The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fool, by Channing Pollock.

The cast of "THE FOOL" as originally presented by
Selwyn & Company, at the Times Square Theatre,
New York, October 23, 1922

Stage, screen and amateur rights in this play are owned and controlled by the Author, who may be reached care Selwyn & Company, at the Selwyn Theatre, New York. No performances or public readings may be given without his written consent.

THE PERSONS

THE PLACES

THE FOOL

ACT I.

The set, representing only the chancel, is as deep as possible, so that, even when its foreground is brightly illuminated, the detail back of that is lost in shadows. Pierced by three fine stained glass windows, the rear wall looms above the altar, on which the candles are not lighted. In front of that is the sanctuary, and, in front of that, the communion rail, with three steps to the stage. Just right of these steps is a very tall and beautiful Christmas tree. The tree has been expensively trimmed, and has a practical connection for an electric-lighted ornament still to be placed at its top. Down R., a door to the choir room, and, down L., a door to the parish house and the street. These doors are exactly alike. Down L., two folding wooden chairs that have been brought in for temporary use. A tall stepladder L. of the tree, facing front. Down R., two wooden boxes of ornaments, that on top open and half emptied. There is a pile of tissue-wrapped and ribboned packages under the tree, and a general litter of gifts, boxes, and crumpled paper everywhere. The Church of the Nativity is fashionable and luxurious;[Pg 14] the effect of the set must be that of a peeping into a building spacious, magnificent, and majestic.

At Rise: Christmas Eve, 1918. The act begins in bright day-light—about half past three in the afternoon—so that the early winter twilight may have set in before its end. The sun's rays now come through a stained-glass window above the door L., so that the R. of the stage is bathed in white, the C. in blue, and the L. in a deep straw. Two women and a girl are discovered. Mrs. Henry Gilliam, bending over the box down L., is fat, forty, rich and self-satisfied. Her daughter, Daffodil, commonly called "Dilly," perched upon the ladder, is a "flapper." As regards her mind, this means that, at twenty, she is wise and witty, cynical and confident, worldly and material beyond her elders. Physically, she is pretty, and, of course, has not hesitated to help out nature wherever she has thought it advisable. Considering what has been spent on her education, she is surprisingly ignorant and discourteous, particularly to her mother, who bores her dreadfully. Leila Thornbury is a divorcee; thirty, smart, good-looking, with something feverish in her face, in her eyes, in her movements. Deliberately attractive to men, she is disliked, in proportion, by women. All three are very expensively dressed. Mrs. Thornbury has laid aside a fur coat on the cost of which twenty families might have lived a year. She is at the end of the stage, concerned with a number of dolls and other toys.

[Turning with some ornament, on a level with her eyes she observes a generous view of Dilly's nether limbs]: Dilly, for pity's sake, pull down your skirt! [As Dilly pays no attention, she continues to Mrs. Thornbury] I don't know what skirts are coming to!

What I can't understand is why our young women want to go around looking like chorus girls!

I've two engagements before dinner, and I've got to go home and undress for the opera.

For something to do. [To Mrs. Thornbury] We're young and we've got to have life and gaiety; haven't we, Mrs. Thornbury?

We've got to have something. I don't know what it is, but I know we have to keep going to get it.

But you all waste your time so dreadfully. I'm busy, too, but my life is given to the service of others.

Dilly! Nobody knows better than you that I've never had a selfish thought! Mr. Gilliam——

Only yesterday I gave five hundred pounds of coffee and sugar to the Salvation Army!

[With rising emotion]: One gets precious little reward.... I can tell you! I sent helpful thoughts from the Bible to all Mr. Gilliam's employes! Now they're on strike, and the man that got "Be content with your wages" is leading the strikers!... Where's the Star of Bethlehem? [To conceal her agitation, she has turned to the box.]

Oh, no! Those are people from the sweat shops! They're starving, I hear, and Mr. Gilliam says it serves 'em right! [Bringing forth a small case] What's the matter with the Star of Bethlehem?

[Holding up the star]: But this must work. Mrs. Tice had it made to order—of Parisian diamonds. It cost a hundred dollars.

[Reaching for the gewgaw]: All right! It's better than nothing! [She takes it, and starts to ascend] Hold the ladder, mother! It wiggles! [Mrs. Gilliam obeys.]

[She has ribboned both dolls, and sets that just finished beside its companion on the chair]: There! [Rises] I'm half dead, and there can't be any more presents! [Starts up for her coat] I'd give my left hand for a cigarette!

Mother's so Mid-Victorian! And ministers are finding they've got to do something to make church-going attractive. What do we get out of it now? I've heard of preachers who go in for dances and movies, and they draw crowds, too. Naturally! Who wouldn't go to church to get a squint at Douglas Fairbanks? [She has hung the star] I'm through!

Believe me, I'm glad to get off this thing! [She descends unsteadily] When I think I broke an engagement with the best fox-trotter in New York to do a shimmy with a ladder——

[Mr. Barnaby, package-laden, enters L. He is the sexton, and of the age, manner and appearance peculiar to sextons] Oh, Mr. Barnaby!

[Deposits his bundles on the steps L.C.]: Mrs. Tice brought them. She and Mr. Jerry Goodkind. [Mrs. Gilliam nudges Dilly] They're just coming in.

[Sotto voce]: Dilly, powder your nose! [Dilly takes her bag from the communion rail, and obeys] Mr. Barnaby, our star won't light. Will you see if you can fix it? [Mr. Barnaby's mind is on Mrs. Tice. She is much too rich to open a door. He is edging L.]

[He opens the door L. Enter Mrs. Tice followed by Jerry Goodkind. Mrs. Tice has just entered middle-age, and refuses to shut the door behind her. Her wealth, which has given her an air of great authority, has made it possible for her to look a smartly-dressed young matron. The truth is that she is clinging to youth in an ever-lessening hope of "keeping" her husband. Beneath the "air of authority" is something cowed, and worried, and unhappy. Just so, beneath the smiling, careless surface of Jerry lies iron. He can be[Pg 21] very ugly when he wishes, and he is always sufficiently determined to get what he wants, though he gets it generally by showing the urbane surface. Jerry would describe himself as a "kidder." He is 35; sleek, well-groomed, and perfectly satisfied with himself. His most engaging point is a perpetual smile.]

Hello, everybody! ["Everybody" returns the greeting] Who are those people on the church steps? A lot of dirty foreigners blocking the sidewalk!

It's the grating, Mrs. Tice. The furnace room's underneath, and they're trying to keep warm.

Well, let 'em try somewhere else! [Recollection of unpleasant contact causes her to brush her coat] I don't mean to be unkind, but there must be missions or something!

Dilly! What a way of saying that Clare is engaged to the assistant rector!... Dilly's looking well today, isn't she, Mr. Goodkind? So young, and——

That's just it; I haven't! Bibles are so bromidic! I want to give them something they can really use! And it's so hard to think of presents for those girls; they've got everything! [Opening a small parcel she has withheld from Mr. Barnaby] Guess how I've solved the problem!

[Showing it to Jerry]: All complete—lip-stick, powder and some nice, red rouge.

Yes ... thanks.... See you all tomorrow at the Christmas Service! Good-bye, everybody! And Mr. Goodkind! Miss Jewett's wrapping things in the choir room! [Everybody laughs. She exits L.]

She has an engagement for dinner, but you notice she didn't say with whom! I don't think they ought to allow divorced women in the church!

[With growing amusement]: Think of getting thirty-six thousand a year out of munitions!... Gee, what a lot of lives that coat must have cost!

[Shakes hands]: Ten days; attending a Conference on the Proper Use of Eucharistic Candles. It's a subject on which I feel rather strongly. [Turns R.] It's pleasant to see you, Mrs. Tice. And Miss Daffodil.

Quite wonderful! [Glancing at the tree] And what a beautiful tree! The star lights up, I suppose.

Don't let me interrupt. I've only dropped in to keep an appointment with the wardens.

We're all through, except for putting these gifts under the tree. [She busies herself with that task] Miss Jewett will be in with hers any minute. [Jerry, who has been contemplating an excursion to the choir room, returns from the door, and helps Mrs. Gilliam] The star is real imitation diamonds. A gift from Mrs. Tice.

[She pauses for encouragement, finding what she has been told to say a trifle difficult] You know, he promised five thousand dollars to beautify the parlor of the Parish House.

And since then—well, frankly, Doctor, John was very much upset about last Sunday's sermon. Mr. Gilchrist preached from the text about the rich man entering the Kingdom of Heaven.

Yes, and last Sunday it seemed as if he were directing all his remarks at John. We're in the first pew, you know, and John says he doesn't like to complain, but there's getting to be altogether too much of this—Bolshevism. John says the preachers are more than half to blame for the present social unrest. I heard the sermon, and I agree with John that some of it was positively insulting!

Do you know what he said, Doctor? He said all this—"decking the church"—was making an accomplice of God. He said we couldn't take credit to ourselves for returning a small portion of our ill-gotten gains!

Of course, what John objected to was the reference to rents—to charging clerks and bookkeepers more than they could pay for "wretched little flats." John says he doesn't come here to be told how to run his business!

Quite right! And I don't pay seven thousand dollars a year to hear my husband's coffee roasted!

Personally, I'm very fond of Mr. Gilchrist. His father had stock in our stores. But I don't think he's a good influence. This used to be a really exclusive church. Now, whenever Mr. Gilchrist preaches, there's such a crush of undesirable people in the galleries you can hardly get to your pew. We don't have that trouble with Dr. Wadham!

I wonder if that's it. Don't laugh! He wasn't like this before he went overseas as chaplain. Is it possible he was gassed—or something?

[Intercepting him C.]: Surprise! Ha! And you've been waiting for her half an hour!

[To Mrs. Gilliam]: I'm afraid we'll have to get Mr. Barnaby. There are so many packages.

Will you, Doctor? And Mr. Hinkle's in there praying for someone to consult about the Christmas music.

I told Mr. Hinkle the choir'd better begin by singing, "Peace, Perfect Peace, With the Loved Ones Far Away."

And, Doctor! About the Parish House ... shall I tell my husband you'll speak to Mr. Gilchrist?

Thank you so much! Good-bye, Miss Jewett. Good-bye, Mr. Goodkind. We must arrange for you to come up to dinner as soon as the holidays are over. [He bows] Dilly, say "good-bye" to Mr. Goodkind!

And will you put us in the car? [Mr. Barnaby nods again, and goes L.] I rather dread that mob at the door. [She follows, groping in her bag for a bill to [Pg 32] give Mr. Barnaby] Good-bye, Mr. Goodkind ... and Miss Jewett, and, if I don't see you tomorrow, a Merry, Merry Christmas!

[Laughs and takes up a parcel]: Whatever else you inherit, Jerry, it's not likely to be religion!

Religion doesn't trouble the old man much—except Sundays. I came here to see you.

That's just it, Jerry. You always want to talk to me, and always to say something I don't want to hear.

[Looking defiantly into the mocking face quite close to hers and, this time, with conviction]: I'm in love with someone else!

You're very rude. I'm engaged to Mr. Gilchrist, and he loves me, and believes in me, and your sense of decency and fair play ...

You're not going to marry Mr. Gilchrist. [He lounges against the ladder.] What's the use bluffing? We've known each other since childhood. You know I'm not going to give up anything I want because it belongs to somebody else. And I know you're not going to give up what you want—comfort and luxury—for a crazy man who wears his collar hind-side before!

No; he got quite a lot of money from his father. You like him and when you said "yes," you thought you were getting somebody you liked, and all the rest of it, too. But something's gone wrong with Gilchrist, and you know it!

Because, if you didn't before, you heard this afternoon. I saw you standing in the door. And I'm going to tell you a few things more!

Maybe—but you will! Do you know that your young trouble-hunter has given away nearly one-tenth of his capital in three months?

All right; ask my father! The old man has his money in trust! Gilchrist won't touch his income from Gilliam Groceries, because they're profiteering, and he's preaching such anarchy that both wardens are coming this afternoon to complain to Dr. Wadham! I don't want you to throw yourself away on a raving bug!

Marry me. I'm a nice fellow, too—and I can give you what you really care about. You're over your ears in debt, without any chance of paying up—or cutting down. And you are, shall we say, twenty-nine in October? I know what it cost you when your father died, and you had to come down a peg. You don't want to keep on—coming down, do you?

I've said: "What's the use bluffing?" I'm no movie hero—and no crazy dreamer. I'm a little shop-worn, perhaps—maybe, a little soiled—but I'm sane, and I'm solvent. You're good-looking, and smart, and a lady. You'll help my standing and I'll help your credit. For the rest—we needn't bother each other too much.... What do you say?

[Looks at her an instant]: All right! [Takes out his watch, looks at that, and crosses to L.] You think it's sordid at 3.45 on Christmas Eve. Well, keep your ears and your mind open, and see how you feel in the morning. My telephone's six nine four two Rhinelander—and this is the last time I shall ask you! [Puts his hand on the knob].

How do you do, Doctor? [Puts down his hat] Walked out of a meeting. I don't like letting religion interfere with business, but I wanted to get here before Benfield. It's about young Gilchrist.

Benfield's coming here, and I've only a few minutes. Did you know Gilchrist proposes to preach a Christmas sermon about the strike?

This garment strike. He announced his subject from the pulpit, and Benfield's furious.

No, but he's invested heavily in my West Virginia coal mines, and down there we're on the verge of the biggest walk-out in our history. You see what I mean?

The labor problem's none of the church's business. Or any outsider's business. It's a worrisome subject, and there's no good stirring it up. That's what you want to tell Gilchrist!

He says every problem ought to be the church's business, and that, until the church becomes a power in live issues, it isn't a power in life!

Then he'll have to listen to something else. If he persists about this Christmas sermon—[Barnaby enters L. Goodkind turns. Impatiently] What is it, Barnaby?

I told him that, but he won't go away. I wanted to ask had I better send for the police?

Why don't he go over to the Synagogue instead of hanging around a Christian Church? Mr. Gilchrist gave this fellow his overcoat. I suppose he's come back for the gloves!

Tell him I'll speak to Mr. Gilchrist. [Mr. Barnaby shakes his head despairingly and exits.]

Well, there you are, and what I wanted to talk about privately is ... what's got into the boy? Has he gone crazy?

Exactly. A lot of young fellows go off the handle and start out to reform the world, but this lad has run through twenty thousand dollars in less than three months!

Yes. I could understand if he'd spent the money on himself, but he hasn't! He's given it away! [Dr. Wadham shakes his head] Gilchrist's father was my first partner, and I got the boy in here, and I feel responsible for him. As trustee, I can refuse to turn over another penny of his principal, and, as senior warden, I can demand his resignation from this church. But I want him to have every chance. Tell him if he'll get a grip on himself, and reconsider tomorrow's sermon—— [Enter Benfield L.] Here's Benfield!

[Benfield's very presence makes him nervous]: We've been waiting for you. Hadn't we better retire to my study if we're going to discuss Mr. Gilchrist?

We're not! We've been discussing long enough! All I got to say now is: Gilchrist leaves this church or I do!

I don't know what it is, but it goes! I've worked hard all my life, and now this fellow gets up and tells me what I've worked for is nothing, and that I'm nothing, and all my ideas is wrong!

Oh, yes, he did—last Sunday and every Sunday! I've got two million dollars tied up in Black River mines, and I'm not paying to have the socialist papers down there print that my own minister is in favor of strikes!

Wait a minute, Charlie! That's not the tone to take to Dr. Wadham! We all feel that Gilchrist has gone too far, and we're agreed——

And I go! [He gets his hat and returns. Daniel Gilchrist enters L.] You can decide which of us is the most valu'ble to your church! Because I tell you again—and straight—this church ain't big enough for Gilchrist and me!

[Smiling]: A church that isn't big enough for two little men, Mr. Benfield, must be somewhat crowded for God!

[Benfield cannot trust himself to answer. He jams his hat upon his head, and exits L. Gilchrist is 33. He was a football hero at college, and shows it. He was a gentleman before he went to college, and he has been one ever since, and he shows that, too. What he doesn't show is what one expects in a "reformer"—narrowness, hardness, something forbidding. An ascetic, beyond doubt, self-denial has only made him trim and fit. The goodness that shines in his face is partly good humor. He has honest eyes, with fire in them, and there is strength and zeal back of that—strength and zeal that will leave their mark later. As yet, his exaltation is chiefly in his smile. His great gift is charm—and sympathy. At this moment, he wears no overcoat, and is glowing from the cold. Still smiling, he looks after Benfield.]

[Goodkind crosses for his hat, and observes Daniel, who is chafing his wrists.]

Oh, yes. There's a man out there, too, who says he won't go 'way until he sees you. [He joins Daniel] Dan, you're an awfully decent fellow, but I still think you made a mistake going into the church. If you ever want to talk it over with me, I'd be glad to help you—any time! You know that! Good-bye, Doctor! Good-bye, Dan, and a Merry Christmas! [He exits L.]

This time it's serious. I've warned you often. I don't see how you can have been so blind.

When you're as old as I am, Daniel, you'll understand that being honest doesn't necessarily mean being disagreeable.

Yes; don't you? Doesn't every man—in his heart? And if we want to keep it in our hearts, and never think about it or look it in the face, shouldn't someone pry open the door and cry: "Behold"?... I didn't tell them anything they didn't know, Doctor. I don't know anything they don't know. I just reminded them——

That we were Christians, and every man our brother, and that we were sitting, overdressed and overfed, in a Christian Church, while our brother froze and starved—outside—in a Christian World!

Given—what cost them nothing! Frumpery and trumpery and diamond stars! That's how all of us give—what we don't need; what we don't even want!... You're a good man, Doctor, and, honestly, what would you say tomorrow if your wife told you she'd sold her rings, and given the money to the poor?

Oh, yes, there is! There'll be people lying in the parks tonight. What would Mrs. Tice say if I invited them to sleep in her pew?

Exactly! We may believe in the brotherhood of man, but we know about germs! We're not sure what is truth, but there's one thing we are sure of, and mean to be sure of, and that's our own comfort! You know that, and I know it, and they know it—but we mustn't say it! All right; in God's name, what are we to say?

[Who has been nervously regarding this raving as confirming the worst fears of Mr. Goodkind]: Precisely. And that brings us to tomorrow's sermon. I understand you intend to talk about the strike. [Dan nods "Yes"] And that's not a very pleasant subject for Christmas. Wouldn't it be more fitting to preach from the text, "Glory to God in the Highest"?

There is no peace! There is only fear—and hate—and vanity—and lust, and envy, and greed—of men and nations! There are only people preying on one another, and a hungry horde at the very doors of your church!... My text will be: "And Peter followed afar off."

[Into his tone, hitherto indignantly human, comes something mystic—something divine]: We all follow—afar off.

[Alarmed; not at the words, but at that "something divine"]: Daniel ... my dear fellow!

Don't worry. I'm quite sane. Only—I've been wondering about that for a long time.

Isn't it worth trying? Men risk their lives—every day—in experiments far less worth while. We've had centuries of "fear, and hate, and greed"—and where have they brought us? Why not try love?

It won't work, Daniel. It's a beautiful ideal, but it won't work. Times have changed, and things are different. Life isn't as simple as it was two thousand years ago. The trouble with you, Daniel, is that you're not practical.

And the great need of the church is practical men. We mustn't take the Scriptures too literally. We must try to interpret their spirit. And, above all, we must please our congregations, or we shan't have any. And then what becomes of our influence? Better fall back on my text for tomorrow, Daniel.

I think you may find a greater field of usefulness elsewhere. [A long pause. The men look at each other, and then Daniel turns away to conceal his emotion. He goes up for his hat, and returns.] I'm sorry, Daniel. I know you've been very happy in your work here. I know how failure hurts. But you saw it coming, and you wouldn't turn aside.

[He looks up with flashing eyes]: The man who turns away from his vision—lies! [Shakes hands] It's all right, Doctor. [He crosses L. Clare Jewett, ready for the street, enters R.]

[Brightly]: Well, Miss Jewett! [Daniel hears the name and stops. He is consoled by her very presence] What's happened to the choir?

Well, I must be going! Step into my study in the morning, Daniel, and we'll have a look at your sermon! [He exits L. From here the lights dim very slowly.]

But you can't go out without a coat. [Looks at wrist watch] Anyway, I told the taxi man to come back at half past four. That's the worst of not having a car. Well, we may as well sit down! [He assists her, but his mind is afar.] What's the matter with you, Dan?

There will be if you insist on going around without an overcoat! [Looking at him narrowly] You're too generous. [He is still afar.]

I say you're too generous! How are we going to be married if you go on giving things away?

A little bird. [He laughs] And that you've refused to take part of your income?

Well, there's the strike, and a good deal of unemployment, and I've got so much. Why—I've got you!

[Rises]: Let's not talk about it now. [She turns L. Hesitates; looks at her wrist watch; looks off L.] Yes; let's!—You're so changed. I hardly know you. We don't seem to want the same things any more.

How can anybody be happy with it? Anyway, do you think people are? Happier than the people who just have enough?

In our day and age there's nothing worse than poverty! There's nothing more degrading than having to scrimp, and save, and do without, and keep up appearances! I've tried it ... ever since my father died ... and I know! I can't do it any longer, and I won't!

[She turns away, and comes back somewhat calmer]: I don't want to quarrel with you, Dan. I just want you to be sensible.... I love you, but I love the good things of life, too. I like to be warm and comfortable.

But that's only the beginning. I want good clothes, and furs, and my car, and money to spend when I like. I want my own house, and my own servants, and[Pg 55] a husband who amounts to something. I'm no different from other women of my class.

A year or two ago people thought you were going to be a Bishop. Today you've made an enemy of every influential man in the church. All that may be very noble, but I'm not noble, and I don't pretend to be. I don't feel any call to sacrifice myself for others, and I don't think you have any right to ask it!

I mean I can't give you expensive clothes, and servants, and a big house while all about us people are hungry.

It really is, Clare. You don't know how happy we can be with work, and our modest plenty. There's so much to do—and they won't let me do it here. We've got to get near the people in trouble, and we can't with a big house and all that. I don't think we shall come to a three-room flat. [He smiles] We'll have five or six rooms, and our books, and each other.

I can't believe you're serious. You've always been a dreamer, but I can't believe you're going through with this fantastic nonsense!

I've chosen a narrow path, dear, but I hoped it might be wide enough for us both.

It isn't. With your means and opportunities, you're offering me what any bank clerk would give his wife. I thought you loved me, but you're utterly selfish, and I think a little mad. You've a right to throw away your own life, but you've no right to throw away mine. [She hands him his ring] Our engagement is off. [A pause. She starts for the door, and then hesitates, looks at her wrist watch, waits for him to call her back. When he doesn't, she returns.] Don't you think you're making a terrible mistake?

[Looks up from the ring. Simply]: No. [Clare turns again, this time quickly and with resolution, and[Pg 57] exits L. The church is quite dark, except for light streaming from the open door R. Dan looks at the ring, and puts it in his pocket. With his back to the audience, he looks at the altar of his church. Suddenly, from R., the organ is heard, playing "Hark the Herald Angels." He crosses and closes the door. In the blackness, he hears a step. The Poor Man has come on through the open door L.] Who's there?... Are you looking for someone?

[His despair impels him to confide in anyone]: I was so sure of what I wanted to do, and now I begin to wonder if it can be done!

Why not? Is this day different from any other? Was the world never practical before? Is this the first time of conflict between flesh and spirit? If it could be done then, why not now, and, if it was ever worth the doing, why not now?

"Take no thought of the morrow.... Sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor.... Love thy neighbor as thyself.... Bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you." But if a man did those things today people would think him mad!

Did they? And if they did, what does that matter? Is a man dead whose ideal lives? Ye crucified me, but I am with ye alway, even unto the end of the world!

ACT II.

Ten months later. The set has only two essentials—a wide, curtained, glass door L., and an ordinary, heavy wooden door down R. The first gives entrance to the music room, which is indicated rather completely when the door is open. The second, by way of a hall and a flight of stairs, leads to the main entrance of the house. For the rest, the library is a shallow room, very much like any other library in the home of any other rich and well educated man. It is a little richer and more luxurious than most, perhaps, with—here and there—priceless things from palaces in Venice or art collections in Rome. The obsession of business is suggested by various utilities, transient and otherwise—a row of law books, a small file, and a pile of papers upon the substantial library table.

At Rise: It is a Saturday evening in November, 1919. The Goodkinds have been entertaining informally at dinner, and, having finished the chief business of the occasion, the company is now diverting itself in the music room. This room is brilliantly illuminated; one sees the shadow of a man leaning against the glass door. Dilly Gilliam, at the piano, is playing one of the syncopations popular at the time. After a moment, a servant, with a card tray, enters R., crosses and exits [Pg 61] L. An instant later, Goodkind, in evening clothes, enters L. He has a card in his hand. The Servant re-enters, re-crosses, and re-exits, stopping, en route, to switch on the lights. Goodkind looks at the pile on the table, and turns the topmost paper face down. Benfield, also in evening clothes, enters L.

What are labor conciliators? Mostly thugs. When you've been director in a coal mining company a little longer you'll know. We've got a million dollars' worth of 'em handling this strike.

No; spies and agents provocateur. I hate the breed, but what are you going to do about it? This fellow, Max Stedtman, got into the union five or six years ago, and now he's one of the delegation they've sent up to me.... Where's Jerry?

Yes, but that means digging up money—not coal. I've never set foot in West Virginia in my life; and I don't want to!

I sent Jerry. Jerry has a dozen qualifications and no scruples. And I sent Gilchrist.

Thus striking a balance. I mean that! Don't make any mistake about Gilchrist. He's a valuable man. I didn't hire him because I was sorry he got fired out of the church ... and only a little because I knew his father. I hired him because he had theories, and I wanted to try 'em out!

Yes, and the remarkable part of it is ... sometimes they work. They worked up at that power plant. A year ago I wouldn't have taken it as a gift. Gilchrist applied a little soft soap—

Well, both; but, damn it, Charlie, with all the increased wages and decreased working hours, the plant's making money now for the first time!

I told you what he was doing at the mines. Now he wires you, "Everything settled if you accede to rational conditions," and up comes this delegation! What are the conditions? I'll tell you now—surrender! You're crazy if you see these workmen! We've nothing to discuss! They're our mines, and we'll run 'em as we like! If this philanthropist of yours carries out instructions we've got 'em whipped!... What was the idea of the high sign?

Resents—and you haven't been married a year! Palaver's a wife's job! They oil the machinery while we shovel in coal! [The Servant re-enters R.]

He's a radical. You can't do anything with him. But there's a fellow named Joe Hennig....

Lots. Pretty wives like pretty things. Hennig's in debt, and this girl's on his neck every minute. She's a peach. You know her, Mr. Jerry!

Oh! I thought I saw you talking to her onct. Anyhow, Gilchrist knows her ... well.

Yeh—on their conditions! Take it from me, this Gilchrist has double-crossed you!

He's been at union meetings! He got 'em to send this delegation, and he tried to get 'em to turn down Hennig—our one best bet! You take it from me—

[Quietly]: I won't take it from you, Stedtman. [Looks around] Or from anybody else. I know this man.

[Cowed]: Well, he's gone around talkin' compromise. Compromise ain't no way to settle a strike. Givin' 'em confidence. Why, we got a couple o' hundred representatives among the workmen tellin' 'em they got no chance. We got special police clubbin' 'em every time they try to hold a meeting. You wouldn't believe what we done down there in the way of harmony!

Never no completer! We're workin' the black list and, if a man opens his mouth too wide at a meetin', somebody—he don't know who—tips the gover'ment that he's a "red." We got 'em so they ain't sure of their own brothers. We're postin' bills, in seven languages, saying: "Why should workmen mistrust the company? This is the land of opportunity! America[Pg 69] is calling you—GO BACK TO WORK!" The boss has a scheme now to start a riot between the Poles and the Wops! And you know the end o' that! Troops, and scabs, and machine guns! What stopped it? One gent that don't know nothin' about harmony, or co-operation, or nothin'—except hangin' around after a skirt! If you got to descend to bribery now, don't blame me! Blame Gilchrist!

[Rises]: Of course, he's right! Wha'd'ya expect of a man kicked out of his church for Bolshevism?

Now look—don't try nothin' before Umanski! Just give us an excuse to vote right, and then we'll go out, and get rid of him, and I'll slip back with Hennig! Now then—[His sharp ears have heard footsteps off R. He strikes a pose] It's very good of you gentlemen to see us! I was goin' to meet my friends outside—[The Servant ushers in Umanski and Joe Hennig, and retires]—but you been so kind and agreeable—Hello, Joe!

I just really got in myself. This is Mr. Goodkind. He's the President. And a couple o' Directors. Well, now we can get down to business!

[He sits. Umanski stares in amazement at his temerity. Umanski is a giant Pole or Russian. Whatever flesh he ever had has been starved off; he is all bone and brawn. In his face is something strangely like poetry ... something born of silence and suffering. He is in his best, which does not obliterate the picture of the man in working clothes, his sleeves rolled up over his muscular arms. Hennig is a stocky man of 45—a "grouser." His tone has none of the courage, the dignity, the independence of Umanski's; he blusters, emptily, an[Pg 71] echo, without much to say, and one guesses he might be made to bluster either way. There is a pause.]

Smoke? [He presents the humidor to Hennig, and Stedtman, rising, reaches out and helps himself. Goodkind goes on to Umanski, who doesn't unfold his arms; doesn't even appear to see the box. Goodkind returns, and sets it lower right end of table.]

You're getting plenty for what you do! What are you complaining about? You've left good jobs to follow a lot of idle, discontented agitators! We've got to win this fight on principle! The work's there! I pay what I can get men for, and not a cent more! Take it or leave it!

Nobody asked you to take the job! Nobody asked you to come over here! You're not an American!

[Turning to Goodkind]: We're not getting anywhere. We've been over this a dozen times!

God's sun. I never see him. Go to mines—him not up. Work in mines—him not see. Go home—him gone. Got baby five years ago. Never see him. Go to mines ... him, not up. Come back—him asleep. Go home one day—him gone.

Yes. Work twelve hours a day and got enough to[Pg 74] eat—so can work some more. Always work. Get up—work—come back—sleep—get up—work. Never got time to talk to wife—never got time to talk to nobody—never got nowhere. Never save nothing.

That little box—what you pay for him? [Jerry turns front, not deigning to answer] Ah, I know; gold. You pay more for him than I got from swing pick thirty years. Me and six families—we live in one house you own. We got one room upstairs; two down cellar. Sleep there. Eat—cook—wash upstairs. See nothing but brick yard, and clothes hang up to dry. Wife—she carry water from yard. Me—I carry potato peeling out front. Him rot. If I don't like that, I quit—and starve!

If I don't like other mans will. Other mans take my job. I got little girl twenty years old. Awful nice little girl. Got gold hair. Got blue eyes. Her take sick. She sorry she's sick. She wanna go church. She ask me: "Pop, buy me new dress for church. Buy me[Pg 75] pretty pink dress." Where I get him? We hire doctor once, and he say: "Air—sunshine—milk—eggs!" Where I get air—sunshine—milk—eggs? Got no job. My little girl, she cough, and cough, and one night she die. I tell you we got right to quit! We got right to hang together! We got right to fight—to live—and, by God, we gonna fight—we gonna live—we gonna—BY GOD!

[As she enters]: Now, look here, Jerry; you're not going to—Oh! I'm sorry! [Umanski looks at her; then covers his face, and, with a great sob, drops into a chair R. C. Stedtman puts his arm about the man's shoulders. Goodkind, C., stares at him sympathetically.]

You're a little upset, and I have guests. Besides, Gilchrist will be here in half an hour, and I want to talk to him before I say anything definite. Suppose we all meet here tomorrow at noon.

We're going to get together. You fellows have got the wrong idea. We're not tyrants, or monsters. We're Christians, and we want to act like Christians. Only ... we've got to live, too. We've got to have[Pg 77] the things we're used to, just as you have. But I think I can promise, if the strike's called off, you men will be kept, and put back just where you were.... Ring the bell, Jerry.

You betcha! Prettiest girl in West Virginia! We only been married a year. I got her in the five-and-ten-cent store.... I mean, that's where she was working. She's at her sister's now ... up to Pittsburg. Left the day before I was elected to come here. [Proudly] I sent her a telegram!

Some day something be gain! Some day we gonna win! This—he don't go on always! You see!

[As Hennig slips out R., Umanski looks at Jerry with contempt.] You see! [Exits R.]

[Indicating a box]: I was signing for this. [Goodkind, writing, doesn't look up.] Can I do anything for you, sir?

Thanks. [The Servant starts to exit L.] And, Riggs! [The Servant stops up L. C. Enter Clare L.] If Mr. Stedtman comes back tonight ... with one of the other men ... I'll see them in here.

Very good, sir. [To Clare]: This package just came for you, Madam. [He gives her the box, and exits L. A pause.]

They're all down in the billiard room. We wanted to make up a couple of tables at bridge, but, with the men in here ... as usual.... Where's Jerry?

[As she opens it]: For my husband's time ... and love ... and companionship. [Holds up a sable scarf] Sables. [She gives it to Goodkind.]

No.... Whenever Jerry's been away longer than usual, or done something he's a little ashamed of, there's a box from Cartier or Revillon.

Upon my word, I don't know what you women want!... A man works his heart and soul out to get you things, and still you're not satisfied!

Heart and soul, and what a man trades 'em for! You want your husband to succeed, and give all his attention to you! You want him to have plenty of money, and plenty of time! You're willing to take everything, but you're not willing to pay for it!

Surest thing you know! You women are all alike. My poor wife—she had everything, and I used to catch her crying in a corner. We never seemed to understand each other ... after we got this. She was a good wife, too, but the best of you never seem to want what you have.... Sometimes I think we don't any of us really want what we struggle so hard to get. Sometimes I think we're all wrong! [He looks at his watch, and rises.] Well, I guess I'll go downstairs!

[Goes to her]: You're not crying? [She nods and looks up] My God! Can you beat it?

Tell Riggs—will you?—if any one comes, I'll be ... talking to Jerry. [He puts his hand on her shoulder] And ... buck up! There are people worse off than we are ... and it's a great life if you don't weaken!

On the contrary; I agree with the man who said, "Put your trust in God, and keep your powder dry." [They laugh.]

On the train. I was starved. Thank goodness, they don't charge for dinner by the mile!... Riggs said your father-in-law was in here.

He'll be up in a moment ... won't you sit down? We haven't had five minutes together since——

My father-in-law says if you settle this strike you're to be—but that's a business secret. [A pause] I suppose I might tell you. [A pause] He says it'll make you a big man in the company ... with a tremendous salary.... You mustn't give it away!

The salary ... I suppose you've got over that.... So ... you don't really seem to have lost anything by giving up your church.

[Chiefly to herself]: Perhaps one might have eaten one's cake and had it, too.

You frightened me so that night, with the bugaboo of poverty. Don't you think there might have been a compromise? Something half way?

You see ... I was selfish ... to ask you to give[Pg 86] up the things that count so much with you for those that count with me.... Afterward, when I knew you were to be married ... I was afraid for you ... and I was wrong again. [He rises] You're happy ... and I'm honestly glad!

Hello, Gilchrist! In early, aren't you? [Crosses.] I didn't mean to interrupt a tête-à-tête!

[Laughs and turns to Daniel]: We've been having a genial evening with your delegation. That's why my wife's sore.

You don't look it!... I couldn't help going to Black River! I didn't go for pleasure ... did I, Gilchrist?

No. There was work, and plenty of it. I was sorry you had to leave when you did.

No, you won't! You made a crack about my leaving twenty-four hours before you did! How do you know when I left? [To Clare] If that's what you're sore about, for heaven's sake, drop it! I'm sorry you've been alone, and I've sent you a handsome gift as an apology!

I don't want it. [She lays down the scarf.] I don't want to be paid for shutting my eyes to any insulting thing you choose to do!

Dan isn't a stranger. And I don't want to make you a blackguard. Only ... since you've insisted on the truth.... Dan, when did my husband leave Black River?

There you have it! He hasn't seen me since Thursday! Does it occur to you that may have been because he wasn't in Black River?

Of course it's the truth! And, if it wasn't, I don't see that you've any right to ask questions! I haven't done anything that wasn't in the bargain! I haven't done anything every man doesn't do!

Gilchrist! My God! Now we've got it! If you'd only married him! He's good, because he says so! You ought to've been here a minute ago ... when the company detective warned us not to mention Gilchrist to Joe Hennig!

[Continuing above these voices]: Ask Stedtman! Ask Hennig! And before you make up your mind where I was yesterday, ask where he was——

I want her to stay. [To the Servant] All right! [The Servant exits] What's it all about, Stedtman?

You can search me! Umanski stuck to us all the way home. When he left, I went in to have a little talk with Joe ... alone.... See? There was a telegram, and he read it, and——

She ain't never been near her sister, and you know it! I just got this from her sister! [Holds out wire. Jerry snatches it.] Read it!

Why do I say it? Ain't I seen you down town with her? Ain't I found you with her when I came home unexpected? I knew you was stuck on her, and I warned you to stay away ... didn't I?

I went first on your account ... because they told me you were in debt ... and why. I "came again" because she asked me to. This disappearance looks queer, I admit, but people do get lost, or hurt, and taken to hospitals, and aren't identified.

I think your wife's all right, Joe. I don't think you ought to accuse her publicly until you're sure she's not.

[Turning quickly]: What's the use of starting a hulla-ba-loo? You don't want the woman accused publicly, but you're willing to spread the news so this man'll be ashamed to go back home. We all know the facts in the case, and the least said about it now the better. [To Joe] You've found her out. Let her go ... and forget it!

I want to know the truth! I got to! I been crazy about her! Maybe that's a good idea ... the police. I got to know the truth!

No, you're not. You're going to keep quiet. But you wanted the truth, and you've got it. I've known it all along. [To Clare] Now do you think I was lying?

You'll play around my wife, will you? [Daniel merely looks at him.] You will ... will you?... Take that! [He strikes out. Daniel seizes his wrist, and, with one powerful, dexterous movement, hurls him to the floor].

[Retreating]: Don't worry! I'll get you! It may be a long time, but I'll get you! [He exits.]

[With great kindness]: Take him home, Stedtman. [Stedtman looks to Jerry, who jerks his head toward the door.]

Good-night, Mr. Jerry. Tell your father we'll be around ... [Daniel turns and looks at him. He backs toward the door.] ... in ... the ... morning!

Well, you've made a nice mess of it! Why can't you keep your nose out of other people's business? Why did you have to date my leaving Black River?

Rubbish! [Drinks] Save your preaching for those that like it! [Comes down] And keep away from my wife!

Well, you've a hell of a nerve to preach to me about Hennig's wife while you're making a play for mine.

No? You expect me to believe that when you admit—— Why did you pull that hero stuff? Why did you keep your mouth shut when I lost my temper? Why did you turn the other cheek?

Wouldn't I? Well, you understand that I've forbidden you to speak to her and that goes. If you come here again, I'll have the servants throw you out, and I'll tell my father why. [Goodkind enters L.]

Fine! Benfield'll be up in a minute, and we'll hear the conditions! [He sits in an easy chair L.] Somehow, I knew you'd do it! Jerry says you're a philanthropist, but I knew he was wrong!

If you've really settled this strike ... our way ... your salary from today is thirty thousand a year!

I'm dog-sick of rowing with labor! It's such utter damned waste!... Excuse me!

How're you going to do it? Don't forget there are as many people paid for stirring up strikes as for crushing 'em! Paid well, too! What the laboring man needs is a real interest in his job!

How? By doubling his wages? The more most of 'em get the less they want to do for it! You know that!

Not often! Not unless you think while you ride ... or your father thought for you! Even then, money doesn't stay long in bad company! To hear those fellows you'd think there wasn't any work, except what's done with a pick! The man that really produces is the man with the idea!

He always will! Show me a big man and I'll show you somebody who's done a big job! It's the little man with no capacity and no chin that cries about a conspiracy to keep him from being President!

And they've got to be satisfied with little rewards! We can't all have the same bank-roll any more than we can all have the same health! That's where unions go wrong! When you tell a man he's going to have the same reward, whatever he does—not because he's got ability, but because he's got a union card—down goes the standard, out goes incentive, and to hell goes the whole social structure!

That's why I'm fighting the unions! Not because I want to starve the man who works, but because I want to fire the man who doesn't ... and reward the man who does! I want to give every man a good reason for doing his best! You can talk equality and democracy all you like, Dan, but the minute the average man isn't afraid of being fired he isn't afraid of being worthless! The minute you take away incentive—the chance to get this—that minute you reduce the world to a common level of common indifference and common futility!

[Rising]. Have another cigar! [Daniel shows the one he has just lighted, and shakes his head.] Where the hell's——[He turns, and sees Benfield standing in the door L.] Oh, Benfield! Come in! Gilchrist has settled the strike!

[Giving a folded document to Goodkind]: There are the terms. [Goodkind sits L.] They may seem a little radical, but I think I can show you they'll save money in the end!

[With the paper in his hands, being opened, he feels confident and cocky. To Benfield]: I told you I knew my man! The Lord knows he's full of theories, but sometimes they—[His eye falls upon a disturbing line] Wait a minute! What's this?

[Reading]: "Hereby agreed ... the men are to be represented ... on the board of directors...."

Yes! And ... look here! [Reading] "All disputes ... referred ... to a committee of arbitration...."

[Reading]: "One-half of all profits, over and above a fair dividend, to be divided pro rata, according to wage and length of service." [He rises] Why.... [Words fail] What is this?

It's nothing! It's a scrap of paper until I sign it, and I wouldn't sign it if I had to shut up every mine in West Virginia! Why should I? We've got 'em licked!

Explain what? They're licked! They sent a delegation up here, and we've won over the delegation!

Jerry.... Not ten minutes ago he referred to Stedtman as the company detective. We both know Hennig's for sale. Buy him, and I'll go back and tell them he's bought, and prove it!

Wait a minute, Benfield! We've all lost our heads! Daniel and I have just been over all this, and he admitted I was right!

Right as far as you went, but you only went part way! You have a right to a profit on your idea, and your investment, and the labor you put back of it! The public has a right to coal, and transportation, and all it needs and pays for! But, above everything else, the workman who works honestly has a right to something more than the barest kind of a bare living ... and it can all be done if you don't sink everybody's rights to accumulate a fortune you don't need and can't use!... All the argument on earth can't make you all right so long as there's a Umanski in the World!

There's no good transferring control from the intelligent few to the ignorant mob!

There's no good in anything so long as we fight each other like beasts, instead of helping each other like brothers! There's no hope anywhere except in The Great Teacher, and the understanding that what He taught was not only good morals, but good sense and good business!

Am I costing you one cigar? Am I costing you one blanket from your warm beds, or one stick of furniture from your comfortable homes, or anything else you'll ever miss? I'm taking nothing from you, and I'm giving thousands of men like you a chance to live!

I don't want your kind of success! I'm through! I give you back your job, as I gave you back your church, and I give you twenty-four hours to sign that paper!

ACT III.

This room—not too large—was the "front parlor" of a comfortable residence in down-town New York. Business, of the least attractive sort, and the slums long since have occupied the district. The building is a red-brick, low-stoop, English-basement house. The rear wall, which is the front of the dwelling, is pierced by two lofty windows, through which are seen the top of an iron railing, and a row of similar structures, fallen into decay, across the street. Between these windows, upon a low marble shelf, now holding a tray of cups and saucers, originally was a tall, gold-framed mirror. Over this hangs a blackboard, upon which has been chalked: "And so, to the end of history, hate shall breed hate, murder shall breed murder, until the gods create a race that can understand." Beneath the right window is a big radiator. Down stage R. are folding doors, partly open, or a large single door—whichever shall prove advisable. These—or this—lead to the main hall, and so to the basement, or upstairs, or to the front door, which slams solidly whenever it is closed. Left is a decrepit, white-marble mantel, with a "fake" fireplace. In front of this—in a jog, perhaps—a small platform, of the kind used in public schools. Upon this, a small table and a chair. Down [Pg 110] stage of it, a geographical globe, suspended over which a wall-pad informing us that today is Wednesday. Above the mantel-shelf, another blackboard, upon which are some simple calculations, and the axiom, "Luck is work." In the center of the room is a long library table, with a brown cover, and with numerous kitchen chairs about it. On the table a reading lamp, a bowl of yellow, purple and brown chrysanthemums; and numerous books and magazines. Gilchrist has succeeded in making the old place comfortable and inviting. It is a combination of club, settlement house, school, reading room and lecture hall. Brown linoleum covers the floor, and there are brown denim curtains over the windows. A history chart hangs on the wall. There are book-shelves, and two or three big, comfortable chairs; a phonograph and, perhaps, even a motion picture machine.

At Rise: It is just after seven o'clock on a brisk evening in late October, 1920.

Grubby, seated down stage of the center table, is concealed behind a copy of "The Woman's Home Companion," which he has opened wide, and, holds in front of him.

Mack, a shabby ne'er-do-well, between thirty and forty years old, opens the doors R., and peers in uncertainly. Reassured by the character of the room, he enters, and looks about him curiously. Even from the rear, it is evident that Grubby is a person of no authority, so Mack dismisses him, temporarily, and warms his hands over the radiator. Next he inspects the quotation[Pg 111] between the windows, pauses at the phonograph, and arrives in front of the platform L. The three words on this blackboard interest him. He reads them, turns away, turns back, and reads them again. At last, he sniffs contemptuously, and, completing his circuit, stops on the left of Grubby.

The girl that cleans. A lame girl. Her mother's the janitor. Have a seat. Somebody'll be along in a minute.

Ah ... hacks! I drove hacks ... man and boy ... forty years. Then taxis come in, and I went out!

Well, I was in the movies. That is, I was going to be, but the fellow that was going to put up the money, his mother didn't die, after all.... Before that, I sold bricks ... a few weeks. I sold books, too. And life insurance. I never had any luck. Who wrote that, "Luck is Work"?

Well, it isn't! I've worked at fifty things, and look at me! I figure the world owes me a living, and here I am, waiting for a bite of grub and an overcoat! Is it true the boss'll give you an overcoat?

You don't get no chance for a spiel. He don't ask you nothing. You just come, and help yourself, and talk things over ... if you want to. Coffee and sandwiches every night—and suppers and sermons on Wednesdays.

Preaching! [Looks at the wall pad, and reaches for his hat.] Wednesday. I'll be back Thursday.

Not regular preaching! Just talks! Sometimes they's a picture show ... but the pictures is rotten! No shooting, or nothing! But you can always sneak a little snooze 'til you get to the hand-out!

Naw! The way he talks, you'd think you was as good as him. He says to me, the other night, he says, "You're a good man yet, Grubby," he says. "You're strong and healthy," he says, "and, if you learned to drive a taxi, all the best people in New York would be telephoning for your cab. I'll lend you the money," he says. Gee; he almost had me started!

If you ask me, I think the poor gent's got a few nuts in his nose-bag. A little bit batty. That's what I say!

God knows! [She has brought down a cup and saucer, with other utensils, and is clearing and setting a place at one end of the table. With this exclamation, she locates the cup somewhat forcibly.] After seven o'clock now, and the meeting in half an hour, and he ain't had a bite since morning!

He went to see a man that killed himself. [Mack laughs] I mean ... tried to. It was in the papers this afternoon, and Mr. Gilchrist says: "I want to talk to that man." [Mack's interposition has brought his words to her mind, and reflecting on them, she explodes.] Graft!! Why he didn't have the rent money yesterday, and he was desprit! He ain't had money to get himself a pair of shoes, and nobody helps him, or comes near him, but you bums that roast him behind his back! [Goodkind appears in the doorway R.]

[Offering a periodical to Goodkind]: Take a magazine, and sit down. [With a nod, he accepts.] I got to go make the coffee. [To Grubby] You can come and carry it up in about fifteen minutes. [She turns and catches Mack filching a loaf of sugar.] Graft!! ... Well, you ought to know! [She exits R., singing "I'm a Pilgrim." By now, Goodkind is reading in a big chair L. Mack glances at him, and comes down to Grubby.]

That's what he told Jimmie Curran—brothers in God—and Jimmie just up for pinchin' a guy's pants.[Pg 118] Jimmie lives across from his room upstairs, and Jimmie says he's clean loco. [Goodkind notes name and address on the margin of his magazine.] Guess what he's got in the back yard!

Tennis. And handball games for children. And, in the other two houses, he's got flats ... with bathtubs ... and the rents ain't what they ask now for stalling a horse. Why wouldn't I say he was crazy? Everybody says so but Mary Margaret!

Hello, Grubby! You're early! And you've brought a friend! That's fine! [He shakes hands with Mack.] You're very welcome! [Sees and crosses to Goodkind] And Mr. Goodkind! Well! You're welcome, too! [Shakes hands] Have you come down to look us over?

Oh, yes! [Turns] Grubby, there's a box of books in the hall. How would you and your friend like to——

I see. [Grubby exits. To Mack, who has been stealing surreptitious glances at the overcoat] And you?

[To Goodkind]: I'm glad you dropped in tonight, because I've been intending to call on you, but there's[Pg 120] so much to do here—[The coat comes off the rack, and with it, the umbrella, which falls with a crash. Both men rise, discovering Mack, coat in hand.] Hello! I thought you'd gone.

[Advancing with a glad smile of pretended relief that Daniel has found the simple explanation]: Yes ... that's what I wanted to ask you.

I'm so glad you said so. [Mack shows surprise.] Because, if you hadn't and I hadn't understood, you might have been tempted to take it without asking—and then you'd've been so sorry and ashamed. A man couldn't come into another man's house, and be welcomed, and then take the other man's coat, without losing his self-respect ... could he? And, of course, if we're going to pull ourselves together, and get out of a hole, we must keep our self-respect.

You couldn't.... It's your coat.... You asked for it, and I gave it to you.... When you've worn it[Pg 121] ... into a good job ... come back and help me give another to someone who needs it as you do.

Of course you will. [Helps him into the coat, and then shakes his hand.] Good-night.

[Hesitates, amazed]: Good-night. [Daniel turns L., and with a gesture expressive of the conviction that this man is mad, Mack exits.]

Well, I'll be damned! [Daniel laughs] He won't come back! Not one in ten would come back!

All right!... That coat cost twenty dollars. If one in ten does come back, we've made a man for two hundred dollars. Isn't it worth the price?

Your father understood you well enough to leave you only an income. I foolishly turned over some of the principal, and, in three months, you threw away twenty thousand dollars. You could have had a big salary, and you threw that away. You're an utter damned waster—if you're no worse!

You'll soon find out what I mean! You've had my son's wife down here, haven't you?

And he's asked her ... but she's coming when she likes. She says so. Because she's in love with you.... God knows what women see in your kind of man! There was Pearl Hennig——

Oh, my son told me! And I hear ... in the neighborhood[Pg 123] ... that you've worse women than that running here! Women of the streets!

Well, that's your business! And if your neighbors get sick of having a resort of this kind in their midst, and drive you out, that's your business! But my son's wife——

And his! Only Jerry's in no condition to settle the matter! He's broken down from worry and overwork, and you're partly responsible, and that puts it up to me! You can take this as a final warning! If you see Clare again, I'll act, and I'll act quick! That's all! Good-night! [He gathers up his coat and hat, and crosses to the door.]

But that's nothing! I pay half that for these crazy houses! And I've gone terribly in debt fitting them up!

The dirtier they are, the worse they need 'em. I want to show them how to live, and I want to show other people that you don't have to make a pigpen to make a profit!

Oh, is that all? Twenty-two thousand dollars to go on making a fool of yourself! Well, you won't get it!

[Hardly believing his own ears]: To ask for ... WHAT? [This is the last straw.] Now listen to me! I've stood all I'm going to stand! You've run amuck! You've become dangerous to yourself ... and me ... and the neighborhood! You're going to stop it, and you're going to stop now!

Is it? A year ago you gave me twenty-four hours to sign a paper, and I did it, and it cost me two million dollars! Tonight I give you thirty minutes to shut up this place, and quit seeing my daughter, and if you don't do it——

Mr. Goodkind, you don't, mean that! You don't mean that because I'm trying to help——

Help ... whom? Strikers, and street women, and general riff-raff! And you don't even help them ... because nobody can! And, if you could, and did, how in the name of God would that help the Community? If I find you're still crazy in half an hour, I'll say you're crazy, and I'll prove it! [He goes to the door.] Think it over! [As he is about to exit, he narrowly escapes collision with a neatly-dressed, capable-looking man, who apologizes, in nearly correct English, and, with a contemptuous glance, crosses to up C.]

All right! [He follows the man back into the room.] Haven't I seen you somewhere before?

Umanski? [He remembers] You're not the Pole who came to my house last year with a delegation?

Mr. Gilchrist tell me stay in New York. He's teach me English, and find me good job. I'm work now eight hours on the docks, and six on myself. [Goodkind again starts to go.]

Mr. Goodkind! [Goodkind turns] Umanski's got an invention. If you'll see it——

He says I'm crazy, and he's going to shut up this place. Of course, he won't. [He opens a book.]

Nonsense! [He sits] I made him angry. [He marks a passage.] And somebody's told him a lot of lies!

Somebody's told a good many people lies! Yesterday I heard a man say you run this house to ... to ... [He hesitates. Dan looks up.] ... to get women!

Oh, yes! I took his daughter in here once ... for a week ... until he got sober.

Not yet. [Grubby enters with a tray, from which Mary Margaret transfers dishes to the table.]

My boss he give me another raise. He gonna make me boss after while. So I like to begin pay back what you lend me. [Takes out bills.]

I'm gonna send now. My big boy I'm gonna send school ... college, maybe. That pump I make she goes fine. I show my boss ... like you say ... because he know about coal mines ... and he say if she work she save whole lots of lives and money. She work, all right! [He has put down the bills, and brought forth an English grammar.] How about I go upstairs and study?

Sure! Go right up to my room! I'll be along after the meeting! [Umanski exits. Grubby starts to follow.] Where are you going, Grubby?

[Setting dish before him]: Gee, I love that story! [She sits beside him, facing front.] When you tell it to me, you make me believe I'm her.

That's the very time to go on. If we stop, just because it don't work, that isn't faith.

And faith moves mountains. Once upon a time there was a woman who'd been sick twelve years.

I don't know. But there was a Man in that city who said He could even make the dead rise. And everybody laughed at Him ... as they would today. But the woman didn't laugh, and one morning, when He was passing her house, she got up and followed Him ... just to touch the hem of His cloak. And what do you think?

But if He doesn't, you must go on. If faith doesn't heal our hurts, it helps us to bear them. And that's almost the same thing, isn't it?

We can't decide what we want, and then be angry and doubtful because it doesn't happen our way. Because, all the time it's happening His way. The only thing we can be sure of is that He knows what's best.

That's right.... You mean, if God wants me to be well, some day He'll make me well?

Hello, Pearl! [He draws the shade] How well you're looking. [Comes down] What's the matter with the window?

He ain't. I told you he was ashamed to go home. I told you he was gonna stay here an' get you!

[Down stage R. of table]: Well ... he stayed. I went to him ... like I told you ... an' said it wasn't you ... an' ast him to take me back. An' he[Pg 135] said I was a liar an' he was gonna get you. I told you all that!

While he was workin' up town I didn't hear nothin' about him. But a little while ago he lost his job, an' began hangin' around down here. An' he's been drinkin', an' talkin' wild, an' I come in to tell you.

[Hesitates]: Well, last night I met up with one of his pals.... An' he'd been drinkin'. An' he said Joe said you was livin' on women, an' this place was a blind, an' nobody's wife was safe while you was in the neighborhood. An' this man said they was gonna get together, an' drive you out. They're dang'rous, Mr. Gilchrist. For God's sake, believe me! For God's sake, telephone the police!

There's no telephone here, Pearl. But there's always an officer at hand, and I'm among friends. Don't worry. Sit down, and wait for the meeting. I haven't seen you in ages.

He always did. That's why I ast you to stick around in Black River. That's one reason I quit.

[Admitting it grudgingly]: They was others.... I wanted good clothes, an' a good time ... jus' like other women.

Yes; you've "got 'em." But don't you think ... sometimes ... you and the other women ... that they cost you too much?

I only mean isn't there something worth more than good clothes and a good time? A good home, maybe, with love in it ... and little children.

[Pearl hesitates, and then the uneasiness she has never lost takes her up to peep out of the curtain.]

I am. I can't help it. I got a hunch. I ain't told you all this man said, an' I ain't told you how he come to say it, but he said it was gonna be soon, an' I got a hunch sumpin's gonna happen tonight. Please let me go out an' phone! Please let me get the police! [Daniel[Pg 138] laughs] You're crazy, Mr. Gilchrist! You're just crazy! [An infinitesimal pause. She turns.] An' I'm goin'! [She runs to the door, which opens before her, and admits Clare Goodkind. Clare is smartly gowned, in street attire, but somehow, she has the appearance of being disheveled ... of having dressed in haste.]

Here ... in the breast! And he's lying now ... brandy-soaked and half-conscious ... across the foot of my bed!

He's been drinking ... more and more! And, of course, there've been women ... from the beginning! All kinds of women! That woman, salesgirls, stenographers, women of our own class! Do you remember ... in your church ... a Mrs. Thornbury? He's been quite open about her! Tonight we were going out to dinner! He came to my room ... drunk ... and babbled that he'd refused to go until she was invited! Then I refused to go, and he accused me ... of you ... and struck me with his fist!

Yes. And then he tried to take me in his arms! Night after night he's come to me ... drunk ... and held me in his arms. And I said once there was nothing more degrading than poverty! In the past two years I've learned what degradation means! I've come to see your way at last! I've come to realize that the material things are nothing, and that love is all! It isn't too late?

I knew you'd say that! I'll share your work ... your want ... if need be ... gladly! Only take me away!

We can't stay here! Jerry suspects us! He's made his father suspect us! Do you know what they're planning to do now? [He nods] Jerry wants to send you to an asylum! He said so tonight! And he'll do it, too! The strange thing about Jerry is that, with his mind going, and his health gone, he still gets what he wants! Take me away, and "we'll have five or six rooms, and each other!"

I love you! I need you! I've always loved you, and needed you, even when I lied to you, and myself! This is our last chance for happiness! I've been blind, and stupid, and cruel, but it isn't too late! Take me, and hold me, and we'll both forget!

That's not true! You love me! You've always loved me! Look at me, and deny it if you can!

I love the good in you ... the good you're trying so hard to kill! I love you because you're big enough to do what's right!

For you ... and HIM ... and for MY PEOPLE. [Off R., very softly, as she goes down the hall, Mary Margaret is heard singing "I'm a Pilgrim; I'm a Stranger."] For the little girl out there.

That little girl's known degradation that you and I will never know. And she's singing. Her constant companions are poverty and pain. And she's singing. She's crippled. She may never walk again. And still she can say God's will be done. She believes in me. I can't disappoint her and the rest. I'm going on with my job, and you're going back to yours!

I know it's your job. You took it with your eyes open. It's up to you to see it through.

Somebody must pay for our mistakes. That it was wrong to make a bargain doesn't make it right to break the bargain when we get tired of it.

Play the game. Go back to that poor, mistaken man lying across the foot of your bed—his mind going and his health gone. Bear your punishment and help him to bear his. That's your duty!

There is no other happiness. Oh, don't you see, my dear, that's been your great mistake? You're always crying—you and the world—"I want to be happy!" Happiness is service! Happiness is clean-living, and clear-thinking, and self-forgetfulness, and self-respect!

Love isn't all. Not the love you mean. You said: "Take me, and we'll both forget." Could we have forgotten promises unkept, faith disappointed, aspirations[Pg 145] unrealized? No, my dear, love isn't all; nor even happiness. There's something bigger, and better, and more important, and that something is ... DUTY!

Well, then ... I'm going through. I'm going back, and play the game ... with you in my heart always. You don't forbid that, do you?

And this isn't good-bye. Sometime ... somewhere ... in this world ... or out of it ... there must be a moment ... and a place ... to retrieve mistakes.... Good-night.

Clare ... good-night. [She takes his hand. Then she exits. The outer door slams. Then a cab door [Pg 146] ... faintly. He sinks ... tired with the effort of renunciation. Afterward he comes down, slowly, and drops on the bench in front of the table. Mary Margaret enters, singing "I'm a Pilgrim," in a higher key, to march tempo, keeping time with her crutches. She is down R. when she sees Daniel.]

Maybe you ain't believin' hard enough. [He looks up.] It's 'most time for the meetin'. [Grubby enters with a tray.]

Pants. I took out a spot ... with gasoline ... and hung 'em on the fire-escape that runs across from this house, and tonight they was gone, and I think you ought to look into your lodgers.

[Enter Miss Levinson. She is a Jewess—a garment-worker; thoughtful, studious, spectacled.]

[Taking the volume]: That's where we got the quotation on the board. I've jumbled it a bit. [Reads] "And so, to the end of history, hate shall breed hate, murder shall breed murder, until the gods create a race that can understand."

Mrs. Mulligan!... Pearl; you're interrupting!... You were saying, Miss Levinson?

We seem always to have hated everything different from ourselves ... in station, or race, or religion.

Yes. It's stupid ... and instinctive. I've noticed we're inclined to blame a man for a pug nose ... if ours is Roman. Some day we'll get over the idea that all who differ from us are villains, and that we should hate each other instead of trying to understand each[Pg 150] other. It was on the battlefields that I came to believe a man's life might well be given to teaching and to preaching ... love! [A solid half-brick crashes through a practical pane of glass in the window L. Everybody screams and rises.] Don't be alarmed. It's only some hoodlum!

Mr. Gilchrist ... it's Joe! I seen him in front! That's why I couldn't get out! Somebody go get the police! [A general movement.]

He's got other men with him! He'll kill you! [The front door slams. Pearl hurls herself against the door R.] Here he comes! Don't let him in! Somebody help me hold this door! [In spite of her, the door slowly opens.]

[En route] Come on, fellows! We'll show this guy! We'll show—[He confronts them] By God! Caught in the act! [To his gang] That's my wife!

[Who has come through the crowd unobserved; claps his hand on Joe's shoulder, forcing him to his knees]: I tell you!

I tell you, Hennig! Mr. Gilchrist been friend to everybody! And now, when he need friend, nobody knows nothing! Well, I know! I know anybody hurt him gotta lick me!

I'll show you the kind of fake that's been foolin' you! He was a preacher, an' he got kicked out of his church!

He was a spy for the people that live on labor, and he came to the mines, where we was on strike, and ran away with my wife!

We know different! What's she doing here? That's a good one! What're you giving us? Everybody in the neighborhood knows what she's doing!

Oh, no!... It's true. [A momentary silence; the gang jeers; she turns on them; then a momentary defiance.] Well! Well, why wouldn't it be? I tried to live straight ... like you told me ... an' I had a job ... but when the other girls got wise.... They ain't no better than I am! [She slowly gives way before his calm, steady gaze.] Anyway ... I lied. I am walkin' the streets. I ain't no good. I ain't fit to live. [She starts to sink at his feet. He raises her.]

It's all fake! Ain't you fellows on? He's got every rotten woman in the neighborhood workin' for him. Your wives ain't safe! Your kids ain't safe! Ask Jimmie Curran! He knows what's goin' on here! [Enter Tony Malduca.] Ask Tony Malduca!

We want to know what happened to your kid! Did he bring her in here ... an' keep her ... against her will? Did he?

You remember Teresa Malduca? You see! Sure; everybody knows that! She was here a week!

That's it! Don't let this big guy buffalo you! Come on! Drive him out! [To Daniel] I said I'd get you, an' I have! [The gang presses closer, but Umanski's menacing bulk still holds them off.]

[Kneeling on the platform L.]: Oh, dear God, please listen! [And she begins the Lord's Prayer.]

[Forcing his way through]: Listen to me! No violence! You're dealing with a lunatic! Leave him alone! I've got a doctor coming in a few minutes! Leave him to me, and I give you my word I'll have this place closed tonight!

Yes, and he'll open another one! Sure he will! Of course he will! Ah-h-h! Beat him up!

Mr. Gilchrist ain't crazy! He ain't a man! Ain't you seen what he just done to me?

Ain't you heard? I lied to him, an' he's give me another chance, an' I'm gonna take it! He ain't no man! He's a Saint! I tell you he's like God!

That's what it is, an' that's what he's been tellin' 'em! Ain't it ... you ... Grubby? Didn't he tell you that, Jimmie? Didn't he tell you he was a Son of God?

You see, that's what he's told 'em all! That's how he gets 'em! [To Daniel]: Didn't you tell 'em you was a Son of God? [There is a momentary silence, broken only by Mary Margaret's prayer.]

And so are we all! [Jeers] In you ... and me ... and all of us ... deep down ... is something of Him! We may try to hide it—[Jeers]—or kill it, but, in spite of ourselves, we are Divine!

[Facing Daniel]: If you're a Son of God ... save yourself! If you're ... what you say ... give us a sign!

[Two men have climbed upon the table, and suddenly seize Umanski from behind. Momentarily, they [Pg 159] bear him down, and this obstacle is removed. As they drag him up R., the rest of the gang closes in from all sides, hiding Daniel, who is forced up stage C. The table is overturned. Above the struggling mass are seen fists striking down, various improvised weapons in action. A Dockman, who, at Joe's speech, has lifted the bench from behind Daniel, to fell him with it, and whose weapon has been seized, from the rear, by the Henchleys, pommels madly. Above the pandemonium are distinguished voices—Pearl: "Help!" Umanski: "I kill somebody!" Miss Levinson: "Police!" Goodkind: "Let him alone!" Suddenly Umanski throws off his captors, and, attacking the mob from in front, mows his way through, tossing them to left and right. When a way is cleared, he ... and we ... see Daniel, senseless, lying in the overturned table, a tiny trickle of blood running down his face, his head supported by the table-leg R. Umanski gives a deep groan of rage and pity. Hearing this and divining that something dreadful has happened to her hero, Mary Margaret, who has ceased praying, and raised herself to her feet by the aid of a neighboring chair, walks down to L. C. Before she sees Daniel, Miss Levinson sees her, and emits a piercing scream.]

[Looking at her legs in tearful bewilderment] I don't know! [She tries them; then, in an hysterical cry]: I kin walk! I kin walk! [She looks for her benefactor ... to show him.] Mr. Gilchrist! Mr. Gilchrist! [The crowd parts, and she sees the figure lying against the overturned table.] Oh, Mr. Gilchrist! [She folds him in her arms.]

[Staring at Mary Margaret, and in a tone of hushed awe]: You wanted a sign—LOOK! Down on your knees—you murderers! God's in this room! Down on your knees!

ACT IV.

The room is cheerful. That is its chief aspect. Cheerful, and comfortable, and homelike. Such a room ... in the rear of the fourth story ... might be had anywhere for seven dollars a week, and its contents duplicated for a couple of hundred, yet no one should be able to look in without envying the occupant. Before the warm glow of a fireplace down R. is a big, brown leather-covered armchair. An electric lamp stands on a table stage left of the chair and squarely opposite the fireplace. There are books on the table, too, and writing things, and another chair on its left. Above the grate a picture of Christ in the Temple. Conspicuous in the flat, and visible from all parts of the house, a big studio window. There are cream-colored outside curtains, and brown denim inside curtains, drawn now, but when they are pulled aside, one sees chimney-pots, and roof-tops, and a blue night-sky, with one particularly bright star. Up L., a curtained arch into a hall bedroom, and down L. a door. The walls, covered with old-gold grass-cloth, are hidden, to a height of six feet, by roughly-built bookcases, filled with much-used books. A sofa, against the wall[Pg 162] L., now holds numerous packages. There is a brown-and-tan grass rug on the floor, and there may be a window seat, with brown cushions, beneath the window. The furniture is all old ... probably second-hand ... but, as aforesaid, the room suggests comfort and peace.

At Rise: It is just after eight o'clock, Christmas Eve, 1920. Daniel is discovered, dreaming, in the armchair R., a pipe in his mouth and his face to the fire. He has not lighted the desk lamp, and, except for the glow of the embers, the room is in darkness. Hanging over the left arm of the chair, Daniel's hand holds a magazine, but he has not begun reading. After a pause long enough for the audience to take in his surroundings, there is a light tap at the door and, without waiting for a response, Mary Margaret enters. She walks without crutches—quite briskly—but plainly is on some secret business. Daniel is lost in the darkness. A package in her hand, Mary Margaret crosses quickly to the table, and turns on one and then the other of the two lights in the lamp. Instantly, of course, she sees the figure in the chair, and conceals the package beneath her apron.

Mr. Gilchrist? [He shows himself] Goo'ness, how you scared me! I thought you went out!

No; I just slipped up here to read a while before we put our gifts on the tree.... Where's Grubby?

Grubby's all swelled up with his new taxicab. Christmas Eve's the big night in his business, but he says don't worry ... he'll be here in time for the sandwiches. Am I interruptin' your readin'?

[She reveals the parcel] I was gonna surprise you. It's your Christmas present.

[Handing it across the table]: Yes. It ain't much ... you know ... an' I didn't want it on the tree[Pg 164] ... before everybody. I wanted to give it to you myself. Open it now. [He does so. The package contains a framed picture.]

The name's on the back! [He turns it around, revealing to the audience a cheap and highly-colored chromo] See ... "Mama's Treasure."

[Delighted]: Is it ... honest?... Let's put it in place of that one over the mantel-piece! That's an awful pretty pitcher, but mine's got colors in it!

Oh, yes! [She stands "Mama's Treasure" atop a bookcase L.] It looks good, don't it?

You can't thank me! You that's give me—[She looks down at her legs, and up again with eyes full of tears] Oh, Mr. Gilchrist!

Try laughing. [She does] Anyway, if I'm having my Christmas now, you must have yours. Suppose you rummage on the sofa.

[Reads from another bundle]: Mrs. Henchley. [Takes up a third] This one ain't marked.

[Breathless, she comes to him C. Hesitates, and then, removing the wrapping, reveals a child's set in beaver—muff and neckpiece]: Oh, Mr. Gilchrist! [She tries them] Oh, Mr. Gilchrist; you oughtn't! [Looks about for a mirror] They're beautiful! They're the most beautifulest furs I ever seen! I've wanted a set like this always! You've made me so happy! I never was so happy before in my life! [And she begins to cry again.]

I'll be back in a minute! [She opens the door, disclosing Goodkind. Seriously alarmed] Oh!... Mr. Gilchrist!

[Shakes his head despairingly. Looks at Mary Margaret]: I wish you could perform a miracle on him.

[Holds up a warning finger]: Ssh! [Then to Goodkind] They all say she suffered from hysterical paraplegia. [Goodkind puzzled] Hysterical paralysis. One says she was cured by shock—you know; the riot. Another says it was suggestion ... believing ... which is another way of saying faith, isn't it? The important thing is that she's cured!

[Hushing her again]: Take down an armful of those packages ... like a good girl!

I will. [She gathers them up, and, returning L. C., looks apprehensively at Goodkind] You call ... if you want me! [Exits]

No. Everything's ... all wrong. My boy's very ill. Clare's wonderful to him. I can't explain it—she's like a different woman. And she seems happy. But Jerry's had to give up work, and there's more trouble in Black River, and that's what brought me!

I want you ... as general manager. These strikes are such utter damned waste! We had a working compromise on your agreement, and everything was all right, but we began figuring we could make more money ... and the men walked out, and flooded the mines. I'd like you to take charge, Daniel.

Are you? What is success? Money? Yes; that's what our civilization tells us. Money! But where has that brought us? Only to the elevation of the unfit ... the merely shrewd and predatory. All around us we see men of wealth who have nothing else ... neither health nor happiness nor love nor respect. Men who can get no joy out of books, or pictures, or music, or even themselves. Tired, worried men who are afraid to quit because they have no resource except to make money—money with which to buy vulgar excitement for their own debased souls. Why, Mr. Goodkind, I have an income that you wouldn't suggest to your bookkeeper, but I have peace, and health, and friends, and time to read, and think, and dream, and help. Which of us is the rich man?

Living that way is my contribution to the world's work. Another man's might be selling shoes, or writing plays, or digging ditches. Doing his job doesn't prevent any man from doing his bit. "From every man according to his ability, to every man according to his needs." And every man who gives his best must find his happiness.

That's the second time you've spoken of my way. It isn't my way. It's the sum total of all that has been learned and taught. You, and Jerry, and the others have called me eccentric, and a fool, because I'm trying to walk a path trod hard by countless feet. Was Christ eccentric? Was Confucius a fool? And how about Buddha and Mohammed? What of St. Bernard, and St. Teresa, and St. Francis of Assisi—of Plato, and Zeno, and Lincoln, and Emerson, and Florence Nightingale, and Father Damien, and Octavia Hill, and all the saints and scientists, and poets and philosophers, who have lived and died in complete forgetfulness of self? Were they fools, or were they wise men and women who had found the way to peace and happiness? Were they failures, or were they the great successes of all Time and all Eternity?

Not so damned well! But I'll be all right in the Spring! Clare's looking after me. Clare's a good sport. What I need now's a run down to Palm Beach! [Looks around] So you're reduced to this, are you?

Yes ... so do I! Didn't I always say you were a nut? That's it; a nut! [He laughs with a laugh that begins to get the better of him.]

A' right!... [Crosses L.] Some failure you've made out of life! [Turns back and leers at Mary Margaret. In the doorway, looks at Dan.] Wheels ... by God! Wheels! [He laughs, and exits.]

[Goes to Dan and takes his hand]: I wonder if you're the failure, after all. [Returns to the door.] Good-night! [He exits.]

Transcriber's Notes

Pages 73, 150: Original book used multi-line braces to indicate [Together] lines.

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First printing	December, 1922
Second printing	January, 1923
Third printing	February, 1923

Mrs. Henry Gilliam	Maude Truax
"Dilly" Gilliam	Rea Martin
Mrs. Thornbury	Edith Shayne
Mr. Barnaby	George Wright
Mrs. Tice	Lillian Kemble
"Jerry" Goodkind	Lowell Sherman
Rev. Everett Wadham	Arthur Elliott
Clare Jewett	Pamela Gaythorne
George F. Goodkind	Henry Stephenson
"Charlie" Benfield	Robert Cummings
Daniel Gilchrist	James Kirkwood
A Poor Man	Frank Sylvester
A Servant	George Le Soir
Max Stedtman	Geoffrey Stein
Joe Hennig	Rollo Lloyd
Umanski	Fredrik Vogeding
"Grubby"	Arthur Elliott
Mack	Frank Sylvester
Mary Margaret	Sara Sothern
Pearl Hennig	Adrienne Morrison
Miss Levinson	Wanda Laurence

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fool: A Play in Four Acts

THE FOOL

THE PERSONS

THE PLACES

THE FOOL

ACT I.

ACT II.

ACT III.

ACT IV.

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