
 They thought it would be best not to, 
 and anyway, what do old maids know 
 about children? 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 There it is again "old maids!" Please 
 oblige me by trying to leave that out of your 
 vocabulary. (Looks at her wrist watch.) 
 You ll be late to your meeting. I ll keep 
 Laddie, won t I, boy? (She leans over and 
 pets the dog.) 
 
 BETTY 
 
 (Rising and going to the door.) Shall 
 you go to Mrs. Van Hyse s tomorrow night?
 
 M R S" 25 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Drops her knitting to her lap and looks 
 up with a cynical little smile.} I understand 
 they are having such a hard time finding a 
 man for me, that I think I shall be compelled 
 to develop a cold or something of the sort. 
 BETTY 
 
 Oh, Cordelia, you re unreasonable. Good 
 bye ! (She goes out.} 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Puts her knitting on the table and taking 
 the dog s head in her hands, soliloquise s t 
 looking at him and talking quietly and sad 
 ly to him.} Laddie, I am an old maid! I m 
 old to be unmarried and I m a maid, so I am 
 an old maid, but am I that derisive creature 
 that children caricature and laugh at that 
 men mock or pity as the case may be, and 
 that women who married to be married, 
 scorn? Am I, Laddie? Tell me, Boy. Those 
 great knowing eyes of yours ought to see 
 more than we do. Is there no place in the 
 world for old maids and old bachelors who 
 give their lives that others may live comfort 
 ably, and who, later on are left alone in the 
 world, to drag through the infirmities of old 
 age, without the joy of youth about them in 
 their children, who creep farther and farther 
 away from the world to hide their loneliness, 
 and die forgotten Oh, Laddie, there must 
 be I
 
 26 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 (Picks up her knitting and goes at it en 
 ergetically. In a very decided voice.) I m 
 not going to do that, Laddie. I m going to 
 marry! I m going to ask the first, nice, old 
 bachelor I see to marry me and allow me to 
 use his name with the "Mrs." before it, that 
 seems so indispensable. It s to be merely a 
 business transaction. I keep his home and 
 entertain his friends and see that he is com 
 fortable for the use of the "M-r s." mere 
 ly a business transaction, Laddie. 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (With stick and hat in hand, hesitating a 
 moment at the door.) I hope I m not in 
 truding, Miss Cordelia? 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Aside, as if to the dog.) Sent my Provi 
 dence, Laddie. (Rising and putting down 
 her knitting.) No, you came just at the 
 right time. I fear my courage might have 
 left me if you had been a moment later, Mr. 
 Peabody. You are a bachelor, aren t you? 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (In a tone of great surprise.) Yes, very 
 much an old bachelor, so my friends tell me. 
 Why? 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 Because, what I was going to ask of you 
 might be embarrassing if you were not.
 
 M R S" 27 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Very much amused.} I hope you re not 
 going to ask me to marry anyone? 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (A little breathless, somewhat shocked at 
 what she is doing.} I was 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Still very amused.} And may I ask who 
 the unfortunate lady is to be ? 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Almost breathless with fright.} I, 
 Beatrice Cordelia Crenshaw. 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (A little irritated.} I don t understand 
 your joke, Miss Cordelia. 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (In a very firm voice now.} I m not jok 
 ing, Mr. Peabody. 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Coming around and standing in front of 
 her and looking down at her.} Then you re 
 ill! 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 No, I never was in better health, I feel 
 sure I am going to develop a cold by to-mor 
 row night, but I m quite well this morning. 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Still very much mystified.} Is your 
 Mother ill again?
 
 28 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 No, on the contrary, she is much better 
 than she was the last time you were in the 
 city. She has gone out to spend the day. 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 I know your Father is well, because I have 
 just come from him. (Drawing up a chair 
 and sitting down.} Now, would you mind 
 telling me just what is the matter? 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (A little breathlessly and rapidly, as if 
 wanting to get through with it.) Not at all, 
 it s just that I m tired of being an old maid, 
 and I vowed a few moments ago that I d ask 
 some, good, respectable bachelor to marry 
 me and let me take his name. In return I 
 should see that he was comfortable, try to 
 make his home attractive and entertain his 
 friends for him. (Mr. Peabody nods his 
 head gravely.} It would be merely a busi 
 ness transaction and each of us would be as 
 free to come and go as though we were un 
 married. (Looking up.} Do you still think 
 I m mad?" 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 No, I think you are a very frank and cour 
 ageous woman, but (smiling indulgently at 
 her}, let s say a trifle hasty perhaps. 
 CORDELIA 
 
 You put it very kindly, Mr. Peabody.
 
 M R S" 29 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 You know nothing of my life. I m almost 
 
 an old man, or at least I look it. See how 
 
 gray I m getting. I ve lived alone for ten 
 
 years and I m afraid I m very set in my ways. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 I think I heard you say once that you were 
 forty-five. I m thirty-five. 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 Thirty-five, well I should never have 
 thought it. Do you realize that you are a 
 very attractive woman and that you may yet 
 love some man? You would undoubtedly 
 have a great many admirers, and let us say, 
 suitors, perhaps, if you were placed in an 
 other environment. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 But I never shall be, and I m getting old 
 er and uglier and crosser every day. Only 
 this morning I said such nasty, sharp things 
 to my sister and you remember "a sharp 
 tongue is the only edge tool that grows keen 
 er with constant use." 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 Very true, but with love you would be a 
 different woman. You are the sort of wo 
 man that needs love and I can t give you 
 that. I ve liked you from the first and I ve 
 always enjoyed the little chats we ve had, 
 when I came to see your Father, but that s
 
 30 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 very different from the love you deserve. 
 You must make a promise, Miss Cordelia, 
 if we enter into this contract, I must have 
 your word that you will tell me the minute 
 you find that man that all women ought to 
 find, and so few do the one who really 
 loves you and whom you really love. You 
 must be happy if it is possible. 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Looking up frankly and honestly.} I 
 promise but I shall never find him. 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 Don t be too sure. Love is a strange thing. 
 It is to be found and not found in the strang 
 est places. Do you realize that seventy-five 
 per cent, of the women who marry, marry 
 without love. They think they love, but they 
 are carried off their feet by that insidious lit 
 tle germ Romance, that creeps into their 
 blood and makes them see only the glamour 
 of being an engaged being, a bride, a young 
 mother, with a beautiful child that everyone 
 turns to look at 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Interrupting.} I understand all that, 
 Mr. Peabody 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Continues.} They shut their eyes to all 
 the ugly little things that come up in life for 
 consideration before one can arrive at ma-
 
 "M R S" 31 
 
 turity. They are fairly eaten up by the 
 germs of romance and they do not want to 
 be old maids. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 I know, but 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Continuing.) Do you realize that fifty 
 per cent, of the widows in the world are glad 
 to be widows, provided they are left with 
 sufficient income. Not long ago I went to 
 attend the funeral of a college friend, whom 
 I had not seen since his marriage. His wife, 
 to all appearances, was deeply grieved. I 
 rode to the cemetery with her, as they were 
 among strangers. While returning, she lift 
 ed her veil and said quietly: "James Pea- 
 body, your friend led me a Hell of a life I" 
 CORDELIA 
 
 Oh, how could she ! 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 I was shocked and grieved, but my sense of 
 humor came to my aid, and I said, "Then, 
 Madam, may I ask why you weep?" She 
 turned her head and looked out at the fields 
 we were passing, "I am not grieving for 
 him," she said, "but for that young girl, my 
 self, who died and was buried soon after our 
 marriage." "And is there no possibility of 
 her coming to life again," I asked. "None," 
 she said, most desolately, and I knew she
 
 32 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 was right. It is such things as these that 
 keep old bachelors old bachelors. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Looking up archly.) You ve not suc 
 ceeded in frightening me yet, Mr. Peabody. 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Whimsically. Has risen and walked the 
 length of the room.) Miss Cordelia, one 
 thing more when this thing is settled, I 
 want you to allow me to propose to you. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 How absurd. Why there d be no need of 
 that. 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 Oh, yes, there would. When romantic 
 youngsters come to you and say, "Oh, Mrs. 
 Peabody, how did Mr. Peabody propose to 
 you," I want you to be able to tell them. 
 Mark my words, they ll ask you. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Laughing.) Nonsense, hut do as you 
 like. 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Looking at his watch.) It s getting near 
 lunch time. It is necessary for us to go over 
 this thing very thoroughly. Can t you come 
 along to the city and lunch with me ? 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Rising and going toward the door.) Give 
 me just two minutes! (Stopping at the
 
 "M R S" 33 
 
 door.) You ll find your kind of cigarettes 
 on the table and some late magazines. (She 
 goes out.} 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 (Gets a cigarette, comes down center, 
 then seats himself near Laddie. Sighs and 
 shakes his head thoughtfully, with unlighted 
 cigarette in his fingers.} A very singular 
 situation, Laddie, a very singular situation. 
 Curtain
 
 , ftM SCENE II 
 
 t 
 
 (Mr. Crenshaw comes blustering in, in a 
 great rage. He rattles the door in his ner 
 vousness and finally opens it and enters. The 
 room is perfectly dark and he stumbles about 
 until he lights the table lamp, talking all the 
 while. ) 
 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 (Entering.) Mother 1 Kate! Where in 
 the world is everybody? Nice home to come 
 tol No one here no light (turns on the 
 light.) (Calls again.) Mother! Lizzie! 
 And this is all caused by that ungrateful 
 girl. (Rushes to telephone.) Operator, 
 give me 4694 Clifton 4-6-9-4. Think I 
 want to wait all day ? Hello, Sam ! Jump in 
 your car and come over here right away 
 What s the matter? (Sarcastically.) Oh, 
 nothing, of course! I m just having a pink 
 tea, that s all. (Drops telephone and begins 
 to pace the room.) Fine mess Cordy s made 
 of things. I ll show her whether she can trot 
 off with every James Forsythe Peabody that 
 comes along. Rank ingratitude, that s what 
 it is. 
 
 (The door opens and he speaks without 
 turning around.) You little speed devil, 
 Sam! 
 
 34
 
 M R S" 35 
 
 BETTY 
 
 (At the door.) Sam! It isn t Sam, it s 
 Betty. Where s Laddie? How are you Dad 
 dy, Dear? Isn t Laddie in here? 
 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 Elizabeth, how can you be thinking of 
 your affairs when your sister is losing her 
 mind? 
 
 BETTY 
 
 (With concern.) Where is Cordy? 
 (Sam bursts in.) 
 
 SAM 
 
 Yes, where is Cordy? Isn t she here? We 
 can t settle this, whatever it is, without her. 
 
 BETTY 
 Settle what? 
 
 SAM 
 
 Don t you know either? Haven t you told 
 her Father? 
 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 Well, have I had a chance? Of course, 
 when you have quite finished (He hands 
 a telegram to Sam.) 
 
 BETTY 
 
 What in the world ? 
 SAM 
 
 Married I Good Lordl This is great! 
 (Laughs heartily.) 
 
 BETTY 
 (Snatching the telegram from him.) Well,
 
 36 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 if it s so funny, you might let me see. (Goes 
 to lamp and reads the telegram aloud, slow 
 ly, while Sam laughs and his father snorts 
 with rage.) "Married at three p. m. Will 
 be home to receive congratulations. Corde 
 lia Crenshaw Peabody." 
 
 Oh, Dad, do you suppose it is true ? What 
 can we do? 
 
 SAM 
 
 Do ? It doesn t seem they ve left you very 
 much of anything to do but regret what a 
 slave you made of poor, old Cordy. 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 When I want your views on the subject, 
 Samuel, I ll ask for them. (Blusters.) I ll 
 bring them to their senses! If Cordy thinks 
 she can marry every fellow she takes a fancy 
 to, I ll show her! She shall remain right 
 here in this house where she belongs, where 
 she s needed, and as for Jim Peabody, I just 
 want to catch sight of him, that s all ! (Paces 
 up and down. Mrs. Crenshaw enters.) 
 
 (Mrs Crenshaw comes in, in hat and 
 wraps and drops into the nearest chair. Sam 
 and Betty and Mr. Crenshaw look from one 
 to the other as though each expected the oth 
 er to speak. ) 
 
 MRS. CRENSHAW 
 
 (Realizing that something has happened.) 
 Well, what are Sam and Betty here for at
 
 "M R S" 37 
 
 this time of day? Has anything happened? 
 Where s Cordelia? What are you keeping 
 from me? 
 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 Cordelia s married! 
 
 MRS. CRENSHAW 
 
 (Sitting bolt upright.) Married? She 
 can t be. The fall cleaning isn t done, and 
 I ve had only one fitting at my tailor s. 
 SAM 
 
 (Taking the telegram to his mother.) 
 Somehow, she seems to have put it across in 
 spite of her family. 
 
 MRS. CRENSHAW 
 
 (Reads.) "Married at 3.30. Will be 
 home to receive congratulations. Cordelia 
 Crenshaw Peabody." (Mrs. Crenshow con 
 tinues.) So its your friend James Peabody 
 who has stolen our daughter from us. I m 
 relieved since it had to be a man, that it isn t 
 that young Willard chap who is always hang 
 ing around her. 
 
 SAM 
 
 That young Willard chap is hanging 
 around Cordy for the sake of seeing my 
 daughter Cordelia. I ve let him know that 
 she s too young to receive his attentions, so 
 he showers them over her aunt s shoulders. 
 MRS. CRENSHAW 
 
 I suppose all women have to be married 
 some time.
 
 38 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 SAM 
 
 Yes, so they can have a husband to extract 
 money from and quarrel with occasionally 
 eh, Betty? 
 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 Damn all women! Cordelia is not like 
 other women. There s something behind 
 this! No man was ever (A bell rings and 
 the maid goes to open the door.) farther 
 from marriage than James 
 
 (Voices in the hall.) 
 MAID 
 
 Yes, Miss Cordy, your Mother is here. 
 SAM 
 
 Sh! There they are. 
 
 (Cordelia appears at the door in a very 
 becoming hat and street suit. Mr. Peabody 
 is just behind her.) 
 
 (Mr. Crenshaw stops and confronts them 
 the minute they are well inside the room.) 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 Well, what does this mean, Cordelia ? 
 
 (Sam stands hurriedly Betty comes for 
 ward excitedly, then goes to comfort her 
 mother Mrs. Crenshaw takes out her 
 smelling salts.) 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Sweetly. Taking of her gloves and look 
 ing at her wedding ring.) Just what the 
 telegram said, Father, we re married.
 
 M R S" 39 
 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 You can t be, it s absurd. 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 But we are, Crenshaw, and we came to get 
 your blessing before we started on the wed 
 ding journey. (He walks over to Mrs. 
 Crenshaw and greets her.) 
 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 Wedding journey! Why you haven t even 
 been in love. 
 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 Very true, we haven t, but I am beginning 
 to think that is not so necessary to a happy 
 marriage as congeniality of tastes, a sense of 
 humor, and a thorough understanding be 
 tween the condemned parties. (He smiles 
 reassuringly at Cordelia. Cordelia looks at 
 him proudly and gratefully.) 
 MR. CRENSHAW 
 
 (Turning to Cordelia.) Peabody has 
 proved himself an ass, but you, Cordelia, I 
 nave always looked upon you as worth a 
 dozen other women, when it came to com 
 mon sense. You re mad, both of you. 
 You re insane. I wash my hands of you. 
 (He goes out in a rage.) 
 BETTY 
 
 (With a very superior matronly air.) I 
 hope you realize what you re doing, Corde 
 lia?
 
 40 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (A little piqued, turning to her.} I cer 
 tainly do. I shall not be called old 
 MR. PEABODY 
 
 Breaking in quickly with a smile at Corde- 
 lia.) Miss Crenshaw any longer she will 
 now be Mrs. James Forsythe Peabody. 
 (Turning quickly to Sam.) Aren t you go 
 ing to congratulate us, Sam? 
 SAM 
 
 (Takes Cordelia s hand and fingers the 
 wedding ring then taking her hand to his 
 lips, kisses it affectionately, and lets it fall. 
 Grasps Mr. Peabody s hand.) I hope you 
 realize what you re getting, Peabody. Cordy 
 is the finest woman I ever knew. Love her 
 and be good to her and you ll never regret 
 it. (He goes out, overcome with his emo 
 tion.) 
 
 (Cordelia and James Peabody look at 
 each other a little startled, by Sam s admoni 
 tion. ) 
 
 (The maid appears at the door with a 
 traveling bag.) 
 
 MAID 
 
 Here s your bag, Miss Cordelia. The 
 taxi s here. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Going over to her mother.) Good-bye, 
 mother. (They kiss each other afection- 
 ately.)
 
 M R S" 4* 
 
 BETTY 
 
 (Walks to the door with them, shakes 
 hands with James conventionally, and kisses 
 Cordelia.) Good-bye and I hope you ll be 
 
 happy. 
 
 MRS. CRENSHAW 
 
 (Sobbing.} What shall I do without Cor 
 delia ! 
 
 BETTY 
 
 There, there, Mother I Don t cry! I ll 
 let you keep Laddie for awhile. 
 Curtain
 
 SCENE III 
 
 ( Three months have passed since Scene 
 II. Cordelia and James Peabody have re 
 turned from their wedding journey and have 
 arrived just before dinner, to visit the Cren- 
 shaws. Cordelia is seated on a couch very 
 comfortably knitting. James is seated oppo 
 site, smoking and watching her hands, evi 
 dently with a great deal of pleasure. They 
 both look well and happy and younger. At 
 the other side of the room, in the light of a 
 desk lamp, doubled up in a comfortable 
 chair, entirely absorbed in her book, is Cor 
 delia, Jr., Sam s daughter, a girl of sixteen 
 years of age.} 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Very low, so as not to disturb her niece.} 
 Did you see how glad they all were to see 
 me, and with what pride Mother said to the 
 new maid, "Take Mrs. Peabody s wraps, 
 Katie." I ll tell you, the M-r-s. has a great 
 effect on women, no matter what you say to 
 the contrary. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 (Flecking the ashes from his cigarette 
 thoughtfully.} Its a great pity they have to 
 marry us poor devils to be called Mrs. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Looking warningly toward Cordelia, 
 Jr.} Sh! 
 
 42
 
 "M R S" 43 
 
 JAMES 
 
 (With a nod in the girl s direction, but 
 very low.} She can t hear. She s steeped in 
 Romance. She s hurrying on to the place 
 near the end where he tells the heroine he 
 loves her. (They both look at the girl with 
 amusement, then fall silent for a moment. 
 Cordelia, Jr., finishes her book, closes it with 
 a bang and sighing, gets up and comes over 
 to sit by her Aunt. She is still lost in Ro 
 mance and looks musingly at the lamp.} 
 CORDELIA, SR. 
 
 Well, Dear, and how do you enjoy stay 
 ing with Grandfather and Grandmother and 
 taking my place ? 
 
 CORDELIA, JR. 
 
 In some ways I like it and in some I don t. 
 I have felt dreadfully important and fear 
 fully imposed upon. Grandmother is always 
 losing something that I have to hunt and 
 Grandfather is always hunting something 
 that he says I ve lost. Aunt Betty is always 
 coming over to tell me how disagreeable Un 
 cle Charles is and how hard it is to keep Lad 
 die clean and everyone expects something of 
 me that I didn t do. 
 
 (James and Cordelia laugh.} 
 JAMES 
 
 My Dear, you are learning very early the 
 cost of occupying an important position.
 
 44 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 CORDELIA, JR. 
 
 I think I ll elope as you did, Aunt Cordy. 
 How did Uncle James propose to you? 
 
 (Cordelia, Sr. f looks at James and James 
 nods his head as if to say "I told you so/") 
 CORDELIA, SR. 
 
 (Somewhat embarrassed.) Oh, I don t 
 know, Dear 
 
 JAMES 
 
 (Interrupting.) I do, I remember exact 
 ly. I said, "Miss BeatriceCordeliaCrenshaw, 
 will you do me the honor to give me your 
 hand in marriage." And your Aunt Cordy 
 (we had just finished the first lunch we ever 
 took tete-a-tete) laughed and put her hand 
 out on the table and said, "Very well, here 
 it is," and I took the measurement of her fin 
 ger for a wedding ring, and we went to the 
 jeweler s and bought it, and then we were 
 married and lived happily ever after. (He 
 and Cordelia smile at each other.} 
 CORDELIA, JR. 
 
 (Looks from one to the other, and find 
 ing that they have forgotten her, gets up and 
 starts away. She turns and says.) Well, I 
 don t think that s very romantic. I m going 
 to ask Mother, when I go home tomorrow, 
 what Father said to her. 
 JAMES 
 
 Better not. You may be disappointed.
 
 M R S" 45 
 
 Most happy marriages are not foreshad 
 owed by romantic proposals." (He smiles 
 at her and she smiles back a little mystified, 
 and goes out humming.} 
 JAMES 
 What a romantic youngster she is! 
 
 CORDELIA 
 I hope she ll marry young. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 She will. She ll probably marry young 
 Willard before she s twenty and then, at 
 thirty she ll be falling in love with every new 
 matinee idol that comes to town. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 I believe in youthful matches. 
 
 JAMES > 
 
 And I believe in more mature ones. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 It s very good of you, James, to say that, 
 since ours was that sort. 
 
 (James gets up and walks about thought 
 fully, smoking, while Cordelia knits. He 
 stops suddenly and sighing, looks down at 
 her and begins to speak.) 
 JAMES 
 
 Cordelia, you remember when you made 
 me the promise about the proposal you made 
 me another one?
 
 46 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Without looking up.) Yes, I remember, 
 James. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 (Continuing.) I ve thought very often 
 lately that you acted very much like a woman 
 in love you are absent-minded, abnormally 
 happy, at times, then at other times, as ab 
 normally depressed. Am I right? 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Without looking up and bending very 
 close over her knitting.) Yes, James. 
 
 JAMES 
 (Huskily.) Then you do love someone. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Nodding her head.) Yes, very deeply, 
 James. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 (Standing petrified with his grief, his eyes 
 on the floor.) And may I ask who it is. 
 
 CORDELIA 
 
 (Drops her knitting and rushes over to 
 him and taking hold of the lapels of his coat, 
 says very tenderly, in a voice tense with emo 
 tion. ) Look, James, don t you see who it is? 
 Curtain
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 
 A Play in One Act and Two Scenes
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 John Pierce The younger son. 
 
 Kichard his elder brother. 
 
 Mr. Pierce his father. 
 
 Philip Pierce his uncle. 
 
 Margaret Richter the girl John loves. 
 
 Mr. Green representing a furniture firm. 
 
 Miss Ward a stenographer. 
 
 Stephen a colored janitor. 
 
 Hinty a foreman. 
 
 Time: the present. 
 
 49
 
 SCENES 
 
 Scene I. Office of The Crescent Furni 
 ture Company. 
 
 Scene II Office of The John Pierce Man 
 ufacturing Co. 
 
 (The action takes place in a city in the 
 Middle West.)
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 (The office of The Crescent Furniture 
 Company. As the curtain rises, Richard 
 Pierce, at his desk, is dictating a letter to his 
 stenographer. John Pierce, as assistant 
 manager, is at his desk on the other side of 
 the room.) 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 Hoping that this will meet with your ap 
 proval and that we may have your order not 
 later than the sixteenth, we beg to remain, 
 sincerely yours, Richard Pierce, Manager, 
 Crescent Furniture Co. 
 
 (The telephone rings.) 
 RICHARD 
 
 (Answering.) Hello! Hello! Yes, this is 
 Mr. Pierce. Yes, she s here. (Hands the 
 receiver over to Miss Ward. Here, Miss 
 Ward, Lawyer Judson wants to speak to 
 you. Youv e become an heiress. Perhaps 
 some rich uncle has left you a fortune." 
 Miss WARD 
 
 (Taking the receiver.) Far from it, Mr. 
 Pierce. He wants to talk about a mortgage. 
 
 Hello, Mr. Judson! (She listens a mo- 
 
 Si
 
 52 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 ment.) Why, I can t raise no two hundred 
 dollars. When? In June! All right. I ll 
 see what I can do about it. (She slams the 
 receiver up. Both men raise their heads in 
 terestedly.) 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 Hard luck, Miss Ward? 
 Miss WARD 
 
 Gee, yes I If we don t raise two hundred 
 by the first of June we re going to lose our 
 place out there at the edge of town. And 
 we ve got our garden all in and the boys and 
 Mother have painted everything up and 
 pruned the fruit trees and the berries (She 
 wipes her eyes.) An we got a cow and 
 chickens and ducks and geese and Belgian 
 hares and two pigs 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Laughing.) What else, Miss Ward? 
 Miss WARD 
 
 (Continuing.) And if we don t keep it, 
 we got to go back to Dayton, Ohio, and live 
 off of Grandma, and believe me, she don t 
 make it any too pleasant. 
 RICHARD 
 
 (Patting her on the shoulder soothingly.) 
 
 There, there ! Why I never saw you so up 
 set over anything before. We can t allow 
 that. I ll just lend you the money, never 
 miss that in the world.
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 53 
 
 Miss WARD 
 Oh, I can t let you do that, Mr. Pierce. 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 Well, isn t it worth that to us, in our busy 
 season, not to have to break in a new stenog 
 rapher? 
 
 Miss WARD 
 
 Sure, I can see that side of it. But it cer 
 tainly is generous of you and we can pay it 
 back by September. Ma has some money 
 coming in then. 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 Very well, we won t talk any more about 
 it. You can run home and tell your mother. 
 It s almost five and you can get that last let 
 ter out in the morning. 
 
 HlNTY 
 
 (Opens the door in the works and one 
 hears the noise of the factory.) Mr. Pierce, 
 you said you wanted to see that piece of ma 
 chinery when we got it going. 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 (Jumping up.) All right, Hintyl (He 
 goes out into the works.) 
 
 Miss WARD 
 
 (With her coat on and using her vanity 
 mirror and puff.) Mr. John, your brother s 
 an awfully good looking man, ain t he? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Without looking up.) That s what 
 every one says.
 
 54 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 Miss WARD 
 
 (Continues.) He and that Miss Richter 
 have a terrible case, haven t they? 
 
 JOHN 
 (In astonishment.) What! 
 
 Miss WARD 
 
 Gee, I hope I ain t telling anything I ought 
 not to. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Very quietly.) Not at all, Miss Ward. 
 They must make a very charming couple. 
 
 Miss WARD 
 
 You know we can look down on the Coun 
 try Club Links where we live and they re to 
 gether out there nearly every evening. Then 
 I ve seen them at the theatre a lot lately. I 
 can t just tell whether she s crazy about him 
 or not, but from the way he s rushing her and 
 him so good looking, I don t see how she can 
 helf herself. 
 
 (John appears to be very much absorbed 
 in his work.) 
 
 Miss WARD 
 
 (Realizing that the conversation is at 
 end.) Good-night, Mr. John. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Without looking up.) Good-night, Miss 
 Ward. 
 
 (Richard rushes in from the factory t looks
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 55 
 
 at the clock, hurriedly locks his desk, and 
 quickly gets his cap and golf clubs.) 
 RICHARD 
 
 I m going to be late. I ve got an engage 
 ment at 5.15. Don t need the car, do you? 
 JOHN 
 
 (Jumping up.) Wait, I want to talk to 
 you 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 (Impatiently.) I ve got no time for one 
 of your talks 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Fiercely, locking the door.) You 
 HAVE ! That clock is five minutes fast and 
 I ll not keep you half that time. First I 
 want to know why you went to my room and 
 took that particular tie pin? You didn t like 
 it and when Father gave it to me to wear, 
 you laughed at it. 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 Well, it s not yours, it s Father s, and I 
 guess I have as much right to wear his things 
 as you have. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Certainly you have, but why should you 
 put no value on it until you see that I am very 
 fond of it? And it s not tie pins that I m 
 talking about, Richard. Since when did you 
 grow so fond of Miss Richter? You used to 
 laugh at her, call her a "high brow" and say
 
 56 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 they were "new rich." You never cared for 
 her and you never will. You saw I cared 
 for her and she cared for me, and as usual 
 you could not bear to see me get something I 
 wanted without trying to show me that you 
 could take it away from me if you chose. 
 You ve done that ever since we were babies. 
 You always did it. 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 Well, if a better man than you can get 
 your girl, you better brace up and take it 
 like a man. If you make a fuss and go 
 around telling people, they ll give you the 
 "Ha! Ha!" Look what Father and I have 
 done for you. Made a position for you here 
 as assistant manager the minute you came out 
 of college. It was I that suggested it 
 
 (There is a noise at the door. Some one 
 tries to get in. Richard steps up and un 
 locks it.) 
 
 How do you do, Mr. Green, mighty glad 
 to see you. The door caught, I suppose. 
 MR. GREEN 
 
 Not too late to do a little business, I hope. 
 RICHARD 
 
 (Jocularly.) Oh, no, always glad to at 
 tend to business. This is my brother, Mr. 
 John Pierce, our assistant manager. He ll 
 take care of you. I have an important en 
 gagement at the Country Club. Must leave
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 57 
 
 sorry big man, you know that I want to 
 nail in a little business matter, ha ! ha ! You 
 understand how it is, don t you, Green? 
 
 MR. GREEN 
 
 Certainly, Mr. Pierce. This is out of 
 business hours. I m only too fortunate to 
 find somebody here. 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 Good-bye, Green! (Shakes hands and 
 hurries out.) 
 
 MR. GREEN 
 
 That brother of yours is a fine, handsome 
 fellow, honest as the day and always in good 
 spirits. It must be a pretty big affair he 
 wants to land and he must be pretty confident 
 about it. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Absorbed in the point of his pen.) Yes, 
 it is a big affair. The consequences may be 
 great. He is trying to take another fel 
 low s girl away from him while the other 
 fellow works. 
 
 MR. GREEN 
 
 Ha ! Ha ! So that it, is it? Well, he ll win 
 out. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (With a quick breath of suffering.) He 
 may and he may not. It depends entirely 
 upon the girl.
 
 58 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 MR. GREEN 
 
 Well, this isn t business, is it? Now, I ll 
 tell you what I made this trip for they re 
 opening a new hotel down our way next Fall, 
 a year from now, and they want all the 
 furniture made to order. Can you handle 
 that? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I think we can, Mr. Green. Suppose you 
 just come with me into the superintendent s 
 room. My book of plates is there and there s 
 better light. 
 
 (They go out through the door into the 
 works. A very short time after they leave, 
 Stephen comes in with a box on wheels into 
 which he later empties the trash baskets.) 
 STEPHEN 
 
 (Looks around and negro-like begins 
 talking to himself.) Doah wide open and 
 evah body gone. Nobody round but ole 
 Stephen. One o these heah evenin s some 
 body goin to come in and steal evah thing 
 they got. (While he is talking he has emp 
 tied the basket under John s desk and he 
 goes to empty the one under Richard s. He 
 holds the basket and looks closely at the 
 blotter on the desk. He reads with difficul 
 ty.. "Oct. sixteenth, Miss Ward, Richard 
 Pierce, Mgr. Crescent Furniture Co." 
 
 What fah is he writin checks fah Miss
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 59 
 
 Ward? Coin with one lady and writin 
 checks fah another one. Ole Stephen, foah 
 he dies, he goin to see trouble in this heah 
 family. 
 
 (The door opens and Philip Pierce en 
 ters. He is a tall, angular man, elderly but 
 well preserved, and with not much regard for 
 his dress. He moves quickly and is well in 
 side the room before Stephen looks up from 
 the basket he is emptying.) 
 STEPHEN 
 
 (With delight.) Well, pon my wahd, if 
 heah ain t Mr. Philip! Thought you s in 
 Australia, Mr. Pierce. When did you all 
 get home? 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 At noon. 
 
 STEPHEN 
 
 Well, it certainly goin be nice to have you 
 all at home. Mr. John miss you. He don 
 seem to git on with his Pa and Mr. Richard. 
 They ain t a mite alike. Mr. John s the nic 
 est man for one o them still men, I evah 
 seen. You see I been watching them boys 
 evah since they s children. They ain t nevah 
 goin to git on, Mr. Philip. 
 PHILIP 
 
 Well, eh How s the business, Stephen? 
 STEPHEN 
 
 I ain t worrin about the business. O
 
 60 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 course, I don go pryin round like some nig- 
 gahs, but I knows they has to tuhn way some 
 o they adahs. The output o this heah fac 
 tory creased bout twice what it was foah 
 Mr. John come in heah. 
 PHILIP 
 
 Yon don t say! Good for John! 
 STEPHEN 
 
 Yes sah ! I done heard Mr. Pierce and Mr. 
 Richard talking bout it and Mr. Richard, 
 he done say that ceptin he didn t say it was 
 since Mr. John came in he jus say, in the 
 las two yeahs. But I ain t worrin bout the 
 business, Mr. Philip 
 PHILIP 
 
 Good Lord! What are you worrying 
 about then? 
 
 STEPHEN 
 
 Well, I m worryin bout them boys. Mr. 
 Philip, they re goin to be trouble in this heah 
 family. An now, on top of that ill-feeling, 
 what s Mr. Richard goin to do but tryin 
 to take Mr. John s girl away from him. 
 PHILIP 
 
 (Deeply interested.) Well, what does 
 John say to that? 
 
 STEPHEN 
 
 He seem perfectly blivious to it. I don t 
 think he know. When he know ole Stephen 
 don like t think what goin to happen. Mr.
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 61 
 
 John he been workin heah evah evening 
 an plumb into the night, might neah mid 
 night for six weeks and Mr. Richard, he 
 been runnin out the Country Club evah 
 night with that Miss Richter. I got a friend 
 out theah, a waitah an he say he can t fah 
 the life of him tell whether she fallin in love 
 with Mr. Richard or not. One time he think 
 she am an anotha time he think she ain t. 
 PHILIP 
 
 How long s this been going on? 
 STEPHEN 
 
 Might neah two months. 
 PHILIP 
 
 H mm. 
 
 STEPHEN 
 
 That ain t all. He goin round with one 
 lady an writin checks for anotha lady. I 
 ain t privileged to tell how I know, but I got 
 mighty neah certain proof o that. That 
 looks mighty spicious to me. (John and 
 Mr. Green are heard coming toward the 
 door. Philip jumps up and goes to meet 
 them.) 
 
 MR. GREEN 
 
 (Coming through the door.} Well, now 
 after this I d like to do business with you, 
 young man. You beat your brother at it. 
 JOHN 
 
 (In good spirits. Quiet joy at seeing his
 
 62 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 Uncle Philip.) Thank you, Mr. Green. 
 Uncle Philip I (Grasping his hand.) I m 
 certainly glad to see you. This is my fath 
 er s brother, Mr. Pierce, Mr. Green. 
 
 MR. GREEN 
 
 (Shaking hands.) Glad to see you, glad 
 to see you, Mr. Pierce. You live in the city? 
 
 PHILIP 
 Yes, I live here when I m not away 
 
 MR. GREEN 
 
 (Looking at his watch.) Well! Well! 
 I wonder if I can catch that six-forty train. 
 Good-bye, young man. Good-bye, Mr. 
 Pierce, glad to have met you. (He goes out 
 hurriedly.} 
 
 (Stephen lingers around a bit and shuf 
 fles out through the factory door. Philip and 
 John sit down as though preparing for a con 
 fidential chat.) 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 Business good, John? 
 JOHN 
 Fine, Uncle Phil. 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 Well How s life going generally with 
 you? 
 
 JOHN 
 As well with me as with any, I suppose. 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 H m Well, how are you and Richard 
 getting along any better?
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 63 
 
 JOHN 
 (Bitterly.) Better? Worse! 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 Sounds pretty bad. Can t you tell me 
 about it? You know when you were a little 
 shaver, you used to save up things to tell me 
 when I came home. Some times I could put 
 things straight some times I couldn t. May 
 be I could help you now, lad. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I know I ll feel like a cad for having said 
 this to you, but My God! if I don t say it 
 to someone, I m afraid I ll brood over it 
 until the murder in my heart will become a 
 horrible reality. Richard s not square, Un 
 cle Phil. 
 
 PHILIP 
 Well, is that something new to you? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 No, he never was. But I hoped as a man 
 he would outgrow it. He hasn t. 
 
 PHILIP 
 (Quietly.) He never will. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 When I came out of college in fact, be 
 fore I left college, Richard came up to see 
 me. Said that he had had a talk with Fath 
 er, that he didn t want to always stay in the 
 furniture business; that he wanted to go in 
 to motor supplies and that if I would come
 
 64 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 home and go into the factory as assistant 
 manager, in less than a year I could have the 
 position and salary of manager and have the 
 running of the factory to myself. You know 
 I ve always loved the factory. It s one of 
 the first things I remember and I ll do al 
 most anything for love of it, but I can t stand 
 things as they are. Things haven t turned 
 out the way Richard said they would. 
 PHILIP 
 
 They never do, John. 
 JOHN 
 
 (Continuing.) Now, Dick says he never 
 intended going into the motor supply busi 
 ness; that he can t see where I got such an 
 idea. So I go on doing two-thirds of the 
 work and drawing one-third of the pay. 
 Then, too, all the money I ve got in the 
 world, the fifteen thousand Mother left me, 
 is in the factory, and if I leave it (now that 
 Father is not able to look after things) , there 
 is no telling what will happen to my share if 
 Richard has control, and he and Father are 
 both against me. Then, there is that tie of 
 blood, of family that is really holding me 
 more than anything else. It s strange how 
 it holds people at times against their wills 
 and against their better judgment. 
 
 PHILIP 
 That s the pity of it. But fortunately it s
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 65 
 
 not as strong in me as it is in you, John. I 
 was a younger son too. Your father was 
 four years older than I and when he started 
 this factory, he wanted me to go in with him, 
 begged me to do it, and finally persuaded me 
 by what he promised. His promises were 
 never kept; said he didn t make them and 
 finally, after seven years of it, I walked out 
 one evening and never came back. The real 
 reason I left was the same that you have for 
 leaving now he took my girl. That was 
 your mother, John. When I came back, she 
 was just a shadow of herself and she told me 
 then that she didn t love your Father; that 
 she never had, and if I d take her back with 
 me to Montana, she would leave him and 
 the baby in a minute. The baby was Rich 
 ard. Of course, I couldn t take her and the 
 next time I came back home, she was dead 
 and you were a little shaver with her eyes. 
 JOHN 
 
 What did Father do? I often wondered 
 why you left. 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 (Continuing.) Well, by and by, after I d 
 been gone about two years, your Father 
 found out where I was and My! Such let 
 ters as he wrote. He needed me and he used 
 all his wits and agreeableness to get me back. 
 When I wrote him what I thought of him, he
 
 66 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 wrote me a letter that no self-respecting man 
 would answer. He wrote that I never was 
 capable of loving anybody or anything and 
 that I had no family feeling and a great deal 
 more of that sort. I want to answer that 
 letter now, John. Wouldn t you like to have 
 a factory of your own? 
 JOHN 
 
 That s an impossibility, Uncle Phil. In 
 the first place I haven t the money. 
 PHILIP 
 
 I ve got the money, if you will take it from 
 me. You can have it either with interest or 
 without, as you like. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 What about my stock? 
 PHILIP 
 
 That ll sell easy enough. Why, Crowder, 
 from the First National told me, coming in 
 on the train, that he d like to have twenty 
 thousand in this factory, it was doing so 
 well. I ll sell your stock for you. Now the 
 only question is, have you got the nerve to 
 stand the row and to put Richard off when 
 he comes after you? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I m ready to do anything that will get me 
 out from under him. Why I feel as though 
 I were cramped, body and mind and soul. I 
 can never be myself without running up
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 67 
 
 against Richard. He is my brother but I 
 have to try hard not to hate him. 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 (Getting up and shaking out his trouser 
 legs while he talks.} There have been more 
 younger sons ruined by their older brothers 
 than by women, I take it. 
 JOHN 
 
 (Figuring.} It will take at least forty 
 thousand. 
 
 PHILIP 
 That all ! 
 
 JOHN 
 
 Isn t that enough? When can I ever pay 
 it back? 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 Now, don t let that worry you, son. I m 
 risking forty thousand to answer that letter 
 your father wrote me so long ago. In it he 
 said this. "Where there are two brothers, 
 the younger one never amounts to anything 
 unless the older one helps him to it." I ve 
 lost twenty-five thousand answering that let 
 ter in other parts of the world and I ve made 
 fifty. I consider that I ve made a good in 
 vestment taking the thing as a whole, and I 
 count the twenty-five lost as given to charity. 
 I ve watched you since you were a little 
 shaver. I ll not lose betting on you !
 
 68 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Jumping up and grasping his hand.} 
 Thank you for that, Uncle Phil. I could 
 run a dozen factories after that. 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 Now, you better come home to dinner 
 with me and we ll fix this thing up. It is just 
 the end of your fiscal year and you can leave 
 the concern right off. Another thing, John, 
 my boy, you ll have to leave home. You can 
 never stay there after the row. Better come 
 and live with me and help me make my ser 
 vants earn their pay. Why, they ve been 
 doing nothing but loafing and forwarding 
 my mail to me ever since I went to Australia 
 last Fall. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 That s a very fine offer, Uncle Phil. I ll 
 tell you what 111 do. I ll board with you. 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 That won t do. You must live with me as 
 my son would, if I had one. I couldn t have 
 your mother, John, but maybe I can have her 
 son. Will you come? 
 
 JOHN 
 Yes. 
 
 PHILIP 
 
 Come home to dinner with me tonight. 
 The car s outside. ( They put on their coats 
 in silence. John puts out the light.} 
 Curtain
 
 SCENE II 
 
 (The office of The John Pierce Manu 
 facturing Company. Six months elapse be 
 tween Scene I and Scene II. When the cur 
 tain rises an office, very much like the office 
 in Scene I is seen, only everything looks new 
 er and there is no assistant manager s desk. 
 It is about four in the afternoon and John is 
 still at work in his office. The street door 
 opens suddenly and his father enters. He is 
 a man about seventy and enters with diffi 
 culty because of infirmities. He leans heavily 
 
 upon his cane.} 
 
 \ 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Turning his head and jumping up.} 
 Why, Father! 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 (Gruffly. Stopping a moment to get his 
 breath.} Yes, it s me. And do you know 
 what I ve come for? I came to ask you to 
 come back to your right mind and do your 
 duty to your old father, and to have a Chris 
 tian spirit toward your brother. (He sits 
 down heavily in the nearest chair.} Where s 
 your stenographer? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I let her go a little earlier this evening. 
 There was nothing just now for her to do. 
 69
 
 70 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 As for what you ask of me MY duty is to 
 stay right here in MY factory. 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 Your Uncle s, you mean. 
 
 JOHN 
 No, mine ! 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 (Pointing with his cane to the office 
 door.) That name up there don t fool any 
 body. (Contemptuously.) "THE JOHN 
 PIERCE MANUFACTURING CO." 
 How much did he lend you ? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Irritated.) Forty thousand. Is there 
 anything more you would like to ask? 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 Yes, I want to know how much longer you 
 are going to continue to take our business 
 away. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I m not taking your business away, Fath 
 er. All the names on our books with the ex 
 ception of the firm Green represents are new 
 names. The furniture industry here is 
 growing. You have the advantage of me. 
 You are an old and well established firm. 
 Why should I take your business away? 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 Well, you are. Last month The Cres 
 cent Furniture Company lost for the first
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 7: 
 
 time since it started twenty-two years ago. 
 How do you account for that if you are not 
 taking our business away? 
 JOHN 
 Who s acting as assistant manager now? 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 Nobody ! We had two in there and they 
 said they wouldn t stay for twice the salary. 
 Don t know what s the matter with them ! 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Quietly.) I do. They had no family 
 ties to hold them. 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 I don t know what you re talking about. 
 But I do know that you re a cruel, ungrate 
 ful son and you re going to kill me long be 
 fore my time. 
 
 JOHN 
 I m sorry if I ve hurt you. 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 Sorry! You never were sorry for any 
 thing! You ve always shown this spirit 
 toward your brother and me. You haven t 
 a particle of affection in you. You re like 
 your mother 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Quickly.) Stop, Father! That s not so! 
 Mother was affectionate ! I remember that 
 better than anything else. If she showed no
 
 72 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 affection for you, it was you that made it im- 
 posible for her. 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 So it s me, is it? And it takes a young 
 Jack a-napes of an ungrateful son to tell me 
 so. My God, what s the world coming to? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Quietly.) Richard has hurt you some 
 way. You always wanted to take it out on 
 me when Richard troubled you. Where is 
 he? 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 The Lord only knows. He s at the fac 
 tory only about half the time. Last night I 
 found him up at Barton s, gambling. He d 
 been drinking and when I wanted him to go 
 home, he got up and took me to the door, 
 and when the door was closed and we were 
 in the hall, he said, "Don t make a fool of 
 yourself, Father. A man has to do this for 
 business and if you ve got any money about 
 you, you d better leave it with me. I m 
 broke. I left him all I had and I haven t seen 
 him since. I don t know where he is. 
 JOHN 
 
 Probably sleeping somewhere. Did you 
 call the Country Club? 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 No, I didn t want anyone to know I was 
 hunting him.
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 73 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I suppose you want me to go hunt him up 
 quietly. 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 (Irritably.) What else would I be com 
 ing here for? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I see. Well, that I can t do. I can t trust 
 myself to see Richard. (He turns again to 
 his desk but he is unable to resume his work.) 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 Well, are you going? 
 JOHN 
 NO! 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 (Getting up.) I suppose it s the grudge 
 you ve got against your brother for taking 
 your girl away! 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Without looking up.) Yes, if you want 
 to put it that way. 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 Haven t you any family pride? 
 
 JOHN 
 I hope so! 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 Well, for God s sake, get to work and 
 show a little. Show a little affection for your 
 brother. Show a little decency and family 
 pride.
 
 74 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Excitedly.} Oh, will people never learn 
 that there is something beyond family pride 
 and family ties and blood and affection and 
 that is justice? YOU and Richard have 
 never known it. Two-thirds of the people 
 who walk on the street out there demand it 
 in the courts and are blind, stone blind to it 
 in their homes. I mean to live it! I mean 
 to teach it! I intend to demand it the rest 
 of my life whether I have anything else or 
 not. 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 (Disgusted.} Are you going, John? 
 JOHN 
 
 No! 
 
 MR. PIERCE 
 
 Damn you! You re no son of mine! 
 JOHN 
 
 (Dryly.} Thank you for the compli 
 ment! 
 
 ( The door slams and Mr. Pierce is gone. 
 John sinks wearily down at his desk with 
 his head in his hands. The office has grown 
 almost dark while he and his father are talk 
 ing. The door opens softly and Margaret 
 Richter comes in. She closes the door softly 
 and stands against it. John turns wearily 
 with a sigh toward the door.}
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 75 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (In a whisper of surprise and unbelief.} 
 Margaret! 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 (In a calm, matter-of-fact tone.} Yes, 
 John, it s I. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Coming forward a little.} What are you 
 doing here at this time of day? You mustn t 
 come here. What is it you want? 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 (A little disappointed.} I came to tell 
 you something, John. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 I know. Father was just here. Do you 
 want me to go after Richard? If YOU ask 
 me, I ll go. 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 No, I don t want you to go after Richard. 
 I know where Richard is. 
 
 JOHN 
 Where? 
 
 MARGARET 
 In his own little bed, asleep. 
 
 JOHN 
 How did he get there? 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 As perhaps you know. I have a younger 
 brother who will do almost anything for 
 money. I paid the kid ten dollars to get
 
 76 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 Richard into the hands of your Jap, Tokio, 
 without letting people know. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 That was very fine of you, Margaret. I 
 fear you may have to do it again if you 
 marry him. 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 I m not going to marry him. I took great 
 pains to get him to propose to me so I could 
 refuse him. He said he d go to the dogs if 
 I didn t marry him. Now, I suppose he 
 thinks he ll scare me into it. I know Richard. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Coming forward hopefully.} Then, 
 why may I ask, did you think it your duty to 
 get him home in that way? 
 MARGARET 
 
 For the sake of the family. You see, I ve 
 grown very fond of your Uncle Philip. I ve 
 seen quite a good deal of him since he came 
 back. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Backing of.) You don t mean he has 
 been calling on you. 
 
 MARGARET 
 Ye s. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (With surprise.) Oh! (Gathering his 
 wits after the first shock.} He s a little old 
 for you, Margaret, but Uncle Phil is a very 
 fine man. Let me congratulate you
 
 THE YOUNGER SON 77 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 (Holding up her hand.) No, I m not to 
 be congratulated yet 
 JOHN 
 I see things are not quite settled. 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 (Shaking her head doubtfully.) No, 
 things are not quite settled, John. You make 
 it very hard for me. Your Uncle Phil has 
 told me a great deal 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Breaking in.) Would you like me to 
 speak to him? 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 (Hopelessly, but amused.) No, but I d 
 like him to speak to you. He s the brightest 
 man for never having been trained by a wo 
 man I ever saw. (Indulgently.) John, 
 you re awfully stupid. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Much abashed.) I know it, Margaret. 
 Women are much brighter than men, aren t 
 they? 
 
 MARGARET 
 About some things they certainly are. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (With sudden courage.) There s some 
 thing I want to tell you, Margaret, before 
 before you belong to any other man I I 
 (Turning away.) Oh, no, I can t do that
 
 78 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 (Slowly and coming closer.) Do you love 
 me, John? 
 
 JOHN 
 
 (Softly.) Yes, Margaret. 
 MARGARET 
 
 That s exactly what I came to hear. 
 JOHN 
 
 (Looks up questioningly, then being re 
 assured, a great light seems to dawn on him, 
 holding out his arms to her.) Margaret! 
 Margaret! 
 
 (He is just coming to embrace her when 
 Stephen suddenly opens the street door.) 
 STEPHEN 
 
 (Not seeing well in the dusk.) Mr. John, 
 youh Pa done say (He suddenly realizes 
 the situation) Scuse me!! 
 
 (John and Margaret turn at the interrup 
 tion and look toward the door. When it 
 closes they both laugh and then laugh more 
 as he goes away singings) 
 "Glory, to God, there s a good time comin , 
 I see it drawin nigh! 
 Glory to God! That good time comin 
 Means joy in the sweet by and by." 
 
 (As the singing becomes more and more 
 inaudible, the curtain falls.)
 
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