Kitabı oku: «Comrades», sayfa 3

Mar (R.). Yes, once before to-day, when I tossed you a quarter. Sorry you made such bad use of it.

Matt. So am I (fiercely). I wish I had turned and flung it in your face.

Mar. Sir.

Roy. Matt.

Matt. He struck me, Roy – me, an old soldier of the (hic) republic. ’Sgraceful. I’m going to pay off that score. We met once – before this day.

Mar. I never saw your face before.

Matt. Indeed. (Hic.) My face is one to be remembered.

Nancy (enters R.). That’s so. It has no beauty to speak of. (Aside). Paid off that score.

Matt. Once before, in the prisoner’s dock. I as a vagrant (hic), you as a defaulter.

Roy. A defaulter! Matt.

May. Gracious heavens!

Bess. No! no! ’tis false.

Roy. Matt, you are crazy.

Matt. Am I? What says Mr. Graves?

Roy. That it is false.

Graves. Unfortunately it is true.

May. True?

Bess (flinging herself into May’s arms). O May!

Roy. And you dare to enter my house, you, – a felon?

Matt (staggering down and sitting in chair R. of table). ’Scgraceful! (hic) ’mong respectable people (hic) like me.

Mar. Hold, Mr. Manning! hear, before you condemn. I am innocent of crime. Five years ago I was employed in a house in Chicago as book-keeper. A large sum of money was found missing, and I alone had access to it. I was arrested, and placed in the prisoner’s dock. No proofs could be found to convict me, so I was discharged. I was innocent. The cunning rogue had so covered his tracks that the real culprit could not be detected. I was requested to resign my situation, which I did.

Roy. And you took no steps to make your innocence clear?

Mar. Unfortunately, no. I knew I was innocent, and, anxious to keep the matter from my father, Hon. Lucius Graves, of Wisconsin, I came East, hoping that in time my innocence would be admitted, and I should be recalled.

Roy. And your father?

Mar. Believes I am still in Chicago.

Roy. And without a word of explanation, with this stigma upon your character, you have won the affections of an inmate of my household? Mr. Graves, I am a just man; when you can clearly prove your innocence, you will be welcome. Until then, my doors are no longer open to you.

May. O Roy!

Bess. He is innocent; I know he is innocent!

Roy. Let him be proved so, and no one will give him warmer greeting. But when a man’s character is attacked, to turn his back upon the enemy and fly without striking one blow for his reputation is a mark of cowardice which no soldier can pardon.

Mar. I understand you, sir; and, bitter as are your words, I thank you for them. You have shown me my duty. Bess, darling, be of good heart. I will return to claim you. You know I am innocent; but I will not appear until the world shall know the truth. Farewell!

(Exit C.)

Bess. (Throws herself into May’s arms.) O May May! this is cruel!

May. Cheer up, cheer up, my darling; all will yet be well.

Matt. (Hic). Bless my soul. I’ve done it. (Rises.) Good-by, Roy, (offers hand) ole fellow! Glad you are prospering, though an ungrateful country did turn me adrift.

Roy. No, Matt, you wander no more. Do you remember our compact at Antietam? Whatever fortune the world had in store for us should be shared together.

Matt. Yes; I’ll stick to it, Roy. I’ll share with you mine, the spoils of the tramp, crusts, (hic) kicks, and all.

Roy. I’ll share something better with you, a comfortable home, friendship, – a far better life for you, old wanderer!

May. His home here!

Nancy. Then I’ll give notice.

Matt. Roy, old comrade, you are jesting. I shall disgrace you.

Roy. Then out of my disgrace shall a man be born again. As we fought together for the old flag, we’ll fight again. I see a victory to be won, a loyal heart to be reclaimed from the clutches of the enemy. I will lead, old comrade; will you follow?

Matt. To victory or death, Roy, hand in hand. (Roy clasps hand in C.)

May. Royal, are you mad? – this wretch in our happy home! Why, why is this?

Roy. Your counsel, May. Comrades in adversity should be comrades in prosperity.

Tableau

Roy and Matt hands clasped, C. May with her arm about Bessie’s waist L. Nancy R. hands on her hips.

Curtain

ACT II

Scene —same as in act I. Table as before. Arm-chair R. Sewing-chair L. Arm-chair a little back of mantel. Flat as before. Entrance same. Flower-stand ditto. Nancy discovered dusting table with a long-handled feather duster.

Nancy. It’s most time to hear from Mr. Manning. Two days since we’ve had a letter. Queer freak that was of his’n, turning Mr. Marcus Graves out of doors, and all at once starting off west to bring him back. (Dusts at back.) Couldn’t have been because Miss Bess was pining away, because she isn’t. Her appetite is good; and, when love doesn’t affect that, there’s no use in worrying. (Dusts piano.) She’s just as happy all day riding about with Matt Winsor as she was with the other. And what a change in him. Came here, six months ago, a drunken tramp; and now he’s as spruce and clean and shiney as our copper boiler, – and so jolly and pleasant, too. And so eager to help, one can’t help liking him. I’m sure Miss Bess does. (Dusts at mantel.) Look out, Mr. Graves; I wouldn’t give much for your chance three months from now, if you leave the field to the tramp.

(Enter C., May, in apron and gloves, a trowel in her hand; followed by Simon, who carries a flower-pot containing a geranium. He keeps his back to Nancy.)

May. You may place that geranium on the flower-stand. (Simon goes to stand and busies himself there.) That’s all I shall need at present. Thank you. Anybody been here, Nancy?

Nancy. No marm. Mr. Manning hasn’t come yet.

May. You are mistaken, Nancy; had I meant him, I should not have said anybody, for he is everybody to me. Ha! ha!

Nancy. Well, then, there hasn’t been nobody here.

May. That’s better, Nancy. I’ll run and get rid of my apron and gloves, for fear somebody might happen in.

(Exit door L.)

Nancy. Poor thing! She’s just as anxious to hear from her husband as she can be. I know the symptoms. There’s that good-for-nothing Simon Stone. I’ve not seen him since he took to the candy business; but I’d just give all my old shoes to hear the sound of his voice once more.

Simon (sneezing very loud). Ah-chah!

Nancy (R. starting.) Good gracious! It’s that new gardener come to-day. If he sneezes like that among his flowers, he’ll have everything up by the roots. Look here, sir, that won’t do!

Simon (turning round). Why not, Nancy, is it washing-day?

Nancy. Mercy! It’s Simon Stone!

Simon. It is, Nancy. Your Simon. Come to my arms. (Advances with arms outstretched.)

Nancy (thrusts the duster straight out before her. Simon puts his face among the feathers). Hands off!

Simon (spits and sputters). Phew! Pooh! Nancy, do you want to strangle me?

Nancy. I don’t mean you shall strangle me. What are you doing here?

Simon. Humbly, but earnestly, I trust, about my business.

Nancy. The candy business?

Simon. No, Nancy; the saccharine and treacle elements have been eliminated from my existence.

Nancy. What’s the meaning of that outlandish stuff? Can’t you speak English?

Simon. Yes; I’ve cut the sugar and molasses. In that line I burned to distinguish myself, but I burnt too much candy in trying to do it. So my employer requested me to cut stick.

Nancy. Sticks of candy?

Simon. No, no, myself – leave, varmouse.

Nancy. Oh! you were discharged.

Simon. Yes; I went off and became a policeman.

Nancy. A policeman! Simon, I always told you you would come to some bad end!

Simon. Well, the end of my career, in that line, was rather bad. Ah! but Nancy, you should have seen me in my uniform, brass buttons, and shield. You would have been proud of me, had you seen me on my beat with my billy.

Nancy. Billy who?

Simon. Ignorant female! My weapon of defence; the stick with which I terrified old apple-women and young news-boys.

Nancy. Why didn’t you show yourself? I don’t think you needed any other stick to frighten them.

Simon. Nancy, I was a hero on parade; but when it came to stepping into a row, I must say I felt more like knocking under than knocking over. In fact, my conscience became very tender on that point, one night, on having my billy taken away from me by a burly butcher, and being impressed, yes, several times impressed, with its hardness as he whacked me over the head with it. The situation struck me so forcibly, to say nothing of the billy, I quietly resigned my office, and retired to the humble but more healthy walks of life.

Nancy. Well, Mr. Stone, what next?

Simon. Mr. Stone! Nancy, don’t be hard on me; call me Simon, pure Simon, simple Simon. Do! O Nancy! you are my life, my love! Do come to my arms! (Advances with arms extended.)

Nancy (advances duster as before). Stand back! I prefer my own arms!

Simon (spits and sputters). Ah-choh! You’ll smother me with dust!

Nancy. Then behave yourself. Go on with your next occupation.

Simon. It is that honorable profession in which our first great ancestor won renown.

Nancy. By sticking to it, – which you will never do.

Simon. And yet, for love of you, cruel Nancy, I’ve sought this lowly occupation. The Lady of Lyons inspired me.

Nancy. Who’s she? One of the candy-girls?

Simon. Candy-girls? Nancy, have you forgotten the play?

Nancy. Oh! she was the young woman in spangles, that went in among the lions at the menagerie. Pretty lady she was.

Simon. Nancy, I blush for you.

Nancy. Well, I blushed for her. She had no chance herself, with such daubs on her face.

Simon. Nancy, you’re wrong. “The Lady of Lyons” is a play in which a gardener, Claude – somebody, falls in love with a beautiful lady. I went to see it, Nancy; and the way that young feller made love was amazing. You’d never believe he knew anything about rutabagas and cabbages. It give me an idea, Nancy. Says I, Simon, woo Nancy in that particular metre when you meet her, and victory is yours. (Strikes an attitude.) “Nancy, I mean Pauline, bright angels have fallen ere thy time – ”

Nancy. What! you saucy scamp! (Chasing him round table, beating him with brush.)

Simon. Stop! Don’t! Quit! Nancy, that’s what the feller said in the play – Claude, you know.

Nancy. Don’t you ever use such language as that to me, if you do I’ll scald you.

Simon. Now don’t let you and I get into hot water because we are under the same roof. You shall have the prettiest flowers, Nancy, in the garden, if you’ll only smile upon me. O Nancy! (Strikes attitude.) “If thou wouldst have me paint the home – ”

Nancy. Paint! are you going to be a painter now?

Simon. No, Nancy, that’s what Claude said.

Nancy. Bother Claude! stick to your gardening. Do that for six months, Simon, and I’ll marry you.

Simon. Will you, though? then I’ll stick to it forever. Nancy, seal the bargain with a kiss. (Advances.)

Nancy (presenting brush as before). Some other time.

Simon (shaking his head, and walking off L. without touching brush). Thou dust not tempt me.

Nancy. Now, Simon, quit your nonsense and tell me, where’s Marcus Graves?

Simon. The young man has gone West.

Nancy. And you know nothing about him?

Simon. Haven’t heard a word from him. By the by, Nancy, who’s the gent that sticks so close to Miss Bessie?

Nancy. You’d never guess, Simon; that’s the very identical tramp that stopped here six months ago, – the very day you called —

Simon. Yes, washing-day. Well, Nancy, you must have given him a scrubbing. It seems to me he had something to do with Marc’s sudden departure.

Nancy. Everything. He denounced him as a defaulter; and, on his account, Mr. Manning turned Marcus Graves out of his house.

Simon. Indeed!

Nancy. Yes. You see he was Mr. Manning’s comrade in the war! and he thinks the world of him.

Simon. And he accused Marc, the noblest fellow in the world. I’d like to get even with him for that. Is he married?

Nancy. No; but I shouldn’t wonder if he and Miss Bessie made a match of it.

Simon. Poor Marc! What’s the fellow’s name?

Nancy. Matt Winsor.

Simon. Matt! Matt! Stop a moment! (Takes memorandum book from his pocket, and turns the leaves rapidly.) H. I. J. K. L. M. Here it is – Matt Winsor. Ha! ha! ho! ho! He’s mine! He’s mine!

Nancy. And what’s all that, Simon?

Simon (strikes book). That, Nancy, is my savings bank. Little bits of information that I picked up as a policeman, and preserved for future use. Nancy, look at me! I’m going to astonish you. So the tramp’s sweet on Miss Bessie, is he? Nancy, I’ll astonish him. Ay, the whole world shall be astonished. (Strikes attitude, and spouts.)

“And thou, Pauline, so wildly loved, so guiltily betrayed – all is not lost. If I live, the name of him thou hast once loved shall not be dishonored; if I die amidst the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul shall fly back to thee.” (Approaches her as before.)

Nancy (advances brush as before; he runs upon it). What are you talking about?

Simon (sputtering.) Pooh! Pah! That’s what he said, – Claude, you know.

Nancy. Hang Claude!

Simon. Hush! (Looks around.) Nancy, can you keep a secret?

Nancy. Try me.

Simon. Without opening your lips?

Nancy. Try me.

Simon (throws his arm about her, prisoning her arms.) There, keep that, Nancy. (Kisses her, and runs up C.)

Nancy (fiercely). You horrid wretch! (Chases him up to door C. beating him with brush. He exits C.)

Nancy (coming down wiping her mouth). Well, this is a new business to him, and I hope he’ll stick to it.

(Exit I. E. R. Enter May Door L.)

May. What can keep Bess so long? She went off riding with Matt two hours ago. She seems very fond of him. (Goes up to door, looks off, and returns C.) I don’t like that. For Roy’s sake I have endeavored to make this man’s stay with us pleasant, and though I can never forget his rough introduction, I have no reason to complain of his conduct since. He is gentle and obliging, has not tasted a drop of liquor since that day, and in every way shown himself to be at heart a gentleman. (Sits in chair R. of table.) And yet I have some good reasons for complaint. He claims so much of Roy’s time. The hours he spent with me here are now given to Matt, smoking in the garden, fighting their battles over again, I dare say. I’m afraid I’m a little jealous of that; and then his fondness for Bess, and her fondness for him. Ah! there’s grave cause for anxiety there. Roy laughs at me when I speak of it; but suppose they should fall in love with each other? Roy says he’s much older than she. He forgets there is almost as much difference in our ages as there is in theirs. I don’t like it. I believe Roy would be pleased to have them marry; but not I. No! no! Oh, if Marcus Graves would only return!

Bess (outside). Ha! ha! ha! fairly beaten. Victory, victory (runs in C. down R.). Oh, May! such a glorious victory. I’ve distanced the bold cavalryman on a clear stretch of five miles. Ha! ha! ha!

(Enter Matt. C.)

Matt. Cleverly done, little one. I tried my best, but for once, you have fairly beaten me. Ah, Roy’s wife, – the little one is a capital horseman. If ever I go to war again she shall be enlisted in the same company.

Bess. Not I. There’s better company at home. Only think of it; Roger beat Rollo, fairly outstripped him. He never did such a thing before.

Matt. The gallant fellow knew the soft caress of a pretty little hand, would reward his efforts. Who wouldn’t do his best for that?

May. And the other gallant fellow was too polite to snatch victory from those pretty hands.

Matt. No, no. No favor was shown.

Bess. Not a bit. You should have heard our cavalryman shout, and seen him ply the whip. Mercy! I thought a troop of horse was coming down upon me.

Matt. Yes, I was a little noisy I confess. For a moment the old feeling was upon me. The swift pace, made my blood whirl. I saw before me not you, brave little one, but the enemy, in line of battle; the roars of cannon filled my ears, the smoke of battle my nostrils. The old cry came to my lips. Down on them! Death to the foe! Charge. (Goes R.)

Bess (comes to C.). Goodness, gracious! what a noise.

Matt. I beg your pardon; I hope I didn’t swear.

Bess. Make your mind easy, with the discharge of that terrific “charge;” there could be need for nothing more explosive.

Matt. Ah, well, it’s hard for a dog to forget his old tricks. I wish I could mine. I’m a rough fellow at the best. It’s a new life for me, this quiet home, you so kind and friendly, Roy’s friendship, – No, no; that’s not new. Heaven bless him: he’s the same old comrade of the battle days. I know I must be in the way here.