Kitabı oku: «Comrades», sayfa 5

ACT III

Scene as before. Fire burning in fireplace. May in armchair before fire, half turned toward audience, gazing into the fire. Light on her from fire. Bess at piano playing, “’Tis the last rose of summer.” Marcus has arm on piano, looking down at her. Study lamp lighted on table, L. C. Roy seated L. of table reading paper. Curtains at windows down. Chair R. of table, as music ceases: —

Marcus. Thank you, Bess. “’Tis the last rose of summer,” to-night we pluck: the last of our delightful courtship, to be replaced with orange blossoms, fit symbols of the fruits of happiness, we shall then garner for the future. Ah, Bess, what blissful days are in store for us.

Roy (eyes on paper). Poor devil.

Marcus. Eh? Did you speak to me, Manning?

Roy. Not I. “One more unfortunate” here (tapping paper). Found dead in a doorway, with an empty bottle smelling strongly of “laudanum” beside him, – wrapped in an army overcoat. Ah, so they go. Fighting bravely the enemy of their country in war, overthrown by the enemy in peace.

May. Oh, Roy, could it have been —

Roy. No one we have an interest in, I hope, May.

May. I was thinking of —

Roy. One whose name is no more spoken here. I know to whom you allude, May. It was not him.

May. Then you have news?

Roy. I can give you no tidings of him. When three months ago I returned from my search, we agreed to forget him. Let us abide by our compact. It can be no pleasure to you: ’tis painful to me (rises). When a man forgets all the obligations of friendship, withholds confidence from his sworn comrade, and deliberately acts a lie, he no longer holds a place in honest hearts.

May. Oh, Roy, so bitter.

Roy (crossing to her chair). To you, May, I owe it all. You, with your clear, woman’s vision, pierced the mask and disclosed the deception (bitterly). I thank you. (Goes up to window and looks out.)

May. Bitter, bitter. I have wounded his dear heart by my folly. Will he ever forgive me?

Roy (comes down). It’s a blustering night. (Rests hand on back of May’s chair.) That’s a glorious blaze, May. Pity I cannot stay and enjoy it.

May. Are you going out?

Bess. Not to-night, Roy?

Marcus (comes down to chair vacated by Roy, and takes up paper). “There’s no place like home,” Manning.

Roy. Right, Marcus: especially if it’s somebody’s else home, with a particular attraction in the shape of a pretty girl. Now, don’t press me to stay, for you know you and Bess are dying to be alone.

Marcus. Gammon.

Roy. Rather say backgammon, for with two that makes home a par-o-dice. There’s but one will miss me.

May. Oh, Roy, must you go?

Roy. ’Tis Wednesday night: my evening out.

May. ’Tis Christmas eve, and to-morrow is —

Roy. The anniversary of our wedding, May. Did you think I had forgotten that?

May. No, not forgotten it, Roy, but on the eve of —

Roy. Such a glorious anniversary, you think I should remain at home. No, May, duty calls me, – a religious duty, – which I would not disregard even for the sake of your dear company.

May. Roy, you are withholding confidence from me. You will not tell me why you go, where you go? Is that right?

Roy (laughing). Ha! ha! ha! Inquisitive female. No, it’s all wrong; but that I may right it I go, and you may have the blaze all to yourself. Imagine yourself Cinderella among the embers, and wish the fairy godmother would drop down the chimney to keep you company. Now tell me what would be your first request?

May. That my husband would have no secrets I could not share.

Roy. That’s a very sensible request. What next?

May. That in our midst, home again, she would place the wanderer, – your comrade, – Matt Winsor.

Roy. May!

May. With all my heart I wish it, Roy. That man’s fate, the possibility of what he may have become, terrifies me. Think you I cannot feel how that wild act of mine has shadowed your existence. When he left, driven from your doors by me, something went out of our happy life, I would give the world to reclaim.

Roy. May, do you doubt my love for you?

May. No, no; not that Roy. Not one look of reproach: not one word, for what I have done, ever tender, thoughtful, patient. Oh, Roy, I do not deserve it. (Covers face with hands.)

Roy. May, you shall know all (walks to table). No, no, the secret is not mine. I must be patient; she must suffer. (Marcus looks up at him from paper). Well, what’s the matter with you?

Marcus. Manning, old fellow, I’m afraid you’re going over to the enemy. (Bess comes down back of table.)

Roy. It’s about time, when the enemy – as you style her – is a sweet, little woman, stung with remorse, and the attacking forces men, strong men, who ought to be ashamed of themselves: I don’t like it.

Marcus. Then strike your flag at once. There’s only one thing to prevent it.

Roy. What’s that?

Marcus. Your promise.

Bess. What in the world are you talking about – you two?

Roy (turning away). Bah! that girl would break up a council of war, with her sharp ears and inquisitive tongue. (Goes over to May’s chair. Bess talks with Marcus in dumb show.) Look up, May. I must go; but this night shall be the last. Before you sleep you shall know all, and I will ask forgiveness for my cruelty. Come, get my coat: that’s a dear. Time flies. I must be off.

May (rising.) You will return early?

Roy. As I always do. (Exit May, door L., Roy, hand on back of armchair watches her off.) ’Tis a hard lesson, wife of mine, but through the tears, I see the smile, and behind the clouds, the sunlight, that shall bring lasting peace forevermore. Halloa, you two whispering? I don’t like that.

Bess. Third parties seldom do. I like it: that’s enough.

Roy. And so does Marcus. He looks as happy as though to-morrow were to be a holiday for him.

Bess. ’Twill be a holy day, for us.

Roy. You’re to be married, to-morrow: to be enslaved. Ah, what will become of you two?

Bess. We two will become one, that’s all.

Marcus. Yes, the sum total of my bliss will be a unit.

Roy. How you cypher that. Matrimonial figuring by addition makes two one, subtracts sweets from added blessings, and multiplies comforts by dividing labors. That’s the slate from which nothing can be wiped, but by fractures. Well bless you my children. I hope you will be as happy as May and I, and never quarrel.

Bess. And have no secrets —

Roy. Ahem! (Aside.) From you, impossible.

Bess. And have no going out of nights. Hey, Marcus.

Marcus. Most certainly not.

Roy. “Hark, from the graves a doleful sound.” Charity calls me out.

Bess. Charity begins at home.

Roy. And ends there; but if it be true, it’s line of duty, between the beginning and the ending, describes a circle that, like the equator, embraces the whole world.

Marcus. That’s very good, Manning.

Bess. But you’ve no right to break the home circle, and leave your poor wife here alone.

Roy. Alone? Nonsense! when she has you and Marcus to amuse her.

Marcus. Oh, we’re going to have a game of billiards.

Roy. Billiards, a cuerious game for lovers. But there’s lots of “kisses” in it. Hey, Bess?

Bess. Oh, I could scratch you.

Roy. I’ll have a “run” before you do. Here’s May. (Enter door L. with Roy’s coat and hat.) Thank you. (Takes coat and puts it on.) You won’t be lonesome?

May. No, indeed.

Roy (takes hat from her.) That’s right. Bess and Marcus are going to play billiards. You don’t play, you know; but you can count.

Marcus. Yes; (aside) one too many.

Bess. Of course; (aside) and spoil the game.

Roy. I’ve been giving the young people a lesson on charity. Bess believes it begins at home, and now she has an excellent opportunity to prove her theory, by forgetting that “two is company, and three is none.” Good-bye. (Kisses May, and exits C. May follows him to door.)

May (turns back and stops C.). I shall know all to-night. He said it. I am content. I doubt not I shall laugh at my folly, when I know the truth: only a little shadow flung across the brightness of our home, so hard to bear? Heaven pity those to whom the sunlight never comes. (Exit door L.)

Bess (feebly). May, May, you’re not going? (Louder.) Why, Marcus, she didn’t hear me.

Marcus. No wonder; the call was very faint. I’ll call her. (Rises and goes to door L.)

Bess (runs up and brings him down C.) No, no. I don’t think she cares for company.

Marcus (putting his arm around her waist). I’m sure we do not, Bess.

Bess. Marcus, what do you suppose sent Roy out to-night?

Marcus. Well, I think I could guess.

Bess. Oh, you could. Isn’t that splendid? Tell me, quick.

Marcus. Ah! but it’s a secret.

Bess. Oh, dear! now you are beginning to be mysterious. Remember sir: we are to have no secrets.

Marcus. Quite right; and as you are not to learn this, we shall have no secrets still —

Bess (pouting). Marcus, you’re as bad as Roy.

Marcus. If I am no worse than that estimable man, then you will receive a treasure to-morrow.

Bess. Take care, sir: “there’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.”

Marcus. Don’t be alarmed: you shall have the treasure, Bess. Never mind the cup; the lips will satisfy me (kisses her) now, and to-morrow my cup of happiness will be full.

Bess. Ah! but I may change my mind before to-morrow.

Marcus. Twenty times, if you like? but to-morrow you will only change – your name.

Bess. And my dress. You haven’t asked me what I am to be married in.

Marcus. I know, – in church.

Bess. Oh, provoking! have you no curiosity to know how your bride will look?

Marcus. I know you will look lovely. Let others admire the setting, I shall have eyes only for the jewel. Come, a game of billiards. (Goes to table.)

Bess. Shall I call May?

Marcus. No, I’ll call Nancy (strikes bell on table) to light the billiard room. May will find us when she needs us. (Enter Nancy, R. I. E.) Nancy, be kind enough to light the billiard room, will you?

Nancy. My gracious! you’re not going to play billiards, to-night?

Bess (R. C.). And why not, Nancy?

Nancy. And going to be married, to-morrow? (Crosses stage to I. E. L.) Well, I never! Better be preparing your minds with something solemn. The book of Job, now, will prepare you for trials, and there’s a heap of comfort, at such times, in the book of Revelations. (Exit I. E. L.)

Marcus. Well, our good Nancy takes rather a gloomy view of marriage?

Bess. Yes, poor thing; she’s no such happiness to look forward to. I think she’s a little ashamed of her conduct to Simon Stone. He’s not been near her for three months.

Marcus. Since he threw up gardening, on so short a trial. But Simon loves her still, I’m sure. (Enter Simon, C.) He’ll turn up in good time. There’s nothing shabby about Simon Stone.

Simon. You may bet your bottom dollar on that, every time. How are you Mark?

Marcus. Holloa! speak of the —

Simon. Don’t mention him (gives hand): we can’t say any good of him. (Turns to Bess.) Miss Bess, your most obedient (bows), allow me, in feeble words, but heartfelt gush, to congratulate you and Mark on the happiest day of your life, – to-morrow.

Bess. Oh, thank you.

Simon (presenting box). With hopes and wishes, for loaves and fishes: that is, prosperity.

Bess. Thank you (opens box). Diamonds? Oh, Mr. Stone, you are too generous. (Comes to Mark at table: he looks at them.)

Marcus. Why, Si! old fellow, this is a princely gift. What is your calling, now?

Simon. My what is it?

Marcus. Your trade?

Simon. Bother trade! Don’t speak of it. I’m above all that, you know. I’m in the Ring now.

Marcus. The Circus Ring?

Simon. Do I look like an acrobat?

Marcus. The Prize Ring?

Simon. Prize humbug! Do I look like a bruiser? No, Mark: I’m a member of one of those mysterious rings, you know, which surround the government, keep it in its place, without which this glorious union would go to smash. Where’s Mr. Manning? I must see him at once.

Bess. He’s out, but will soon return.

Simon. Then I will wait.

Marcus. Look here, Simon, it’s rather queer that you want to see Mr. Manning. I should say Nancy would suit you better.

Simon. Nancy? – what Nancy? – which Nancy?

Bess. Nancy Nipper, to be sure: have you forgotten her?

Simon. Oh – ah – yes – yes, I remember there was a young thing, rather smart, somewhat attractive, about here; but when one gets into “rings,” hob-nobbing with senators and nabobs, one forgets these (snaps fingers) these little trifles. Nancy? yes, yes.

Marcus. Well, I’m rather glad to know that you are not in pursuit of her this time, for, between you and me, Nancy has a chance to make a good match now, with one who is dying for her.

Simon (excitedly). You don’t mean it! Dying is he? I’ll finish him! After Nancy – my Nancy! Who is he?

Marcus. Ha! ha! ha! he’s a man who’s got above trade, you know: a member of one of those mysterious rings, you understand. Ha! ha! ha! Si, – old fellow, – it won’t do: I can read you. You’re on the old trail. (Comes to I. E. L.) Come, Bess.

Bess. Oblige me by making yourself comfortable, Mr. Stone. (Crosses to Marcus.)

Marcus. Yes; and forget those (snaps fingers) little trifles. Ha! ha! ha! (Bess and Marcus exit I. E. L.)

Simon (stands C. looking after them). Ha! ha! ha (mockingly)! I’m on the old trail, am I? Can’t pull wool over his eyes. He’s right. Nancy is the dear I’m hunting: the Nipper that will satisfy my thirsty spirit. They do say money is one of the sinews of war, the strongest and the mightiest to win. If that’s so, I’m on my muscle. That’s a glorious old blaze. Simon, make yourself comfortable (sits in arm chair). She told me to, and when a pretty girl asks a favor, there’s nothing shabby about me. (Sits before fire, warming his hands, chair with back to L. Enter Nancy, L. I. E.)

Nancy. I declare, I’m mortified. To see that couple billing and cooing, and she a little thing, who’s only just left her dolls, a-going to be married, and I scrubbing along in single blessedness, because I hadn’t the sense to take Simon Stone when I had the chance. Plague take the fellow! no doubt he’s given me up, when if he had only stuck to it he might have seen (crosses to fireplace), with half an eye, I was dying to throw myself (seizes back of Simon’s chair, whirls it round, and bounces into his lap, as she speaks this) into his arms. (Screams, jumps up, and runs L.) Mercy sakes! who’s that?

Simon. Needn’t rise on my account, Nancy.

Nancy. What? – no – yes – it is. Why, Simon?

Simon. Why Simon? because I was christened so, I ’spose, Nancy. Well, how are you? You see I’m down here on a little business with Mr. Manning. Didn’t think of seeing you. ’Sposed you must be married and settled before this, Nancy.

Nancy. Do you mean to say that you are not here on purpose to see me?

Simon. You don’t suppose a fellow is made of injy rubber, to bounce up after he’s been thrown, and run after the same girl that bounced him, do you? No, Nancy; when I quit gardening so suddenly, I made up my mind that chasing you was not a business that would pay to stick to.

Nancy. Good riddance, Mr. Stone.

Simon. Thank you, Nancy. Just at that point in my hitherto unfortunate career, Uncle Brim died, and left me a legacy.

Nancy. Who’s Uncle Brim?

Simon. Uncle Brimer Stone. We called him Brim, for short – Brim Stone; pretty good name for him, for he was a regular old Satan, – well, he left me a thousand dollars.

Nancy. A thousand dollars?

Simon. Exactly. Now, says I, Simon, you’ve been a rolling stone long enough. You’ve got a nest egg: sit still, and see what will come of it.

Nancy. Well, what did?

Simon. Calker Goodwin, the broker, came and wanted to borrow it: a genial fellow after he found I had the money, though he did cut me a week before; but then legacies, like death, level all distinctions.

Nancy. And you let him have it?

Simon. No; declined with thanks, as the editors tell the poets. Then he told me of a good investment. “The Iris.”

Nancy. Irish what?

Simon. “The Iris,” – a silver mine, – somewhere or nowhere, it don’t matter which. The stock was way down: eighty cents. Cal said it would rise in three days: bade me go in and win. So in I went, invested my thousand in Iris, and in three days it was way up to ten dollars, in three weeks to forty; then I got scared.

Nancy. Scared?

Simon. Yes; the thing looked too big. I said to myself, some poor fellow will get into this, ’twill bust and up goes his all. And then I’d been reading about rich men’s not being able to enter the eye of a camel, you know; and says I, I’ll be no party to any such business. There’s nothing shabby about me. I’ll sell out. Sold the next day at forty, and three days after the Iris was all in my eye: it busted.