Common Clay :LEVES KINKEAD FRENCHS STANDARD AMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th St., New Yorl THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. The famous comedy in three acts, by Anne Warner. 7 males, i females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 3% houff This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts for "Aunt Marx, "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New England ancient maid of all work "Jack s" three chums; the Girl "Jack" loves; "Joshua," Aunt Mary s hir6 man, etc. "Aunt Mary" was played by May Robson in New York and on tour for ove two years, and it is sure to be a big success wherever produced. We strong 1 recommend it. Price, 60 Cents MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. A pleasing comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author o "The Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, 6 females. One interior scene. Cos tumes modern. Plays 2J4 hours. Mr. Smith chose foi< his initial comedy the complications arising from th endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude peopled by hyphenate names a theme permitting innumerable complications, according to the spirit c the writer. This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. Fisk with enormous success. Price, 60 Cent! MRS. TEMPLE S TELEGRAM. A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and WHHar Morris. 5 males, 4 females. One interior scene stands throughout tk three acts. Costumes modern. Plays 2% hours. "Mrs. Temple s Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there is an abund anee of fun without any taint of impropriety or any element of offence. A neticed by Sir Walter Scott, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave whea first w practice to deceive!" There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time the cur-tat rises until it makes the final drop the fun is fast and furious. A very exeeptioni farce. Price, 60 Cent! THE NEW CO-ED. A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "Tempest an Sunshine," etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any number o boys and girls ^can be introduced in the action of the play. One interio and one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one interior scen< Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. The theme of this play is the coming of a new student to the college^ he reception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. There are three especially good girls parts, Letty, Madge and Estells. be the others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolittle and Georg-e Washington Watt! a gentleman of color, are tw particularly good comedy characters. We ca strongly recommend "Tfa New Ga-Ed" to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Cents (The Above Are Su&Ject to Royalty When Produced) SAMU&U FRENCH, 2S-30 West 38th Street, New York City $QW and Explicit fcescriptiye Catarog-ue Mailed Free COMMON CLAY A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS BY CLEVES KINKEAD COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY CLEVES KINKEAD COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY CLEVES KINKEAD ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that "CpMMON CLAY," being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, is subject to a royalty, and any one presenting the play without the consent of the owner or his authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Application for amateur acting rights must be made to SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York. NEW YORK SAMUEL FRENCH PUBLISHER 28-30 WEST 38TH ST. LONDON- SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET STRAND Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book without a valid contract for production first having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or in private for gain or charity. In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only, and no performance, representation, produc tion, recitation, or public reading may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York. This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each perform ance, payable to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York, one week before the date when the play is given. Whenever the play is produced the following notice must appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the play: "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel French of New York." Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for any infringement of the author s rights, as follows: "SECTION 4966 : Any person publicly performing or rep resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical compositions, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dol lars for every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con viction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year." U. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. DEDICATED WITH AFFECTION TO MY FATHER ROBERT C. KINKEAD OF LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY 329 COMMON CLAY CAST JUDGE SAMUEL FILSON RICHARD FULLERTON HUGH FULLERTON ARTHUR COAKLEY W. H. YATES, Attorney EDWARDS JUDGE of the City Court BAILIFF CLERK ELLEN NEAL MRS. FULLERTOX ANNE FULLERTON Miss WARREN MRS. NEAL GUESTS, OFFICERS, SERVANT, ETC.; SCENES ACT I. In the home of the Fullertons, Christ* mas, 1904. ACT II. Filson s Law Office, October, 1905. ACT III. The City Court Room, the next morn ing. ACT IV. Same as ACT I, January, 1915. PLACE,* An American City. TIME: From Christmas, 1904, to January, 1915. RIGHT n o COMMON CLAY ACT I SCENE: In the home of the FULLERTONS on an evening in the Christmas holidays, 1904. Down^ stage is the library or sitting room, which opens thru a very large archivay into the hall. A stairway wide, with bannisters, comes down into hallway from the right of stage to a wide landing, from which a few steps come down to the floor of hall, all in view of the audience thru the opening from the sitting room. There are entrances thru right and left of the hall- ivay off-stage. There is also an entrance, door, at the upper left of library. Lower left of library is a fireplace, and right of library is a large curtained bow window, an alcove window- seat with pillows, etc. The furnishings of the sitting room are sumptuous and comfortable. In the center of the room is a large, heavy table, on ^vhich sits a large bowl of creamy egg-nog surrounded by small cups, and a tray with a decanter of whiskey, high-ball glasses, measuring glasses, and a dish of cracked ice. There are several leather covered easy-chairs, and a sofa turned slightly tozvard the fireplace, but facing audience. At the right below window-seat is an ornate stand lamp with a chair adjacent. On the library wall immediately left of archway are push-buttons for lighting 5 6 COMMON CLAY electric lights in library and to summon ser vants. There are bookcases around the walls, and there are pictures and portraits of prosperous looking /te-FuLLETRONS and J/I^-FULLERTONS who have gone before, adding lustre to the family name by owning property, wearing good clothes, and riding in carriages. One of these portraits hangs over fireplace. Left of stage is the rear of the residence and the front door can be heard to slam off-stage at the right end of hallway. AT RISE: The stage, brightly lighted, is empty of persons, but the spirit of Christmas and holi days pervades. About the library are holly and mistletoe, a bunch of the latter hanging from center of ceiling. The music of a two- step of the period a medley of Harvard s "Our Director" and the Yale " Boola" is heard coming from upstairs off-stage before and after the curtain rises. After a half-minute EDWARDS enters left door. He crosses to table, tastes a glass of the egg-nog, slyly, and tips the decanter, letting some of the whiskey into bowl. MRS. FULLERTON enters from door left. She is a tall, handsome woman, faultlessly dressed in evening gown. Alt ho about forty-eight, she carries her years so lightly and dresses with such effect that she is still physically attractive, and to this charm there is added with the years, a certain dignity and forcefulness. MRS. FULLERTON. (Observing EDWARDS, calmly) I think it quite strong enough, Edwards. EDWARDS. (Starting) I beg your pardon, ma am. (Setting decanter on its tray and speaking COMMON CLAY 7 explanatorily) Christmas comes but once a year, (The dance-music comes to a stop and is supple mented by laughter and chatter from the guests off-stage above. RICHARD FULLERTON, gray- haired and tall, enters coming down stairway.) MRS. FULLERTON. (To EDWARDS) But we don t make that an excuse for intemperance in this house. You may go. EDWARDS. Yes, ma am. (EDWARDS exits left door as FULLERTON enters library) FULLERTON. Evelyn, aren t you neglecting our guests ? MRS. FULLERTON. No, Richard, I m looking after the arrangements. I m short of servants Marie left yesterday. FULLERTON. Marie? Why did she leave? MRS. FULLERTON. Oh, she began to know too much. (Sits wearily) Do you know, Richard, the servant problem gives me more trouble than any thing in life. Girls of to-day simply will not do menial work. It s nothing in the world but vanity. FULLERTON. Yes, I know, my dear. (Then in a reflective tone) But I d hate to have to do it my self. Still, what you say is true. This country is going to the dogs because people no longer know their places. MRS. FULLERTON. Yes, Richard, I know. How do you think Marie answered me when I told her that she could have her time off any Sunday before breakfast, if she wanted to go to church? FULLERTON. How ? MRS. FULLERTON. " Oh, no, thank you, ma am," she said. " The church is no friend of the working classes, and I ll take my religion on Sunday morn- 8 COMMON CLAY ings where you take your breakfast in bed" (FULLERTON laughs) Oh, you may think it s funny, but if there s one thing we must have from a servant, it is respect. And, Richard, we must give them respect to get it from them. I ve been meaning to speak to you about this. The other day, when Hugh came home from college, he chucked Marie under the chin rather familiarly. (FULLERTON smiles) Now I know Hugh s a good boy, but he s just at the age where he thinks it s smart to be a devil, and I wish you d speak to him about it. FULLERTON. Nonsense, my dear. The boy s a fine, healthy young animal. Nature will assert it self. We all have to go through that stage of de velopment, and the girl may have egged him on. MRS. FULLERTON. Now, isn t that like a man! FULLERTON. Um. Yes, perhaps. But you do like your old husband, don t you, darling? (He puts her on the cheek, she smiles) MRS. FULLERTON. Yes, you re a good, kind, thoughtful boy; and we ve been in love a long time, haven t we, dear? FULLERTON. (Kisses her) We have, my love. But come, let us go upstairs to our guests. MRS. FULLERTON. (Rising) You run along, Richard. Edwards engaged a new maid this morn ing, and I want to speak to her about serving the party supper. I have not had a chance to look her over, and I don t want dowdy, slouchy, ill-dressed girls about the house. I told Edwards to get one who had some style to her, and I want to see her. FULLERTON. Well, I ll leave her to you. I never know how to talk to women in that position (Exits up stainvay) (ANNE FULLERTON passes him coming down. She taps him on the back playfully with her fan and hastily enters the library. ANNE is a good COMMON CLAY looking young woman, to the manner born, at tired in evening gown. She is of that type of woman wfto in youth are seriously frivolous, and develop into capable wives after their hus band-hunting, in a guise of pleasure-seeking, is ended.) ANNE. Oh, mother, I ve been looking for you. Don t you think it s about time that supper came along upstairs? MRS. FULLERTON. I m arranging for that now. I m going to have the new maid assist Edwards. ANNE. Dear old mother, always to be relied on. (She kisses her mother) I hope I ll be as good a head of the house as you are. MRS. FULLERTON. (Pinching ANNE S cheek) Philip must have proposed again this evening, ANNE. He went a step further. (She pauses while her mother looks inquisitive) He became engaged to me. MRS. FULLERTON. Well, I know that when we turn you over to Philip, you ll be in safe hands, my chick. I m very happy to feel that both you and Hugh have been good children and deserve all the advantages that you ve had. ANNE. There now, Muddy dear, you needn t get in the mood for sermons just because I m going to be married. (EDWARDS enters L. with tray of salads) Ah, here comes Edwards now with the things. Well, I ll get back to the ballroom. (She blows a kiss to her mother and exits up stairway) MRS. FULLERTON. Edwards, do you think that new maid could help you to serve the supper ? EDWARDS. There s something about J er, my lady, which suggests capability with the proper training such as I might give er- - ^ MRS. FULLERTON. (Smiling) Very well, 10 COMMON CLAY Edwards. I want you to give her the necessary directions. EDWARDS. Very well, ma am. MRS. FULLERTON. But Edwards, I want to look her over and have a word with her. Will you send her in? (EDWARDS bows, deposits his tray on table by de canter and exits L. In a moment he returns, followed by ELLEN.) EDWARDS. The young person. (Exits, going up stairs with tray from table) (There are strained recognitions exchanged between MRS. FULLERTON and ELLEN. ELLEN, in maid s attire, is of good figure and pretty face. There is about her voice a low and subdued quality which makes for sympathy, and her eyes have a similar appeal they seem just now on the verge of tears. She is plainly embarrassed and sensitive to her present surroundings; her embarrassment, for a moment, is transmitted to MRS. FULLERTON, who, however, catches her- self and speaks.) MRS. FULLERTON. You are the new girl? What is your name? ELLEN. I m Miss er *ny name is Neal. MRS. FULLERTON. (Looks at the girl) What is your first name? ELLEN. My first name? Oh, yes Ellen. MRS. FULLERTON. You don t like to be called by your first name, is that it, Ellen? ELLEN. Well, er yes, that must be it but I know how these things are, ma am. ^ MRS. FULLERTON. They are and must be, Ellen. A wisdom greater than our own has made COMMON CLAY it us what we are, and placed us where we are, and we must not question, but must know our places and be content with them. (Sits) ELLEN. Yes m, I know but it s easier to be con tent with some places than with others. (MRS. FULLERTON gives her a quick glance, but there is no impudence in ELLEN S look) Meaning no offense, ma am, I was just speaking what popped into my head. (Looking around the room with approval) I wisht I d bin born here. It would have been better for me, I know that. That s one reason I came here. I thought there d be so much I could learn in a place like this with people like you, ma am good people. I want to learn things. Not things you learn at school, ma am. I ve been to the ward schools and almost into the High School, but there are things that you can only learn from people from good people, you know. You don t know what it might mean to a girl to be reared here. It s the difference between having a chance and not hav ing one, ma am. That s why I m here nobody likes to be a servant! But I m willing to be one long enough to learn things. MRS. FULLERTON. Yes, long enough to learn things that s the way the girl who just left me did. (Reproachfuly) As soon as she had learned enough to be useful here she left. ELLEN. (Suppressing a laugh) Maybe she wanted to get along in the world, as you teach your young ones to do and she couldn t get far by stick ing to a housemaid s job. (Music starts, low.) MRS. FULLERTON. (Biting her lip) Perhaps not ^-but we re not here to discuss that, Ellen. (Rises) My son is home from college for Christmas, and the young people are having a dance upstairs 12 COMMON CLAY; (A door is heard to open from above, music louder. The girl listens with a rapt expression, and then spontaneously interrupts MRS. FULLERTON.) ELLEN. Oh, yes, there s the music now ( Uncon sciously she lilts her body to the rhythm of the music) Oh, but it s great to dance I love it, some body told me once I was made for life and joy. (She catches the disapproving and surprised look of MRS. FULLERTON, and her features fall) But they re wrong, ma am, for every time I have a good time I get into trouble. I suppose I was made for work, ma am. MRS. FULLERTON. At least that is what you are here for, Ellen. I hope you have many good times, but you came here for work. (The sound of the door closing off-stage stops music and laughter from the ballroom above. MRS. FULLERTON gives ELLEN a parting looking-over and moves toward the stair way. As she does so, EDWARDS is coming down stairs) Edwards will tell you what to do, Ellen. ELLEN. Yes, ma am. (MRS. FULLERTON exits up stairway, and EDWARDS comes into the room carrying his tray now empty, and cooly sizes up ELLEN in the manner of a drill master looking over a raw recruit. ELLEN bristles at this. He slowly and pom pously hands her the tray, she hesitates about taking it.) EDWARDS. Hellen, you are to serve the hices. (Shakes the tray at her. She takes it resentfully) ELLEN. My name is Ellen, Hedward. EDWARDS. And I m to be addressed as Hedwards not Hedward. Use my last name and don t leave off the hess. COMMON CLAY 13 ELLEN. Very well, Edwards, I won t leave off the hess if you leel it s coming to you. (EDWARDS gasps) I understand that you are to tell me what to do. EDWARDS. Have no fear that I won t tell you, Missy. But before I do, I want to let you know that you are now in service in a house where each must know is or er place. (ELLEN winces and starts to interrupt him, but EDWARDS holds up his hand for silence and proceeds majestically) For more than twenty years I ave served this ousehold, and a man of my parts would not lend is talents to such service were it not honorable. ELLEN. (Patiently bored) Yes, no doubt but what am I to do? EDWARDS. I am coming to that. You will find me a man of few words ELLEN. When? EDWARDS. (Angered) When I have spoken what s in my mind, Missy. From your manner to ward me I m afraid you do not h-appreciate the advantages of serving in the ome of one of the oldest families in this State. But look at me I started in ere as the man now I am what you might call ELLEN. The jellyfish. (Laughing spontaneously) Oh, they ve taken away your spine. EDWARDS. (Infuriated) You impudent little hussy. I ll see that you get your walking papers ELLEN. (Struggling for her composure) Oh, I know I oughtn t to say things like that, Edwards, let s make it up and get along together. (He is obdurate and she approaches him coaxingly) Maybe I ve been too fresh. (He shows signs of relenting and she smiles) Let s make it up and get along together. EDWARDS. Sure, we ll be friends, little one. (He grabs her and tries to kiss her. She jerks away) I4 COMMON CLAY ELLEN. You old beast You re the one who ll go now do you think I m going to stand for this? I ll tell (She starts toward hallway, but EDWARDS greatly concerned blocks the way) EDWARDS. Ere, don t go on so There s nothing to gain by telling. (Smiles) Lord, Miss Ellen, mums the word in such matters for igh and low. If I d told all I ve seen nobody would be better off and many would be worse, including poor old Edwards. (His propitiating manner revealing him self as an old groveler from long training, mollifies the girl) There now, you know I m right, Miss Ellen. Keep things ushed up and there s no arm in them sssh Here comes someone be moving those drinks quick (ARTIE COAKLEY is coming down the stairway. EDWARDS points to decanter and glasses on table. He makes a hasty exit L. and leaves ELLEN. She puts one tall glass on tray, which she holds, then hesitates and fumbles, uncer tain which tray to use. Meanwhile COAKLEY comes downstairs slozvly and uncertainly. ELLEN has not seen him as yet. He is ap parently intoxicated, tho his movements are not exaggerated and his manner not boisterous. As he walks into the room he notices the tray and decanter and is so intent on them that he does not lift his eyes to the girl s face. He smiles and gives a sigh of relief, the sigh of a man whose next drink is his greatest problem no^v solved. COAKLEY is a rather tall, slender man, very young in appearance with the weakest of faces and the latest of evening clothes of the period. He swaggers with the air of a youngster who is always having a perfectly ripping time a man of pleasure who doesn t care who knows he s drunk and dressed up. His COMMON CLAY 15 only concern is that ELLEN, who has her back to him, may take azvay the drinks, so he speaks sharply as^he takes hold of decanter.) COAKLEY. Stop where you are, girl (Snapping fingers, speaking oratorically) let those drinks lie. (ELLEN, startled, turns to COAKLEY, then drops the tray with a bang and the glass breaks on floor.) ELLEN. Artie Coakley, oh, my God! (COAKLEY looks at her a moment blinking, and then recognises her.) COAKLEY. Little Ellen Neal what the Hell are you doing here? ELLEN. You re no more surprised than I am. COAKLEY. It takes a lot to surprise me when I m drinking. (He pours out a drink in small glass, tosses it off, smacks his lips, and holds the decanter by its neck, swinging it) God, I was dry. (Then points to broken glass) Better pick up that junk, girl. ELLEN. Haven t you got the decency to help me I don t see as you re so much better than I am. (Gets down on her knees) COAKLEY. Right you are, girl, and your little Artie is no proud child of Fortune simple, unaf fected (She picks up the debris, puts it on tray) Yes, simple as a shepherd boy (ELLEN rises and gives COAKLEY a contemptuous look.) ELLEN. Well, to think that you are in society. That gets me. (She puts the tray on table) i6 COMMON CLAY COAKLEY. (Pouring drink) Gets you why should it get you ? Didn t I always tell you who I was? (Sips drink nonchalantly) ELLEN. Every bum tells us that he is a society man. COAKLEY. Tisn t what they tell you girls like you mustn t fall for that stuff but it s the way a man looks and acts that lets you know he s a gentle man- ELLEN. (Sarcastically) But what if the gentle man is generally drunk? COAKLEY. (Sipping drink) You can always tell a gentleman by the way he carries his liquor (Pauses and swaggers) and I m welcome in all kinds of society. ELLEN. I don t believe you re making such a hit here. CHARLEY. (With lordly indifference) Tut, tut, little playmate, I don t want to make a hit here It s the tamest affair / ever attended (Pointing upward) Not a drop to drink upstairs. (Stroking decanter) I tried to drink enough before I came but (Shakes his head, pouring another drink) that never works. It throws me off my schedule if the drinks don t come at regular intervals. (Pauses) Then I hit the ceiling. (Puts down de canter, holding drink in his hand) I came here to night just to please mother. She s keen on the Fullertons. But personally I prefer society that s a bit more exciting. (Sips drink) I d rather paint the town with a good little scout like you. (With an inspiration, enthusiastically) I tell you what lesh do lesh get a sea-going hack and drive the old horse by the tail through an ocean of drinks. (He edges toward her smiling, still holding drink , and pecks at her lips with his) ELLEN. You let me alone, Artie Coakley COAKLEY. (Surprised) You re a virtuous one COMMON CLAY 17 all of a sudden what s getting into you, little wayside wanderer? ELLEN. I m straight I am straight now I tell you (He smiles) And you ve got to treat me that way. COAKLEY. Back to the fold, eh? But can you come back? That sh the question. Man can go straight (Indicating a straight line with his finger) then crooked (Making a meandering gesture with finger) then straight (Another gesture) But woman ah, lovely woman straight (Gesture) or crooked (Gesture) One or the other. ELLEN. It s not fair. COAKLEY. (Shrugging shoulders and giving a gesture of dismissal) Nothing s fair you think you ll brace up (Anti-climactic ally) and be a house-maid. (Laughs) What sh the use you won t be treated with respec any more than if you re crooked (ELLEN winces) Facts hard cold facts, girl facts got to be looked in the face. So you re going to be an honest working girl (Laughs) all right all right here s what you ll get, (Stand s erect and snaps his fingers) " Ellen, run upstairs and get Miss Anne s rubbers." (He makes motion with feet as of one running, pauses, and then- imitates a feminine voice) " Put them on me, Ellen, and do hurry or I ll miss half the first act." " And Ellen, see that Mr. Hugh s breakfast doesn t get cold he ll sleep late this morning." You come along with me we ll leave this dull place without saying we ve had a pleasant evening, which would be all a damned lie. (He lurches toward ELLEN, grabs her and kisses her, while she struggles. She breaks away and sends him reeling with a blow across the face. He staggers to table for support and steadies himself, glaring at her angrily) ELLEN. Do you think I was made to be hunted by a pack of little dogs like you? ,8 COMMON CLAY COAKLEY. (Angrily, as he strokes his face) You ve come to be quite a tigress, eh but what s the use of your getting gay with me me when you know that I know all about you (HUGH FULLERTON, youthful, tall, handsome and athletic, comes down the stairway. He is of the manner which comes of being well-liked and of having his path made easy and free from struggle. He is conscious of his ad vantages and position but not disagreeably so; in fact, they rather sweeten his nature, but give him the attitude of feeling that all that he de sires he should reach out and take. ELLEN sees HUGH coming down the stairway. She becomes nervous, grabs tray with broken glass, and makes a hasty exit, not however until HUGH has entered the room and discovered her dis appearing through the door L. HUGH smiles and approaches COAKLEY.) HUGH. Hello what s up? (Laughs) Don t mind me, I m only the son of the house. You don t lose much time. I didn t even know she was in my home. I ll have to pin a rose on you, Art, as a discriminating pleasure seeker. COAKLEY. All I got was a slap in the face. (HUGH laughs) She s a little Hell-cat, Hugh. HUGH. (Lights a cigarette and smiles) Your trouble is right here. (He indicates the de canter and glasses) You can t mix this stuff with women. But I ll admit you re a wizard, Art, mysteriously disappearing from the ball-room, leav ing me to dance two dances with that heavy Burton girl while you come downstairs, lap up liquor and flirt with the housemaid. I like the way you make yourself at home. COMMON CLAY 19 COAKLEY. (Pouring a drink) Excellent whiskey have one ? * HUGH. Thank you I may take just a wee one. (He seats himself, crosses his legs, holds up the decanter, of whiskey to the light and squints at it while COAKLEY tosses off his drink) Ah, that s pretty, and look at the bead on it. (HUGH mixes a mild highball and sips it) COAKLEY. (Wiping his mouth) Hugh, you re a good friend not to get sore at the old souse that s what I am the acknowledged social souse There you are, playing with that liquor as a cat with a mouse, and here I charge it like a bull and go down in the fight. Same way with women you ll never be caught. Everybody in town knows about me and they ve already closed the doors against me in some homes. I m going down and you re just easing along, having your fling in a quiet way and never the worse for it. HUGH. It s temperance, old boy. Don t overdo the thing. (Sips drink) And don t mix your crowds You can t appear at the theatre with a live wire one evening and then expect the Winthrops or the Carters to have you to dinner the next. Why don t you brace up, old fellow? COAKLEY. Hugh, there s a streak in my family you know that. It s born in me I m an alcoholic and a weakling about everything. (He reaches for the decanter, pouring another) HUGH. What were you saying to that new maid, Art? COAKLEY. Oh, just talking over old times. (Rubbing his cheek) Nasty slap she gave me, damn her HUGH. Sssh ! COAKLEY. I ll settle with her all I did was t j remind er of old days and she slapsh m face. HUGH. You knew her before? 20 COMMON CLAY COAKLEY. Sure, she s a live little one regular fellow loafs around Bender s place. HUGH. (Surprised} Around Bender s! Are you sure? COAKLEY. (Drinking again) Surest thing you know, son. (Music) Take the word of a seasoned old scout. She is the Belle of Bender s Dance Hall ; and here she bobs up like a bad dream and slaps my face like injured innocence. Damned insult for a woman like that to come into gentleman s house and slap faces of guests. (Rubs face) I m a man of sensitive nature. (ELLEN enters left with tray of ices. She passes through library, goes upstairs and exits up, She is self-conscious and embarrassed, COAKLEY attends the decanter, but HUGH crosses nearly to stairs, looks at ELLEN with youthful delight as she goes upstairs. Crosses to center then down left of table. Door slams. Music stops.) HUGH. (After ELLEN S exit enthusiastically) She s a peach! COAKLEY. (Waving hand) She s yours if you don t let her bluff you. (HUGH smiles at the pros pect. COAKLEY approaches him and drunkenly pats his hands on HUGH S shoulders. His legs wobble) Oh, I know all about her. Little Artie was with her right from the start. And what do you think shs tried to tell me? HUGH. What? COAKLEY. (Laughing foolishly) Said she was straight now. HUGH. (Considering) Maybe she wants to change her ways. COAKLEY. (With conviction) Too late it s been tried before. That sh what I tried to tell her COMMON CLAY 21 I tried to reason with her and to tell her that she can t brace up.^ An she slaps m face. I tell you, Hugh Fullertoit that a woman that slaps the face of kind hearted sensitive gent man who sh trying to talk reason to her I tell you that woman who hurts the feelings of sens tive man will come to no good. Mark my words, Hugh, she ll come to no good. I m hurt in the feelings, old mansh. Have strong desire to weep. (COAKLEY staggers, grabs at table, misses it and HUGH, laughing boyishly, catches him under the arm-pits as COAKLEY almost sits on the floor, and seats him in chair left of table. COAKLEY sits dazed) HUGH. Sit steady in the boat, Artie. I ll run outdoors and find a cab for you and get you out before anyone sees you. (COAKLEY nods compliance.) COAKLEY. (Stupidly) You re a good fellow, Hugh. (HUGH exits through arch R. to front door) You re the frien of every drinking-mansh. (ANNE FULLERTON enters coming downstairs f call* ing.) ANNE. Hugh, oh, Hugh. (Sees COAKLEY and approaches him, talking) Oh, Artie, why aren t you dancing? You must come upstairs and help me out. Edith Burton is stuck again. (COAKLEY blinks. ANNE then realizes he is drunk) Why, Artie Coakley, what do you mean by this in my house? (Goes front of table, looking at ARTIE with peevish disgust) COAKLEY. (Rousing and smiling laboriously) Thash all right, Annie. Don t you worry, I m all right. 22 COMMON CLAY ANNE. I d hate to see my brother in your con dition. (COAKLEY looks up with insinuating grin.) COAKLEY. You won t he sh got sense nuff to go to Turk sh bath now wisht me it s different. (Laughs) But you mustn t be mad, Anne. Don t be peeved with the old souse. Somebody s got to get lit to make the party go everybody s glad to see other feller s foot slip makes em laugh gives em gossip. Don t you worry because I got tide on oh, what a tide. (Feels his head and yawns, then droivses off) ANNE. (Crosses to foot of stairway as ELLEN enters from stairway) Ellen, run upstairs quickly (ELLEN turns) and bring Mr. Coakley s hat and coat. ELLEN. Yes, ma am. ANNE. Hurry now. (ELLEN hastens upstairs and exits. ANNE returns to COAKLEY and shakes him vigorously) Don t you go to sleep, Artie. Wake up, I say. COAKLEY. (Roused by the shaking, looking into her face, she on his left) How beautiful you are, my dear. (She is peeved he pauses) You know, whiskey^ makes all women seem more beautiful. But I didn t dream that a woman could be so beauti ful, Anne. ANNE. Let s don t talk about that, Artie. COAKLEY. (Rising laboriously) Can t help it, m j dear. What man saysh when hesh drunk s what he thinksh when hesh sober. How beautiful y are, my dear. (COAKLEY grabs ANNE S hand, she walks to right trying to break away. He gets his arm around her and tries to kiss her. HUGH enters R. and seizes COAKLEY. ELLEN comes down stairway with silk hat overcoat and cane in time to see COMMON CLAY 23 COAKLEY S attempt to kiss ANNE. ANNE intervenes between HUGH and COAKLEY) ANNE. Hugh, don t make a scene. Artie didn t realize what he did. (HUGH releases COAKLEY. ELLEN hands HUGH hat which he puts on COAKLEY far back on the head, then coat, which he throws over COAKLEY S shoulders. COAKLEY blinks, grad ually taking in the situation. He takes cane proffered by ELLEN, deriving a wobbly support therefrom as he speaks.) COAKLEY. Gent man of sens tive nature knows what it means to have coat and hat put on him. I go (Bows) and when I go there sh one less h gent - man in this house (Bows directly to ANNE, hat in hand) Adieu, Mademoiselle, my mama tole me to say that sh a very pleasant evening. But if you want to know what I think, it s a damned tame party. (Exits R. staggering. A fall is heard in hall way. ANNE and ELLEN look R. and listen. HUGH exits thru hallway right, hastily) Thank sir, {The front door is heard to open and there is a voice out of doors.) VOICE. (Off-stage) Keb sir here you are, sir keb sir. HUGH. (Off-stage) Here, take good care of him, cabby ! CABBY. Oh, I ve had him before, sir. COAKLEY. A right cabby I gesh you know where to take gent man after sh ball ish over. VOICE. Ay sir nothings too good for you, sir. Mind the stair, sir. That s it. (The door slams and HUGH comes back. He and 24 COMMON CLAY ANNE look at each other, standing in the door way. ANNE pats HUGH on shoulder.) ANNE. You ve always been a good brother to me. HUGH. Pretty poor sort of man who wouldn t keep a fellow from insulting his sister. Artie had his nerve trying to kiss you. (ELLEN watches this performance with a curious interest and goes off through library L. As she exits at door she wipes her eye with the edge of her apron which she gathers up. This is all unobserved by the brother and sister.) ANNE. Didn t he though! A girl doesn t mind being kissed, but she does object to having a man think he can. HUGH. Well, none of them need think he can kiss you. (ELLEN enters door L. HUGH gives her an in terested look. She crosses R. to table and be gins to sort out the glasses, etc., on tray, stand ing behind table.) ANNE. (Twining her arm on HUGH S) Now Hugh, come on upstairs and dance with Edith Burton. (She starts toward stairway. He balks) ^ HUGH. No, I won t. It s a worthy charity but I ve suffered enough for the cause. (He looks at ELLEN again with growing interest, disengages ANNE S arm. and pats her shoulder) You run along and sic ck Phil Benton on her. (She hangs back but he leads her to stairway and on to landing) Phil will eat out of your hand. (ANNE seems pleased at this and goes upstairs) I ll be there in a few moments. (Exit ANNE up. HUGH looks at COMMON CLAY 25 ELLEN, who has arranged tray and picked it up. Then he comes^down to her, smiling. ELLEN looks confused as he nears her.) HUGH. (With a rather silly air) You re not afraid of me, are you? ELLEN. (Greatly surprised and puzzled) Afraid of you? Not after the way you ve just protected your sister. (Smiles) Why should I be afraid of you HUGH. (Behind table) Not even when you are (He bends nearer to her. She has the tray in her hand and cannot push him off) under the misletoe? (He kisses her quickly. She does not move for a moment, dazed. He draws away from her, smiling rather inanely. She is bewildered, con fused but at length exclaims) ELLEN. Oh so you re just like all the rest of em (Slowly and in a dazed absent minded way) Just like all the rest of em. HUGH. (Superficially) Surely. I m made of the same stuff as other men, and they all fall for you. You re a peach. ELLEN. (Still as if dazed) So you you are just like Edwards. HUGH. Edwards? ELLEN. Yes the butler and Coakley the drunk. (Pauses) I didn t think it of you. HUGH. Well, what sort of a boob do you think I am I don t look a fellow who would overlook anything, do I? Especially anything as pretty as you are? (He starts toward her smiling. She avoids him, setting down the tray on table iviih a rattle and bang, and getting the table between them she faces him zvith anger) ELLEN. Oh, you re a pretty one sending your drunken friend home for trying to kiss your sister, and then you turn right around and get fresh with me. Well, you can t do it. You ve got to treat me 26 COMMON CLAY just as you treat those girls upstairs. If I had their money and their gowns, I d be just as good as they are. Do you hear me, just as good as they are. (ELLEN S combativeness and anger rile HUGH a bit, but he calms himself to calm her) HUGH. Oh, calm down a bit. I m sorry. I was hasty. I think you ll find that I am a gentleman. ELLEN. Yes, that is just what you are a gentle man. And to-night I ve learned something about gentlemen. They will always protect their own women but they prey on the women of the poor. HUGH. I ve never wronged a woman in my life ! ELLEN. (Excitedly) No, but you re thankful for those that have already been wronged. HUGH. Quiet down a bit and let me explain. I didn t mean any harm. ELLEN. Maybe you didn t and maybe you did. Maybe Coakley didn t mean any harm to Anne Fullerton. And maybe he did. (He begins to get angry. Her eyes flash and she raps the table quietly to emphasize her words and speaks in low tense tones as if to goad him into something like her own anger) But I know that in both your heads there was the same thought. HUGH. (Glares at her a moment) Don t you dare mention Miss Anne in that way. (Lowering his voice for emphasis) And as for you I know all about you. ELLEN. What do you mean ? (She looks at him inquiringly and he looks knowingly at her) You don t know anything about me. (She begins to realise that he does) Who s been talking to you? (Then with realization she cries out) Artie Coakley? (She looks at him for confirmation but he gives no intimation) What did he say about me? Was it Coakley? (He nods) Mr. Hugh, you re not going to tell, are you ? HUGH. (Smiling at his advantage) No, what COMMON CLAY 27 would be the sense in my bothering you or in your bothering me If we re going to be under the same roof, we may as well be friends. Don t worry. (He gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. From above door is heard to open and the strains of "Home Sweet Home" waltz float down. A shadow as of a woman coming downstairs appears on wall. They hear, and he motions her away with another reassuring tap on the back. MRS. FULLER- TON appears on stairway and comes dozvn to land ing, unsuspicious from what she sees, of anything passing between HUGH and ELLEN) MRS. FULLERTON. Hugh, dear, I ve been looking everywhere for you. They are all leaving, now. HUGH. Coming, Mother. (He joins her on landing) (" Home Siveet Home " dies down in ball-room and the guests dressed for street come downstairs. There is a great deal of laughter as the guests file by MRS. FULLERTON, ANNE, HUGH, and MR. FULLERTON, who stand in line saying good night, ad lib, " Thank you for a perfectly charming evening ", " The best dance of the season", etc. The FULLERTONS thank their guests for liking it, while off-stage out-doors, is a bedlam of chugging automobiles, and through the library windows the flash of head lamps from the street. Outside the policeman s voice can be heard calling, " Mrs. Carter s car." "Mrs. Semple s." "Mr. James Scott s ma chine." " Mr. Van Dyck s carriage." " Cab for Mr. Sinton" " Cab for Miss Overton." " Taxi." One or two of the male guests take a drink. ELLEN and EDWARDS are dashing about in hallway holding coats and zvraps for guests. After guests all exit right and everything is 2% COMMON CLAY quiet, and the servants exit L., MRS. FULLERTON comes down L. of table.) MRS. FULLERTON. Well, I think everything went off beautifully. FULLERTON. Your parties are always successful, dear. HUGH. Indeed they are, Mother. (He puts his arm around his mother and kisses her) Good-night. MRS. FULLERTON. Good-night, my boy. ANNE. Good-night, Hugh. (She kisses her father, who pats her) And good-night, Dad. FULLERTON. Good-night, good-night. (The two women go up and off and FULLERTON turns to HUGH) Well, Hugh, a very pleasant evening. The mother and Anne are retiring, and I ll follow. (Reaches landing) HUGH. I think I ll sit awhile and smoke a cigar ette, Dad. FULLERTON. A little late, my son. HUGH. I ll be up presently. FULLERTON. (Stops, turns) When do you go back to college? HUGH. To-morrow evening my train leaves at six-thirty. FULLERTON. Ah, so soon. W^ell, you ll need money. HUGH. No no oh, no (They both laugh. FULLERTON conies doivn to HUGH) FULLERTON. Come to the office at one to-morrow and we ll fix you up. HUGH. Father, you haven t any small change about you now, have you? FULLERTON. (Laughing) And then we ll lunch together at the City Club. HUGH. Thank you, sir, I ll be there at one o clock. FULLERTON. At lunch I want you to get better COMMON CLAY 29 acquainted with the older men the substantial business men for you must bear in mind, that as soon as you get back next fall from your yachting trip, you must take up the management of the estate. Good-night. (Pats HUGH on back) HUGH. Good-night, Dad. (FULLERTON exits upstairs and his footsteps are heard off-stage. HUGH lights a cigarette.) ANNE. (Off-stage) Ellen, Ellen! (ELLEN enters from hall and starts up stairs. As HUGH, hearing her coming turns off lights in library) Ellen, please bring my breakfast to my room at eleven. ELLEN. (Peeved, remembering COAKLEY S re mark) Yes, ma am. (ELLEN comes downstairs and turns out lights in hall. HUGH goes to door L. and stands. Room is now lighted by lamp and fire- glow. ELLEN pulls down curtain of window R., straightens chair, picks up tray and starts L. HUGH comes toivard her. She is surprised) HUGH. (Hesitatingly) Ellen, if you don t un derstand how to go about getting Miss Anne s breakfast, ask Edwards to tell you. ELLEN. Yes, sir. (Starts to pass HUGH. He blocks her, playing for time) HUGH. And if he s uncivil in the morning, let me know. (ELLEN looks at HUGH in frank sur prise, and he by way of explanation continues hesitatingly) You see, I know Edwards. He is very servile to those above him, but he is often dis courteous to those over whom he is placed. (He catches himself, realizing suddenly that he is prob ably guilty of the offense of which he accuses the Butler) But I don t want you to think that I m that way. I m sorry for what happened this even ing since I ve had time to think it over and I 3 o COMMON CLAY want to show you that I will treat you with the same respect that I d show to anyone else. (He sits) ELLEN. You can t do it, Mr. Hugh. HUGH. Why not? ELLEN. Because I ve become a servant. .HUGH. Why err one may have respect for a servant. ELLEN. No, sir, because respect is not some thing you can hand out like a sack of potatoes. You can t give it, you can only show it by not making a servant address you so as to show that she s not as good as you are and by not sitting down when you make her stand HUGH. (Jumps up, stands uncomfortably, fidgets and then flops doivn again, perplexed) Oh, I say, Ellen, that s all quite impossible. ELLEN. Of course it is I don t blame you. But I ve just learned an awful truth to-night. I ve learned that a woman of the streets can get about as much respect as a woman who makes her living in jobs like this one of mine. It s not so much what you do as how much you make by doing it that gives you power in this world. HUGH. (With inspiration) Do you mean that? ELLEN. I can t get away from it. HUGH. It does sound reasonable. You re wise. ELLEN. Experience is the best teacher. (Crosses left) HUGH. Wait a minute hold on I ve a lot more to say to you. (Rises and takes tray from her. The fire-glow lights their features strongly) Do you know I like you. You interest me and you are beautiful. And I have a feeling that you like me. Don t you? (He takes her hand, she hangs her head and withdraws hand) ELLEN. What makes you think that ? HUGH. Oh, I don t think it I just feel it. I COMMON CLAY 31 felt it when you became so angry at me, and then subsided in timeJ:o keep my mother from seeing us together. You do like me, don t you? ELLEN. I suppose so. HUGH. Why? ELLEN. Does any girl know why she likes a man? I ve seen them fall for some awful pills. HUGH. (Starting) But I m not that ! ELLEN. I can t say just why I took a fancy to you. I ve always fancied you. I ve often wished that I could have had a chance to know you as those girls who were at your party know you. To meet you in that way. That s why I thought about them when I was angry. HUGH. (Surprised) But you never did know of me until now. ELLEN. Yes, I ve seen you driving around town in your car and I ve read about you playing foot ball, and seen your pictures in the papers and your sister s name and yours are always in the society column. HUGH. You keep up with things, eh? ELLEN. (Enthusiastically) Surely. I ve often read about the parties and what girls were there and what they wore, and then I would just imagine that I was there and I ve talked to them all until it seemed real. I almost called your sister " Anne " right to her face to-night and you you have always been a sort of hero of mine. HUGH. (Pleased) You have a great imagination. ELLEN. (Simply) I m not trying to jolly you I know it wouldn t do me any good. I m just trying to explain how it is that I can like you, even when I m nothing to you. It puzzles me. Maybe it s because I realize how little I count for and how much you count for in this city. Maybe it s be cause you re so manly looking and handsome and big and strong. And it s funny, too as big and strong 32 COMMON CLAY, and as able to take care of yourself as you are, there are so many persons and so many things helping to take care of you. This nice, warm house is one of the things that shelter you. This is the first time I ever was in a place like this. Now I know what they mean by saying that there is no place like home. (With an amused bitterness, suddenly) Where do you suppose I was a week ago to-night? HUGH. I don t know. Where? ELLEN. In jail? HUGH. In jail? How did you get there? ELLEN. It s easy enough when you know how. Do you know Bender s Dance Hall, the Elysian ? HUGH. Well, rather. It was raided by the police a few nights ago while I was on my way there with a bunch of fellows. It was lucky we didn t get there earlier. ELLEN. It wouldn t have made any difference with you. They let all the men go they always do. But they backed up a patrol wagon and took all the girls to the station and locked us up. I nearly died I was so frightened. I couldn t sleep all night not a wink. And while I sat up there in a cell, a white patch of moonlight came through the bars of the window onto the floor, and a rat came out in the moonlight and stood on its haunches and looked at me with its little beady eyes, and shook its awful little whiskers as much as to say, " Well, my goil, welcome to the dump for we re both on the dump, you know we re trash, both of us, nothing but trash and we ve been swept out onto the dump when the house-cleaning came." And in the morn ing they jerked me up in Police Court and the Judge told me that as this was the first appearance for me, I could go. He was a kind man (Lowering her voice} for a judge. He asked me to wait in his office, and when court was over he talked with me, asked me about my father and mother, and said COMMON CLAY 33 he d help me to get away from bad company. He called up on the, phone and sent me to a woman who gets jobs for girls. Told her she just must help me. I went to her office and Edwards came there, looked a lot of us over, and said he d take a chance on me because Mrs. Fullerton wanted a housemaid who had some style to her. HUGH. Edwards has a good eye. ELLEN. Anyway, I got the job. I didn t want to be a housemaid, but I remembered what the Judge told me about getting away from bad company, and I knew you were good people the Fullertons. So here I am in good company in one of our best homes. (Looks at HUGH significantly. He seems confused and at a loss) HUGH. (After a pause) If you think in that way, you ll become hard and bitter. (With inspira tion) God made us what we are. ELLEN. (Slowly) People like you blame a lot of things on God. (HUGH looks at her puzzled. ELLEN continues, slowly and meditatively, and HUGH moves nearer, cautiously trying to get his arm around her) Well, I don t know who to blame it on, but I do know that when I came here to-night to work and be right, I didn t get any more respect than when I was going it wrong. It s more who we are than what we do that makes us good people or bad people. (She leans forward with her chin in her hand and her elbows on her knees looking into the fire-glow. Her voice grows lower but more tense and perfectly distinct as she gives a sigh of weari ness) All I ve got to say is " What s the use ? " (He throws cigarette in the fire and draws her to him closer and regards her quizzically and un- comprehendingly as The curtain falls 34 COMMON CLAY ACT II SCENE: The following October a bright morning. The scene is laid in the private office of SAMUEL FILSON, attorney at law. There are entrances right and left. Door stage left is marked "Mr. Filson, Private", the letters be ing painted on off-stage side of the whitened glass. Door stage right is marked " Library ", letters on stage side. There are pictures on the walls of Blackstone, and other legal celebrities, a framed copy of Magna Charta, the Declara tion of Independence, and a photograph of the Supreme Court of the United States. There is a large table-desk in center and a revolving chair behind same placed so that JUDGE FILSON faces the audience. On this table is a telephone and numerous papers, law books, documents, writing material, a large ivory paper-cutter, etc. In one corner of room a golfer s bag and clubs stands against walls. There are several chairs and a hat-and-coat stand, up from left door. The furnishings, etc., are such as to indicate a very orderly and prosperous law office and the quiet good taste of its occupant. There is a very large window in three frames, taking up most of the rear wall, through which can be seen the tops of houses, trees ivith scant autumn- colored foliage, skyscrapers, spires, etc., typical of the birdseye landscape of a middle western American city of the first class. The morning sunshine is evident. But most conspicuous in the out-of-doors through this window there appears a broad winding river, on the banks of which the city is built. This river. dominates the view. Bridge in distance. g ? ~ <+ Dl r 9 S i o S o TJ 1 2 CA > 1 I -n-3? n o r- D| DJOINING 1 t/ m Jj r^ to ^j |z " 55 : ^ 1 > O g ^r- Dl 1 2! 2 ^5 m 50 S ni i- , | LEFT COMMON CLAY 35 AT RISE : JUDGE FILSON, a well-dressed, impressive man well along in his fifties, is seated at his desk consulting law books and making notes. He seems to enjoy his zvork, taking it easily, as a finished scholar and gentleman who has ac quired the habit of winning his cases at law and of exercising a quiet, unobtrusive, half- jesting authority in his relations with his fellow- man. His face and the play of his features show the capacity for every phase of human emotion. He is as a man who has lived much and learned as he lived. His voice is low and clear and full rounded and controlled by years of public speaking. As FILSON is engaged at his work, Miss WARREN, the stenographer, opens the door left. FILSON is preoccupied until she speaks with her hand on the knob of the door. Miss WARREN. Mr. Fullerton is here, sir. FILSON. So soon show him right in. (FULLER- TON brushes by Miss WARREN, who exits, closing door. FULLERTON is greatly concerned and troubled in his manner and expression) Aha, Dickey boy, a great day this (Noticing FULLERTON S expres sion his own changes to one of puzzlement) Why Dick, what s the matter? FULLERTON. It s my boy my Hugh. FILSON. (Concerned) What ails him? FULLERTON. (Tensely) He s mixed up with a woman. FILSON. A woman eh? Well I wouldn t be too hard on the boy, Dick. Any young fellow s likely to have his fling you did I did FULLERTON. (Impatiently) Hard on him Certainly not ! You ve got to help us out, Sam. FILSON. You know Fl do that, Dick. Is it any thing very serious? 36 COMMON CLAY FULLERTON. (Nodding assent) The woman claims he s the father of her child. FILSON. U um ugly. (Hesitatingly) Any eer truth in it? FULLERTON. Truth in it of course not. The girl was simply a servant in our house. FILSON. (Almost amused) It s a physical possibility. FULLERTON. But this is blackmail pure black mail. (Excitedly) Just a frame-up on us because we have money can t you see? FILSON. Does she ask for money? FULLERTON. (Pacing excitedly) I have not seen her neither has Hugh. He s just come home from abroad. She s been trying to get to see him but I don t want the boy bothered it won t do it can t be a splendid young fellow like Hugh just graduated from college last June with honors made all sorts of friends there too influential wealthy people now when he comes home to settle down and manage the estate here comes along this little hussy to blackmail him to put a blot on our family name. There ought to be a law to protect the sons of gentlemen from such scum FILSON. And perhaps there should be a law to protect such scum from the sons of gentlemen. (Pause) Yes, yes, it s too bad Dick, but for good ness sake calm down and tell me the story. I ll have to know it accurately. FULLERTON. (Seats himself left of desk) Well, when Hugh was home from college on his vacation last Christmas this girl came to our house to work. She was pretty and young they say I don t re member her and I doubt if Hugh would know her if he saw her and well Sam it s just the old story of a healthy active young fellow sowing his wild oats and falling into a trap. COMMON CLAY 37 FILSON. (c.) Hugh admits his relations with her, then? FULLERTON. * Well ear ryes but you can t blame the boy. Under the circumstances it was a perfectly natural thing for him to do. FILSON. Yes and under the circumstances it was a perfectly natural thing for the girl to become a mother. ( FILSON notes a disapproving look on FULLERTON S face and he hastens to explain) You see, Dick, we ve got to look at this thing from all its angles. But what does she claim and what does she want? FULLERTON. She has been making persistent de mands to see Hugh I wouldn t let him see her, and now she s gone to a lawyer. He called me up just now and said if I didn t see him to-day there would be trouble. I ve referred him to you. And I think he ll be here with the girl in a few minutes. You must settle with him, Sam. Do you hear. This thing must be hushed up. FILSON. You think they ll want money? FULLERTON. What else could they want? FILSON. Who s her lawyer? FULLERTON. His name is Yates I don t know him. FILSON. I do (Significantly) they ll take the money. FULLERTON. We ll have to give them what they ask for I suppose to keep the thing hushed up but it is an outrage, isn t it? FILSON. I suppose so, Dick, but it s a thing that s likely to happen as long as what woman is taught to look on as her highest duty is looked on by man as his most popular form of amusement. (Rises, walks to window, stands sidewise to audience, finger ing cord on window shade and dreamily looking out at the river) FULLERTON. (Gasping) What! What s that! 3 8 COMMON CLAY (Pauses and grows calmer) You ought to ap preciate what this means to me, Sam, not only as my lawyer, but as my friend. (Turns, looks at FILSON) What are you dreaming of, Sam? FILSON. I m wondering, Dick (Pauses) I m wondering if I can as your friend, and not as your lawyer, make a suggestion to you. FULLERTON. Certainly Sam. FILSON. If Hugh really is the father of her child why don t you have him marry her. FULLERTON. (Jumping up and pacing the room) What? my boy marry that woman who came off the streets into our house as a servant. Sam, you re mad. FILSON. Wait a bit, Dick. (Comes down and the tzvo stand by desk) If you won t let Hugh make his child legitimate then you prove that what you call morality is not as important as certain social distinctions. FULLERTON. I never heard such wild talk in my life. FILSON. The truth is often wild when spoken at the critical moment (Sits in his desk chair, picks up paper-cutter and points at FULLERTON for emphasis) Dick, there are only tzvo real problems in human life the problem of sex and the problem of property by the one we come into existence, by the other we exist yet to attempt to deal with either in a way that really counts is to be considered indecent or dangerous. (Pauses) Now it occurs to me that here is a chance to do a big thing the biggest thing that any man can do to sacrifice what we call respectability to what we know is justice (Pauses, looking into the eyes of FULLER- TON, who seems dumfounded) Do you under stand ? FULLERTON. (Seating himself left, and speaking COMMON CLAY 39 in charitable contempt) Can t say that I do. I always thought that you were a sensible man, Sam. FILSON. You wrong me there, Dick. As a mat ter of fact, I m* not nearly so sensible and sane a man as people think. I now and then have ideas just as the other fools do but I ve generally been able to stifle these ideas before they brought me to harm and once I was saved from one of these mad notions by the self-sacrifice of a woman (He lowers his voice) I expect that s why I happened to make this foolish suggestion She was just such a woman as the one in this case, perhaps. Go back to your innocent youthful days, Dick you may remember her they called her Dolly Montrose. ( FILSON eyes FULLERTON closely) FULLERTON. That woman she FILSON. Oh, you do remember? FULLERTON. Yes, eer vaguely she sang in a dance-hall. FILSON. (Nodding) Where we spent many in nocent youthful hours ah, happy days! FULLERTON. Oh, hang it, Sam, don t throw my wild oats into my face at a time like this. (Pauses) But I remember that woman rather vivid type full of life FILSON. Do you remember her end ? FULLERTON. Can t say that I do I ve forgotten all the shady things, Sam. When I married I closed the book. FILSON. She killed herself. FULLERTON. Yes? Women of that kind often do, don t they? It s one way of solving their problem FILSON. She drowned herself Dick on ac count of me. FULLERTON. What s that? FILSON. Dick, there s something in my life that s been hushed up just as you want this matter 40 COMMON CLAY hushed up for your son and it was the woman who hushed it up for me. It cost her life to do it but she did it so well that to-day I am the only living soul who knows my secret. And I m going to tell it to you. FULLERTON. You may trust me, Sam. FILSON. Do you remember what I was doing twenty years ago? FULLERTON. (Thinking) Why you were mak ing your race for Congress. FILSON. Yes, and before that a long time be fore that I had met this woman, Dolly Montrose. I have one thing in my nature, Dick, which is a great hindrance to any man who wants to get along in this world. FULLERTON. Hindrance what? FILSON. A great feeling of pity. (FULLERTON looks for an explanation) You may call it that or you may call it a sense of justice or too much sympathy, but these are things that go together and things that a man must get rid of if he d go to the top. They made it easy for me to fall in love with a woman that other men took for a plaything. FULLERTON. Nonsense, Sam. You re talking wildly again. A man can have no real attachment for such a woman. FILSON. A man like you can t you re too civilized. But I could and did, find real congeniality in this woman. For where a man like you would see her lack of education I could see that she had great natural abilities and talents. Where others noted that she spoke ungrammatically I could see that she said things worth listening to. And she sang (Grows more enthusiastic) Don t you re member how she sang in Lynch s dance-hall ? FULLERTON. (Smiling cynically) Yes, such songs as "When the roses sing in Western Penn- COMMON CLAY 41 sylvania and the robins bloom in Central Tenn essee " FILSON. Ah, l#it she had a real voice a natural voice full of melody and sweetness and sympathy. There was a thrill to it. And the sympathy that was in her voice was in her nature. And there was /0V about her too. Few persons are capable of real enjoyment even if the chance of it comes their way but here was one who radiated joy where the op portunities for it were practically denied her ; who bristled with talent and had no chance to develop it. One caught the spirit of her gayety it was irresis tible even when you knew how tragic was her life, and the hopelessness of it all appealed to my sense of pity. I may have been a fool but I fell for her, I found that I would rather be with her than with anyone else in the world and as time went on, and you and all the rest of our friends married and settled down to lead the lives of the pure in heart (FULLERTON winces) I found that I simply couldn t give this woman up. I saw her constantly for several years. She gave up everything and every one for me FULLERTON. And none of us ever knew anything of the life you were leading. FILSON. It would seem not and I drifted along with her until one day just before the Congressional election, when I was making the big fight of my life, she told me that she was about to become a mother FULLERTON. My God? how did you keep it all so quiet ? FILSON. She was the one who kept it quiet. FULLERTON. How did you get her to do it ? FILSON. I didn t think of that I asked her to marry me. (FULLERTON looks at FILSON incredu lously) And she refused. FULLERTON. Refused ! 42 COMMON CLAY FILSON. (Nodding) Yes, said she d be wreck ing my life. She was a real woman. I helped to make her so, thank God, by treating her as such, and when it came to the supreme moment she did what women do so well she sacrificed herself. (FILSON pauses a moment and the two men look each at the other) FULLERTON. But what became of the child? FILSON. (Slowly and distinctly) The child was never born (Pauses) for before that could happen the body of Dolly Montrose was found floating in the river below the city. (He takes from his inner vest pocket a leather case and from that a letter folded and creased) She mailed me this note be fore she drowned herself. (He reads aloud his voice and hand trembling) " When you get this note, Sam, I ll be dead. I won t pull you down with me, and I hope you will take the chance I am giving you to go on up. Now don t act like a fool and give the thing away for it will be too late to do me any good. I want to repay you for wanting to be straight with me and this is the best way I know how. Good-bye, DOLLY MONTROSE. P. S. I want you to go to the top." ( FULLERTON takes the note from him, looks at it, then shakes his head and speaks reflectively in a low tone, deeply moved.) FULLERTON. It s a queer world. (He hands the note back to FILSON, who puts it -into the leather case and back into the pocket whence he took it) FILSON. And I doubt if we can draw the line very sharply between the good ones and the bad ones in it. ( FILSON rises and walks to window COMMON CLAY 43 looking out at river. FULLERTON turns his head to ward FILSON and speaks argument atively) FULLERTON. *Well, you took advantage of the chance the woman gave you and went to Congress, then became Chief Justice of this State, and are now its leading lawyer. Where would you have been if you had married that woman in the case as you want my boy to do ? FILSON. (Thoughtfully) Instead of being here the prosperous hired man of the right kind of people I d probably be out there in the street of evenings mounted on a soap-box, shrieking anathema at the things and the powers that be but there might have been an embittered satisfaction in hav ing lost all in attempting to right a social wrong to take the place of the well-being which came with hiding it. Dick, it seemed to me after that incident in my life that success came by evading issues rather than by facing them FULLERTON. Nonsense. You ve been a fighter, Sam, for decency, for respectability, and law and order. FILSON. (Smiling sardonically, and walking about the room making gestures as he speaks) Yes, Dickey-boy, I ve always fought for the things that no man can lose by supporting law and order, decency and respectability, and all such vague gen eralities as stir the spirits of school-boys and keep men from thinking. (Pauses and bows to FULL ERTON) But I shall come back to earth. (Seats himself at desk) Now I am ready, as a lawyer should ever be, to do the work we re here for. (FILSON wipes his brow) Let s get down to busi ness he who bolsters up his case is able to make the best settlement. FULLERTON. (Rising) Good I ve always felt that I could depend on you at the show-down, Sam. 44 COMMON CLAY Now Hugh is outside with a friend of his who knows something of this girl s past. FILSON. Good there s nothing that gets more attention in Court than a woman s past. FULLERTON. But I caution you, Sam, under no circumstances does this get into court. We want to settle right here. FILSON. (Nodding) I understand. FULLERTON. And, Sam, don t put on a long face with my boy to make him think he s a criminal. FILSON. I understand. I ll simply treat the matter lightly one of my professional touches, Dick making little over much and much over little. Show them in. (FULLERTON crosses, opens door left, and calls out.) FULLERTON. Step in here, son. (HUGH FULLERTON, JR., enters, followed by COAKLEY. Both are very well dressed, espe cially COAKLEY, who remains near the hat- rack, on which he hangs his hat and crook- handled cane. As FILSON greets HUGH, COAKLEY stands near left door, lighting cigar ette.) FILSON. (Making light of the matter) Well, Hugh. (Rises and shakes hands) Glad to see you back from over the pond but what s this I hear (Smiling) you young rascal running with a woman, were you? HUGH. Yes, Judge, I came home to find trouble awaiting me. FILSON. I m very sorry. HUGH. I m sorry, too sorry for the girl if her claim can be true. I don t want you to think hard of me, Judge. I do the things that other men do, COMMON CLAY 45 but I ve made it a rule of my life never to harm a good woman * FULLERTON. It s the code of all the Fullerton men! ! (COAKLEY seems half puzzled half amused.) HUGH. And I ve lived up to it. Before I spoke a word to that girl I knew that she had a past. And here s a man by whom I can prove it. (Turn ing toward COAKLEY introductorily) You ought to know Artie Coakley, Judge Filson. FILSON. I know his father very well. (They shake hands) COAKLEY. (Excitedly) Well, for God s sake don t mention any of this to him, Judge. FILSON. Certainly not, Mr. Coakley. COAKLEY. It isn t that he d jump on me, Judge you know the old gentleman there s a streak in him that runs into me and every time I get into a scrape he blames himself, Judge says nothing, just suffers like the damned. FILSON. (Sympathetically) Oh, yes, I see. COAKLEY. I told Hugh that if he could be sure not to let the matter get into court I would be will ing to say here what testimony I could give in a pinch. FILSON. (Reassuringly) Oh, we will settle it out of court but the best way to keep a case out of court is to show the other side your strength in court. FULLERTON. When Coakley tells what he knows she won t dare go into Court. (He turns and addresses HUGH) But my son, you d better get out now. That girl and her lawyer will be here and there s nothing to be gained by your seeing her. Is there, Sam? 46 COMMON CLAY FILSON. Hardly there was not much gained by his seeing her at first. HUGH. But I want to see her, Dad. Here s a woman setting up all sorts of claims on me. FULLERTON. I m not going to see her. Nor must you. FILSON. Your father s right, Hugh. HUGH. Well, I ll go (He turns to COAKLEY and shakes hands) Thanks awfully old chap for back ing me up in this. It s awfully decent of you. (Opens door) Good-bye and good luck. (Exit HUGH left. FILSON motions the others to seats and sits back of desk. COAKLEY sits left of desk. FULL ERTON draws up a chair and sits right of desk) FILSON. Mr. Coakley, what can you tell us con cerning this girl, Miss eer what is her name? FULLERTON. She calls herself Ellen Neal. COAKLEY. Yes, that s her name. Judge, I know all about her. It s true that for more than a year before Hugh ever saw her she wasn t straight. FULLERTON. Just a common blackmailer, you see. COAKLEY. I can t think of her doing anyone a dirty trick, somehow. FULLERTON. Nonsense, a woman of that sort will do anything. COAKLEY. She wouldn t. You see it was the things outside of herself that forced her where she is and with me (Pauses and continues ruefully) well, it was something inside that made such a rotter of me. It was born into me and she was born into it. You might say that I was responsible for her downfall. (He grows nervous under the inter ested gazes of the others) I didn t mean to do it I didn t want to be a rotter any more than she did. FILSON. I m sorry for you both, Mr. Coakley. I think I can understand. But did this girl frequent improper places? COAKLEY. I wouldn t say that she frequented such COMMON CLAY 47 places. I met her in Bender s dance hall and (Hesitates) Bulr I want it understood that we are not going to get into court. FILSON. (Reassuringly) I m not going to let the case get into court if you ll tell me enough to keep the girl out of court. COAKLEY. Well then I took her to 916 Maple Street. FULLERTON. What s that? COAKLEY. 916 Maple Street. FULLERTON. Are you sure of that number? COAKLEY. You ought to know you own the property! (Smiling sardonically) Yes, it s the place that Daisy Lloyd runs all the comforts of home and a few additional privileges. (FULLERTON fidgets uneasily) How much rent does Daisy pay you every month for the house, Mr. Fullerton? FULLERTON. You can t hold me responsible for what goes on in houses that I rent out COAKLEY. Especially if it makes the rent larger. FULLERTON. (Rises, infuriated) That s enough from you, sir. I don t propose to be twitted by a little degenerate like you, a man who has just admitted that he s responsible for a woman s down fall. (Sits) COAKLEY. (Calmly) But think how many more downfalls I would be responsible for if I drew the rent from that house as you do. You know, the difference between us is, you deal in downfalls by the wholesale and I m only a little retailer who has to give his personal attention to each job. (FULL ERTON fumes and FILSON represses a smile. COAKLEY blows rings of smoke and squints at them while calmly delivering himself of a bit of philos ophy) It s a queer civilization, isn t it, where the best citizens, simply by sitting still and taking profits can be more potent factors in vice and crime 48 COMMON CLAY than the worst little degenerates. Something s wrong. FULLERTON. (Goaded by the other s calm) See here, I won f stand this. (He rises and advances on COAKLEY, but FILSON rises and comes between just as the door left opens and Miss WARREN enters, closing it behind her. FULLERTON calms down) Miss WARREN. Judge Filson, there s a girl to see you and her lawyer (Looks at card) " W. H. Yates." (Hands card to him) FULLERTON. Don t let the girl in till I get out! F ILSON. (To Miss WARREN) One moment. (To COAKLEY) Coakley, you step in that room, (Indicating R. COAKLEY rises) and wait until I call you. I want you to confront the girl at the psycho logical moment. ( COAKLEY starts toward door right, pauses and speaks.) COAKLEY. I feel like a dog telling on that girl. FULLERTON. (Standing right of desk) It s your duty and you re only telling the truth. COAKLEY. But I was reared a gentleman and there s one thing that a gentleman is always in structed to lie about that is the honor of a woman no matter ivhat the woman does. FULLERTON. I know eer but it does matter who the woman is. (COAKLEY looks at FULLERTON and a sardonic flash of realisation comes across his features.) COAKLEY. That fortifies me to do my worst. (Exit COAKLEY, right) FILSON. Now, Dick keep your head this fel low Yates is a shyster. We can settle anything with COMMON CLAY 49 him if the girl and you won t kick the fat in the fire. But, remejnber that a law-suit may be started by losing one s temper. (To Miss WARREN) Show Mr. Yates in (FULLERTON looks concerned) have the girl wait outside. ( FULLERTON looks relieved.) Miss WARREN. Very well, sir. (She exits, leav ing the door left open, and a moment later there enters YATES. Attorney YATES is something of a contrast to his colleague FILSON. He is crass and crafty and not well-dressed. He affects a slyness and an overdone sophistication. Before a jury he would denounce FILSON as the kept-man of the vested interests, but nothing pleases YATES more than to be on excellent terms with a lazvyer so suc cessful professionally and socially. FILSON is well aware of this weakness and makes the most of it. He knows that when YATES has brought enough successful damage suits against the corporations the same YATES may then be regularly retained by the interests he has assailed, and he is even now con sidering negotiations to this end. FILSON S manner is breezy ; so is that of YATES, who steps in springily and holds out his hand) YATES. Ah, Judge we clash again. FILSON. (Rising and extending his hand across desk) Well, Brother Yates I hope this may not be a clash exactly. This is Mr. Fullerton, Mr. Yates. (YATES extends his hand mechanically, FULLERTON, coolly, and while the two approach each other, YATES opens his mouth in a puzzled look and drops his hand, surprised) Ah, you ve seen Mr. Fullerton before? YATES. (Politely hesitant) No, and I expected to meet a eer younger man. 50 COMMON CLAY FULLERTON. Sir, Sir, I don t understand (He realises) Oh, it isn t /. It s my son. YATES. Oh, I see I took the father for the son (lie smiles and points his meaning) when in this case, its the son who is the father. (FILSON laughs slyly.) FULLERTON. Sir ? FILSON. We admit nothing. YATES. (Smiling knowingly) Of course you admit nothing, Judge, you re his lawyer FULLERTON. (Fuming) And / admitted nothing. YATES. Not intentionally, but didn t you say (He points each word by bringing his left index finger into the palm of his right hand) "It isn t I it s my son " didn t you use those words (Turns to FILSON) You heard him say it. FULLERTON. Confound you, sir, I didn t mean it. YATES. You mean you didn t mean to say it. FULLERTON. (Enraged, rises) Damn it, sir I didn t suppose that I d have to deal with a black leg ( FILSON rises and steps in between.) FILSON. Come now, this is never going to get us anywhere. You ll throw the whole thing into court before you know it. (He quiets them down) Let two lawyers settle this matter. Dick, you go in there. (Indicates right. FULLERTON nurses his rage and puts his hand on knob of door, right) FULLERTON. I leave the amount of hush-money (Glaring at YATES and repeating the word with greater emphasis for his benefit) hush-money to your judgment. (He exits, rolling his eyes at YATES) YATES. He s a pleasant fellow. COMMON CLAY 51 FILSON. (Seating himself and motioning YATES to chair left, wheje YATES sits) He s the best fel low in the world kind father, good husband but the gentlest creature will fight when its young are threatened. YATES. Yes, that s just the case with my client. And we lawyers have got to make a living, eh? FILSON. (Opening a box of cigars and holding them to YATES who takes one, smells of it, and puts it in his vest pocket) Exactly, brother Yates, (Holds a light for YATES, who re-lights a half- smoked cigar which he has been holding) Exactly, and here s a case where we ought to get together (He lights his own cigar and speaks softly and in sinuatingly) and compromise. YATES. (Smiling slyly) Spoken like a lawyer, Judge we ought to get together. FILSON. Well, what does your client want ? YATES. (Slyly) She wanted to talk personally with young Fullerton; but I persuaded her to let me see you, first. FILSON. Is the girl in love with young Fuller- ton? YATES. She didn t say so but it s very evident. Believe me, I know women. FILSON. Then do you really believe that young Fullerton is the father of her child? YATES. Yes, and if you talked to her for ten minutes you d believe it, too. He ought to marry her. FILSON. (Concerned) Does she ask it? YATES. No. She seems to have a good bit of pride and she doesn t want money for herself she wants it for the child. She says that her boy ought to have a chance in the world and that her own experience has taught her that without some money no one has a chance and with it you can make anything right. 52 COMMON CLAY FILSON. A cynical philosophy. YATES. (Shrugging his shoulders) She learned it from life she s wise beyond her years, Judge she s had to be. She says the child s entitled to just as much as If he were the legal heir. FILSON. Eh, what s that? Why, man, Hugh Fullerton s heir is to have the largest fortune in this State. YATES. (Calmly blowing cigar smoke upwards) That s what I m after and Miss Neal has the whole thing planned out. She s going to have the child adopted by good people. No one will ever know anything about who its mother is or its father. All the money s to be put into a trust fund for the child. She wants money only for her child I ll take my part of it for myself. FILSON. Oh, we are willing to give what s right. Fullerton doesn t know that Hugh is responsible for this condition but he realizes that there s a chance of it and he doesn t want to find out the truth of the matter naturally. So we re willing to settle, but we don t propose to be held up for any ridiculous amount and if you push things too far you ll force us into court, that s all. YATES. Her terms are not ridiculous they are based on a high sense of justice. It is not the child s fault that he is not the legal heir, and he is entitled in justice to as much as if he were the legal heir. FILSON. That s a rather original way of looking at it. YATES. As far as the kid s concerned it s a just way. Those are our terms in court or out, we stick r ,o them. FILSON. (After a pause) Do you know your client ? YATES. Only as a client. FILSON. Then you d better not take her to court, COMMON CLAY; 53 for there I can prove that before she met young Fullerton she was* just a woman of the town. YATES. (Smiling incredulously) Naturally, that s what you d try to prove. FILSON. And I ll prove it, too. (FiLSON goes to door R., opens it and looks through door, calling off-stage) Will you step in here, Mr. Coakley? (COAKLEY enters, FILSON indicating him addresses YATES combatively) Here s a man who ll testify in court if necessary, that your client has a past in which he is personally concerned. Am I right, Mr. Coakley? COAKLEY. Yes ^eer it s true. (YATES gives COAKLEY a defiant appraising look) But I trust I won t have to testify can t you lawyers keep this thing out of court? I ve caused trouble and shame enough to my family already (Under YATE S ag gressive gaze COAKLEY grows uneasy) but, of course, if I m called I ll have to tell what I know She knew me before she knew Hugh. I found her at Bender s dance hall and I persuaded her to go with me to 916 Maple Street. ( YATES gives COAKLEY a quick glance and FILSON attempts to check COAKLEY S confession in the presence of YATES.) YATES. There s always a fellow like you hang ing around ready to help in a frame-up. FILSON. Now see here, Yates, I don t manu facture evidence this is no frame-up YATES. Well, I ll see quick enough. (He goes to door L. and turns toward them with his hand on the knob) I ll bet she won t know you. COAKLEY. (Holding out his hand in protest) ph, wait 54 COMMON CLAY (YATES gives a quick sly grin, feeling that he has exposed COAKLEY S play.) YATES. (Laughing) Oh, you want to wait, do you? (Quickly opens door) Miss Neal, will you step in here. (All three expectantly await the entrance of ELLEN, who comes in with her eyes downcast, pale and embarrassed in appearance. She happens to look tip and seeing COAKLEY she starts, gasps and almost swoons. YATES is completely flab bergasted at the recognition.) YATES. Do you know that man ? ELLEN. Yes. FILSON. (Triumphantly) Yes, she knows him, and there goes your case (Snapping his fingers) up in smoke. ELLEN. (To COAKLEY, tears of anger coming into her eyes. She controls herself and faces him as she speaks, tho f she is visibly embarrassed) I suppose you ve come to tell on me. COAKLEY. Well eer yes, Ellen. That is, you see, it can t be helped unless you ll be reasonable (Her manner becomes more and more defiant and contemptuous as his becomes more propitiating and embarrassed) Now why don t you look at it reasonably and help us all out for after all, Ellen, Hugh Fullerton was not the only man in your life and you can t deny that to me. (She glares at him, tears of anger come into her eyes, and she wipes them with her handker chief, gulps down her rage and shame and pulls herself together.) t ELLEN. I m not the kind of a woman that men like to hear crying. COMMON CLAY 55 COAKLEY. (Brightening) That s right, don t cry, Ellen think of htfw hard you are making it for all of us and be assured of this, that I ll not lie about you even if you force me into the witness stand I ll only tell the truth. ELLEN. (Calmly tense) The truth I m the kind of woman that men tell the truth about I m not important enough for them to lie for or to fight for (With energy while COAKLEY starts) so I guess I ll have to fight for myself it s the only way to get any respect to strike back (Turning to YATES, who has sunk into a chair and has not recovered from the recognition) You re my lawyer don t sit there and look down and out. Tell me something to do if a woman hasn t a husband or somebody else to strike back for her when she s hounded by a dog like this (Indicating COAKLEY) doesn t the law do anything for her? (At this YATES, who has been feebly gesticulating his helplessness, appears to get an inspiration.) YATES. (Rises) Wait a minute! Maybe the law will help you. (Considering) This man has just admitted that he persuaded you to go with him to 916 Maple Street. (COAKLEY sees a trap and winces, and YATES turns to ELLEN) How long ago was that? ELLEN. Two years I ll not forget it YATES. How old were you then ? ELLEN. Eighteen ! YATES. (To ELLEN) We ve got em! (To COAKLEY) There s a statute in this state which provides that a man who entices a girl under twenty- one to such a house is guilty of a felony. (Turns quickly to FILSON, shaking finger at him) And there goes your case up in smoke. ( FILSON starts, COAKLEY sits down w** his head in his hands, 56 COMMON CLAY YATES stands and lifts his voice) That fellow has just confessed to a crime. FILSON. Come, come, Yates. YATES. (Loudly) I m coming and coming strong. If this fellow tells what he knows in court he ll tell it as the defendant in his own trial and not as a witness against this girl and what he tells will send him to the penitentiary. All we have to do is to swear out a warrant. COAKLEY. (In great excitement) A warrant! You re not going to let him get a warrant, Judge. YATES. What the Hell has he got to do with that. He ain t the only lawyer in town. You d better make up your mind not to tell any tales, young fellow. COAKLEY. (Terrified} I m out of it all. I won t testify to anything, anywhere. (Starts to go, but ELLEN confronts him angrily in front of door, left) ELLEN. Oh, yes you will You ve told on me twice. And you ll tell again in court. (To YATES) Let s go get that warrant. (YATES turns aside and motions to FILSON. They talk together a moment earnestly, but no one hears what /s* said. ELLEN speak angrily to YATES when she observes this parley) If you re my lawyer, you ve got to show some fight or I ll get another. (She exits, slamming door, left) YATES. Well, I gotta go along with her, Judge. (Grabs hat from table) I ll call you up. (Rushes to door, left, turns on COAKLEY) As for you, I ll see you to-morrow morning in the court-room. (Exits hastily, left} COAKLEY. (Turning on FILSON) This is the Hell of a way to keep a man out of court. (FULLERTON pokes his head in through door right, then enters, looking about inquiringly.) COMMON CLAY 57 FULLERTON. What s happened now? FILSON. They ve gone for a warrant. FULLERTON. (Excited) A warrant for whom? ( FILSON indicates COAKLEY and FULLERTON looks relieved. COAKLEY glares at him.) COAKLEY. You got me into this. FULLERTON. No, Artie. But I was afraid you d talk too much. (To FILSON) But what s to be done about Hugh? FILSON. We ve got one chance her lawyer. FULLERTON. That shyster I wouldn t trust him. He s in this for the money he can get out of it. FILSON. Exactly that s the one chance I spoke of, FULLERTON. Ah, yes, I see well Sam, anything to save the honor of the Fullertons. COAKLEY. (Rises) What about the honor of the Coakleysf They re quite a important as the Full ertons. FILSON. Now, listen both of you. Yates is coming back here after the warrant s out as soon as he can get away from that mad girl. He s not going to let this settlement fall through he wants his part of the money and the girl has to have the money or her child will starve so there we are. (Pauses) This girl is only a human being with a child both are up against the need of money and we have it. We are bound to win. COAKLEY. But what will become of me? Why don t you stop that warrant ? FILSON. I can t I would gladly do so if I could but that woman s in earnest. COAKLEY. Then / // be thrown to the wolves. FILSON. No, we re going to stand by you. I ll appear in court to-morrow and defend you. 5 8 COMMON CLAY COAKLEY. In court Oh, my God everybody in town will know all about it. If I get into court (Shaking finger at FULLERTON) you ll have to come as a witness. (FULLERTON leaps in fright as if he had sat on a pin, drawing a quick breath of abject terror.) FILSON. (Ironically) Yes, that s wise. Full- erton can only be a witness against you. He heard your confession. His testimony would send you to the Penitentiary. COAKLEY. (Non-plussed) I m the goat I m always the goat I was born to be a goat. (He ivalks up and down wringing his hands, then steps in front of FULLERTON as with an inspiration) If I get into court, you ll get into the papers. FULLERTON. But my dear fellow, you surely FILSON. Here, listen to me. Dick, you know every newspaper owner in town. FULLERTON. There won t be a word published (To COAKLEY) about your arrest or your trial. COAKLEY. That will help some. And if you can see Yates and talk it over, and get him to persuade the girl FILSON. I m going to have a conference with Yates this afternoon. But there s no way of pre venting that girl from having a day in court with you you ll go through the examining trial in the Police Court COAKLEY. The Police Court (He groans) FILSON. I ll probably not put you on the stand at all the accused does not have to testify if he thinks best, and we ll have the girl down under oath as to her doings when she testifies against you. That will weaken her case against the Fullertons FULLERTON. (Brightening) So it will so it Sam, you ve a very quick mind. COMMON CLAY, 59 FILSON. And she ll be willing to settle her claim for less money. FULLERTON. Give her what s right, Sam, but see that she and Yates agree that Hugh s part in her history does not come up in court. FILSON. Certainly that has nothing to do with the case against Coakley and Yates himself will take the Prosecuting Attorney s place in the morn ing there will be no chance of a leak then, and it s easier too because I don t believe that girl wants Hugh to be involved Yates thinks she s in love with Hugh. FULLERTON. Oh, the idea of it. But I ll go at once to the papers and stop any publication. {He takes his hat and starts toward door left) I ll cer tainly keep it bottled up. Depend on that. (With a sudden inspiration) I can ask the newspapers to stop it on Artie s account that will divert any suspicion from me and when you re arrested, my boy, I ll go on your bond. (Patting his shoulder) COAKLEY. But I don t want to be arrested. (The phone rings. FILSON takes down receiver. FULLERTON pauses with his hand on the door knob. COAKLEY awaits anxiously.) FILSON. (In phone) Hello Yes, that you Yates? Well, it can t be helped and Yates, don t forget to meet me at four this afternoon and mean time get your client to agree to reasonable terms from Fullerton. All right see you later. (He puts up receiver) Well the warrant s out. COAKLEY. (In terror) Judge, for God s sake keep me out of that trial. Isn t there something you can do? ( FILSON glances with compassion at the boy, then takes up a copy of the statutes from desk and 60 COMMON CLAY as he hastily runs his finger through the index he talks to COAKLEY while FULLERTON lingers at the door.) FILSON. There s one alternative, perhaps = COAKLEY. (Eagerly) What is it? FILSON. Wait a minute. Ah, yes, here it is, Section 108 B. (He reads intently to himself) Yes, I was right (Looks up from book, then rises) The legislature in its wisdom has seen fit to ordain that a man may make a bad woman good by marrying her and thereby investing her with his own good ness. In other words, the statute provides that a man accused as you are may escape trial and penalty by marrying or offering to marry the woman. FULLERTON. Splendid, splendid that solves the whole problem. (To COAKLEY, who is dazed) You can marry the girl. You owe it to her, anyhow by your own confession. And then, too, I ve known of cases like that where women have braced up and made excellent wives often all that they need is a chance, you know COAKLEY. But you wouldn t let Hugh marry her. FULLERTON. For heaven s sake, man, don t quibble. This is a time for action. COAKLEY. Well, I ll be damned. Do you think I could introduce a woman like that to my mother. No. (He draws himself up resolutely) I know that I ve been a debauchee and a drunkard but I ve always remembered that I was born a gentleman just as much of a gentleman as you are, Mr. Full- erton. If I ve associated with people not of my class I ve never recognized their social equality the instinct of a gentleman is too deep within me > and I won t I can t marry a girl like that, no matter what I owe her or how much I am to blame. XCOAKLEY takes hat and cane) A gentleman I was LEFT $ COMMON CLAY 61 born and a gentleman I ll remain if I have to go to the penitentiary to do so. (He exits left) FULLERTON. (guzzled) Going to the penitentiary to be a gentleman. Sam, he doesn t know what a gentleman is. FILSON. Neither do I, Dick. (Thoughtfully) Sometimes I think there is no such animal. Quick curtain ACT III SCENE : The following morning in the City Court room. Court in session. JUDGE and officials in their places. Across the doivn-stage s full length runs a wooden railing with a closed gate in center. The action takes place behind this railing, which gives an effect as if those seated in the orchestra of the theatre constitute the spectators at the trial. The court-room is a typical one for an ex^ amining tribunal where no jury trial is held. The tall narrow windows, all in rear, are heavily barred, and through them can be seen the white walls of a jail with its small narrow barred windows. Somewhere on rear wall hangs a large clock ticking, with the time set at ii : 40, and a large calendar from which a leaf is torn daily, revealing the date, October 10, 1905. There are entrances right and left down-stage inside railing large, high, thick doors exactly opposite each other. Also another entrance up, right a smaller door to the private offices of the court officials. The judge s tall bench is exactly in center. At its left is the 62 COMMON CLAY witness stand, so arranged that the head of the witness comes a little higher than the level of the judge s bench. In the witness-stand is a revolving chair. At left of witness stands BAILIFF, back. Policemen guard each door. On right of judge is seated at a low table the clerk, busily engaged with a confusion of papers and a very large docket. A duplicate docket is spread before the judge. Also on his bench are ink and pen, pitcher and glass, and at each side on top an electric lamp. The -furniture is heavy and solid. The lawyers sit at a long narrow heavy table f right, running up-stage and down. COAKLEY sits up next FILSON, with whom he is whisper ing earnestly now and then. On the down side of FILSON sits YATES, and down side of YATES is vacant chair. Before the rise of the curtain the voice of YATES is heard saying " That s all I want to ask you, Miss Neal." As the curtain rises, ELLEN NEAL is on the witness stand. Her manner is a bit strained and she nervously fingers a pair of worn gloves in her lap, but there is a certain look of de fiance beneath her discomfort. The prosecut ing attorney for this case, YATES, is just lean ing back in his chair.) YATES. I m done with the witness, your Honor. JUDGE. (To FILSON) Does the defense desire to cross-examine this witness? FILSON. (Rising) Most assuredly, your Honor. Just sit where you are, Miss Neal. We re not done yet there s more of this story to tell. (ELLEN, who has started to leave the chair, settles back in disappointment, while FILSON addresses the JUDGE) We are willing to admit the girl s story, your COMMON CLAY 63 Honor, as far as it went. It is true as she says, that the accused took this girl in a cab to the house on Maple Street* after he had met her and had several drinks with her at Bender s Dance Hall. But I want to ask her a question in extenuation of my client. (Sits) Miss Neal, you admitted that you had frequently been in this place of Bender s? ELLEN. Yes, sir, I went there for a while. FILSON. You knew that it was not a proper place, didn t you? ELLEN. Well, yes, I did. FILSON. Then why did you go to this dance-hall ? ELLEN. (Simply) I wanted to see people and have a good time I love to have a good time, and hear music and singing and to dance. I can t help it it s in me. FILSON. (Unwittingly sympathetic) But why didn t you have your good time and your dancing at a proper place ? ELLEN. I don t know, sir it must have been be cause nobody ever seemed to want me at a proper place. FILSON. Oh, they didn t seem to want you? ELLEN. No, sir, I didn t get invited to proper places. People like you don t invite poor folks to come and dance with em. They make us wait on em and work for em. I thought of making my debut with the good people that season but was afraid they wouldn t come to my party. So I made it at Bender s met some nice young fellows there too the best in town. FILSON. (Nettled) And while you were at Bender s enjoying yourself, did you ever drink with the nice young men? ELLEN. Yes, when I had to I didn t like to very few of us do FILSON. Why did you do it then ? ELLEN. I declined the first few times they asked 64 COMMON CLAY me to drink, and Bender came over to see me. He said " I ain t runnin this place in conjunction with the Women s Christian Temperance Union, You have to hustle booze or beat it." FILSON. Will you tell the Court and myself the meaning of this slang you use? ELLEN. I was telling you his own words I don t like slang myself but I ve got to listen to a lot of it. " Hustling booze " means to keep the men buy ing drinks and that s what I had to do if I wanted to dance and hear the music, and meet good-looking chaps who d take me to ride in automobiles. FILSON. You could have stayed at home, couldn t you? ELLEN. Yes, sir, I suppose so. FILSON. Why didn t you? ELLEN. (Thoughtfully) I don t know it seems I ought to have, and yet I just couldn t. There are some homes that are easier to stick around than others I worked in one like that once it was a pretty place with pictures to look at, and books to read, and a room for music, and awfully good, clean things to eat, and white bath tubs but even there the young ones didn t want to stay at home, except when they were tired or hungry. It seem s to me that when you re young and full of life you just naturally don t want to stay at home, and you re in a bad fix if you haven t any other place to go what you called a proper place FILSON. That s very interesting, but you must be more concise in your answers. ELLEN. You asked me why I didn t stay at home I m trying to tell you I can t just say " Because." And I m trying to give you a sensible answer. Did you ever ride in your automobile through the worst parts of town what people like you call the worst parts of town v/here there s smoke and soot and railway tracks and noise and dirt and saloons and COMMON CLAY 65 factories and cattle yards you ve been through there went in a hurry, too, I expect but did you ever notice the lo*ig rows of little frame houses just exactly alike and did you ever see the tired, worn women hanging over the gates before sundown? They are the ones that stay at home They stay there because they re usd to it that s what people like you say about em. " Oh, they don t mind, they re used to it." But they re a lot older than I am before they re used to it and they re so tired and worn out by that time that they wouldn t go around the corner to see a fight. But their kids will they ve life in em and they run and play in the streets when they re young it s a dangerous place to play, but it s the only place they have and when they get a little older they ve still got life in J em, and they want to amuse themselves, and it s still a dangerous place that they have to go to but they go it seems as if they just can t help it. That s why I went. JUDGE. (Leaning over the bench with interest) What were the circumstances of your first visit to Bender s ? ELLEN. You mean how did I come to go there? I kept getting hints and messages it got up my curiosity. There was a girl who lived next door FILSON. What was her name? ELLEN. Guinevere Peters. FILSON. \Vhat sort was she? ELLEN. She was wild, but friendly and full of fun. My mother told me not to have anything to do with her. FILSON. But you did go with her against your mother s wishes? ELLEN. (Nettled) Yes, I did I just couldn t cut her dead when she lived right next door I m a human being. 66 COMMON CLAY FILSON. (Sarcastically) I begin to suspect as much. But tell us more of Guinevere. ELLEN. One summer night I was standing at the front gate feeling blue and Guinevere came along and said to me : " You re stuck on yourself because you re straight well, you needn t be. You think/ she said, "that you ll come to good and I ll come to harm, but believe me, you re wrong." And then Guin pointed to the window in our house where my father and my mother were sitting by the coal oil lamp. " That s what you ll come to," she said, " if you keep straight and marry the kind of a boob that you ll draw." And I looked the way she pointed and there the old people sat. He was spell ing over the newspaper and knitting his brows to get the meaning and smoking a stogie that you could smell to the street, and she was sitting there looking as if the Angel Gabriel couldn t blow his horn soon enough to suit her. " That s the reward of virtue for women like us," said Guin. " We can be the good, honest, hard-working wives of boneheaded men, and engage in the greatest of all indoor sports dish wishin . If you like that sort of thing, go to it. But don t get it into your head that you ll be appreciated for making a drudge of yourself. Why, let me tell you something," she said, " I could go in there and take him away from her any time I got ready." And then Guin told me that the men around Bender s had been asking about me. " Swell boys come there in automobiles," she said, " they know how to spend their money and have a good time. They want to meet you." And she asked me to come down to Bender s with her, but I wouldn t FILSON. Oh, you wouldn t go then what has all this to do with my question? ELLEN. Well, you see I er went later. FILSON. Oh, you went later how much later? COMMON CLAY 67 ELLEN. I went a few days later. I got to think ing over what Guinevere said. It seemed to me there was something in*it. FILSON. It didn t take much to persuade you, then? ELLEN. It didn t take much to let me see that no matter what I did there wasn t much in life for me. And then a few days later when I was sprinkling the street, along came a big auto full of clean- looking boys, and they waved their straw hats at me and smiled, and they looked so happy and cool and free, that it just made me laugh to think that some body was having a good time anyhow. And then they turned the machine around and came up to the curbing, and one of them jumped out. " Come along Irene and take a ride." "You re pretty fresh," I said, " and my name s not Irene." And he said, " Well, whatever your name is, we ll scout around and see if there s any joy left in the world." And there the big car was chugging away right in front of me, and all those happy good-natured boys ask ing me to come along to the woods and the fields and out of that dust and smoke. I turned em down cold, tho , and before they went away they said they d be in at Bender s after dark if I wanted to change my mind. FILSON. (Sarcastically) And you changed your mind at dark. ELLEN. I went in to supper and I never saw that stuffy, little house look so dingy or feel so hot, and the supper never was so greasy, and the oil cloth on the table never was so dirty. Then while I was washing the dishes at the kitchen sink, up came the moon, big and red through the smoke, and I thought of how it would look out on the cool, country roads in a little while, shining like silver. I just couldn t stand it another minute. I walked 68 COMMON CLAY out of that kitchen, put on my best things, and went. FILSON. (Smiling f insinuatingly) Oh, you went, eh? ELLEN. (With defiance at FILSON) Yes, we ve got a right to more than living we ve got a right to have a good time in this world. FILSON. And you found your idea of a good time when you met the boys at Bender s ? ELLEN. Well, it wasn t what I would have picked, but it was the best time I could get and I believe with all the mess it s made for me it s no worse now than standing at that kitchen sink every night would have been. It was something like living, running with those boys. They knew how to enjoy things. Guinevere Peters let the boys get fresh with her, but I didn t at first. And Guinevere said to me, " See here, Priscilla, this is no place for a Puritan maid, and these are regular fellers and they ve got the kale and are willing to part with it, but they don t take us girls joy-riding just because they think we need the fresh air." And they all laughed and said that Guin was a peach and had the right idea. They got to drinking more and more and I took a little now and then to be a good fellow. We wound up at Bender s again and I was feeling gay and sang a few songs and after we d danced awhile, Guin went off with one of the boys and I slipped away from the crowd and got home. FILSON. But you went back again? ELLEN. Yes, sir. I kept going back you see, Bender liked the way I sang and he gave me em ployment to sing. Coakley was always hanging around there, and he kept after me, and it hap pened as I told before. FILSON. I m done with this witness. You may stand down. COMMON CLAY 69 f ELLEN, relieved, steps down from the witness chair and takes her*seat on down side of YATES.) YATES. (Rising) May it please your Honor, I Vvant to put Mrs. Neal on the stand to testify as to the girl s age at the time of the commission of the offence. We will prove by this witness that her daughter was then and is still under the age men tioned in the statute. Incidentally we will, by this witness, refute some of the insinuations of improper bringing up which the defense has attempted to cast upon the complainant. Call Mrs Neal (The BAILIFF walks out, calling " Mrs. Neal! Mrs. Neal! Mrs. Neal!" MRS. NEAL enters, as sisted by the BAILIFF. She is a little, frail ivoman, timid and frightened and speaks in a low tremulous voice. She wears a very small bonnet, sitting high on her head, ivith strings from it tied under her chin, and a shazvl of Persian design, rather tattered. She carries a round, black fan, which folds into a stick, and this she folds and unfolds nervously, now and then fanning herself. She wears gloves which cover only her hands, and her arms are bare from the elbow. Her whole appearance sug gests respectable poverty, and she seems to have put on everything she had in which to come to Court. As she seats herself the BAILIFF speaks to her.) BAILIFF. Hold up your right hand. (She holds up the left hand and it is seen to tremble) Your right hand that s your left one. 70 COMMON CLAY (Transferring her fan to her left hand, she holds up her right. The clerk holds a Bible upon which she places her left hand.) CLERK. (In sing-song tone, holding up his right hand) Do you solemnly swear that the evidence you are now about to give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God? (In a dazed way, the little woman nods assent.) BAILIFF. Answer " I do ". MRS. NEAL. I do. (Whereat she trembles with responsibility) YATES. (Reassuringly) Now, Mrs. Neal, I m going to ask you a few questions. Be good enough to speak clearly. MRS. NEAL. Yes, sir, I want to do right, sir. YATES. Mrs. Neal, how old was Ellen Neal at the time of the commission of this offense by this defendant? MRS. NEAL. (Hopelessly confused) I don t know what you mean, sir. YATES. Ah, yes I see well, Mrs. Neal, how old is Ellen now? MRS. NEAL. She s twenty years old. YATES. That made her eighteen years old at the time of which we were speaking two years ago. MRS. NEAL. (Counting her fingers, doubtfully perplexed) Yes, sir. (Then realizing spontan eously childlike) Oh, yes, sir that s it, sir right you are two from twenty is eighteen. YATES. And now, Mrs. Neal, will you tell the court what you know about Ellen s character? FILSON. (Rising) I object, your Honor. Char acter evidence is not admissible. JUDGE. But this is only an examining trial, COMMON CLAY 71 Judge Filson. I ll allow as much latitude as neces sary. Our rules of evidence are not so narrow as those of the higher court, which may make final disposition. Before I hold, or decline to hold, this defendant to the Grand Jury, I want to know the matter from all its angles. I overrule the objection. (Directly to MRS. NEAL, in a kindly tone. FILSON sits) That meas that you must tell me all you know about the girl s behavior. MRS. NEAL. Well, sir, I don t know as I can say anything against her up to the time she got to run ning to that dance-hall. I raised her straight up from a baby in the word of God we were church- goin people, your Honor, both Neal and me. The girl was a good child, but terrible full of fun and she could sing somethin wonderful. She was awful smart in school and you could hardly get her to stop YATES. Did you want her to stop school and she wouldn t? MRS. NEAL. Yes, sir, she wasn t like other children that way. She wanted to go and she spoke the English language like you read it in a book she got more education than she could stand. And Neal he says to me " That child s gittin to know too much." You see, your Honor, she was gittin so that people like she was thrown with didn t in terest her she knew more than they did, and she got to talkin about risin up to higher things. We tried to get her interested in a young feller who was a brakeman on the railroad a steady, good boy who never touched a drop of drink, but she wanted to go with educated fellers and that s where she went wrong, your Honor. It s put me down on education except for rich people. It only makes the poor dissatisfied with the place that the Almighty put em in. She was as good a girl as I know until we educated her. 72 COMMON CLAY YATES. That s all for the prosecution. Do you wish to take the witness, Judge Filson? FILSON. I do, indeed. Mrs. Neal, you have been ingeniously ingenuous, haven t you. MRS. NEAL. I hope so, sir I always try to be. (The JUDGE and YATES look at FILSON and laugh.) YATES. (Rising) Your Honor, I was about to object to Judge Fi! son s insinuating attempt to dis credit the witness had not her own answer been so completely convincing of her honesty. FILSON. (Flaring up) I can cross-examine with out your assistance, sir. Mrs. Neal, don t you think that any other mother would say as much as she could on the witness stand for her daughter? MRS. NEAL. I guess so, sir. FILSON. Then as Ellen s mother, you ll naturally speak in her favor here, won t you? (MRS. NEAL shows agitation) Now I m not meaning to harass you, madam I m simply trying to show that what you say may be perfectly naturally in favor of your own daughter. MRS. NEAL. But sir (She hesitates) Oh, I want to speak the truth, sir, as a Christian woman I do, sir FILSON. I m not impeaching your veracity MRS. NEAL. What s that, sir? FILSON. I m not doubting your truthfulness, Mrs. Neal I am only asking you to admit that, being Ellen Neal s mother, you re not so likely to go out of your way to say anything against your own child. MRS. NEAL. But you don t understand, sir. FILSON. (Puzzled) What s that don t under stand what? (Pauses as if he may have made a mistake) I understand that you are this girl s mother aren t you? COMMON CLAY 73 MRS. NEAL. (Agitated) Well eer I never said here that I was her mother, sir. (ELLEN starts a little, and looks puzzled at MRS. NEAL.) FILSON. Eh, how s that? (Pauses) Well, are you or not the mother of Ellen Neal? MRS. NEAL. I am", sir in a way, sir. (ELLEN is dumfounded; everyone seems puzzled, and FILSON evinces the manner of one who has stumbled on an unexpected treasure.) FILSON. In a way you re her mother what do you mean by that? MRS. NEAL. I mean that I m the same as a mother to her. FILSON. But she isn t really your daughter? (ELLEN leans forward hanging on the woman s words. Their eyes meet and the witness is in greater agitation.) MRS. NEAL. You mustn t ask me that, lawyer. YATES. (Rising) I object, your Honor JUDGE. The defense has a right to show the relationship between the prosecuting witness and her character witness. Objection overruled! FILSON. That means, Madam, that you must answer my question. MRS. NEAL. But I don t feel like I ought to, sir honest I don t = FILSON. But you are not the judge of what you ought to do here MRS. NEAL. (Picking up spirit) I am that f lawyer as I m a: Christian woman. FILSON. (Catching an inspiration craftily) 74 COMMON CLAY But didn t you just now hold up your right hand with your other hand on the Bible as a Christian woman (FiLSON is holding up his right hand and working his voice up to an impressive climax) and swear that you were going to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God? MRS. NEAL. (Tremendously moved and im pressed by the lawyer s manner and words) Yes, sir, yes, sir. I know I did, sir I didn t think about it in that way not in that way, sir. But you re right, lawyer oh, you re a sharp one, lawyer I ve got to say you re right well then, I ll answer the question and God can decide whether I m right or wrong (She braces herself and she and ELLEN look at each other, ELLEN half rising from her seat and leaning toward the witness) I ain t the real mother of that grl. ELLEN. (Springing up) She is, too she is, I tell you she s the first face I remember (BAILIFF tries to quiet ELLEN, but she breaks away from him) Now she s going back on me because I m in bad. (The BAILIFF gets ELLEN back to her seat where she sits, her face hid in her handkerchief, mak ing no sound, but her body shaking with her efforts to stifle her feelings. MRS. NEAL is agitated and distressed. FILSON questions her in a very sympathetic tone.) FILSON. Mrs. Neal, since you say you are not the mother of the girl who bears your name, will you tell us how you came to rear her and whose daughter she is? MRS. NEAL. (Is again visibly perturbed) I can t tell you ! FILSON. Do you mean that you don t know? COMMON CLAY 75 MRS. NEAL. Not that not exactly that, sir? FILSON. Is she your husband s daughter? MRS. NEAL. Oh, no, sir how can you ask that, sir? My husband was always a true man. YATES. (Rising) May it please the court, I object to this line of examination. The statute de fines the crime if this man induced a girl under twenty-one to enter such a house as the one in ques tion, he should be held to the Grand Jury for its action no matter whose daughter she was. That has no bearing on the case. FILSON. (Rising) I beg to differ with you, sir. (To the court, standing) Your Honor has just said that you want the greatest latitude in the evi dence as is always the case in examining trials. And I say that it does matter whose daughter this girl was or is. It has a bearing on the case. Her very birth and parentage are shrouded in mystery and can your Honor reasonably expect as much of bad stock as of good? (At this last line the woman shows agitation) And if the child does not bear the name of her father and an explanation of this is avoided, does it not cast suspicion JUDGE. (YATES and FILSON sit) Let me ask the witness a question. (He leans toward the agitated witness and speaks in kindly tones) Mrs. Neal, have you any good reason for declining to tell who this girl s father and mother were? MRS. NEAL. I don t know who they were that JUDGE. Do you know who either of them was? MRS. NEAL. I knew her mother. JUDGE. And have a good reason for not telling who she was? MRS. NEAL. I promised not to and I ve kept my word so far that (Indicating ELLEN) child herself thought up until this time that I was her mother. (The two women look at each other and 76 COMMON CLAY both put their handkerchiefs to their eyes as realiza* tion shows on ELLEN S features) As I m a Christ ian I ve tried to be a mother to her. (She breaks, but ELLEN controls herself. The onlookers bend forzvard and there is a lull. FILSON rises and speaks in gentle tones) FILSON. May it please the court, I will not press this good woman any further. In desiring to get at the whole truth I have been perhaps too vigorous in my examination. (To witness) I regret that you are not the mother of this girl had you been, her career would have been different, I am sure. (To the court) But, your Honor, you can t expect much from those who come of a bad lot. (The witness, whose face has been buried in her handkerchief, starts up, and turns a fierce gaze to the lawyer, pointing her finger at him and dropping handkerchief in so doing.) MRS. NEAL. (Excitedly angry) She didn t come of no bad lot, she didn t. (Pause) Some might have called her mother a bad one, but her father was one of the biggest men in this town. FILSON. Then he should be with her now who was he? MRS. NEAL. (Pauses) Judge, your Honor, I don t know who he was nobody knows he don t even know himself. FILSON. What? MRS. NEAL. It was this way (Pauses thought fully) I m a-goin to tell it all I promised her I wouldn t tell, but I swore right here so help me God (Holding up her hand) that I d tell the whole truth, and I m a Christian woman and I believe it s better to fear the wrath of a living God than to keep your promise to a dead woman. It s this way, your Honor. When that girl was born I was COMMON CLAY 77 the only person with her mother. And the mother gave me all her money, about five hundred dollars, and ast me please for God s sake to adopt the baby and raise it so that nobody would ever know who its mother was. " I want that kid to have a chance," she says. And she told me that the father was a big man, a smart man with a future, and that she loved him and didn t want anything to stand in his way. " If I tell him what s happened he ll want to marry me," she says, " to set it right, and that will be the ruin of him. Nothin must stand in his way," she said, " He mustn t even know that his child was ever born." And she wouldn t tell me who he was, and I don t know to this day, but she said I had to help her to help him, and I took the baby and said " I ll help you, Dolly." (She pauses and FILSON gives a slight start. She continues in a low tense voice) And a few days later they found her body floating in the river below the city. ( FILSON starts again and turns his head toward the audience id avoid those in the court room. His eyes are pensive and filmy. All on the stage bend forward and hang on the woman s words, not noticing FILSON. MRS. NEAL is affected by her own words and the recol lections which they bring to her, and she loses her- self in the drama which has suddenly come into her work-a-day life. She makes a long pause, during which her lips move but say nothing, then she speaks very slowly and distinctly) She was a woman of the town and she didn t want to stand in that man s way, she didn t want him or the child to stand in each other s way. (Addressing herself to FILSON, who does not look at her) But you can t say, lawyer, that that child came of any bad lot men like you might call her mother bad, but her father was one of the biggest men in this town, (She pauses a moment) so Dolly said, and so I believe, but that ain t saying that he ll be any bigger or bet- 7 8 COMMON CLAY ter than Dolly Montrose in the Kingdom Come, where the last shall be first and the first shall be last. (FILSON stares dim-eyed and blankly in front of him, making no sound. He faces audience. Interest of those in stage centers on the wit ness and on ELLEN.) YATES. (After a pause) If Judge Filson has no further questions for the witness, your Honor, the prosecution rests its case here. (YATES looks at FILSON for an answer) (FILSON S hands grip the arms of his chair, as he realizes that he must act, and he half rises as he speaks.) FILSON. May it please the court (He sinks back in his chair quietly, and puts his hand to his head. The BAILIFF pours a glass of water and hastens to him. FILSON drinks, and puts down the glass on table with trembling hands. Movement in crowd) Ah, thank you. JUDGE. Are you ill, Judge Filson? FILSON. I think I m all right now, your honor, it was just eer just the bad air. (Fanning him self with handkerchief) YATES. (Sarcastically) Judge Filson dwells on the heights where the air is pure. FILSON. (Smiling) It isn t that, your Honor, but I d like a breathing spell it may be that I won t put my client on the stand perhaps we could adjourn until afternoon I d like time - (ELLEN, who has pulled herself together rises and checks FILSON by holding up her hand. The JUDGE on the bench looks at her with surprise. COMMON CLAY 79 and the eyes of the crowd are centered on her. She holds her position for a moment and speaks in calm voice.) ELLEN. There s no use in taking any more time on this Pm going to end it here and now. (Every one is excitedly bending forward and the BAILIFF starts toward ELLEN, but the JUDGE motions him back with a wave of his gavel. ELLEN addresses the court directly) Your Honor, I don t know much about the law, but I ve learned enough about life in the last two minutes to stand up here and ask you to let that man (Indicating COAKLEY) go free. (He rises) There s nothing in life for either of us as things are. We two are just a couple of strays and we ve been fighting each other when there s not even a bone to fight over. It s not going to make a better woman out of me to send him to jail, and it s not going to make a better man of him, and it s not going to keep anybody else from doing as we did. (Both FILSON and YATES jump up and point their, fingers at the JUDGE.) FILSON. May it please the court YATES. Your Honor, I JUDGE. Pardon me, gentlemen, but I don t be lieve we need the advice of lawyers any further in the case at bar. This girl has learned from her own life ELLEN. May it please your Honor, I ve learned from my mother s life. When she went down she didn t drag anybody dozvn with her, and when the man that was my father went up, he didn t take anybody up with him. I want to be as she was, your Honor. (Her voice quavers just a little, but her delivery is not oratorical) She wasn t straight, 80 COMMON CLAY but my, she was square. (She continues to stand and look out over the audience while a tear glistens in her eye. FILSON bows his head. COAKLEY and ELLEN put handkerchiefs to their eyes. The JUDGE writes on his docket, and as his pen scratches he pronounces his judgment) JUDGE. Arthur Coakley dismissed on the motion of the prosecuting witness. (He blots the docket, COAKLEY rises and silently takes the girl s hand and presses it. Then he walks out and makes his exit at door L.) Mr. Clerk, call the next case. CLERK. This is the last case on to-day s docket, your Honor. JUDGE. (Suppressing his emotion) Uum (He looks at his docket) Yes, so it is. (He raps with his gavel) Court is adjourned until to-morrow morning at nine o clock. (The JUDGE closes his docket and rises. He and officials exit upper right, the CLERK carrying his docket with him. YATES starts toward ELLEN to help her with her coat and FILSON nervously calls him aside and in pantomime indicates that he is to leave ELLEN and to escort MRS. NEAL away, which YATES does. ELLEN and MRS. NEAL look at one another indecisively and then rush into one another s arms. YATES leads MRS. NEAL away and they exit left. ELLEN stands left and looks through the window at the prison walls in rear. FILSON watches ELLEN anxiously waiting his chance to speak to her alone. When they are left alone he approaches her. She starts with surprise as he speaks) FILSON. I want to talk with you er eer Ellen. ELLEN. Oh, I didn t know you were here I eer was thinking of the prisoners behind those walls. (Indicating walls) FILSON. Yes eer some persons lead very hard lives, Ellen. COMMON CLAY 8f ELLEN. They had me in there once. (Laughs bitterly) It s a great experience for a girl sort of finishing school. I guess it has finished me. FILSON. Let us hope not. ELLEN. Why are you so interested all at once? FILSON. Some day you will know. ELLEN. (Cynically) Maybe I do now. (In sinuating) That s the way they all talk. FILSON. (Horrified) Child, have you no faith in human nature? (She smiles cynically again) You re hard and cynical. ELLEN. It s what we re up against that makes us what we are. FILSON. I know I know You have not had your chance I want to help you to be another woman. (ELLEN puts her hand on her hips and looks at him mockingly) Really I do. Listen to me, Ellen. Can you imagine yourself as another woman? You, and yet someone else? (His voice is low and pleading. She softens a bit and looks absently off as she talks) ELLEN. Yes, I have done that a thousand times day-dreamed that I was another girl. Why, I ve even given her another name she s Eleanor Gail. The woman I would have been if I could have made myself if I could have had the chance and the money that your kind of women have. That girl my other self is loved and respected by men who make a plaything of Ellen Neal and she is good, and she is wanted in places where Ellen can never enter but she isn t ashamed of Ellen Neal my other self, because, having been Ellen, she can remember and understand. FILSON. I want to make you into that other woman. (He pauses and catches her interest) You have the natural gifts and talents. I want to give you the money and opportunity to develop them. Listen, I am going to see that Mr. Fullerton pro- 82 COMMON CLAY vides for your child and finds a good home and I want you to go to New York. ELLEN. To New York ! FILSON. Yes, and when you get there you are to buy all the beautiful clothes that the other girl your other self will need and I ll come a day or two later and join you (She regards him quiz zically) and we will plan your studies. ELLEN. Plan my studies ! Well, aren t you the slick old citizen. FILSON. What! Why, child, you don t under stand ! ELLEN. Oh, yes I do. You think you ll date me up for a trip to New York. FILSON. (Recoiling in horror) No no no Listen to me. (Pauses) I must tell you something that I meant to tell you later. Ellen, I am your father. ELLEN. (Looks at him in amazement, then bursts into ringing, mocking laugh) Well, that s the best one I ever heard. FILSON. You don t believe me? ELLEN. Oh, you ought not to try that on me. I ve just been through with it. If you were my father you would be running away from me just as Hugh Fullerton ran from his child. You are tell ing me that just to get me to meet you in New York. ( FILSON is dumfounded, and then he thinks of the note that DOLLY MONTROSE wrote him. He clutches the outside of his coat to feel if his pocket-book is there, and quickly takes it out and unfolds the letter. Her interest is aroused by his pantomime.) FILSON. Here is a note that will prove it. (He hands her the note and she takes it curiously and reads aloud each word haltingly, her face betraying COMMON CLAY 83 emotion and surprise as the truth is driven home ) ELLEN. (Reading aloud) "When you get this note, Sam, I ll be dead. I won t pull you down with me, and I hope you will take the chance I am giving you to go on up. Don t act like a fool and give the thing away, for it will be too late to do me any good. I want to repay you for wanting to be straight with me, and this is the best way I know how. Good-bye, Dolly Montrose. / want you to go to the top." (Looking at FILSON, both greatly moved) So, you are the man? FILSON. Yes, Ellen, the man who helped to bring you into the world ELLEN. And then proved in court that I came of a bad lot. FILSON. We are all of the same common clay. (He advances toward her and holds her in his arms, reverently stroking her forehead) Oh, my dear, my dear. I shall help you and you shall help me. You shall have what other women have, you shall be as they are. ELLEN. (Looking up, fervently) And will you be proud of me when I am no longer Ellen Neal When I am Ellen Filson? FILSON. (Proudly) I mean to make the whole country proud of you (He drops his voice to a con versational tone) but you mustn t take my name. ELLEN. (Surprised, and drawing azvay from him) So you re ashamed of me, too as you were of my mother. FILSON. I asked your mother to marry me. She wouldn t do it. I was young then. But she knew the ways of the world and how useless it is to go against them. So do I now. (Pauses) I want to be of real help to you without being a hindrance at all. We must keep our secret it s the only way. ELLEN. If you want to do anything for me you 84 COMMON CLAY can t go snooping around on the sly about it. (Passionately) I won t be shoved off into dark corners. I m tired of having everybody ashamed of me when they are all doing as I ve done. The big people are no better than the other ones and I m going back to the streets. (She starts toward the door hastily. As she opens it, FILSON, his face writhing in pain, cries her name} FILSON. Ellen! Ellen! (He sways slightly and puts his hand on railing for support. He drops his head and his lips move without speech. ELLEN pauses and looks at him. Slowly she closes the door and stands, hand on knob, thinking) ELLEN. I I can t leave you if it hurts you that much. (Pauses) I ll do as you say. (Pauses) Maybe you re right (Pauses and takes hand off door-knob) But there s something bigger than right or wrong (Starts toward him) it s helping one another. (She falls in his arms and clutches his shoulder. He looks upward, his lips move, and he caresses her) Curtain ACT IV SCENE : The setting is the same as that for ACT I the time, a little more than ten years later than that of the first act. There are slight altera tions in the furniture to indicate the changes of time. The Christmas holly and mistletoe used for decoration in ACT I do not now appear. Before the rise of the curtain a modern piece of dance music is heard off-stage behind cur tain. The music continues and no one is on stage, but voices and laughter are now and COMMON CLAY 85 then heard from upstairs mingled with the music. The door-bell rings and a young man servant {not EDWARDS of the first act) passes through hallway, going right to open the front door. The door is heard to open and FILSON enters right followed by servant, who takes his hat and coat. FULLER/TON enters on stairway and comes downstairs. He is deeply concerned, looking about as if expecting someone, sees FILSON and comes quickly toward him. SER- vant exits left hallway t carrying FILSON S hat and coat. FULLERTON. Sam, I ve been waiting for you! What makes you so late? FILSON. I went to the Club after the Opera. FULLERTON. (Anxiously, as he takes FILSON S arm and guides him into library) I m in trouble again! It s my boy! FILSON. He isn t mixed up with another woman, is he? FULLERTON. It s the same woman. FILSON. (Smiling, aside) After all these years. (Pause) Perhaps he s in love with her? (Looks nt FULLERTON to note effect of this speech) Music stops.) FULLERTON. She is upstairs now. FILSON. (Slyly) What s she doing, serving the ices? FULLERTON. (Wringing his hands) No, she s the guest of honor! We ve invited everybody worth while to meet her FILSON. Mrs. Fullerton is entertaining her house maid. ( FILSON smiles, concealing smile from FULL ERTON and sitting right of table. FULLERTON sits left of table) 86 COMMON CLAY FULLERTON. No, no, she s in the opera now a celebrity. Hugh had been talking of her and when her company came to town he said he would like for us to meet her. My wife, is devoted to the Opera, so we were glad to have her she s quite well known. (FILSON and FULLERTON exchange nods) But she hadn t been here ten minutes before my wife identified her as that Neal woman. She has another name now Eleanor Gale Lord knows what her name will be next. FILSON. Perhaps Mrs. Hugh Fullerton. (He looks at FULLERTON without smiling to note effect of this speech) FULLERTON. Oh, Sam, why will you joke about everything ? FILSON. I m not joking exactly it s some thing I suggested to you one day in my office. Re member ? FULLERTON. Perish the thought! The boy is in her clutches I want you to help me again. FILSON. But Hugh is no longer a boy. He s a capable, successful man past thirty. He knows his own mind. FULLERTON. No man knows his own mind when a woman takes it. (Pauses and grows explosive) She ought to be put out of this house. FILSON. (Smiling) Well, you can hardly expect me to do that for you I m a lawyer, not a police man. (Pauses and grows serious) Dick, why don t you let matters take their course? FULLERTON. Not if I can help it I think my boy means to marry that woman. FILSON. Did you ever stop to consider that per haps she is the mother of his child? FULLERTON. (After a pause, in which he eyes FILSON rather hostilely) That was all legally settled years ago. FILSON. Yes, but only legally settled then. COMMON CLAY 87 (FILSON faces FULLERTON as one who is ready to state a case and fight for it. FULLERTON looks at, him in blank astonishment) FULLERTON. What do you mean? FILSON. I mean that the matter was never settled as it should have been. FULLERTON. You were my lawyer. FILSON. I was your lawyer and did as you wished hushed the matter up and had the child provided for. Then I was free to help the mother. FULLERTON. You? Sam, you puzzle me. FILSON. Perhaps I do, Dick, but I ve come here to-night to make everything clear. (Pauses, look ing at FULLERTON across table) FULLERTON. Then why all this mystery why did you come here pretending? FILSON. I wanted to see what effect that girl s presence would have on you. FULLERTON. (Starting in surprise, then growing contemptuous) A very interesting experiment, no doubt to you. Another one of your Quixotic notions ! You sent that woman here. FILSON. Yes, Dick, I felt for that girl, and after the Coakley trial I talked with her. (Pauses, while FULLERTON gives him a disapproving look) I found that she had the right stuff in her. FULLERTON. You think all of them have (Con temptuously) "the right stuff in em." FILSON. At least I thought I would give her the chance to prove it (Pauses) and she did. (Pauses) I sent her to New York, then to Europe. I gave her all the opportunities that money could bring and she came through, Dick. (Raps on the table for emphasis) Yes, she came through, and if she isn t good enough for your son I ll eat my hat before all your guests. (FULLERTON shakes his head and makes a wry face. FILSON continues) What s the 88 COMMON CLAY matter with her ? They re all falling over their feet to meet her, aren t they? FULLERTON. But they don t know that she s the same woman who was here in this room ten years ago under very different circumstances. FILSON. Different circumstances are what make different persons. FULLERTON. Bah. That has nothing to do with it. (Rises and stands with his fingers drumming the table) I employed you to keep that woman away from Hugh and you ve brought them together. To let her work her game on him ( FILSON holds up his hand in protest. FULLERTON continues heatedly) Oh, I can see your hand through all of this, Sam Filson. (FULLERTON crosses to rear wall of library left and presses button. Then turns to FILSON and continues) I am going to stop it all right now. (Manservant enters door left. FULLERTON and FILSON calm themselves while he is on the stage. FULLERTON turns to man) Ask Mr. Hugh Fuller- ton to come downstairs at once. (The man bows and exits up stairway. FULLERTON watches him closely until after his exit and then turns to FILSON.) FILSON. (Rises) What are you going to do, Dick? FULLERTON. I am going to tell Hugh to get that woman out of this house. FILSON. (Crosses up toward FULLERTON) If she goes out of this house I go with her (The two men stare at one another. FILSON pauses and speaks with an innuendo in his tones) And a certain skeleton comes out of your family closet. FULLERTON. You mean you ll (FiLSON nods affirmatively.) COMMON CLAY 89 FILSON. If she goes out everyone will know why. (FULLERTON considers.) FULLERTON. Sam, I always thought you were my friend. FILSON. I always have been, Dick, and I hope that I may remain so. (He reaches out and puts both hands on FULLERTON S shoulders, looking him squarely in the eye) FULLERTON. Then why play such a prank on me? (Pauses) You seem to forget that I am a father fighting for his own. ( FILSON walks down- stage facing audience and FULLERTON looks after him and speaks) You re a bachelor, Sam Filson you have no child. ( FILSON starts, and FULLERTON comes down toward him) Put yourself in my place t man put yourself in the place of Hugh Fullerton s father. Perhaps then you might understand a father s feelings. FILSON. (Speaking slowly, as if weighing his words) But suppose I should put myself in the place of Ellen Neal s father? Do you think he should fight for his own? FULLERTON. (After a pause) Oh, don t vaporize, Sam. (Pauses) Why didn t you tell me of what was in your mind all these years instead of keeping it bottled up to let out on me in this way? FILSON. You always avoided the subject, Dick. I kept your son s part in it hushed up, as you wished. She had the same right to have her part kept quiet. FULLERTON. I can t understand why you have to take her part. FILSON. And perhaps it s just as well that you don t understand. (Shakes his head) Dick, we come of a class that keeps such matters under the 90 COMMON CLAY rose that teaches its young to hide the things that its fathers hid. Right or wrong, we learned from youth up. (Pauses and shakes his head) And you can t teach an old dog new tricks. (Hucii enters coming down-stairs. FILSON notices him) Here comes Hugh. Now be careful. HUGH. (Entering library) How are you, Judge Filson? ( FILSON and HUGH bow and HUGH turns to FULLERTON) You sent for me, sir? FULLERTON. Yes. You seem to have planned a pleasant little surprise for your mother and for me this evening, Hugh. HUGH. I can explain I meant to explain at the proper time. FULLERTON. (Dryly) Now is the time. (With heat) Why did you bring that women here? HUGH. I we (Indicating FILSON) wanted you to see what manner of woman she has become. FULLERTON. And why, pray should I be in terested in the manner of woman she has become ? FILSON. Hugh, tell him everything. Perhaps he ll understand (Walks toward stairway) And then I ll bring Ellen downstairs. I ll leave you to gether, and see you later. (FULLERTON watches FILSON going up stairway and shakes his head as FILSON exits up.) FULLERTON. I m sorry you have listened to Filson, my son. He has put his own Quixotic notions into your head. HUGH. I know what I m doing, father. FULLERTON. Not when you are under the in fluence of that woman. HUGH. You must not refer to her as " that woman ". (HUGH and FULLERTON face one an* other) FULLERTON. And you must not address me i& COMMON CLAY 91 such a tone (Pauses) You were glad to have me stand by you nine years ago when your trouble arose with her. (Pauses and his tone grows softer) I am still standing by you, my son. (He puts his hand on HUGH S shoulder and speaks with feeling) There is nothing stronger than a father s love. (A long pause. The two men look at one another. Then HUGH speaks in tones that show he is moved) HUGH. I know that, father, as well as you do. FULLERTON. How can you know ? HUGH. Because I, too, am a father. (FULLER- TON gives HUGH a searching look, then he turns from him and seats himself left of table, looking up at his son as if for an explanation, HUGH sits right of table and continues) When I first saw Ellen Neal in this room ten years ago I was a thoughtless boy reared to a sense of privilege, but when I first saw her son and realized that I was the father I became a man filled with a sense of responsibility. FULLERTON. You have seen the HUGH. Yes, often. (Pauses) One day about three years ago Judge Filson called me to his office. I went and the boy was there (Enthusiastically) a healthy, splendid little fellow (Pauses) He was my son. FULLERTON. You know positively? HUGH. One glimpse was enough. (HUGH takes from his inner pocket a photograph, looks at it, rous ing an interest in FULLERTON, who rises, crosses to HUGH, and looks at picture which HUGH holds, then takes it from him and examines it more closely. HUGH notes the effect on his father as the latter realises) FULLERTON. Your son beyond the shadow of a doubt. (There is a long pause. FULLERTON seems to be considering something. He looks now and again at the picture,, then hands it back to r HUGH, 92 COMMON CLAY who looks at it, puts it back in his pocket, rises and puts his hand on FULLERTON S shoulder) HUGH. There is nothing stronger than a father s love. FULLERTON. There can be but one answer to that from me. HUGH. (After a pause) As soon as I saw my son I asked Judge Filson if he could tell me where the boy s mother was. He sent me to her address in New York. (Pauses) When I found her there she had become a woman that any man might wish to marry. It made me hesitate to ask her to marry me. I had done her nothing but wrong. I did not deserve her but I fell in love. And then she told me that she loved me that she had always loved me (Pauses and seems thoughtful, speaking slowly) The greatest love sometimes falls on one who de serves it least. FULLERTON. (In kindly tone) She is sincere you know ? HUGH. You could not doubt her if you knew her as I do. She loves me, she is the mother of my son (Speaks slowly) Judge Filson is going to bring her down here in a moment. If you wish her to remain among us, she will do so. If you wish her to go, I go with her. FULLERTON. (Thinking) Hugh, would you mind letting me speak with her just a few mo ments? Will you leave the room when they come? HUGH. (Considering) Will you be careful to remember that she is our guest and a very unwill ing one? I had to beg her to come here, and I will not have her humiliated. FULLERTON. I shall remember I promise. (Up stairs off-stage door heard to open and there floats down music of the waltz " Destiny " . FULL ERTON and HUGH look up. A shadow on upper wall rear indicates the approach of persons on the stair* COMMON CLAY 93 way) Will you go in there? (Indicates door left. HUGH looks at him and then exits left, as ELLEN and FILSON enter on stairway and come down. ELLEN is beautifully gowned. She is not combative in her manner as she looks toward FULL- ERTON. She is rather inclined to leave matters to FILSON, on whose arm she leans. They walk into the library, and FILSON looks around as if expecting to see HUGH) FILSON. Where is Hugh? FULLERTON. I asked him to let me speak with Miss Gail. ( FILSON looks puzzled and ELLEN gives a start and looks to FILSON as if for guidance.) FILSON. What is it that you wish to say, Dick? FULLERTON. You may remain with us and hear. (Turning to ELLEN) Won t you sit down? (ELLEN looks to FILSON again and he nods compliance. She seats herself rather nervously) Miss Gail, I do not wish to harass your feelings. I am not a hard man I am simply the head of a household who loves his family and who wishes to secure for his chil dren all the happiness that they can have (Pause) I naturally take an interest in whoever my son is to marry. ELLEN. I understand. It is only because of that that Hugh could persuade me to come here to night. FULLERTON. You will pardon me, Miss Gail, if I say that there are many things about this whole matter that I cannot understand. ELLEN. Perhaps that is because you can t under stand a woman in my position, Mr. Fullerton (Pauses and FULLERTON looks at her as if for an explanation) I mean that you can only understand your kind of persons, Mr. Fullerton both men and women those who were born with their living 94 COMMON CLAY made for them, their thinking done for them, and their morals fixed for them. You don t know what it is to have to make your own life. FULLERTON. I may not be able to grasp all the new ideas or excuses that float around these days, Miss Gail, but I ve seen life. ELLEN. Yes, you ve seen life, Mr. Fullerton, but I ve lived it. You ve stood by and looked on while others have struggled but I ve struggled. (She begins to break) You were born away from the fight I was born into it. But I can t go on with this (She breaks) FILSON. No, DicK, and she shall not be made to what is it you want us to do ? FULLERTON. Sam, I cannot let my heart run away with my head, as you have done as Hugh wishes to do (Pauses) I want her to say here and now that she will give up my son. (ELLEN starts. FULLERTON watches her closely and speaks to her) He thinks he loves you now, but if you marry him you ll both regret it. ELLEN. (Hurt) And does he agree to give me up? FULLERTON. He agreed that I should have a talk with you. ELLEN. (Anxiously) Where is he? FULLERTON. I will take your answer to him. ELLEN. Mr. Fullerton, I love your son and he FULLERTON. (Holding up his hand) If you really love him the only way you can prove it is by not standing in the way of his happiness He thinks he loves you now ELLEN. But FULLERTON. Surely, there can be no argument to that, Miss Gail. Love, to be worthy at all, must be unselfish. The only way you can prove your love is to be willing to forego it. (ELLEN S lips quiver but she controls herself) Hugh has a place COMMON CLAY 95 in the world to maintain, standards to be guided by, and (Glancing significantly at family portraits) traditions, handed down for him to live up to. (Pauses and looks at ELLEN, whose eyes have fol* lozved his to the portraits, and who is visibly af* fected) If you really care for him, you cannoW will not stand in his way. ELLEN. (Quickly and resolutely) And I won t (She rises, with one hand on the table for support. Her voice is low as she tries to suppress her enio* tion) Hugh has many traditions to live up to, but there is only one that was handed down to me (She and FILSON exchange looks of mutual understand* ing} I won t tell you what it is, but it s enough to keep me from standing in the way of the man I love (She pauses. FILSON starts, then gives her a grateful look) If you have persuaded Hugh to think as you do (Her voice breaks, she catches herself) I ll give him up. (FILSON crosses to ELLEN, starts to kiss her fore- head, but catches himslf, takes her hand, shakes it, and looks at her silently for a moment, then turns to FULLERTON.) FILSON. You can t ask more than that, Dick. (FULLERTON looks at FILSON, there is a long pause,, and then FULLERTON walks to door left. He puts his hand on the doorknob, turns to FILSON and smiles.) FULLERTON. You re right, Sam, no man could ask more of any woman. (Opening door, he calls off-stage) Hugh (HUGH enters, he looks about him, trying to grasp the situation. FULLERTON motions him toward 96 COMMON CLAY ELLEN. FILSON, surprised and pleased, releases ELLEN S hand. HUGH crosses and takes her in his arms. Slowly ELLEN realizes and smiles. FILSON crosses to FULLERTON, grasping his hand fervently. The two old men stand look^ ing at the couple a moment, then FULLERTON takes FILSON s arm and guides him toward the stairway. They cross and go up the stairs as HUGH and ELLEN sit on the sofa, and The curtain falls {The off-stage music "Destiny" continues tq play after the fall of the curtain.) The Return of Hi Jinks A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short, author of "The Varsity Coach," "The Touch-Down," etc. 6 males, 8 females. Costumes modern. One interior scene. This comedy is founded upon and elaborated from a farce comedy In two acts written by J. H. Horta, and originally produced at Tuft s College. Hiram Poynter Jinks, a Junior in Hoosic College (Willie Collier type), and a young moving picture actress (Mary Pickford type), are the leading characters in this lively, modern farce. Thomas Hodge, a Senior, envious of the popularity of Jinks, wishes to think up a scheme to throw ridicule upon him during a visit of the Hoosic Glee Club to Jinks s home town. Jinks has obligingly acted as a one-day substitute in a moving picture play, in which there is a fire scene, and this gives Hodge his cue. He sends what seems to be a bona fide account of Jink s heroism at a Hoosic fire to Jink s home paper. Instead of repudiating his laurels as expected, Jinks decides to take a flyer in fame, confirms the fake story, confesses to being a hero and is adored) by all the girls, to the chagrin and dis eomfiture of Hodge. Of course, the truth comes out at last, but Jinks is not hurt thereby, and his romance with Mimi Mayflower comes to a successful termination. This is a great comedy for amateurs. It is full of funny situations and is sure to please. Price, 30 Cents. J une A most successful comedy-drama in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "The New Co-Ed, " "Tempest and Sunshine," "Dorothy s Neighbors," etc. 4 males, 8 females. One interior scene. Costumes modern. Plays 2J4 hours. This play has a very interesting group of young people. June is- an appealing little figure, an orphan living with her aunt. There are a number of delightful, life-like characters: the sorely tried likeable Mrs. Hopkins, the amusing, haughty Miss Banks of the glove depart ment, the lively Tilly and Milly, who work in the store, and ambitious Snoozer; Mrs. Hopkins s only son, who aspires to be President of the United States, but finds his real sphere is running the local trolley car. The play is simplicity itself in the telling of an every-day story, and the scenic requirements call for only one set, a room in the boarding house of Mrs. Hopkins, while an opportunity is afforded to introduce any number of extra characters. Musical numbers may be introduced, if desired. Price, 30 Cents, Tempest and Sunshine A comedy drama in four acts, by Marie Doran. 5 males and 3 females. One exterior and three interior scenes. Plays about 2 hours,. Every school girl has revelled in the sweet simplicity and gentle ness of the characters interwoven in the charms that Mary J. Holmes commands in her story cf "Tempest and Sunshine." We can strongly recommend this play as one of the best plays for high school pro duction published in recent years. Price, 30 Cents (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York Cltj Hew and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free ei Renuetf The Touch-Down A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short. 8 males, 6 females, but any number of characters can be introduced in the ensembles. Cos tumes modern. One interior scene throughout the play. Time, 2Y hours. This play, written for the use of clever amateurs, is the story of life in Siddell, a Pennsylvania co-educational college. It deals with the vicissitudes and final triumph of the Siddell Football EJeren, and the humorous and dramatic incidents connected therewith. "The Touch-Down" has the true varsity atmosphere, college songs are sung, and the piece is lively and entertaining throughout. High schools will make no mistake in producing this play. We strongly recommend it as a high-class and well-written comedy. Price, 30 Centa Hurry, Hurry, Hurry A comedy in three acts, by LeRoy Arnold. 5 males, 4 females. One interior scene. Costumes modern. Plays 2y\ hours. The story is based on the will of an eccentric aunt. It stipulates that her pretty niece must be affianced before she is twenty-one, and married to her fiance within a year, if she is to get her spinstef relative s million. Father has nice notions of honor and fails to tell daughter about the will, so that she may make her chcice untram- meled by any other consideration than that of true lov.. The action all takes place in the evening the midnight of which will see her reach twenty-one. Time is therefore short, and it is hurry, hurry, hurry, if she is to become engaged and thus save her father fronj impending bankruptcy. The situations are intrinsically funny and the dialogue is sprightly. The characters are natural and unaffected and the action moves with a snap such as should be expected from its title. Price, 30 Cents The Varsity Coach A three-act play of college life, by Marion Short, specially adapted to performance by amateurs or high school students. 5 males 6 females, but any number of boys and girls may be introduced in the action of the play. Two settings necessary, a college boy s room and 1he university campus. Time, about 2 hours. Like many another college boy, "Bob" Selby, an all-round popular college man, becomes possessed of the idea that athletic prowess is more to be desired than scholarship. He is surprised in the midst ox n "spread" in his room in Regatta week by a visit from his aunr who is putting him through college. Aunt Serena, "a lady of the old school and the dearest little woman in the whole world/" has hastened to make this visit to her adored nephew under the mistaken impression that he is about to receive the Fellowes prize for scholarship. Her grief and chagrin when she learns that instead of the prize Robert has received "a pink card," which is equivalent to suspension for poor scholarship, gives a touch of pathos to an otherwise jolly comedy of college life. How the repentant Robert more than redeems himself, carries off honors at the last, and in the end wins Ruth, the faithful little sweetheart of the "Prom" and the classroom, makes a story of dramatic interest and brings out very clearly certain phases of modern college life. There are several opportunities for the introduction of college songs and "stunts." Price, 30 Cents, (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City Haw art Explicit Dftscriotivi Catalog Mailed Fne ca Riauut JUST PUBLISHED Nothing But the Truth A Farcical Comedy in Three Acts By James Montgomery Cast of Characters jrfob Bennett B. M. Ralston Clarence Van Dusen Bishop Doran Dick Donnelly Gwen Mrs. Ralston Ethel Mable Sable Martha SCENES ACT . A Broker s Office ACT 2. Parlor of a Country Home ACT 3. TIME: The Present "Nothing But the Truth" is built upon the simple fde of its hero speaking nothing but the absolute truth I or a stated period. He bets a friend ten thousand dollar* that he can do it, and boldly tackles truth to win the money. For a very short time ths task is placidly easy, but Truth routs out old man Trouble and then things be gin to happen. Trouble doesn t seem very large and aggressive when he first pokes his nose into the noble resolve of our hero, but he grows rapidly and soon we see our dealer in truth disrupting the domestic relations of his partner. In fact, Trouble works overtime, and reputations that have been unblemished are smirched. Situations that are absurd and complications almost knotted, pile up, all credited to Truth, and the result of the wager to foster and cherish that great virtue from the lips of the man who has espoused the cause of truth to win a wager. It is a novel idea and so well has it been worked out that an audience is kept in throes of laughter at the seemingly impossible task to untangle snarls into which our hero has involved all those he comes into contact \vith. It is a clean bright farce of well drawn character* and was built for laughing purposes only. William Collier played "Nothing But the Truth" for a year at the Longacre Theatre, New York, and it has been on tour for over two seasons. After three years continuous success on the profess-* ional stage we are now offering "Nothing But the Truth" for amateur production. It is one of the funniest and brightest farces ever written, and it is admirably suite to amateur production. PaiCE 60 CENTS JP8T PUBLISHKO. CHRISTOPHER JUNIOR, A Comedy in 4 Acts. By Madeleine Lucette Ryley. Modern coft Time, 2^ hours. Three interior scenes; 8 males, 4 femalea Christopher Jedbury, Jr., having accidentally placed himself in a) anfortunate position with a lady in the West Indies, is forced tfi znarry her without seeing her. He returns to England. His fathei *ands out about the marriage, quarrels with him, and turns him out Jedbury, Jr., goes to India as a clerk in his father s office, theifl iiscovers defalcations by the manager, and falls in love with Bora Bedway. He is reconciled to his father, and Dora, turns out to bf is wife, Highly recommended for amateurs* Price, 60 Cents. MICE AND MEN A Romantic Comedy. Four Acts. By Madeleine Lucette Ryicj Costume about 1786. Time, 2 hours, 30 minutes. Three interior, one exterior scene ; 7 males, 5 f emaJes. Mark Embury, a man of oves forty, is of opinion that the perfect wife must be educated from s state of ignorance and simplicity to the ideal of the man she is about to marry. He accordingly proceeds to impart his views to a girl fresh from the Foundling. His young nephew comes on the scene, and Embury realizes that nature intended the young to mate with the young. This beautiful costume comedy can be played by all females, and is highly recommended for use by girls schools and Colleges. This play was originally produced by Mr. Charles Froh- man witk Miss Annie RusselJ in the leading role. Price, 60 Cents. SNUG LITTLE KINGDOM , , A Comedy in 3 Acts. By Mark Ambient. Modern costume Time, 2J hours. One interior scene throughout; 3 males, 4 femalea, Bernard Gray, a composer of music, lives in a garret in Soho. Under his charge is a young girl in the ballet, whose mother had died whe? she was young. Hubert Gray, the brother of Bernard, rescues I wealthy old gentleman from an accident the latter eventually ULTB frig out to be the girl s father, Price. 60 BILLETED. A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Termison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 5 females. One easy interior scene. A charming comedy, cons with uncommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. Margaret A big success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy to produce and i with all audiences. Price, 6( NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females tumes, modern. Two interior scenes. Plays 2 T / 2 hours. Is it possible to tell the absolute truth even for twenty-four hours? at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," accomplisl feat. The bet he made with his business partners, and the trouble he go with his partners, his friends, and his fiancee this is the subject of Collier s tremendous comedy hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-h< recommended as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular cpmedi this country can boast. Price, 6( IN WALKED JIMMY. A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, 2 females (al any number of males and females may be used as clerks, etc.) interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2 l / 2 hours. The thin which Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, when the had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in serious contem of suicide. Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and his eve humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won the heart of t clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped that place as a per boarding house himself, and foiled the villain. Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just a excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy make "In Walked one of the most delightful of plays. Jimmy is full of the religion of 1 religion of happiness and the religion of helpfulness^ and he so permea atmosphere with his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of op good cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is not a dull : in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. Price, 6C MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, aut the "Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes, tumes modern. Plays 2 l / 2 hours. It is altogether a gentle thing, this play. It is full of quaint hum< fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see the play wil and chuckle over tomorrow and the next day. Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for stage and in doing this has selected from her novel the most telling incidents, in comedy and homely sentiment for the play, and the result is thoroughly del Price, 6( (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 1 THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. The famous comedy in three acts, by Anne Warner. 7 males, 6 males. Three Interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2*4 hours. This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts for "Aunt Mary," ack," her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New England ancient maid of all work; ack s" three chums; the Girl "Jack" loves; "Joshua," Aunt Mary s hired in, etc. "Aunt Mary" was played by May Robson in New York and on tour for over o years, and it is sure to be a big success wherever produced. We strongly :ommend it. Price, 60 Cents. MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. A pleasing comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of rhe Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, 6 females. One interior scene. Cos- mes modern. Plays 2 1 /^ hours. Mr. Smith chose for 4 his initial comedy the complications arising from the deavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude peopled by hyphenated mes a theme permitting innumerable complications, according to the spirit of e writer. This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. Fiske Ih enormous success. Price, 60 Cents. MRS. TEMPLE S TELEGRAM. A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and William Morris. 5 males, 4 females. One interior scene stands throughout the ree acts. Costumes modern. Plays 2J^ hours. "Mrs. Temple s Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there is an abund- ;ce of fun without any taint of impropriety or any element of offence. As iticed by Sir Walter Scott, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we actice to deceive!" There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time the curtain ses until it makes the final drop the fun is fast and furious. A very exceptional rce. Price, 60 Cents. THE NEW CO-ED. A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "Tempest and unshine," etc. Characters^ 4 males, 7 females, though any number of )ys and girls can be introduced in the action of the play.^ One interior id one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one interior scene, ostumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. The theme of this play is the coming of a new student to the college, her ception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. There are three especially good girls parts, Letty, Madge and Estelle, but ie others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolittle and George Washington Watts, gentleman of color, are two particularly good comedy characters. We can rongly recommend "The New Co-Ed" to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Centsi (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) DOROTHY S NEIGHBORS. A brand new comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "1 New Co-Ed," "Tempest and Sunshine," and many other successful pla 4 males, 7 females. The scenes are extremely easy to arrange ; two pi; interiors and one exterior, a garden, or, if necessary, the two interi< will answer. Costumes modern. Plays 2> l / 2 hours. The story is about vocational trainimg, a subject now widely discussed; a] the distribution of large wealth. Bick of the comedy situation and snappy dialogue there is good logic ; \ sound moral in this pretty play, which is worthy the attention of the exp< enced amateur. It is a clean, wholesome play, particularly suited to high sch production. Price, 30 Cei MISS SOMEBODY ELSE. A modern play in four acts by Marion Short, author of "The Tou< down," etc. 6 males, 10 females. Two interior scenes. Costumes me ern. Plays 2*4 hours. This delightful comedy has gripping dramatic moments, unusual charac types, a striking and original plot and is essentially modern in theme and tre ment. The story concerns the adventures of Constance Darcy, a multi-milli aire s young daughter. Constance embarks on a trip to find a young man v had been in her father s employ and had stolen a large sum of money. 5 almost succeeds, when suddenly all traces of the young man are lost. At t point she meets some old friends who are living in almost want and, in order assist them through motives benevolent, she determines to sink her own aris cratic personality in that of a refined but humble little Irish waitress with family that are in want. She not only carries her scheme to success in assist the family, but finds romance and much tense and lively adventure during period of her incognito, aside from capturing the young man who had defraui her father. The story is full of bright comedy lines and dramatic situations : is highly recommended for amateur production. This is one of the best cot dies we have ever offered with a large number of female characters. The dialoi is bright and the play is full of action from start to finish; not a dull moment it. This is a great comedy for high schools and colleges, and the wholesc story will please the parents and teachers. We strongly recommend it. Price, 30 Cei PURPLE AMD FINE LINEN. An exceptionally pretty comedy of Puritan New England, in fh acts, by Amita B. Fairgrieve and Helena Miller. 9 male, 5 female ch acters. This is the Lend A Hand Smith College prize play. It is an admirable p for amateurs, is rich in character portrayal of varied types and is not too diffic while thoroughly pleasing. Price, 30 Cer (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free en Request BILLETED. A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 males, females. One easy interior scene. A charming comedy, constructed th uncommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. Margaret Anglin s r success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy to produce and popular th all audiences. Price> 60 CemtSt NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females. Cos- nes, modern. Two interior scenes. Plays 2^ hours. Is it possible to tell the absolute truth even for twenty-four hours? It is least Bob Bennett, the hero of ; Nothing But the Truth," accomplished the t. The bet he made with his business partners, and the trouble he got into :h his partners, his friends, and his fiancee this is the subject of William llier s tremendous comedy hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly :ommended as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that s country can boast. Price, 60 Cents. IN WALKED JIMMY. A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, 2 females (although y number of males and females may be used as clerks, etc.) Two erior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2^ hours. The thing into ich Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, when the clerks d aj^been fired, and when the proprietor was in serious contemplation suicide. Jimmy, nothing else^ but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious figure i it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and his everlasting tnanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won the heart of the girl rk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped tfa-at place as a permanent irding house himself, and foiled the villain. Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just a dash of :itement and more than a little bit of true philosophy make "In Walked Jimmy" 5 of the most delightful of plays. Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the igion of happiness and the religion of helpfuleag 4 and he so permeates the Qosphere with his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, Dd cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. Ther, is not a dull moment any of the .four acts. We strongly recommend it. Priee, 60 Cents. MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmaiw, author of * "Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. Cos- nes modern. Plays y& hours. It is altogether a gentle thing, this play. It is full of quaint humor, old- ftioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see the play will recall i chtiokle over tomorrow and the next day. -Miss Lippmann has he?seK adapted her very successful b 3 in doirug~ this has selected from her novel the mogt tellin and homely sentiment for the play, and the result is t (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) ^iKammurmmmmaaamamBMmmamaaaafm>mafmtm*m iiim umaiiiMini in ^saxttim urn n riam^Bg^aa* SAMUEL FRENCH, 2839 West 38th Street, New York City New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request FRENCH S Standard Library Edition Clyde Fitch William Gillette Augustus Thomas George Broadhuret Edward . Kidder Percy Mac Kay e Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Louis N. Parker R. C. Carton Alfred Sutro Richard Harding Davis Sir Arthur W. Pinero Anthony Hope Oscar Wilde Haddon Chambers Jerome K. Jerome Cosmo Gordon Lennox H. V. Esmond Mark Swan Grace L. Furniss Marguerite Merrington Hermann Sudermann Rida Johnson Young Arthur Law Rachel Crothers Martha Morton H. A. Du Souchet W. W. Jacobs Madeleine Lucette Ryley Includes Plays by Booth Tarlrington J. Hartley Manners James Forbes James Montgomery Wm. C. de Mille Roi Cooper Megrue Edward E. Rose Israel Zangwill Henry Bernstein Harold Brighouse Channing Pollock Harry Durant Winchell Smith Margaret Mayo Edward Peple A. E. W. Mason Charles Klein Henry Arthur Jones A. E. Thomas Fred. Ballard Cyril Harcourt Carlisle Moore Ernest Denny Laurence Housman Harry James Smith Edgar Selwyn Augustin McHugh Robert Housum Charles Kenyon C. M. S. McLellan French s International Copyrighted Edition con tains plays, comedies and farces of international reputation; also recent professional successes by famous American and English Authors. Send a four-cent stamp for our new catalogue describing thousands of plays. SAMUEL FRENCH Oldest Play Publisher in the World 28-30 West 38th Street, NEW YORK CITY HOME USE CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT MAIN LIBRARY This book is due on the last date stamped below. 1 -month loans may be renewed by calling 642-3405. 6-month loans may be recharged by bringing books to Circulation Desk. Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due date. ALL BOOKS ARE SUBJECT TO RECALL 7 DAYS AFTER DATE CHECKED OUT. LD21 A-40m-12, 74 (S2700L) General Library University of California Berkeley cosnasssfl