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<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of
The Flutter of the Goldleaf; and other plays,
by Olive Tilford Dargan and Frederick Peterson.
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<pre>
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flutter of the Goldleaf; and Other Plays, by
Olive Tilford Dargan and Frederick Peterson
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Flutter of the Goldleaf; and Other Plays
Author: Olive Tilford Dargan and Frederick Peterson
Release Date: December 23, 2006 [EBook #20172]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLUTTER OF THE GOLDLEAF ***
Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Kentuckiana Digital Library)
</pre>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagei" name="pagei"></a>[i]</span>
</p>
<!-- Suppress display of half-title page -->
<div class="halftitle">
<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h1>
THE FLUTTER
<br />
OF THE GOLDLEAF
</h1>
<h2>
AND OTHER PLAYS
</h2>
</div>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="pageii" name="pageii"></a>[ii]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="pageiii" name="pageiii"></a>[iii]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h1>
THE FLUTTER
<br />
OF THE GOLDLEAF
</h1>
<h2>
AND OTHER PLAYS
</h2>
<h3>
BY<br />
OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN
<br />
AND<br />
FREDERICK PETERSON
</h3>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p class="center">
NEW YORK <br />
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS <br />
1922
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="pageiv" name="pageiv"></a>[iv]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p class="center">
<span class="sc">Copyright, 1922, by</span> <br />
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
</p>
<p class="center">
PRINTED AT <br />
THE SCRIBNER PRESS <br />
NEW YORK, U. S. A.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagev" name="pagev"></a>[v]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
CONTENTS
</h2>
<table border="0" width="90%" summary="Table of Contents">
<tr><td></td><td align="right"><span class="scs">PAGE</span></td></tr>
<tr><td>
<a href="#h2H_4_0002"><span class="sc">The Flutter of the Goldleaf</span></a>
</td><td align="right">1</td></tr>
<tr><td>
<span class="scs">BY OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN AND FREDERICK PETERSON</span></td></tr>
<tr><td>
<a href="#h2H_4_0005"><span class="sc">The Journey</span></a>
</td><td align="right">49</td></tr>
<tr><td>
<span class="scs">BY OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN</span></td></tr>
<tr><td>
<a href="#h2H_4_0008"><span class="sc">Everychild</span></a>
</td><td align="right">75</td></tr>
<tr><td>
<span class="scs">BY FREDERICK PETERSON AND OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN</span></td></tr>
<tr><td>
<a href="#h2H_4_0012"><span class="sc">Two Doctors at Akragas</span></a>
</td><td align="right">103</td></tr>
<tr><td>
<span class="scs">BY FREDERICK PETERSON</span></td></tr>
</table>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagevi" name="pagevi"></a>[vi]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page1" name="page1"></a>[1]</span>
</p>
<a name="h2H_4_0002" id="h2H_4_0002"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
THE FLUTTER OF THE GOLDLEAF
</h2>
<h3>
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
</h3>
<p class="center">
<span class="sc">by</span>
<br />
<span class="sc">Olive Tilford Dargan</span>
<br />
<span class="sc">and</span>
<br />
<span class="sc">Frederick Peterson</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page2" name="page2"></a>[2]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
CHARACTERS
</h2>
<p> <span class="sc">Philo Warner</span>, <i>a student</i></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Hiram Warner</span>, <i>his father, the village grocer</i></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Mary Ann Warner</span>, <i>his mother</i></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Dr. Bellows</span>, <i>the village physician</i></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Dr. Seymour</span>, <i>a city specialist</i></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Reba Sloan</span>, <i>a neighbor's daughter</i></p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page3" name="page3"></a>[3]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
THE FLUTTER OF THE GOLDLEAF
</h2>
<p class="scene">
<span class="sc">Scene</span>: <i>Laboratory in the attic of the Warner cottage.
At right, toward rear, entrance from down-stairs. A rude partition,
left, with door in centre. Window centre rear. Large kitchen table
loaded with apparatus. Shelves, similarly loaded, against wall near
table, right. Wires strung about. A rude couch, bench, and several
wooden chairs.</i>
</p>
<p class="scene2">
<i>Time, about 8 p.m. Lamp burns on table.</i> <span class="sc">Mrs. Warner</span> <i>comes
up-stairs, puts her head inside the room nervously, then enters and
looks about.</i>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Such a mess! And the doctors will be here in half an hour! (<i>Tries to
get busy but seems bothered. Crosses to table and looks at a little
machine that stands upon it.</i>) <i>That's</i> what's driving my boy crazy! If
I only dared to smash it! The right sort of a mother would do just that!
(<i>Looks at machine with dire meditation.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i> (<i>without, roaring up the stairs</i>)
</p>
<p>
Mary Ann!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page4" name="page4"></a>[4]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i> (<i>jumps</i>)
</p>
<p>
Yes, Hiram!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i> (<i>entering</i>)
</p>
<p>
Where's Philo?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
In the orchard. I watched my chance, and thought I'd redd up a little.
He won't let me touch anything when he's here.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Just about lives up here, don't he?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Day and night now, since he's been too sick to go to the store. And
I can't have Dr. Bellows bring in that specialist from New York with
things lookin' as if a woman had never come up the stairs. (<i>Dusting
and rattling.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Philo's not onto what the doctors are after, is he?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
He thinks they're coming to look at his machine mostly—and see what's
keepin' him awake nights. But maybe he knows. He's awful sharp.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Sharp? Wish he knew enough to sell eggs and bacon. He's ruinin' my
business. Weighs a
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page5" name="page5"></a>[5]</span>
pound of coffee as if he was asleep. I can see
customers watchin' him out o' the tail o' their eye. They're gettin'
<i>afraid</i> of him! Mary Ann, the boy's going to be a shame to us. He's
crazy!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Don't you call <i>my</i> boy crazy. I won't hear it, Hiram.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
No, you'll wait till the whole village tells you! They're all talkin'
now!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
It's none o' their business!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
It'll be their business if he flies up and hurts somebody.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Philo wouldn't hurt anything alive. He got mad at me once for killin'
a spider.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i> (<i>scornfully</i>)
</p>
<p>
Showed his sense there, didn't he?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
If Philo's queer it's not from my side of the house. You know what your
mother was like—wanderin' round nights starin' at the stars with that
old spy-glass Captain Barker gave her.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page6" name="page6"></a>[6]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
She was a good mother, all the same.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Couldn't cook at all. Your father only kept alive by eating at the
neighbors occasionally—and as for sewing and mending, you children went
in rags till your Aunt Sary came to live with you.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Mother thought a heap of us, though. I remember how she cried because I
wouldn't go to school and went into the grocery business. And she cried
a lot more when I married you. I couldn't understand her—<i>then</i>....
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Humph! She'd been shut up fast enough if your father hadn't been the
softest-hearted man alive.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Maybe the boy does take after her, but he's worse'n she ever was.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
She didn't have any books—or college education—to turn her head.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Nothing to read but the <i>Weekly Mirror</i>. It was a good paper, though,
all about crops and stock,
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page7" name="page7"></a>[7]</span>
and what the country people were doing, and
a love story on the inside page. Father subscribed on her account. She
told him her mind had to have <i>something</i> to work on. But she didn't
take to the paper, and he had to read it himself to get his money's
worth.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
A good thing she didn't have a library to get at like Philo. All those
books he brought home didn't do him any good. He began to get queer
about the time he was reading that set of Sir Humphry Davy's Complete
Works, with so much about electrics and the stars, and that sort of
stuff. If we could only get him to quit this studyin' and stay
out-o'-doors....
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
S'pose we clear out this hole—burn the books, and get rid of all these
confounded wires and jars and fixings. I don't believe he saves a penny
of the wages I give him for helpin' to ruin me. All he makes goes for
this truck. We'll clear it out.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I've thought of that, but we oughtn't to go too far. They're his anyhow,
and I'm afraid——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Well, I'm not afraid! And I'll begin with this
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page8" name="page8"></a>[8]</span>
devil! (<i>Pauses over
machine. Starts suddenly.</i>) What's that? He's coming!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i> (<i>listening</i>)
</p>
<p>
It's only Alice going to her room.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Perhaps we'd better see what the specialist says first.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I know Dr. Bellows wants us to send Philo away. But I'm against that,
first and last.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
You wouldn't be if you'd listen to Bellows awhile. You know what he told
me when I met him this morning? "Why, Warner," he says, "I never go to
see the boy without taking a pair of handcuffs in my pocket. It's the
quiet ones that go the wildest when they do break out."
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, Hiram, it's not going to be so bad as that. Don't let him set you
against your own flesh and blood. Just let me manage awhile. He needs to
get stirred up about something—get his mind off this. I wish I hadn't
stopped those letters he was getting from Reba Sloan when she went off
to school two years ago.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page9" name="page9"></a>[9]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
But you said you'd rather see him dead than married to Sloan's girl.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I meant it, too! But seeing your child dead is not so bad as seeing him
crazy—and if Reba can save him——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
How in thunder——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
She's a taking girl, Hiram—since she got back. If Philo gets his mind
fixed on <i>her</i>, she'll soon have him forgettin' this. Why,—you remember
for three months before we were married you couldn't think o' nothing
but me.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Good Lord! Is that so, Mary Ann?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I had to hurry up the weddin' to save your business. You were letting
Jabe McKenny take all your trade right under your nose.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Sakes 'a' mighty! If I could come out of a spell like that, there's some
hope for our poor chap.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page10" name="page10"></a>[10]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
That's what I'm telling you!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
But Reba's father—you going to have old fiddler Sloan in the family?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
He's come into some money now, and any gentleman can take an interest
in music.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
And the mother was that foreign woman.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
But she's dead. It's just as well Philo won't have a mother-in-law.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Reba'll have one, all right. If Philo stays queer it'll be hard on the
girl, won't it?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
He'll not stay queer. If he gets that girl in his head there won't be
room for anything else—for a while anyway. He'll be worse'n you ever
was. You let me manage it, Hiram.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>is heard coming up the stairs. They listen in silence
until he enters. He is talking, not quite audibly, to himself, and
doesn't see them. Goes to table and stands by machine.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page11" name="page11"></a>[11]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Here—at last—I have caught the word ... the word of the stars.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Philo!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>looking up</i>)
</p>
<p>
Mother!... Father!... (<i>In alarm.</i>) You haven't touched anything here?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
No, my son. I've just put the place to rights a bit. Dr. Seymour is
coming, you know.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes. (<i>Walks the floor, meditating.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
You must come out of this dream, Philo.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
It is not a dream! I am the only being in the world who is awake!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
My son!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Man sleeps—like the rocks, trees, hills—while all around him, out of
the unseen, beating on blind eyes, deaf ears, numbed brain, sweep the
winds of eternity, the ether waves, the signals from the deeps of space!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page12" name="page12"></a>[12]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Hey, diddle, diddle!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Sleep-walkers all—the people in the streets, the shops—the mad people
with their heaps of gold!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Now don't work yourself up, Philo, with the doctor coming. You want to
tell him about your machine.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes. He is a great man. He has studied these things. I will talk to him.
He will not laugh.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Mary Ann, don't you think we'd better bring up some cider? It'll look
more hospitable like.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
That city doctor won't care anything about cider.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
My cider's good enough for anybody! And Dr. Bellows'll be sure to ask
for it.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Well, wait till he does. (<i>Looks uneasily about room.</i>) Don't you think,
son, that if you're going to take to having visitors here I'd better
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page13" name="page13"></a>[13]</span>
move some furniture up? You could have the haircloth sofa—the springs
are broke anyway—and Alice says she don't want the wax flowers in the
parlor any more. They're turnin' yellow, but you wouldn't notice it up
here.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>clinching his hands</i>)
</p>
<p>
Do what you like, mother, only don't take anything <i>out</i>. If anything
happened to my work I believe I'd go crazy!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>The parents look at each other.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Thought your work was tendin' the store.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Brother Will is more help there than I am, father.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
You're right about that. Will's got a head on.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
You'd better go down, Hiram, and meet the doctors.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Alice'll show them up.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Where's that strange smell comin' from? Do you work in the other room,
too, Philo? (<i>Goes in, left.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page14" name="page14"></a>[14]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Father ... I'm sorry about the store ... I wish I could tell you ... but
what's the use? You won't believe!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Re-enter</i> <span class="sc">Mrs. W.</span>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Gracious! I couldn't breathe in there! Got to clear <i>something</i> out
before Reba comes up here. She'd have no respect for my housekeeping.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Reba?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Reba Sloan. She's been asking if she couldn't come. She's just wild to
see your machine.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Don't you ever let her up here, mother!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
But she asked me, Philo—and a neighbor's daughter, you know——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I thought she was away from home.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Been back a month—walks all about right under your eyes. You ought to
be <i>civil</i>, Philo.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I want to see Dr. Seymour. I should like to
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page15" name="page15"></a>[15]</span>
have him know what I'm
doing. But if you're going to turn the whole village in here, I'll bar
the door, that's all.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
My son, if you'd only interest yourself a little——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I'm not interested in anything nearer than thirty-five million miles!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
What did I tell you, Mary Ann?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I hear the doctors! Now, Philo, if you can't talk sense, don't say
<i>anything</i>.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Enter</i> <span class="sc">Seymour</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Bellows</span>.)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Good evening, Warner. How d' do, Mrs. Warner! My friend, Dr. Seymour.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner and Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
How do you do, sir!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Philo, I've brought Dr. Seymour around to have a talk with you. He's
down from New York for a day or two. Been sleeping any better?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page16" name="page16"></a>[16]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Too much. I need all my time. I'm very glad to see you, Dr. Seymour.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>All take seats.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I hope you'll excuse the looks of the room, doctor.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
It looks very interesting indeed to me, Mrs. Warner. The workshop of a
student, and a busy one. (<i>To</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span>.) You've been working too
hard, I see.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I'm tired, perhaps, but I am well. When a man makes a momentous
discovery he is apt to be overwrought. He may not eat or sleep well for
a time. He may even appear to be strange or mad.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Mrs. W.</span> <i>coughs suddenly.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I'm afraid that's not a comfortable chair, Dr. Seymour.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Quite comfortable, Mrs. Warner.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i> (<i>rapidly</i>)
</p>
<p>
Philo is my oldest boy, and I never could keep
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17"></a>[17]</span>
him away from books. Will,
my second son, is as steady in the store as his father himself, and
Johnny is just fine on the wagon. As for Alice, there's not a neater
all-round girl to be found anywhere. They're healthy, sensible children,
every one of 'em, and don't care what's inside any book in the
world—but Philo was just bent on going to college——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
A very natural bent for an ambitious boy.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Tell us about the discovery, Philo, my lad.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>rising and walking slowly up and down the room</i>)
</p>
<p>
I think I will. It will be another experiment. I know what the effect
will be on Dr. Bellows. He is an old friend of mine—but you, sir, are a
stranger. I should like to try your mind and see if you are awake or
asleep.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Bellows</span> <i>winks toward</i> <span class="sc">Seymour</span>, <i>who takes no
notice, but gives</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>careful attention.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
I hope I shall not disappoint you.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I believe we have some points of view in common, for your profession
needs to take note of
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page18" name="page18"></a>[18]</span>
many problems connected with both evolution and
electricity. I have been a reader of general science for many years. The
fact that on the earth we have had a slow evolution from a monad to a
man contains a promise of further development of man into—let us say an
angel.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Not very soon, I guess.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>sharply</i>)
</p>
<p>
Hardly in your day, doctor. You needn't worry about the fashion in
wing-feathers.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Go on, Mr. Warner.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
In others of the many millions of globes about us in space, a similar
evolution is going on, and in some the evolution is less advanced than
in ours, in others incomparably more advanced.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
We may admit that.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Bellows</span> <i>looks to</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span> <i>for sympathy, and
shakes his head.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
We have reached a stage when we have begun to peer out into the stellar
depths and question them. We are beginning to master the light and
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page19" name="page19"></a>[19]</span>
the
lightning, to measure the vastness of space, to weigh the suns, to
determine the elements that comprise them, to talk and send messages
thousands of miles without wires. Each year uncovers new wonders,
infinitely minute, infinitely great.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
True,—all true.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>becoming more repressed and tensely excited as he goes on</i>)
</p>
<p>
The dreams of the alchemists are being realized. That machine yonder
detects the waves from a millionth of a millionth of a milligramme of
radium.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
What!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I have invented a tuned electroscope that would be destroyed by such
waves, so sensitive as to react only to waves from an inconceivable
distance, beyond thirty-five million miles.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i> (<i>trying to take it in</i>)
</p>
<p>
Thirty-five million miles!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>with great tension</i>)
</p>
<p>
Three weeks ago I made this instrument, and ever since then, at regular
intervals, there have
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20"></a>[20]</span>
been rhythmic flutterings of the goldleaf, regular
repetitions, as if it were knocking at the door of earth from the
eternal silences. I have watched it—the same measured fluttering—two
beats—then three—then two—then four and a pause! It is a studied
measure! It has meaning! When I first noticed it—the faint flutter of
the goldleaf—and knew that any waves from a nearer point than
thirty-five million miles would utterly destroy so delicate an
instrument—my hair stood on end. I have watched it three
weeks—alone—and you ask me why I do not sleep!... Look!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>The doctors spring up electrified, and stare at the instrument.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
There it is again! Two beats—then three—then two—then four—now it
is over!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Seymour</span> <i>continues to stare at the instrument.</i>
<span class="sc">Bellows</span> <i>subsides into a chair, looking foolish.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i> (<i>to himself</i>)
</p>
<p>
Impossible!... (<i>To</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span>.) What was it you were saying? What
did you see?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I saw what you saw—signals from a distance
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page21" name="page21"></a>[21]</span>
farther than the distance
of the nearest planet to our earth.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i> (<i>shaken</i>)
</p>
<p>
But I saw nothing. At least a slight movement in anything so sensitive
might be due to many causes....
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes! It is always the old story. Truths must be hammered into humanity!
Branded in with flame, or driven in with sword and bullet!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i> (<i>starting up alarmed</i>)
</p>
<p>
Hadn't we better be going, doctor?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, no! Wait till you've talked me over. Decide whether I'm mad or not!
If I'm a menace to the community! If I must be locked up! My father and
mother are waiting to know. Don't go! Finish your work! (<i>Rushes into
room, left.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i> (<i>triumphantly to</i> <span class="sc">Seymour</span>)
</p>
<p>
Well?
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Seymour</span> <i>hesitates, looks at the father and mother, then at</i>
<span class="sc">Bellows</span>, <i>and takes out his match-case.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i> (<i>making a conquest of the obvious</i>)
</p>
<p>
Warner, a little of that fine cider of yours would just finish off our
chat.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page22" name="page22"></a>[22]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Nothing better! (<i>Starting out, whispers to</i> <span class="sc">Mrs. W.</span>) Where's
grandma's silver pitcher?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I'll get <i>that</i>.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>They go down-stairs.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i> (<i>laughing</i>)
</p>
<p>
She never lets him go to the cellar by himself.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Not a drinker, is he?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, no! The pattern of a deacon. But she keeps her hand on.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Seymour</span> <i>lights a cigar thinkingly.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
No use to go over this case. It's clear enough. We'll have our
cider—it's worth waiting for—then go to my office and fix up the
commitment papers.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i> (<i>rubbing his hand slowly over his forehead</i>)
</p>
<p>
To talk with such a patient sometimes bewilders the brain. He seemed so
clear in his utterance—so rational——
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page23" name="page23"></a>[23]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Funny, wasn't he? I almost believed it myself for a minute.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
It might be true.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Hey?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Perhaps we are all somnambulists moving about in this dream-world we
call practical life. Behind this tough matter that takes so many shapes
and colors, what strange secrets are hidden, just beginning to reach our
dull senses—X-rays, radium emanations, wireless waves.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, they're natural enough now. Common sense has adopted them.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, we are easily satisfied. Give a mystery a name and that's enough
for the most of us. But here and there are minds that must explore
further; and if they discover something beyond the comprehension of us
who stay behind, we call them mad.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Well, none of your mind-puzzles for me. Give
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page24" name="page24"></a>[24]</span>
me something clear cut,
like typhoid, or measles, an amputation, or new babies, something I can
fix my eyes on. You can take care of the madmen—except when they're
in my own village. I'm not going to have a boy like Philo gibbering
around ready to break out wild any time.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
It's true he may be led into frenzy, or even self-destruction, but it
will be from overwork and loneliness. I must have a talk with the
parents——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
What do you expect <i>them</i> to do? They're asking us for help. And <i>I'm</i>
willing to give it to them.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Re-enter</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Mrs. W.</span> <i>He carries pitcher,
she carries tray with glasses.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="sc">Bellows</span>)
</p>
<p>
We'll see. As I say, the boy has been losing sleep, and giving his mind
no rest.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i> (<i>holding tray while</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span> <i>pours cider</i>)
</p>
<p>
Just what I say, doctor. He's studied himself sick.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
You must get him out of here, Mrs. Warner. (<i>Sipping cider.</i>) Excellent,
indeed!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>[25]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I'm doing my best.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="sc">Bellows</span>, <i>who has drained his glass</i>)
</p>
<p>
You're at home, doctor. Just help yourself.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He does.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
What is his age?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Twenty. He went early to college.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i> (<i>musingly</i>)
</p>
<p>
The usual age. Twenty. (<i>Sighs.</i>) The age of visions and enchantments.
"The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
What are you saying, doctor?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Just thinking. It's a healthy family, isn't it?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
I should say! Why, Will and Johnny and Alice——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Best sort. The thoroughbreds of the town. Temperate, thriving, regular
at church. Warner here was once county supervisor. (<i>Clapping him on
shoulder.</i>) Never had a better one.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>[26]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i> (<i>to</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span>)
</p>
<p>
And your parents?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Father was a sound, practical man. Stood flat-footed, I may say.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
And your mother?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Law me, Hiram Warner thinks there was never anybody in the world like
his mother. And there never <i>was</i>!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
That's good to build on. It is clear that your boy is ill, and the
burden of his knowledge, whether truth or delusion, is far too great for
him to bear. If you could interest him for even a brief time in ordinary
life—(<i>smiling</i>) miracles that are too common to be disturbing—throw
him with young people——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
You don't mean you won't sign the commitment papers!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Just that. I shall not sign them.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i> (<i>gratefully</i>)
</p>
<p>
Oh, doctor!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>[27]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
After what you saw here with your own eyes? He's completely gone off!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
The boy may be right. Under this tiny consciousness of ours lie vast
fields of subconscious intelligence as yet unexplored. Beyond our earth
are still greater mysteries, unimaginable, unthinkable.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i> (<i>in disgust</i>)
</p>
<p>
And I counted on your common sense!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Common sense is itself too frail and uncertain a thing to be a criterion
of sanity. The common sense of yesterday is to-day's folly, and our
present common sense will be the madness of to-morrow.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Well, I'll be—I'll wait for you down-stairs, doctor. (<i>Exit.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
The lad ought not to be in there alone. (<i>Goes to door.</i>) Philo, my boy!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>comes out. He is extremely pale, his black hair pushed
from his forehead, and his eyes burning, but his manner is calm.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Well, am I a free man?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>[28]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
You are free, Philo.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>perfunctorily</i>)
</p>
<p>
Thank you, doctor.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
But you must have rest from this work. These subjects are too
overwhelming for a sane brain to carry without harm. This attic is
gloomy and the atmosphere unhealthy. You must have a complete change.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I see. That is your answer to my discovery. (<i>Turns suddenly to</i>
<span class="sc">Warner</span>.) And what do you think of it, father?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
I don't seem to get hold of it, somehow, Philo. (<i>Crosses to machine and
stares at it.</i>) What's the good, anyhow? They're too far away.
'Twouldn't help business.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>gives a queer laugh.</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span> <i>opens door.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
I'll see you down-stairs, doctor. (<i>Exit.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>turning to</i> <span class="sc">Mrs. W.</span>)
</p>
<p>
And you, mother?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>[29]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i> (<i>bustling up and gathering tray and glasses</i>)
</p>
<p>
I've got to set my bread. (<i>Crosses to machine and stares at it, holding
tray.</i>) What'll we come to if folks in the stars begin pesterin'? We've
got enough to 'tend to right here. (<i>Goes out muttering.</i>) Got to set my
bread.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Seymour</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>look at each other and smile.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Won't you come down, Philo?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
No. It's livelier for me up here. More to think about. But don't worry
about me, doctor. I know this is the end. If I can't convince you, then
all the world must think it hallucination.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
I'm not unconvinced. I simply don't know. And I'm deeply interested. But
you can't stand it, Philo. Get out of this. Be young. This is for older
heads. You'll have plenty of time. Get out—do anything. Fall in
love—fall in love—that will give you mysteries enough for a while.
Yes, I mean it—and don't forget, my dear boy, that you've interested
me.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Shakes hands with</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>and goes down.</i>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>[30]</span>
<span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>listens until he has reached the foot of the stairs.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
The heavens open—the suns speak—and he is—interested! (<i>Closes
door.</i>) Alone!... Fall in love! Light the candle and put out the
stars!... (<i>Returns to his instrument.</i>) ... It is still.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Steps are heard on the stairs, then a knock at the door.
He crosses softly to door and shoots the bolt.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Voice</i> (<i>without</i>)
</p>
<p>
It's Reba, Philo! Won't you let me in?
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He is silent, and steps retreat.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>crossing to centre</i>)
</p>
<p>
Reba! That folly's done with, thank God!... (<i>Begins walking.</i>)
Seymour.... I didn't know how much I was hoping from him.... It is hard,
hard to go on alone. But I <i>must</i>! I can't turn back from that call.
When a child cries we turn, and listen, and help. And this—<i>this</i> is
the voice of a world!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>A knock is heard at door.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Voice of</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span>
</p>
<p>
Philo!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Buzz, buzz, old bee!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>[31]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Voice</i>
</p>
<p>
Come down, son!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Please leave me alone, father. I can't bear anything more to-night.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>A pause, and</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span> <i>goes down.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>coming to table</i>)
</p>
<p>
I will work—work—work! (<i>Busies his hands.</i>) Not a voice to help
me—not a smile of hope—not a touch of sympathy. (<i>Sits still and
despairing.</i>) ... Perhaps the time is not ripe for larger knowledge.
Nature and the Divinity that guides her must protect their new evolving
creatures. A too sudden revelation and they might perish from sheer
wonder.... Yes, truth must come softened, as a dream, to the man child's
brain. Its naked light would sere and blind him forever.... But to me it
has been given to see—to hear—and keep sane in the light. Oh, from
what planet is the call? From what one of the hundred million spheres?
How many centuries has it been sent outward to the deaf, the dumb, and
the blind? And what is the word? Is it Hail? Help? Hope?... Or is it an
answer? An answer to some signal of mine? How shall I know?... How shall
I know?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page32" name="page32"></a>[32]</span>
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>There is a noise outside the window.</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>does not look
up.</i> <span class="sc">Reba</span> <i>appears and leaps lightly through the windows.
Advances centre. Her dress is of clinging black, relieved by a floating
scarf of cloudy white. She has a mass of blonde hair, and all the charms
properly belonging to her age, which is eighteen.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Philo!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>turning</i>)
</p>
<p>
Reba!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Don't be angry.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
How did you get here?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
The window. Don't you remember—you showed me how to climb up once—with
a ladder—the tree—and the shed roof? Oh, the things you've forgotten,
Philo!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He goes to door and unbolts it.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
You must go down, Reba. (<i>She does not move.</i>) What will mother say?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>laughing</i>)
</p>
<p>
She held the ladder for me.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>[33]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Mother?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
You've frightened her so. You mustn't bolt the door again. She's afraid
you'll do something dreadful.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
You were not afraid to come.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
I like to take risks. Life's dull in this village.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
How you've changed, Reba!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
It's taken you long enough to find it out. I've been back a month.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
You'd better go down. I'm very busy, and I've had a long interruption
this evening.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
I'm going to interrupt some more. Dr. Seymour says it's good for you.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>angrily</i>)
</p>
<p>
Dr. Seymour knows you've come?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes. He said you might like the surprise. Don't you like it, Philo?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>[34]</span>
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Comes near him.</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>turns away and busies himself about
the table and shelves as if he meant to ignore her utterly.</i>
<span class="sc">Reba</span> <i>watches him, then goes to window and takes a large apple
from the ledge. Comes back.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
I brought you an apple—such a love of an apple. There's a whole summer
of sunsets in it. I climbed the tree myself.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>not looking</i>)
</p>
<p>
Thank you; I don't eat.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Don't eat! Well, there it is! (<i>Throws it on the table. He jumps to
protect his instrument.</i>) You can <i>lick</i> it when you're hungry!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He sits down and begins to work. She walks to other side of table
and picks up a book.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh! Our old "Swiss Family Robinson"! The very one we read together! With
our names in it! You've kept it all the time! (<i>Hugging it.</i>) Dear old
book! (<i>Turns the leaves.</i>) Why—the leaves are half gone!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
They're handy for cleaning my wires.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>[35]</span>
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>She throws the book down, and stands uncertain.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Going, Reba? Good night!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
No, I'm not going. This is my last chance. You'll bar the window
to-morrow.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>determinedly</i>)
</p>
<p>
Yes, I will.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He bends closely over his work. She lies across the table opposite,
watching his movements intently. He fumbles for a tool.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
The little one? Here it is!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Hands him a small wire tool. He stares at her face so near his own,
then takes the instrument and works confusedly. Jumps up and tries to
reach a jar on one of the shelves.</i> <span class="sc">Reba</span> <i>leaps onto a chair,
takes the jar and hands it down. He stares, and takes jar.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>as he returns to table</i>)
</p>
<p>
Ugh! These jars are so dirty, Philo. May I wash them for you?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Heavens, no!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, <i>that</i> makes you sit up! (<i>Hums a little,
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>[36]</span>
leaps down and begins to
move the things on the table.</i>) I'll make the table tidy for you, Philo.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>grabbing her hands</i>)
</p>
<p>
Stop!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>sings, swinging his hands across the table</i>)
</p>
<p>
"All around the mulberry bush——"
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Let go!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Why, you're holding <i>me</i>!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He drops her hands and goes to window, as if intending flight.
She becomes subtle.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Dr. Seymour says you've done something wonderful, Philo. Won't you show
me your machine?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
No.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
But I <i>care</i>! I care more than anybody! I <i>want</i> you to be great. I
could sit by you all my life just watching you being great.
(<span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>smiles. She twirls over to him.</i>) And I don't <i>like</i> to
be still, either.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
But suppose people began to laugh at you as they do at me?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>[37]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
I wouldn't care. Show me the machine, Philo.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Takes his arm and they move back to table.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
There it is.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>hovering over it</i>)
</p>
<p>
This is it. (<i>Throwing her head back.</i>) Tell me about it.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Reba—your throat is—so white.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>bending suddenly over machine</i>)
</p>
<p>
There's something moving.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
So white.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Two—one—two, three——
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>goes to door and flings it open.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Reba, go down!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>She crosses to door, shuts it, and stands with her back against it.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Not till we've had a talk, Philo. I've a right to it after what you said
two years ago—when I went away to school. Have you forgotten it? Shall
I tell you what you said?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>[38]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
No!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
You said you loved me, Philo. And I believed it for two years. When I
came back you were silent. I've tried to make you speak—I've got in
your way—I've done everything nice girls don't do—because—I love you
as much as you love <i>that</i>! (<i>Waves her hand toward the machine.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Don't say it. It can't be true. No woman could love so much as that.
(<i>Goes back to table.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>following him</i>)
</p>
<p>
I don't ask you to love me. But let me come here and sit by you
sometimes. I could be happy then—though I don't <i>like</i> to be still.
I was going to a dance to-night.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
A dance!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
But I knew you were up here alone—and I had heard—oh, my dear!—that
they were going to send you away. I couldn't bear it. I <i>had</i> to come.
Oh, Philo, they shall not send you away! Dr. Seymour says all you need
is a new interest.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
To dance, perhaps!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>[39]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Well—why not? It is fun. We were to be in fancy dress, and I was going
as Night. See—(<i>waving her scarf</i>) this is my cloud—and my hair is the
moon! I washed it to-day so it would be fluffy. Just see how soft it is!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>touching her hair</i>)
</p>
<p>
How fine! Will you give me a lock, Reba?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, yes! Where are your scissors? Here! (<i>Takes scissors from table.</i>)
You cut it, Philo. (<i>He takes scissors.</i>) Anywhere. It's curly at the
neck and temples.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>cutting lock</i>)
</p>
<p>
I don't want a curl. (<i>Puts hair carefully in table drawer.</i>) I'm making
a new machine and I need long hairs for some of the parts.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>raging</i>)
</p>
<p>
You sha'n't have it! You sha'n't!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Tries to open drawer. They struggle. She gets her arms about his
neck.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>pushing her off</i>)
</p>
<p>
Your throat——
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Kisses it. She clings to him, and he sits down, holding her on his
knee.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>[40]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
I knew! I knew! Oh, Philo, you <i>haven't</i> forgotten! You
remember—everything!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Everything!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
That day we went fishing and——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>laughing</i>)
</p>
<p>
Forgot the tackle!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
And that last evening in the orchard, when you said——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I love you!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, you look just as you did then—so happy! I nearly died when I came
home and saw the change in your face. It seemed to shut me out, like a
great iron door. Philo.... You won't forget again?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Never!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
And I may come every day?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Every day!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
I'll help you, Philo. I'll give you all my hair.
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>[41]</span>
(<i>Lays her head on his
shoulder.</i>) And I'll let you work and not think of me at all. You can
live with your stars——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>kissing her</i>)
</p>
<p>
There are no stars!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>laughing</i>)
</p>
<p>
I'll never be jealous again! (<i>Gets up.</i>) Come! Let's see what the dinky
thing is doing!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Goes to table.</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>watches her, slowly repeating
her name.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
What a little thing it is! And—there <i>is</i> something fluttering!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>crosses, still seeing nothing but the girl.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
See—I'm trying to count—two—three——
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He looks down, and becomes transfixed.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, my God! They've changed the signal!... Look, Reba! Count the beats!
Count for me! Count!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>confused</i>)
</p>
<p>
Two—three—no, four——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Can't you <i>count</i>? Get away! (<i>Pushes her
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>[42]</span>
aside.</i>) Two—three—four—three—
They have <i>changed</i> it! Oh, I must answer!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Philo——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Go down!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>clinging to him</i>)
</p>
<p>
I won't—I won't——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>putting her in a chair</i>)
</p>
<p>
Sit there, then. And for God's sake be still! (<i>Returns to machine and
counts under his breath.</i>) It is true—it is true—and I am not ready! I
am dumb, like all the world! I cannot let them know! (<i>Walks the floor,
muttering</i>) But I will—I must. (<i>Crosses to window.</i>) I must do
it!—think of nothing else—nothing! I shall not sleep till it is
done!... But they will call me mad—lock me up before I have finished,
God, before I have finished!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Philo, listen!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
It's the world's way ... to beat the spirit down ... the eager spirit,
superbly sane, daring to pierce the barriers between heaven and earth!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
I'll not sit here! (<i>She sits nevertheless.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>[43]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, Truth-driven martyrs, seers of visions, prophets of the old world
and the new, born out of your time to suffer by fire, by sword, and
prison bars!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i> (<i>cooingly</i>)
</p>
<p>
Dear Philo!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I too shall join you! Forerunners of the waking spirit of the world!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Reba</span> <i>gets before him as he walks. Completely absorbed,
he puts her aside, absently but gently, as if she were a kitten he
did not wish to hurt.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I must finish it—I must—before they beat me down! (<i>Pauses by
machine.</i>) There is no one but me to do it. If I fail they may have
to wait another million years—out there—working, waiting. (<i>Resumes
walk.</i>) I shall not fail. I have gone too far. God will take my part
now. Be it His own eternal sign, I will answer it!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
I'll make you see me!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Runs to table, leaps upon it and begins a dance among the wires
and bottles. He is stunned
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44"></a>[44]</span>
for a moment, then rushes to her, seizes
her waist with both hands, lifts her up, and flings her to a chair.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Sit there, you dragon-fly! Or I'll crush you! (<i>Goes to window, as if
for breath and air. Recovers poise.</i>) Let them think me mad. Up here I
shall work it out. And I shall not be alone. Earth will not hear me, but
the heavens will listen. (<i>Holds his hands toward the stars.</i>) My only
friends!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Reba</i>
</p>
<p>
Crush me! (<i>She steals up to the table, seizes a large book, and brings
it down with utter destruction upon his machine.</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>turns
and sees. They face each other. She shrinks, terrified.</i>) Don't, Philo!
(<i>Kneels, throwing back her head, showing the long line of her throat.</i>)
Forgive me! It was driving you mad! I wanted to save you! Don't look
like that! Forgive me, Philo!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Your throat—is—so white!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Seizes and chokes her. As he seizes her she gives a cry of terror.</i>
<span class="sc">Warner</span>, <span class="sc">Mrs. W.</span>, <span class="sc">Seymour</span>, <i>and</i>
<span class="sc">Bellows</span> <i>rush up the stairs and enter.</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span> <i>takes
his hands from the
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>[45]</span>
girl's throat and stands apart. She lies
motionless.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i> (<i>roaring</i>)
</p>
<p>
You've managed, Mary Ann!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i> (<i>excitedly</i>)
</p>
<p>
Who's right, now, Seymour?
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Seymour</span> <i>bends over</i> <span class="sc">Reba</span>, <i>listening for her heart-beat.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i> (<i>choking</i>)
</p>
<p>
A hanging in the family!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
Is she—dead?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
No. It is chiefly fear. (<i>Works over her body.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>to himself</i>)
</p>
<p>
Poor little bird! Poor little bird!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i> (<i>taking a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and offering them
to</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span>)
</p>
<p>
Better clap these on him. We're none of us safe.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Handcuffs, doctor? I'll make no trouble.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Holds out his hands and</i> <span class="sc">Bellows</span> <i>fastens handcuffs.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
It's for your own good, Philo.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>[46]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i>
</p>
<p>
Our mistake—our mistake! Poor boy!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Poor <i>girl</i>, I should say!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Seymour</i> (<i>lifting</i> <span class="sc">Reba</span>)
</p>
<p>
I'll take her down-stairs. (<i>Carries her to door.</i>) I shall need you,
Mrs. Warner.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Mrs. W.</span> <i>follows, weeping and looking back at</i> <span class="sc">Philo</span>.)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I'm all right, mother.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mrs. W.</i>
</p>
<p>
<i>All right.</i> Oh, God help him! (<i>Exit.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
Clean mad!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i> (<i>crosses, and looks down on the wreck of his machine</i>)
</p>
<p>
Silent ... but I have heard! The divine whisper has reached me!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i>
</p>
<p>
That's still on his mind, you see. Better leave him up here till
morning. Seymour and I will fix up the papers and take him off
to-morrow. I'm sorry, Philo, but you know it's for the best.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
I'll make no trouble. Don't worry, doctor.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>[47]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bellows</i> (<i>to himself, going</i>)
</p>
<p>
Lord, he's cool! (<i>Advising</i> <span class="sc">Warner</span>, <i>in cautiously lowered
tone.</i>) That's the way with the worst of them. (<i>Exit.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i>
</p>
<p>
Want me to stay with you, Philo?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
No, father.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Warner</i> (<i>relieved</i>)
</p>
<p>
Good night, son. (<i>At door.</i>) Mother'll send up some blankets. (<i>Exit.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Philo</i>
</p>
<p>
Blankets!...
</p>
<p class="center">
(CURTAIN)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>[48]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page49" name="page49"></a>[49]</span>
</p>
<a name="h2H_4_0005" id="h2H_4_0005"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
THE JOURNEY
</h2>
<h3>
BY
<br />
<span class="sc">Olive Tilford Dargan</span>
</h3>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page50" name="page50"></a>[50]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
CHARACTERS
</h2>
<p> <span class="sc">Princess Wong Fe</span>, <i>bride of Yu Tai Shun</i></p>
<p> <span class="sc">So Siu</span>, <i>her friend</i></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Prince Ching</span></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Makuro</span>, <i>of Japan</i></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Yu Tai Shun</span>, <i>of all nations</i></p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page51" name="page51"></a>[51]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
THE JOURNEY
</h2>
<p class="scene">
<span class="sc">Scene</span>: <i>Room in a farmhouse above Siangtan, where the Siang
flows among hills. The rear of room has wide exit to a porch,
beyond which show the tops of pear and peach trees in full bloom.
Steps lead down to the orchard, and the orchard slopes to the river.</i>
</p>
<p class="stage">
<span class="sc">Wong Fe</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">So Siu</span> <i>present.</i>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
My lily So Siu, has not the dishonorable color left my wretched cheeks?
Is not my face like the dough before it goes into the oven?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, my golden Fe, pearls in the dawn are no fairer!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
But these cow-girl's tatters! Would not my gown of meadow-green mist
with the peach-gold underrobe make me less haggard?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
When your lord, Yu Tai Shun, returns from the hills he will say——
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page52" name="page52"></a>[52]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, what will he say?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
That the fairies have been your friends. They wove for you this robe of
rose-leaves, and threw over you a gray cloud from the Witch's Mountain.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Wong Fe</span> <i>trips gaily, then with sudden surrender begins to weep.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
Have no shame, beloved of miserable So Siu. Water must follow the fire.
I am only a maid, but I know that when the honeymoon is without tears
two pigs have married. Ah, wet my sleeve, my dear one, and not thine
that will lie on the neck of the golden lord, Yu Tai Shun.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
When I awoke this morning the sunlight was on my pillow, but Yu Tai Shun
was gone. All day I have not seen his face. And now the last swallow has
left the sky.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
Why did Prince Ching and the young Japanese choose this day to be guests
of Yu Tai Shun? It is sad for the wife when the friends of her lord find
her alone. Yu Tai Shun will beat his doorstep for not calling him.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page53" name="page53"></a>[53]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
He will! Prince Ching is almost his father. May his age climb as the
hills, always nearer the sky!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
Indeed, you would be sitting alone in a cloud of sighs, not fast wedded
to the bringer of dawn, Yu Tai Shun, if Prince Ching had not won his way
to your brothers, the mighty princes, Wong Li and Wong Sen.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
I kiss his honorable dust! He shall live with my ancestors! And Makuro,
the young Japanese, I shall love him too, for he is most dear to Yu Tai
Shun. Do they still sit in the orchard?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
They have not moved, nor paused in their talking. Do you not hear? Like
bees that cannot choose their flower. It may be that they have brought
news to Yu Tai Shun, and his gloom will pass.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
No, I feel it was their coming, like a far cloud, that shadowed him. Oh,
my So Siu, it will be darker now!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
I have sent tea and cakes to the orchard.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page54" name="page54"></a>[54]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
It shall not be dark. Do not the fairies of the sun weave a white world
out of the threads of midnight? I will pray to them. We must be merry,
my lily So Siu.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
And why not?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
I shall dance to-night before Yu Tai Shun. (<i>Tripping.</i>) Is it not good
to have feet? My honorable and glorious mamma weeps when I dance, but it
is because she was born too soon and they crippled her beloved feet.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
How glad I am that the old world is gone when only the painted
flower-girls could do the happy things!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
And it was my own lord, Yu Tai Shun, who made the earth new again!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>She listens, suddenly still.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
He is here!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
My darling So Siu....
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>So Siu</i>
</p>
<p>
I go! (<i>Darts from room, right.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page55" name="page55"></a>[55]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
I would be dancing, but I cannot move. There are anchors of fear on my
toes.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Enter</i> <span class="sc">Yu Tai Shun</span>, <i>left. He is dressed in gray flannels, of American pattern.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i> (<i>stopping before</i> <span class="sc">Wong Fe</span>)
</p>
<p>
I left a witch-cloud on the hills, and it has dropped down before me.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>She courtesies to the floor. He snatches her up.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
No! I want my Western bride to-night.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
But this is a Chinese orchard, and it is springtime. Let me worship a
little.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Never, my mountain bird!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Draws her to the steps, where they sit.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
You are weary, beloved?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Not now. I have my rest. To-morrow you shall go with me.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Up the mountain?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page56" name="page56"></a>[56]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
I will show you where I dropped the storm in my heart.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i> (<i>timidly</i>)
</p>
<p>
Will it come again, Yu Tai Shun?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Nothing can wake it again.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Then indeed I am your bride!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Heart of my body art thou, Wong Fe!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Holds her to his breast a moment, looking distantly out. Suddenly
sees his friends approaching.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
We have guests?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i> (<i>quickly springing up</i>)
</p>
<p>
Forgive me! Your friends are here. Prince Ching, and Makuro, from Japan.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Makuro?
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He throws up his right hand. In a moment</i> <span class="sc">Prince Ching</span> <i>and</i>
Makuro <i>are seen advancing from the orchard</i>.)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
They have had my welcome. I leave you. (<i>Crosses to right,
reluctantly.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page57" name="page57"></a>[57]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Return to us soon, my gold of the morning.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>She goes out</i>. <span class="sc">Ching</span> <i>and the Japanese enter.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
We have waited, Yu Tai Shun. We knew that the setting sun would turn a
bridegroom home.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Master!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
My friend! What brings you to China?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i> (<i>with steady gaze</i>)
</p>
<p>
You know. I have come for you.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i> (<i>stubbornly, as if chidden</i>)
</p>
<p>
My work is done. China is free.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
Her slavery is only beginning. You may hide your body but you cannot
bury your mind under peach-blossoms.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
The republic is established.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
But not a democracy.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
My work is done. Twenty years have I given to the cause of the people.
Now until I die I will toil and sing in the fields of my fathers.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page58" name="page58"></a>[58]</span>
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>They have gradually come to centre of room, which servants have
lighted</i>. <span class="sc">Wong Fe</span> <i>silently returns, but at a sign from</i>
<span class="sc">Ching</span> <i>she retreats and remains by wall, right, participating
in the scene that follows, though</i> <span class="sc">Yu Tai Shun</span> <i>and</i>
<span class="sc">Makuro</span> <i>are unaware of her presence.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Do you remember when I stood here once before, Yu Tai Shun?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Can you ask me that, Makuro?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Why not, when you seem to have forgotten all that passed between us? I
went from that meeting with an imperishable fire in my heart. I return,
and the light that kindled mine is dark. We stood here, and the words
you spoke were brighter than the lamps of Siangtan that we looked down
upon. Shall I repeat them, Yu Tai Shun?
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Shun is silent.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
I would hear them, Makuro.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
The master said: "Forty centuries has China been content to plough, to
sow, to reap, and with
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page59" name="page59"></a>[59]</span>
her harvest support one-quarter of the human lives
on our planet. Drudgery has been her lot, frugality her virtue. Only so
had she lease of breath. Now she is to unlock her mines, build ships,
and roads of commerce, and with the magic of machinery set her people
free. If that magic is owned by a few, there will be no freedom, but
a slavery whose agony no man can tell. Every owner will be a monarch
greater than the Son of Heaven to whom we bowed. We cannot shut them out
by war. We can do it solely by making China a true democracy where the
people themselves own the magic tools and the great ways to the markets.
To do this is the work of all who love Freedom, and I know no other
goddess." Were these your words, Yu Tai Shun?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes ... my words.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
That was five years ago. From all parts of the earth come powers
fulfilling your fear. Leagued with our own purblind princes and dwellers
in the dusk, they hover over China, waiting for war and bribery to
dismember her. And you say your work is done. Yu Tai Shun, where have
you buried my master?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page60" name="page60"></a>[60]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
In the heart of the Princess Wong Fe.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i> (<i>rallying</i>)
</p>
<p>
May we not be too stern in our judgment of the lords of steam and iron?
Lei Kung Sang and the British minister of the So-nan mineral beds have
built houses for the people.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
And have taken their land. Men who plucked their own fruit, and took
food from their own gardens, now cannot eat until they have torn new
treasure out of the earth for the kind Briton and the good Lei Kung
Sang.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Their days of work were always long and weary.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
But they toiled as free men in the sun, and as free men sang from the
river-boats when the moon rose. In America, where there is still much
land and few people, there are places where children go down into the
mines and never see the sun except on the day they call "holy." How will
it be with China's four hundred millions, when there are not even waste
places where those who would flee may gather? For even her great
untilled spaces are being covered by the foreign hand.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page61" name="page61"></a>[61]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Slavery will be born again with depths the ancients never knew.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
But the spirit of brotherhood is growing.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Power has no brothers! It was you who taught me that, Yu Tai Shun.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Do you forget that we built our republic with the aid of these same
princes of power?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
We forget nothing. They let us beat down the throne because they could
not use it—a rigid tradition—but the republic—<i>they</i> are the
republic!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Can we not trust a little? In our greatest need, alien hands have
reached out to help us. And we have true hearts among our Chinese
lords. Not all have joined with the invader to herd the people into
slave-yards. Pei Chen-Ping and Sa Yi are most liberal. You, Prince
Ching, and those you gather to you, have hearts like the rising sun. And
the noble princes of the house of Wong—have they not given me my bride?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page62" name="page62"></a>[62]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
Ay, when your sighs had blown around the world for seven years, they
yielded her. You were a power to be checked, and they set a woman in
your path.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
No!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
It was a Japanese from the Fushun collieries, a Russian prince of the
Northern railways, a French buyer of Yunnan copper, a British ship-baron
of Hongkong, and the Chinese owners of the unworked gold veins of
Szechuan, who went to the brothers of Wong Fe and said: "Give Yu Tai
Shun his bride."
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
It was you who spoke for me!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
You had no father, and in my heart you were my son. I spoke for you
because I believed in you. I did not think that any bribe could lure you
from us. Yours was a soul that we thought would be a torch to every
nation of earth. And you choose to go out like a candle in the breath of
a woman.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Yu Tai Shun</span> <i>is bowed and silent.</i> <span class="sc">Makuro</span> <i>touches
his sleeve.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page63" name="page63"></a>[63]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Come with us, master.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
In half an hour the boat will stop at the orchard pier for Makuro. He
starts for Japan. It is there you are needed.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
I come from our friends with their summons. Japan's oligarchy of
traders, with every means known to power—school, religion, racial pride
and hate—is fostering the spirit of war. All the seeds of the jungle
are being deliberately sown once more in men's hearts. They are
preparing Japan to hold the largest share of an industrially broken
China and weld her millions into one instrument of hate against the
West.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
A pigmy's dream!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
A dream that will come true if our giants continue to sleep.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
It is the menace of America that Japan holds before her people till
their hearts roll with fear, their brains grow sick with rage. America,
who has insulted us with exclusion—who has snatched
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page64" name="page64"></a>[64]</span>
an island chain
from our Eastern waters, and shot, starved, imprisoned thousands
ignorant enough and brave enough to resist her. <i>That</i> is the America my
people are taught to believe in. But you know a different America, where
people love honor and hate war—whose religion is love thy neighbor as
thyself. Come, teach them of that America! You are known in a million
homes of Japan. You have taught us to love you, and where we love, we
listen.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i> (<i>with great effort</i>)
</p>
<p>
I cannot go. If I part from Wong Fe the blood will leave my veins and
flow back to her.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Then take her with you.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
You know what this journey means.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, you must go free. With such a weight you would be useless. I will
take Wong Fe to her brothers.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
I shall hold her forever!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
You think joy can last so long? (<i>To</i> <span class="sc">Makuro</span>, <i>shrugging.</i>) A
boy yet!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page65" name="page65"></a>[65]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
In Japan you have my young scholar, Onoto. All my knowledge I have given
him. In his heart is my purpose, his eyes hold my vision.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Onoto!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
His years are younger, his flame will leap higher. I am only one who
fails you. In every nation our numbers are growing. Do not fear for
humanity. Our brothers are everywhere.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
You say Onoto?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
He has the gift of the shining word—the word that draws the heart as a
full moon at sea draws the eye. I can turn my back on the world and rob
it of nothing, for I have given it Onoto.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
How long have you been chirping here like a cricket under a leaf, with
no news from the roadside?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
It is three weeks to-day since I brought Wong Fe to the door of my
fathers.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
Three weeks! On the very day of your joy Onoto was thrown into prison.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page66" name="page66"></a>[66]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
They would not dare!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
They did dare.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
In prison—Onoto!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
No, he is not now in prison.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Free?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
The enmity of the powers was bitter. Everywhere he was sowing the seed
of peace. In many a house the ancestral sword was broken at his bidding.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
But he is free?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i>
</p>
<p>
Yesterday (<i>glances out at the stars</i>), at this hour, he was shot.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i> (<i>slowly comprehending</i>)
</p>
<p>
Then I have been twenty-four hours dead.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>He steps uncertainly out to the little porch. They gaze at the floor,
respecting his grief</i>. <span class="sc">Wong Fe</span> <i>makes a motion to follow him.</i>
<span class="sc">Ching</span> <i>stops her with a gesture, and she shrinks back.</i> <span class="sc">Yu
Tai Shun</span> <i>re-enters.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page67" name="page67"></a>[67]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Your mercy, friends. (<i>Crosses left, to exit.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
You will go with us now?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i> (<i>turns and hurls the word</i>)
</p>
<p>
No!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>An instant of silence follows his exit, then</i> <span class="sc">Wong Fe</span> <i>comes
forward.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Peace to your hearts, honorable friends of Yu Tai Shun! He will depart
with you.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
Not yet. We must wait. Invisible chains cannot be broken. But they will
disunite of themselves. Then he will come.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
I will send him with you to-night.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
<i>You</i> send him?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Do you think I will divide his life so that the two halves can bear no
fruit? That I will wait until he hates me for that ruin?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i> (<i>with laughter</i>)
</p>
<p>
Hates you, oh princess!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page68" name="page68"></a>[68]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Wait till I must glean in his heart behind a spent passion?—like a poor
widow in the track of a grain-cart?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
The coral of your lips will defeat their command, Wong Fe. Near you he
is a dry fagot seized by a flame.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
I tell you he will go! Wait in the orchard until you hear the first
whistle of the boat. Then come for him. He will be ready. Go, honorable
friends! He is returning.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
It is useless. Your words may bite like winter, but his eyes will see
only the Spring morning.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Go, I beg you, go!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>They pass out down the steps of porch.</i> <span class="sc">Wong Fe</span> <i>hurries to a
small table, opens a lacquered box and takes from it a stiletto, which
she hides in the folds of her sleeve. She is dancing as</i> <span class="sc">Yu Tai
Shun</span> <i>enters, and sings as she dances.</i>)
</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> The thousand odors of Spring </p>
<p class="i2"> Are the thousand arms of love. </p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page69" name="page69"></a>[69]</span>
</p>
<p class="i2"> They find thee in the valleys, </p>
<p class="i2"> On the crest of the hills they reach thee; </p>
<p class="i2"> Till Spring bear no fragrance </p>
<p class="i2"> Thou canst not escape them, </p>
<p class="i2"> The thousand arms of love! </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> The orchard pool is a pillow, </p>
<p class="i2"> A pillow for the twin lotus, </p>
<p class="i2"> And the wings of the flying geese </p>
<p class="i2"> Are warm in the air of heaven; </p>
<p class="i2"> They drop to the shadowy lake-sedge, </p>
<p class="i2"> For sweet looks the earth from the roads of the sky, </p>
<p class="i2"> And in heaven are no cool grasses. </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Ever listening </p>
<p class="i2"> Are the leaves of the slim dryanda, </p>
<p class="i2"> Whose heart is the harp of the Spring-wind. </p>
<p class="i2"> A dryanda-tree is my lover, </p>
<p class="i2"> And my thoughts are the leaves that listen. </p>
<p class="i2"> Autumn, Autumn, touch not my leaf-thoughts! </p>
<p class="i2"> Cast them not down when the pool is grey, </p>
<p class="i2"> And the teal no more sail two and two </p>
<p class="i2"> With their breasts above one shadow. </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Come to me, Wong Fe! I feel that you have blown through my door like a
rose petal, and will
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page70" name="page70"></a>[70]</span>
drift away again, leaving me not a footprint to kiss.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Neither in life nor in death shall I leave you, my lord. Though I seem
to die, and these graces that please you fall to earth like
willow-blossoms, it is not I that will lie on the sand.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Why do you speak of death, Wong Fe?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
Because I am so happy. The sages say that we can have no fairer fortune
than to die in our happiest moment.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Do not speak of death. The word blisters the air, though your lips be as
two drops of June rain.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
But how sweet to die when I am fairest in your eyes! Every year, at this
time, you would walk down the peach-flower lanes and recall the glow of
my cheek. Oh, Heaven, let me not be a faded wife in the blooming time of
the year!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Thy soul, Wong Fe, is the flower of my worship.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
And death would give my soul wholly to you.
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page71" name="page71"></a>[71]</span>
I should be near you always.
Then morning would not call you to the peaks, leaving me behind in the
tear-dew.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
To-morrow we shall go together. Your shadow will be with mine on the
rocks, and under the fir-trees we shall forget the valley.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
And the world? Oh, my lord, there are distances farther than the peaks
of Siang, and they will call you from me. It cannot be that you who have
known all lands will be content with one. I would see the strange people
you have made your brothers, would listen to their dreams, and read the
future with their hearts. There are dangers you would not let my body
share—I do not ask that—but my soul, you could forbid it nothing.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
What have you heard? What has Makuro said to you?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
What should he say but that the cakes were good, and the tea had the
flavor of the fields of Hunan?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
We must join our friends. Where do they wait?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page72" name="page72"></a>[72]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
They listen for the boat that will stop at the foot of the orchard. Why
do they go? Old friends should not be so brief in greeting. Could they
not stay one night?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
No—no. (<i>Sits down</i>.) They must go.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i> (<i>laying her hand on his shoulder</i>)
</p>
<p>
What voice dost thou hear, and wilt not answer?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Nothing—nothing.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
You will not long be deaf between the beating of our two hearts. You
will hear and go. That is why I long for the death-fairy to come in my
hour of happiness. You have joined with strong men to lift a heavy yoke
from the world. My smiles cannot feed your spirit. Go with your friends.
Let the whistle of the boat part us.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
The cassia-tree may draw itself from earth, and walk on feet of roots
through the world, but I cannot divide my days from yours, for you are
myself, Wong Fe.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i> (<i>resigned</i>)
</p>
<p>
I believe you, my lord. We shall not part.
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page73" name="page73"></a>[73]</span>
But what joy it would be to
die now in your presence, while the love-cup is full! Oh, I could not
meet death alone! You know the poor ghost in the song who died in the
absence of her lover? She is always pleading to be allowed to die again
when his arms may be around her. So would my ghost go wailing if I lost
your kiss in death. (<i>Touches his cheek</i>.) Is that a tear, Yu Tai Shun?
I torture you because I am so happy! You shall laugh, my prince! I know
a new game we shall play. Little So Siu taught it to me to-day. She says
it is an American game. We call it "Guess behind you!" You turn your
back—like that—and you must tell me what I am doing. When you miss
three times, then I shall tell you what you must pay. Now—what is it
I do?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
You throw me a kiss.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
So I do! And now, my soul's light?
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Takes stiletto from her sleeve. The whistle of the boat is heard.
He turns. She hides stiletto.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i>
</p>
<p>
Our friends are going.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page74" name="page74"></a>[74]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Wong Fe</i>
</p>
<p>
But wait—there is time. You must guess once more! Oh, you are slow as
ten turns of a river! There!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Turns his head with her hands, then snatches the stiletto, stabs
herself and falls. He turns, kneels dazedly, and takes her in his arms
as she dies.</i> <span class="sc">Ching</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Makuro</span> <i>enter.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Ching</i>
</p>
<p>
The boat— (<i>Stops in consternation.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Makuro</i> (<i>softly</i>)
</p>
<p>
Master, I did not ask this price.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Shun</i> (<i>rising</i>)
</p>
<p>
It is paid.
</p>
<p class="center">
(CURTAIN)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page75" name="page75"></a>[75]</span>
</p>
<a name="h2H_4_0008" id="h2H_4_0008"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
EVERYCHILD
</h2>
<h3>
A PLAY OR PAGEANT
</h3>
<h3>
BY
<br />
<span class="sc">Frederick Peterson</span>
<br />
AND
<br />
<span class="sc">Olive Tilford Dargan</span>
</h3>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page76" name="page76"></a>[76]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
</h2>
<p>
<i>Scene I. The Garden of Joy</i>
</p>
<p class="scene">
Cho-Cho The Clown Everychild Mother, Father, and dancing children
</p>
<p>
<i>Scene II. Sweat-shop</i>
</p>
<p class="scene">
Father, Mother, three children, Everychild
</p>
<p>
<i>Scene III. The Farmstead</i>
</p>
<p class="scene">
Jim the Father, Mary the Mother, Billie, Tom, and Rosie, their
children. Cho-Cho and Everychild
</p>
<p>
<i>Scene IV. The Coal-mine</i>
</p>
<p class="scene">
Joe, Jack, Bert—three old miners and two boys
</p>
<p>
<i>Final Scene. Same as first scene</i>
</p>
<p class="scene">
Cho-Cho, Everychild, Mother, Father. Old group of children and new
group with Everychild
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page77" name="page77"></a>[77]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
PROLOGUE
</h2>
<p class="char">
BY CHO-CHO
</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i4"> Good people! </p>
<p class="i2"> This is the Play of Everychild </p>
<p class="i2"> With Cho-Cho </p>
<p class="i2"> As Author and Manager. </p>
<p class="i2"> The play has defects— </p>
<p class="i2"> It has good points— </p>
<p class="i2"> And bad points— </p>
<p class="i2"> Like the world itself— </p>
<p class="i2"> Like life! </p>
<p class="i2"> Perhaps the author of the world </p>
<p class="i2"> Is something like me, </p>
<p class="i2"> A little grotesque, </p>
<p class="i2"> A little whimsical, </p>
<p class="i2"> Serious often, </p>
<p class="i2"> Sometimes all the more serious </p>
<p class="i2"> Seen through a Fool's words </p>
<p class="i2"> With cap and jingle of bells. </p>
<p class="i2"> In this droll world </p>
<p class="i2"> There are lots of children </p>
<p class="i2"> Who are the children of fools— </p>
<p class="i2"> Like me. </p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page78" name="page78"></a>[78]</span>
<p class="i2"> Good people! </p>
<p class="i2"> I bespeak your patience </p>
<p class="i2"> With Everychild </p>
<p class="i2"> Daughter of a Clown. </p>
</div>
</div>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page79" name="page79"></a>[79]</span>
</p>
<p class="scene">
<span class="sc">Scene I</span>: <i>Stage dark as curtain rises. Moderate starlight and
quiet music of cradle-song type. Little fairies come out dancing in the
darkness with firefly lamps and sing the following cradle song:</i>
</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Some one is sleeping </p>
<p class="i4"> Out in the dark </p>
<p class="i2"> Where fireflies glimmer </p>
<p class="i4"> Spark upon spark. </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Some little stranger </p>
<p class="i4"> Come from afar </p>
<p class="i2"> Under the glory </p>
<p class="i4"> Of moon and of star. </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Deep in the blossoms </p>
<p class="i4"> That drift as they fall </p>
<p class="i2"> Some one is sleeping </p>
<p class="i4"> And stirs not at all. </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Sleep, little stranger! </p>
<p class="i4"> The night is near gone; </p>
<p class="i2"> Sleep, little stranger, </p>
<p class="i4"> But dream of the dawn! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page80" name="page80"></a>[80]</span>
</p>
<p class="scene">
<i>The dim light reveals a dark figure lying on the mosses at the foot of
an old tree. As the light grows gradually stronger the dark object
begins to move, to slowly take off one after another of black coverings,
revealing a little girl of nine or ten years, dressed in white. She rubs
her eyes, looks about wonderingly, and slowly rises to a standing
position. Meanwhile the earth grows more luminous and roseate. The birds
have begun to twitter now and then before the dawn, and their notes
increase in number and variety with the approach of morning. The growing
light reveals an orchard of old apple-trees near at hand in full bloom,
with petals falling, and hills and mountains lifting and towering upward
higher and higher into the blue distance. A path leads from the orchard
up the near hills and toward the heights. The music has grown louder,
and is sweet and tender, interspersed with bird notes. A number of
children, girls and boys, come out and sing and dance under the blossoms
of the apple-trees. They sing the children's song:</i>
</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> We are of the sunrise </p>
<p class="i4"> Flower-breath and dew, </p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page81" name="page81"></a>[81]</span>
<p class="i2"> Travelling wider circles </p>
<p class="i4"> Of blue beyond the blue, </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Seeking strength of spirit, </p>
<p class="i4"> Happiness and joy— </p>
<p class="i2"> Heritage decreed for </p>
<p class="i4"> Every girl and boy. </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Music of the moonbeams </p>
<p class="i4"> And the orchard rain, </p>
<p class="i2"> Music of the meadows </p>
<p class="i4"> Waving with the grain, </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Mountains in the sunlight, </p>
<p class="i4"> Colors of the flowers, </p>
<p class="i2"> Trailing cloud and shadow— </p>
<p class="i4"> All of these are ours. </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> We are of the sunrise </p>
<p class="i4"> Flower-breath and dew, </p>
<p class="i2"> Travelling wider circles </p>
<p class="i4"> Of blue beyond the blue. </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="scene">
<i>The little girl in the foreground looks with wonder and delight at the
entrancing spectacle. She has her side to the audience. She raises her
arms, listens, rubs her eyes, smiles with joy. She touches the grass,
the flowers, the trees,
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page82" name="page82"></a>[82]</span>
picks up and smells the falling apple-blossoms. She begins to dance like
the other children. One of them sees her and runs toward her with arms
outstretched. The newcomer touches her hair and her hands. They smile at
each other. The little girl leads the stranger toward the others and has
her join in the dance. The dancing is in the Greek manner. They play
with a light, large, bubble-like balloon.</i>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Little Girl</i>
</p>
<p>
What is your name?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Stranger</i>
</p>
<p>
I do not understand.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Little Girl</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, of course, I forgot. I will lead you to some one who will give you a
name.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>A man and woman have come slowly through the orchard and seated
themselves on a bench under an apple-tree. Two or three of the children
lead the stranger up to them.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Stranger</i> (<i>feeling of the hair and gown of the woman</i>)
</p>
<p>
Who are you?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Woman</i> (<i>smiling</i>)
</p>
<p>
I am your mother.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page83" name="page83"></a>[83]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Stranger</i> (<i>feeling of the hair and face and garments of the man</i>)
</p>
<p>
Who are you?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Man</i>
</p>
<p>
I am your father.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Stranger</i>
</p>
<p>
What place is this? They told me somewhere—but I have forgotten—that I
should die <i>there</i> which is being born <i>here</i> and come to the earth.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, this is our world, and I shall give you a name. I shall name you
Everychild.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
Is it always and everywhere so beautiful?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
No, but it should be so, and some day it will be so.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Father</i>
</p>
<p>
It is a dream we have.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
It will be even more beautiful than this, for we shall go higher, and
climb those Morning Mountains. The flowers of the Spirit grow there.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
And we shall gather them?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Father</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, Everychild. Come now, and bring all the
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page84" name="page84"></a>[84]</span>
others with you. We will
take that path yonder to the hills.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
No, wait! They are not all here. There are some missing. They must all
come.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Father</i>
</p>
<p>
It will be so long to wait. Let us go with these.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i> (<i>laying her hand on</i> <span class="sc">Everychild's</span> <i>head</i>)
</p>
<p>
Have we not named her Everychild?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Father</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes. She must go down and find all who have lost their way. Perhaps some
have awakened in the wrong place and are wandering about in the dark
jungle of the world. We will wait here till they come.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
Go, Everychild. Find them and bring them all back with you. Take this
lamp. (<i>Hands her a rose-colored lamp, etc.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Father</i>
</p>
<p>
Our lamp?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
Our love!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Father</i>
</p>
<p>
Take it, Everychild. With this lamp you can find the lost children and
bring them all back with you.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page85" name="page85"></a>[85]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
We will wait for them no matter how long.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Everychild</span> <i>starts down along a path leading off the stage to
the right—the music and singing continue through the whole scene.</i>
<span class="sc">Cho-Cho</span> <i>appears, right, for a moment and points her path to
her saying: "This way, Everychild."</i>)
</p>
<p class="center">
(CURTAIN FALLS)
</p>
<p class="center">
<span class="sc">Curtain</span> <i>rises revealing</i>
</p>
<p class="scene">
<span class="sc">Scene II:</span> <i>A squalid room in a city tenement, a miserable
stove, a bedraggled bed. Right, a table at which a poorly dressed man
and woman are working fast and feverishly. Three children of about four,
eight, and ten years sit on a bench, left, sewing as fast as they can,
looking tired, depressed, weary. It is evening, the room poorly lit.
Noises from the street, street calls, rumbling of vehicles, honk of
autos, etc., etc.</i>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>The Younger Child</i>
</p>
<p>
Ma, can I go to bed? I am so tired and hungry.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
It ain't ten yet. It will be only a few minutes more. The boss is coming
early in the morning and we must have the work ready. Now you be
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page86" name="page86"></a>[86]</span>
still and
keep working. You don't know what a good home you got. Ain't she got a
good home, John?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Father</i>
</p>
<p>
You bet she got a good home, and if you all work now we get the good
coffee and bread in the morning and perhaps in a couple a weeks we all
go to the movies.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Oldest Child</i>
</p>
<p>
Gee, I like to see that fairy play what we see once.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Bell strikes ten.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
Now, go right to bed, children. It is ten o'clock.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Takes light and goes with husband into room right. Children undress
and scramble into one bed.</i>)
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Street noises all discontinue, back of room opens out on to the
orchard and the music of first scene is heard with dancing children.</i>
<span class="sc">Everychild</span> <i>comes into the room with her rosy lamp. The three
children sit up in bed and rub their eyes.</i> <span class="sc">Everychild</span> <i>glides
all about the room and looks at the squalid place in dismay, then goes
up and smiles at the children.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page87" name="page87"></a>[87]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
You are some of the lost children. How did you get in here? Come with
me. I will give you some better clothes and you can dance and sing with
all of them.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>They get out of bed and she leads them in wonder and joy out into the
orchard.</i>)
</p>
<p class="center">
(CURTAIN FALLS)
</p>
<p class="scene">
<span class="sc">Scene III</span>: <i>Plain interior of a farmer's kitchen with farmer's
wife busy over stove, and kitchen table set for lunch for two. Adjacent
room, left, small bedroom in which lies a pallid thin child in bed with
dishes and bottles on little bedside table. Very little light. Curtains
to a single window down. Farmer in overalls comes in, looking hot and
tired. He throws hat on chair, says "Hullo, Mary, dinner ready?" and
proceeds to wash hands and face in a basin on a stool. Then sits down at
the table.</i>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i> (<i>bringing food from stove and sitting down opposite</i>)
</p>
<p>
Here we are, Jim. Guess you're ready for something. It takes a man to
sprout a patch o' locusts, and you had breakfast by lamplight.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page88" name="page88"></a>[88]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
Some o' them roots seemed as long as from here to the barn.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
But you'll have the best pasture in the county next year.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
What's the good? We rationed our beef steers the way that government
chap taught us, and our pigs, and our sheep, and who got the profit?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
A lot more documents came from the government to-day—all about <i>pigs</i>.
And we haven't got a decent house to live in! If we could only build on
that pretty bit of high ground I've had picked out for three years,
Rosie would quit havin' these sick spells.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
How is she, mother?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
I b'lieve she's a little better. Jim, have you got any money left from
sellin' the car?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
You know we had to pay the interest at the bank first of all, and the
rest went for fertilizer.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
I miss the car more on Rosie's account than
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page89" name="page89"></a>[89]</span>
mine. She's been cryin'
for a ride this morning. I didn't know what to say. And I had to promise
her she could go to the picnic if she got well. That'll mean a pretty
dress, and hat and shoes.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
I don't know where you'll get 'em then.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
Looks like we ought to be able to give our children a little pleasure.
There's poor Billie and Tom don't more'n get home from school an' lay
their books down till they have to go to hoein' and pullin' weeds. I
don't blame Billie a bit for runnin' away and goin' fishin' last
Saturday.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
I don't either, though I had to whip him for it. I can't do without his
work and get through.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
Get through? When did we ever get through anyhow? Look at this, Jim.
(<i>Picks up paper and points to paragraph.</i>) Beef steers sold to-day in
Chicago at nine cents a pound. It cost us fourteen cents to raise ours,
and we're countin' on makin' things easier by raisin' more next year.
And see here, it says <i>beef</i> went <i>up</i> in the Eastern market four cents.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page90" name="page90"></a>[90]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
Steers down, beef up! Robbin' both ways.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Enter</i> <span class="sc">Billie</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Tom</span> <i>with schoolbooks, which
they throw down, shouting: "We got a half-holiday!"</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Billie</i>
</p>
<p>
The big boys are goin' to play ball. Dad, can't we go watch 'em?
(<span class="sc">Mary</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Jim</span> <i>look at each other.</i>)
</p>
<p>
We ain't seen a ball game this year, and we want to learn to play.
They're makin' a little boys' team at school.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
Daddy's workin' awfully hard to-day. He needs you bad to pile brush for
him.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
You can't go to-day, boys. Next time——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Billie</i> (<i>hopeless</i>)
</p>
<p>
Oh, next time! It's always next time.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
Wash up now, and you can have a hot dinner.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>They wash listlessly.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
Mary, I think you'd better telephone for the doctor to come and have a
look at Rosie.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page91" name="page91"></a>[91]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i> (<i>hesitating</i>)
</p>
<p>
I did—this morning. He said he didn't have time to come out to-day.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
Dr. Lowden?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
Guess he's tired o' comin' for nothing. You can't blame him.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Jim</span> <i>hangs his head. A knock at the door.</i> <span class="sc">Jim</span> <i>rises
and opens it.</i> <span class="sc">Cho-cho</span> <i>enters giggling and grimacing while the
farmer and his wife are speechless with amazement.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Cho-Cho</i>
</p>
<p>
You sent for a doctor?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes—but—you—ain't—no doctor.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Cho-Cho</i>
</p>
<p>
No, I—ain't—no—doctor (<i>mimicking</i>), but my daughter is a doctor and
here she is now.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Enter</i> <span class="sc">Everychild</span> <i>disguised as a doctor, with a long black
cape hiding her white dress, a pair of goggles over her eyes, a long
white beard, a white wig, a man's hat on, a little black bag in her
hands.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page92" name="page92"></a>[92]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i> (<i>tearing his hair distractedly</i>)
</p>
<p>
You say that little old man is your daughter and a doctor?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Cho-Cho</i>
</p>
<p>
That's right—but a new kind of doctor. This is a Health doctor, not a
Disease doctor. Present treatment for Health—absent treatment for
absence of Health. (<i>Ha—ha—hee—hee!</i>) I'll leave the doctor here.
(<i>Goes out.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
Well, well, where is the patient? (<i>Putting hat on chair.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i>
</p>
<p>
I must be crazy, but I never seen a doctor like you. You ain't no
doctor.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, yes I am. I'm a children's specialist. Is she in that room? (<i>Goes
to door and opens it</i>—<i>draws back a little.</i>) Whew! No air. Lift up
that curtain and open the window! (<span class="sc">Jim</span> <i>does it, rather
aghast.</i>) You must show me where you keep your pigs. Don't they get
light and air on a day like this? (<i>Goes toward bed as</i> <span class="sc">Rosie</span>
<i>rises up in bed and stares with a smile at the little doctor</i>.) So this
is the little patient. Well! Well! (<i>Lifts up and looks at the
bottles.</i>) Take these and throw them out.
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page93" name="page93"></a>[93]</span>
(<i>Hands them to</i> <span class="sc">Mary</span>,
<i>who takes them out and returns.</i>) My! My! Pork and potatoes and candy!
Of all things! I'll have to make out a diet list later. (<i>Feels
pulse—listens to her chest.</i>) I think the trouble with you is bad food,
bad air, and no light. The trouble is not enough agricultural pamphlets
on human live stock, not enough government millions spent on the real
thing. Now get up, Rose! Let me see you stand. There, that's good. Now a
comb and brush—we'll help this hair a little.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i> (<i>handing</i> <span class="sc">Everychild</span> <i>a comb and brush</i>)
</p>
<p>
My hands are so full of work——
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i> (<i>arranging</i> <span class="sc">Rosie's</span> <i>hair</i>)
</p>
<p>
Yes, that's better. Now, father, a glass of milk! (<span class="sc">Jim</span> <i>goes
into kitchen.</i>) And mother, open that bag, please.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>While</i> <span class="sc">Mary</span> <i>opens bag.</i> <span class="sc">Jim</span> <i>returns with glass of
milk, which</i> <span class="sc">Rosie</span> <i>drinks.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, my!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Takes out pretty dress, stockings and slippers, which she lifts up,
looks at delightedly, and carries to the doctor.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Rosie</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, mother! You did get them!
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page94" name="page94"></a>[94]</span>
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">Everychild</span> <i>works fast, slips the gown on the patient with the
stockings and slippers, while</i> <span class="sc">Rosie</span> <i>smiles happily, though
dazed by the splendor of it.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Rosie</i>
</p>
<p>
Are you going to take me to the picnic?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
Indeed I am! A picnic that will never be over!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Rosie</i>
</p>
<p>
Are we going to ride? Have we got our car back?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
Better than that.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Rosie</i>
</p>
<p>
What is it?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
You'll see. Maybe you'll dance out of the window.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
Are you going to take her away?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, I shall keep her with me until she is well. Then she will return to
you.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Takes out of the bag the rosy lamp and waves it. Throws aside her cap
and pulls off goggles, wig, and beard. The back wall moves away,
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page95" name="page95"></a>[95]</span>
revealing the first scene with the same strains of music and the
dancing children in the orchard.</i> <span class="sc">Everychild</span> <i>leads</i>
<span class="sc">Rosie</span> <i>out to join them.</i> <span class="sc">Billie</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Tom</span>
<i>move after them calling: "Let us go with you! Take us with you!"</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Rosie</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, please take Billie and Tom!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, I want them, too. Come along, boys!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>They shout and run after</i> <span class="sc">Rosie</span> <i>and</i> <span class="sc">Everychild</span>.)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mary</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, Jim, is this a dream? Or am I awake at last?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jim</i> (<i>putting his hand to his head, dazedly</i>)
</p>
<p>
Perhaps this is what it ought to be for all the children of the world.
</p>
<p class="center">
(CURTAIN FALLS)
</p>
<p class="scene">
<span class="sc">Scene IV</span>: <i>Interior of a coal-mine, lit only by lamps on the
heads of three men and two boys, about twelve and fourteen years, the
men busy at work getting the coal down with picks, the boys shovelling
coal into a car. They work a few minutes. Distant muffled sound of a
steam-whistle.
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page96" name="page96"></a>[96]</span>
They immediately drop tools and go to corner and pick
up each a can, paper bag, or small basket, and sit down to eat.</i>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>One Man</i>
</p>
<p>
Lunch-time. It feels good to rest half an hour in this bloomin' hole.
(<i>Takes a drink from a bottle he brings from his pocket and hands to
another.</i>) Have a swig, Jack?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jack</i>
</p>
<p>
Don't care if I do. (<i>Takes a swallow.</i>) I'll bring some next time, Joe.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Joe</i> (<i>passing bottle to the other</i>)
</p>
<p>
Here, Bert, it helps. Take some and give a swallow to the boys.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bert</i>
</p>
<p>
I'll take some and thank you, but I guess the boys are better off
without it.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jack</i>
</p>
<p>
How long you worked here, Bert?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Bert</i>
</p>
<p>
Nigh on fifteen years, and a devil's job it is. I wanted to be a sailor,
but I got into this, and it paid pretty good, and then I got tangled up
with a family and just stayed on the job. But it's no place to spend a
life. (<i>Coughs.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page97" name="page97"></a>[97]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Joe</i>
</p>
<p>
I been here 'bout as long as you, Bert. I ran away from the big woods
where my father was a lumberman. Thought I'd see the world, and just got
stuck here and never could make up my mind to get away. See the world,
eh! All I ever seed was de inside of it. If I had my way to do over
again, I think I'd take to the tall timber up dere on top.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>Meantime the two boys, while eating with one hand out of their cans,
have been whispering and playing knuckle-bones with pieces of coal, a
little way from and behind the men. Suddenly they stop, look around at
each other and listen, for they hear the fairy dance music of the first
scene, which is not heard by these older men, who go on talking.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>First Boy</i>
</p>
<p>
Dey's havin' parade up dere.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Second Boy</i>
</p>
<p>
Dat ain't band music, you mutt.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<span class="sc">First Boy</span> <i>begins to sway as if in time with the music.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Second Boy</i>
</p>
<p>
Wot's the matter?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page98" name="page98"></a>[98]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>First Boy</i> (<i>sheepish</i>)
</p>
<p>
Nuthin'. (<i>Tries to keep still. They both listen.</i>) Did yer ever dance,
Buck?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Second Boy</i>
</p>
<p>
Naw. (<i>Listens.</i>) But I bet I could!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>First Boy</i>
</p>
<p>
I had a dream onct. I dremp I's in an orchard, an' they's blooms
floatin' round. I could smell 'em!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Second Boy</i>
</p>
<p>
You's nutty. You can't smell in a dream.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>They listen, and finally yield to the music, swaying their bodies,
moving their arms, and beginning to dance as the music goes on.</i>)
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Jack</i>
</p>
<p>
I've been here fourteen years, since I was a boy. It ain't a place for
a man. It's too black. You get black outside and inside. Why, they say
your lungs get black from breathing this dust. And your soul gets black.
The place for an honest man to work is out in the white light, on your
ocean or in your woods, or on the roads and railways, and in the big
buildings. This kind of work is work with punishment added to it. A
little of it would be all right for men who go wrong, or for some as
needs discipline. Then some day
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page99" name="page99"></a>[99]</span>
they'll get machines to do the rest.
Ah—there's the whistle. Come on, boys, to work again!
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>A whistle sounds and all start to work as before.</i>)
</p>
<p class="center">
(CURTAIN FALLS)
</p>
<p class="scene">
<span class="sc">Final Scene</span>: <i>Curtain rises on final scene. Same as first, with
music as before, and with the mother and father and children among the
apple-trees.</i> <span class="sc">Cho-cho</span> <i>appears, right, and says:
"Here they come!"</i> <span class="sc">Everychild</span> <i>enters, right, bringing with her a number
of children, who follow her and then scatter under the trees.</i>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Everychild</i>
</p>
<p>
Oh, mother, I went everywhere, and we've brought all who could come!
But there were some in holes in the ground that I couldn't reach, though
we danced and danced, and called and called. They were too far down.
And there were some ill and crippled, in hospitals, that couldn't walk,
and some hidden away in great buildings called factories—and some in
tenements, where there was no sun, and no green grass to walk on.
Mother, what shall we do? It was so hard to leave them. Won't you go
back with me, and help me?
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page100" name="page100"></a>[100]</span>
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, Everychild. We must all go. Not one must be left down there.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Father</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, we cannot go on up the Morning Mountains until they come.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Mother</i>
</p>
<p>
We will start at once, all of us, down through the highways and valleys
and cities of the world, and bring them here. Come, children, let us go.
</p>
<p class="stage">
(<i>They gather about her and start down, right, singing as they go.</i>
<span class="sc">Cho-cho</span> <i>lingers behind for a few moments and pronounces an
epilogue.</i>)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page101" name="page101"></a>[101]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
EPILOGUE
</h2>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Not all here yet— </p>
<p class="i2"> But they must come </p>
<p class="i2"> To this sunshine— </p>
<p class="i2"> To these mountains— </p>
<p class="i2"> To these birds and trees— </p>
<p class="i2"> To the music— </p>
<p class="i2"> To the Land of Health, </p>
<p class="i2"> The Land of Happiness— </p>
<p class="i2"> They may be gay <i>there</i>— </p>
<p class="i6"> Sometimes— </p>
<p class="i6"> Sometimes— </p>
<p class="i2"> But <i>that</i> is a fool's Paradise— </p>
<p class="i2"> My old Kingdom— </p>
<p class="i2"> And I must lead them up </p>
<p class="i2"> To this new land </p>
<p class="i2"> Of hope and joy. </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="center">
(CURTAIN FALLS)
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page102" name="page102"></a>[102]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page103" name="page103"></a>[103]</span>
</p>
<a name="h2H_4_0012" id="h2H_4_0012"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
TWO DOCTORS AT AKRAGAS
</h2>
<h3>
BY
<br />
<span class="sc">Frederick Peterson</span>
</h3>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page104" name="page104"></a>[104]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
CHARACTERS
</h2>
<p> <span class="sc">Akron</span></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Empedocles</span></p>
<p> <span class="sc">Pantheia</span></p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page105" name="page105"></a>[105]</span>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<h2>
TWO DOCTORS AT AKRAGAS
</h2>
<p class="center" style="font-size: 80%;">[<i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, 1911.]</p>
<div style="height: 2em;"><br /><br /></div>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
She has been dead these thirty days.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
How say you, thirty days! and there is no feature of corruption?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
None. She has the marble signature of death writ in her whole fair
frame. She lies upon her ivory bed, robed in the soft stuffs of Tyre, as
if new-cut from Pentelikon by Phidias, or spread upon the wood by the
magic brush of Zeuxis, seeming as much alive as this, no more, no less.
There is no beat of heart nor slightest heave of breast.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
And have you made the tests of death?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
There is no bleeding to the prick, nor film of breath upon the bronze
mirror. They have had the best of the faculty in Akragas, Gela, and
Syracuse, all save you; and I am sent by the dazed parents to beseech
you to leave for a time the
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page106" name="page106"></a>[106]</span>
affairs of state and the great problems
of philosophy, to essay your ancient skill in this strange mystery of
life in death and death in life.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
I will go with you. Where lies the house?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
Down yonder street of statues, past the Agora, and hard by the new
temple that is building to Olympian Zeus. It is the new house of yellow
sandstone, three stories in height, with the carved balconies and
wrought brazen doors. Pantheia is her name. I lead the way.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
The streets are full to-day and dazzling with color. So many carpets
hang from the windows, and so many banners are flying! So many
white-horsed chariots, and such concourses of dark slaves from every
land in the long African crescent of the midland sea, from the pillars
of Hercules to ferocious Carthage and beyond to the confines of Egypt
and Phœnicia! Ah, I remember now! It is a gala day—the expected
visit of Pindar. I am to dine with him to-morrow at the Trireme. We
moderns are doing more to celebrate his coming than our fathers did for
Æschylus when he was here. I was very young then, but I remember
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page107" name="page107"></a>[107]</span>
running with the other boys after him just to touch his soft gown and
look into his noble face.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
I have several rolls of his plays, that I keep with some new papyri of
Pindar arrived by the last galley from Corinth, in the iron chest inside
my office door, along with some less worthy bags of gold of Tarshish and
coinage of Athens, Sybaris, Panormos, and Syracuse. Ah, here is the
door! It is ajar, and if you will go into the courtyard by the fountain
and seat yourself under the palm-trees and azaleas on yon bench, by the
statue of the nymph, I will go up to announce your coming.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
All is still save for the far, faint step of Akron on the stair, and the
still fainter murmur from the streets. The very goldfish in the fountain
do not stir, and the long line of slaves against the marble wall, save
for their branded foreheads, might be gaunt caryatides hewn in Egyptian
wood or carved in ebony and amber. That gaudy tropic bird scarce ruffles
a feather. What is the difference between life and death? A voice, a
call, some sudden strange or familiar message on old paths, to the
consciousness that lies under that
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page108" name="page108"></a>[108]</span>
apparent unconsciousness, will waken
all these semblances of inanimation into new life of arms and fins and
wings. Let me try her thus! My grandfather was a pupil of Pythagoras who
had seen many such death-semblances among the peoples of the white
sacred mountains of far India. Ha! Akron beckons. I must follow him.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
Enter yon doorway where the white figure lies resplendent with jewels
that gleam in the morning sun.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
The arm drawn downward by the heavy golden bracelet is cold, yet soft
and yielding like a sleep. The face has the natural ease of slumber, and
not the rigid artificiality of death. 'Tis true there is no pulse, no
beat of heart nor stir of breath, yet neither is there the sombre
grotesqueness of the last pose. But the difference between life and
death is here so small that it is incommensurable, the point of the
mathematicians only. I shall hold this little hand in mine, and, with a
hand upon her forehead, call her by name; for, you know, Akron, one's
name has a power beyond every other word to reach the closed ears of the
imprisoned soul.
</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page109" name="page109"></a>[109]</span>
</p>
<p>
Pantheia! Pantheia! Pantheia! It is dawn. Your father calls you. Your
mother calls you. And I call you and command you. Open your eyes and
behold the sun!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
A miracle, oh, Zeus! The eyelids tremble like flower-petals under the
wind of heaven. Was that a sigh or the swish of wings? Oh, wonder of
wonders! she breathes—she whispers!
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Pantheia</i>
</p>
<p>
Where am I? Is this death? Some one called my name. That is the pictured
ceiling of my own room. Surely that is Zaldu, my pet slave, with big
drops on her black face.... And father, mother, kneeling either side.
And who are you with rapt face and star-deep eyes, thick hair with
Delphic wreaths, and in purple gown and golden girdle? Are you a god?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
Be tranquil, child, I am no god, only a physician come to heal you. You
have been ill and sleeping a long time.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Pantheia</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, I feel weakness, hunger, and thirst. I remember now that I was
well, when suddenly a strange thought came to me on my pillow. I
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page110" name="page110"></a>[110]</span>
thought that I was dead. This took such possession of me that it shut
out every other thought, and being able to think only that one thought,
I must have been dead. It seemed but a moment's time when the spell of
the thought was broken by an alien deep voice from the void of nothing
about me, calling me by name, calling me to wake and see the day. With
that came floods of my own old thoughts, like molten streams from Ætna,
that were rigid as granite before the word was given that loosed them.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
Did you not see new things or new lands or old dead faces, for you have
been gone a month? I am curious to know.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Pantheia</i>
</p>
<p>
How passing strange! No, I saw neither darkness nor light. I heard no
sounds, nor was conscious of any silence. I must have had just the one
thought that I was dead, but I lost consciousness of that thought. I
remember saying good night to Zaldu, and I handed her the quaint doll
from Egypt and bade her care for it. Then the thought seized me, and I
knew no more. My thoughts which had always run so freely before, like a
plashing brook, must have suddenly frozen,
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page111" name="page111"></a>[111]</span>
as the amber-trader from
the Baltic told me one day the rivers do in his far northern home. Oh,
sir, are you going so soon?
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
Yes, child. You must take nourishment now, and talk no more. But I am
coming again to see you, for I have many earnest questions still to put
regarding this singular adventure.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
Let me walk with you. I will close the great door. Already the gay
streets are silent, and the people crowd this way, whispering awe-struck
together of the deed of wonder you have done this day. You have called
back the dead to life, and they make obeisance to you as you pass, as if
you were in truth a son of the immortals. Your name will go down the
ages linked with the miracle of Pantheia. You are immortal.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
Nay, 'tis not so strange as that, and yet 'tis stranger.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Akron</i>
</p>
<p>
I would know your meaning better.
</p>
<p class="char">
<i>Empedocles</i>
</p>
<p>
The power of a thought, that is the real wonder!
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page112" name="page112"></a>[112]</span>
We just begin to have
glimpses of the effects of the mind upon the body. To me, Akron, the
faculty has set too great store upon herbs and bitter drafts, and
cutting with the knife. I would fain have the soul acknowledged more,
our therapy built on the dual mechanism of mind and substance. For if an
idea can lead to the apparent death of the whole body, so might other
ideas bring about the apparent death of a part of the body, like, for
example, a paralysis of the members, or of the senses of sight, feeling,
hearing; and in truth I have seen such things. Or a thought might give
rise to a pain, or to a feeling of general illness, or to a feeling of
local disorder in some internal organ; and I feel sure I have likewise
met with such instances. And if an idea may produce such ailments, then
a contrary idea implanted by the physician may heal them. I believe this
to be the secret of many of the marvels we see at the temples and
shrines of Æsculapius and of the cures made by the touch of seers and
kings.
</p>
<p>
But this teaching goes much deeper and further. If we could in the
schools implant in our youth ideas which were strong enough, we should
be able to make of them all, each in proportion to his belief
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page113" name="page113"></a>[113]</span>
in himself and his ambition, great men, great generals, thinkers, poets,
a new race of heroes in all lines of human endeavor, who should be able
by their united strength of idea and ideal finally to people the world
with gods.
</p>
<p>
I have among my slaves, who work as vintners and olive-gatherers, a
physician of Thrace, as also a philosopher of the island of Rhodes, a
member of the Pythagorean League. These I bought not long ago from the
Etruscan pirates. Every evening I have them come to me on the roof after
the evening meal, and there under the quiet of the stars we discuss life
and death, the soul and immortality, and all the burning problems of
order, harmony, and number in the universe. What surprises me is that
this Thracian should be so in advance of the physicians of Hellas,
for he holds as I do that the mind should be first considered in the
treatment of most disorders of the body, because of its tremendous
power to force the healing processes, and because sometimes it
actually induces disease and death. And we have talked together of the
incalculable value of faith and enthusiasm so applied in the education
of the child, this new kind of gardening in the budding soul of mankind,
and of what new and august
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page114" name="page114"></a>[114]</span>
races might thereby come to repeople this
rather unsatisfactory globe.
</p>
<p>
I am minded to free these slaves, indeed all my slaves, and I have the
intention of devoting the most of a considerable fortune, both inherited
and amassed by me, to the spread of these doctrines and to the public
weal, particularly in the matter of planting in the souls of our youth,
not the mere ability to read and write Greek and do sums in arithmetic,
but the seeds of noble ideas that shall make this Trinacria of ours a
still more wonderful human garden than it has been as a granary for the
world's practical needs. From this sea-centre we send our freighted
galleys to Gades in the West, Carthage in the South, Tyre in the East,
and to the red-bearded foresters of the Far North. I would still send on
these same routes this food, but also better food than this, stuff that
should kindle and feed intellectual fires in all the remote places of
the earth.
</p>
<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
<hr />
<pre>
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