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Title: A message from Mars
A fantastic comedy in three acts
Author: Richard Ganthony
Release date: December 7, 2024 [eBook #74852]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Samuel French
Credits: Tim Lindell, University of South Dakota and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MESSAGE FROM MARS ***
A MESSAGE FROM
MARS
_A FANTASTIC COMEDY IN THREE ACTS_
BY
RICHARD GANTHONY
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY RICHARD GANTHONY
COPYRIGHT, 1927 (IN RENEWAL) BY BONITA L. GANTHONY
REWRITTEN AND REVISED, 1923, BY RICHARD GANTHONY
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY RICHARD GANTHONY
_All Rights Reserved_
CAUTION:—Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that “A
MESSAGE FROM MARS,” being fully protected under the copyright
laws of the United States of America, the British Empire,
including the Dominion of Canada, and all the other countries
of the Copyright Union is subject to a royalty, and anyone
presenting the play without the consent of the owners or their
authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law
provided. Applications for the Professional and Amateur acting
rights must be made to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New
York, N. Y.
NEW YORK
SAMUEL FRENCH
PUBLISHER
25 WEST 45TH STREET
LONDON
SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD.
26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET
STRAND, W.C.2
A MESSAGE FROM MARS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book without
a valid contract for production first having been obtained from the
publisher, confers no right or license to professionals or amateurs to
produce the play publicly or in private for gain or charity.
In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only,
and no performance, representation, production, recitation, or public
reading, or radio broadcasting may be given except by special arrangement
with Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York.
This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty of
Twenty-Five Dollars for each performance, payable to Samuel French, 25
West 45th Street, New York, one week before the date when the play is
given.
Professional royalty quoted on application to Samuel French, 25 West 45th
Street, New York, N. Y.
Whenever the play is produced the following notice must appear on all
programs, printing and advertising for the play: “Produced by special
arrangement with Samuel French of New York.”
Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for any infringement
of the author’s rights, as follows:
“SECTION 4966:—Any person publicly performing or representing any
dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained,
without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical
composition, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages
thereof, such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not
less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every
subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the
unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for profit, such
person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction
shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year.”—U. S. Revised
Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3.
A MESSAGE FROM MARS
CHARACTERS
HORACE PARKER
AUNT MARTHA (MISS PARKER)
MINNIE TEMPLAR, _Adopted sister to HORACE_
ARTHUR DICEY
BELLA, _Servant at the PARKERS’_
A TRAMP
A MESSENGER FROM MARS
MRS. CLARENCE
SIR EDWARD VIVIAN, _An Astronomer_ }
1ST GENTLEMAN } _Guests of MRS. CLARENCE_
2ND GENTLEMAN }
OTHER LADIES AND GENTLEMEN }
FOOTMAN, _At MRS. CLARENCE’S_
DR. CHAPMAN
A WOMAN OUTCAST
A POLICEMAN
A NEWSBOY
A WOUNDED MAN }
POLLY, _his wife_ }
1ST MAN } _Crowd in Street Accident_
2ND MAN }
AMBULANCE DOCTOR }
OTHER MEN AND WOMEN }
1ST WORKING MAN }
1ST WORKING WOMAN }
2ND WORKING WOMAN } _Refugees from a fire_
GIRL MOTHERING A BABY }
AN OLD COUPLE }
OTHER WORKING PEOPLE AND BABIES }
SCENE: London.
TIME: The Present.
ACT I. A room in HORACE PARKER’S house. 9 p.m.
ACT II. (A Dream) Outside MRS. CLARENCE’S house.
ACT III. Same as Act I. The same evening.
A MESSAGE FROM MARS
ACT I
_HORACE PARKER’S house, London, W. A living room with doors R.
and L. Large window C. with curtains to draw. A sofa in front
of window. A coat rack, or closet with curtain, containing
three overcoats of HORACE’S and golf caps and sticks, L. Table
L. on which are whiskey bottle, syphons, glasses, and jar of
biscuits. On R. is a fireplace with fire burning. Up of fire
is small stand. Below is a chair. A table in front of fire
with armchair between it and fire. Another chair L. of table.
A large standing oil lamp near table R. with red shade. This
should have a greenish figure on a classical style, represented
as holding or steadying the lamp standard. This figure is
supposed to become the MESSENGER FROM MARS in the dream, only
enlarged. The figure can, however, be omitted._
AT RISE: _Enter BELLA R. Lights lamp or turns it up. Draws
curtains. Attends to fire, and exits L. Enter MINNIE TEMPLAR,
dressed for a ball, followed by AUNT MARTHA R._
MINNIE. (_Looking about her_) He’s not here!
AUNT. Not here?
MINNIE. No. Where can he be?
AUNT. (_At fire_) Extraordinary!
MINNIE. Auntie, we shall be late. Do you hear? We shall be late.
AUNT. Yes, dear, I think you will.
MINNIE. He promised to go, didn’t he?
AUNT. Yes, dear, he certainly did.
MINNIE. I do call it a shame. Horace is the meanest, most selfish——
AUNT. Quite right, dear, he is.
MINNIE. He thinks of nothing but his books, and his papers, and his
horrid little stars.
AUNT. Quite true, dear, he does.
MINNIE. Then why do you let him do it?
AUNT. I?
MINNIE. Yes, you. You know he is engaged to me, and yet you allow him to
treat me as if we had been married for years. (_Up to window._)
AUNT. My dear Minnie—(_Sits L. of table_)—if Horace is a little
thoughtless, surely it isn’t my fault. I suppose he has forgotten all
about the dance——
MINNIE. Forgotten! (_Comes C._) I’ll tell you what it is. Aunt Martha,
you will have to go instead. (_Goes to fire._)
AUNT. Minnie, I can’t. You know, dear, it is quite impossible.
MINNIE. Impossible? Why?
AUNT. Well, dear, you know that horrid Louise hasn’t sent home my dress.
MINNIE. Nonsense, Aunt Martha. You’ve lots of dresses.
AUNT. Not one fit to be seen. You know that perfectly well.
MINNIE. There’s your plum-colored silk——
AUNT. My dear child. I wore that all last winter.
MINNIE. Only about three times. Then there’s your yellow satin.
AUNT. You know I look a perfect fright in that. Yellow doesn’t suit me.
MINNIE. Nothing suits you to-night. I declare you are as bad as Horace!
I suppose I shall have to give up the dance. It is a shame!
AUNT. My dear, I would have gone with pleasure if that odious Louise
hadn’t disappointed me. But you wouldn’t have me make an exhibition of
myself. One must have some pride.
MINNIE. Pride? You’re all pride. I do believe if the house were on fire,
and you cut off in a top room, you’d decline the fire-escape unless you
were dressed in the latest Paris fashion. (_Goes up to window._)
AUNT. Well, upon my word, dear, you are not very polite. I must say that
I am very sorry that you should be disappointed about your dance, but I
don’t believe you’d have cared so very much if you hadn’t known you were
wearing a particularly pretty frock.
MINNIE. It isn’t that at all.
AUNT. But it is—a very pretty frock. And it suits you quite wonderfully.
MINNIE. Does it, Auntie? (_Coming to AUNT._) What I meant was I go for
the dancing—principally. I do love dancing. Auntie, don’t you think you
could manage? (_Kisses her. Front door heard to slam._) Ah, that must be
Horace.
(_Enter HORACE R. in fur coat. MINNIE runs to him and kisses him. HORACE
puts copy of “The Astronomer” on table._)
MINNIE. Oh, Horace!
HORACE. Beastly cold. (_Goes to fire._)
MINNIE. Horace, I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve been waiting such a time.
HORACE. Waiting? What for?
MINNIE. Why, for you.
AUNT. Have you got a cab?
HORACE. Cab? What for?
AUNT. Well, you know the horses are coughing.
HORACE. Coughing. No wonder—everybody’s coughing, this beastly weather.
I’m coughing—— (_Coughs._)
MINNIE. (_At top of table_) Poor dear. How good of you to go out. When
will it be here?
HORACE. What?
MINNIE. The cab.
HORACE. I don’t know what you are talking about.
AUNT. That odious Louise hasn’t sent home my dress. But there, you two
will be all right without me.
HORACE. Without you? Oh, yes, we’ll manage. (_Taking off coat—puts it
down on chair R. below fireplace._)
MINNIE. Oh, Auntie, he isn’t dressed yet.
AUNT. Horace, you’ll be late. You’ll miss ever so many dances.
HORACE. What on earth are you talking about?
AUNT. Aren’t you going to the Clarences’ dance?
HORACE. Certainly not.
MINNIE. Oh, Horace!
AUNT. But you are not going to disappoint Minnie!
MINNIE. Horace, please.
AUNT. Mrs. Clarence will be offended if none of us go.
HORACE. Well, then, go, by all means. There’s nothing to prevent you.
AUNT. But Minnie can’t go without you.
HORACE. Why not?
MINNIE. Auntie’s dress hasn’t come from Louise’s, so she can’t go.
AUNT. You promised to take her.
HORACE. I’m not going out again to-night.
MINNIE. Oh, Horace, how unkind!
AUNT. I call it perfectly mean.
HORACE. It is much too cold. Besides, I want to read.
AUNT. I never knew anyone as selfish as you, Horace.
HORACE. Well, what keeps you? Why don’t you go?
AUNT. You know I can’t. I haven’t got a dress.
HORACE. Well, go without it.
AUNT. Horace!
HORACE. I mean, you can easily find one that will do.
AUNT. I think men are perfect fools. One that will do, indeed. Now don’t
speak to me any more.
HORACE. Kindly listen to me. In spite of my frightful cough—(_Slight
cough_)—I’ve been out in the bitter snow to get this copy of the
“Astronomer.” It contains an article on life on the planet Mars, in
which you know I am much interested. And you ask me to put on thin dress
clothes and go out again, and run tremendous risks with my delicate
throat and supersensitive lungs, and all for what? To see a lot of fools
capering about and making idiots of themselves until four or five in the
morning. I think you are most inconsiderate—
AUNT. Horace——
HORACE.—and unreasonable, and selfish.
AUNT. The impertinence of the man.
MINNIE. Oh, never mind. I didn’t understand that you had anything in
particular to do.
HORACE. Now, there’s a sensible little girl.
MINNIE. Sit down here—(_Armchair_)—and make yourself thoroughly
comfortable.
HORACE. (_Sitting down, but feeling in all his pockets_) One who realizes
that one cannot always be running about from place to place, neglecting
the serious interests of life.
MINNIE. What is it? What are you looking for?
HORACE. My cigar case. I fancy I must have left it in my room. (_MINNIE
runs L. to get it._) Wait a minute. Did I put it down as I came through
the hall? (_MINNIE runs R._) Wait, wait, I’m not certain I took it out
with me at all this morning, in which case it surely will be in my study.
(_MINNIE runs L._) Now, don’t run about. You make me giddy. Do not run
about. Have a thorough search. (_Exit MINNIE L._)
AUNT. Horace, you are going too far.
HORACE. Not I. I am stopping at home.
AUNT. You know what I mean. With Minnie.
HORACE. Ah, she’s a dear little girl.
AUNT. She’s one in a thousand.
HORACE. She is.
AUNT. She’s much too good for you.
HORACE. I don’t know about that. She’s quite good enough.
AUNT. You are perfectly detestable.
HORACE. Think so?
AUNT. Yes, and you’re growing worse every day. (_Goes L._) You are simply
wrapped up in selfishness, and egotism, and conceit.
HORACE. Merely because I prefer a quiet evening to myself and my books?
Because I prefer scientific discovery to heartless frivolity? Absurd.
AUNT. You are forgetting your duty to the girl you are going to make your
wife. You seem to think because she was adopted by your mother you have
the right to order her about as if she were a servant.
HORACE. You know you are talking absolute rot.
AUNT. You make her feel her dependent position, and I think that very
unfair.
HORACE. But, hang it all, she is not dependent. My mother provided for
her sufficiently.
AUNT. Yes, I know, but everything comes from our family, and you never
allow her to forget the fact. She considers she owes you a debt of
gratitude.
HORACE. If it comes to that—well, she does.
AUNT. You ought never to let her feel that. You should try to win her
heart.
HORACE. Oh, bother. I have won her heart. We are engaged.
AUNT. Then try to deserve it.
HORACE. But I do deserve it.
AUNT. Indeed! And pray, when are you going to marry her?
HORACE. Oh, that’s all right. There’s no hurry about that.
AUNT. No hurry? Horace, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
HORACE. (_AUNT goes L._) Now, my dear Aunt, don’t you think you are very
unwise to try and precipitate matters? You have heard that people who
marry in haste very often——
AUNT. (_Returning to table_) You’ll have plenty of leisure for repentance
shortly, but it will be for quite a different reason. Minnie will wake up
presently and see you as you really are. She is a most attractive girl.
You’ll feel pretty miserable when you have lost her.
HORACE. Ridiculous. Minnie knows when she is well off. Hullo. I could
have sworn I felt in that pocket! (_Finds cigar case._)
AUNT. What is it? (_Sees case. Aside_) Hopeless, hopeless.
HORACE. That’s a bit of bad luck, isn’t it?
AUNT. Bad luck?
HORACE. I might have been smoking all this time. (_Lights up._) There’s
nothing like a good cigar, after all.
AUNT. There’s nothing like a good wife.
HORACE. Well, of course I don’t know anything about that.
AUNT. I believe you prefer the cigar.
HORACE. To women? In some respects I think I do.
AUNT. Oh, do you?
HORACE. For one thing, a cigar doesn’t talk. And when you have finished
with one, you can begin another.
(_Enter MINNIE L._)
MINNIE. I can’t find your cigar case anywhere. You’ve found it!
HORACE. In my pocket all the time.
MINNIE. (_Goes to him and places cushions in chair_) There, now. Are you
nice and comfortable?
HORACE. No. Not at all.
AUNT. Don’t speak to him, dear. He isn’t worth it.
MINNIE. Now, Auntie dear, I must make my boy cosy, and then I think I
shall go to bed.
AUNT. What? Give up the dance?
MINNIE. Oh, never mind about that.
AUNT. Horace, I ask you, have you the heart to let Minnie sacrifice her
pleasure for you in this way?
MINNIE. But, Auntie, it doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t.
AUNT. I’m very angry with him.
HORACE. I am not sacrificing her pleasure, it’s you. Why don’t you go?
AUNT. You know I can’t.
HORACE. There’s nothing to prevent you, except your absurd vanity.
MINNIE. For shame, Horace!
AUNT. Vanity indeed! How dare you?
HORACE. It’s perfectly true. It’s just your nonsense about a dress.
AUNT. Very well, then, you shall see. I will go. I don’t care how I look.
HORACE. And I am sure I don’t, either.
AUNT. Minnie shan’t be deprived of her evening. I’ll put on my yellow
satin and look a perfect fright.
HORACE. I’ll believe you when I see you.
MINNIE. I have quite given up the idea, Auntie.
AUNT. But I haven’t. You shall see, Horace, I keep my word.
HORACE. Oh, devil doubt you!
AUNT. Whatever it costs me, I’ll do my duty.
MINNIE. I don’t want to inflict this on you, Auntie dear. I’m quite
content to go to bed.
AUNT. Content. Oh, yes, I understand your content. But you shall go, my
dear, to as many balls and parties as possible. You shall go to Ascot
and Henley and Goodwood and Cowes. We’ll find escorts easily enough. You
shall see plenty of new faces. I’ll take care of that. Vanity, indeed!
I’ll teach him to call me vain! (_Starts to exit L. when BELLA enters R.
with box._)
BELLA. From Madame Louise, ma’m.
AUNT. The dress?
BELLA. Yes, ma’m.
AUNT. What a relief!
HORACE. What a relief!
MINNIE. Auntie, isn’t that splendid luck?
BELLA. Madame Louise hopes it will be in time.
AUNT. Just in time. Take it up to my room at once. (_Exit BELLA L._) I
won’t keep you waiting any longer than I can help. You’ll find Horace
such a delightful companion, so witty and entertaining. Oh, don’t speak
to him, then you won’t get any uncivil answers. (_Exit L._)
HORACE. (_After a pause, looks up from his paper_) Got the jumps.
MINNIE. You must have said something to upset her. She isn’t often like
that.
HORACE. I should hope not.
MINNIE. She’ll be all right to-morrow.
HORACE. That’s the worst of women, they’re so illogical, aren’t they?
MINNIE. I suppose they are.
HORACE. You know, she thinks I ought to have gone with you to-night.
That’s because she only looks at it from her own standpoint. Can’t take a
broad view of the case.
MINNIE. Is yours the broad view?
HORACE. Naturally.
MINNIE. How did you acquire this breadth of mind?
HORACE. Can hardly say that. Just seems to belong to the masculine
intellect. Men see all round a subject. Women don’t. They’re
circumscribed. Can’t see over the hedge.
MINNIE. Could you teach me to see over the hedge?
HORACE. I might be able to a certain extent.
MINNIE. Will you begin by explaining your broad view to-night?
HORACE. That was quite simple. Aunt Martha wanted me to go because she
didn’t want to go herself. The only view she could take.
MINNIE. And you?
HORACE. Of course my viewpoint was very different. I had already been
out in the snow once to get this month’s “Astronomer,” and there wasn’t
any reason why I should go out again. There is a discussion about life
on Mars this month, which I am following closely. It wouldn’t have done
Aunt Martha any good to stop at home and read the article, because, being
practically devoid of brains, she wouldn’t have understood a word about
it. Then again, women ought to go to dances, which are got up entirely
for their benefit. Whereas men hate that kind of frivolity. So it was
obviously her duty to go.
MINNIE. I see.
HORACE. You see, Aunt Martha couldn’t take in all these points because
her mind isn’t broad enough to grasp them. The consequence was her view
was very narrow and rather selfish.
MINNIE. You certainly put it very clearly.
HORACE. I am glad you can appreciate my reasoning.
MINNIE. Oh, I can. But one thing I see very plainly, and that is that you
both are putting yourselves to inconvenience on my account.
HORACE. No, dear, I assure you I am not.
MINNIE. That’s true. Thank you for reminding me. But I hate to think I
should be so much trouble to you both. Of course I know I have no real
claim upon you. It isn’t as if I were your very own sister.
HORACE. I should think not, indeed. You’re going to be my wife. Just
think of that.
(_MINNIE goes to him above table L._)
MINNIE. Horace, tell me. Do you love me? Really, really love me? Or are
you going to marry me because it was your mother’s wish? (_HORACE kisses
her hand._) You mustn’t be angry with me. Perhaps I expect too much, but
I think I should be happier if you were just a little bit more—ah, more
loving in your manner. Oh, Horace, Horace, I don’t want you to marry me
out of pity!
HORACE. My dear child, don’t be silly! (_Takes her hand._) I do love you!
I love you most awfully, but I am not what is called a demonstrative man.
Few scientific men are, I fancy.
MINNIE. Do you know, I’m almost sorry you are such a scientific man.
HORACE. (_MINNIE takes his left hand_) Minnie!
MINNIE. Love and science don’t seem to agree.
HORACE. Oh, yes, they do. But you don’t understand. I love you in a
scientific way.
MINNIE. I think I like the old way best. But I suppose I am silly and
narrow minded like Aunt Martha. (_Kisses him._) There, we won’t say any
more about it. Are you comfortable?
HORACE. No, not at all. You might get another pillow.
MINNIE. (_Does so._) Shall I put you out the whiskey?
HORACE. Um—yes—you may as well. (_MINNIE gets whiskey from table L. and
two syphons and jar of biscuits. Aside_) Dear little girl. How she does
love me! I must get her a ring, or a pin, or a thimble to-morrow. That
will make her perfectly happy.
MINNIE. I’ll pour you out a glass. Say when.
HORACE. Upon my word, you are a perfect treasure!
MINNIE. Oh, Horace, do you really mean it? (_Pauses in pouring._)
HORACE. Of course I mean it—but go on pouring, don’t stop. Now.
MINNIE. Don’t sit up too late, dear. You mustn’t work too hard. You’ll
strain your eyes.
HORACE. No danger, but I shall want some more oil in the lamp. Will you
please tell Bella.
MINNIE. Certainly. Now promise me you won’t tire yourself. (_Kisses
him._) Promise.
HORACE. All right, dear, I promise.
MINNIE. For my sake.
(_HORACE kisses her with a touch of finality._)
MINNIE. Now I’ll see how Auntie is getting on. (_Goes to door L._)
HORACE. Minnie.
MINNIE. (_Returning, expecting a caress_) Yes?
HORACE. I was going to say——
MINNIE. Yes, darling?
HORACE. (_Changing his mind_) You won’t forget about the oil?
(_Enter AUNT in new dress, followed by BELLA with wraps, which are put on
sofa up stage. Exit BELLA R._)
AUNT. Here I am, dear. Quite ready. Haven’t I been quick?
MINNIE. Oh, Auntie, you are a picture! You ought to be framed.
HORACE. (_Aside_) And hung.
AUNT. You little flatterer. I think it is rather nice myself. Put on your
cloak, dear. Is the cab ready?
MINNIE. I don’t know—I don’t think that——
AUNT. What? Do you mean to say he hasn’t ordered a cab? Horace! Horace!
MINNIE. Don’t disturb him. He is reading the “Astronomer.”
AUNT. The “Astronomer,” indeed! I’ll make him see stars! Horace! Horace!
(_At table. MINNIE L._)
HORACE. Oh, what is it? What is it?
AUNT. Have you ordered a cab?
HORACE. I’ve ordered nothing but a little peace and quiet which doesn’t
come at my call.
AUNT. Well, why not? Horace, why have you not ordered a cab?
HORACE. Oh, bother! Don’t interrupt, for goodness’ sake!
AUNT. (_Snatches his paper away and throws it over her shoulder_) Why
haven’t you ordered a cab?
HORACE. Why should I order a cab?
AUNT. It is the very least you could do. Go and order one at once, please.
HORACE. Where are the servants?
AUNT. Bella is not engaged to run errands outside the house. I daren’t
ask cook, and Jane has company.
HORACE. Well, give her company a bob and let him go.
AUNT. Her company, as it happens, is not a he. You must go.
HORACE. Please, and clearly understand, I am not going out in the
cold again to-night. You seem to forget that I am in a very delicate
state of health, and if I were to venture out on a night like this the
consequences might be most serious.
MINNIE. Perhaps I could go.
AUNT. It’s abominable of him!
(_Enter BELLA with note._)
BELLA. A note, ma’m.
AUNT. For me?
BELLA. Yes, ma’m.
AUNT. (_Reading note_) “Dear Miss Parker. May I have the pleasure of
taking you and Miss Templar to Mrs. Clarence’s dance this evening”—
HORACE. Capital! There is your escort.
AUNT. “My car is quite at your disposal.”
HORACE. And there’s your cab. Sublime Providence!
AUNT. Did the gentleman come himself?
BELLA. Yes, ma’m. He is waiting in the hall.
(_MINNIE looks over letter._)
AUNT. Show him in at once here.
HORACE. Don’t bring him in here. He can stay in the hall.
AUNT. Certainly not. Show him in here, Bella.
(_Exit BELLA R._)
HORACE. Well, who is my blessed preserver?
AUNT. Mr. Dicey.
HORACE. What, Arthur Dicey? That Stock Exchange fellow?
AUNT. A charming young man.
HORACE. A brainless idiot!
AUNT. A perfect gentleman, and besides, I hear he is enormously rich.
MINNIE. How kind and thoughtful of him! He always seems to be doing the
right thing just at the right moment.
HORACE. Minnie, I don’t at all care that you should go with this fellow
to-night. He is not at all the kind of man I wish you to be seen going
about with.
MINNIE. He is always so attentive.
HORACE. I dare say he is. I don’t choose that you go with him.
AUNT. What dog-in-the-manger attitude is this? You won’t take her
yourself nor let anyone else.
HORACE. I have expressed my wish on the matter and I propose to have my
way, so——
(_Enter BELLA, showing in MR. DICEY R._)
BELLA. Mr. Dicey.
AUNT. This is a most opportune kindness you are showing us, Mr. Dicey. We
gladly accept your escort. (_Shakes hands._)
MINNIE. (_Shaking hands_) You can hardly guess how much obliged we are to
you. Thank you for thinking of us.
DICEY. The pleasure is doubled if I am of real service.
MINNIE. Somehow or other, we had forgotten to order a cab.
AUNT. Yes. _We_ had forgotten!
HORACE. I was just getting ready to run down the street after one.
AUNT. So of course my nephew is very grateful to you. Aren’t you, Horace?
Now he will be able to pursue his scientific studies without fear of
interruption.
DICEY. Aren’t you coming with us, Mr. Parker?
HORACE. Well, I had not thought of doing so.
MINNIE. If it had not been for you, Mr. Dicey, I doubt whether any of us
would have gone. We were very nearly giving up going.
DICEY. Have I really saved the situation for you? That is jolly good
luck. May I claim an extra number of dances on the strength of it?
MINNIE. As many as you wish.
(_DICEY helps AUNT with her cloak._)
DICEY. Thank you so much.
MINNIE. Won’t you come, Horace? I hardly care to go without you.
HORACE. Your dances are all booked, it seems. You have none left.
MINNIE. Oh, yes, I have, for those who have the grace to ask for them.
Mr. Dicey will have his fair share. He dances beautifully and our steps
suit each other to perfection.
HORACE. By which you mean to say you dance beautifully, too?
MINNIE. No, I leave it to others to say that. (_Turns away L._)
DICEY. And I wish to be the first to say it.
HORACE. My aunt is ready, I see. If you will take her, we will follow a
little later.
DICEY. I thought you were out of town, or I should not have come. But
there is plenty of room in the car. Won’t you and your sister come with
us?
HORACE. Miss Templar is not my sister.
DICEY. Your adopted sister, I should have said.
HORACE. And my intended wife. (_Aside_) That’s a nasty one for Master
Dicey.
DICEY. Pardon me. That I did not know. May I offer my congratulations?
MINNIE. Thank you, Mr. Dicey, but it is a little early for
congratulations. We laugh it over between ourselves sometimes in a
brotherly-sisterly sort of way without much serious consideration what
marriage means. There’s nothing settled yet. Will you see Auntie to the
car while I get my wrap?
AUNT. Good night, Horace.
HORACE. Good night, Aunt.
DICEY. Good-night, Mr. Parker.
HORACE. Good night, sir.
(_Exeunt AUNT and DICEY R._)
MINNIE. (_Coming to L. of table and taking off her engagement ring_) I
think you will understand me when I say, “Here is your ring.” You have
given me a glimpse of such a love-cheapening life that I have grown
afraid. I believed in you, Horace, though I was never blind to your
faults. I had hoped I might help you to conquer them, but I realize
now the task is beyond me. A stronger spirit would have to be invoked.
Without your love I should fail, and I see now you have none to offer me.
The devotion of your life is for yourself and yourself alone.
HORACE. And all this fuss because I don’t want you to go with a silly ass
to a dance to-night.
MINNIE. No. For your utter lack of consideration. I might hurt my dear
friend, Kitty Clarence, by not going to her dance. Oh, that was nothing!
Disappoint Auntie—nothing—give up my own pleasure—nothing—insult a
visitor—nothing, nothing at all. Here it is, Horace. (_Puts ring on
table._) I cannot wear it. The gold seems to have gone out of it. (_Exit
R._)
HORACE. And that’s the girl I’ve been talking to about broad views!
(_Working round table to paper on the floor._) Well, I’ve met some
narrow-minded people in my life, but she is far and away the most
narrow-minded of the lot. (_Picks up paper._) It’s very disappointing,
that’s what it is, very disappointing. Women are all alike. No
liberality, no generosity. You think you have found an exception, you
pour out all the wealth of your priceless love upon her, and the moment
the shoe pinches—there you are. I suppose she will want to make it up
to-morrow, then I shall have to put down my foot and come to a thorough
understanding. Confound that fellow Dicey! It’s all his fault. I never
ought to have allowed him to take her. I ought to have gone myself. Damn
Dicey! Now for this article. I suppose I’d better read it. Don’t feel a
bit like it. However, it may act as a sedative. (_Settles down to read._)
BELLA. (_Entering R._) Please, sir, there’s a man wants to see you.
HORACE. A what wants to what?
BELLA. A man to see you, sir.
HORACE. What does he want?
BELLA. I don’t know, sir. He says he has a letter for you, sir.
HORACE. Why didn’t he give it to you?
BELLA. He wouldn’t trust it out of his hand, sir. He says he must give it
to you himself.
HORACE. What sort of a man?
BELLA. Well, sir, he seems to think he is a respectable sort of a man,
but he’s what I should call a tramp.
HORACE. A tramp? Well, I can’t see him, then. I can’t see him. Tell him
to come again in the morning.
BELLA. I told him that, sir.
HORACE. Well, what did he say?
BELLA. Well, sir, he said he was a persevering kind of man, but he’s what
I should call obstinate.
HORACE. What do you mean?
BELLA. He said he wouldn’t go away till he had seen you—and I don’t think
he will.
HORACE. It is too maddening. I can’t have one moment to myself. Very
well, show him in. Show him in. (_Exit BELLA._) First of all Aunt Martha,
then that fool Dicey, then Minnie and now a tramp.
(_Enter BELLA with TRAMP. Exit BELLA R._)
HORACE. Well, what is it? What is it? What do you want?
TRAMP. Mr. Brampton told me to give you this. (_Hands letter._)
HORACE. Mr. Brampton—of Coventry?
TRAMP. Yes, sir.
HORACE. (_Reading_) “—might be able to give him some work.” I haven’t any
work to give you. “Clever workman—seen better days.”
TRAMP. That’s true enough. I never see any worse than what I’m getting
now.
HORACE. I’m afraid I cannot help you.
TRAMP. Don’t be hard, Guv’ner. I’m cold and tired. I’ve walked all the
way from Coventry.
HORACE. Walked? Why, Mr. Brampton says here he has given you the money
for your railway fare.
TRAMP. So he did, sir. I had a bit of bad luck with that.
HORACE. What? Lost it, I suppose. (_Half laughing._)
TRAMP. Not exactly, sir.
HORACE. What then?
TRAMP. Spent it.
HORACE. How? Drink?
TRAMP. Yes, drink and meat. There’s no crime in that, is there? Even a
tramp must eat.
HORACE. Yes, and drink. Well, and when the money was gone——
TRAMP. I had to walk. That’s all.
HORACE. Well, that’s what you will have to do now. I can’t help you.
TRAMP. Just my luck! (_Going._) Beg pardon, Guv’ner, do you feel like
standing me a drink before I go, just to keep out the cold?
HORACE. (_Shrugs his shoulders_) Help yourself.
TRAMP. (_Drinks glass of whiskey MINNIE had poured out_) Ah, that’s good!
That brings back old times. You wouldn’t think, Guv’ner, that I was a
prosperous man once. (_HORACE indicates that whiskey is responsible._)
No, it wasn’t drink that ruined me. Drink may have kept me down, but it
didn’t throw me. I’m an engineer by trade—leastways, I was, but I ain’t
worked at it now these five years. Thank you kindly for the whiskey. Good
night, sir.
HORACE. Care to take another?
TRAMP. Thank you, sir, I would. (_Helps himself._) Your health, Guv’ner!
You wouldn’t think there was much of the inventor about me? Would you?
But I’ve got some ideas, good uns too, only I ain’t got the capital, see?
HORACE. I see.
TRAMP. I’ll let you into one of my ideas, Guv’ner, if you’ll take it up.
It’ll make your fortune.
HORACE. Thanks. I have all the money I require.
TRAMP. Have you, now? I haven’t, that’s the difference. Feels pretty
comfortable, doesn’t it? I was doing very well once, over there in the
States.
HORACE. America?
TRAMP. Yes. They’re pretty smart there, but I showed them I was as good
as they. I made a steam valve that’s on most boilers to-day. Yes, I
did. Just me. I got ten thousand dollars down before I got my papers
out. But my partner got ahead of me. I never saw another cent. I fought
him as long as the money lasted. But it didn’t go far in the Courts of
_Justice_. It was the Law as downed me, Guv’ner. Drink?—only damned me.
HORACE. Too bad. You must try again.
TRAMP. Not much chance of that. One can’t do anything without a little
capital, and who’s going to trust me? No, I’ll pick up a living how I can.
HORACE. How do you pick up a living?
TRAMP. Anyhow. Running after cabs.
HORACE. Surely to goodness, nobody pays you for doing that?
TRAMP. If I’m lucky I gets the job of lifting down the luggage.
HORACE. Oh, that’s it.
TRAMP. There’s a lovely fall of snow to-night.
HORACE. Cold comfort for you, I should have thought.
TRAMP. I may get a job shovelling it in the morning—if I am in luck.
HORACE. Why don’t you go back to your old trade?
TRAMP. Why don’t I go back to my old trade? Why don’t I? Who’s going to
take me on? Who’ll give me a job? Will you?
HORACE. I told you I can’t do anything for you.
TRAMP. Then what’s the good of asking? But it don’t matter. I’ve got
nothing to live for now. Nothing to save for. The Law broke me up, killed
the missus.
HORACE. You were married, then?
TRAMP. Yes.
HORACE. Any children?
TRAMP. One. God forgive me. (_Affected._)
HORACE. Care to take another? Some biscuits if you like.
TRAMP. I ain’t proud. Thank you, Guv’ner. You’re a good un. I worked my
way back to England only to find my missus dead and the little un gone.
HORACE. Gone? How gone?
TRAMP. The people she had been with had left, and I never could find out
what had become of her. Poor little Minnie!
HORACE. Minnie!
TRAMP. That was her name, sir.
HORACE. Minnie? (_Rising and his manner hardening._)
TRAMP. Everything gone. Why should I care? Care! I beg pardon, sir. The
whiskey set me talking. My story can’t interest you. Good night, sir.
Perhaps if I come back in a day or two you might know of a job.
HORACE. No. Quite useless. I can do nothing for you. Get along, now.
TRAMP. Good night, sir. (_Exit TRAMP R._)
HORACE. Minnie! Minnie! How dare he mention her name? Of course she
couldn’t possibly have anything to do with him. But it did give me a
turn. Poor devil, I suppose I was rather rough on him. Never mind, serves
him right. I dare say he deserved it. Anyhow, it will prevent him coming
back again to-morrow. (_About to drink._) Confound him, he has used my
glass! (_Fetches another from table L._) It seems to me I am curiously
unlucky. I can’t think why people are so unfair to me. I’m such a good
sort. I don’t know anyone who has a better temper or a more generous,
open disposition. I expect that is the secret of it. (_Puts whiskey,
glasses and biscuits on small table above fireplace._) Other people are
so mean, and selfish, and unfair. (_Sits in armchair._) Now let me get
on with it. (_Reads “Astronomer.”_) Where was I? Ah, yes, here we are.
(_Reads._) “Latest observations have revealed strange lights which some
astronomers believe to be signals put out in the hope of an answer from
Earth.” I don’t believe a word of it. It may be possible, though. If
Mars is inhabited, I wonder what they are like. Are they savages, or are
they ahead of us? (_Lamp flickers a little._) Confound it! The lamp’s
going out. Minnie never told her. Forgets all about a poor fellow left
alone in the dark. Most selfish of her. (_Turns over page and reads by
firelight as lamp fails more and more._) Ah, just the end. (_Reads._)
“The advent of a messenger or an army from Mars should not seem to us
of the twentieth century a greater marvel than did the shining sails of
Columbus to the aborigines of America. What an unfolding of wisdom would
their coming yield. What problems could they solve, what new ones set
us. The mind fails in contemplation. Too vast—vast.” (_Lamp goes out.
HORACE falls asleep. Enter A MESSENGER FROM MARS._)
(N.B. _If the lamp has the classical figure suggested,
this will now be removed while the stage is dark and a
proportionately larger one substituted in which an actor takes
the place of the small figure. The lamp-shade will now be
approximately four feet in diameter. If the figure does not
form a part of the lamp ornamentation in the first instance it
will remain simply as a lamp, and the actor takes up a position
about C. while stage is dark, and the lights growing bring him
slowly into view. A good effect is obtained by blacking out all
the stage except the small part R. showing HORACE asleep in
his chair, with the firelight playing upon him. A gentle roll
of thunder should announce the arrival of the MESSENGER. The
following is HORACE’S dream._)
MESSENGER. Man! Man of Earth! Give heed for the good of your kind.
HORACE. Hullo. Who are you? (_Drowsily._)
MESSENGER. I am a Messenger from Mars.
HORACE. Don’t believe a word of it.
MESSENGER. I am a Messenger from Mars. (_Sternly._)
HORACE. Are you really? Won’t you sit down?
MESSENGER. No.
HORACE. Have a drink, then?
MESSENGER. Worm!
HORACE. Meaning me? I note that politeness is at a discount in Mars.
MESSENGER. We are not upon that planet now.
HORACE. I thank my stars.
MESSENGER. Know you why I am here?
HORACE. No more than why the other tramp bothered me. You have come
rather farther—you may stay a little longer. From the venturesome spirit
that prompted this visit I conclude you are of the greatest of your race.
MESSENGER. I am the poorest gifted, most unhappy, lowest fallen, and
easiest spared. I am a criminal, and therefore condemned to make this
journey.
HORACE. What had you been up to? Do tell.
MESSENGER. I sinned in vanity. A dear companion and myself had composed a
hymn of praise. He died, and I gave it forth as entirely my own.
HORACE. (_Gleefully_) Did you make much out of it?
MESSENGER. It was chanted by many.
HORACE. Then it paid pretty well?
MESSENGER. In Mars we do not write for gain. For five days I endured the
bitterest remorse when I confessed my crime, and was sentenced to make
this journey.
HORACE. Doubtless you have learnt that I am interested in your world and
quite rightly expected a sympathetic welcome from me?
MESSENGER. No. But of all countries yours seemed the most promising
field——
HORACE. Bravo! Rule, Britannia!
MESSENGER. Of all cities, this London, the greatest, and most intense——
HORACE. Good old London!
MESSENGER. And of all its citizens yourself the most striking
example—(_HORACE bows_)—of the Greed and Egoism of the age.
HORACE. (_Staggering to his feet and about to rush at MESSENGER_) Hullo!
I’ll not stand for this! Get out of my——
(_MESSENGER raises his arm and HORACE receives an electric shock which
reels him back into his chair. The furniture may be arranged to shake and
rock about as if under the same influence. MESSENGER refrains and HORACE
slowly recovers himself._)
MESSENGER. Are you properly impressed, or shall I——?
HORACE. No, no! Don’t do it again, please! It hurts!
MESSENGER. Good! Now listen with heart and mind. You have learnt that
Mars has a planetary lifetime brief compared with Earth, and yet we
Martians are to you as are you to the cattle that you breed.
HORACE. As bad as that?
MESSENGER. Triflers of Time, learn the cause. Self—_Self_ is the Miasm
of the world you live in; a soul plague blotching Earth’s body over with
its petty spites, outraged homes, labor riots, revolutions, civil wars,
carnivals of blood, marring the Grand Purpose. No war has ever wasted
Mars, nor could it. There have been no rushings back, no buried epochs,
no sleeping centuries, for Self was unmasked at the beginning.
HORACE. Mask? What mask?
MESSENGER. Self wears a thousand, making a counterfeit of every virtue.
The soldier’s glory, the painter’s touch, the statesman’s aim, the poet’s
dream hide something still of self behind them. Even your children are
becoming egoists—the saddest sign of all.
HORACE. Very sad and quite true, but why tell me all this?
MESSENGER. You are the chosen subject.
HORACE. But why?
MESSENGER. Considering your opportunities, you are the basest, the most
selfish of men.
HORACE. My opportunities?
MESSENGER. In your house is one whose impulses are fully half unselfish,
the maid Minnie. You couldn’t spare one evening to make her happy.
HORACE. She took such a narrow view.
MESSENGER. Shame on you! Shame! Then there is your aunt——
HORACE. Oh, she is awfully narrow, too.
MESSENGER. Silence!
HORACE. If you’d lived in the house as long as I have with Aunt——
MESSENGER. Silence! Too lazy to call a cab.
HORACE. You don’t make any allowance.
MESSENGER. You deserve none. Again, there was that poor unfortunate who
in a weak moment confided to you his life’s tragedy.
HORACE. You can’t make me responsible for that dirty tramp’s condition.
MESSENGER. You might have saved him. You would have been blessed a
thousandfold if you had.
HORACE. How do you mean?
MESSENGER. In what a hideous Pretence you live. There, before you, stood
a man of genius. You drove him out to die. An Inventor perishing in the
hey-day of Invention-Worship.
HORACE. Do you really think that fellow’s ideas are good for anything?
MESSENGER. You a man of science! You know nothing at all. There is more
in his little finger than your whole body.
HORACE. Look here. If you’ll guarantee him—and with your inside knowledge
of things generally—I might hunt him up to-morrow and set him going.
MESSENGER. You will?
HORACE. Yes. Of course, you do guarantee him?
MESSENGER. For whose benefit would you do this?
HORACE. I should expect to come in, of course—
MESSENGER. Hypocrite! Beyond belief hypocrite! You train your dogs with
hunger and a whip. It seems I must try that system upon you. Get up!
HORACE. What are you going to do now?
MESSENGER. You must come with me.
HORACE. Not out into the snow?
MESSENGER. Yes, into the snow and the night.
HORACE. Do let me explain. The fact is I am in rather a delicate state
of health, and if I were to venture out on a night like this, the
consequences might be most serious.
MESSENGER. You are wasting your breath. Come.
HORACE. You can’t really mean it?
MESSENGER. I do.
HORACE. You will let me put on my coat and hat?
MESSENGER. Put them on. We may find them useful. Hurry!
HORACE. (_Putting on his coat and muffler slowly_) You don’t give me time.
MESSENGER. Make haste, I say.
HORACE. I’m not starting out with any comfort at all. I really don’t
think I should be wise to venture out to-night. It is so very sharp
outside.
MESSENGER. Do you hear me? Come!
HORACE. No. I’m damned if I do! (_MESSENGER raises his arm, and again
HORACE is electrified and the furniture thrown into a commotion. HORACE
sinks to his knees in front of MESSENGER in terror._) I’ll come! I’ll
come!
MESSENGER. On to your schooling! (_MESSENGER leading HORACE away._)
CURTAIN
ACT II
(_The Dream Continues._)
SCENE: _Outside of MRS. CLARENCE’S house in a fashionable
London square. A front door is C. Large windows to R. of door.
An area with practical steps descending below stage in front of
windows. Area railing. The road is up in course of repairs, so
that no vehicles can come quite near. A watchman’s hut L. An
ash barrel near hut. Red lights hung about to show road is up.
Snow thick upon the ground and steps and railings. Moonlight._
AT RISE: _HORACE discovered down area steps peeping along the
pavement. Chuckles._
HORACE. I’ve given him the slip. I’ve fooled him! That’s one on Mars.
(_Comes up steps cautiously, looking about him._) Deuce take his
impudence! I wish he were in—— Well, Mars would be bad enough, from his
description of it. If I could get a cab I’d ride round till morning.
(_Enter a policeman R._) Good evening, Policeman.
POLICEMAN. Good evening, sir.
HORACE. Any cabs about?
POLICEMAN. No, sir. Very few out, sir. It’s a bad night.
HORACE. By Jove, you are right there. It is the worst night I have ever
had.
POLICEMAN. There’s a cab stand in the Bouverie Road. You might find one
there, sir.
HORACE. But you don’t think I will?
POLICEMAN. It’s doubtful, sir.
HORACE. Look here, I wish you would get me a taxi or four-wheeler,
anything. I don’t care what it is. Here’s a half crown for you. If you
bring it back in ten minutes I’ll double it with pleasure.
POLICEMAN. (_Takes coin_) Thank you, sir. Will you wait here?
HORACE. Here or hereabouts. Bring it as near as the road will let you.
POLICEMAN. All right, sir. (_Exit POLICEMAN L._)
HORACE. Splendid force, the police. I believe this is the best hiding
place I can find. (_Descends area steps and disappears from view. Enter
MESSENGER L._)
MESSENGER. My foolish rabbit! Come from your hole.
HORACE. (_Much discomfited—comes up again_) Rabbit! Beastly personal! Oh,
there you are.
MESSENGER. Trying to hide?
HORACE. I’ve been looking for you everywhere—even down in that area.
Where have you been?
MESSENGER. The policeman will not find a cab. I have taken care of that.
HORACE. (_Aside_) He must have been listening.
MESSENGER. I have brought you here....
HORACE. You brought me? (_Dejected._) There is no escape.
MESSENGER. None whatever. (_HORACE astounded to find his thought read by
MESSENGER._) Look around. Do you know where you are?
HORACE. (_The front of the house is a transparency and now lights up from
within and shows a ballroom. Ladies and gentlemen strolling about between
dances._) I declare, if it isn’t Mrs. Clarence’s! In full swing.
MESSENGER. I have brought you here where you refused to come to-night to
give you your first lesson in _Otherdom_.
HORACE. What’s that? Otherdom, you say? (_Interior again dark._)
MESSENGER. You do not understand? It is characteristic of your race
that while all that is vile and ignoble is well expressed by your word
“Selfishness,” your language does not supply its opposite. In Mars we
have a word which means the abandonment of self and the striving for
others. It is the great essential virtue, _Otherdom_.
HORACE. Thank you. I will bear it in mind.
MESSENGER. On your life show it in your acts.
HORACE. Oh, I will. May I go home now; it’s very chilly.
MESSENGER. Poor thing of Temperature! Your scientists still leave
you slaves of the weather. What braggarts are you to dream as yet
of civilization! When you can weave water into clothing, spin fire
into ribbons, and wear them in the altitudes, you shall speak of some
advancement. Your mills of Fashion sigh and hum, but not one of you can
outdress a butterfly. Yet the New Times would rush upon you had Otherdom
a place with you. That is the substance of which Knowledge is but the
shadow playing about it—growing as it grows. You seek to puff out the
shadow—it will be shadow merely while Time’s torch burns. Look yonder.
Who comes? Speak to her.
(_Enter a Woman outcast._)
HORACE. No, thank you. I’d rather not. I warn you, if you are seen you
will have an awful crowd round you.
MESSENGER. I am visible to no eyes but yours.
HORACE. That’s clever. How do you do it?
MESSENGER. She is turning back. I will bring her to you.
HORACE. I wish you wouldn’t. You can’t realize——
MESSENGER. I know more of your world than you do. She is returning.
(_The Woman has sauntered on, looked at HORACE, loitered, and gone off R.
again. Now she re-enters in similar style._)
HORACE. And I’m off! (_Going L._)
MESSENGER. Stay! (_HORACE is pulled up._)
HORACE. I don’t care to be seen talking to her.
MESSENGER. Help her.
HORACE. Look here, I’m not invisible, and if I am seen by anybody in this
house—— Oh, Lor’!
MESSENGER. She comes. Another kind of wreck on the reefs of Self.
OUTCAST. You’ll catch cold, dear, if you don’t come indoors. (_HORACE
turns his back on her._) Bah, you! Give me a tanner to get a drink with?
HORACE. Good night! Good night!
MESSENGER. Help her.
HORACE. I have no silver left.
MESSENGER. Give her gold. Give her gold.
HORACE. Gold—there’s none in circulation. Do you know what she is? A vile
wanton, a plague of the streets!
MESSENGER. No more! Dare man so speak of women? Oh, are you not Joint
Guardians of the Future? Give, Horace, give.
(_HORACE gives a pound note. She looks at it and becomes half
hysterical._)
OUTCAST. It’s a pound, sir—a pound note. Did you mean it?
HORACE. I had to give you something.
OUTCAST. Bless your good heart! It’ll pay the rent, sir. We won’t have to
turn out. You don’t know what a lift it is, sir. Thank you, thank you,
sir. Good night, sir. Good night, sir. Oh, bless you! (_Exit R._)
MESSENGER. Is it not blessed to give?
HORACE. I dare say you find it quite funny. It must be blessed to give
away other people’s money. It was you gave it, mind, not I.
MESSENGER. Then you cannot expect any blessing from it.
HORACE. It strikes me I am getting the worst of it all round. How much
longer is this foolery to go on? You’ll never bring me to your way of
thinking.
MESSENGER. So they all said in Mars.
HORACE. You are in for a long visit. Now where will you put up? I can’t
take you in myself, but how about our Moon? I make you a present of the
Moon—and you can put a fence round it.
MESSENGER. The Moon is not yours to give.
HORACE. That is why I make you a present of it. I’m taking a leaf out of
your book. You give away my money, so I give you somebody else’s Moon.
That in practice appears to be your delightful Otherdom.
MESSENGER. It is not.
HORACE. Well, why are you trying to convert me?
MESSENGER. Your conversion is a condition of my return.
HORACE. (_Exultingly_) Self! Self! Who’s selfish now, Marsy?
MESSENGER. I shall rejoice in saving you no less that the task is imposed
upon me.
HORACE. You are doomed to failure. Give it up—and please let me go home.
I’m nearly always in bed by half-past eleven.
MESSENGER. No. Your lesson is only just beginning. Have you forgotten
Minnie?
HORACE. Forgotten her? Rather not! Dear little girl! She is awfully gone
on me.
MESSENGER. Hush, hush! She is one whom it pains to see a fault in you.
Love, the elementary Otherdom, possesses her. A divine gift of madness
set in opposition to the cold logic of Self. She did love you——
HORACE. Did? She does, and don’t you make any mistake about it!
MESSENGER. Listen a while. (_Waves his hand and the interior of house
lights up and discovers MINNIE and DICEY chatting._)
DICEY. This is our dance, I think.
MINNIE. Isn’t it a lovely dance? I’m so glad we came, and it was all
thanks to you.
DICEY. Oh, you mustn’t thank me any more. I’m over-rewarded. But is Mr.
Parker often like that?
MINNIE. He is rather peculiar at times.
HORACE. (_Indignant_) I—peculiar?
DICEY. Peculiar? That seems a mild epithet to apply to him.
MINNIE. I’m almost inclined to agree with you.
DICEY. He is a selfish beast.
HORACE. I—selfish?
MINNIE. He refused to come to-night after he had promised—promised
faithfully.
DICEY. Pearls before swine.
HORACE. I’ll swine him when I get hold of him!
MINNIE. And he wouldn’t even fetch us a cab.
DICEY. But he said he was just going out to get one?
MINNIE. That was an awful fib because you were there and he was ashamed.
DICEY. Ashamed? He might well be. He must be going off his head.
HORACE. This doesn’t interest me in the least.
MESSENGER. No? Hear a little more.
DICEY. He gave me a fright, though—one terrible fright.
MINNIE. Did he? How?
DICEY. He spoke a word and all the beauty of life seemed to shrivel up
and die away. And then somebody not far away contradicted him. In a
moment the cloud was gone and the whole world seemed even brighter and
happier than it had been before.
HORACE. Lor’, the fellow thinks he is making love! Makes me sick to hear
him. I’d like to kick him!
MESSENGER. What right have you to stand in the way of this young man who
gives love for love? You don’t love her.
HORACE. I think I do.
MESSENGER. He knows he does.
HORACE. Minnie knows I do, but she doesn’t want to be reminded of it
every minute or two.
MESSENGER. A great mistake. Women don’t like to be taken for granted.
Listen!
DICEY. What could he ever be to you? Certainly no companion for life. He?
He is only fit to be a bit of furniture in a library, while you are all
life and sunshine. Minnie, you know I love you.
MINNIE. Hush! You mustn’t say that.
DICEY. I know I’m not worthy of you.
HORACE. That’s the first sensible thing he has said yet.
MESSENGER. Have you ever said it?
HORACE. Of course not. I have been worthy of her all the time.
DICEY. Your happiness would be everything to me.
MINNIE. I think you mean what you say.
HORACE. He doesn’t! The beast!
DICEY. Now for a small confession. Ever so long ago I bought a ring, in
hope, or, perhaps, in despair. Whenever my chances seemed most faint,
fortune most forbidding, I used to take it out of my pocket and look at
it.
HORACE. Silly ass! Can you imagine a more deplorable waste of time?
Whenever a man is down on his luck to take out a ring and look at it? Oh,
dear, oh, dear!
DICEY. Am I forgiven?
MINNIE. You are silly.
HORACE. There! See? She agrees with me!
DICEY. May I put it on?
MINNIE. (_Bus. with ring_) Oh, Arthur, how lovely! Oh, what a beauty! Oh,
it is ever so much prettier than——
HORACE. Of course. Of course. How like a woman! The diamonds are bigger
and that settles the whole thing! (_Lights down within house, only the
exterior now shown._)
MESSENGER. Never mind, you said you were going to buy her a thimble
to-morrow. What’s a diamond ring to a thimble?
HORACE. I meant a present. I didn’t particularize so, I simply called
it a thimble. But I’ll buy her a star to-morrow—an enormous star of
diamonds. I’ll make Mr. Dicey sit up!
MESSENGER. So like a man. He thinks if the diamonds are bigger that will
settle the whole thing.
HORACE. Of course it is unnecessary. Minnie would not marry a brainless
idiot like Dicey. Aunt Martha would see to that. After all, Aunt Martha
is a sensible woman.
MESSENGER. Though somewhat narrow-minded.
HORACE. She can’t help that, poor thing. Aunt Martha would never sit
still and see Minnie sacrificed.
MESSENGER. Quite true. Let us hear her wishes. (_Waves his hand and
interior is again illuminated. AUNT and MRS. CLARENCE are discovered
seated._)
MRS. CLARENCE. I am so sorry Horace was not able to come with you.
HORACE. That is Mrs. Clarence.
AUNT. So am I, for his sake.
MRS. CLARENCE. What did you say was the matter with him? Influenza?
AUNT. Did I say that? Well, I suppose influenza is as good a name for it
as any other.
MRS. CLARENCE. It sounds as if Master Horace had been naughty.
AUNT. Julia, dear, I am much worried about him—I am indeed.
HORACE. Good old Aunt Martha! She’s not such a bad sort.
MRS. CLARENCE. What is the matter with him?
AUNT. My dear, he has taken a turn for the worse.
MRS. CLARENCE. Have you sent for a doctor?
AUNT. No, I haven’t. It is more of a moral complaint than physical. He
thinks of nothing and nobody but himself. He quite neglects Minnie.
MRS. CLARENCE. What a shame!
AUNT. And I can’t sit still and see Minnie sacrificed.
MRS. CLARENCE. I should think not, indeed. How pretty she looks to-night.
Horace is engaged to her, isn’t he?
AUNT. I’m glad to say it is broken off. He has nobody to blame but
himself. She plucked up courage this evening and gave him his congé.
MRS. CLARENCE. So that’s it. Influenza has a lot to answer for. Excuse me
a moment, dear. (_Exit MRS. CLARENCE._)
HORACE. Must I listen to all this twaddle?
MESSENGER. Your intimates don’t appear to think very highly of you.
HORACE. I don’t care two straws for their opinion.
MESSENGER. Don’t you value the praise of your fellow men?
HORACE. My fellow men—oh, yes. But not such creatures as these. Men
of the world, men of business, hard-headed men of science. Take their
opinions. I venture to say they will speak of me with respect and very
possibly with admiration.
(_DICEY has brought MINNIE back and left her with AUNT MARTHA, he
retiring. He shows elation as he bows._)
AUNT. Are you tired, dear?
MINNIE. Quite the reverse.
AUNT. Then why are you not dancing?
MINNIE. I have something to tell you. Something particular. Oh, Auntie, I
hope you won’t be vexed!
AUNT. Vexed? Surely not.
MINNIE. I’ll whisper it. (_Whispers._)
AUNT. (_Smiling_) _Really?_ I’m very glad! He’s charming.
HORACE. Me! Me!
MINNIE. You know I never really cared for Horace like this.
HORACE. What? What did she say?
AUNT. He certainly never cared for you.
HORACE. Oh, you wicked old woman!
AUNT. There was only one person he was ever in love with, and that was
himself.
MINNIE. I know it now. I was giving everything, he nothing.
AUNT. Men are like that, my dear. They are all alike.
MINNIE. Not all, Auntie. There’s Arthur.
AUNT. Arthur is the exception, at least I hope so.
MINNIE. Oh, he is very different from Horace.
HORACE. I should hope he was, and you’ll find it out, my young lady.
AUNT. You have had a very narrow escape. Arthur is a good man. I feel
that. As for Horace, he is a pig!
MINNIE. Oh, Auntie, don’t say that!
AUNT. Pig! I do say it! I will say it! It describes him exactly. Horace
is a pig!
(_Lights and interior dark._)
MESSENGER. As you observed, Aunt Martha is a sensible woman.
HORACE. She’s a perfect fool! Women are all alike. Mean and selfish, and
sly and narrow-minded—oh, fearfully narrow-minded! I’m jolly well out
of it, and I’m jolly glad to be so jolly well out of it! One thing I
know—I’ll never speak to another woman again as long as I live.
(_The Waits are heard singing a carol._)
MESSENGER. You are still devoted to self in spite of the poor opinion of
your friends. Have you no suspicion of yourself?
HORACE. It strikes me that there is a lot of guess-work about you, and
what’s more, you are making some uncommonly bad shots. You’ve pitched on
me as an example of selfishness. Now, I’m not selfish. It’s the other
people who are selfish. Not I.
MESSENGER. Sublime conceit!
HORACE. Oh, my goodness, there are the Waits! Where’s a policeman? I’ll
have them moved on.
MESSENGER. Why?
HORACE. Why, listen to them! That’s why.
MESSENGER. They are singing for charity. What they receive they give away.
HORACE. Nonsense! They are singing because they like it.
MESSENGER. They are singing to help others.
HORACE. Well, they’re making a jolly row about it!
MESSENGER. Have you ever done anything for others?
HORACE. Permit me a word. You have advanced not a single argument why
my conduct should be deemed reprehensible. We are quite well aware of
our duty to each other, but in our highly organized society to-day we
employ the important principle of the Division of Labor. Some attend to
Charities, others to Science, others again to Production or Distribution,
and so on and so on.
MESSENGER. Continue your divisions,—some do the fun-making and some do
the grieving, some do the feasting and some the fasting. You, Prince of
Duncedom, go gather rainbows, photograph a sunset, make a dyke of sponge,
a castle on quicksand, a pillar of jelly. It were as wise as to build a
Society on Self. That is a cement of gunpowder which dries in time and,
gathering force, shatters a continent. In all your heart-breaking history
but one order has been founded upon Love. It has been growing slowly
since the first Christmas. Tell this to your politicians, your false
judges, to the fringe of corruption at the base of the Law, and to all
others panting and raging round the Golden Grab-bag.
HORACE. Oh, I see how it is. You have been reading our newspapers. They
blackguard everything, themselves included. But now, Marsy, you must
allow there has been a tremendous plunge ahead in the last hundred years.
MESSENGER. None! A great hubbub of Invention has been made, but what of
Otherdom? A terrific rush to the standard of Mammon. “Arm! arm!” is the
cry, “for the great Battle of Buy and Sell.” Invention echoes, “here
are swords for all and any—good or bad, right or wrong, no question.”
False foods, false drinks, false houses, false public service. Invent!
Invent! Railways for War to travel on, the grand science of Butchery,
no question! Telegraphs to swindle by, Advertisements of any fraud, no
question! And still your vaunted Progress bellows, “More Swords! More
Swords!”
HORACE. Sir, you are a pessimist.
(_Loud cries and shouts heard off L._)
MESSENGER. What is that?
HORACE. Accident, I suppose. Yes, man run over. Silly fool to get in the
way.
MESSENGER. Can’t you help?
HORACE. Oh, no, there’s a crowd around him already. It’s all right.
They’ll take him to the hospital.
MESSENGER. Surely you might give some assistance.
HORACE. No. I should only be in the way. The police will attend to it.
It’s their business. Oh, confound it! They are bringing him this way.
(_Enter crowd of people, men and women, carrying a wounded man. Murmurs
of pity and sympathy from all._)
OMNES. Poor feller! Lord help ’im! Why can’t they look where they’re a
driving to?
WOUNDED MAN. Put me down, put me down, Mates! I can’t stand it!
FIRST MAN. Lend a coat, somebody! We can’t put him down in the snow.
MESSENGER. Lend yours.
HORACE. Oh, no, I can’t! This coat cost fifty pounds!
MESSENGER. Take it off!
(_HORACE about to obey, reluctantly._)
SECOND MAN. Here’s mine, and welcome.
(_Wounded man is lowered on to coat on ground._)
WOUNDED MAN. Where’s Polly?
POLLY. Here I am, Jim!
WOUNDED MAN. Oh, Polly, what will become of you and the children?
POLLY. Never you mind about us, Jim. You’re the one to worry about. Is a
doctor coming?
FIRST MAN. He’s coming.
MESSENGER. Here is your opportunity. You can help them.
HORACE. I assure you I wouldn’t be justified. This sort of thing is all
properly provided for. It’s all right.
FIRST MAN. Here’s the doctor. It’s Dr. Chapman.
(_Enter DR. CHAPMAN L._)
SECOND MAN. It was the driver’s fault. I see it all, just how it
’appened. He wasn’t looking where he was a-goin’.
DR. CHAPMAN. Poor fellow! I can do nothing for him. It is a hospital
case. You must find a shutter.
FIRST MAN. The police called for an ambulance.
HORACE. Splendid force the police.
DR. CHAPMAN. I’ll ease your pain a bit so they can lift you.
WOUNDED MAN. Oh, Polly, you’ll have a bad time with the kiddies till I’m
about again.
POLLY. Don’t you take on, Jim. We’ll pull through somehow, though I don’t
know how. (_Cries._)
MESSENGER. Help her.
HORACE. I can’t. I have only notes.
MESSENGER. Give them to her.
HORACE. I’ve nothing less than a tenner.
MESSENGER. Give all that you have.
HORACE. All that I have? Absurd! I can’t! I won’t!
MESSENGER. How much have you?
(_HORACE counts his money._)
HORACE. Fifty, twenty and ten.
MESSENGER. Give them to her.
HORACE. I don’t mind giving her the tenner.
MESSENGER. Give them all. She will need them.
HORACE. Suppose I give her the fifty?
MESSENGER. Give them all.
HORACE. All? Mayn’t I keep the tenner? Just the tenner in case you get
thirsty.
MESSENGER. You stone! Give all, or lie mangled beside him!
HORACE. Don’t! Don’t do it! I will! I will! (_To POLLY_) Here, young
woman, is a trifle, a mere trifle to help you. (_Gives all the notes,
savagely thrusting them into her hands, and turns away._)
POLLY. (_Dazed at the sight of the notes_) Sir, you are good to us. Oh,
thank you, sir! Jim, the gentleman has given us three pound notes—— Oh,
no, it isn’t! It says ten pounds—— Good lummie, this says on it twenty
pounds, and this fifty pounds, and he calls it a trifle!
SECOND MAN. Why, that’s eighty quid! Why wasn’t I run over?
POLLY. God bless you, sir! He’ll reward you!
HORACE. Oh, don’t thank me.
SECOND MAN. There’s some good in these stuck-up swells, after all. Three
cheers for the gentleman!
DR. CHAPMAN. Ah, here is the ambulance!
(_Enter L. ambulance, doctor and policeman. They put wounded man on
a stretcher and carry him off L. Cheering back at HORACE, the crowd
follows._)
DR. CHAPMAN. Let me shake you by the hand, sir. You’ve done a noble
action. Thank God we have such men as you in England still! Good night,
sir, good night! You’re a brick! (_Exit._)
HORACE. Brick? It was a stone just now. It’s all the same.
MESSENGER. That was the fairest sight I have seen. Otherdom was thriving
for a space. But those, I notice, were of your poor.
HORACE. Well, I’d like to know how long this Otherdom lesson is to go
on. You’re simply robbing me of all I have. Eighty and one, and five
shillings for the policeman—eighty-one pounds five shillings since I came
out with you. It’s the most expensive evening I have ever had in my life.
I have just one penny left, one solitary penny. I expect you will have
that before long.
MESSENGER. Oh, frozen nature, will nothing melt you? Is there no
Summer of Love to this Winter of Self? I must be brief with you or
my mission fails. Your air, your gravitation, this pitiful, pitiless
spectacle—(_HORACE himself_)—all distress me. A woman’s cry, contempt of
friends, a fellow creature’s mortal agony all fail to stir you. Then you
shall learn pity as the poor learn it—by needing it.
HORACE. What now? I should have thought you had caused enough
unpleasantness for one evening.
(_NEWSBOY heard off L. calling “Special!” Enter NEWSBOY L._)
NEWSBOY. Special! Extra special! Panic in the city! Great bank failure!
Special, sir?
HORACE. Yes. I’ll have one. (_Buys a paper._)
(_Door of house opens, and DICEY looks out and calls._)
DICEY. Hi, paper! (_Buys a paper._)
NEWSBOY. Extra, extra, sir? (_DICEY exits, and NEWSBOY, R., calling as he
goes._) Extra! Panic in the city! Great bank failure! (_Exit._)
HORACE. Thank goodness I had that penny left! That’s the only money I
have spent to-night for which I have received any value. I suppose this
is a swindle; they generally are. Here it is, anyway. (_In consternation
as he reads._) What? What is this? The United Bank closed! My bank broke!
I shall be ruined! The shares are only half paid up. The calls will
utterly swamp me! Do you hear, I am ruined!
MESSENGER. Never mind, there are thousands of people who are not.
HORACE. You scoundrel! I suspect this is your doing! It is awful! Awful!
MESSENGER. You can pity yourself. When anybody else was in trouble, it
didn’t matter, did it? But for your own misfortunes you have quite a
tender heart. Doubtless your many admiring friends will assist you.
HORACE. They will be terribly distressed, I know.
MESSENGER. Let us observe their distress.
(_Lights up in house and DICEY and MRS. CLARENCE discovered together
reading the paper._)
DICEY. I know Parker is a very large shareholder, if not the largest.
He’ll be hit hard. Probably ruined.
MRS. CLARENCE. Ruined, is he? Ah, ha! quite a new experience for him.
HORACE. What a horrible woman! She’s simply amused.
MRS. CLARENCE. I hope it won’t affect Miss Parker or Minnie.
DICEY. Here they come. How best can I break it to them? I must learn
whether they are caught, too.
(_Enter AUNT MARTHA and MINNIE._)
AUNT. I hear something dreadful has happened in the city. Does the paper
say?
DICEY. Have you or Minnie anything in the United Kingdom Bank?
AUNT. We had, but were advised to take it out, and did so. Why?
DICEY. (_Showing paper_) It has gone smash.
AUNT. No! Oh, what luck for us, eh, Minnie!
MRS. CLARENCE. And Mr. Parker?
AUNT. Oh, he pooh-poohed our friend. Horace knew it all. He is so
pig-headed! I shouldn’t wonder if he was about cleared out.
MRS. CLARENCE. I can’t say I am very sorry. He has led a most selfish
life, as everybody knows. He has his desert.
MESSENGER. You are meeting with a lot of sympathy.
HORACE. It is just what I told you. It’s the other people who are
selfish, not I. Why don’t you take Mrs. Clarence in hand? She’s a beauty,
if you like.
MESSENGER. Compared to you, she is an angel.
MINNIE. Poor Horace, I am sorry for him! What will he do?
HORACE. There’s Minnie! She’s true—she’s true, after all!
AUNT. What will he do? Well, I suppose he will have to work, like anyone
else.
MINNIE. But he can’t, poor boy, he doesn’t know anything.
HORACE. Doesn’t know anything? What does she mean?
MRS. CLARENCE. There are plenty of fools who manage to earn their own
living. A little adversity will be the making of him. It’s a terrible
blow, all the same, and you are brave to face it as you are doing.
HORACE. Damn it! it’s my trouble she is facing, not hers. Brave?
MINNIE. You’ll find something for Horace, won’t you, dear?
DICEY. Well, I don’t know. Mr. Horace Parker has not made himself
particularly pleasant to me.
HORACE. A good job, too.
MINNIE. Oh, Arthur, for my sake! Please!
DICEY. That’s enough. Your slightest wish is law to me. I’ll get him a
berth with some friends of mine in the city. They’ll take him on as clerk
to oblige me—but he’ll have to learn typewriting.
HORACE. No! I’m damned if I do!
(_Lights out in interior._)
HORACE. You’d do credit to the Spanish Inquisition! Haven’t you done with
me?
MESSENGER. It is only your pride that is hurt. Your heart is still as
hard as ever.
HORACE. Well, I am not beaten yet, if that is what you mean. I may be
ruined financially, but I’ve got pages and pages of notes at home which I
have taken during the last twelve months.
MESSENGER. About what?
HORACE. About the planets. And Mars in particular. And with the
information you have been kind enough to give me to-night, I’ll write a
book that will fairly make them sit up. Of course, nobody will believe
it. But they will buy the book. I’ll sell my house and publish it myself.
You can’t down an Englishman in one round, Marsy, my lad!
(_Fire engine heard passing along off L._)
MESSENGER. What’s that?
HORACE. Fire somewhere.
MESSENGER. Fire? Perhaps you could be of help there.
HORACE. How absurd you are! The firemen will attend to it. That’s what
they are paid for. You can’t expect me to bother about it. It is not my
business.
MESSENGER. In Mars we do not mind our own business.
HORACE. I can quite believe it.
(_Another fire engine._)
MESSENGER. It must be something serious. There’s another engine, is it
not? Won’t you go?
HORACE. We shall see all about it in the papers to-morrow. I tell you I
should only be in the way. Now, please may I go home?
MESSENGER. Not yet.
(_Lights up within the house, and discovered are MRS. CLARENCE and SIR
EDWARD VIVIAN._)
MESSENGER. Who is that with your friend Mrs. Clarence?
HORACE. He at the dance? Why, that is Sir Edward Vivian, the great
astronomer.
MESSENGER. You know him?
HORACE. I know of him, and he knows me. He has a very high opinion of
me. He told a friend of mine last year that I was the coming man.
MESSENGER. Most interesting. Listen!
SIR EDWARD. Parker? Horace Parker? Oh, yes, a very wealthy man, I think.
MRS. CLARENCE. He was, but I hear he has lost everything in this bank
smash.
SIR EDWARD. Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it. He was a useful
subscriber. Very sad! Dear, dear!
HORACE. That is a tribute from him.
MRS. CLARENCE. I suppose he will be able to turn his scientific abilities
to use and make a living that way?
SIR EDWARD. I’m afraid not.
MRS. CLARENCE. Why not?
SIR EDWARD. Because he hasn’t any scientific abilities.
HORACE. Has none?
MRS. CLARENCE. You surprise me. I understood that——
SIR EDWARD. My dear Madame, his science is all fudge. Very praiseworthy
in a wealthy man, of course. That sort of thing has to be encouraged
among the rich. We need funds always. But as to any practical value—why,
the thing is absurd to a degree.
MRS. CLARENCE. And all the time he has been posing before us poor
innocents as a veritable leader of thought.
SIR EDWARD. I may give you one instance. He has some fantastical ideas
about life on the planet Mars. Now, all scientific men of any standing
are quite agreed on this point. There is no such thing as life on the
planet Mars.
HORACE. We know better than that, don’t we, Marsy?
MESSENGER. And this is your science!
HORACE. No. It’s not mine. It is his.
(_Lights out in interior. Enter BELLA L. hastily. She rings bell at front
door._)
MESSENGER. Who comes now? Your servant, is it not?
HORACE. Bella! What can she want? Has she missed me?
(_Footman opens front door._)
BELLA. Is Mr. Parker here, please? (_Footman shakes his head._) Or Miss
Parker, then? Quick, please! The house is on fire. (_Footman admits her
and the door is closed._)
HORACE. The house on fire? My house on fire?
MESSENGER. Be calm. The firemen will attend to it. You’ll see all about
it in the papers to-morrow.
HORACE. My house is on fire! Let me go! (_He starts to go, but is
hypnotically held back._)
MESSENGER. Stay where you are. You would only be in the way. It is
insured, of course.
HORACE. Curse you, no! All my papers will be destroyed. I’m done! I’m
beaten! It’s your doing! Well, kill me at once! It would be a kindness!
(_Sobs, thoroughly crushed._)
MESSENGER. Poor child of the times, crying over your alphabet.
HORACE. What will become of me? What will I do?
MESSENGER. Where are your divisions of labor now? Yours will be to tramp
the streets. Stand forth, poor shivering wretch! You are _a beggar in
rags_!
(_HORACE’S coat, scarf and hat are torn from him, and he appears as a
ragged loafer._)
HORACE. (_Looking down at himself in despair_) I am! I am!
MESSENGER. And hungry.
HORACE. Ravenous!
(_HORACE leans back against the railings of the house, a most forlorn
object. After a pause, enter slowly from R. the TRAMP. TRAMP spies HORACE
and sidles up to him, and takes up a similar pose by his side. Nothing
said for a little, but they examine each other._)
TRAMP. Know anything?
HORACE. Nothing. I’m hungry. Are you?
(_TRAMP brings out a biscuit from his pocket._)
TRAMP. Here’s a biscuit I’ve got left. It was given to me by a swell
to-night. A real tip-topper. That sort of chap don’t know what hunger is.
HORACE. (_Eating ravenously_) Doesn’t he?
TRAMP. Don’t know a place to doss in, do you?
HORACE. No.
TRAMP. Tough, ain’t it?
HORACE. Very.
TRAMP. Know where you can get a job in the morning?
HORACE. Wish I did.
TRAMP. There’s a lot of snow to shovel.
HORACE. Lots.
TRAMP. But we ain’t got no shovels.
HORACE. Worse luck!
TRAMP. What are you?
HORACE. Nothing. Just a tramp.
TRAMP. Same as me. Seen better days?
HORACE. Yes.
TRAMP. Same as me again. Well, I like the looks of you. You seem a good
sort, anyhow.
HORACE. Do I? You are the first to say so to-night. I’ve heard nothing
but the contrary opinion of late.
TRAMP. Got a wife that nags, maybe?
HORACE. Not exactly a wife. I’ve got no wife.
TRAMP. Same as me again. I had a wife once, though. But she’s dead and
gone. I had a little daughter, but I don’t know what become of her.
What’s on here? A party?
HORACE. Yes.
(_Footman opens door and AUNT and BELLA come out, followed by DICEY and
MINNIE._)
TRAMP. Going away. Come on, let’s call a cab.
HORACE. No good, they’ve got their own car.
AUNT. Oh, how thick the snow is.
DICEY. Don’t slip, Minnie.
TRAMP. Minnie! Look! There’s my Minnie! My darling little Minnie!
HORACE. Where?
TRAMP. There in the doorway, with that swell! It’s my Minnie! I’ll swear
to it! The living image of her mother! I’m going to speak to her.
HORACE. (_Holding him back_) No, no, man. Think how you will disgrace her.
TRAMP. Disgrace her? Why, she will be proud of her father.
HORACE. See, she has someone to care for her. Why break in upon her life?
You have forfeited your claim.
TRAMP. Not much I haven’t. She could give me a fine lift up, and then I’d
help you.
HORACE. Not if I die in the gutter! It may be your right. But don’t drag
her down to your level and mine. Stop him, Marsy! You can.
MESSENGER. (_Waves his hand to TRAMP, who seems to give up his purpose._)
A thought for another. The fire is catching.
TRAMP. Well, you’re a rum ’un! No wonder you are down on your luck. A man
must think of himself in this world a little bit. But you’re a good sort.
I won’t speak to the girl, though she is my daughter. See here now, I’ve
got an idea.
HORACE. I know you have. Lots of them.
TRAMP. How did you know that?
HORACE. I guessed it. (_Aside_) I hope he won’t recognize me.
TRAMP. The people will be going home presently. Let’s get to work and
clear the snow for them to get to their cars. We might pick up a bit that
way.
HORACE. Capital, but we have no shovels.
TRAMP. Can’t get shovels. Look around and see if you can’t find a bit of
board to scrape with.
HORACE. A bit of board to scrape with! I recognize the inventor.
TRAMP. Here, what’s the matter with that barrel?
HORACE. Lor’, I should never have thought of that.
TRAMP. Look out for the Bobby!
(_TRAMP kicks barrel apart and tears out a couple of staves._)
TRAMP. You start on the steps.
(_They clear a path from door to off L._)
HORACE. (_As they work_) I wonder how much we shall make?
TRAMP. Sixpence or two if we’re in luck. Halves, partner?
HORACE. Halves, if you say so. Halves, partner.
TRAMP. Seems to me I’ve met you somewhere.
HORACE. Thunder, he recognizes me! (_Aside._)
TRAMP. Didn’t I see you last August down Margate way with a piano-organ
and a monkey?
HORACE. (_Quite boldly_) Very likely.
TRAMP. I thought I’d met you before. Ah, you have come down a bit since
then. About ready for them.
(_FOOTMAN at door and LADY and FIRST GENTLEMAN come out._)
TRAMP. (_Most cheerily_) Cleared the snow for you, Lady. Made a nice
path, Sir. (_Touching his hat._)
HORACE. (_Faintly imitating and touching his hat_) Cleared the snow for
you, Lady. Made a nice path, Sir.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sorry I haven’t got any coppers. Do take an answer.
TRAMP. Shall I call a cab, sir?
HORACE. Shall I call a cab, sir?
FIRST GENTLEMAN. No, no! (_Exit with lady L._)
TRAMP. That was a frost. Here’s some more.
(_Two gentlemen and a lady come out._)
TRAMP. Beg pardon, sir. Look what we’ve done. Ain’t it nice and handy for
the lady? (_Less cheerily._)
HORACE. (_Rather more forcibly_) See what we’ve done. Ain’t it nice and
handy for the lady?
SECOND GENTLEMAN. All muffled up or I would— (_Exit with others of the
party._)
HORACE. I’ve said the same thing myself a dozen times.
TRAMP. Ain’t making our fortunes, are we, partner?
HORACE. The stingy brutes! Never mind, we’ll try again.
(_SIR EDWARD VIVIAN and two ladies come out._)
TRAMP. We cleared the snow away for you, sir. Can’t you spare us a
trifle, sir?
SIR EDWARD. Nonsense! The servants of the house cleared it.
TRAMP. No, sir, we done it, sir. Me and my partner.
SIR EDWARD. You couple of impostors! Why, where are your shovels?
HORACE. (_Firing up_) We cleared it, and if you don’t like it you can
bally well walk in the snow! (_Shoulders SIR EDWARD off the path into the
snow._)
SIR EDWARD. You impudent loafer! Hi, Policeman! (_Enter POLICEMAN L._)
This ruffian assaulted me.
POLICEMAN. Come out of that, you two! I know you! You’re old hands! Be
off, both of you!
(_TRAMP drags HORACE away._)
POLICEMAN. Cab, sir? (_Very sweetly._)
SIR EDWARD. Thank you, Policeman. (_Gives money._)
(_Exeunt SIR EDWARD, ladies and POLICEMAN L._)
MESSENGER. Fine force, the police!
HORACE. I was nearly starting a labor riot. Well, that’s what is at the
bottom of most of them.
TRAMP. (_Thoroughly broken_) My ideas don’t seem to come to anything any
more. I’m a failure, and a bad ’un. I’ve been feeling bad all day, and
this has about done for me. (_Falls down._)
(_HORACE goes to him and kneels down to him, trying to rouse him up._)
HORACE. Don’t talk like that! It is a splendid idea, and there are plenty
more to come out.
TRAMP. I only wants burying, Partner, and they’ll have to do that. Damn
’em!
HORACE. You must pull yourself together. Marsy, won’t you help him?
MESSENGER. You can’t make me responsible for that dirty beggar’s
condition.
HORACE. Ah, don’t mock me! I’m beaten! I give in.
MESSENGER. If you had your money again, you’d just go your old way, and
leave him to die.
HORACE. That’s gone, and I wouldn’t have it back at that price. Only help
him now.
MESSENGER. Try at the house.
HORACE. They know me there.
MESSENGER. What of that?
HORACE. I wouldn’t like Mrs. Clarence to see me in this condition.
MESSENGER. Your friend is dying.
(_HORACE pulls himself together and knocks loudly at the door. FOOTMAN
opens door._)
HORACE. There’s a poor fellow dying of cold and hunger. Ask Mrs. Clarence
if she will——
(_MRS. CLARENCE appears behind FOOTMAN._)
MRS. CLARENCE. What is it, John?
HORACE. There’s a poor fellow outside dying of cold.
MRS. CLARENCE. This is not a hospital. John, shut the door.
HORACE. (_Holding the door open_) Mrs. Clarence, you must not refuse this
service.
MRS. CLARENCE. And pray, who are you?
HORACE. Horace Parker, a ruined man as you know—a tramp as you see.
MRS. CLARENCE. John, do you hear me?
HORACE. Mrs. Clarence—may he lie on the mat where your dog sleeps?
MRS. CLARENCE. John—— (_Retires, and door is shut in HORACE’S face._)
HORACE. You hear? What shall I do for him, Marsy?
MESSENGER. Well done, my pupil!
TRAMP. You’re a good ’un. I said it all along.
MESSENGER. Feel in your pocket.
HORACE. My pocket? What for? What’s this? A note! A pound note! Halves,
Partner! Halves! (_HORACE bending over TRAMP, succoring him._)
CURTAIN
ACT III
_Scene same as at end of ACT I._
_At rise of curtain there should be shown on a transparency
set, well down stage, a picture of the end of the last act,
the snow scene and HORACE bending over the TRAMP and THE
MESSENGER soaring homewards. At the same time HORACE himself
is seen sleeping in his chair, breathing heavily. With the
first clanging of the fire-engine bell and HORACE waking up,
the lights increase at back and the dream scene fades away.
The lamp is now seen to be lighted again, the fire burning
brightly, and an “Extra” evening paper lying on table, close
to HORACE. After sufficient pause after curtain is up, a fire
engine is heard rumbling past from R. to L. outside, and this
disturbs HORACE, who begins to wake, as the transparency
picture fades away._
HORACE. (_Looks about him, bewildered, then at his clothes. Gives a short
laugh and grunt, and leans back, smiling, with closed eyes._) What a
nightmare!
(N.B. _If the statue of the Messenger is not used in performing
the play, the following will be the correct speech, but if the
figure is now on the lamp-stand, reference may be made and
addressed to him in the second person._)
HORACE. Marsy, old boy, you have a lot to answer for! Fancy my dreaming I
was hungry! Comes of eating a heavy dinner. (_With a sudden thought._)
By Jove! (_Searches his pockets for his money. Finds it with a sigh of
relief. Counts his notes carefully._) Ten, twenty, fifty, and one. All
there. (_Pulls out some silver from his trousers pocket._) Even the
silver. Very careless, very careless of me. I can hardly be trusted out
at night with so much. I might in a weak moment hand it over to some
hospital amid the admiring cheers of the populace. I must watch myself.
(_Loud clang of fire-engine bell as it passes from R. to L. startles him,
and involuntarily he shouts out._)
HORACE. Fire! (_Then he checks himself._) Hope nobody heard me. My
nerves are all on edge. I wish old Marsy would tell me whether that
inventive vagabond got over his troubles or peacefully expired in the
snow. Poor devil! I almost wish I could meet him again. We call such
fellows riff-raff, rabble, but, if the truth were told, might not some of
us be found to be the real loafers in the snug corners of Easy Street,
of little good to anyone, cumbering up the way till that old patrolman,
Death, steps up and bids us “Move on”?
(_Enter BELLA abruptly and alarmed, R._)
BELLA. Oh, sir, did you call?
HORACE. Call? (_Innocently._) Call what?
BELLA. Fire, sir. Fire.
HORACE. Fire is all right. Burning nicely.
BELLA. Yes, sir. Perhaps it was the fire engine going by.
HORACE. Very likely. Very likely. Did one go by?
BELLA. Yes, sir—and I was half dozing, and——
HORACE. You must have been dreaming, Bella. That’s very wrong. You
shouldn’t. It’s a bad habit to get into. However, as you are sleepy you
needn’t wait up. I shan’t sleep again. I mean I don’t think I shall feel
like going to sleep at all.
BELLA. (_Aside_) As if I didn’t see him asleep. I think I would like to
go to bed, sir, if you think Miss Minnie won’t want anything. They can’t
be long now, sir.
HORACE. No. You go to bed. By the way, did you fill the lamp?
BELLA. Yes, sir, and made up the fire, and brought you in your “Extra.”
HORACE. Extra? (_Almost reeling with nervousness._)
BELLA. Yes, sir, I put it on the table. Oh, sir, are you ill?
HORACE. Ill? No. What an idea!
BELLA. You were so—so busy, sir, when I came in with the oil, I didn’t
like to wa—— to disturb you, sir. Good night, sir.
HORACE. Good night, Bella. (_She exits R._) Then there was an Extra in
reality. That was not all dream. There it is. What made me dream of the
bank smash if nothing had been said about it? I dreamt of Mars. I had
been reading of Mars. At this moment, great heavens, I may be, in very
fact, a ruined man! (_Seizes paper with trembling hands and finds the
place. Reads._) Not a word! (_Wipes his forehead._) Not a word, but
_there might have been_! And why should this house not be burning as well
as the one that is? What would I do? Cut my throat! An arrant coward’s
refuge, after all. Ah, from the beggar’s point of view, wealth seemed so
flinty hearted, while charity was natural and easy to the poor. (_Fire
engine._) Evidently no false alarm this time. Somebody sick with anxiety
and dread to-night. Heaven help them, whoever they are! What a rap Marsy
would give me for that speech. He’d say, “Help them yourself. Don’t
overtax Heaven.” Pshaw, I’d only be in the way. We have an excellent
fire department. Best in the world. And there are so many need helping.
How many lines of this paper tell of suffering, and how much may we read
between the lines! (_Skims over paper._) “Wanted, plain sewing, to do at
home.” “Young man wants work. Will do anything honest.” Honest? He is
particular for these days. And I swore to Marsy that I wouldn’t take back
my money except to share it with others. He might have made favorable
terms with me just then. (_Sees ring on table._) Minnie’s ring. My trying
to bully her. It was the act of a cur! I’ll tell her so. I’ll—(_Fire
engine passes._) Another! It must be serious. (_Looks through curtains
of window C._) What a sheet of flame! It must be in the next street.
It may reach here. (_Looks intently._) No, the wind’s the other way.
(_Relieved._) That tenement house, I’ll be bound! Poor people, what will
they do this bitter night if they are burnt out? I don’t know what I
could do if I really wanted to. I think I’ll put on my coat and hat and
go and see. Don’t suppose I’ll do much harm looking on. (_Fire-engine
bell again. He looks out again._) Ladder escape. (_Dresses a little
quicker now._) I might take an extra coat for some one. (_Goes to closet
containing several overcoats and takes one. Hesitates and then puts
another over his arm. Is going R. when another engine passes._) I can’t
stand it! (_Snatches the last overcoat. Leaves the closet door open and
rushes out with coats over his arm R._)
(_Considerable pause, when front door bell rings. Pause, and then knock
heard. Further pause, and knock and bell heard. Voices heard. After
further pause, vigorous knocking and ringing heard, and voices in
expostulation. Knocking and ringing suddenly stop as door is opened,
and then enter AUNT, followed by MINNIE and DICEY, and last by BELLA, in
hastily thrown on gown. They gather round the fire._)
AUNT. Really, Bella, I don’t understand you! We have been fully ten
minutes battering at that door, and getting our deaths. I declare my
teeth are chattering.
MINNIE. So is your tongue, Auntie.
AUNT. Don’t be disrespectful to your elders.
MINNIE. Sorry, Auntie. Only a joke.
AUNT. And quite without a point.
MINNIE. (_Aside_) It seemed to prick, though.
BELLA. If you please, Madam, Mr. Parker told me to go to bed.
AUNT. Very considerate of him as regards you.
MINNIE. Perhaps he meant to lock us out for our sins. It does look like
it.
AUNT. Mr. Dicey, you must wait awhile till you get warmed up.
DICEY. It is very late, and I must not intrude. You are safe home now.
AUNT. I am sure we poor deserted females have much to be grateful for to
you. You see how the master of the house treats us. Have you any idea
where Mr. Parker is?
BELLA. No, Madam. He said he was going to sit up for you, and that is why
I went to bed. I dressed as quick as I could, Madam.
MINNIE. Oh, it is not your fault, Bella.
AUNT. I’ll warrant he has gone to bed. Just like his utter want of
thought for anybody. I hope he is sound asleep. He shall explain and
apologize. This is going a little too far. Locking us out. Excuse me a
moment. (_BELLA and AUNT exeunt R._)
MINNIE. Have a little something till Auntie comes back. Horace ought to
be here to thank you for doing his duty.
DICEY. I’m afraid I’m keeping you up.
MINNIE. I am too much awake now. I shan’t sleep till daylight. Oh, here
are some cigars. Have some?
DICEY. Some? If you are sure I am not trespassing upon your good nature,
I’ll start one here and finish it on my way home. (_MINNIE strikes a
light._) Oh, you are too good.
MINNIE. We must do something by way of return.
DICEY. Just order the car as if it were your own. I wish it was. It
couldn’t have a fairer owner.
MINNIE. I was going to pour you out a glass—but I’m a little afraid——
DICEY. All the wines of Bacchus would be less intoxicating than my last
waltz with you.
MINNIE. Then we must certainly swear off dancing!
DICEY. I’d as soon swear off living.
MINNIE. Do you only live to dance?
DICEY. I think I only live to dance with you.
MINNIE. Mr. Dicey!
DICEY. Minnie!
MINNIE. I wonder what has become of Horace?
DICEY. (_As she turns away on pretence of turning the lamp up, aside_)
Always Horace. Heigho! I must really be going, and thank you so much for
all the pleasure—and pain you have given me. (_Re-enter AUNT R._)
AUNT. He is not in his room. I hammered on his door till my arm ached,
and then thinking he was keeping up his joke, I lit a match and marched
in. His bed wasn’t crumpled, even. Must you go?
DICEY. I must, indeed; the richer by a cigar, however—(_Shakes hands with
AUNT and turns to MINNIE_)—the poorer by a heart! Good night.
AUNT. I’ll see you out myself. (_Exit with DICEY R._)
MINNIE. I like him, but I don’t love him. How strange it is. He
would do anything for me, while—well—I don’t suppose _he_—(_Meaning
HORACE_)—would, unless a mountain fell at his feet to start him into
action. (_Enter AUNT._)
AUNT. A very nice young man, but hardly correct of him to come in at such
an hour.
MINNIE. Oh, Auntie, we made him. But where can Horace be, then? His coat
has gone. (_Pointing to chair below fireplace where it had been. AUNT
notices closet open and empty._)
AUNT. Oh! There have been burglars here! Coats all taken. He has pursued
them.
MINNIE. He couldn’t wear all his coats at once.
(_Sounds of voices at front door heard, growing louder and louder._)
AUNT. They are returning for more plunder.
(_Enter R. a crowd of poor people, preceded by a burly working man, half
dressed, carrying a child. He advances well to C., the ladies retreating
in alarm before him, slightly screaming. He stops short._)
WORKING MAN. Gent told us to come in, ladies. We’re all burnt out by the
fire.
MINNIE. He has been to the fire!
AUNT. Gather round the fire. Bring the children to the front. This is
terrible! Poor little ones!
(_The crowd consists of the following: First the man described, whose
face is partly blackened by smoke, his child wrapped in a bit of
blanket; then a woman wearing HORACE’S fur coat over her night dress,
and carrying a baby. An old couple, woman wearing a gray overcoat of
HORACE’S; a girl wearing HORACE’S mackintosh over nightclothes; she
leads a boy in knee pants, no stockings, and one shoe on; a little girl
carrying a baby. She tries to get to fire, but is blocked off by others,
so dives under the table with her charge. Others, men and women, may be
added, one wearing another of HORACE’S overcoats. Then comes in HORACE
and the TRAMP, carrying an unconscious youth whom they place on the sofa
C. BELLA also comes in, looking rather bewildered._)
HORACE. Ah, that’s right, Bella, stir up the fire. Then call all the
servants and start fires in all the bedrooms. We must find places for
these unfortunate people. Has the doctor come yet? I am awfully afraid
this lad is beyond his aid.
AUNT. What is the matter with him, Horace?
HORACE. Half an arm burnt away.
MINNIE. These tiny tots! Would a little wine help them or you?
FIRST WORKING WOMAN. You set us hoping, Miss, so you do. We ought to be
thankful for our lives and our babies. Some didn’t get out. I don’t know
how many.
MINNIE. (_Giving wine_) Try and not worry. We’ll do what we can.
HORACE. Yes, cheer up, folk! We’ll see you on your feet again.
FIRST WORKING MAN. Thank you, Mister. That’s a kind word, no mistake.
HORACE. No doctor yet? I’ll go myself. Where is our doctor? (_He lifts
his fur cap off a child’s head and gets his scarf from another._)
MINNIE. Dr. Chapman is only a few doors down on the right. You’ll know
the house by the red light. (_HORACE is going R. A knock on front door
heard._) Perhaps that is the doctor.
(_HORACE goes out and brings DR. CHAPMAN in R._)
HORACE. This is the worst case, Doctor.
(_DR. CHAPMAN goes to lad on sofa. Enter BELLA R._)
BELLA. Some of the rooms are ready, sir.
HORACE. Will you dispose them, Auntie? (_Apart to her_) I ought to
apologize to you for bringing in all this crowd without asking you, but
you see what a deplorable——
AUNT. (_Patting his shoulder_) Nephew, I am proud of you!
HORACE. Funny! I thought she’d kick.
AUNT. Let this old couple come first, and the children, and you. (_AUNT
MARTHA shepherds about half the crowd off R. and exits._)
TRAMP. (_To HORACE_) Boy is in a bad way, Guv’ner, but Doctor thinks he
can pull him through.
MINNIE. You brought him in. I thought he was your son.
TRAMP. No, Miss, I ain’t got no son, only a daughter.
MINNIE. Has he no friends?
TRAMP. His mother was burnt up, Miss, to-night. (_MINNIE nearly faints,
and HORACE catches her. She gently removes herself from his arms._)
Excuse me, Miss, I was too blunt with it.
HORACE. There, Minnie, don’t give way. They will need your help.
BELLA. (_Enter R._) The other rooms are ready, sir.
MINNIE. Can you walk now better? Don’t cry, we will get you some clothes
in the morning.
SECOND WORKING WOMAN. God bless your kind heart, Miss, and you, sir. We’d
have died if you hadn’t come.
(_MINNIE shows them off with BELLA R., and exits with crowd._)
HORACE. What is to be done, Doctor?
DR. CHAPMAN. Well, if you wish to turn your house into a hospital, all
right. To save his life, he must be put to bed at once, and kept there.
(_Enter AUNT MARTHA R. Sees lad on sofa._)
AUNT. Oh, how could I? I have forgotten the principal sufferer, and there
is not another room left.
HORACE. Have you used mine?
AUNT. Horace!
HORACE. Let him have that. May it save him is all I say! Now how to move
him.
DR. CHAPMAN. Carry him as he is, sofa and all. That will save a good deal
of strain.
(_DR. CHAPMAN, HORACE and TRAMP carry out boy on sofa R. MINNIE enters as
they exeunt._)
MINNIE. Where can they be going to put that poor boy?
AUNT. Horace insists upon giving up his bed and room to him.
MINNIE. (_Astounded_) No!
AUNT. (_Sharing her wonderment_) Yes. (_They look at each other for a
moment in silence._)
MINNIE. Well, I can believe it after what he has been doing at the fire.
AUNT. Do you know, Minnie, I hardly think you should call a man, with a
mind rather above social small talk, selfish, because he doesn’t care to
go to your balls with you.
MINNIE. It was you who said he was selfish. I was willing to give up the
dance.
AUNT. I don’t dance. You have misjudged him. He is the soul of
generosity. Do you know, he actually began excusing himself to me for
bringing the poor people in out of the cold.
MINNIE. Fancy those babies sleeping through it all! Weren’t they sweet?
(_Enter TRAMP and HORACE R._)
AUNT. And you, my poor fellow! I must find a corner for you somewhere.
You have no home now, I suppose.
TRAMP. No, ma’m. I’ve done without a home for several moons. So I’m used
to it, but it’s tough on those who get it sudden.
HORACE. I’m interested in this man. I showed him scant courtesy this
evening, and felt sorry for him afterwards. We met again at the fire. He
is an inventor, moreover.
TRAMP. Ah, Guv’ner, if they had only had my fire-escape there would have
been no killed.
HORACE. Have you an idea for a fire-escape? By Jove, we’ll patent it!
Meanwhile——
TRAMP. Will you give me the job of cleaning the snow from your front
walks?
HORACE. Yes, and I will pay you in advance.
TRAMP. Needn’t do that, Guv.
AUNT. You will find a shovel in the coal shed, if not——
HORACE. A bit of board will do.
TRAMP. Shovel’s best, Guv’ner——
HORACE. I mean, of course—oh, yes, a shovel, by all means. The servants
are up, and if you don’t object to eating before retiring, for there’s no
hurry about the snow——
TRAMP. I doesn’t object.
AUNT. Will you show him the way to the kitchen, Minnie?
TRAMP. Minnie? Is that her name?
AUNT. Why, yes.
TRAMP. I’m looking for a daughter of that name.
HORACE. Who were Minnie’s parents, Aunt? Do you know? Can it be possible
that——
TRAMP. That this young lady is mine? Lor’, no, Guv’ner! My daughter would
only be about twelve years old.
HORACE. Why, you said she was the image of your——
TRAMP. Me? Never, Guv’ner. Never saw this lady before.
HORACE. Not you, no, I remember. It was someone else.
AUNT. Your mother knew both Minnie’s parents. Her father was a clergyman.
TRAMP. And I ain’t exactly.
MINNIE. I am sure you have a brave as well as a kind heart, for I have
heard from others what risks you took in carrying them out.
HORACE. Well, take a substantial supper—or breakfast, whichever it may
be called—and presently we’ll clear that snow off together. (_Exit TRAMP
with MINNIE R._)
AUNT. What do you mean by clearing the snow together?
HORACE. I fancy the exercise will stimulate thought.
AUNT. My dear Horace, I am truly ashamed of the abuse I heaped upon you
this evening. Do forgive me.
HORACE. Why, Aunt, I’m sure I had well earned it.
AUNT. What a noble reproof you have administered by this turning of your
house into a common lodging place, you who so dislike being disturbed,
and I thought abominated the lower class. I’m afraid I should have
hesitated long before I invited them in.
HORACE. Not if you had seen them as I did. Oh, Auntie, why have we so
little Otherdom?
AUNT. Other—what, dear?
HORACE. That is, philanthropy, benevolence, altruism.
AUNT. I am sure you have done your full share to-night.
HORACE. It can only be because we never realize how the poor live. In the
wise days of old, when men were nearer nature, fast days were instituted,
that the Fat might remember the Lean. Now our Fasts are feasts. I
wonder what a bonafide all-round forty-eight hour starve, once a year
even, would do for our rich friends. Make that a fad, Auntie. You’d
revolutionize the world.
AUNT. You are quite right, Horace. We do fall far short of our whole
duty. But where are you going to sleep? Will you go to a hotel?
HORACE. Perhaps, or in the chair. Don’t bother about me.
AUNT. Kiss me, Horace. Heaven bless you. You have made me very happy
to-night. (_Exit._)
HORACE. The sofa gone. I see nothing for it but to camp on the hearthrug
or in the chair. Don’t want that any more. (_Turns out lamp._) I wish
I could have made my peace with Minnie. But she hasn’t forgotten so
readily. She shrank away from me when I caught her. I must just hope for
the best. (_Settles down in chair._)
(_Enter MINNIE R._)
MINNIE. Light out—then I am too late. He has gone to some hotel. I wonder
how the fire is doing? (_Goes to window and pulls curtains away, when
the morning light falls upon her. HORACE, aroused, sees her._)
HORACE. I might be dreaming again. Ah, I can read it now! She is my
guide—my Marsy—my conscience! Minnie!!
MINNIE. (_Startled_) Horace?
HORACE. Forgive me, Minnie! I was a brute to you.
MINNIE. I wronged you, Horace. I know I did.
HORACE. Never! Never! It was your spirit that changed me, and my purpose
in life. Help me to continue.
MINNIE. What can I do?
HORACE. (_Picks up ring from table_) Let me put it back on its finger.
(_Sounds of scraping of shovel outside._)
MINNIE. (_Goes to window and looks out_) It is that poor inventor man
shoveling the snow.
HORACE. There is good in him, and we will bring it out.
MINNIE. And shall we help him to find his Minnie, now that you have found
yours?
HORACE. That we will, dearest. (_Puts on ring._) There it is again, my
love, my Minnie!
(_TRAMP comes into view through window shoveling the snow cheerily._)
CURTAIN
FRENCH’S
Standard Library Edition
Includes Plays by
Clyde Fitch
Booth Tarkington
William Gillette
J. Hartley Manners
Augustus Thomas
James Forbes
George Broadhurst
James Montgomery
Edward E. Kidder
Wm. C. de Mille
Percy Mac Kaye
Roi Cooper Megrue
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Edward E. Rose
Louis N. Parker
Israel Zangwill
R. C. Carton
Henry Bernstein
Alfred Sutro
Harold Brighouse
Richard Harding Davis
Channing Pollock
Sir Arthur W. Pinero
Harry Durant
Anthony Hope
Winchell Smith
Oscar Wilde
Margaret Mayo
Haddon Chambers
A. E. W. Mason
Jerome K. Jerome
Charles Klein
Cosmo Gordon Lennox
Henry Arthur Jones
H. V. Esmond
A. E. Thomas
Mark Swan
Fred Ballard
Grace L. Furniss
Cyril Harcourt
Marguerite Merrington
Carlisle Moore
Hermann Sudermann
Ernest Denny
Rida Johnson Young
Laurence Housman
Arthur Law
Harry James Smith
Rachel Crothers
Edgar Selwyn
Martha Morton
Augustin McHugh
H. A. Du Souchet
Robert Housum
W. W. Jacobs
Charles Kenyon
Madeleine Lucette Ryley
C. M. S. McLellan
French’s International Copyrighted Edition contains plays, comedies and
farces of international reputation; also recent professional successes by
famous American and English Authors.
Send a four-cent stamp for our new catalogue describing thousands of
plays.
SAMUEL FRENCH
Oldest Play Publisher in the World
28-30 West 38th Street, NEW YORK CITY
Golden Days
A comedy of youth, in four acts, by Sidney Toler and Marion Short. 7
males, 10 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2½ hours.
“Golden Days” is a play with all the charm of youth. It enjoyed a run of
sixteen weeks in Chicago with Patricia Collinge in the leading role, and
was then brought to the Gaiety Theatre, New York, with Helen Hayes in the
part of “Mary Anne.”
Price, 75 cents.
Come Out of the Kitchen
A charming comedy in 3 acts, adapted by A. E. Thomas from the story of
the same name by Alice Duer Miller. 6 males, 5 females. Three interior
scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2½ hours.
“Come Out of the Kitchen,” with Ruth Chatterton in the leading role, made
a notable success on its production by Henry Miller at the Cohan Theatre,
New York. It was also a great success at the Strand Theatre, London. A
most ingenious and entertaining comedy, and we strongly recommend it for
amateur production.
Price, 75 cents
His Majesty Bunker Bean
A farcical comedy in four acts. By Lee Wilson Dodd, from the novel by
Harry Leon Wilson. 12 males, 6 females. Four interior scenes. Costumes,
modern. Plays 2½ hours. Those who have laughed immoderately at Harry Leon
Wilson’s story will be greatly amused by the play, which tells the story
of a cowed and credulous youth who became kingly when he was tricked into
believing himself a reincarnation of Napoleon. “His Majesty Bunker Bean,”
with Taylor Holmes in the title role, was brought to the Astor Theatre,
New York, after a run of 25 weeks in Chicago. A delightful and wholesome
farce comedy with no dull moments.
Price, 75 cents
A Full House
A farcical comedy in three acts. By Fred Jackson. 7 males, 7 females.
One interior scene. Modern costumes. Plays 2½ hours. This newest and
funniest of all farces was written by Fred Jackson, the well-known short
story writer, and is backed up by the prestige of an impressive New York
success and the promise of unlimited fun presented in the most attractive
form. A cleverer farce has not been seen for many a long day. “A Full
House” is a house full of laughs.
Price, 75 cents
The Charm School
A fascinating comedy in three acts by Alice Duer Miller and Robert
Milton. 6 males, 10 females. (May be played by 5 males and 8 females).
Any number of school girls may be used in the ensembles. Scenes, two
interiors. Costumes, modern. Plays 2½ hours.
The story of “The Charm School” is familiar to Mrs. Miller’s readers. It
relates the adventures of a handsome young automobile salesman scarcely
out of his ’teens who, upon inheriting a girl’s boarding school from a
maiden aunt, insists on running it himself, according to his own ideas,
chief of which is, by the way, that the dominant feature in the education
of the young girl of to-day should be CHARM.
The situations that arise are teeming with humor—clean, wholesome humor.
In the end the young man gives up the school and promises to wait until
the most precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age.
“The Charm School” has the freshness of youth, the inspiration of an
extravagant but novel idea, the charm of originality, and the promise of
wholesome, sanely amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly recommend
it for high school production.
“The Charm School” was first produced at the Bijou Theatre, New York, and
then toured the country. Two companies are now playing it in England.
Price, 75 cents.
Daddy Long-Legs
A charming comedy in four acts, by Jean Webster. The full cast calls for
6 males, 7 females and 6 orphans, but the play, by the easy doubling of
some of the characters may be played by 4 males, 4 females and three
orphans. The orphans appear only in the first act and may be played by
small girls of any age. Four easy interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays
2½ hours.
The New York Times reviewer, on the morning following the Broadway
production, wrote the following comment:
“If you will take your pencil and write down, one below the other, the
words delightful, charming, sweet, beautiful and entertaining, and then
draw a line and add them up, the answer will be ‘Daddy Long-Legs.’ To
that result you might even add brilliant, pathetic and humorous, but the
answer even then would be just what it was before—the play which Miss
Jean Webster has made from her book, ‘Daddy Long-Legs,’ and which was
presented at the Gaiety last night. To attempt to describe the simplicity
and beauty of ‘Daddy Long-Legs’ would be like attempting to describe the
first breath of Spring after an exceedingly tiresome and hard Winter.”
“Daddy Long-Legs” enjoyed a two-years’ run in New York and was then
toured for over three years, and is now published in play form for the
first time.
Price, 75 cents.
BILLETED.
A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 males, 5
females. One easy interior scene. A charming comedy, constructed with
uncommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. Margaret Anglin’s big
success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy to produce and popular with
all audiences.
Price, 60 Cents.
NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH.
A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females. Costumes,
modern. Two interior scenes. Plays 2 and ½ hours.
Is it possible to tell the absolute truth—even for twenty-four hours?
It is—at least Bob Bennett, the hero of “Nothing But the Truth,”
accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his business partners,
and the trouble he got into—with his partners, his friends, and his
fiancée—this is the subject of William Collier’s tremendous comedy hit.
“Nothing But the Truth” can be whole-heartedly recommended as one of the
most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this country can boast.
Price, 60 Cents.
IN WALKED JIMMY.
A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, 2 females (although any
number of males and females may be used as clerks, etc.). Two interior
scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2 and ½ hours. The thing into which Jimmy
walked was a broken-down shoe factory, when the clerks had all been
fired, and when the proprietor was in serious contemplation of suicide.
Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious
figure had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and his
everlasting humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won the
heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped that
place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the villain.
Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just a dash of
excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy make “In Walked
Jimmy” one of the most delightful of plays. Jimmy is full of the religion
of life, the religion of happiness and the religion of helpfulness, and
he so permeates the atmosphere with his “religion” that everyone is
happy. The spirit of optimism, good cheer, and hearty laughter dominates
the play. There is not a dull moment in any of the four acts. We strongly
recommend it.
Price, 60 Cents.
MARTHA BY-THE-DAY.
An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, author of the
“Martha” stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes
modern. Plays 2 and ½ hours.
It is altogether a gentle thing, this play. It is full of quaint humor,
old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see the play
will recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day.
Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for stage
service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the most telling
incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment for the play, and the
result is thoroughly delightful.
Price, 60 Cents.
(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced)
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed
Free on Request
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