Ai 5232 LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA i PRESENTED BY MRS. WILLIAM ASHWORTH lAjT-t^Ls/^CLsrrHf^ ^ VilliahVarren Pi EDITION • OFSTANDARDPLAYS WALTER W .BAKER ^ CO. N2J • HANILTOM • PLACE BOSTON a. W. ^tnero's Paps THF AMAZONS r'arce in Three Acts. Seven males, five females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, not dlflicult. Plays a full evening. THF CARINFT IWINISTFR ^''^^ce in Four Acts. Ten males, nine females. Costumes, modern society ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. DANDY DIGIT ^i'"*'® •" Three Acts. Seven males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays two hours and a half. THF fiAY I ORD flIlFX comedy in Four Acts. Four males, ten " females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening. HIS HOIISF IN ORDFR comedy in Four Acts. Nine males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. THF HORRY HORSF comedy in Three Acts. Ten males, five females. Costumes, modern; scenery easy. Plays two hours and a half. IRIS Drama in Five Acts. Seven males, seven females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, thre« interiors. Plays a full evening. I ADY ROIINTIFIII ^^^^" ^^ Four Acts. Eight males, seven fe- vn 1 u jij^jgg Costumes, modern ; scenery, four in- teriors, not easy. Plays a full evening. I FTTY Drama in Four Acts and an Epilogue. Ten males, five fe- ^ males. Costumes, modern ; scenery complicated. Plays a full evening. Sent prepaid on receipt of price by No. 5 Hamilton Place, CASTE An Original Comedy in Three Acts By T. W. ROBERTSON Reprinted from the acting book used in the performances of the famous Boston Museum Company, by the courtesy of the late Annie M. Clarke, for many years its leading lady. Copyright, 1913, by Walter H. Baker & Co. BOSTON WALTER H. BAKER & CO 1913 LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA CASTE CHARACTERS (First production, Prince of fVales^ Theatre, London, April 6, 186'/.) George D'Alroy Frederick Ymmge. Captain Hawtree S. B. Bancroft. EcCLES George Honey. Sam Gerridge yo/in Hare. Marquise de St. Maur Sophia Larkins. Esther Eccles Lydia Foote. Polly Eccles Marie Wilton. (First production in the United States, Old Broadivay Theatre, August J, l86y.) Hon. Geo. D'Alroy W. J. Florence . Captain Hawtree Eccles .... Sam Gerridge Esther Eccles . Polly Eccles , . Marquise de St. Maur Owen Marlowe. William Davidge. . Edzvard Lamb. Henrietta Chanfrau. Mrs. W. y. Florence. Mrs. G. H. Gilbert. "{^First production in Boston, Hoivard Athenaum, September 2, l86y.) Hon. George D'Alroy H. G. Clarke. Captain "Hawtjiee Harry Crisp. 'Eccles Mr. Keeler. Sam Gerridge . , . .' Mr. Scallan. Marquise de St. Maur Mrs. Farren. Esther Ecclks Cecile Rush. Polly Eccles Lillie Marden. (First production at The Boston Museum, September 22, i86y.) Hon. George D'Alroy Captain Hawtree . Eccles Sam Gerridge . . . Esther Eccles . . Polly Eccles . . . Marquise de St. Maur Z. R. Shewell. . . J. A. Sjnith. William Warren. . . J.H. Ring. Annie Clarke. Louisa Meyers. Mrs. E. L. Davenport. CHARACTERS [Wallack's Theatre^ New York, N. T., No-vember 8, 1873.) Hon. George D'Alroy .... H. J. Montague. Captain Hawtree C. A, Stcvcns.071. ECCLES George HoJiey. Sam Gerridge E. M. Holland. Esther Eccles Ada Dyas. Polly Eccles Effie Germon. Marquise de St. Maur Mme. Pontsi. {^Gluhe Theatre, Boston, Mass., No-vemher S, iS^j.) Hon. George D'Alroy .... yohn C. Cowper. Caftain Hawtree Owen Marloive. Eccles George Honey. Sam Gerridge J. H. Burnett. Esther Eccles Katherme Rogers. Polly Eccles Lilltaji Conivay. Marquise de St. Maur . . . Clara Fisher Maeder. {JVallack-s Theatre, New York, N. T., October, iSSg.) Hon. George D'Alroy Osmond Tearle. Captain Hawtree E. D. Ward. Eccles Charles Graves. Sam Gerridge Tom Robertson. Esther Eccles Rose Coghlan. Polly Eccles Florence Girard. Marquise de St. Maur Mme. Ponisi. {Garrick Theatre, London, February j, rSg^.) Hon. George D'Alroy Forbes Robertson. Captain Hawtree . W. L. Abington. Eccles G. W. Anson. Marquise de St. Maur Rose Leclercq. Esther Eccles Kate Rorke. Polly Eccles May Harvey. Sam Gerridge Gilbert Hare. {Grand Theatre, London, October i6, /Sg6, Knickerbocker Theatre, Neiv York, yanuary iS, iSgj, and Tremont Theatre, Boston, March 2, iSgj.) Hon. George D'Alroy Frank Gilmore. Captain Hawtree Frederick Kerr. Eccles John Hare, Sam Gerridge Gilbert Hare. Marquise de St. Maur Susie Vaughan. Esther Eccles Mona K Oram. Polly Eccles May Harvey. PREFACE Of all the Robertson dramas probably " Caste " took the most decided hold on popular favor. Its sentimental story, its strongly drawn characters which allowed to half-a-dozen actors equally good opportunities in very different lines of business gave it an in- stant success. It is doubtful if any other modern play was so many times per- formed and in so many different theatres within a year as was "Caste." At the time of its production there was not only no in- ternational copyright ; there was no protection for a play of any sort, so that as soon as it had been played in London it was the property in fact, if not in honor, of any manager who would bother to take it. " Caste" was first produced at the famous Prince of Wales' Theatre in the Tottenham Court Road, London, April 6, 1867, during the regime of the Bancrofts. Lester Wallack secured the manuscript of the play from the Bancrofts and prepared to produce it in New York in the following September. But he was antici- pated in tliis production by W. J. Florence, who had committed the play to memory in London, and got it on the stage at the Broadway Theatre, then in Broome Street, August 5, 1867, the Wallack production being made in Brooklyn, September 2. Wallack's attempt to protect his prior rights by suit is a matter of history, the defeat of that manager and the legal triumph of Florence not speaking very well for the honor of the courts of that time. No sooner was " Caste " successfully given in New York than it sprang into popularity everywhere. That was the time of the stock company, and the traveling company was practically unknown. Within the month of September, for example, the piece was played on four different stages in the city of Boston. All through the sixties and seventies the piece continued a popu- lar play, but with the disappearance of the stock company, it dropped out of sight until the popular English comedian, John Hare, who had created the role of Sam Gerridge, when the play was first produced in London, revived it during his tour of the States in 1896-97. Probably the best Eccles that the American public has known was George Honey, who created the role in London and after- wards was seen in this country for several seasons in the same 6 PREFACE part. Next to him in point of genuine humor was the Eccles of William Warren of the Museum. Mr. Honey had the advantage of Warren in knowing the type better. But the performances of both these men in this part will be remembered always with keen relish by all who were so lucky as to see them. "Caste" has been called by those who wish to put a httle contempt on it "a cup and saucer" drama. But as a play it will always remain a model of its kind. It is terse, well constructed, with capital acting opportunities, and absolutely no halt in its movement and interest. If it be in any sense really a " cup and saucer drama," it is a pity that some modern writers do not catch the trick. The present edition is carefully compiled from the prompt book in use at the Boston Museum where the play enjoyed one of its most pronounced successes. Business, stage positions and the few traditional interpolations are preserved exactly as employed in that famous play house. In elaborating the business of the third act in the scene in which D'Alroy returns the description given by Mrs. Bancroft — the original Polly Eccles — in "On and Off the Stage " has been carefully followed. M. A. Boston, December, igi2. PROPERTIES Act I. — Key ready at R. 3 e. Letters for postman. Box with ballet dress. Rasher of bacon and other packages for Polly, Cigar case for Hawtree. Teakettle on hob of fireplace. Letters for Esther in pocket of gown. Coins for George to give Eccles. Act II. — Cigarettes for George. Parasol for Polly. Decanter of claret and brandy and glass for Eccles on sideboard of inner room. Act III. — Box with ballet dress. Slate and pencil on table. Bundle of circulars in Sam's pocket. Coin in Polly's pocket. Coral in baby's cradle. Wine bottle for Eccles. Letter and check for Esther. Deal table at R. 3 E. for Sam. Ring for Sam. Baby's cloak and cap for Marquise. Sample of wall paper. CASTE ACT I Scene. — Home of the Eccles. Living-room in ground-floor apartment at Stangate. Large zvindoiv with deep seat at c, back, overlooking street. Door r. 3 e. into hall, giving view of outer door when open. Door at R. i E. to kitchen. Fireplace at 1,., zuith mantel over it. Fire laid ready to light. At l. c. table with cover. Large chair at R. of it; tivo small chairs at i^. of it. Against back drop, at L. of window, dresser covered with dishes. Bureau against wall r., betwee?i doors. LIGHTS fwll up. (As curtain rises slowly on empty stage George D'Alroy and Captain Hawtree are seen to pass window from l. Handle of door r. 3 e. is tried, and voices heard outside. Key then heard to turn in lock.) Geo. (opening door r. 3 e. and entering, followed by Hawtree). I told you so. The key was left under the mat in case I came. They're not back from rehearsal. (^Crosses L., to fireplace.') Haw. (coming c. ; looking around). And this is the Fairy's Bower. Geo. And this is the Fairy's fireplace ; the fire is laid, I'll light it. {Places hat and stick on table and lights fire tvith match from mantelpiece.) RED LIGHT gradually on at fireplace. Haw. And this is the abode rendered blessed by her abid- ing, it is here that she dwells, walks, talks, eats and drinks. Does she eat and drink ? Geo. Yes, heartily. I've seen her. Haw. And you are really spoons — case of true love — hit dead. 8 . CASTE Geo. Right through. Can't live away from her. {With elbotv on other end of mantel up stage.) Haw. Poor old Dal ! And you've brought me over the water to Geo. Stangate. Haw. Stangate — to see her for the same sort of reason that when a patient is in a dangerous state one doctor calls in an- other for a consultation. Geo. Yes ! Then the patient dies. Haw. Tell us all about it. You know I've been away. (^Sits R. of table, leg on chair, hat on back of head, stick da?i- gling aimlessly in his hand.') Geo. Well, then, eighteen months ago Haw. Oh, cut that. You told me all about that. You went to the theatre and saw a girl in a ballet, and you fell in love. Geo. Yes, I found out that she was an amiable, good girl Haw. Of course. Cut that. We'll credit her with all the virtues and accomplishments. Geo. Who worked hard to support a drunken father. Haw. Oh, the father's a drunkard, is he ? The father doesn't inherit the daughter's virtues. Geo. No, I hate him. Haw. Naturally, quite so, quite so. Geo. And she, that is Esther, is very good to her younger sister. {Sits at l. on edge of table.) Haw. The younger sister also angelic, amiable, accom- plished, etc., etc. Geo. Um, good enough, but got a temper, large temper ! Well, with some difficulty I got to speak to her — I mean to Esther ; then I was allowed to see her to her door here. Haw. I know — pastry-cooks, Richmond dinner, and all that. Geo. You're too fast. Pastry-cooks, yes — Richmond, no. Your knowledge of the world fifty yards round barracks mis- leads you. I saw her nearly every day, and I kept on falling in love ; falling and falling, till I thought I should never reach the bottom. ( Walks to and fro.) Then I met you. Haw. I remember the night when you told me, but I knew it was only an amourette. However, if the fire is a conflagra- tion, subdue it; try dissipation. Geo. I have. CASTE , 9 Haw. What success ? Geo. {pausing c). None. Dissipation brought on bad health, and self-contempt, a sick head and a sore heart. Haw. Foreign travel. Absence makes the heart grow stronger. Get leave and cut away. Geo. I did get leave and I did cut away, and while away I was miserable, and a gone 'er coon than ever. Haw. What's to be done ? Geo. Don't know. That's the reason I asked you to come over and see. Haw. Of course, Dal, you're not such a soft as to think of marriage. You know what your mother is. Either you are going to behave properly, with a proper regard to the world, and all that, you know, or you're going to do the other thing. Now the question is, what do you mean to do? The girl is a nice girl no doubt, but as to your making her Mrs. D'Alroy the thing is out of the question. Geo. Why, what should prevent me ? (^Returns to place on table.) Haw. Caste ! The inexorable law of caste. The social J law, so becoming and so good, that commands like to mate with like, and forbids a giraffe to fall in love with a squirrel ; that holds sentiment to be a dissipation, and demands the exercise of common sense from all. Geo. But, my dear Bark Haw. My dear Dal, all those marriages of people with common people are all very well in novels and in plays on the stage, because the real people don't exist, and have no rela- tives who exist, and no connections, and so no harm's done, and it's rather interesting to look at; but in real life, with real relations, and real mothers, and so forth, it's absolute bosh — it's worse; it's utter social and personal annihilation and indi- vidual damnation. Geo. As to my mother, I haven't thought about her. Haw, Of course not. Lovers are so damned selfish they never think of anybody but themselves. Geo. My father died when I was three years old, and she married again before I was six, and married a Frenchman. Haw. a nobleman of the most ancient families in France, of equal blood to her own ; slie obeyed the duties imposed upon her by her station, and by caste. Geo. Still it caused a separation and a division between us, and I never see my brother because he lives abroad. Of course lO CASTE the Marquise de St. Maur is my mother, and I look upon her with a sort of superstitious awe. Haw. She's a grand Brahmin priestess. Geo. Just so, and I know I'm a fool. Now you're clever, Bark, a little too clever, I think. You're paying your devoirs — that's the correct word, I think — to Lady Florence Carbury, the daughter of a Countess — she's above you, you've no title. Is she to forget her caste ? Haw. That argument doesn't apply; a man can be no more than a gentleman. Geo. {sauntering tip stage to window). " Kind hearts are more than coronets and simple faith than Norman blood." Haw. Now, George, if you're going to consider this ques- tion from a point of view of poetry, you're off to no man's land, where I won't follow you. Geo. No gentleman can be ashamed of the woman he loves, no matter what her original station — once his wife he raises her to his rank. Haw. Yes. {Rises and crosses l. ) He raises her — her — but her connections — her relatives. How about them ? Enter Eccles, r. 3 e. Ecc. (entering). Polly ! — Why the devil {Rushes c. before he sees George and Hawtree ; assumes a deferential manner.) Oh, Mr. D'Alroy, I didn't see you, sir. (George comes down c.) Good-afternoon — the same to you, sir, and many on 'em. {Doiein R.) Geo. {crossing to Hawtree). This is papa. Haw. Ah ! {Leafiing on corner of mantelpiece and scan- 7iifig Eccles through eye-glass.) Geo. (c). Miss Eccles and her sister not returned from rehearsal yet? Ecc. (r.). No, sir, they have not ; I expect 'em in directly. I hope you've been quite well since I saw you last, sir? Geo. Quite, thank you ; and how have you been, Mr. Eccles ? Ecc. Well, sir, I have not been the thing at all. My'ealth, sir, and my spirits is both broken. I am not the man I used to be — I am not accustomed to this sort of thing. I have seen better days — but they are gone, most like for ever. It's a melancholy thing, sir, for a man of my time of life to look back on better days that are gone most like for ever. Geo. I dare say. CASTE 1 1 Ecc. Once proud and prosperous, I am now poor and lowly — once masler of a shop, 1 am now, by the pressure of circum- stances over which I have no control, driven to seek work and not find it. Poverty is a dreadful thing, sir, for a man as had once been well off. Geo. I daresay. Ecc. {sighing). Ah! sir, the poor and lowly is often hardly used. What chance has the working man? Haw. (l.). None. {Aside.) When he don't work. Ecc. We are all equal in mind and feeling. Haw. (aside). I hope not. Ecc. I am sorry, gentlemen, that I cannot offer you any refreshment, but luxury and me has long been strangers. Geo. (crossing to Eccles, taking him by ann and leading him up R., speaking aside to him). I am very sorry for your misfortunes, Mr. Eccles. May I hope that you will allow me to offer you this trifling loan ? {Gives him half a sovereign.) Ecc. {taking it). Sir, you are a gentleman — one can tell a real gentleman, sir, with half a sov — I mean with half an eye — a real gentleman, and understand the natural emotions of the working man. {Edges up toward door u.) Pride, sir, is a thing as should be put down by the strong 'and of pecuniary necessity. I promised a friend to meet him at this time in the neighborhood, on a matter of business — so if you'll excuse me, sir. Geo. With pleasure. Ecc. {at door). Sorry to leave you, gentlemen — but Geo. Don't stay on my account. Haw. Don't mention it. Ecc. Business is business. {Opens door.) The girls will be here directly. Good-afternoon, gentlemen. Exit, K. 3 E. Geo. {up c, sighing with relief). Ah ! Haw. The papa is not nice, but " Kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood." Poor George ! I wonder what your mamma, the most noble the Marquise de St. Maur, would think of Papa Eccles. Come, Dal, allow that there is something in caste. Conceive that dirty ruffian, that rinsing of stale beer, that walking tap-room for a father-in-law. Go out in Central America. Forget her. {Sits on fable l.) Geo. {down c). Can't. 12 CASTE Haw. You'll be wretched and miserable with her. Geo. I'd rather be wretched with her than miserable with- out her. (Hawtree takes out cigar case.') Don't smoke here. Haw. {surprised, with cigar-case open). Why not? Geo. She'll be coming in directly. Haw. I don't think she'd mind. {Takes out cigar.) Geo. I should ; do you smoke before Lady Florence Car- bury ? Haw, {closing case). Ha ! you're suffering from a fit of the morals. Geo. What is that ? Haw. The morals is a disease, like the measles, that at- tacks the young and innocent. Geo. (unth temper). You talk like Mephistopheles without the cleverness. {Goes up to window and looks at ivatch.) Haw. I don't pretend to be a particularly good sort of fel- low, nor a particularly bad sort of fellow. I suppose I'm about the average standard sort of thing, and I don't like to see a friend go down hill to the devil while I can put the drag on. Here is a girl of humble station, poor, and all that, with a drunken father, who evidently doesn't care how he gets money so long as he doesn't work for it. Marriage — pah ! Couldn't the thing be arranged ? Geo. Hawtree, cut that. {At windoiv.) She's here. {Turns from window ; enter Esther Eccles, r. 3 e. George meets her at door ; flurried at sight of her.) Good-morning ; I got here before you, you see. (Hawtree rises and removes his hat.) Est. {coming v.. c). Good-morning. Geo. I've taken the liberty — 1 hope you won't be angry — of asking you to let me present a friend of mine to you. Miss Eccles, Captain Hawtree. (Hawtree advances and bows ; George assists Esther /// taking off bonnet and shawl, and places them on chair up stage.) Haw. (l. c., aside). Pretty! Est. {aside). Thinks too much of himself. Geo. You've had a late rehearsal. Where's Polly ? ( They go up c. to window.) Est. She stayed behind to buy something. CASTE 1 3 Enter Polly Eccles, r. 3 e. These two girls to be dressed alike — ballet girl' s kiss-me-quick curls, etc. Pol. (crossing to table tvith packages ; speaking as she passes c). Hallo, Mr. D'Alroy, how de do? Ah, 1 am liied to death. Kept at rehearsal by an old fool of a stage manager — but stage managers are always old fools — except when they're young ones. We shan't have time for any dinner, so I've brought something for lea, ham. (Bangs ham in paper on table L. c, and seeing Wkwxk^^, patises, eyes him, and laughs.) Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I didn't see you. Geo. a friend of mine, Mary, Captain Hawtree. Miss Mary Eccles. Pol. (behind table, aside). What a swell ! Got nice teeth, and he knows it. (Takes off bonnet and shatvl.) How quiet we all are. Let's talk about something. (^7/^ crosses to fire, L., round table front ; Hawtree comes round to k. of table.) Est. (sitting in zvindotv). What can we talk about? Pol. Anything. (Bustles about, gets plates from dresser, and slips the ham from paper on it.) Ham, Mr. D'Alroy ? Do you like ham ? Geo. (looki/tg at Esther). I adore her. (All laugh.) I mean I adore it. Pol. (to Hawtree). Do you like ham, sir? Haw. Yes. (Sits at table atid follows her luith his eyes as she puts the dishes out.) Pol. Now that is very strange. I should have thought you'd have been above ham. Haw. Why ? May I ask why ? Pol. You look above it. You look quite equal to tongue- glazed. (Laughs.) Mr. D'Alroy is here so often that he knows our ways. Haw. I like everything that is piquante and fresh, and pretty, and agreeable. Pol. Ah! you mean that for me. (Curtseys.) Oh! (Sings.) Tra, la lal la la ! Now I must put the kettle on. (Looks up stage at Esther and George in windoiv. Sighs.) Esther never does any work when Mr. D'Alroy is here. They're spooning. Ugly word, spoon, isn't it? Reminds me of red currant jam. By-the-bye, love is very like currant jam — at the first taste, sweet; afterward shuddery. Do you ever spoon? (Leans toward him on L. of table.) Haw, I should like to do so at this moment. 14 CASTE Pol. No, you're too grand for me. There's too much of you for me. You want taking down a peg — I mean a foot. Let's see, what are you, a corporal ? Haw. Captain. Pol. I prefer corporal. See here, let's change about. You be corporal — it'll do you good — and I'll be my lady. Haw, Pleasure. Pol. You must call me my lady, though, or you shan't have any ham. Haw. Certainly, my lady. But I cannot accept your hos- pitality, for V\w engaged to dine. Pol. At what time ? Haw. Seven. Pol. Seven ! Why, that's half-past tea time. {Turns to fireplace.) Now, Corporal, you must wait on me. Haw. As the pages did of old. Pol. {lifting teakettle from hob). My lady ! Haw. My lady. Pol. Here's the kettle. {Comes round front of table.') Corporal, take it into the back kitchen. {Holds kettle out to him.) Haw. Eh ! Pol. Pm coming too. Haw. Oh, that alters the case. {He takes kettle handle between fitiger and thimib. Polly at c. majestically points the way. ) Geo. What are you about ? Haw. About to fill the kettle. {Holds it out at arm's length.) Est. {to Polly). Mind what you are doing, Polly; what will Sam say? Pol. Whatever Sam chooses. What the sweetheart don't see the husband can't grieve at. Corporal ! Haw. My lady. {Salutes with empty hand.) Pol. Forward, march, and mind the soot don't drop upon your trousers. Exeunt Polly and Hawtree, door r. i e. Est. {rising). What a girl it is — all spirits. The worst is that it is so easy to mistake her. {Crosses l.) Geo. {rising and following her). And so easy to find out your mistake. But why won't you let me present you with a piano ? CASTE 15 Est. I don't want one. Geo. You said you were fond of playing. Est. We may be fond of many things without having them. {Sits at R. of table.') Now here is a gentleman says that he is attached to me. {Takes letter from pocket.) Geo. {jealous). May I know his name? (/// front of table at L.) Est. What for ? It would be as useless as his solicitations. {Throws letter into fire.) Geo. I lit that fire. {Crosses to fire.) Est. Then burn these two — no, not that {snatching one back), I must keep that ; burn the others. (George does so ; crosses again.) Geo. Who is that from ? Est. Why do you wish to know? Geo. Because I love you, and I don't think you love me, and I fear a rival. Est. You have none ! Geo. I know you have so many admirers. Est. They're nothing to me. Geo. None ? Est. No. They're admirers, but there's not a husband among them. Geo. Not the writer of that letter ? Est. Oh, I like him very much. Geo. Oh ! Est. And I am very fond of this. Geo. Then, Esther, you don't care for me ! Est. Don't I ? How do you know ? Geo. Because you won't let me read that letter. Est. It won't please you if you see it. Geo. I daresay not. That's just the reason that I want to. You won't? Est. I will — there ! {Gives it to him.) Geo. {reading). "Dear madam." Est. That's tender, isn't it ? Geo. " The terms are four pounds. Your dresses to be found for eight weeks certain, and longer if you should suit. {In as- tonishment.) I cannot close the engagement until the return of my partner. I expect him back to-day, and will write you as soon as I have seen him. — Yours very, &c." Four pounds, find dresses ! What does this mean ? l6 CASTE Est. It means that they want a Columbine for the panto- mime at Manchester, and I think I shall get the engagement. Geo. Manchester? Then you'll leave London. Est. {rising). I must. {Goes behind table to fireplace ; pauses.') You see this little house is on my shoulders, Polly, only eighteen shillings a week and father has been out of work a long, long time. I make the bread here, and it's hard to make sometimes. I've been mistress of this place, and forced to think ever since my mother died, and 1 was eight years old. — Four pounds a week is a large sum. I can save out of it. Geo. {following and standing at 'R. of and a little behind her). But you'll go away and I shan't see you. Est. Perhaps it will be for the best. What future is there for us? You're a man of rank, and I am a poor girl who gets her living by dancing. It would have been better that we had never met. Geo. No 1 Est. Yes, it would, for I'm afraid that Geo. You love me ? Est. I don't know. I'm not sure, but I think I do. Geo. {trying to seize her hand). Esther ! Est. No. Think of the difference of our stations. Geo. That's what Hawtree says. Caste, caste, curse caste ! (^Goes up a little.) Est. If I go to Manchester it will be for the best. We must both try to forget each other. Geo. Forget you. No, Esther, let me {Seizes her hand. ) Pol. {outside). Mind what you are about. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! (George and Esther retire up c. Enter Polly and Haw- T'REE, R. I E.) Pol. {shaking her skirts as she crosses). You nasty great clumsy corporal, you've spilt the water all over my frock. Oh, dear me i {Comes doivn c.) Haw. Allow me to offer you a new one. Pol. No {taking chair r. of table), I won't. You'll be calh'ng to see how it looks when it's on. Haven't you got a handkerchief? Wipe it dry. (Hawtree bends almost on one knee, and zvipes dress on her. Enter Sam Gerridge, door r. 3 e. ) CASTE 17 Sam. Afternoon. (^Savagely.) I suppose you didn't hear me knock. The door was open. I'm afraid I intrude. Pol. No, you don't, we're glad to see you ; if you've got a handkerchief help to wipe it dry. {?>ku passes to L. (?/" Polly and assists Hawtree.) Haw. Fm very sorry. {Jii'scs.) Pol. It won't spoil it. Sam. The stain won't come out. (^jRises.) Pol. It's only water. Sam. Good -afternoon, Miss Eccles. (Polly rises.) Who's the other swell ? (To Polly.) Pol. I'll introduce you. Captain Hawtree — Mr. Sam Gerridge. Haw. Charmed. (To George, go/ //g u/>.) Who's this? Geo. Polly's sweetheart. Haw. Oh. (P///& nothing. They can't think. Like you, they've not been educated up to it. Sam. It all comes of your being on the stage. Pol. It all comes of your not understanding me or anything else but putty. Now, if you were a gentleman Sam. Then of course I should make up to a lady. {They bounce up stage again.) CASTE 19 Geo. Reason's an idiot, two and two are four, and twelve and eight are twenty. That's reason. Sam {coming down). The stage ! Painting your cheeks. Pol. Better paint our cheeks than paint nasty old doors as you do. How can you understand art ? You, a mechanic. You're not a professional; you're not in trade; you are not of the same station that we are. When the manager speaks to you, you touch your hat, and say, "Yes, sir," because he's your superior. Geo. When people love there's no such thing as money. It don't exist. Est. Yes, it does. Geo. Then it oughtn't to. Sam. The manager employs me, as he does you. Payment is good everywhere and anywhere ; whatever is commercial is right. Pol. Actors are not like mechanics. They wear cloth coats, and not fustian jackets. Sam. I dislike play-actors. Pol. And I despise mechanics. {They tear up stage again.) Geo. I never think of anything else but you. Est. Really ! Sam {coining doiv 71). Polly, I won't stay here to be insulted. [Puts on cap.) Pol. Nobody wants you to stay. Go ! Sam. I will go. Good-bye, Miss Mary Eccles. {Crosses c. to door R. 3 E.) I shan't come here again. {Turns to door.) Pol. Don't ! Good riddance to bad rubbish ! Sam. You can go to your captain. Pol. And you to your putty. {Leans against r. of table facing him.) Est. And so you think you shall always love as you do now ? Geo. More ! Pol. [running quickly across to door r. 3 e.). Now, you shan't go. {Locks door, takes out key, which she pockets ; places back against door.) Now Pll just show you my power. Sam. Miss Eccles, let me out. {Advances to door.) Pol. Shan't. Est. Now you two. {Postman's knock.) The postman. 20 CASTE Sam. Now you must let me go ; you must unlock the door ! Pol. No, I needn't. (^Opeiis tvindow, looking out. ^ Here, postman. {Takes letter.') Thank you. {Reads address.) Esther. Est. {rising). For me ? Pol. Yes. {Gives it to her, closes window, and returns to door triumphantly. Business of wranglifig loith Sam.) Est. {going down l. of table). From Manchester. Geo. Manchester? {Comes down l., back of table.) Est. {l. c, reading). I've got the engagement, four pounds a week, (George places his arm rojind her.) Geo. You shan't go, Esther. Stay, be my wife. Est. But the world, your world ? Geo. Damn the world, you're my world. Stay with your husband, Mrs. D'Alroy. Sam. I will go out. {With sudden determination.) Pol. You can't and you shan't. Sam. I can. I will ! {Rushes to window, opens it, and Jumps out.) WARN curtain. Pol. {frightened). He's hurt himself. Sam, dear Sam ! {Runs to windoiv ; Sau's face appears at window; Polly shuts it down violently; during this George has kissed Esther.) Geo. My wife! {The handle of door is heard to rattle, then the door is shaken violently ; Esther crosses to Polly, up c, who gives her key ; Esther then opens the door. Eccles reels in very drunk and clings to the corner of bureau, "R.ffor support. George stands l. c, pulling his moustache, Esther a little way up r. c, looking ivith shame first at her father, then at George. Polly sitting in window recess, up c.) RING cwftain. CURTAIN {For call, George hat in hand bidding'E^.TU'E.R good-bye, r., Eccles sitting in chair, nods before the fire, Saj\i again looks in at windoiv, Voian pulls the blind violently.) ACT II Scene. — George's lodgings in Mayfair. A handsome rooin with folding doors at back through which is visible his dining-room luith a glimpse of the side-board. There is a ivindow at r., and a door at tJie upper r. corner. At l., opposite the windo7ci, is a piano with a stool before it. There is a table at R. C, ivith a chair and footstool at L. of it, and another at its r., a little doion stage. A chair is placed on either side of the windoiv \\., and a stand of flowers before it. TJiere is another stand of fioivers in tfie upper L. corner, and a large chair below and in front of it. LIGHTS full «p. (Esther atid George discovered sitting in easy chairs, r. and L. of table ; George has his uniform trousers and spurs on.) Est. Cr.). George, dear, you seem out of spirits. Geo. (l., smoking cigarette'). Not at all, dear; not at all. {^Rallies.) Est. Then why don't you talk.? Geo. I've nothing to say. Est. That's no reason. Geo. I can't talk about nothing. Est. Yes, you can. You often do. {Rises.) You used to do so before we were married. {Passes behitid his chair, bends over and caresses him.) Geo. {looking tip at her and taking the hand she puts on his face, kisses it, draiving her round before him). No, I didn't. I talked about you and my love for you. D'ye call that nothing ? Est. [sitting on stool, l. of George). How long have we been married, dear? Let me see, six months yesterday. {Dreamily.) It hardly seems a week. It almost seems a dream. Geo. Awfully jolly dream. Don't let us wake up. {Aside.) How ever shall I tell her ? 21 22 CASTE Est. And when I married you I was twenty- two, wasn't I? Geo. Yes, dear \ but then you know you must have been some age or other. Est. No ; but to think that I'd lived two-and-twenty years without knowing you. Geo. What of it, dear ? Est. It seems such a dreadful waste of time. Geo. So it was, awful. Est. Do you remember our first meeting ? Then I was in the ballet. Geo. Yes. Now you're in the heavies. Est. Then I was in tlie front rank. Now I'm of high rank. The Hon. Mrs. George D'Alroy. You promoted me to be your wife. Geo. No, dear. You promoted me to be your husband. Est. And now I'm one of the aristocracy, ain't I ? Geo. Yes, dear. I suppose that we may consider our- selves Est. Tell me, George, are you quite sure that you are proud of your poor little humble wife? Geo. Proud of you ! Proud as the winner of the Derby. Est. Wouldn't you have loved me better if I'd been a lady? Geo. You are a lady. You're Mrs. D'Alroy. Est. What will your mamma say when she knows of your marriage? I quite tremble at the thought of meeting her. Geo. So do I. Luckily she's in Rome. Est. Do you know, George, 1 should like to be married all over again. Geo. Not to anybody else, I hope ? Est. My darling ! Geo. But why over again? Why? Est. Our courtship was so beautiful ! it was like in a novel from the library, only better. You, a fine, rich, high-born gentleman, coming to our humble little house to court poor me. Do you remember the ballet you first saw me in ? That was at Covent Garden. "Jeanne la FoUe, or. The Return of the Soldier." {Rises and goes to piaiw.') Don't you remember the dance? {Sits and plays piatio.) Geo. Esther, how came you to learn to play the piano? Did you teach yourself? Est. Yes; so did Polly. We can only just touch the notes, to amuse ourselves. CASTE 23 Geo. How was it ? Est. {turning toiva? d him on piano stool'). I've told you so often ! Geo. Tell me again. (Esther returns to stool at his feet.) I'm like the children, 1 like to hear what I know already. Est. Well then, mother died when I was quite young ; I can only just remember her. Polly was an infant, so I had to be Polly's mother. Father, who is a very eccentric man, but a very good one, when you know him (George' sy'az^/ drops and he pulls his moustacfie), did not take much notice of us, and we got on as well as we could. We used to let the first floor, and a lodger took it — Herr Griffenhaagen. He was a ballet master at the opera. He took a fancy to me, and asked me if I should like to learn to dance, and I told him father couldn't afford to pay for my tuition ; and he said that {imitation') he didn't want payment, but that he would teach me for nothing; for he had taken a fancy to me, because I was like a little lady he had known long years ago in de far off land he came from. Then he got us an engagement at the theatre. That is how we first were in the ballet. Geo. That fellow was a great brick ; I should like to ask him to dinner ! What became of him ? Est. I don't know; he left England. {Qi¥.o&q^ fidgets and looks at watch ; gets up and goes to ivindow at R.) You are very restless, George; what's the matter? Geo. Nothing. Est, Are you going out ? Geo, Yes, {Looks at his boots and spurs.) That's the reason I dined in these. Est, To the barracks ? {Rises.) Geo. Yes. Est. On duty ? {Both at c.) Geo. {hesitating). On duty ! And of course when a man is a soldier he must go on duty when he's ordered, and when he's ordered, and — and {Aside.) Why did I ever enter the service ? Est. {ttvining her arms round him), George, if you must go out to your club, go. Don't mind leavmg me, {Takes his hand.) Somehow or other, George, these last few days every- thing seems to have changed with me. I don't know why, 24 CASTE sometimes my eyes fill with tears for no reason, and sometimes I feel so happy for no reason. I don't mind being left by myself as I used to do. When you are a few minutes behind time I don't run to the window and watch for you, and turn irritable. Not that I love you less, no ! for I love you more ; but often when you are away I don't feel that I am by myself. I never feel alone. (^Goes to piano and turns over music.) Geo. (aside). What angels women are ! At least this one is; I forget all about the others. (Carriage wheels heard off R.) If I'd known I could have been so happy, I'd have sold out when I married. (Knock at street door, r.) Est. (standing at table). That's for us. Geo. (at window, r.). Hawtree in a hansom ! (Aside.) He's come for me. I must tell her sooner or later. (At door up R. c) Come in, Hawtree. Enter, tip r. c, Hawtree i7i regimentals. Haw. How do? Hope you're well, Mrs. D'Alroy. (Es- ther greets him, then turns aside to piano. Hawtree comes doton R. ; places cap on table.) George, are you coming to Geo. (coming doivn tvith him, c). No, I've dined. We've dined early. (Esther /Ayx scraps of music at piano.') Haw. (sotto voce). Haven't you told her ? Geo. (going dozan l. of Hawtree). No, I daren't. Haw. But you must. Geo. You know what an awful coward I am. You do it for me. Haw. Not for worlds. I have just had my own adieu to make. Geo. Ah, yes, to Florence Carbury; how did she take it? Haw. Oh, very well ! Geo. Did she cry ? Haw. No. Geo. Nor exhibit any emotion whatever ? Haw. No, not particularly. Geo. Didn't you kiss her ? Haw. No, Lady Clardonax was in the room. Geo. Didn't she squeeze your hand ? Haw. No. CASTE 25 Geo. Didn't she say anylhing ? Haw. No, except that she hoped to see me back again soon, and tliat India was a bad chmate. Geo. Umph ! It seems to have been a tragic parting, almost as tragic as parting your back hair. Haw. Lady Florence is not the sort of person to make a scene. Geo. To be sure she's not your wife ! 1 wish Esther would be as cool and comfortable. {Afier a pause.) No, I don't. {A rap at door up u. c. j then enter UixoN.) Oh, Dixon, lay out my Dix. (r. c). I have laid them out; everything is ready. [Stands 7ip stage near door.) Geo. {after a pause, irresolutely). I must tell her, mustn't I ? Haw. Better send for her sister. Let Dixon go for her in a cab. Geo. Just so. I'll send him at once. Dixon (^Goes up and talks to DixON. ) Est. (rising). Do you want to have a talk with my hus- band ? Shall I go into the dining-room ? Haw. No, Mrs. D'Alroy. {Goes to her at piano.) Geo. No, dear. At once, Dixon. Tell the cabman to drive like — (exit Dixon) like a cornet just joined. [Goes down R. c.) Est. {to Hawtree). Are you going to take him anywhere? Haw. No. [Aside.) Yes, to India. [Crosses c, to George.) Tell her now. Geo. No, no. I'll wait till I put on my uniform. [Goes up R. ; the door up R. c. opens and Vo\a.\ peeps in.) Pol. How d'ye do, good people ? quite well ? Geo. Eh ! Didn't you meet Dixon ? Pol. Who? Geo. Dixon — my man. Pol. No. (Enters.) Geo. [crossing down l. to Esther ; aside). Confound it ! He'll have his ride for nothing. Pol. Bless you, my turtles. [Blesses them ballet fashion.) George, kiss your mother. [He kisses her.) That's what I call an honorable brotlier-in-law's kiss. I'm not in the way, am I? Geo. [crossing to Haw. ). Not at all. I'm very glad you've come. 26 CASTE (Esther and Polly embrace. Polly sits on piano stool from which Esther has risen and takes off her hat, placing parasol top of piano.') Haw. {back to audience and elbozv on easy chair, r. ; aside to George). Under ordinary circumstances she's not a very eligible visitor. Geo. Caste again. (^Goes up c.) Fll be back directly. Exit through folding doors, c. Haw. (crossing h.). Mrs. D'Alroy, I (Shakes hands.) Est. (who is standing over YoiAN, at piano). Going? Pol. (rising). I drive you away, Captain? (Takes her parasol from piano.) Haw. No. Pol. Yes, I do, I frighten you. I'm so ugly; I know I do. You frighten me. Haw. How so ? Pol. You're so handsome. (Comes do7un l. c.) Partic- ularly in these clothes, for all the world like an inspector of police. Est. (half-aside). Polly ! Haw. (aside). This is a wild sort of thing in sisters-in-law. (Up stage, c.) Pol. Any news, Captain ? Haw. (in a draivling tone). No. Is there any news with you? Pol. (imitating his drawl). Yes. We've got a new piece coming out at our theatre. Haw. What's it about? Pol. (draivling). I don't know. (71? Esther.) Had him there. (Haw. drops siuord impatiently.) Going to kill any- body to-day that you've got your sword on? Haw. No. Pol. I thought not. (Sings.) " With a sabre on his brow. And a helmet by his side ; The soldier sweethearts servant maids, And eats cold meat besides." (Laughs.) Enter George, door up stage, c, in uniform, carrying in his hand his sword, sword belt and cap. Esther meets him, CASTE 27 takes them from him, and places them on chair up L., (hen comes half down L. ; George goes down r. c. Pol. (clapping her hands). Oh, here's a beautiful brother- in-law ! Why didn't you come in on your horse as they do at Astley's? Gallop in and say {puts parasol under her ai'm and imitates prances of a horse all through follozving scene ; can- ters down c.) : Soldiers of France, the eyes of Europe are a-looking at you. The Empire has confidence in you, and France expects that every man this day will do his little utmost. The foe is before you — more's the pity — and you are before I hem — worse luck for you ! Forward ! Go and get killed, and to those who escape, the Emperor will give a little bit of rib- bon. Nineteens about ! Forward ! Gallop ! Charge ! {Round to R., imitating bugle and giving point ivith parasol ; she nearly spears Hawtree' s nose. Hawtree claps his hand upon his sword-hilt ; she throit's herself into chair laughing, and clap- ping \iPi.\V'V'R^^''s, cap from table upon her head. All laugh and applaud — carriage zvheels heard without.) What's that ? [A peal of knocks heard at street door. ) George {who has hastened to window, up R.). A carriage. Good heavens, my mother ! Haw. {at taindoiv, r.). The marchioness ! Est. {crossing to George). Oh, George ! Pol. {crossing to windoiu). A marchioness ! A real live marchioness ! Let me look ! I never saw a Geo. {forcing her from window). No, no, no ! She doesn't know I'm married. I must break it to her by degrees. What shall I do? Est. Let me go into the bedroom until Haw. Too late. She's on the stairs. Est. Here, then. {Goes to doors, c, up stage.) Pol. I want to see a real live march (George lifts her in his arms and places her within folding doors with Esthek, crossing to door r. c. ; Hawtree closes folding doors, c, as George opens door r. c, and admits Marquise de St. Maur.) Geo. {escorting her down stage, R.). My dear mother, I saw you getting out of the carriage. (Hawtree, up l.) Mar. My dear boy {kissing his forehead), I am so glad I 28 CASTE got to London before you embarked. (George nervous; Hawtree comes down L.) Captain Hav;tree, I think. How do you do ? Haw. (crossing in front of table~). Quite well, 1 thank your ladyship. I trust you are? Mar. {sitting in easy chair, R.). Oh, quite, thanks. Do you still see the Countess and Lady Florence? Haw. Yes. Mar. Please remember me to them. (Hawtree takes cap from table and places sword under his ar)n.^ Are you going? Haw. Yaas. I am compelled. (Bows, crosses round back of table : to George, zuho meets him, r. c.) I'll be at the door for you at seven. We must be at barracks by the quarter. (George crosses back, l.) Poor devil ! This comes of a man marrying beneath him. Exit door r. ; George comes doivn l. of table. Mar. I'm not sorry that he's gone, for I wanted to talk to you alone. Strange that a woman of such good birth as the Countess should encourage the atlentions of Captain Hawtree for her daughter Florence. Lady Clardonax was one of the old Carburys of Hampshire — not the Norfolk Carburys but the direct line, and Mr. Hawtree' s grandfather was in trade — something in the City — soap, 1 think, perhaps pickles. (Points to stool ; George brings it to her; she motions that he is to sit at her feet ; George does so.) He's a very nice person, but parvenu as any one may see by his languor and his swag- ger. My boy (kissi)ig his forehead), I am sure, will never make a mesaUiance. He is a D'Alroy and by his mother's side, Planta Genista. The source of our life stream is Royal ! Geo. How is the Marquis ? Mar. Paralyzed. I left hirn at Spa with three physicians. He always is paralyzed at this time of the year; it's in the family. The paralysis is not personal but hereditary. I came over to see my steward ; got to town last night. Geo. How did you find me out here ? Mar. I sent the footman to tlie barracks, and he saw your man Dixon in the street, and Dixon gave him this address. It's so long since I've seen you. (Leans back in chair.) You're looking very well, and I dare say when mounted are quite a beau cavalier ; and so, my boy (playing with his hair), you are going abroad for the first time on active service ? CASTE 29 Geo. {aside). Every word can be heard in the next room — if they have only gone up-stairs ! Mar, And now, my dear boy, before you go I want to give you some advice, and you mustn't despise it because I'm an old woman. We old women know a great deal more than people give us credit for. You are a soldier, so was your father, so was his father, so was mine, so was our Royal founder. We were born to lead — the common people expect it from us. It is our duty. Do you not remember in the chronicles of Frois- sart — {with great enjoyment') — I think I can quote it word for word. I've a wonderful memory for my age. ( With closed eyes.) It was in the 59th chapter how Godefroy D'Alroy helde the towne of St. Amande during the siege before Tournay. It said the towne was not closed but with pales, and captayne there was Sir Amory of Pauy, the Seneschall of Carcassonne, who had said it was not able to holde agaynste an hooste, when one Godefroy D'Alroy say'd that rather than he vvoulde depart, he woulde keep it to the best of his power. Whereat the sol- diers cheered and say'd "Lead us on. Sir Godefroy," and then began a fierce assault, and they within were chased, and sought for shelter from streete to streete, but Godefroy stayed at the gate so valyantly, that the soldiers helde the towne until the commynge of the Earl of Haynault with twelve thousand men. Geo. I wish she'd go. If she once gets on to Froissart she'll never know when to stop. {Aside.) Mar. When my boy fights, and you will fight over there, he is sure to distinguish himself; it is his nature to. {Toys with his hair.) He cannot forget his birth, and when you meet these Asiatic ruffians who have dared to revolt and to outrage humanity, you will strike as your ancestor Galtier of Chevrault struck at Poictiers. Froissart mentions it thus: "Sir Galtier with his four squires was in the front of that battell, and there did marvels in arms, and Sir Galtier rode up to the Prince and said to him, ' Sir, take your horse and ride forth, this journey is yours ; God is this day in your hands, Gette us to the French Kynge's batayle. I think verily by his valyantesse he woll not fly. Advance banner in the name of God and of Saynt George,' and Galtier gallopped forward to see his Kynge's victory and meet his own death." Geo. If Esther hears all this ! {Aside.) Mar. There is another subject about which I should have spoken to you before this, but an absurd prudery forbade me. I may never see you more. I am old, and you are going into 30 - CASTE battle (kissing his forehead with emotion'), and this maybe our last meeting. (^Exclamation is heard outside folding doors.) What's that? Geo. Nothing. My man — Dixon — in there. Mar. We may not meet again on this earth. I do not fear your conduct, my George, with men, but I know the temp- tations that beset a youth who is well born ; but a true soldier, a true gentleman, should not only be without fear but without reproach. It is easier to fight a famous man than to forego the conquest of a love-sick girl. A thousand Sepoys slain in battle cannot redeem the honor of a man who has betrayed the confi- dence of a confiding woman. Think, George, what a dis- honor, what a stain upon your manhood, to hurl a girl to shame and degradation, and what excuse for it ? That she is plebeian ! A man of real honor will spare the woman who has confessed her love for him, as he would give quarter to an enemy he had disarmed. (^Takes his hand.) Let my boy avoid the snares so artfully spread, and when he asks his mother to welcome the woman he has chosen for his wife, let me take her to my arms and plant a motherly kiss upon the white brow of a lady. (Noise of a fall heard outside folding doors. Mar. rises.) What's that? Geo. Nothing! {Rises.) Mar. I heard a cry. (^Goes up stage and throws open folding doors, discovering Esther lying on floor, with Polly kneeling over her.) Pol. George ! George ! (George goes up and raises Esther in his arms ; Polly goes down L. and wheels easy chair up L. for her ; George places Esther /// chair, George o?i her r., Polly oji her l.) Mar. (coming down, r.). Who are these women ? Pol. Women ! Mar. George D'Alroy, these persons should have been sent away. How could you dare to risk your mother meeting women of their stamp ? Pol. (back, l. c, violently). What does she mean? How dare she call us women? What's she, I'd like to know? Geo. Silence, Polly. You mustn't insult my mother. Mar. The insult is from you. I leave you, and I hope that time may induce me to forget this scene of degradation. (Goes up R.) CASTE 31 Geo. Stay, mother. (Marquise goes doiv?i a little, r.) Before you go let me present to you Mrs. George D'Alroy, my wife. (George has raised Esther from chair in both ar??is and supports her to up c.) Mar. Married ! Geo. Married. (^The Marquise sinks into easy chair, r. George replaces Esther in easy chair up l., but still retains her hand. Two hesitatijig taps heard at door r. c. Eccles enters sneakingly.') Ecc. They told us to come up-stairs. When your man came, Polly was out, so I thought I should do instead. {Calls at door.) Come up, Sam. Enter Sam in his Sunday clothes and smoking a cheroot ; he 7iods and grins. Ecc. Sam had just called, so we three, Sam and I, and your man, all came in a hansom cab together. Didn't we, Sam ? (EccLES and Sam go over to the girls, l.) Mar. (with glasses up, to George). Who is this? Geo. {coming do2un l. of Marquise). My wife's father. (EccLES comes down smilingly, l.) Mar. What is he ? Geo. a — nothing. Ecc. I am one of Nature's noblemen. Happy to see you, my lady. {Crosses to her.) Now my daughter's told me who you are, (George titrns his back in an agony) we old folks, father and mother of the young couple, ought to make friends. {Holds out his dirty hand.) Mar. {shrinki?ig back). Go away. What's his name? (EccLES goes up again disgusted, L.) Geo. Eccles. Mar. Eccles ! Eccles ! There never was an Eccles. He don't exist. Ecc. {coming down, l.). Don't he? What d'ye call this? {Goes up again, L., and speaks to Sam.) 32 CASTE Mar. No Eccles was ever born. Geo. He takes the liberty of breathing, notwithstanding. {Aside.') And I wish he wouldn't. Mar. And who is the little matt ? Is he also Eccles ? (Sam looks round ; Polly gets close up to him, and looks with defiant glance at the Marquise.) Geo. No. Mar. Thank goodness ! What, then ? Geo. His name is Gerridge. Mar. Gerridge! It breaks one's teeth. Why is he here? Geo. He is making love to Polly, my wife's sister. Mar. And what is he? Geo. a gasman. Mar. He looks it ! (George goes up to Esther, l.) And what is the — the sister ? (Eccles, who has been casting longing eyes at the decanter on table, edges toward it and ivhen he thifiks no one is ?iotic- ing, fills wine glass.) Pol. (asserting herself indignantly). I'm in the ballet at the Theatre Royal, Lambeth — so was Esther. We're not ashamed of what we are. We have no cause to be. Sam (back, l. c). That's right, Polly, pitch into the swells. Who are they? (Goes up a little.) (Eccles by this time has seized wine glass and turning his back is about to drink, tvhen Hawtree enters door, r. c. ; Eccles hides glass under his coat, and pretends to be look- ing up at picture.) Haw. (entering). George ! (Stops suddenly, looking rotmd.) So all's known. Mar. (rising). Captain Hawtree, see me to my carriage. (Hawtree comes dotvn.) I am broken-hearted. (Takes Hawtree' s arm, crosses, is going up.) (Eccles, who simultaneously has tasted the claret, spits it out again with a gri?nace, exclaiming, ^^Rot.^' Esther rises from chair in tiervous excitement, clutching George's ha fid.) CASTE 33 Geo. (Jo Marquise). Don't go in anger. You may not see me again. (Marquise stops, r. ; Esther brings George do7vn c. Est. (l. c, with arm round his neck). Oh ! George, must you go ? Geo. Yes. Est. I can't leave you — I'll go with you. Geo. Impossible, the country is too unsettled. Est. May I come after you ? Geo. Yes. Est. {with her head on his shoulder'). I may ! Mar. {coming down, r.). It is his duty to go — his honor calls him. The honor of his family — our honor ! Est. But I love him so. Pray don't be angry with me. Haw. {looking at watch and coming down c). George ! Geo. I must go, love. (Hawtree goes up r. c.) Mar. {advancing). Let me arm you, George — let your mother, as in the days of old. There is blood and blood, my son, let Radicals and rebels rave as they will — see, your wife cries, when she should be proud of you. WARN cttftain. Geo. My Esther is all that is true, good, and noble. No lady born to a coronet could be gentler or more true. Esther, my wife, fetch me my sword, and buckle my belt round me. ( Whispers to Esther.) It will please my mother. {To Mar- quise at R.) You shall see. (Esther totters up stage, l., and brings dotvn his sword, Polly his cap ; as Esther is try- ing to buckle his belt he ivhispers.) I've left money for you, my darling. My lawyer will call on you to-morrow. Forgive me ; I tried to tell you we were ordered for India, but when the time came my heart failed me and I RING cwftain. (Esther, before she can succeed in fastetiing his s7vord belt, reels and falls fainting in his arms. Polly hurries to her, L., and takes her hand. Sam stands at piano looking fright- ened ; Eccles at back very little concerned ; Hawtree 34 CASTE with hand upon handle of door, r. f., ^«CTTV OF CALIFORNIA THF IWAfilSTRATF ^^^^^ ^^ Three Acts. Twelve males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, all interior. Plays two hours and a half. THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH J^.^^-^ J'^ J°y ^f ^ Light males, five females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, all interiors. Plays a full evening. THE PROFMfiATF ^l^y in Four Acts. Seven males, five females. Scenery, three interiors, rather elaborate ; costumes, modern. Plays a full evening. THF SCHOOI MISTRESS ^^^^ce in Three Acts. Klne males, seven females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAY ^'y '^J'^'^l ^«f ^y* *■ males, nve females. Cos- tumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. SWFFT I AVFNDFR C<'™®**y ™ Three Acts. Seven males, four females. Scene, a single interior; costumes, modern. Plays a full evening. THF TIIWFS Comedy in Four Acts. Six males, seven females. Scene, a single interior ; costumes, modern. Plays a full evening. THF WFAKFR SFX Co"^6*^'y '° Tliree Acts. Eight males, eight females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays a full evening. A WIFE WITHOUT A SMILE ""T^^, '"^^-^f ^T\ ^'" males, four females. Costumes, moder^i ; scene, a single interior. Plays a full evening. Sent prepaid on receipt of price by Waltn 1^» 'Bafeer S. Company No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts f^^--, THE LIBRARY bcOpC UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA ''5 C37 Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. 3 1205 00688 6111 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 001 424 453 7