PHONSIE: Gee! That tasted fierce. (Business. Knock.) Some one is knocking, mommer.

GLADYS: They're always knocking mommer. (At door.)

VOICE: Have yez th' rint?

GLADYS: I haven't.

VOICE: Much obliged.

GLADYS: You're welcome.

PHONSIE: Who was that, mommer?

GLADYS: That was only the landlord for the rent. Alas, I cannot raise it.

PHONSIE: Then if you can't raise the rent, raise me, mommer. Can't I have the spot-light to die with?

GLADYS: Why certainly you shall have one. Mr. Electrician, will you kindly give my dying child a spot-light? (Business.) There, dearest, there's your spot-light.

PHONSIE: (Laughs.) Oh, that's fine. Mommer, can I have visions?

GLADYS: Why surely, dear, you can have all the visions you want. (Shoves opium pipe in his mouth and lights it.) Now tell mommer what you see, baby!

PHONSIE: Oh, mommer, I see awful things. I can see the Gerry society pinching me. And oh, mommer, I can see New York, [1] and there ain't a gambling house in the town.

[1] Substitute name of any big city.

GLADYS: He's blind!!!! My child's gone blind!!!! (PHONSIE snores.) He sleeps at last, my child, my little dying child!!!! (Enter ALGERNON and BIRDIE.)

GLADYS: (Discovers ALGERNON.) You!!!! (ALGERNON turns to Orchestra and conducts Chord with cane.) (GLADYS Left, ALGERNON C., BIRDIE R.)

ALGERNON: (Chord.) Yes, Gladys Dressuitcase, once more we meet!!!!!

GLADYS: And the lady with the Brooklyn [1] gown!! Ah, you will start, but I know you in spite of your disguise, Birdie Bedslatz.

[1] Substitute name of the local gag town.

BIRDIE: Disguise! What disguise?

GLADYS: Woman, you cannot deceive me. You've been to the dry-dock and had your face scraped.

BIRDIE: So, you still want war?

GLADYS: No, I want justice!!!! (ALGERNON conducts Chord.) You have tracked me like sleuthhounds. You have hunted me down after all these years. You have robbed me of home, husband, honor and friends. What then is left me? (L.)

BIRDIE: (Menacingly.) There is always the river.

GLADYS: What, you dare suggest that, you with your past!

BIRDIE: How dare you mention that to me! I am now writing Sunday stories for the New York "American." [2] (Crosses to left and sits.)

[2] Substitute name of the local sensational newspaper.

GLADYS: (Stunned.) Sophie Lyons, now I see it all.

ALGERNON: (Center.) I have here a mortgage.

GLADYS: A mortgage!!!! What is it on?

ALGERNON: I don't know. What difference does that make? It is a mortgage. That's all that's necessary.

GLADYS: Can it be a mortgage on the old farm?

ALGERNON: (Moves over to R.) Certainly, on the old farm!!!! The dear old homestead in New Hampshire. (Takes paper from pocket. Crosses over to GLADYS.) I have also the paper that always goes with the mortgage. Sign this paper and the mortgage shall be yours, refuse—and—do you mind my coming closer so that I can hiss this in your ear?

GLADYS: Not at all, come right over.

ALGERNON: (Close to GLADYS.) Refuse (Hiss), I say, and you and your child shall be thrown into the streets to starve. (Hiss.)

GLADYS: (Crosses R.) Oh, I must have time to drink—I mean think. But this is infamous. The landlord will—

ALGERNON: I am the landlord. Now will you sign the papers?

GLADYS: No, a thousand times no!!!!! (Chord.) (ALGERNON conducts Chord.) No!!!!

BIRDIE: (Hand to ear.) Good gracious, don't scream so, where do you think you are?

ALGERNON: You won't sign?

GLADYS: No, do your worst, throw me into the street with my child. He is sick, dying!!!!

ALGERNON: What's the matter with him? (Goes to bed.) (PHONSIE is heaving and whistling.) Great heavens, he has the heaves. (Goes R.)

BIRDIE: What are you doing for him?

GLADYS: Trying the hot air treatment.

BIRDIE: I should think you would be expert at that.

GLADYS: The doctor says he has grey matter in his brain.

BIRDIE: (Comes down L.) I am sorry, very sorry.

ALGERNON: Sorry! Bah, this is a cheap play for sympathy! (To GLADYS:) Will you sign the papers?

GLADYS: Never, I defy you: (To BIRDIE.) As for you, beautiful fiend that you are, you came between me and my husband; you stole him from me with your dog-faced beauty; I mean doll-faced. But I can see your finish, I can see you taking poison in about fifteen minutes.

BIRDIE: (Over to ALGERNON.) Put me wise, is this true?

ALGERNON: No, 'tis false, false as hell!!!!! (Points up.)

GLADYS: It's true, as true as heaven. (Points down.) I swear it.

ALGERNON: (Crosses up to GLADYS.) Why, curse you, I'll—

GLADYS: (With pistol.) Stand back!!!!! I'm a desperate woman!!!!!

ALGERNON: (Center.) Foiled, curse the luck, foiled by a mere slip of a girl.

BIRDIE: What's to be done?

ALGERNON: (Yells.) Silence!!!! (Business.) Once aboard the lugger the girl must and shall be mine!!!!

BIRDIE: But how do you propose to lug her there? (ALGERNON moves up to door.)

GLADYS: Oh, I see it all. You have brought this she-devil here to work off her bad gags on me. Man, have you no heart?

ALGERNON: (Comes down C.) Of course I have a heart. I have also eyes, ears, nose, tongue and—

BIRDIE: Brains, calves' brains—breaded.

ALGERNON: That will be about all from you. Go, leave us!

BIRDIE: Alone?

ALGERNON: Alone!

GLADYS: Alone!

PHONSIE: (In sepulchral tone.) Oh, Gee!

BIRDIE: But it's hardly decent. You need a tamer.

ALGERNON: Go! (Crosses to R.) Go, I say, before it is too late.

BIRDIE: Oh, there's no hurry. Every place is open.

ALGERNON: Don't sass me, Birdie Bedslatz, but clear out, scat!!!!

BIRDIE: Ain't he the awful scamp? (Starts to door.)

GLADYS: (Clinging to her.) No, you cannot, must not go. Don't leave me alone with that piano mover.

BIRDIE: I must go. I have poison to buy. (At door.) Ah, Algernon O'Flaherty, if there was more men in the world like you, there'd be less women like me—I just love to say that. Ta—ta. (PHONSIE blows pea-shooter at her as she Exits. She screams and grabs cheek.)

ALGERNON: (To GLADYS back.) So, proud beauty, at last we are alone!

GLADYS: Inhuman monster!!! What new villainy do you propose?

ALGERNON: None, it's all old stuff. Listen, Gladys. When I see you again, all the old love revives and I grow mad, mad.

GLADYS: You dare to speak of love to me? Why, from the first moment I saw you, I despised you. And now I tell you to your face that I hate and loathe you, for the vile, contemptible wretch that you are.

ALGERNON: (Center.) Be careful, girl! I can give you wealth, money, jewels—jewels fit for a king's ransom.

GLADYS: (Runs into his arms.) Oh, you can—Where are they?

ALGERNON: They are in hock for the moment, but see, here are the tickets. I shall get them out, anon.

GLADYS: Dastardly wretch!!!!! With your pawn tickets to try and cop out a poor sewing girl. (Up at door.) There is the door, go! (Points other way.)

ALGERNON: (Up to her.) Why curse you, I'll—

GLADYS: Strike, you coward! (Chord.) (ALGERNON conducts Chord.)

ALGERNON: Coward!!!! (He conducts same Chord an Octave higher.)

GLADYS: Yes, coward. . . . Now go, and never cross this threshold again!!

ALGERNON: (Going up stage.) So, I'm fired with the threshold gag? Very well, I go, but I shall return. . . . I shall return! (Exits.)

PHONSIE: (Blows pea-blower after him.) Who was that big stiff, mommer, the instalment man?

GLADYS: No, darling, he is the floor-walker in a slaughter house.

PHONSIE: Mommer, when do I eat?

GLADYS: Alas, we cannot buy food, we are penniless.

PHONSIE: If you would only put your jewels in soak, mommer.

GLADYS: What, hock me sparks? Never! I may starve, yes, but I'll starve like a lady in all my finery!

PHONSIE: Mommer, I want to eat.

GLADYS: What shall I do? My child hungry, dying, without even the price of a shave! Oh, my heart is like my brother on the railroad, breaking—breaking—breaking—(Weeps.)

PHONSIE: Ah, don't cry, mommer. You'll have the whole place damp. You keep on sewing and I'll keep on dying.

GLADYS: Very well. (Drying eyes.) But first I'll go out and get a can of beer. Thank goodness, we always have beer money.

PHONSIE: Oh yes, mommer, do rush the growler. Me coppers is toastin'. And don't forget your misery cape and the music that goes with you, will you, mommer?

GLADYS: I'll get those.

PHONSIE: And you'd better take some handkerchiefs. You may want to cry. But don't cry in the beer, mommer, it makes it flat.

GLADYS: Thank you, baby, I do love to weep. Oh, if we only had a blizzard, I'd take you out in your nightie. But wait, sweetheart, wait till it goes below zero. Then you shall go out with mommer, bare-footed.

PHONSIE: Don't stand chewing the rag with the bartender, will you, mommer?

GLADYS: Only till he puts a second head on the beer. (Exit R.)

PHONSIE: Gee, it's fierce to be a stage child and dying. I wonder where my popper is? I want my popper—I want my popper. (Bawls.)

MOE REISS: (Enters.) Why, what is the matter, my little man?

PHONSIE: Oh, I'm so lonely, I want my popper.

MOE REISS: And where is your popper?

PHONSIE: Mommer says he is in Philadelphia. (Sniffles.)

MOE REISS: (Lifts hat reverently.) Dead, and his child doesn't know. And where is your mama?

PHONSIE: Oh, she's went out to chase the can.

MOE REISS: And what is your name, my little man?

PHONSIE: Alphonso. Ain't that practically the limit?

MOE REISS: Alphonso? I once had a little boy named Alphonso, who might have been about your age.

PHONSIE: And what prevented him?

MOE REISS: (Sighs.) Alas, I lost him!

PHONSIE: That was awful careless of you. You oughtn't to have took him out without his chain. (Sniffs.)

MOE REISS: What's the matter with your nose?

PHONSIE: I have the glanders—and the heaves. I get all the horse diseases. Father was a race track tout.

MOE REISS: A race track tout? What is your last name?

PHONSIE: Dressuitcase, Alphonso Dressuitcase.

MOE REISS: Dressuitcase? And have you heavy shingle marks on your person, great blue welts?

PHONSIE: You bet I have, and my popper put them there, too.

MOE REISS: Why, it's my boy, Phonsie, my little Phonsie. Don't you know me? It's popper. (Slams him in face hard with open hand.)

PHONSIE: Well, your style is familiar, but you don't need to show off!

GLADYS: (Enters. Carrying Growler carefully.) Moe! Moe! My husband! (Buries face in can.)

MOE REISS: Gladys! Gladys! My wife! (Takes can from GLADYS.)

PHONSIE: (Comes between them.) Here, I want to have my fever reduced. (Back to bed.)

GLADYS: Where have you been all these years, Moe?

MOE REISS: Just bumming around, just bumming around. When I deserted you and copped out Birdie Bedslatz, I went from bad to worse, from Jersey City to Hoboken. [1] When my senses returned, I was insane.

[1] Local.

GLADYS: My poor husband, how you must have suffered!

MOE REISS: At heart, I was always true to you and our little boy, and I want to come back home.

GLADYS: But tell me, Moe, how are you fixed? (Tries to feel his vest pocket.)

MOE REISS: Fine, I am running a swell gambling joint.

GLADYS: Splendid! Now, Phonsie shall have proper nourishment.

MOE REISS: He shall have all the food he can eat. (Up to bed.)

GLADYS: Yes, and all the beer he can drink.

MOE REISS: Great heavens, I could never pay for that.

GLADYS: Ah, then he will have to cut out his souse. Dear little chap; he loved to get tanked up. Oh look at him, Moe, he is the living image of you. I think if he lives, he will be a great bull fighter. (PHONSIE has finished the beer, and is sucking at a nipple on large bottle marked "Pure Rye.")

MOE REISS: Then he does take after me—dear little chap. (Hits him.)

GLADYS: Indeed he does. But is it safe for you to come here, Moe?

MOE REISS: Not with Whitman [1] on my trail. You know, Gladys, in the eyes of the world, I am guilty.

[1] Local District Attorney.

GLADYS: Then the world lies. (Chord. ALGERNON comes on from R. I and conducts and then Exits.) I still trust you, my husband, though the police want you for stealing moth balls. (Crash off.) What's that? (Runs to door.) Oh, it's the health department. They have come with the garbage wagon to arrest you. Quick, in there. (Points to door R.)

MOE REISS: No, let them come. I am here to see my wife and here I shall remain.

GLADYS: But for our child's sake. See, he holds up his little hands and pleads for you to go. (PHONSIE in pugilistic attitude.)

PHONSIE: Say, pop, if you don't get a wiggle on and duck in there, there'll be something doing. (Business.)

MOE REISS: My boy, I can refuse you nothing. (Exits.)

GLADYS: (At door C.) They are sneaking up, on rubbers! (To PHONSIE.) Lie down, Fido. (Guarding door R. Enter ALGERNON and BIRDIE, Door C.)

ALGERNON: There's some hellish mystery here!

BIRDIE: You can search me.

ALGERNON: (Sees GLADYS.) Aha! Now will you sign those papers?

GLADYS: Never. (Bus.) I'll sign nothing. (Down R.)

ALGERNON: (Takes carrot from his hip pocket.) You won't? There, curse you, take that. (Hits her in neck with carrot.)

GLADYS: In the neck! In the neck, where I always get it!

ALGERNON: (Center.) Quick, Birdie, seize the child and run.

BIRDIE: (Left, looks scornfully at PHONSIE.) You've got your nerve. He weighs a ton!!

PHONSIE: Oh! She's going to kidnap me!! Assistance!!

ALGERNON: Silence!! Enough!! (To GLADYS.) I have just come from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

GLADYS: Well?

ALGERNON: I have reported to them that your child has the heaves.

GLADYS: Well?

ALGERNON: The Society is sending a horse ambulance to take him to the dump.

GLADYS: Dump? To the dump?!!! No, no, it's a cruel, hideous jest! Take away my little dying boy? It would kill him, you understand, it would kill him!!

PHONSIE: (Toughly.) Sure, it would kill me!! (Bites off big chew of Tobacco.)

ALGERNON: Nevertheless, in five minutes the horse ambulance will be here.

GLADYS: Oh no! no! no! What if my child should die?

ALGERNON: Then they will make glue out of his carcass.

GLADYS: Glue. Aw! (Shakes snow on herself from box hanging over the table L.)

PHONSIE: I don't want to be no glue, mommer, I'd be all stuck up.

GLADYS: (Goes C. to PHONSIE.) Why this fiendish plot? What have I done that you thus pursue me?

ALGERNON: (R. C.) You repulsed my hellish caresses.

GLADYS: Oh, I will do anything to save my child. I'll try to love you. . . . I will love! See? (Business.) (Into his arms.) I love you now!

MOE REISS: (Enter, center.) What's this? My wife in that man's arms? Oh! (Crosses L.)

GLADYS: (At right, to MOE REISS.) Oh, Moe, I can explain. (Grabs his throat and shakes him.)

MOE REISS: (To GLADYS.) Explain!!! How? I go away and desert you for eight years. (Turns from her and goes L.) In that short absence you forget your husband. (Turns to her.) I return to find you in his arms, before my very nose. (Smashes PHONSIE in face.) (Business.) (He sees BIRDIE.) You, Birdie!

BIRDIE: Yes, I, little Birdie—Birdie on the spot.

MOE REISS: Ah, you she-fiend, you lady demon! (Kisses her.)

GLADYS: (Screams.) No, no! (Runs to him.) It's all a plot! A hideous plot to part us! This man has complained to the S. P. C. A. that our little Phonsie has the heaves. They are sending a horse ambulance to take him to the dump! They'll make glue out of his carcass! (To ALGERNON.) You see what you have done! (Beats him on back.) Tell my husband, you devil, tell him the truth!!!

ALGERNON: (To MOE REISS) (C.) Well, if you must know the truth, your wife loves me and was forcing her caresses upon me when you entered.

MOE REISS: It's true then, it's true?

PHONSIE: (Sits up.) No, popper, it's false, and I can prove it.

ALGERNON: The child is delirious from the heaves!

PHONSIE: I'll heave you out of here in a minute. Listen, popper, mommer's done the best she could. It ain't easy to nurse a dying child who is liable to croak at any moment. But she's done that, popper, she's often went without her dill pickle so I could have my spavin cure. She thought I might get well and strong and maybe get a job as a safe mover. But I've been so busy dying I couldn't go to work. (Shakes fist at ALGERNON.) Don't believe that man, popper; I'm dying, cross my heart if I ain't dying, so I couldn't tell a lie. (Back to bed.)

MOE REISS: Oh, my boy! My boy! (heart-brokenly.) (Hits PHONSIE.)

GLADYS: Dh, Moe Reiss, don't you believe him?

ALGERNON: (Left of C.) Of course not, he saw you with your arms around my neck.

MOE REISS: Yes, I saw it, I seen it.

BIRDIE: I can swear to it, if necessary.

PHONSIE: I can swear too, popper, want to hear me?

MOE REISS: No, I have heard enough. Now I intend to act. (Throws off coat, L.)

ALGERNON: What do you mean?

MOE REISS: I mean that either you or I will never leave this place alive. For I tell you plainly, as sure as there is a poker game above us, I mean to kill you!

ALGERNON: (Throws off coat and hat.) Well, if it's a roughhouse you're looking for, I'm right there with the goods. (Struggle.)

PHONSIE: Give him an upper cut, popper, soak him!!!

BIRDIE: Knife him, Algernon, knife him! (Has out her hat pin.) (During struggle, PHONSIE shoots three times.) (As they struggle to window, ALGERNON turns back, and PHONSIE sees [after third shot] his vest is a target and fires three times. Bell on each shot.) Curse you, you've got me. Here are your three cigars. (Falls dead, C.)

MOE REISS: (Kneels and feels heart.) Dead!!! Who could have done this?

PHONSIE: Father, I cannot tell a lie, I done it with my little hatchet. (Shows big gun and a picture of George Washington. All the others lift American flags and wave them.) (PHONSIE L. waving flag, MOE and GLADYS C. BIRDIE dead in chair R.)

STAR SPANGLED BANNER, FF, AS CURTAIN FALLS



THE LOLLARD A SATIRICAL COMEDY

BY EDGAR ALLAN WOOLF Author of "Youth," "Little Mother," "Mon Desir," "The Locks at Panama," "Lady Gossip," Etc., Etc.

THE LOLLARD

CHARACTERS

ANGELA MAXWELL HARRY MAXWELL FRED SALTUS MISS CAREY

SCENE: The apartment of Miss Carey, a hardworking modiste about 45 years of age, rather sharp in manner, very prudish and a hater of men.

TIME: About 2 A.M.

When the curtain rises, the stage is dark. First, "feminine snores" are heard, then a sharp ringing of bell. Then MISS CAREY from her bed in next room (curtained off, but partly visible) calls out:

MISS CAREY: Who is it?

VOICE: (Off stage.) It's me. Open!

MISS CAREY: (Poking her night-capped head out of curtains.) Well, who are you?

VOICE: (Off stage.) You don't know me. But that's all right. Please let me in—hurry! Hurry!

MISS CAREY: (Rising and getting into a kimono.) Well—whoever you are—what do you mean by waking me at two in the morning? I'll report this to the janitor. (She turns up light and opens door. ANGELA MAXWELL rushes in—in fluffy peignoir—her hair in pretty disorder—her hands full of wearing apparel, etc., as if she just snatched same up in haste. An opera coat, a pair of slippers, etc.)

ANGELA: (Rushing in—closing door after her and silencing MISS CAREY by the mysterious way she seizes her by the wrist.) Listen, you don't know me, but I've just left my husband.

MISS CAREY: (Sharply.) Well, that's no reason why I should leave my bed.

ANGELA: (Reassuringly.) You can go right back again, dear—in fact, I'll go with you and we'll talk it over there.

MISS CAREY: I don't wish to talk it over anywhere, and—

ANGELA: Well, surely, you don't think it was wrong of me to leave Harry—now do you?

MISS CAREY: I never blame any woman for leaving any man.

ANGELA: See, I knew it. After I fired the Wedgewood vase at him—and just for doing it he was brute enough to call me "Vixen,"— I snatched up as much as I could that was worth taking, and left him forever. (Suddenly, as she sees dress on model.) Oh, what a lovely little frock. (Back to other tone.) Yes, forever; and it was only when I stood out in the cold hall that I realized it would have been better to have left him forever when I was all dressed in the morning. (Beginning to shiver and weep.) Take my advice, dear, if you ever leave your husband, never do it on a cold night.

MISS CAREY: (Sharply.) I'm not married.

ANGELA: (Weeping copiously and shivering.) Well, then, you needn't bother, dear, about the weather, 'cause you never will be married.

MISS CAREY: No, I never will—catch me selling my freedom to any selfish brute of a man.

ANGELA: (As before.) See, I knew it. I said to myself, that little lady on the second floor who makes dresses with a long, thin nose—

MISS CAREY: (Outraged.) Makes dresses with a long, thin nose?

ANGELA: Yes—she's the only one in the whole apartment house I can go to—she's the only one won't give Harry right.

MISS CAREY: No man is ever right.

ANGELA: I'm commencing to believe all men are brutes.

MISS CAREY: Of course they are. (Commencing to thaw.) Have a cup of tea. (She goes to table to prepare tea things.)

ANGELA: Thanks—I brought my own tea with me. (Takes a little paper bag of tea out of one of the slippers and crosses to MISS CAREY.) If I had struck him with the vase, I could understand his calling me "Vixen" (Beginning to weep again.)—but I only flung it at him, 'cause I cracked it by accident in the morning, and I didn't want him to find it out. He was always calling me "butter-fingers." (Sits at opposite side of table.)

MISS CAREY: Oh, he was always calling you names.

ANGELA: No, that's all he ever called me—"Butter-fingers." (Cries again.)

MISS CAREY: (Pouring tea.) Oh, he's the kind that just loves to stay home and nag.

ANGELA: I'd like to catch any husband I ever get, nag.

MISS CAREY: Oh, a pouter—I know that kind.

ANGELA: Oh, no. Why, every time I insulted him he kissed me—the brute. (After a second's pause.) But—excuse me—how do you know so many kinds of men if you've never been married?

MISS CAREY: (Quickly.) Boarders—to make ends meet, I've always had to have a male boarder since I was left an orphan. (She rises—turns her back to audience—gives a touch to her pigtail, during the laugh to this line. This business always builds laugh.)

ANGELA: (Absent-mindedly.) Well, I've heard that male boarders are very nice.

MISS CAREY: I've never had a nice one yet, but I've named nearly all the style male brutes there are. What kind of a brute have you? (She sips tea.)

ANGELA: Why, I don't know—I've often wondered—you might call Harry a "lollard."

MISS CAREY: A lollard?

ANGELA: Yes, I invented the word, and believe me, a woman suffers with a lollard. (At this, MISS CAREY lets her spoon fall in cup.)

MISS CAREY: I should think she would. How did a sweet young thing like you ever meet such a type of a vertebrate?

ANGELA: At a military ball, and oh Mrs.—

MISS CAREY: Miss Carey.

ANGELA: Miss Carey—he was the handsomest specimen. His hair looked so spick—his shoulders were so big and broad—his teeth so white—and his skin, well, Miss Carey, if you'd seen him, I'll bet you'd have just gone crazy to kiss him yourself. (MISS CAREY, who is drinking tea, nearly chokes on this—coughing on the tea which goes down the wrong way.)

MISS CAREY: (After the business.) How did he lose his looks?

ANGELA: By becoming a lollard. Listen! (They pull chairs in front of table together, teacups in hand.) It happened on the honeymoon— on the train—as we sat hand in hand, when all at once, the wind through the window, started to blow his hair the wrong way, and oh, Miss Carey, what do you think I discovered?

MISS CAREY: He had been branded on the head as a criminal.

ANGELA: Oh nothing so pleasant as that—but the hair that I thought grew so lovely and plentifully, had been coaxed by a wet brush from the back over the front, and from the east over to the west. (Indicates by imitating action on her own head.)

MISS CAREY: Oh, a lollard is a disappointment of the hair.

ANGELA: No, Miss Carey, no. Listen. I said, "Oh, Harry, your hair which I thought grew so evenly and plentifully all over your head really only grows in patches." He only answered, "Yes, and now that we're married, Angela, I don't have to fool you by brushing it fancy anymore." In despair, I moaned "Yes, Harry—fool me—go on love, fool me and brush it fancy."

MISS CAREY; (Rising and crossing R.) That was your first mistake. No woman should ever call any man "love."

ANGELA: Oh, I didn't know what I said—I was so busy the whole journey pulling his hair from the back to the front and the east to the west (Same business of illustrating.)—and then, oh Miss Carey, what do you think was the next thing I discovered?

MISS CAREY: (In horror.) His teeth only grew in patches.

ANGELA: No, but I had fallen in love with a pair of tailor's shoulder-pads—yes—when he took off his coat that night, he shrunk so, I screamed (Pause—as laugh comes here.)—thinking I was in a room with a strange man—but all he muttered was "Angie, I can loll about in easy things now, I'm married"—and that's how gradually his refined feet began to look like canal-boats—his skin only looked kissable the days he shaved—twice a week—his teeth became tobacco stained—and to-night—to-night, Miss Carey, he stopped wearing hemstitched pajamas and took to wearing canton flannel night shirts. (In depth of woe after the big laugh this gets.) Miss Carey, have you ever seen a man in a canton flannel night shirt?

MISS CAREY: (After an expression of horror.) I told you I am not married.

ANGELA: (Innocently.) Oh, excuse me, I was thinking of your boarders. (MISS CAREY screams "what" and shows herself insulted beyond words.) Is it any wonder my love for him has grown cold? Men expect a woman to primp up for them—we must always look our best to hold their love—but once they wheedle us into signing our names to the marriage contract—they think (Suddenly, seeing dress again.)—Oh Miss Carey, what do you charge for a frock like that?

MISS CAREY: I have no night rates for gowns, Mrs.—

ANGELA: Just call me Angie—'cause I probably will live with you now. (Slips her arm through MISS CAREY'S, laying her head on the older woman's shoulder.)

MISS CAREY: (Disengaging her.) We'll talk that over in the morning— if you want, you may sleep upon that couch—I'll put out the light. (She does so.) I'm going to bed—I must get a little rest. (She gives a sharp turn and goes to her room. Blue light floods stage. Through the half open curtain she is seen having trouble with her bed covers—getting them too high up, then too far down, etc. Big laughs on this business.)

ANGELA: (Taking down hair.) Miss Carey, you said you were an orphan—I'm an orphan, too. (There is no answer.) I can't tell you how I appreciate your insisting on my staying—let me make your breakfast in the morning, Miss Carey. (No answer.) Harry might at least try to find me. Aren't men brutes, Miss Carey?

MISS CAREY: (Loudly from within.) They certainly are.

ANGELA: (Lets peignoir slip off her shoulders, is in pretty silk pajamas.) In the morning, I must think how I can earn my own living. (She lies down as snores come from next room.) Miss Carey, are you asleep? (Snore.) Oh dear, she's asleep before I am—she might have waited. (A key is heard in the door—Angela sits up in alarm—as key turns, she screams.) Oh Miss Carey, wake up—someone's at the door—wake up. (Miss Carey jumps up and out of bed.)

MISS CAREY: Good Lord—what is it now? (Puts up light—the door opens, and immaculately dressed, handsome young man in evening clothes, white gloves, etc., enters—FRED SALTUS.)

ANGELA: Burglars! (She runs behind curtain of MISS CAREY'S room.)

MISS CAREY: You simpleton. I told you I had a male boarder. This is it, Mr. Saltus.

FRED: Oh, Miss Carey, pardon me—I'd have come in by the back door, but I didn't know you were entertaining company.

MISS CAREY: I'm not entertaining anyone—I'm trying to get a little rest before it's time for me to get up—and young lady, if you'll come out of my room and let me in, I'll beg of you not to disturb me again. (She shoves ANGELA out in her pajamas, unintentionally knocking her into MR. SALTUS, and goes back to bed.) (Ad. lib. talk.)

ANGELA: (Embarrassed and rushing behind the frock on the dressmaker's figure.) I've made her awfully cross—but I thought it must be a burglar—'cause, you see, I never knew boarders were allowed out so late at night.

FRED: (Recognizing her.) What are you doing here?

ANGELA: (Forced to confess.) I've left my husband. (He gives a whistle of surprise.) You know he's the man on the floor below—you may have seen me with him—once in a great while.

FRED: I've seen you often (Delighted.)—and so you've left him, eh?

ANGELA: Yes—and I'm really quite upset about it—naturally he's the first husband I've ever left—and you can imagine how a woman feels if you've left your husband—that is your wife. (All in one breath.) Are you married?

FRED: No indeed—not a chance.

ANGELA: (Quickly fishes her opera cloak off couch—slips it over her and goes to couch.) Then come here and sit down. (He does so.) I should think the girls would all be crazy about you.

FRED: Oh—they are—are you boarding here too now?

ANGELA: Yes, but Miss Carey doesn't know it yet.

FRED: Tell me, have you ever noticed me coming in or going out of the building?

ANGELA: Oh yes, indeed—I used to point you out to Harry and show him how you always looked so immaculate and dapper—just as he used to look before we were married. (Starting to weep.)

FRED: Oh, you'll go back to your home to-morrow.

ANGELA: No—I'll never enter it again—never again—except for lunch.

FRED: Then you're planning a divorce?

ANGELA: (As it dawns on her—with a smile.) I suppose it would be well to get something like that.

FRED: Is he in love with another woman?

ANGELA: (Indignantly.) My Harry—I guess not. (His hand is stretched toward her—in anger she slaps it.)

FRED: Then you'll never get it (Making love to her.) unless you fall in love with another man and let your husband get the divorce.

ANGELA: (Innocently.) I think I'd like that better—I'll tell Miss Carey (She approaches curtain—a snore makes her change her mind.)—I'll tell her later.

FRED: I'm awfully glad I'm a fellow boarder here. (He advances to her—as he is about to put his arm about her—suddenly a pounding on door and a gruff voice without:) Open—open!

ANGELA: (In terror.) Oh, it's my husband—it's Harry.

FRED: Don't talk, or he'll hear you.

ANGELA: I'll hide—and you open, or he'll break down the door.

FRED: I'll have nothing to do with this mixup.

HARRY: (Loudly, without.) Open, or I'll bang—down—the—door.

ANGELA: If you don't open, he'll do it—he's a regular "door-banger."

FRED: Well, I'll not.

ANGELA: Then I'll get Miss Carey. (Up to curtains again.) Miss Carey—Miss Carey—get up.

MISS CAREY: (Sticking her head out of curtains.) My Gawd, what is it now?

ANGELA: (After struggle as to how to explain.) My husband is here to see us.

MISS CAREY: Confound your husband.

HARRY: (Outside.) I want my wife.

ANGELA: (Pleading.) Oh, Miss Carey, the poor man wants his wife— tell him I'm not here.

MISS CAREY: (Jumping up—to FRED.) You go to your room, Mr. Saltus—I'll bet you were afraid to open the door. (FRED goes to his room.) And you go into my bed—if he sees you, I'll never get any sleep.

ANGELA: Don't hurt my Harry's feelings, Miss Carey—he's awfully sensitive. (She goes behind curtains.)

MISS CAREY: No, I won't hurt his feelings—(Opening door fiercely for HARRY.) What do you want?

HARRY: (Pushing her aside as he rushes in.) My wife—she's in here.

MISS CAREY: (Following him down.) She's not here—and you get out—what do you mean by waking me up at this hour?

HARRY: I've waked up everybody else in the building—why should you sleep?

MISS CAREY: I've never seen you before, but now that I have, I don't wonder your wife left you.

HARRY: Madam, you look like a woman who could sympathize with a man.

MISS CAREY: With a man? Never—now get out.

HARRY: (Making a tour of the room—she following.) Not till I've searched your place—my wife must be here.

MISS CAREY: I don't know your wife—and I don't want to.

HARRY: Why, madam—I'm crazy about her—suppose I'm the only man in the world who would be, but she's my doll.

MISS CAREY: Well, you've lost your doll—good night.

HARRY: Oh, I'll get her back again—but a change has seemed to come over her of late, and to-night she broke out in a fury and hit me violently over the head with a Wedgewood vase.

ANGELA: (Rushing out—ready to slap him again.) Oh Harry, I did not—it never touched you.

MISS CAREY: (Throwing up her hands.) Now I'll never get to sleep.

HARRY: (Turning on MISS CAREY.) Oh, I understand it all—it's you who've come between us—you designing, deceitful homebreaker.

MISS CAREY: You leave my apartment—you impertinent man.

HARRY: Not without my wife.

ANGELA: Then you'll stay forever—'cause I'm not going with you. (She sits right of little table.)

MISS CAREY: See here—you argue this out between you—but I'm going to bed—but don't you argue above a whisper or I'll ring for the police—the idea of you two galavanting about my apartments. (Going behind curtains.)

(A funny scene ensues between husband and wife—they start their argument in whispered pantomime—she shakes her finger at him—he shakes back at her—it finally grows slightly louder and louder until they are yelling at each other.)

ANGELA: (Screaming.) If you say the vase hit you—you're a wicked—

HARRY: I don't care anything about the vase—you're coming downstairs with me. (He pulls her off chair and swings her R.)

ANGELA: (Falling on couch.) I'm not.

HARRY: (Grabbing her again.) You are.

ANGELA: I'm not. (He tries to pull her to door—she bites his finger, and breaking away, runs up to curtains again.) Miss Carey, Miss Carey, wake up, he bit me. (MISS CAREY dashes out in fury, ANGELA hangs to her.) Oh, Miss Carey, you're the only one I have in all the world to keep me from this monster. Oh, Miss Carey, pity me, make believe you're my mother.

MISS CAREY: I told you I'm not married.

ANGELA: Well, think how you'd feel if you were and I were your own little girl and a wicked man was ill-treating me, etc. (She finally touches the mother vein in MISS CAREY.)

MISS CAREY: (Affected.) Go into my room, dear. (She leads her up to bed behind curtains. After Angela disappears behind curtains, MISS CAREY turns—facing HARRY.) I'll settle with this viper. (Coming down.) Aren't you ashamed of yourself?

HARRY: Why should I'be ashamed?

MISS CAREY: (Resolutely.) Because you're a lollard.

HARRY: I'm what?

MISS CAREY: You're one of those vile creatures whose hair grows from east to west. (Dramatically.) Where are your refined feet now? )

HARRY: (Thinking she's mad.) What on earth are you talking about?

MISS CAREY: The man she fell in love with and married was spick and span—his shoulders were big and broad—his teeth were white—and his skin—well, if he were standing before me now, I'd be just crazy to kiss him myself.

HARRY: I was all that you say when I married her—that's how I won her.

MISS CAREY: And now you're not all that I say—that's how you lost her. You can't blame a little woman if she thinks she's getting a man of gold and she finds she's got a gold brick.

HARRY: Why, I'm not different now than I was then—only before I was married I was like all men, I did everything to appear at my best— to fool her.

MISS CAREY: Fool her now—we women love to be fooled. We want to be proud of our husbands. Most of us get gold bricks, but we don't want anyone else to know it.

HARRY: By George, there may be something in all this. How did you come to know it?

MISS CAREY: I'm an old maid, and old maids know more about men than anyone—that's why they stay old maids. What were you wearing the first time you met?

HARRY: (Reminiscently.) A suit of regimentals.

MISS CAREY: (Hurrying up to door.) Quick, go downstairs and put 'em on and come up as quick as you can.

HARRY: (Looks at himself in glass near door.) By George—you're right. Oh, Miss Carey, I am a lollard. (He runs off.)

MISS CAREY: You're a lollard, all right. Now young woman—get your things together and get ready to go—young woman, do you hear me? (She goes up to curtains, and opens them—there lies ANGELA cozily huddled in a heap, fast asleep.) Well, if the little fluff hasn't fallen asleep. Here—wake up—the idea.

ANGELA: (In her sleep.) Harry, be gentle with Miss Carey—she can't help it. (MISS CAREY shakes her so she jumps up.) Oh Miss Carey— hello.

MISS CAREY: Now get your things together—your husband is coming for you in a minute.

ANGELA: (A la Ibsen.) I shall never return to Harry again— I've left him for life.

MISS CAREY: You'll not stay here all that time.

ANGELA: (As she comes down, dreamily.) No, I intend to marry another—and oh, Miss Carey, his hair is so spick—his shoulders so broad—his teeth are so white.

MISS CAREY: Good Lord, woman, now you're commencing with another. Who is it?

ANGELA: Surely you must have foreseen my danger—I'm in love with your boarder.

MISS CAREY: Why, you must be crazy—girl—I won't let you enter into such a madness.

ANGELA: (In horror.) Oh Miss Carey, don't tell me you're in love with him yourself. (MISS CAREY sinks in chair.) But you'll not get him.

MISS CAREY: Why, my dear, I wouldn't have him for a birth-day present and neither will you. (After an ad lib. argument.) We'll see. (She calls off in next room.) Fire! Fire!! Fire!!!

(ANGELA gets scared and starts to run one way as FRED runs in—in canton flannels without toupee, etc., etc. ANGELA flops. After audience has seen FRED'S condition, he realizes presence of ladies and rushes back to door—sticking his head out.)

FRED: Where? Where's the fire?

MISS CAREY: Go back to your bed, Mr. Saltus. (With a look at ANGELA.) There was a fire.

ANGELA: (Disgusted.) But Miss Carey—has—put—it—out.

(On word "out" she gestures him out of room and out of her life. FRED closes door as he withdraws head.)

ANGELA: Oh Miss Carey, what an awful lollard that is. (There is a ring at bell.)

(Music commences sweet melody.)

MISS CAREY: (Knowing it is HARRY.) Open the door and see who it is.

(ANGELA opens the door—HARRY stands there in regimentals—handsome, young and dapper. ANGELA falls back in admiration.)

HARRY: Angela.

ANGELA: Oh, Harry darling!

MISS CAREY: He does look good!

ANGELA: (As she picks up her belongings.) I'm going home with you.

MISS CAREY: (As ANGELA goes up to HARRY.) Don't forget your tea dress. (Hands her the little bag.)

ANGELA: I'm so tired, Harry—take me home. (He lifts his tired little wife up in his arms and as he goes out, she mutters:) You're not such a bad lollard after all.

MISS CAREY: (Going to put out light.) Now, thank Gawd, I'll get a little sleep.

CURTAIN FALLS



BLACKMAIL A ONE-ACT PLAY BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS

Author of "Van Bibber Stories," "Soldiers of Fortune," The Playlets, "The Littlest Girl," played by Robert Hilliard for ten years, "Miss Civilization," etc., and many full-evening plays.

BLACKMAIL

CHARACTERS

RICHARD FALLON, a millionaire mine owner. "LOU" MOHUN, a crook. KELLY, a Pinkerton detective. MRS. HOWARD:

SCENE

The scene shows the interior of the sitting room of a suite in a New York hotel of the class of the Hotel Astor or Claridge. In the back wall a door opens into what is the bedroom of the suite. The hinges of this door are on the right, the door knob on the left. On the wall on either side of the door is hung a framed copy of a picture by Gibson or Christy. In the left wall, half way down, is a door leading to the hall. Higher up against the wall is a writing desk on which are writing materials and a hand telephone. Above this pinned to the wall is a blue-print map. In front of the desk is a gilt chair without arms. Above and to the right of the gilt chair is a Morris chair facing the audience. In the seat of the chair is a valise; over the back hangs a man's coat.

In the right wall are two windows with practical blinds. Below them against the wall, stretches a leather sofa. On it is a suitcase, beside it on the floor a pair of men's boots. Below the sofa and slightly to the left stands a table, sufficiently heavy to bear the weight of a man leaning against it. On this table are magazines, a man's sombrero, a box of safety matches, a pitcher of ice water and a glass, and hanging over the edge of the table, in view of the audience, are two blue prints held down by pieces of ore. The light that comes through the two windows is of a sunny day in August.

WHEN THE CURTAIN RISES

RICHARD FALLON is discovered at table arranging the specimens of ore upon the blue prints. He is a young man of thirty-five, his face is deeply tanned, his manner is rough and breezy. He is without a coat, and his trousers are held up by a belt. He is smoking a cigar.

FALLON crosses to Morris chair, opens valise, turns over papers, clothing, fails to find that for which he is looking and closes the valise. He recrosses to suit case which is at lower end of the sofa. He breaks it open and searches through more papers, shirts, coats. Takes out another blue print, tightly rolled. Unrolls it, studies it, and apparently satisfied, with his left hand, places it on table.

In attempting to close the suit case the half nearer the audience slips over the foot of the sofa, and there falls from it to the floor, a heavy "bull dog" revolver. FALLON stares at it, puzzled, as though trying to recall when he placed it in his suit case. Picks it up. Looks at it. Throws it carelessly into suit case and shuts it. His manner shows he attaches no importance to the revolver. He now surveys the blue prints and the specimens of ore, as might a hostess, who is expecting guests, survey her dinner table. He crosses to hand telephone.

FALLON: (To 'phone.) Give me the room clerk, please. Hello? This is Mr. Fallon. I'm expecting two gentlemen at five o'clock. Send them right up. And, not now, but when they come, send me up a box of your best cigars and some rye and seltzer. Thank you. (Starts to leave telephone, but is recalled.) What? A lady? I don't know any. I don't know a soul in New York! What's her name? What—Mrs. Tom Howard? For heaven's sake! Tell her I'll be there in one second! What? Why certainly! Tell her to come right up. (He rises, muttering joyfully.) Well, well, well!

(Takes his coat from chair and puts it on. Lifts valise from chair and places it behind writing desk. Kicks boots under sofa. Places cigar on edge of table in view of audience. Looks about for mirror and finding none, brushes his hair with his hands, and arranges his tie. Goes to door L. and opens it, expectantly.)

MRS. HOWARD enters. She is a young woman of thirty. Her face is sweet, sad, innocent. She is dressed in white—well, but simply. Nothing about her suggests anything of the fast, or adventuress type.

Well, Helen! This is fine! God bless you, this is the best thing that's come my way since I left Alaska. And I never saw you looking better.

MRS. HOWARD: (Taking his hand.) And, it's good to see you, Dick. (She staggers and sways slightly as though about to faint.) Can I sit down? (She moves to Morris chair and sits back in it.)

FALLON: (In alarm.) What is it? Are you ill?

MRS. HOWARD: No, I'm—I'm so glad to find you—I was afraid! I was afraid I wouldn't find you, and I had to see you. (Leaning forward, in great distress.) I'm in trouble, Dick—terrible trouble.

FALLON: (Joyfully.) And you've come to me to help you?

MRS. HOWARD: Yes.

FALLON: That's fine! That's bully. I thought, maybe, you'd just come to talk over old times. (Eagerly.) And that would have been fine, too, understand—but if you've come to me because you're in trouble, then I know you're still my good friend, my dear old pal. (Briskly.) Now, listen, you say you're in trouble. Well, you knew me when I was down and out in San Francisco, living on free lunches and chop suey. Now, look at me, Helen, I'm a bloated capitalist. I'm a millionaire.

MRS. HOWARD: (Nervously.) I know, Dick, and I'm so glad! That's how I knew you were here, I read about you this morning in the papers.

FALLON: And half they said is true, too. See those blue prints? Each one of them means a gold mine, and at five, I'm to unload them on some of the biggest swells in Wall Street. (Gently.) Now, all that that means is this: I don't know what your trouble is, but, if money can cure it, you haven't got any trouble.

MRS. HOWARD: Dick, you're just as generous and kind. You haven't changed in any way.

FALLON: I haven't changed toward you. How's that husband of yours? (Jokingly.) I'd ought to shot that fellow.

MRS. HOWARD: (In distress.) That's why I came, Dick. Oh, Dick—

FALLON: (Anxiously, incredulously.) Don't tell me there's any trouble between you and Tom? Why, old Tom he just worships you. He loves you like—

MRS. HOWARD: That's it. And I want to keep his love.

FALLON: (Laughingly.) Keep his love? Is that all you've got to worry about? (Throughout the following scene, Mrs. Howard speaks in a fateful voice, like a woman beaten and hopeless.)

MRS. HOWARD: Dick, did you ever guess why I didn't marry you?

FALLON: No, I knew. You didn't marry me because you didn't love me, and you did love Tom.

MRS. HOWARD: No, I didn't know Tom then. And I thought I loved you, until I met Tom. But I didn't marry you, because it wouldn't have been honest—because, three years before I met you, I had lived with a man—as his wife.

FALLON: Helen! (His tone is one of amazement, but not of reproach. In his astonishment, he picks the cigar from the table, puffs at it standing and partly seated on the table.)

MRS. HOWARD: (In the same dead level, hopeless voice.) I was seventeen years old. I was a waiter girl at one of Fred Harvey's restaurants on the Santa Fe. I was married to this man before a magistrate. (Fallon lifts his head.) Three months later, when he'd grown tired of me, he told me the magistrate who had married us was not a magistrate but a friend of his, a man named Louis Mohun, and he brought this man to live with us. I should have left him then, that was where I did wrong. That was all I did that was wrong. But, I couldn't leave him, I couldn't, because I was going to be a mother—and in spite of what he had done—I begged him to marry me.

FALLON: And—he wouldn't?

MRS. HOWARD: Maybe he would—but—he was killed.

FALLON: (Eagerly.) You?

MRS. HOWARD. (In horror.) God, no!

FALLON: It's a pity. That's what you should have done.

MRS. HOWARD: He was a gambler, one night he cheated—the man he cheated, shot him. Then—my baby—died! After two years I came to San Francisco and met you and Tom. Then you went to Klondike and I married Tom.

FALLON: And, you told Tom?

MRS. HOWARD: (Lowering her face.)

FALLON: Helen!

MRS. HOWARP: I know, but I was afraid. I loved him so, and I was afraid.

FALLON: But Tom would have understood. Why, you thought you were married.

MRS. HOWARD: I was afraid. I loved him too much. I was too happy, and I was afraid I'd lose him. (FALLON shakes his head.) But, we were leaving San Francisco forever—to live in the East—where I thought no one knew me.

FALLON: Well?

MRS. HOWARD: Well, one man knew me. Mohun, the man who played the magistrate. He came East, too. Three years ago he saw me one night with Tom in a theatre. He followed us and found out where I lived. The next morning he came to see me, and threatened to tell! And, I was terrified, I lost my head and gave him money. (Slowly.) And I have been giving him money ever since.

FALLON: Helen! You! Fall for blackmail? Why, that isn't you. You're no coward! You should have told the swine to go to Hell, and as soon as Tom came home, you should have told him the whole story.

MRS. HOWARD: (Fiercely.) My story, yes! But not a story Mohun threatens to tell! In a week he had it all backed up with letters, telegrams, God knows what he didn't make me out to be—a vile, degraded creature.

FALLON: And who'd have believed it?

MRS. HOWARD: Everybody! He proved it! And my children. He threatened to stop my children on the way to school and explain to them what kind of a woman their mother was. So, I paid and paid and paid. I robbed Tom, I robbed the children. I cheated them of food, and clothes, I've seen Tom look almost ashamed of us. And when I'd taken all I'd dared from Tom, I pretended I wanted to be more independent, and I learned typewriting, and needlework and decorating, and I worked at night, and when Tom was at the office—to earn money—to give to Mohun. And each time he said it was the last, and each time he came back demanding more. God knows what he does with it, he throws it away—on drink, on women, opium.

FALLON: Dope fiend, too, hey?

MRS. HOWARD: He's that, too; he's everything that's vile; inhuman, pitiless, degenerate. Sometimes, I wonder why God lets him live. (Her voice drops to a whisper.) Sometimes, I almost pray to God to let him die. (FALLON who already has determined to kill MOHUN, receives this speech with indifference, and continues grimly to puff on his cigar.) He's killed my happiness, he's killing me. In keeping him alive, I've grown ill and old. I see the children growing away from me, I see Tom drawing away from me. And now, after all my struggles, after all my torture, Tom must be told. Mohun is in some new trouble. He must have a thousand dollars! I can no more give him a thousand dollars than I can give him New York City. But, if I don't, he'll tell! What am I to do?

FALLON: (Unmoved.) When did you see this—this thing last?

MRS. HOWARD: This morning. He'd read about you in the papers. He knows I knew you in San Francisco. He said you'd "struck it rich," and that you'd give me the money. (Rises, and comes to him.) But, get this straight, Dick. I didn't come here for money. I don't want money. I won't take money. I came to you because you are my best friend, and Tom's best friend, and because I need a man's brain, a man's advice.

FALLON: (Contemptuously.) Advice! Hell! Am I the sort of man that gives girls—advice? (With rough tenderness.) Now, you go home to Tom, and tell him I'm coming to dinner. (Impressively.) And leave this leech to me. And, don't worry. This thing never happened, it's just a bad dream, a nightmare. Just throw it from your shoulders like a miner drops his pack. It's never coming back into your life again.

MRS. HOWARD: (Earnestly.) No! I won't let you pay that man! He'd hound you, as he's hounded me!

FALLON: (Indignantly.) Pay him? Me? I haven't got enough money to pay him!

MRS. HOWARD: What!

FALLON: No man on earth has money enough to pay blackmail. Helen, this is what I think of a blackmailer: The lowest thing that crawls, is a man that sends a woman into the streets to earn money for him. Here, in New York, you call them "cadets." Now, there's only one thing on earth lower than a cadet, and that's the blackmailer, the man who gets money from a woman—by threatening her good name—who uses her past as a club—who drags out some unhappy act of hers for which she's repented, in tears, on her knees, which the world has forgotten, which God has forgiven. And, for that past sin, that's forgotten and forgiven, this blackguard crucifies her. And the woman—to protect her husband and her children, as you have done—to protect her own good name, that she's worked for and won, starves herself to feed that leech. And, you ask me, if I'm going to feed him, too! Not me! Helen, down in lower California, there are black bats, the Mexican calls "Vampire" bats. They come at night and fasten on the sides of the horses and drink their blood. And, in the morning when you come to saddle up, you'll find the horses too weak to walk, and hanging to their flanks these vampires, swollen and bloated and drunk with blood. Now, I've just as much sympathy for Mr. Mohun, as I have for those vampires, and, I'm going to treat him just as I treat them! Where is he?

MRS. HOWARD: Downstairs. In the cafe.

FALLON: Here, in this hotel?

MRS. HOWARD: Yes.

FALLON: (Half to himself.) Good!

MRS. HOWARD: He said he'd wait until I telephoned him that you would pay. If you won't, he's going straight to Tom.

FALLON: He is, is he? Helen, I hate to have you speak to him again, but, unless he hears your voice, he won't come upstairs. (Motions towards telephone.) Tell him I'll see him in ten minutes. Tell him I've agreed to make it all right.

MRS. HOWARD: But, how, Dick, how?

FALLON: Don't you worry about that. I'm going to send him away. Out of the country. He won't trouble you any more.

MRS. HOWARD: But he won't go. He's promised me to go many times—

FALLON: Yes, but he's not dealing with a woman, now, he's dealing with a man, with boots on. Do as I tell you.

(MRS. HOWARD sits at writing desk and takes receiver off telephone. FALLON leans against table right, puffing quickly on his cigar, and glancing impatiently at the valise that holds his revolver.)

MRS. HOWARD: Give me the cafe, please. Is this the cafe? I want to speak to a Mr. Mohun, he is waiting to be called up—oh, thank you. (To FALLON.) He's coming. (To 'phone.) I have seen that man and he says he'll take up that debt, and pay it. Yes, now, at once. You're to wait for ten minutes, until he can get the money, and then, he'll telephone you to come up. I don't know, I'll ask. (To Fallon.) He says it must be in cash.

FALLON: (Sarcastically.) Why, certainly! That'll be all right. (MRS. HOWARD Places her hand over the mouth piece.)

MRS. HOWARD: I'll not let you pay him!

FALLON: I'm not going to! I'm going to give him just what's coming to him. Tell him, it'll be all right.

MRS. HOWARD: (To 'phone.) He says to tell you, it'll be all right. The room is 210 on the third floor. In ten minutes, yes. (She rises.)

FALLON: Now, then, you go back to Tom and get dinner ready. Don't forget I'm coming to dinner. And the children must come to dinner, too. We'll have a happy, good old-time reunion.

MRS. HOWARD: (With hand on door knob of door left.) Dick, how can I thank you?

FALLON: Don't let me catch you trying.

MRS. HOWARD: God bless you, Dick. (With a sudden hope.) And you really believe you can make him go?

FALLON: Don't worry! I'm sure of it.

MRS. HOWARD: And, you think he won't come back?

FALLON: (After a pause, gravely.) I know he won't come back.

MRS. HOWARD: God bless you, Dick!

FALLON: See you at dinner.

(MRS. HOWARD exits. FALLON stands considering, and chewing on his cigar. Then, he crosses room briskly and lowers the blind at each window. Opens valise and examines revolver. Places the revolver in his left hip pocket. Then, in a matter-of-course manner from his right hand pocket, he draws his automatic pistol. This, as though assured he would find loaded, he examines in a quick, perfunctory way, and replaces. He crosses left to desk, and taking from it a cheque book, writes out a cheque, which he tears from the book, and holds in his right hand. With left hand he removes the receiver from the telephone.)

Give me Murray Hill 2828. Hello, is this the Corn and Grain Bank? I want to speak to the cashier. Hello, is that the cashier? This is Richard Fallon, of San Francisco, speaking from the Hotel Wisteria. I opened an account with you day before yesterday, for two hundred thousand dollars. Yes, this is Mr. Fallon speaking. I made out a cheque yesterday payable to Louis Mohun (Glances at cheque.), dated August 4th, for two thousand dollars. I want to know if he's cashed it in yet? He hasn't, hey? Good! (He continues to look at cheque, to impress upon audience, that the cheque they have just seen him write, is the one which he is speaking about.) Well, I want to stop payment on that cheque. Yes, yes. I made it out under pressure, and I've decided not to stand for it. Yes, sort of a hold up! I guess that's why he was afraid to cash it. You'll attend to that, will you? Thank you. Good-bye. (He takes an envelope from desk, places cheque in it and puts envelope in his breast pocket. Again takes off receiver.) Hello, give me the cashier, please. Am I speaking to the cashier of the hotel? This is Mr. Fallon in room 210. Is your hotel detective in the lobby? He is? Good! What—what sort of a man is he, is he a man I can rely on? A Pinkerton, hey? That's good enough! Well, I wish you'd give him a thousand dollars for me in hundreds. Ten hundred-dollar bills, and before you send them up, I wish you'd mark them and take their numbers. What? No, there's no trouble. I just want to see that the right bills go to the right people, that's all. Thank you.

(He crosses to door centre, and taking key from the bedroom side, places it in keyhole on side of door in view of the audience. He turns the key several times. He takes the revolver from his left hip pocket and holding it in his right hand, rehearses shooting under his left arm through his coat which he holds from him by the fingers of his left hand. Shifting revolver to his left hand, he takes the automatic from his right hip pocket, and goes through the motions of firing with both guns in opposite directions. His pantomine must show he intends making use of both guns at the same time, using one apparently upon himself, and the other, in earnest, upon another person. He replaces the revolvers in his pockets. There is a knock at the door.)

Come in.

(KELLY enters. In his hand he carries an envelope. He is an elderly man with grey hair, neatly dressed and carrying a straw hat. He has an air of authority. His manner to FALLON is respectful.)

KELLY: Afternoon, Mr. Fallon. I am Kelly, the house detective.

FALLON: Yes, I know. I've seen you in the lobby.

KELLY: Mr. Parmelee said I was to give you this. (Gives envelope to FALLON. FALLON takes out ten yellow-back bills.) There ought to be a thousand dollars there in hundreds.

FALLON: That's right. Now, will you just sit over there, and as I read the numbers, you write them down.

KELLY: Mr. Parmelee made a note of the numbers, Mr. Fallon.

FALLON: I know. I want you to identify them too.

KELLY: I can do that. I saw him mark them.

FALLON: Good. And if you saw these bills in the next five minutes you'd be able to swear they're the same bills you gave me?

KELLY: Sure. (Starts towards door.)

FALLON: Wait a minute. Sit down, Kelly. (KELLY seats himself in Morris chair, holding his hat between his knees.) Kelly, this hotel engages you from the Pinkertons to stay around the place, and—protect the guests?

KELLY: Yes, sir.

FALLON: Well, there's a man downstairs thinks he has a claim on this money. Now, I'd like you to wait in that bedroom and listen to what he says with a view to putting him in jail.

KELLY: Blackmail, Mr. Fallon?

FALLON: Yes, blackmail.

KELLY: (Eagerly.) And you're not going to stand for it?

FALLON: I am not!

KELLY: (Earnestly.) Good! That's the only way to treat those dogs. Never give up, never give up!

FALLON: No, but yesterday, I had to give up. He put a gun at my head.

KELLY: (Excitedly.) Where? Not in this hotel?

FALLON: Yes, in this room. I gave him a cheque for two thousand dollars. That made him think I was easy, and he telephoned this morning that he's coming back for another thousand, and he wants it in cash. That's why I marked those bills.

KELLY: Why, we got him now! He's as good as dead.

FALLON: (Startled.) What?

KELLY: I say, we've got him nailed now.

FALLON: Oh, yes. (Pause.) He hasn't turned in the cheque yet—I've just called up the bank to find out. I guess he means to hold that over my head, hey?

KELLY: More likely he's afraid of it. (Eagerly.) We may get that back, too. We may find it on him.

FALLON: What? Yes, as you say, we may find it on him.

KELLY: (Eagerly.) And as soon as he gets those bills in his clothes, you give me the high sign (Fiercely.)—and we'll nail him!

FALLON: Yes, we'll nail him. And, if he puts his gun in my face today, he won't catch me empty-handed the second time. (Draws automatic from his pocket.) I'm ready for him, today!

KELLY: (Greatly concerned.) Here, none of that stuff, Mr. Fallon. A gentleman like you can't take that chance.

FALLON: Chance? Kelly, I haven't always lived in a swell hotel. The man that gets the drop on me—when I've got a gun—has got to be damned quick.

KELLY: That's just what I mean! I'm not thinking of him, I'm thinking of you. Give me that gun.

FALLON: Certainly not.

KELLY: You don't want to go to jail for a rat like that.

FALLON: I don't mean to go to jail, and, I don't mean to die, either. For the last six years I've been living on melted ice and bacon. Now, I'm worth seven million dollars. I'm thirty-five years old and my life is in front of me. And, I don't mean to waste one hour of it in a jail, and I don't mean to let any blackmailer take it away from me.

KELLY: You don't want no judge to take it away from you, either! You're not in the Klondike.

FALLON: I guess, I've got a right to defend myself, anywhere.

KELLY: Yes, but you'll get excited and—

FALLON: (Quietly.) I? Excited? I never get excited. The last time I was excited was when I was seven years old, and the circus came to town.

KELLY: Don't mix up in this. What am I here for?

FALLON: You won't be here. How can you help me in that room, when a fellow's pumping lead into my stomach in this one?

KELLY: He won't pump no lead.

FALLON: (Carelessly.) I hope not. But, if he does, he's got to do it awful quick. (Motions towards centre door.) Now, you go in there and shut the door, and I'll talk out here. And you tell me if you can hear what I say? (KELLY goes into bedroom and closes door. FALLON walks to door R. with his back turned towards KELLY.) Have you got the door shut tight?

KELLY: (From bedroom.) Yes.

FALLON: (Speaks in a loud tone, to an imaginary person.) No, not another penny. If I pay you, will you promise not to take the story to the newspapers? I give you this thousand dollars—(Turns towards centre door. KELLY opens door.) Could you hear me?

KELLY: Yes, I could hear you, but he won't talk that loud. You put him in that chair (Points to Morris chair.)—so that he'll sit facing me, and you stand over there (Points at safe.)—so then he'll have to speak up.

FALLON: I see. Are you all ready?

KELLY: Yes. (KELLY closes door. FALLON goes to desk. Lifts both guns from his pocket an inch or two, and then takes receiver from telephone. To 'phone.) Give me the cafe, please. Is this the cafe? There's a Mr. Mohun down there waiting to hear from Mr. Fallon—yes. All right. Tell him to come up. (KELLY opens door.)

KELLY: Hist. Listen, this guy knows what he's up against; he knows it might land him in Sing Sing and he'll be leery of this door being shut. So, if he insists on looking in here, you speak up loud, and say, "That's my bedroom. It's empty." Say it quick enough to give me time to get out into the hall.

FALLON: I see.

KELLY: Then, when he's had his look around, you slam the door shut again, and I'll come back into the bedroom. Have you got it?

FALLON: I understand. (In loud voice.) That's my bedroom. It's empty.

KELLY: That's the office for me to sneak into the hall. (In bedroom, he disappears right.)

FALLON: (At open door, rehearsing.) You see, the room is empty. (Closes the door with a bang. Pause, then he calls.) Are you there now, Kelly?

KELLY: Yes, I'm here.

(FALLON stands looking at the key in the door. For an instant his hand falters over it as though he would risk turning it. Then, he shakes his head, and walks to table right. There is a low knock at door left.)

FALLON: Come in.

(MOHUN enters door left. He is lean, keen faced, watchful. He is a head taller than FALLON. His manner always has an undercurrent of insolence.)

MOHUN: Afternoon. Am I speaking to Mr. Fallon?

FALLON: Yes. Lou Mohun?

MOHUN: Yes. (MOHUN stands warily at the door. Glances cautiously around the room. Bends over quite openly to look under the sofa. For some seconds his eyes rest with a smile on bedroom door. He speaks slowly, unemotionally.) A mutual friend of ours said you wanted to see me.

FALLON: (Sharply.) We've no mutual friend. No one's in this but you and me. You want to get that straight!

MOHUN: (Easily.) All right. That's all right. Well, what do you want to see me about?

(FALLON speaks in a loud voice. In the speeches that follow, it must be apparent that his loud tone and excited manner is assumed, and is intended only to convince KELLY.)

FALLON: I understand, you think you have a claim on me for a thousand dollars. And, I'm going to give it to you. But, first, I want a plain talk with you. (Sharply.) Are you listening to me?

MOHUN: No, not yet. Before there's any plain talking, I want to know where that door leads to.

FALLON: What door? That? (In a louder voice.) That's my bedroom. It's empty. Is that what you want? Think I got someone in there? Do you want to look for yourself? (Opens door.) Go on in, and look. (MOHUN takes a step forward, and peers past FALLON into bedroom.) Go on, search it. Look under the bed.

MOHUN: I guess that's all right.

FALLON: Don't you want to look?

MOHUN: (Falling back to door left.) Not now. No need to, if you're willing to let me. (Impatiently.) Go on. What is it you want with me? (FALLON closes door with a slam. Comes down to table.)

FALLON: What do I want? I want you to understand that this is the last time you come to me for money.

MOHUN: (Indifferently.) That's all right.

FALLON: No, its not all right. (Takes out bills.) Before I give you this, you've got to promise me to keep silent. I'll stand for no more blackmail.

MOHUN: Don't talk so loud. I'm not deaf. Look here, Mr. Fallon, I didn't come here to be shouted at, I came here to get the money you promised me.

FALLON: Well, here it is. (Gives him bills. MOHUN sticks them in his right-hand vest pocket.) No, you listen to me. (As soon as he obtains the money, MOHUN'S manner changes. He is amused, and insolent.)

MOHUN: No, not a bit like it. Now that I've got this, you'll have to listen to me. (Moves deliberately to Morris chair and seats himself) Mr. Fallon, I don't like your tone.

FALLON: (Slowly.) You—don't—like my tone? I don't think I understand you.

MOHUN: You talk like you had a whip over me. You don't seem to see that I got you dead to rights.

FALLON: (In pretended alarm.) Have you?

MOHUN: Have I? I got a mortgage on you for life. You got in wrong when you gave me that money. Don't you see that? Mr. Fallon, I've been taking out information about you. Some 'Frisco lads tell me you used to be pretty sweet on a certain party, but she chucked you and married the other fellow. But the first day you come back a millionaire she visits your rooms—and you give her a thousand dollars! Why? She can't tell. You can't tell. But I can tell. I can tell her husband. He's only got to ask the hotel clerk and the cashier and the bell hops, and when I've told my story as I'll tell it—he's liable to shoot you. (There is a pause during which FALLON stares at MOHUN incredulously.) Let it sink in, Mr. Fallon.

FALLON: (Quietly.) I am—letting it sink in.

MOHUN: Now, a thousand dollars is all well enough from a lady that has to scrape to find it, but a thousand dollars from a millionaire like you is a joke. And unless you want me to go to the husband, you'll come across with fifty thousand dollars, and until I get it, I'm not going to leave this room.

FALLON: (Solemnly.) Then, I don't believe you are going to leave this room.

MOHUN: (Impudently.) Oh, I'll go when I'm ready.

FALLON: (Going up close to centre door.) Let me understand you. You are going to this husband with a lie that will wreck his faith in his wife, that will wreck his faith in his best friend, unless I give you a thousand dollars?

MOHUN: No! Fifty thousand dollars!

FALLON: Fifty thousand. It's the same thing. But, you'd keep quiet for ten dollars, wouldn't you, if that was all I had?

MOHUN: (Grinning at him.) If that was all you had.

FALLON: (In a whisper, slowly, impressively.) Then, Mr. Mohun (He raises his right arm.), may—God—have mercy—on your soul. (In loud, excited tones and purposely, so that MOHUN can see him, he turns his face towards the centre door.) I won't pay that fifty thousand. I won't stand for blackmail, you're robbing—(MOHUN leaps to his feet, and points at centre door.)

MOHUN: (Fiercely.) Here. What are you doing? You're trying to trap me? There is someone in that room. (FALLON laughs mockingly at MOHUN, but speaks for KELLY to hear.)

FALLON: Don't go near that room. (With his left hand he quickly turns the key in the door.) Don't lock that door! Don't lock that door! Kelly, he's locked the door. (He draws the revolver from his left pocket. KELLY is heard shaking the handle of the door, and beating upon the panel. FALLON speaks in a whisper.) I told you, you'd never leave this room, Mr. Mohun. (In a loud, excited tone.) Drop that gun. Drop that gun. Don't point that gun at me! (Still smiling mockingly at MOHUN, FALLON shoots twice through his own coat on the left side, throws the gun at MOHUN'S feet, and drawing his automatic pistol, shoves it against MOHUN'S stomach and fires. MOHUN falls back into the Morris chair dead.) (Shouts loudly.) Break in the door. Break in the door. (From his pocket he takes the envelope containing the cheque, and sticks it into the inside pocket of MOHUN'S coat. Then turns to table, right, as KELLY bursts open the door and sees MOHUN.)

KELLY: My God, Mr. Fallon. I told you to give me that gun!

FALLON: Have I hurt him?

KELLY: (Bending over body.) Hurt him? You've killed him! (FALLON with his face turned from KELLY, smiles. He speaks with pretended emotion.) Killed him? Here, you're an officer. (Throws gun on table.) I give myself up. (KELLY runs to hand telephone. FALLON picks up his cigar from the table and a box of matches. Starts to light cigar, but seeing KELLY at 'phone hesitates and listens eagerly.)

KELLY: (To 'phone.) Send the hotel doctor here. Quick! Mr. Fallon's wounded. (To FALLON.) Are you badly hurt? (FALLON places his left hand on his left hip under the coat and removes it showing the fingers covered with blood.)

FALLON: Only scratched.

KELLY: (To 'phone.) Some crank tried to shoot him up. Mr. Fallon fired back and killed him. (Pause.) No! Mr. Fallon killed him! (Pause.) Of course, in self-defense, you fool, of course, in self-defense! (KELLY slams back the receiver, and rising quickly, turns to the right and stands with hands on his hips, and back to audience, gazing down at MOHUN. He does not once look at FALLON.)

FALLON: (On hearing the words "in self-defense" sighs, smiles and striking the match, lights the cigar as

THE CURTAIN FALLS.



THE SYSTEM A ONE-ACT MELODRAMA

BY TAYLOR GRANVILLE Author, producer and star of "The Star Bout," "The Futurity Winner," "The Yellow Streak," Etc., Etc.

IN COLLABORATION WITH

JUNIE MCCREE AND EDWARD CLARK Author of "The Marital Author of "The Winning Coach," "Neighbors," "Coon Widows," "When We Grow Town Divorcons," Etc., Etc. Up," Etc., Etc.

THE SYSTEM

CHARACTERS

BILLY BRADLEY . . . . . . Alias "The Eel." DAN MCCARTHY . . . . . . Inspector of Police. TIM DUGAN . . . . . . . . Lieutenant of Police. JAMES O'MARA. . . . . . . Desk Lieutenant. OFFICER FLYNN . . . . . . Patrolman. BOBBY PERKINS . . . . . . A Police Reporter. HAROLD BROOKTHORNE . . . A Cub Reporter. MR. INBAD . . . . . . . . A Souse. JIM, TOM . . . . . . . . Central Office Men. MRS. DEMMING WORTHINGTON. A Noted Horsewoman. JANITRESS . . . . . . . . At 327 East Broadway. GOLDIE MARSHALL . . . . . The Eel's "Gal."

Policemen, Citizens, Morbid Crowds, Etc.

SCENE I

POLICE STATION, NEW YORK CITY. EVENING

Door C. Door L. 2nd E. leading below to cells. Windows in flat R. and L. showing two green lights in front of Station. Street backing, showing the other side of Street. Bench at L. window, chair at R. window. Small platform R. 2, with desk, railing, etc. Chairs on Platform.

AT RISE: (O'Mara at desk speaking through telephone. PERKINS in chair R., writing. FLYNN searching INBAD, who is intoxicated.)

O'MARA: (Speaking through 'phone.) All right! Good-bye! (Puts 'phone down.) Take him down, that fellow is a champion souse.

INBAD: (As FLYNN is jerking him off L.) Thatsh what I am, and I'll defend my title against all comers. (Exit INBAD followed by FLYNN.)

PERKINS: (Coming R. to O'MARA.) That Worthington robbery will make a corking story, if it's true. (Starts for door C.)

O'MARA: Well, why don't you wait till the pinch comes off and then get the story for sure?

PERKINS: Your word's good enough.

O'MARA: But I haven't given you me word. I don't know whether they've nailed him yet or not.

PERKINS: (Coming back to desk railing R.) (Disappointed.) Oh, I thought you said they'd got him.

O'MARA: That's the way you reporters twist everything. I said "Dugan was after him," that's all.

PERKINS: Well, that's as good as got him; anything Dugan sets out to get, comes pretty near materializing. (Starts C., stops on meeting BROOKY, who enters door C.) Hello! Brooky! Just in time. Here's a chance for you to distinguish yourself in your new capacity.

BROOKY: (Coming C.) Got a story?

PERKINS: A pippin! Listen to this. (Reads from notes.) "Police fishing. Make a big haul! Throw out the dragnet and once more capture the Eel." A very slippery article.

BROOKY: I don't understand.

PERKINS: Oh, can't you understand, the Eel is the nickname, the alias of one of the slickest crooks in the country, Billy Bradley.

BROOKY: Billy Bradley? Oh yes, I've heard of him.

PERKINS: Well, that's the Eel.

BROOKY: Oh I see; well, what about him?

PERKINS: He's been taken, or at least is going to be.

BROOKY: What's he done?

PERKINS: (Looking at BROOKY surprised.) You're up on that Worthington robbery, aren't you?

BROOKY: What robbery is that?

PERKINS: (Disgusted.) Don't tell me you don't know that burglars entered Mrs. Demming Worthington's house last night, and made off with a five thousand dollar necklace?

BROOKY: I hadn't heard of it.

PERKINS: Good heavens, man! hasn't your paper got it?

BROOKY: (Going L.) I don't know. I never read our paper. (Perkins follows BROOKY in disgust.)

O'MARA: (Smiling.) Well, I don't know but what you're just as well off. (Enter INSPECTOR door C., O'MARA comes from behind desk and stands above it for INSPECTOR to cross him.)

PERKINS: Good evenin', Inspector.

INSPECTOR: (Glancing about room, without stopping, goes straight to stool behind desk.) How are you, boys! (INSPECTOR salutes O'MARA as he passes him, O'MARA returns the salute, then goes to upper end of desk, where he stands.)

BROOKY: How do you do, sir.

INSPECTOR: (Back of desk.) Well, O'Mara. They've got the Eel.

O'MARA: They have?

INSPECTOR: Dugan is on his way up with him now.

PERKINS: I guess it will go pretty hard with him, won't it Inspector?

INSPECTOR: If he is guilty.

PERKINS: Well, he is, isn't he?

INSPECTOR: I believe every man innocent until proven guilty.

BROOKY: Bravo, Inspector! Those are my sentiments.

INSPECTOR: I've sent for Mrs. Worthington. When we get her, Goldie, the Eel and Dugan together, we shall be able to get a clearer view on the matter. Bring up Goldie. (O'MARA exits door L.)

PERKINS: (Coming R. C.) Inspector, has this girl Goldie Marshall ever been up before?

INSPECTOR: Well, she's been arrested a number of times, on shop-lifting charges, but we've never been able to prove anything on her.

PERKINS: Perhaps she's square after all.

INSPECTOR: Not at all unlikely; as I said before, I believe a person innocent until proven guilty.

BROOKY: (Crossing R. to railing of desk.) And as I said before—Bravo, old chap. (The INSPECTOR looks at BROOKY sternly and he retires up stage R. confusedly, bumping into chair, sits in it.)

PERKINS: (Crossing R. to railing.) Inspector?

INSPECTOR: Well?

PERKINS: I suppose many a person has been railroaded through the System?

INSPECTOR: (Rising angrily.) System! How dare you! What do you mean?

PERKINS: I—I—beg your pardon, Inspector, I—

BROOKY: (Rising from chair and coming down L. of PERKINS.) I say, don't make a bally ass of yourself.

INSPECTOR: Don't ever let me hear you say that again. (Voices of O'MARA and GOLDIE are heard off L.) (Enter GOLDIE, followed by O'MARA. Door L.)

GOLDIE: (Jerking away from O'MARA.) Well, don't yank my arm off. (Looking around room.) I know the way. (Starts R.)

O'MARA: (Following GOLDIE, catches her by the back of neck as she reaches C.) Don't give me any back talk or I'll yank your neck off.

INSPECTOR: O'Mara! let go your hold. Don't forget you're dealing with a woman. (O'MARA releases hold.)

GOLDIE: (Mockingly courteous.) Thanks, Inspector! What'll I send you for Christmas, a bunch of sweet forget-me-nots or a barrel of pickles?

INSPECTOR: Goldie, don't be so incorrigible.

GOLDIE: Gee! but you're an educated guy.

INSPECTOR: Have a seat. (O'MARA jumps for chair with mock politeness.)

GOLDIE: (To reporters.) He's polite, too. (Crosses to chair.)

INSPECTOR: Well, Goldie!

GOLDIE: (Sitting.) Well, Inspector!

INSPECTOR: Do you intend to stay here to-night or are you going to get bail?

GOLDIE: Where would I get bail?

INSPECTOR: I thought perhaps some gentleman friend of yours—

GOLDIE: (Rising angrily.) I ain't got no gentlemen friends. What do you think I am, a Moll? (Sits.)

INSPECTOR: Don't make any grand stand play now, Goldie!

GOLDIE: Well, if you mean that I'm a bad girl, you'd better not say it (Rising, crosses to desk and pounds angrily on railing.), 'cause I ain't, see?

INSPECTOR: Well, you don't deny that you and the Eel are sweethearts?

GOLDIE: Was, yes. Gee, we was goin' to get married, until in a jealous huff he tried to kill me and was shipped for two years for assault and battery, but it wasn't none of my doin's.

INSPECTOR: Didn't you prefer charges against him?

GOLDIE: I did not. Do you think I'd squeal on a pal? If it wasn't for Dugan, they'd turn the Eel loose. (Sits.)

INSPECTOR: Why Dugan?

GOLDIE: Didn't he shove him in?

INSPECTOR: He was simply acting in his official duty.

GOLDIE: Official duty, my eye.

INSPECTOR: What other motive could Mr. Dugan possibly have had?

GOLDIE: (With a sneer.) Maybe you don't know. Well, I'll tell you. He thought by shovin' the Eel out of the way, he could get me.

INSPECTOR: And did he?

GOLDIE: Not so as you could notice it. I ain't no fall guy for nobody.

INSPECTOR: Now that the Eel's been sprung, are you going back to him?

GOLDIE: (Almost in tears.) Oh gee! I wish I could, but there's nothing doin', he's sore on me.

INSPECTOR: When did you last see him?

GOLDIE: Just before he went up, two years ago.

INSPECTOR: How about this Worthington robbery, wasn't he in on it?

GOLDIE: (Hastily.) No, he wasn't.

INSPECTOR: (Quickly.) Who was?

GOLDIE: (After a slight pause as though to confess.) Well, I'll tell you. There was three of us, me, Jesse James, and Christopher Columbus. (Looks first at INSPECTOR then to PERKINS.) Ah, put it down on your little yellow paper.

INSPECTOR: (Angrily.) Answers like that'll get you nothing here.

GOLDIE: See, you won't believe me when I tell you.

INSPECTOR: Silence, I say! (To O'MARA.) Take her down. (GOLDIE rises from chair leisurely and strolls impudently L. as she comes to BROOKY.) Oh, poo! poo!

INSPECTOR: (Stopping GOLDIE at door L.) And you'll stay down unless you have a confession to make.

GOLDIE: (At door L.) Say, Inspector, if you're waitin' for a confession from me, you'll wait until pigs fly kites. (Exit door L. GOLDIE followed by O'MARA.) (PERKINS and BROOKY look off after them.)

BROOKY: What a little terror!

PERKINS: Looks mighty like her work, doesn't it, Inspector?

INSPECTOR: No! The job has all the ear marks of the Eel, but she undoubtedly is his accomplice. (Enter MRS. WORTHINGTON door C., she looks around uncomfortably and as she comes down C., BROOKY and PERKINS on seeing her, remove their hats. INSPECTOR rises and indicates chair R. C.) Ah! Mrs. Worthington! (Indicating Reporters.) Have you any objection to talking for publication?

MRS. WORTHINGTON: (Looking toward Reports.) No, not at all. (PERKINS has note paper and takes down as she talks.)

INSPECTOR: Will you kindly be seated? And we shall proceed? (MRS. W. sits.) Now in the first place, how long had this girl, Goldie Marshall, been in your employ?

MRS. WORTHINGTON: Just one week.

INSPECTOR: (Half aside.) That's about the time the Eel was sprung. (To Mrs. W.) Had you missed anything else up to the time of this robbery?

MRS. WORTHINGTON: No, nothing.

INSPECTOR: Who else was in the house at the time, besides yourself and the maid?

MRS. WORTHINGTON: Only my guests who were at dinner with me. Mr. Appleby and his wife.

INSPECTOR: The horseowner?

MRS. WORTHINGTON: Yes, and a Miss Hazelton from Pittsburgh.

INSPECTOR: Would you suspect them?

MRS. WORTHINGTON: Well, hardly.

INSPECTOR: Anyone else?

MRS. WORTHINGTON: Yes, Mr. Dugan.

INSPECTOR: What Dugan?

MRS. WORTHINGTON: Why, your Mr. Dugan here.

INSPECTOR: Oh, Tim Dugan.

MRS. WORTHINGTON: Yes, we're great friends, and he frequently dines at my house. (Low murmur begins in the distance and grows louder. MRS. W. rises in fear and appeals to the INSPECTOR, who comes from behind the desk and—)

INSPECTOR: Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Worthington, just step behind the desk. (MRS. WORTHINGTON steps back of desk and sits in chair below stool. INSPECTOR replaces the chair in which MRS. W. has been sitting in front of the window R. C. then returns to back of desk where he stands. The REPORTERS at first sound show excitement, PERKINS goes to door C. and looks off R. B.)

PERKINS: (At door C.) It's Dugan and he's got the Eel. (Goes down L. C.) (DUGAN is seen out of window R. bringing the EEL along, who is hand-cuffed. They are followed by a noisy crowd. DUGAN throws the EEL down, C., then chases the crowd away from door C.)

EEL: (Looks around smiling until he sees INSPECTOR.) Hello, Inspector! Gee! it's real oil for the wicks of my lamps to see you again.

DUGAN: (Coming down C.) Yes, he's tickled to death to see you, ain't you, Billy?

EEL: (Angrily.) The Eel to you, Copper; Billy to my pals.

INSPECTOR: Well, Billy!

EEL: That's right, Inspector, you're my pal. (Movement from INSPECTOR.) Oh, I ain't forgot when you was just a plain Bull and saved me from doin' my first bit on a phoney charge. They tried to railroad me, you remember, and Dugan here was runnin' the engine.

INSPECTOR: Oh, you've got Dugan wrong, Billy, he bears you no malice.

EEL: No, it's a mistake, he just loves me. Say, he thinks so much of me, that if he saw me drowning, he'd bring me a glass of water.

DUGAN: You know why you were brought here?

EEL: Sure, so's you could railroad me again.

INSPECTOR: Nonsense, Dugan has nothing against you personally.

EEL: Oh yes he has; when he was new on the force, I beat him up good. He was only a harness cop then, and one night he thought he made me coppin' a super from a lush, which you know ain't my graft. He started to fan me with a sap, so I just clubbed my smoke wagon, and before I got through with him, I made him a pick-up for the ambulance, and he ain't never forgot it.

INSPECTOR: What do you know about this Worthington robbery? (EEL looks around suspiciously.) Before you answer, Billy, I warn you to be careful, everything you say will be used against you.

EEL: Yes, and everything I don't say will be used, too. I know the system.

DUGAN: (Crossing R. to EEL. REPORTERS follow.) Well, what have you got to say?

EEL: (Taking time, looks around.) You don't think I'm goin' to address this Mass Meeting here. (BROOKY looks L. to see if there is anyone else there.)

INSPECTOR: You're not afraid to talk in front of a couple of newspaper reporters, are you?

EEL: (Grinning at INSPECTOR to gain time.) Roosevelt gets a dollar a word, where do I come in? (Resignedly.) All right, flag the pencil pushers and I'll gab my nob. (DUGAN turns L. to tell the REPORTERS to go. BROOKY says he don't understand. PERKINS pulls him off door C., remonstrating, going R.) (The INSPECTOR signs to DUGAN that they will now grill the EEL.)

INSPECTOR: This lady I suppose you know.

EEL: (Looks at MRS. WORTHINGTON.) I never lamped her before in my life.

DUGAN: That is Mrs. Worthington, the lady you robbed.

EEL: (Banteringly to MRS. WORTHINGTON to gain time.) Is it? How do you do, pleased to meet you. Gee! but you must be an awful mark to be robbed. (INSPECTOR raps on desk.) What was it I stole from you, Mrs. Worthington?

DUGAN: Nix on that bull. You know what you stole.

EEL: Yes, and I suppose you know what I stole before I stole it.

DUGAN: With dips like you, I always look far ahead.

EEL: Get out! you couldn't look far enough ahead to see the ashes on your cigar. Why, if it wasn't for your stool pigeons—

DUGAN: That's enough out of you.

EEL: Oh, go chase yourself. (DUGAN smashes at EEL, who ducks around back of him.)

INSPECTOR: Dugan!!! (When Dugan locates the EEL, he goes after him again. MRS. WORTHINGTON screams.)

INSPECTOR: None of that, Dugan! Remember, he had no marks on him when you brought him in. (DUGAN crosses L. in front of EEL and looks off door L. in subdued rage.) A little more civility out of you, Bradley.

EEL: All right, Inspector. (To MRS. W.) I beg your pardon, lady.

INSPECTOR: You have been brought here as a suspect in a five thousand dollar jewelry theft which happened at the home of Mrs. Worthington last night. (EEL makes no move.) Circumstances point strongly in your direction. Your former sweetheart, Goldie Marshall, was serving as maid to Mrs. Worthington at the time of the robbery.

EEL: And you think I planted her there as a stall.

DUGAN: Goldie spilled that much, and we didn't, have to third degree her.

EEL: So Goldie declared me in on this?

INSPECTOR: She couldn't help it, we knew it was a two-man's job.

EEL: She snitched me into a frame-up.

DUGAN: Same as she did two years ago.

EEL: Why say, Inspector, I ain't seen Goldie since I was sprung from the Pen.

DUGAN: Is that so? I got it straight that the first place you mozied to was Goldie's flat on East Broadway. You were trailed.

EEL: Sure I was, by one of you pathfinders at the Central Office. Oh, I've played tag with you before; Dugan, whatever you say, is.

INSPECTOR: Then you admit—

EEL: I don't admit nothin'.

INSPECTOR: Be careful what you say. Have you retained counsel?

EEL: A mouthpiece! What for?

INSPECTOR: You've got to be represented. Have you any money?

EEL: Sure! I left the hotel of Zebra clothed with a pocket full of smiles and a wad of joy. (INSPECTOR whispers for O'MARA to bring up GOLDIE. O'MARA exits door L.)

INSPECTOR: Well, the state will furnish you with an attorney.

EEL: What, one of them record shysters? Eighty years old and never won a case. No, thanks, Inspector. I'll plead my own case; then I got at least a chance to beat this rap.

DUGAN: You'd have a swell time pleading your own case.

EEL: Yes, and believe me I'll spring a sensation when I open up. I'll show up some of this rotten graft. I'll bust "The System " to smithereens. Dugan, I won't be railroaded—(EEL crosses in rage L. to Dugan.)

INSPECTOR: Bradley! hold your tongue, you've said enough.

EEL: I ain't said half what I'm going to say—

INSPECTOR: (Fiercely.) Not another word out of you. Do you understand?

EEL: (Coming down.) All right, Inspector. I don't want to get anybody that's right, in bad, but I've got something up my sleeve. (DUGAN laughs and goes up stage.) (GOLDIE enters door L. brought in by O'MARA. She is startled at seeing EEL, then pleadingly:)

GOLDIE: Billy! (EEL turns and is about to go to GOLDIE but stops.)

EEL: You snitched again! You snitched again! (Running L. to GOLDIE with arms up as though to hit her with hand-cuffs. GOLDIE snatches his upraised arms.)

GOLDIE: Oh no, Billy! True as God I didn't!

DUGAN: (Aside to INSPECTOR.) Let's leave them alone, they'll talk. (MRS. WORTHINGTON, INSPECTOR, DUGAN and O'MARA exit door R.)

GOLDIE: (Still holding EEL'S arms.) Why, I'd rather die than snitch.

EEL: (Jerking away and going R.) How about two years ago?

GOLDIE: I didn't even then when you left me dying. They framed you while I was in the hospital.

EEL: Who?

GOLDIE: Dugan and his—

EEL: Sh!!! Oh if I could only believe you, kid.

GOLDIE: Look at me, Billy. Do you think I'd snitch?

EEL: (Looks at her, then pushes her head roughly back.) No, I can't believe you did it, kid. (EEL takes GOLDIE in his arms.)

GOLDIE: (Sobbingly.) I'm so glad to see you again.

EEL: Me, too, kid. Gee, your head feels as natural on my shoulder as a piece of pie on a prize-fighter's knife. (EEL takes GOLDIE from his shoulder and says inquiringly.) But what are you doing here?

GOLDIE: (Drying her tears.) Bein' held on suspicion, but they can't get met I'm protected. Dugan's got to—

EEL: Nix on the crackin', don't shoot your trap, they're leavin' us together for a stall. Talk about something else. (EEL turns R. and GOLDIE grabs his hand.) Do you still love me?

GOLDIE: Always.

EEL: Will you marry me?

GOLDIE: If you want me to.

EEL: You know I do. (Looks around suspiciously.) Say, if I beat this rap (DUGAN comes, on door R., and stands at upper end of desk), let's get spliced and go out West, turn over a new leaf, and begin life all over again, far away from the subway world where the sun of happiness is always clouded and the ace of joy is coppered. What do you say?

GOLDIE: Gee! them's the kindest words you've ever said to me. (Then lightly.) And I'll march down the aisle with you, with my hair in a braid.

EEL: Great!! Gee, I wonder if we could make our get-away now. (Both start for door C., but DUGAN, who has come down behind them, stops them.)

DUGAN: How do you do! Would you like to take a little trip out in the air with me?

GOLDIE: Say, I'd rather be home with the headache, than at the Movies with a guy like you. (Crosses L.) (INSPECTOR enters door R. going behind desk.)

INSPECTOR: Well, have you got anything to say to me before I lock you up for the night?

EEL: Nothin', except that it's a frame-up, and we defy you to go through with it.

INSPECTOR: Take 'em down.

DUGAN: (Above door L.) Come on. (EEL starts for door L.)

GOLDIE: Good-night, Inspector.

INSPECTOR: Good-night.

EEL: (Turning at door L.) Same from me, Inspector.

INSPECTOR: Good-night, Bradley. (DUGAN shoves the EEL roughly off. GOLDIE circles around and switches in front of DUGAN.) By the way, Goldie, what's the number of your flat on East Broadway?

GOLDIE: (Hesitatingly at door L.) 327, Inspector.

INSPECTOR: Thanks.

GOLDIE: (Impudently.) You're welcome. (Exit door L. followed by DUGAN.) (O'MARA locks door after them.)

INSPECTOR: (Calling O'MARA.) O'Mara!

O'MARA: (At door L.) Yes, sir.

INSPECTOR: I want a wire installed at 327 East Broadway.

O'MARA: (In front of desk.) Goldie's flat?

INSPECTOR: Yes. I'm leaving it to you to see that the orders are carried out to the letter.

O'MARA: Yes, sir, to-morrow.

INSPECTOR: To-night, at once. I'm going to turn them loose. You understand?

O'MARA: (Looks puzzled, then face brightens.) I understand.

DARK CHANGE

SCENE II

STREET SCENE, IN EAST BROADWAY

Showing flat house with stoop. Time: The same evening. A small boy enters L. with bottle of milk, goes up steps door C., rings bell, clicker sounds, and he exits door C. MAGGIE enters door C. She is an East side janitress. She has a tin pail on her arm around which is wrapped newspaper. She walks off L. PERKINS and BROOKY are heard off R.)

PERKINS: (Entering R. briskly.) Come on, Brooky, don't be so slow.

BROOKY: (Straggling in after PERKINS.) I say, old chap, this sort of work is most laborious. This flitting from one tram to another, and being jostled and ordered to "step lively" by vulgar guards, and running, yes actually running. It's not only bad taste, old man, but positively undignified. (Dusting shoes with handkerchief, L., PERKINS is up in vestibule of door C.)

PERKINS: If you want to supply your paper with live news, you've got to keep hustling.

BROOKY: Very true, but it seems such a waste of energy.

PERKINS: (Coming down to BROOKY.) No energy is wasted that is productive of flaring headlines. Now take that note pad I gave you, and get your pencil busy with a description of this neighborhood. (Goes R. making notes.)

BROOKY: (Taking paper and pencil from pockets after a search for them.) This is more like being a Scotland Yarder than a reporter.

PERKINS: A Scotland Yarder!

BROOKY: I should say detective.

PERKINS: (Coming L.) Let me tell you something, Brooky. The reporters and newspapers unravel more cases than the police.

BROOKY: I dare say you do. You're so damned inquisitive.

PERKINS: It isn't inquisitiveness, my boy, it's just being on the level with the public.

BROOKY: (Laughing.) You know, some great man said, "The public be damned."

PERKINS: He wasn't a great man, he was an ignorant man. The public will stand for just so much, then look out; let your mind wander back to the history of the French Revolution. An infuriated public is the most ferocious blood-lapping animal in the earth's jungle.

BROOKY: Perky, I adore your descriptive talents.

PERKINS: (Going up into vestibule and ringing bell.) You make me sick.

BROOKY: But surely you're not going to enter that apartment house unannounced?

PERKINS: No, I'll tell them a couple of reporters want some news, then you'll hear language no paper can print.

BROOKY: Why, are they all foreigners?

PERKINS: Say, Brooky, you're a perfect ass.

BROOKY: No, my dear fellow, none of us are perfect.

PERKINS: (Coming down out of vestibule to BROOKY.) Now listen, I told you that I had inside information that the EEL and GOLDIE were to be released, that's why I hustled you over here. I could have come alone, but I let you in on a big scoop for your paper.

BROOKY: Righto, old chap, righto; but what bothers me is, what's it all about?

PERKINS: It's about time you got next to yourself.

BROOKY: Another impossible metaphor, my dear fellow; how can one get next to one's self without being twins?

PERKINS: Brooky, Englishmen as a rule are thick, but you are a density of thickness that is impenetrable.

BROOKY: Yes, I know I am a rare sort.

PERKINS: Now, we haven't time to argue a lot of piffle. The girl isn't in yet, there's no answer to my ring, so let's stroll around and come back later. (Exit R.)

BROOKY: (Not seeing that PERKINS has gone.) Righto! old man, we'll stroll, for if there's anything that I like, its having a nice little—(Seeing that PERKINS is gone.) Perkins! you said stroll. Don't run, don't run, it's so damned undignified. (Exit R.) (Enter L., O'MARA dressed in citizen's clothes. He looks at number on house then motions off for TOM to come on. TOM comes on L., they go up into vestibule and look for names on bells. Enter Officer FLYNN, stealthily.)

FLYNN: Come on, now, you don't live there, I've had my eye on you for five minutes.

O'MARA: (Coming down from vestibule to FLYNN.) Well, keep your eye on something else, if you know what's good for you. (Takes badge out of pocket.)

FLYNN: (Surprised.) Central Officer! (Whistles and walks off R.)

O'MARA: (Returning to vestibule.) Ring any bell?

TOM: No, her flat's on the second floor, so I'll ring up the top flat. (TOM rings the bell and sound of electric door opener is heard, they both exit door C.) (FLYNN strolls back on from R. ad MAGGIE enters from L.)

FLYNN: Hello, Maggie! been out to get the evening paper? There is not much in it.

MAGGIE: There's enough in it to quench me thirst after a hard day's work.

FLYNN: I see you've got the paper wrapped around something good.

MAGGIE: I have that, and it's meself instead of the paper'll be wrapped around it in a minute. (Light goes up in window above.)

FLYNN: I see you've got a new tenant. Is she hard on you?

MAGGIE: Divel-a-bit! She's a nice respectable dacent girl, and aisy to get along with. I never seen her with no men folks. Maybe she's a widdy, as I'd like to be.

FLYNN: A widow? What's the matter with your old man?

MAGGIE: He ain't worth powder enough to blow up a cock-roach.

FLYNN: Is he working?

MAGGIE: He ain't done a tap since the civil war.

FLYNN: That's quite a vacation.

MAGGIE: Vacation? It's a life sentence of laziness.

FLYNN: There's many a good man layin' off.

MAGGIE: No, the good men are dyin' off, it's the bums that are layin' off.

FLYNN: (Looking at house.) Well, the landlord of this house ain't particular about his tenants.

MAGGIE: Not a bit, it's been a nest for thieves ever since I came here.

FLYNN: Well, they've got to live somewhere, the jails are overcrowded.

MAGGIE: Oh, I don't mind thim, they can steal nothin' from me but me old man, and they're welcome to him without usin' a jimmy.

FLYNN: A jimmy? You're getting on to the thief slang.

MAGGIE: Why wouldn't I? That's all I hear mornin' and night from "Tommy the Rat," "Tim the Flim," and "John the Con."

FLYNN: You know all their monakers?

MAGGIE: I do that. Say, they've given me a monaker, too.

FLYNN: What do they call you?

MAGGIE: "Mag the Jag."

FLYNN: (Laughs.) Well, I must be off. (Starts off R.)

MAGGIE: (As she goes up into vestibule.) Won't you come in and have a sup of beer and a pull at the old man's pipe?