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 OUT THERE 
 
 * 
 
 A DRAMATIC COMPOSITION 
 
 t 
 
 IN THREE PARTS 
 
 BY 
 J. HARTLEY MANNERS 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY J. HARTLEY MANNERS 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 NEW YORK 
 SAMUEL FRENCH 
 
 PUBLISHER 
 28-30 WEST 38TH STREET 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD. 
 
 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET 
 
 STRAND
 
 JS 
 
 Especial notice should be taxen 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 composition, 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.
 
 . f=- \/ 
 
 z M 

 
 THE AUTHOR READS HIS PLAY AT THE FIRST REHEARSAL 
 
 Seated from left to right: Eleanora de Cisneros, 
 Mrs. Fiske, George Arliss, Julia Arthur, James T. 
 Powers, Beryl Mercer, James K. Hackett, J. Hartley 
 Manners. 
 
 Standing, from left to right: George MacFarlane, 
 Burr Mclntosh, Laurette Taylor, H. B. Warner, 
 George M. Cohan, Chauncey Olcott, Helen Ware, 
 O. P. Heggie.
 
 PUBLISHERS' NOTE 
 
 "Out There" was chosen as the play with which 
 the theatrical profession of America should aid the 
 great Red Cross drive of 1918. An "all-star" cast 
 was selected and the little band of loyal actors and 
 actresses toured from May I3th, 1918, to June ist, 
 1918, giving twenty-three performances in seventeen 
 cities. They raised a total of $683,248 for the Red 
 Cross. 
 
 The fifteen "stars" gave their services entirely free 
 of charge and paid their own personal expenses. 
 
 It was the greatest thing ever done for the greatest 
 of charities by the members of the great Theatrical 
 Profession. 
 
 The following is a copy of the programme :
 
 THE AMERICAN RED CROSS 
 
 (By arrangement with Klaw & Erlanger, Cohan & 
 Harris and George C. Tyler) 
 
 Presents 
 
 OUT THERE 
 
 A Dramatic Composition in Three Acts 
 
 By J. Hartley Manners 
 Author of "The Harp of Life" and "Happiness" 
 
 Produced under the personal direction of the 
 Author. 
 
 PROGRAMME 
 Part One 
 
 Inspiration 
 
 A room in a lodging-house during the Autumn of 
 
 1915 
 
 " 'AUNTED" ANNIE Miss Laurette Taylor 
 
 "PRINCESS" LIZZIE Miss Helen Ware 
 
 "OLD VELVET" Miss Beryl Mercer 
 
 'ERB Mr. H. B. Warner 
 
 MONTE Mr. James T. Powers 
 
 DR. HANWELL Mr. George Arliss 
 
 5
 
 Part Two 
 
 Devotion 
 
 The "Orange- Walk" 
 
 THE SURGEON Mr. George Arliss 
 
 THE IRISHMAN Mr. Chauncey Olcott 
 
 THE COCKNEY Mr. 0. P. Heggie 
 
 THE CANADIAN Mr. James K. Hackett 
 
 THE SCOTCHMAN Mr. George MacFarlane 
 
 THE AMERICAN Mr. George M. Cohan 
 
 GABRIELLE Miss Julia Arthur 
 
 THE HELP Miss Laurette Taylor 
 
 A few words from Mr. Burr Mclntosh 
 
 Part Three 
 
 Revelation 
 
 Division i : MRS. HUDD'S Rooms 
 
 MRS. HUDD Miss Beryl Mercer 
 
 Miss ELIZABETH HUDD Miss Helen Ware 
 
 HERBERT HUDD Mr. H. B. Warner 
 
 MR. MONTAGUE MARSH Mr. James T. Powers 
 
 Division 2 : A Public Place 
 
 THE NURSE Miss Laurette Taylor 
 
 Mrs. Fiske 
 
 will deliver a Red Cross appeal written expressly for 
 these gala performances by President Wilson and 
 following this Mme. Eleanora de Cisneros will sing. 
 
 6
 
 Executive Staff 
 
 Acting Managers 
 
 Walton Bradford and Horace C. Judge 
 Managers in Advance 
 
 W. H. Wright and William Gorman 
 
 General Press Representative John P. Toohey 
 
 Stage Manager William Seymour 
 
 Musical Director John Harding 
 
 Director of Transportation A. J. Simmons 
 
 Master of Properties Edwin Wakefield 
 
 Chief Electrician Tony Greshoff 
 
 Burr Mclntosh sold a programme autographed by 
 the company at the end of the second act in each city. 
 
 Auction sales were conducted by De Wolf Hopper 
 for seats before the arrival of the company. 
 
 These sales realized the sum of $164,437. 
 
 At the conclusion of the tour a daily history of the 
 happenings was written by Laurette Taylor and pub- 
 lished by the George H. Doran Co., under the title 
 of "The Greatest of These."
 
 The following is a list of the gross takings in each 
 town: 
 
 May 13, 1918 Washington $17,146 
 
 May 14 Baltimore 28,652 
 
 May 15 (matinee) Wilmington II >999 
 
 May 15 (evening) Philadelphia 23,074 
 
 May 16 Brooklyn 22,334 
 
 May 17-18 (3 performances) New York. . 57,461 
 
 May 20 Providence 18,960 
 
 May 21 Boston 62,109 
 
 May 22 New Haven 31,091 
 
 May 23 Buffalo 38,073 
 
 May 24-25 (3 performances) Chicago .... 78,075 
 
 May 27 St. Louis 32,282 
 
 May 28 Louisville 3!,455 
 
 May 29 Cincinnati 48,803 
 
 May 30 (2 performances) Columbus 21,225 
 
 May 31 Cleveland 24,167 
 
 June i (matinee) Pittsburgh 6,126 
 
 (evening) 129,258 
 
 On the occasion of the last performance of the 
 tour in Pittsburgh Burr Mclntosh succeeded in ob- 
 taining the highest price ever paid for a programme 
 $20,500 and the total receipts (including $100,- 
 538 for premiums) made the greatest known at that 
 time, and, we believe, for all time for a single charity 
 performance, viz., $129,259. 
 
 We take pleasure in presenting a play with so 
 remarkable a history to the reading and acting public. 
 
 Samuel French. 
 
 8
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 To the wounded men in Cliveden Hospital in 1915, 
 whose valour in fighting, courage in suffering, and 
 spiritual exaltation, the outcome of their struggle 
 against barbarity, will always be a cherished memory. 
 
 Wherever they go they carry with them my heart- 
 felt wishes, my abiding admiration, and my deep and 
 lasting affection. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 January, 1918.
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 My object in preparing this dramatic composition 
 was to endeavour to portray something of the feeling 
 in England during the first year of the war. To 
 show the spirit of patriotism beating through the 
 poorest of homes : the courage and endurance of the 
 men who went to fight for civilization : and the hero- 
 ism that endures grievous hurt without a murmur. 
 
 It is in no small measure to the fervour and whole- 
 souledness of thousands of "'Aunted Annies" that 
 we owe the splendid citizen army of three and a 
 half millions raised in the British Empire by volun- 
 tary enlistment. Surely an achievement that will 
 "blaze a trail" down through the ages! 
 
 It is to the " 'Aunted Annies" no less that we owe 
 the amazing output of the great munition factories 
 all over the United Kingdom. It is to the white-heat 
 of patriotic zeal that in three years from her entrance 
 into the war England had outstripped the forty years 
 of preparation made by her unscrupulous and brutal 
 foe. 
 
 All honour to the "Annief of England and her 
 sisters among the Allies ! 
 
 In the second part I have tried to show the forti- 
 tude under adversity and the resolute indifference to 
 suffering so frequently witnessed by my wife and me 
 in an English hospital in 1915. Every man in that 
 "part" is drawn from life. Their spirit was unfor- 
 gettable : their exaltation superb ; their desire to see 
 the war through to a victorious end inspiring. 
 
 II
 
 12 FOREWORD 
 
 I would like here to express my deep sense of 
 gratitude for the encouraging and generous manner 
 in which the play was received in New York. Such 
 appreciation lightens the burden and makes easier the 
 road of the chronicler of world events as he sees 
 them by the writer for the theatre. 
 
 To Laurette Taylor and her loyal associates I owe 
 a lasting debt of gratitude for breathing life and soul 
 into the characters, and so making the "composition" 
 possible. 
 
 Produced at the Globe Theatre, New York, March 
 27th, 1917, it was temporarily withdrawn of June 2nd, 
 and revived on September 24th, 1917, at the Liberty 
 Theatre, New York. 
 
 So much had occurred during the summer months 
 in the way of active opposition to the war policy of 
 President Wilson by obstructing the draft law: in- 
 cendiary fires in various parts of the country : strikes 
 in mines: street-corner agitators: ravings of "con- 
 scientious objectors" and pacifists that I thought it 
 advisable to change the whole tenor of "Annie's" 
 speech in Trafalgar Square. It was no longer a ques- 
 tion of recruiting : conscription had been passed. It 
 became a duty to expose the danger of such methods 
 of retarding the Administration in its great work. 
 Consequently, on September 24th, in place of the 
 recruiting appeal the following speech was spoken 
 by Laurette Taylor from the Nelson Monument in 
 Trafalgar Square: 
 
 It's funny, me standin* up 'ere tryin'^t* maike 
 speeches t' you. Y' know I ain't got much of a voca- 
 byerlerry, but I've faand it ain't alwa's the biggest 
 words as maikes big things clear. Arter all, y' tells 
 'ow y'r feller loves y' by the w'y 'e looks at y' not 
 by w'at 'e says. An' y' know a frien's a frien' not 
 by w'at's said, but by the hatmosphere thet's maide 
 w'en y' both come t'gether. So I want y' t' see in
 
 FOREWORD 13 
 
 me eyes a great love f'r me own kind as I speak. 
 An' I want y' t' feel a hatmosphere o' frien's-like, 
 no matter w'at I say an' I got t' speak rough t'- 
 night, 'cause I'm addressin* my remarks t' thick- 
 skinned people them there conshihenshus hobject- 
 ors. 
 
 / ain' f'r war, I'm f'r peace. But once y'r country's 
 in it, I don't see w'at y're goin' t' do but 'elp. D* 
 you? 
 
 O' corse we've got conscripshun, but I want t' talk 
 t' them conshihenshus hobjectors an' pacissyfists as 
 says they don* b'lieve in war. W'at do it matter if 
 they don' b'lieve in war ? Bli* me, 'oo does? Aatside 
 o' the 'Uns! 
 
 Don' b'lieve in it ! 'Ere it is ! Y' earn' tell Gawd 
 y' don' b'lieve in Death an' expec' t' live f'r hever 
 jus' because y' said it. Y' know, the 'ole world 
 earn' be wrong abaat the 'Un. Look at America! 
 Wasn' she tolerant? Germany said, "She won* come 
 in. She's too busy caantin' 'er money.' But Hamer- 
 ica 'as come in, with both 'an's, an' both feet, and 
 hairaplanes. Do you know w'at a Hamerican general 
 said abaat hairaplanes? 'E said as a fleet o' haira- 
 planes was the proper brood o' the Hamerican eagle. 
 An' I 'opes as 'ow the heagle-11 prove a rabbit at it ! 
 
 Pacissyfists! Conshihenshus hobjectors! W'at 
 kind o' fellers are they? Just as we're lickin' the 
 henemy, an' lickin' 'im good, they stands up an' says, 
 "'Ere! W'at 're y' doin'? / want peace T Well, 
 so do Hi! So do we all ! But ye don't want no 'alf- 
 peace, an' then 'ave t' go through it all over again 
 as soon as the henemy's 'ad time t' git 'is bloomin' 
 herficiency workin', do we? This 'as got t' be the 
 hend o' war, an' t' maike it so we got t' beat the fel- 
 lers as thinks nothin', does nothin', and schemes noth- 
 in' but war. I tell y', boys, them fellers 'as got t' 
 be licked, an' licked good, until the very word "War" 
 maikes 'em sick to 'ear it. We don' want pacissyfists
 
 i 4 FOREWORD 
 
 t'd'y. We want fighters. W'en they've done their 
 job, an* the henemy's knocked right aat, w'y, we'll 
 all be 'appy pacissyfists t'gether. But, first of all. 
 they've got t' prove to us thet the word "Pacissyfist" 
 ain't a kemmerflarge f'r "I'm afraid t' fight." 
 
 I know a funny story abaat one o' these 'ere pacis- 
 syfists. A soljer in uniform goes up to 'im one d'y 
 an' says, " 'Ere ! W'y ain't you in the harmy ?" 
 " 'Cos I don' b'Heve in war," says the pacissyfist. 
 "Oh, don't y'?" says the soljer. "If the henemy 
 caime over 'ere, d' y' mean t' s'y y' wouldn' defend 
 y'r country?" "No, I wouldn't," says the pacissyfist, 
 "I don' b'lieve in fightin'." "Well, bli' me!" says the 
 soljer, "if some of 'em caime right inter y'r 'ome an' 
 took it, d' y' mean t' say y' wouldn' fight t' keep w'at 
 belonged t' y' ?" "No," said the pacissyfist, "I don' 
 b'lieve in fightin'." "An' if a man was to 'it y' on 
 the nose, wouldn't y' 'it back ?" "Cert'nly not," says 
 the man o' peace. "It wouldn' be Christian-like." 
 "Well, so 'elp me!" says the soljer. "You're the 
 bloke the 'Uns is lookin' for. An' before they gits 
 at y', bli' me, I'll 'ave a cut in meself." An' with 
 thet the soljer 'its 'im str'ight on the nose. Naa, the 
 pacissyfist 'ad never been 'it before, an' w'en 'e felt 
 the paine an' taisted the blood a-runnin' into 'is maath, 
 w'y, 'e couldn' stand it. 'E ups an' 'its the soljer on 
 the jawr. An' then, w'at oh ! They went at it tooth- 
 an'-nail, a-knockin' of each other daan till their eyes 
 was blacked an' their faices all cut abaat. 
 
 Suddenly the soljer stopped an' 'eld aat 'is 'and. 
 "Look 'ere !" 'e says. "You're no bloomin' pacissy- 
 fist. You're a fighter, you are!" 
 
 It was too bad 'e 'ad t' be 'it before 'e knoo w'at 
 'e was. Thet kind will fight if the 'Un ever gits 
 over 'ere. but w'at an 'opeless fight it'll be then. The 
 other kind the kind as burns the country's crops, 
 an' 'olds back the Gover'ment by strikes an' sich- 
 like an' won't 'elp the boys w'at's gorn aat they
 
 FOREWORD 15 
 
 ain't pacissyfist or conshihenshus hobjectors. They're 
 hactive henemies, so 'elp me ! 
 
 They're a funny lot pacissyfists ! An' such rea- 
 sons as they give ! There's the pacissyfist as refuses 
 i' fight because Vs a Christian. To 'im I say, "'Aven't 
 Christians 'ad t' fight f'r their religion ever since 'e 
 caime daan to earth?" An' how d' y' suppose 'e 
 feels w'en the henemy destroys the plaices w're Chris- 
 tians worship 'im? Destroy 'em, not by haccident, 
 but deliberately, so as their henemies shan't find no 
 peace an' comfort even there ! An' our Lord, 'isself , 
 wasn't above showin* 'is raige wiv the money-chang- 
 ers in the Temple. 
 
 An' look at the Kaiser! The Kaiser says, "Me an* 
 Gawd." 7 say to all Christians, "Put a gun on y'r 
 shoulder, an' go an' teach thet man t' be respec'ful." 
 
 But of all the diff'rent kinds o' pacissyfists the 
 Hirish pacissyfist is the funniest. Himagine a Hirish 
 pacissyfist! It don' seem nachral, do it? An* it 
 ain't nachral. There's thaasan's o' Hirishmen aat 
 there a-fightin' f'r the Allies, an' thaasan's of 'em 'as 
 won Victoria Crorsses and medals. An' they all 
 believ'. like a Hirishman 'ose loyalty 'as never been 
 doubted, an' 'oo put it better'n / can. 'E said, "I 
 want the freedom of Hireland. I want it more 'n 
 anything, 'ere or 'ereafter. But, I wouldn' see the 
 freedom of Hireland purchased wiv the freedom of 
 Belgium !" 
 
 So come along, pacissyfists an' conshihenshus hob- 
 jectors ! Be reasonable ! Y' know, you're silly talkin' 
 peace wiv the Tin insultin' y' all 'e knows 'ow. It's 
 no use goin' t' meet the henemy wiv Peace an' Good- 
 will in y'r 'an's. 'Ave Peace an' Goodwill in y'r 
 'earts, but be sure y'r 'an's is full o' s'rapnel. Give 
 'im the on'y sort o' fightin' 'e understan's. Put a gun 
 on y'r shoulder an' advarnce singin' the song all the 
 boys sing:
 
 16 FOREWORD 
 
 "We licked you at the Marne, 
 An' we beat you on the Aisne. 
 We gaive you 'ell at Neuve Chapelle, 
 An' 'ere we are, yes, 'ere we are again." 
 
 The crowd join in, stretching out their hands to 
 Annie. 
 
 I now leave the "composition" in the reader's hands 
 in the hope that, though shorn of the genius of 
 Laurette Taylor and her splendid company, it will 
 still convey some little idea of England in the first 
 year of the war ; carry some message from a unified 
 Empire ; and leave the inspiration of daring to do so 
 that civilization may endure. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 New York. 
 
 January, 1918.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 INSPIRATION 25 
 
 DEVOTION 61 
 
 REVELATION 103
 
 Produced at the 
 
 Globe Theatre, New York City, 
 
 on Tuesday, March 27th, 1917, with the following 
 
 cast: 
 
 PART I 
 
 INSPIRATION 
 
 A room in a lodging house during the autumn of 
 1915 
 
 " 'AUNTED ANNIE" Miss Laurette Taylor 
 
 "PRINCESS" LIZZIE Miss Lynn Fontanne 
 
 "OLD VELVET" Miss Daisy Belmore 
 
 'ERB Mr. Lewis Edgard 
 
 MONTE Mr. Colin Campbell 
 
 DR. HANWELL Mr. Frank Kemble Cooper 
 
 PART II 
 
 DEVOTION 
 
 The "Orange Walk" 
 
 THE SURGEON Mr. Frank Kemble Cooper 
 
 THE IRISHMAN Mr. J. M. Kerrigan 
 
 THE COCKNEY Mr. Leonard Mudie 
 
 THE CANADIAN Mr. Hubert Druce 
 
 THE SCOTCHMAN Mr. Douglas Ross 
 
 THE NEW ZEALANDER Mr. A. E. Sproston 
 
 GRIFFIN Mr. James Archer 
 
 TERENCE Mr. Henry Oxenford 
 
 A NEWCOMER Mr. George Kemble 
 
 19
 
 20 OUT THERE 
 
 ANOTHER NEWCOMER Mr. Philip Newman 
 
 GABRIELLE Miss Catherine Proctor 
 
 THE HELP Miss Laurettt Taylor 
 
 PART III 
 
 REVELATION 
 
 Division One MRS. HUDD'S Rooms 
 
 MRS. HUDD Miss Daisy Beltnore 
 
 Miss ELIZABETH HUDD Miss Lynn Fontanne 
 
 PRIVATE HERBERT HUDD Mr. Lewis Edgard 
 
 MR. MONTAGUE MARSH Mr. Colin Campbell 
 
 Division Two A Public Place 
 THE NURSE Wt-tv Laurette Taylor
 
 PART I 
 INSPIRATION
 
 A ROOM IN A LODGING-HOUSE DURING THE AUTUMN 
 OF 1915 
 
 " 'AUNTED" ANNIE 
 
 "PRINCESS" LIZZIE 
 
 "OLD VELVET" 
 
 'ERB 
 
 MONTE 
 
 DOCTOR HAN WELL
 
 INSPIRATION 
 
 
 
 A shabby living-room in a poor lodging-house. A 
 few wooden chairs; a much-used deal table; 
 some cuttings new and old, from illustrated 
 papers, pasted on the walls; a battered chest of 
 drawers R V a makeshift couch, L.C.; a dresser 
 with cups, saucers, plates, etc., and a little 
 cracked hand-mirror, L.; a threadbare carpet; 
 and a cheaply framed photograph of a soldier 
 in uniform, thirty -five years old, taken 1899, on 
 wall L. over door. The room is on the street 
 level, and has three doors, one leading by the 
 passage to the street, the others on each side of 
 the room. Street door at end of passage. There 
 is a window each side of c. door. These are 
 both open. It is a little before sunset on an au- 
 tumn evening. In from the street come the 
 sounds of a barrel-organ, in the near distance, 
 playing music-hall songs in vogue during 1915, 
 varied by an occasional ballad of an earlier day. 
 A plaintive voice in the far distance cries in 
 high register, "Fine large shrimps ! Fine large 
 shrimps!" as he slowly moves along. Coming 
 from the opposite direction, and passing on more 
 rapidly to the accompaniment of a loud-sound- 
 ing bell, a high-pitched voice calls defiantly, 
 "Muffins! Muffins!" When he has passed a 
 hoarse voice woos the neighbours with " 'Ta- 
 ters, all 'ot! All 'ot 'later si" The Muffin Man 
 can still be heard in the distance. 
 
 MONTE passes the window R. and goes to the front 
 door. The bell in the room just below door L. 
 25
 
 26 OUT THERE 
 
 rings. There is no response. It rings the sec- 
 ond time, and no one answers. As it rings the 
 third time a tall, slim, flashily-dressed girl of 
 nineteen comes irritably out of an inner room, 
 opens the door into the passage, goes out, and 
 opens the street door as far as the chain will 
 allow. Her boots creak noisily as she walks. 
 Standing on the doorstep is a little, active, good- 
 natured-looking young working-man of twenty- 
 three. He is in his "best" black clothes, has a 
 clean collar, black tie, and a straw hat with a 
 black band around it. 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Ooo is it? 
 
 MONTE. Monte. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, Gawd ! (She releases the door and 
 holds it open.) 'Ello, Monte! 
 
 MONTE. 'Ello, Princess! 
 
 LIZZIE. Can't come in. Ma's out. 
 
 MONTE. Oh, is she? (He turns sideways and 
 edges in.) 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas. I've got to be chappyroned with 
 you. 
 
 MONTE. (Edging his way into the passage) Ain't 
 'Erbin? (Closes front door.) 
 
 LIZZIE. No. Nor Annie. I'm all alone. 
 
 MONTE. (Grinning) Go on! Are ye? 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas. So clear out ! 
 
 MONTE. (Grins, pushes past her through the pass- 
 age, and turns at the door of the room.) Can't I 
 come in so far? 
 
 LIZZIE. (Getting between him and the room; de- 
 fiantly) I tell ye I'm on me lonesome. So get out ! 
 (With a gesture as if throtving out something un- 
 desirable.) 
 
 MONTE. (Creeping in a little further) This won't 
 'urt, will it? (He closes inner door.)
 
 L.IZZIE. 
 cheeky ! 
 MONTE. 
 LIZZIE. 
 MONTE. 
 LIZZIE. 
 MONTE. 
 LIZZIE. 
 MONTE. 
 LIZZIE. 
 MONTE. 
 LIZZIE. 
 
 'Ere. Wot yer doin' of ? You ain't 'arf 
 
 I got a new job, Princess. 
 (Indifferently) That so? 
 Yaas. Start Monday. 
 Wet as ? A mourner ? 
 Naa, makin' guns. 
 
 (Laughs derisively) Ha! That's funny! 
 Wot is ? 
 
 You makin' guns. 
 Wot's funny abaat it ? 
 (Laughing sneeringly) My! Pipe the 
 gun-maker! Little six-penn'orth-of-'a'pence. 
 
 MONTE. (Drawing himself up to his full five feet) 
 Naa, look 'ere. Tha's no wye t' talk. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh ! "Chise me, gals ! I'm makin' guns ! 
 I'm makin' guns." 
 
 MONTE. Yer think I can't? Eh? Come daan 
 and watch me. 
 
 LIZZIE. No, old dear. I goes t' the theaytre w'en 
 I wants t' laugh. 
 
 MONTE. Take care, Princess Lizzie! Don' pl'y 
 
 with me. 
 
 LIZZIE. 
 
 MONTE. 
 
 LIZZIE. 
 
 MONTE. 
 
 LIZZIE. 
 
 MONTE. 
 
 LIZZIE. 
 
 MONTE. 
 
 LIZZIE. 
 
 MONTE. 
 go t' Woolwich. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh ! 
 
 Go an' pl'y by y'rself. 
 
 'Cos I come raand t' see y'r ma. 
 O ? W'at abaat ? 
 
 'Er daughter. 
 Wot? Annie? 
 
 Naa, you! 
 Oh! Is that so? 
 
 Yaas. 
 W'at abaat me ? 
 
 (Nervously) Y' see, Monday I 
 T' the Arsenal. 
 Oh ! (Laughs. Sings) 
 
 got t' 
 
 "I'm workin' at the Arsenal. 
 The Arsenal ! The Arsenal !" 
 MONTE. Are yer finished ?
 
 28 OUT THERE 
 
 LIZZIE. O', you! 
 
 MONTE. An' I want t' know if y'r ma 'ould let 
 y' come along too. 
 
 LIZZIE. Ma let me? Let me! Wat's ma got t' 
 do with w'ere I go ? 
 
 MONTE. Well, yer see, yer brother 'Erb spoke to 
 me abaat you the other day, so I want t' be'ave like 
 a gen'leman. 
 
 LIZZIE. That 'ould take a bit o' doin'. Wouldn't 
 it? 
 
 MONTE. 'Ow abaat it, Princess? Are you will- 
 in' if y'r ma is? 
 
 LIZZIE. T' go t' Woolwich? W'at d'y' take me 
 for? 
 
 MONTE. I'll tike y' f'r anythin', Princess. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Scornfully) Is that so? 
 
 MONTE. Yaas, Liz. 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Ere! Not s* much of the "Liz"! 
 
 MONTE. We bin walkin' aat ! 
 
 LIZZIE. W'at of it? 
 
 MONTE. Y' don't like no one better? 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Ooo sez I don't? 
 
 MONTE. Do y'? 
 
 LIZZIE. W'at if I do? 
 
 MONTE. Gaan ! (Coaxingly) No, y' don' ! (Get- 
 ting a little nearer.) Y' got t' get tied up sometime. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, naow I ain't. I 'aven't 'ad my fling 
 yet. 
 
 MONTE. W'at fling? 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, there's lots I want t' do afore I chucks 
 meself a wye. 
 
 MONTE. Chucks y'rself ? Is that 'ow y' feel abaat 
 it? 
 
 LIZZIE. Wi' you ? Yaas. You're a gal's last 'ope. 
 
 MONTE. Oh, indeed? Is that 'ow y' feels abaat 
 me? 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas. It is.
 
 OUT THERE 29 
 
 MONTE. (Bitterly) Y' may be sorry f'r them 
 words if I tikes y' up on 'em. 
 
 LIZZIE. Well, tike me up on 'em ! I ain't seen 
 'alf nor done 'alf I wants t'. No dish-washin* an' 
 babies an' gin f'r me yet! I m'y come to it. Y' 
 never know y'r.luck! Then I'll drop y' a post- 
 card. 
 
 MONTE. That's a nice w'y t' talk o' marriage! 
 Wonder y' ain't ashamed ! Dish-washin', babies, an* 
 gin ! My word ! 
 
 LIZZIE. That's w'at it's bin f'r ma. She washes 
 th' dishes w'at's left of 'em. She 'ad three of us, 
 an* she's aout on a gin-crawl naow. Not f'r me. 
 Tike a walk, young man, tike a walk. 
 
 MONTE. This m'y be the last time I'll arst y'. 
 
 LIZZIE. I 'ope it is. 
 
 MONTE. There's lots o' gals in Woolwich. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Indifferently) I dess'y. 
 
 MONTE. (Changing his tone; goes over to her 
 coaxingly again) We've had some nice times. 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Ave we? 
 
 MONTE. Ain't we? 
 
 LIZZIE. Some might call 'em sich. 
 
 MONTE. (Touches her) W'at's the matter, Liz ? 
 
 LIZZIE. (Shaking herself free) Aow, let me 
 alone, cawn't y' ? 
 
 MONTE. They'll p'y me good money in Woolwich. 
 
 LIZZIE. Treat the Woolwich gals with it, then. 
 
 MONTE. (Despondently) Then it's no use waitin' 
 t' see y'r ma? 
 
 LIZZIE. Naow, it ain't. Don't suppose she'll be 
 able t' talk t' y' w'en she comes poor ol' "Gin-an'- 
 water" ! So 'op it. 
 
 MONTE. Ain't we goin' t' walk out no more? 
 
 LIZZIE. Not knowin', cawn't s'y not hinterested, 
 don't care ! ( MONTE stands disconsolately and gives 
 a deep sigh. LIZZIE laughing) You're a rum little 
 blighter!
 
 30 OUT THERE 
 
 MONTE. (Bitterly) Rum, am I? 
 
 LIZZIE. (With a sudden burst) Look 'ere, it's 
 no use talkin' t' me abaat marriage. I ain't that sort. 
 I don't want t' be tied up to a couple o' rooms an' a 
 biby every year. I seen too much of it. I got 'igher 
 ideas n'r that 
 
 MONTE. Oh, Liz 
 
 LIZZIE. I earns me w'y, an' I does as I likes. They 
 don't call me "Princess" at the factory f'r nothin'. 
 (Wets her finger and sticks the curl down on her 
 forehead.) I'm goin' t' do as I likes as long as I 
 likes. Wen I'm sick of it come raan again if y' 
 don' find a gal in Woolwich. 
 
 MONTE. All right, Princess. An' y're well nimed. 
 Y're waitin' for a bloomin' dook, ain't y' ? 
 
 LIZZIE. Wat if I am? (Sings.) 
 "Oh, 'e'll tike me t' ride in 'is bruffam, 'is bruffam, 
 A swell I'll be of the d'y." 
 Good-bye, Monte! 
 
 MONTE. An' t' think I loved y' once ! 
 
 LIZZIE. Don' let it keep y' awike. There's others. 
 Wat abaat me sister, Annie ? 
 
 MONTE. Annie ! (Opens door, quickly goes out, 
 then puts his head round door.) Goo'-bye, Eliza- 
 beth! (Closes door.) 
 
 LIZZIE. Tata ! Ferdinand ! 
 
 ( MONTE goes out through front door.) 
 
 'LizziE. (Goes to window and calls to him) Monte, 
 bring us a cannon from Woolwich, t' wear nex' me 
 'eart. (Laughs and sings.) 
 
 "I'm goin' t' work in the Arsenal ! 
 The Arsenal ! The Arsenal !" 
 
 (Moves away from the window, thinks frowningly 
 for a minute, gives a toss of the head. Picks up
 
 HES 
 HAPPY & 
 SATISFIED 
 
 Courtesy of White Studio 
 
 " 'AUXTED" AXXIE
 
 OUT THERE 31 
 
 hand mirror, looks at herself for a moment, and 
 goes bock to the inner room. 
 
 (In the far distance the criers call their wares. A 
 shrill, cheery vendor chirps, "Fine kipper! Nice 
 kipper! Sweet kipper! Pick 'em out where ye 
 like! Smell 'em, lidy! Sweet-scented, lovely 
 kipper! Fresh from the water! Fine kipper! 
 Sweet kipper! Lovely kipper! Where ye like! 
 Pick 'em out!" Very faintly can be heard the 
 barrel-organ. The outer door is opened by a 
 latch-key, and then the inner door opens, and a 
 young, thin, pale, wide-eyed girl, very quietly 
 dressed, comes in wearily. She goes to dresser 
 and gets hammer and some tacks, and tacks on 
 the door a recruiting poster she has brought in 
 with her. It is one of the famous recruiting 
 posters used in England during 1915. It rep- 
 resents the head of a smiling English soldier. 
 Above him the words, "Enlist to-day." Beneath 
 him, "He's Happy and Satisfied. Are You?" 
 She looks around the room, takes off her hat and 
 coat, puts them down on the chest of drawers, 
 takes out a key, opens a drawer with it, takes 
 out of the drawer some needlework, sits beside 
 the window so as to get the light, and begins to 
 sew feverishly. After a few moments LIZZIE 
 looks in.) 
 
 LIZZIE. I thought I 'card the door go. 
 
 ANNIE. Y'ref 'ome early? 
 
 LIZZIE. Wat of it? 
 
 ANNIE. Nothin'. 
 
 LIZZIE. Coin' t' the theaytre. 
 
 ANNIE. Are ye? 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas. 
 
 ANNIE. With Monte? 
 
 LIZZIE. (Disdainfully) Monte! Naow! Little 
 shrimp !
 
 32 OUT THERE 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, Liz! 
 
 LIZZIE. 'E was all right w'ile it lasted. Got a 
 noo feller now. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh? 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas. He travels for a doll factory. 
 
 ANNIE. Were did y' meet 'im? 
 
 LIZZIE. One o' the gals. 
 
 ANNIE. I liked Monte. 
 
 LIZZIE. You would. Well, y' can 'ave 'im. 
 
 ANNIE. (Just looks at her. Goes on sewing) 
 Mother in? 
 
 LIZZIE. Naow. Aat doin' the rounds. 
 
 ANNIE. She oughtn't t' be out so much, an' she 
 like she is. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Taking a "bottle off the dresser, shaking 
 it and holding it up.) That's w'y! All 'er "vel- 
 vet's" gone. Makes me sick! I want t' git aat o' 
 this travel abaat. My feller does, all the time. Up 
 an' daan the country. That's livin' ', that is. 'Stead 
 o' stickin' abaat. Ma makes me sick. Ol* soak! 
 
 ANNIE. It's all the comfort she's got. Don' 
 grudge it. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Looking at ANNIE, disgustedly) I do 
 grudge it. Nice plice t' come 'ome to! You an' 
 mother! One alwa's sewin', an' the other alwa's 
 swillin'. (Sings as she sits on the table dangling her 
 feet) 
 
 "I wants a tiddley, a tiddley-iddley-iddley. 
 
 I wants a tiddley naow an' then." 
 Wat are y* sewin' ? 
 
 ANNIE. Rags. 
 
 'LizziE. (Laughs contemptuously) Yaas! All 
 you'll ever 'ave! Sittin' around doin' nothin' sew- 
 in'! Wy don't y' go aat an' git work? 
 
 ANNIE. I've bin 'most every d'y. Cawn't git 
 nothin' just naow. 
 
 LIZZIE. No wonder ! With a fice like that ! Gives 
 me the fair 'ump t' look at y'. Y're " 'Aunted An-
 
 OUT THERE 33 
 
 me," an* no mistake. Wat's come over y'? Y' 
 used t' laugh once. 
 
 ANNIE. I don' feel like laughin' jus' naow. 
 
 LIZZIE. W'y? 'Cos y'r feller's gone? 
 
 ANNIE. No. I'm glad o' that. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, are yer? You an' Ma! Gi' me the 
 pip! (Goes over and stands looking dorvn at AN- 
 NIE. ) F'r Gawd's sake w'at -is that there ye're work- 
 in' at? (Tries to snatch it.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Rolls it up, stands up, and faces her) 
 Never you mind ! 
 
 LIZZIE. W'y won't y' show it? 
 
 ANNIE. 'Cos I won't 'ave y' laughin' at me. 
 That's w'y! Y' alwa's laugh at everything I do. 
 
 LIZZIE. W'y shouldn't I? Ain't ye my sister? 
 'Oo are you not t' be laughed at ? 
 
 ANNIE. Y'r not goin' t' laugh at this. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, ain't I? 
 
 ANNIE. No. You ain't. 
 
 LIZZIE. Le' me see. (She tries to snatch it.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Warningly) You keep y'r 'ands off ! 
 
 LIZZIE. Is it y'r bloomin' trousseau, eh? Give it 
 me! (She seizes it. They struggle for it.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Frantically) Le' go! Le' go! 
 
 (LizziE gives it a twist.) 
 ANNIE. Don't y' tear it ! 
 
 (LizziE gives it another twist.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Begins to cry) Please don't tear it! 
 
 (LizziE nearly pulls it from her.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Fiercely) If y' tear it I'll kill y', so I 
 will ! (Beats at her furiously until she completely 
 cows her. Then pushes her away, glaring ferociously
 
 34 OUT THERE 
 
 at her.) I'm sorry if I 'urt yer. You keep away 
 from this and from me or you'll be sorry. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Snivelling. Thoroughly frightened.) I 
 didn' mean nothin'! (Backing away to a safe dis- 
 tance.) 
 
 ANNIE. I've 'ad enough of y'r gibes an' sneers. 
 You let me alone ! 
 
 LIZZIE. (Recovering herself a little) I s'y ! Wat 
 a temper! (Rubbing her shoulder where ANNIE 
 struck her.) An' ain't we strong? Y' ougbt t' be 
 a bruiser like 'Erb. That's w'at you ought t' be. 
 A bloomin' fighter ! 
 
 ANNIE. (Smoothing out the work they had iust 
 fought over) I'd like t' be a fighter. If I was 'Erb 
 I would be. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh! Is that so? 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas. That's so! If I was 'Erb, I 
 wouldn' be loafin' round 'ere. I'd go out and fight 
 proper. (Goes to drawer, puts the work in, locks 
 the drawer and puts the key in her pocket.) 
 
 (The door swings open, and a young, active wan, 
 about twenty-four, strongly built, wearing a light 
 tweed suit a good deal the worse for wear, a 
 woollen muffler, and a cricket cap on the back 
 of his head, stands in 'the doorway. His right 
 eye is slightly discoloured.) 
 
 "LizziE. 'Ere 'e is. Nah tell 'im w'at y' said. 
 
 'ERB. Tell me w'at? 
 
 LIZZIE. She says you ought t' be fightin'. Didn't 
 y' now? 
 
 ANNIE. Yes, I did. An' 'e knows 'e ought t' be. 
 
 'ERB. I 'ave bin. Pipe the lamp ? (Touches his 
 eye.) 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, I s'y ! Oh ! Look at 'is eye ! 
 
 'ERB. Never mind about my eye. Y' should 'a' 
 seen 'is. Both on 'em!
 
 OUT THERE 35 
 
 LIZZIE. Did y' win? 
 
 'ERB. Yaas. Knocked 'im stone cold in the fi'th 
 raound. (Takes out some coins.) See? Money t' 
 spend ! 
 
 LIZZIE. (Tries to snatch it. Admiringly) My! 
 You ain't 'alf all right! 
 
 'ERB. (Takes out a small flask) Forma! 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, "Velvet" ? (Takes flask^ from him.) 
 
 'ERB. Yaas. Keep 'er goin' f'r a bit! (LizziE 
 places flask in dresser.) An' s'y ! (Pulls out a paper 
 package.) Chuck that under y'r chin. (Throws it 
 at her.) 
 
 LIZZIE. (Catches it, unwraps it, and produces a 
 bright red ribbon.) Much obliged, I'm sure, 'Erb. 
 I'll wear it at the theaytre tonight. (Ties it, and 
 looks at herself in the cracked hand-mirror.) 
 
 'ERB. Saw it in a winder. Thought it 'ould be 
 y'r fancy. (Looks at ANNIE.J I ain't brought you 
 nothin'. 
 
 ANNIE. All right, 'Erb. 
 
 'ERB. Wat was y' s'ying abaat me? 
 
 LIZZIE. She was s'ying if she was you she'd be 
 fightin'. 
 
 'ERB. Oh, did ye? 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas. I did. An' I would be, too. 
 
 *ERB. You shut yer trap abaat me. 
 
 ANNIE. Wouldn't it be better t' be fightin' a lot 
 o' brutes f'r y'r country than 'ittin' one o' y'r own 
 kind f'r a few shillin's ? 
 
 'ERB. That's my business. See? An' y' can take 
 it from me now, I'm not goin'. See? 
 
 ANNIE. Yes, y' will. You'll go. By-and-bye. 
 
 'ERB. If they want me let 'em come an' fetch me. 
 
 ANNIE. They want y', all right. And lots more, 
 too. An' they'll fetch y' w'en the time comes. But 
 I don' want y' t' go becos y've bin fetched. I want 
 y' t' go becos y've got the call in y'r mind. Becos,
 
 36 OUT THERE 
 
 'Erb, y' are needed. Y' know they need y'. (She 
 looks straight at him.) 
 
 'ERB. (Shrugs his shoulders and turns away from 
 her. Points to the picture of the soldier on the wall.) 
 Father was needed, wasn't he? 
 
 ANNIE. An' 'e went. 
 
 'ERB. Yaas, an' got killed. An' w'at did a grite- 
 ful country do f'r 'is wife an' kids? Eh? Answer 
 me that! 
 
 ANNIE. We've got along, 'Erb. 
 
 'ERB. Yaas, an' they can git along without me, 
 same as we 'ave without them. 'Ow old was 'e 
 w'en 'e went? Thirty-five! That's w'at 'e was. 
 Prime o' life! Cut orf by a Boer bullit, an' buried 
 Gawd knows w'ere. None o' that f'r me ! Me life's 
 me own. See? I wan it. Let them as likes go. 
 - Not me ! 
 
 ANNIE. I don't like t' 'ear y' talk like that. Y'r 
 life belongs t' the country y' was born in, 'Erb. 
 
 'ERB. Naow, you leave off naggin'! See? 'Cos 
 I ain't goin'. It's all very fine for a parcel o' women 
 t' be shaatin', "Go ! Go ! Go !" W'at are you do- 
 in', eh? 
 
 ANNIE. I'd do my bit if they'd let me. 
 
 'ERB. (Turns his head and looks at her for a sec- 
 ond) A fat lot you'd do! 
 
 ANNIE. I would. (With a sudden thought.) If 
 I did go, would y' go ? 
 
 'ERB. You! (Laughs.) Ho! Bli' me! She'd 
 run away from a pop-gun. 
 
 ANNIE. No, I wouldn't. If I did go, would y' 
 go? 
 
 'ERB. Naow, look 'ere, y' nagged the feller y' 
 was walkin' aat with inta goin', but y' ain't goin' to 
 me. 
 
 ANNIE. I didn' nag Dick. 
 
 'ERB. Yaas, y' did. Y' was alwa's at 'im. 
 
 ANNIE. I'm sorry y' think that. 'E didn' need
 
 OUT THERE 37 
 
 any naggin'. We jus* talked it over, quiet-like, an* 
 nex' day 'e 'listed. (Pause.) If I did go, would you 
 go? If I could git aat there, somehow (Leaning 
 over him) would y' go? (She touches his shoul- 
 der.) 
 
 'ERB. Oh, shut up ! 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Oo's goin' t' tike care o' ma an' me if 
 'Erb went, I'd like t' know? 
 
 ANNIE. You're in a good job. Mother's got 'er 
 bit o' pension. 
 
 LIZZIE. Pension! My word! 'Ardly keeps 'er 
 in gin! You let 'Erb alone! There's plenty of 
 others. 
 
 ANNIE. (Earnestly to 'Ens, her eyes distended. 
 She "kneels with one knee on couch.) If I did go, 
 would y' go ? 
 
 'ERB. (Uneasily, draws back, looking at ANNIE j 
 'Ark at 'er ! (Turns to LIZZIE .) She do look 'aunted, 
 don' she? (Turns again to ANNIE.J 
 
 LIZZIE. Daft, I calls 'er. (They are both look- 
 ing at ANNIE.) 
 
 ANNIE. I am 'aunted, 'Erb. I think it must be 
 becos father went that w'y. 'E 'ad the call an' 'e 
 answered it, an* I'm sure 'e's 'appier becos 'e did. 
 It don' seem fair to them aat there t' be 'olding back. 
 If I did go, 'Erb would you go? 
 
 'ERB. You go aat there, an' I'll 
 
 ANNIE. Y'll go? 
 
 'ERB. I'll see abaat it. (He rises without taking 
 his eyes off ANNIE, and backs away to LIZZIE for 
 protection. Takes her hand.) 
 
 (There is a knock at the outer door. There is a 
 pause; no one moves. The silence is broken by 
 a second knock. ANNIE goes over to chest of 
 drawers, and arranges sewing. 'ERB is just 
 about to answer knock when he sees poster.)
 
 38 OUT THERE 
 
 'RB. 'Ere, 'oo put that there? 
 ANNIE. I did. (Sits and starts to sew.) 
 'ERB. Oh! 
 
 (The house bell rings. 'ERB slouches over and 
 throws the door open. DR. HANWELL, a tall, 
 genial, polished, distinguished man of fifty-five, 
 is standing outside.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. May I come in? 
 
 'ERB. Yaas, y' m'y. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Thank ye! (Conies in through 
 the inner door, takes off his hat, bows to th<* two 
 girls, turns around to 'ERB just as that young gen- 
 tleman slams the door and slouches back, and smiles 
 at him.) You did very well in putting that boy out 
 last night, my lad. 
 
 'ERB. An' w'y shouldn't I, young feller-me-lad 
 y'rself? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. 'Why shouldn't you? You're a 
 born fighter. (There is an awkward pause. 'RB 
 says "O" and goes over to LIZZIE. DR. HANWELL 
 to ANNIEJ How is your mother? 
 
 ANNIE. Better, thank ye, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Is she in? 
 
 ANNIE. No, sir. She just stepped out a little 
 while ago. She won* be long. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Holding up the empty bottle) Doctor, 
 the bottle was empty, so she went out to get some 
 gin. (Goes into inner room.) 
 
 'ERB. W'y didn' she wait for me? (Holds up 
 the flask he brought.) I got 'er one, and full o' 
 "Velvet." (He follows LIZZIE out, slamming the 
 door.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It's a pity your mother is not in. 
 I should have liked to see her. This is my last visit. 
 
 ANNIE. (Wide-eyed and disappointed) Is it? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. I'm off tomorrow.
 
 OUT THERE 39 
 
 ANNIE. (Rises) Off? (With a gasp) Not to 
 
 not to (Breaks off, makes a gesture indicating 
 
 a long way off.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiling) "Somewhere in 
 France." 
 
 ANNIE. (Enthusiastically) Oh! Are ye? 'Ors- 
 pital work? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. (Yearningly) Lots o' nurses goin', I 
 expect ? 
 
 DR. HAWELL. Yes. ( ANNIE sighs and sits again.) 
 I thought I'd run in and se'e your mother while I 
 was down here, though she was going on very well 
 last week. 
 
 ANNIE. She's pretty well now, sir. All the cuts 
 are 'ealed up. 'Er 'ead troubles 'er, though. I 
 didn' want 'er t' go aat t'd'y. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Oh, fresh air is good for her. 
 
 ANNIE. It ain't very fresh w'ere she goes, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Where's that? 
 
 ANNIE. (Wistfully) The "Mother Red Cap." 
 That's 'er favourite Public House. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiles, shakes his head) What 
 a pity! 
 
 ANNIE. She meets 'er friends, y' know. Pretty 
 lonely f'r 'er 'ere w'en we're all aw'y. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Was she coming from the 
 "Mother Red Cap" when she was run over? 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, sir. (Hurriedly) Oh, but she was 
 all right. She alwa's is. It was the chauffeur's 
 fault. An' the street's that dark since the war's on. 
 'E might 'a' got any one, the rate 'e was goin'. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. There was no trace of liquor on 
 her when she was brought into the hospital. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, there never is. She carries her gin 
 very well. Done it all 'er life. Says it kind o' 
 preserves 'er.
 
 40 OUT THERE 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. (Smiling) Alcohol can preserve. 
 It can also destroy, my girl. 
 
 ANNIE. (Smiling sadly) Mother's one o' the 
 preserved. Wen I was workin', gettin' good money, 
 too, I 'ad all this fitted up like a private bar, so as t' 
 keep 'er in. Got in everythin' she wanted, an' some 
 extry glarses f'r 'er friends. Didn't last. (Sadly.) 
 D'y' know w'at I think it was? (DR. HANWELL 
 shakes his head.) She missed the bright lights an' 
 the noise, and the sawdust on the floor. No 'ome is 
 in it with a public 'ouse once y' git the 'abit. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I suppose not. I'm glad to hear 
 she's going on so well. 
 
 ANNIE. (Rises) Won't we see yer after termor- 
 row? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No. 
 
 ANNIE. It's bin very kind of y' t' come round 
 after 'er, sir. W'y 'ave y' done it? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I happened to be in charge at 
 the hospital when she was brought in. I like to see 
 a case right through if I can. 
 
 ANNIE. Don't y' charge anythin' f'r it? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No. not this end of the town. I 
 get all I want out of the other end. (Smiling.) 
 The West End. 
 
 ANNIE. You'll be missed round 'ere, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Laughs) I'm wanted out there. 
 Besides, some one will take my place. You'll not 
 be neglected. (His hand on door knob.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Suddenly and vehemently) Oh, Doctor, 
 Doctor! I cawn't bear t' be lef be'ind! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Astonished) Left? 
 
 ANNIE. You're goin' t' do somethin' f'r your 
 country. I'm 'ere doin' nothin' nothin'! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. There will be plenty for every 
 one to do presently. Every class will have to do its 
 share. 
 
 ANNIE. But I don' want t' wait. (Earnestly)
 
 OUT THERE 41 
 
 I want t' begin naow. Take me with ye. Will ye ? 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. Take you"? 
 
 ANNIE. (Nods) Aat there. Will ye? I want 
 t' 'elp. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. How? 
 
 ANNIE. I want t' be a nurse. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. That's impossible. 
 
 ANNIE. W'y is it? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You have had no training. 
 
 ANNIE. I'll learn. Learn fast, too. I'm very 
 quick. Please take me. I'll begin at the bottom. 
 I'll scrub floors wash their clo'es tear up bandages 
 anything jus' t' be near 'em. I want t' be close t' 
 the fellers who're gettin' wounded f'r us. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. My good girl 
 
 ANNIE. I've done a bit o' nursin' here, right in 
 this room. Wen mother was all cut abaat I 'elped 
 ter bind 'er up, didn't I ? Y' said once I 'ad the right 
 'ands for a nurse ; an' the kind o' voice : that me 
 place -was at a bedside. W'as y' kiddin' me? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No. But it's very different nurs- 
 ing your mother 
 
 ANNIE. If I could do it f'r 'er, w'y couldn't I 
 do it f'r them? Do let me go. I want to be among 
 'em. It's 'orrible t' sit 'ere 'elpless. D' y' know 
 w't 'appened t' my father in Africa? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Killed? 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas. But 'e needn't 'a' bin. 'E laid 
 all d'y with a bullit in 'im. No one t' give 'im a 
 drop o' water or anythin'. Wen they found 'im it 
 was too late. I might find some one like that an' 
 save 'em. Let me go just as a water-carrier. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. But you've had no experience. 
 
 ANNIE. Wat experience 'ave the fine lidies got 
 *oo are goin' aat all the time? W'at d' they know 
 that I cawn't learn? They go f'r the excitement 
 an' t' get their fices in the paper. Does any one arst 
 them w'at experience they've 'ad? 'Ow d' they git
 
 42 OUT THERE 
 
 aat? Becos they're rich an' know people. I only 
 knows you. Do somethin' f'r me. I don' want no 
 pay jus' me keep. I'll go on till I drop. Wat can 
 them lidies do that I cawn't? If one of 'em gits a 
 stitch in 'er side she goes back 'ome, an' then she's 
 an 'ero. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You mustn't say that. Some of 
 the finest people in the country are working nobly 
 out there. No sacrifice is too great. 
 
 ANNIE. That's it. The rich can mike sacrifices. 
 W'y cawn't the poor? W'y cawn't I ? Oh, ever since 
 it started the thought's bin beatin' in me, d'y an* 
 night, "Git aat there. Y've got t' git aat there!" 
 (Pleading) Y' might tike a chance with me. I'd 
 be no trouble. Cheer 'em up, too ! I can sing a bit. 
 Dance, too ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiling) Oh? 
 
 ANNIE. Afore it all started I used t* be quite 
 cheerful. It's only since it broke aat I'm like this. 
 " 'Aunted Annie" they calls me naow. 'Cos I'm 
 alwa's seein' things. Aat there I'd be as 'appy as 
 anythin' reely I would! Make 'em laugh, I would. 
 See if I wouldn't! (With a little hopeless effort to 
 smile; but her anxiety is so great she almost sobs.) 
 I'd keep their minds orf theirselves. I know two 
 funny stories. D'yer ever 'ear that one abaat the 
 feller as was standing up against a lamp-post and a 
 hofficer comes along and says : " 'Ere, young feller 
 me lad, w'y ain't yer at the front? W'y ain't 
 yer fighting for yer country ? W'y don't yer enlist ?" 
 And the feller says to the hofficer, 'e says: "Wot? 
 Bli' me! Me enlist? Wiv this bloomin' war goin' 
 'on?" 
 
 (DR. HANWELL laughs.) 
 
 ANNIE. And, d'yer 'ear the one abaat the soldier 
 in the 'orspital ? 'E says to the nurse : "Wot's this
 
 OUT THERE 43 
 
 'ere on my fore'ead?" An' the nurse says: "A 
 vinegar bandage." And 'e says : "Bli'me ! Vinegar ! 
 Wot's this 'ere on my chest ?" An' the nurse says : 
 "A mustard plarster." An' 'e says : "Bli'me ! Mus- 
 tard! Wot's this 'ere on my feet?" An' the nurse 
 says : " 'Ot salt bag." An' 'e says : "Bli'me ! Vine- 
 gar! Mustard! Salt! W'y not pour some pepper 
 in me 'ear-'ole and make me a bloomin' cruet?" 
 
 (DR. HAN WELL laughs, and moves toward door.) 
 
 ANNIE. Ain't they funny enough ? (With a great 
 cry.) Oh, Doctor, I want t' do somethin' (Beat- 
 ing her hands helplessly. Her voice fails her. She 
 sits on couch, covers her eyes.) If ye'd only tike 
 me! If y'd only do it! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Puts his hand on her shoulder) 
 Why not get into one of the munition factories? 
 You'd be helping there. I'm sure I could do some- 
 thing like that for you. 
 
 ANNIE. (Blazing up fiercely. Forgetting her 
 tears.) Them as cawn't feel nothin' can do that. 
 But I want t' be near the fellers who's fightin' f'r 
 us. I'm not afraid o' blood. Y' know that. Mother 
 bled. I didn' mind it. I bound 'er up. An' you 
 standin' by. An' she used t' moan all night, an I'd 
 soothe 'er an' mike 'er sleep. That's w'at I want t' 
 do aat there. (Passionately.) Oh, cawn't y' see ? I 
 want t' git at the real 'eart of it all. I'm alwa's 
 thinkin' of it all d'y, an' 'alf the night. Wen I do 
 sleep I dream of it. I'm a real nurse every night 
 for a bit. An' then I wikes up t' this. (All the 
 time searching her brain for fresh reasons why he 
 should take her.) An' see ! Wait a minit ! I mus' 
 show y' ! This is 'ow much I've bin thinkin' of it ! 
 (As she speaks she hurriedly opens the drawer and 
 takes out the work over which she fought with her 
 sister. She takes it over to the DOCTOR, opens it out,
 
 44 OUT THERE 
 
 and discloses a nurse's dress, made of cheap material, 
 and a cap. She looks up expectantly at the DOCTOR, 
 her eyes shining, her whole manner expectant, as 
 though they were triumphant provf of her right to 
 go "out there.") Made 'em meself, aat o' w'at I 
 sived. Got a cap, too. wiv a crorse on it ! (Shows 
 cap. Pause.) Are they all right? (Pause.) Eh? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Very embarrassed) They're 
 very charming 
 
 ANNIE. (Quickly) Oh, no, they're not. Not 'alf 
 good enough! I know that. But they're the best I 
 could manage. They'd do at first wouldn't they? 
 (Anxiously.) Till I could get real ones? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You couldn't wear them until 
 you'd passed the probationary period. 
 
 ANNIE. (Hopelessly and dejectedly) Couldn't I? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No. It's a uniform, the same as 
 a soldier's. And a very honourable one. 
 
 ANNIE. I'd do nothin' t' shime it. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I'm sure of that. 
 
 ANNIE. Cawn't y' take me ? (Almost in despair.) 
 Or send me? Or 'elp me t' go? Some'ow? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I'll see what can be done. 
 
 ANNIE. (Jumping at the chance) Oh, Doctor 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Quickly) I can't promise any- 
 think will, come of it. You've got the right stuff, 
 my girl ! (Smiling.) The women behind us are go- 
 ing to win for us. 
 
 ANNIE. I'll win f'r y'. I mean as 'ow I'll 'elp 
 ye ter win. Y' will try? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. Soon? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It will have to be. 
 
 ANNIE. (Persevering) D' y' think y' can man- 
 age it? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiling at her perseverance) 
 If it is possible.
 
 OUT THERE 45 
 
 ANNIE. (Just touching his arm) Y' don't know 
 w'at it'd mean t' me. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Picks up the cap from the table, 
 looks at it, then at ANNIE.) I think I do. (Mov- 
 ing to door, and catching sight of poster.) Hello! 
 
 ANNIE, (t^urriedly) I put that there. Would 
 y' mind speakin' t' my brother? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. What about? 
 
 ANNIE. Abaat that. 'E ought t' be aat there. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. He certainly ought to be. 
 
 ANNIE. 'E won't go. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Why not? 
 
 ANNIE. I dunno. Oh, it ain't becos 'e's fright- 
 ened. 'E ain't afraid of no one. I think it's becos 
 o' father lyin' there till 'e died. 'E's kind o' bitter 
 abaat that. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. The fortune of war. 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas. Would y' mind speakin' t' him? 
 My feller's gorn. Y' know Dick. My sweet'eart. 
 Y've seen 'im 'ere. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Oh, yes. Has he, indeed? 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas. 'E didn' want to very much, but 
 I said I wouldn't speak to 'im ag'in if 'e didn't. So 
 'e went. Seemed quite 'appy, too, once 'e'd made 
 up 'is mind. That's all it is jus' makin' up y'r 
 mind. Then noth'n' seems 'ard. -(DOCTOR laughs 
 quietly.) See 'ow 'appy you are t' be goin' aat! So 
 w'd / be. It ain't enough makin' other people do 
 things. The praad part is doin' 'em y'rself. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Quite right. You ought to be a 
 recruiting sergeant. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, I'd 'ate meself all me life if anythin' 
 'appened t' the country an' I'd done nothin'. It'd 
 seem as though it was my fault. 'Course I know 
 nothin' will. We'll win. We got to win. Bli' me! 
 An' w'en we do, 'ow rotten it'll be f'r 'Erb and the 
 kind that go t' the street corner w'en the fellers 
 come back an' scream, "We won !" w'en they've done
 
 46 OUT THERE 
 
 nothin' f'r it. An' w'en they've done shoutin' they'll 
 skulk back t' their little dark beds an' cry their eyes 
 aat 'cos they shirked an' never took the chance they 
 'ad t' mike theirselves great. Muck! That's w'at 
 they'll feel. Just muck! (The street door slams.) 
 
 (The door opens, and ANNIE'S mother enters, a little 
 unsteadily. She is a dark, untidy, middle-aged 
 woman, shabbily dressed, her bonnet somewhat 
 askew, a large shawl wrapped around her, in- 
 side of which she is firmly holding something. 
 She is familiarly known as "Ol' Velvet," be- 
 cause of her partiality to the beverage known 
 by that nickname gin.) 
 
 "VELVET." (To ANNIE) There y' are, dearie. 
 
 ANNIE. (Goes to her and warns her that the DOC- 
 TOR is in the room) The Doctor! 
 
 "VELVET." (When she sees the DOCTOR, she 
 draws herself up in intoxicated dignity.) An' the 
 Doctor. 'Onoured, I'm sure, sir. 
 
 ANNIE. Were 'ave y' bin. Mother? 
 
 "VELVET." Not afore the Doctor, darlin'. 
 
 ANNIE. I told 'im. 
 
 "VELVET." Did ye ? Hindeed ! Most himproper 
 of ye, I'm sure. 
 
 ANNIE. Was it the "Mother Red Cap" ? 
 
 "VELVET/' If y' must know, it was. An' w'at 
 of it? 
 
 ANNIE. O', nothing! (Takes her and tries to 
 help her.) 
 
 ("VELVET" very indignantly removes ANNIE'S hand 
 from her arm and walks very unsteadily to 
 couch.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Seating her on couch.) Gi'e me y'r 
 shawl. (Trying to take it.)
 
 6UT THERE 47 
 
 "VELVET." No, thank ye. 
 
 ANNIE. W'y not? 
 
 "VELVET/' I'm chilly, dearie. (Beams at DOC- 
 TOR. Winks at ANNIE, indicating the DOCTOR, and 
 also the something hidden under the shawl.) 
 
 ANNIE. Tie orf y'r bonnit. 
 
 "VELVET." Not before the Doctor. Ain't you 
 ashamed ? 
 
 ANNIE. Well, take orf yer gloves. 
 
 "VELVET/' Not before the Doctor. 
 
 ANNIE. Just one. (She pulls off the glove by the 
 fingers.) Naa, the other one. (She pulls it off.) 
 Wat's this? (Touching the hidden something under 
 the shawl.) 
 
 "VELVET." Now, never you mind. (Whispers) 
 Wait till 'e's gorn. Wat's that y're 'oldin', dearie? 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, a few things. (To DR. HANWELL,) 
 Can y' wait a minnit more? 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. (Smiling) Well, perhaps five. 
 
 ANNIE. Will y' speak to 'Erb? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Very well. 
 
 "VELVET." W'at are y' w'isperin' abaat? (AN- 
 NIE goes to door of inner room.) Ah ! (Shakes her 
 finger at the DOCTOR.^ Secrets, eh? You're the art- 
 ful ones you doctors! (Coughs genteelly behind 
 her hand and winks at him.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Speaking through the open door) 'Erb ! 
 
 'ERB. (In inner room) W'at? 
 
 ANNIE. Come in 'ere, will ye? 
 
 'ERB. W'at for? 
 
 ANNIE. Doctor wants t' talk t' y'. 
 
 'ERB. Oh, all right ! 
 
 ANNIE. (Turning away from door, looks at her 
 mother. Crosses to the DOCTOR. ) Make 'im go. 
 (Passes into the other room.) 
 
 "VELVET." (Winks at the DOCTOR and indicates 
 ANNIE. J Saucy ain't she? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. And how are you feeling today ?
 
 48 OUT THERE 
 
 "VELVET." I don' know, Doctor. Got a kind o' 
 sinkin'. 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. Where? 
 
 "VELVET." All-overish. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Take a deep breath. (Bending 
 down.) Now breathe heavily outwards. (She does. 
 He sniffs.) Is it gin? 
 
 "VELVET." W'y, 'ow did y' guess? You know 
 everythin', you doctors. It don't 'urt me. Does me 
 'eart good. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Does it? 
 
 "VELVET." Oh, a lot o' good. That's w'y they 
 calls it "Velvet." So sorft an' nice. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Takes her wrist and looks at his 
 watch. "VELVET" beams at DOCTOR as he touches 
 her wrist.) Your head's all nicely healed up ? 
 
 "VELVET." Ofside, sir, it's all right. But mside, 
 sir ! Oh, my word ! Seems to all wobble abaat. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Does it, indeed? 
 
 "VELVET/' Yaas, sir. All jumpin'-like, down at 
 the back. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Ah! (Closing the watch and re- 
 leasing her wrist.) 
 
 "VELVET." Is me pulse all right ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Splendid! This is the last time 
 I shall see you. 
 
 "VELVET." Oh, but I ain't well yet. Not really 
 well. Besides, if I was, I likes y' comin' round. 
 (Looking coyly at him.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You can drop in at the hospital 
 and see Dr. Barnett. He takes my place. I'm go- 
 ing away. 
 
 "VELVET." Are ye, dearie? I mean, Doctor? I 
 beg y'r pardon, I'm sure. Careless of me. Coin' 
 aw'y, eh? Got a better job? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Get all the air you can. And 
 not quite so much "velvet." 
 
 "VELVET." Oh, a drop now and then keeps the
 
 OUT THERE 49 
 
 blues aw'y. An' the 'eartburn. I git that somethin' 
 chronic. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. A glass of plain hot water would 
 stop them both. 
 
 "VELVET." Wat I tike wouldn't 'urt a fly reely 
 it wouldn't, dea Doctor. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It's hurting you. 
 
 "VELVET/' Ah! I see. / know. You ain' got 
 no sympathy with the workin' clarses. Y're all alike. 
 Want t' tike aw'y their little drop o' comfort. An* 
 all the trouble I've 'ad ! No one knows w'at we 'ave 
 to put up with from our families. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You haven't much to complain of. 
 
 "VELVET/' Oh! 'Ark at 'im! W'at oh! I've 
 slaved all me life since me pore 'usband got took 
 orf a-bringin' of 'em up an' w'at 'ave I got? This 
 'ole t' live in. Look at it! Gives me the pip t' 
 come into it. (With great dignity.) I come of car- 
 riage-folk in me own right, I do. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Oh! 
 
 "VELVET." An' me 'usband 'ad estates, if they 
 'adn't took 'em from ! im. You know, under-'and- 
 like. Ever 'ear o' the 'Udds of 'Uddersfield ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No. 
 
 VELVET. Well, that's 'im. (Bitterly.) My 
 fem'ly ! It's like pullin' teeth gettin' a shillin' aat o' 
 them. That's w'at children are tod'y. 'Erb picks 
 up a bit fightin' an' comes home with a fice like a 
 bit o' beef. 'E ought t' be in a steady job, an' lookin' 
 after me proper. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. He ought to be in the army. 
 
 "VELVET." Oh, no, 'e oughtn't. Oh, indeed no! 
 'E 'ates walkin', an' the food wouldn't suit 'im. 'E's 
 got t' be very p'rtic'l'r w'at 'e eats on account of 'is 
 wind. (Hiccoughs.) 'E don't tike after 'is pa no- 
 'ow. More like me. (Hiccoughs.) Begging yer 
 pardon, I'm sure. One soldier's enough in the fem- 
 'ly, an' 'im took orf in 'is prime. 'Erb couldn't stan'
 
 SO OUT THERE 
 
 bein' ordered abaat. Oh, no ! Don' git that idea in 
 y'r 'ead. 'E's small use t' me, but w'at 'e is I wants. 
 I'd git nothin' if 'e went avv'y enjoyin' 'isself aat 
 there. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You ought to send him away. 
 
 "VELVET." Oh! Oh! There goes me 'eart! 
 (Moistens her lips.) Would y' mind if I took a 
 little? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. A little what ? 
 
 "VELVET/' "Velvet," dear Doctor. "Mother's 
 ruin," they calls it. May I? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Try some hot water. 
 
 "VELVET." 'Ot water? Bli' me! Ain't I got 
 trouble enough? You are cruel, ain't ye? Just a 
 spoonful, eh? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I don't prescribe it. 
 
 "VELVET." I knew y' wouldn't tike aw'y a pore 
 woman's stand-by. (Taking out a flat gin bottle 
 from under her shawl, extracting the cork, wiping 
 her lips, and holding up the bottle to the DOCTOR.) 
 W'at oh ! (Drinks it long and steadily.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Steady! (Touches her arm.) 
 
 "VELVET." (Gasping and choking) Very weak! 
 'Ardly tiste it! (Starts to drink again.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Takes the bottle from her and 
 puts it on the dresser) That will do for the pres- 
 ent. 
 
 "VELVET." 'Ave it y'r own w'y- Me 'cart's better 
 awready. 
 
 ('ERB comes in, his face shining from recent wash- 
 ing, followed by LIZZIE, who has her hat on, 
 and wears the new ribbon round her neck.) 
 
 'Ello, Ma! Guess w'at I've brought ye. 
 (Picks the flask off the dresser and holds it out to 
 her.) 
 "VELVET." W'at is it, 'Erb?
 
 OUT THERE 51 
 
 'ERB. "W'ite Sat V ol' dear! 
 
 "VELVET/' Naow ain't that nice of ye? 
 
 'ERB. Strongest they've got. It'll ticlile ye up. 
 (He digs her in the ribs. She chokes and laughs. Is 
 about to take bottle from 'ERB when LIZZIE snatches 
 it out of his hand and places it on dresser.) 
 
 "VELVET/' {Laughing stupidly and coughing) 
 My word ! Y're pl'yful ! (She slaps his face with 
 some white feathers she has been holding.) 
 
 'ERB. 'Ere! Wat's this? 
 
 "VELVET." W'ite fevvers, dearie! 
 
 *ERB. For me? 
 
 "VELVET." Naow. Bought 'em at a sale. 
 
 'ERB. (Relieved) That's all right. None o' thet 
 "'Aunted Annie" stuff! (He goes to DOCTOR.,) 
 Want to see me ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes, I do. 
 
 'ERB. Wat abaat? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Why don't you enlist? 
 
 'ERB. 'Cos I don' want to. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You know what they'll call you 
 if you don't? 
 
 'ERB. Not to my fice, they won't ! If they do I'll 
 know what for, now then ! Be'ind me back they can 
 s'y w'at they like. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Why give them the chance to say 
 it anywhere? 
 
 'ERB. W'at business is it of yours, I like t' know ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It isn't only my business. It's 
 everybody's. 
 
 'ERB. Well, I'm not goin'. See? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It's young men like you will force 
 a condition that has never existed in the country be- 
 fore conscription. 
 
 'ERB. All right. Let it. Then I'll know the 
 other feller's goin'. Wy should I put meself abaat 
 w'en the next street's full o' fellers same as me ?
 
 52 OUT THERE 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Course it is. Bigger'n 'Erb, too. They 
 ought t' be ashimed o' theirselves. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Show them the example. 
 
 'ERB. Not me! 
 
 LIZZIE. I should s'y not ! The idea ! 
 
 "VELVET." Wy, Doctor, w'atever are y' askin' 
 of 'im? 
 
 'RB. Wat abaat y'rself ? Jus' recruitin', eh? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No, I'm going out. ('ERB and 
 LIZZIE exchange glances.) We're all in this job, old 
 and young, rich and poor. They'll need you. (To 
 
 'ERBj And you (To LIZZIE,) And you. (To 
 
 "VELVET.") 
 
 LIZZIE. (Rather afraid) Wat? Me? An' ma? 
 Fat lot o' good w'd be ! 
 
 "VELVET." I should s'y so ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. More good than you think. We'll 
 need every woman before we're finished. But for a 
 strong, healthy young fellow like you to be holding 
 back 
 
 'ERB. (Angrily) Look 'ere ! I've 'ad abaat 
 enough o' this ! 
 
 "VELVET." Don' be 'arsh with the Doctor, dearie. 
 'E's a nice gen'leman. But 'e don' understand y' 
 not likin' marchin' any more 'n 'e can understand me 
 wantin' a little somethin' t' tike aw'y the shivers. 
 
 LIZZIE. Wat's 'e got t' do with us, any w'y? Jus' 
 becos 'e patched ma up with plaster w'en she got 
 'erself run over don' give 'im the right t' come 'ere 
 an' tell us "w'at for." 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It's a pity you're not more like 
 your sister, young woman. 
 
 LIZZIE. Like Annie ? Gawd 'elp us ! Wat's she 
 doin', I'd like t' know? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. The wish is there. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Angrily) Oh, wish me foot! She's 
 very ready with 'er tongue, tellin' others w'at t' do. 
 W'y don' she do somethin' 'erself?
 
 OUT THERE 53 
 
 *ERB. Yaas. That's wot I say. She's sicked 'im 
 on t' me. She's alwa's barkin' at me. "Will y' go 
 aat if I go?" says she. Knows bloomin' well they 
 wouldn't tike a thing like 'er. (To DR. HANWELL 
 suddenly) See 'ere. You git 'er t' go, an' bli' me, 
 I'll 'list to-morrer. 
 
 (The faint sound of a band and the tramping of feet 
 is heard in the far distance. Drums and fifes 
 play "The Girl I Left Behind Me" DR. HAN- 
 WELL quietly picks up his hat and gloves. AN- 
 NIE comes in dressed in her cheap nurse's dress 
 and cap. All look at her in amazement. LIZZIE 
 and 'ERB burst out laughing. The mother be- 
 gins to cry.) 
 
 *ERB. Oh, look at Nurse Nightingale ! 
 LIZZIE. " 'Aunted Annie" with her cross on 
 crooked! Oh, strike me! You're a winner, all 
 right ! 
 
 LIZZIE. (Sings) 
 
 "Tike 'em orf , young man ; tike 'em orf . 
 My, don't he look a guy ! 
 I'd tike 'em orf if I was you, 
 Was everybody's cry." (Laughs uproariously.) 
 
 (The DOCTOR gives LIZZIE a stern look which stops 
 her laughing. A full military band plays "Hold 
 Your Hand Out, Naughty Boy." The sound of 
 marching grows nearer and nearer. DR. HAN- 
 WELL takes out his card-case, extracts a card, 
 writes on it, and goes to ANNIE. ) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Handing the card to ANNIE,) 
 Take this to the address I've written, and tell them 
 what you told me. 
 
 ANNIE. (Joyfully) Oh, will they tike me? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I think they will.
 
 54 OUT THERE 
 
 ANNIE. An' will they send me aat there? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Perhaps. If I can help to get you 
 there, believe me, I will. 
 
 ANNIE. (Crosses to 'ERBj If I do get aat there, 
 will you go ? ( The sounds are now quite near. Ex- 
 citedly) Don't that mike y'r blood run an' y'r brain 
 dance? ('ERBB turns away sullenly.) So'diers! (To 
 DR. HANWELL.J 
 
 DR. HANWELL. They're going down to the train. 
 
 ANNIE. I want to see them. I'm goin' t' see 
 them. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Not like that. (Pointing to the 
 nurse's dress.) 
 
 ANNIE. I'll cover it up. (Takes off her nurse's 
 cap and puts it in her bosom, puts on hat, and covers 
 her dress with a coat.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (To "VELVET") Good-bye. 
 Whenever you don't feel quite up to the mark, look 
 in at the hospital Dr. Barnett. 
 
 "VELVET/' Much obliged, I'm sure, sir. 'Ave a 
 drop of anythin' before y' go? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No, thank you. (Nods to Liz- 
 ZIE.J Good-bye. (Is about to speak to 'RB, who 
 turns his back to him, thinks a moment, turns to 
 ANNIEJ 
 
 ANNIE. Awright? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. Come along. I'll drive you 
 down. (Opens door, goes through passage, and 
 opens door to the street, and waits for ANNIE. ) 
 
 ANNIE. Good-bye, Liz! 
 
 LIZZIE. Good riddance! 
 
 ANNIE. Good-bye, Ma! 
 
 "VELVET." Were 're y' goin', dearie? 
 
 ANNIE. I'm goin' aat t* 'elp. 
 
 LIZZIE. D* y* s'pose they'll let you be a nurse? 
 You? 
 
 ANNIE. I'm goin' to try.
 
 OUT THERE 55 
 
 "VELVET/* (Beginning to cry) Y're goin* t* leave 
 me? 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, Mother! I ain't bin much use 
 'ere. I may be there. 'Erb, if I do go, will you go? 
 
 'ERB. Wat if I don't? 
 
 ANNIE. Y'll 'urt me. 
 
 'ERB. Well, be 'urt. 
 
 ANNIE. {Looks at him for a moment; then sud- 
 denly brightens up.) So long, Ma! Take care o' 
 yerself. (She marches out to the time of the music. 
 Closes outer door and joins DOCTOR. They disappear 
 together. Suddenly the band breaks from marking 
 time on the drums into "Tipperary.") 
 
 LIZZIE. (Moves to the window and shouts after 
 ANNIEJ Gawd 'elp them as you nurse! 
 
 'ERB. (Growls) Let 'er alone, cawn't ye? 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Ark at youf 
 
 'ERB. Shut up! I tell ye. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, shut up y'rself. (Laughs.) Old 
 " 'Aunted Annie's" fancyin' 'erself a nurse! Make 
 a cat laugh! 
 
 'ERB. (Threateningly) Stop that, will ye ? She's 
 worth a dozen o' you. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, is that so? 
 
 'ERB. Yaas, it is. An' of me, too. So keep y'r 
 trap shut. (He stands sullenly, his eyes flashing 
 restlessly all through the opening movement of the 
 march. Then the chorus is played as they march 
 past quite near. When they start it for the' second 
 time he picks up his cap from the dresser and goes 
 to his mother.) Gi'e us a kiss. Ma. 
 
 "VELVET" Wat for, 'Erb? 
 
 *ERB, I'm orf. 
 
 "VELVET." Orf, dearie? Were? 
 
 *ERB. Aat there. (Pecks at her cheek, hurries 
 to the door; as he opens it he calls over his shoulder 
 to LIZZIE) So long, spiteful ! (Bangs the door 
 behind him, then bangs the outer door.)
 
 56 OUT THERE 
 
 ("VELVET" cries and sways backward and forward.) 
 
 "VELVET." I knew as somethin' was goin' to 'ap- 
 pen. I bin that depressed all d'y. 
 
 LIZZIE. Never mind, Ma. Y've still got me. 
 (Takes up the flask 'RB brought in.) An' this. 
 (Pours out some into a glass.) 
 
 "VELVET." (Weeping) 'Erb give it to me with 
 'is last breath. I'll never see 'im no more. 
 
 LIZZIE. Not much lorse to any one. 'Ere y' go! 
 (Hands her the glass. Watches her drink.) 
 
 ("VELVET" wipes her lips.) 
 
 LIZZIE. (Sings as she corks the bottle) 
 "I believe in 'avin' it if y' fancy it. 
 'Cos a little of w'at y' fancy does y' good." 
 
 (The marching of the men and the sound of the 
 band begin to fade away.) 
 
 CURTAIN 
 (END OF PART I)
 
 PART II 
 DEVOTION
 
 "THE ORANGE WALK' 
 
 THE SURGEON 
 
 THE "IRISH MAN" 
 
 THE COCKNEY 
 
 THE SCOTCHMAN 
 
 THE NEW ZEALANDER 
 
 GRIFFIN 
 
 TERENCE 
 
 A NEWCOMER 
 
 ANOTHER NEWCOMER 
 
 GABRIELLE 
 
 THE HELP
 
 DEVOTION 
 
 The scene represents a portion of a ward in a hos- 
 pital in France. There are seven cots. In a 
 wheeling chair R., below cot Six, stretched full 
 length, is a young boy known as "PAT." He 
 has been shot through the hips, and is paralysed. 
 His eyes are closed. There is an orange lying 
 on his newly-made bed. Next to him on cot 
 Five is a young COCKNEY, about five feet eight 
 inches, very thin, his left hand bound up, his 
 right leg almost disabled. He is sucking an 
 orange. Next to him on cot Four is a big, six- 
 foot CANADIAN, with his head bandaged. He 
 has a deep voice, a gruff manner, and is lying 
 on the outside of the bedcovers, methodically 
 peeling an orange. Next to him in cot Three is 
 a SCOTCHMAN, thirty-six years old, about five 
 feet ten inches in height, slowly and methodically 
 gathering his few belongings together. He is 
 sufficiently well to be sent farther on. He has 
 an orange all opened out in flakes, the peel lying 
 beside it, and is eating it, a flake at a time, as 
 he dresses. Next to him, No. Two, is an empty 
 cot. and next to that, in cot One, a huge NEW 
 ZEALANDER, about six feet two inches, is also 
 lying on the coverlet. He has a support run- 
 ning from his right foot up to his shoulder. He 
 is throwing into the air and catching on its re- 
 turn an orange. He accompanies each journey 
 and return of the fruit with an old circus tune. 
 Each man is occupied with his own thoughts f 
 61
 
 62 OUT THERE 
 
 and is not taking any notice of his companions. 
 After some tittle time the COCKNEY begins to 
 play a mouth-organ. The SCOTCHMAN hums 
 an air out of tune. Voices are heard quite near. 
 
 DOCTOR. (In the near distance) We'll take this 
 ward next. 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Look out ! Here's the doctor ! 
 (He gets out of his cot.) 
 
 (Enter ORDERLY.,) 
 ORDERLY. Carry on! Ward! 'Shun! 
 
 (NEW ZEALANDER, SCOTCHMAN, CANADIAN, and 
 COCKNEY all come to attention. "PAT" remains 
 motionless his eyes closed. DR. HANWELL, in 
 khaki uniform, enters with NURSE GABRIELLE, 
 a very serious-minded, aristocratic young nurse. 
 The DOCTOR carries a small notebook and pen- 
 cil. The NURSE has similar ones. Hanging on 
 the foot of each bed is a day-chart showing the 
 immediate condition of the man. The NURSE 
 shows DR. HANWELL the NEW ZEALANDER'S 
 chart.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiling cheerfully at the NEW 
 ZEALANDER,) How are you getting on ? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Very well, thank-ye. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. How is the shoulder ? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. All right, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Quite comfortable ? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Yes, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Ache much? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Now an' agen. Not much. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. We'll have another look at it this 
 afternoon.
 
 OUT THERE 63 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. (With a grimace to NURSED 
 Won't like that much, will I? 
 
 NURSE. It's the only time he ever complains. 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. (Restlessly) It's all right. I 
 hate havin' it pulled about. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You won't feel it. 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. You always say that. I'd 
 rather ye let it alone. It's goin* on all right. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Don't think about it. (Looking 
 at. his notes. ' To NURSED At three. (The NURSE 
 makes a note and goes to foot of cot Four, the CAN- 
 ADIAN'S. ) Orange day! (Sniffing and smiling.) 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Yes, sir. Smells like a circus. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Gives the man a ple^ant nod, 
 and passes on to the SCOTCHMAN.,) Moving you on, 
 eh? 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. I'll be ready. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Glad to get away? 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. So long as I'm gettin' reet agen. 
 (Touches his shoulder.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You've done wonderfully. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. (Looks at him a moment, beckons 
 him, and bends down and says right into his ear) 
 Will they send me back, Doctor? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Why? Do you want to go? 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. Aye. I'd like anither crack at 
 them. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You'll get your wish. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. (Grimly) That's a' reet. There's 
 na hame any more. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No? 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. Me twa lads are gone. I want to 
 stay oot here to the finish. Ye ken ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Nods understandingly, then 
 shakes hands) Good luck ! 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. (Gripping his hand) Thank ye, 
 Doctor! Guid luck ta ye! (The NURSE smiles at 
 the SCOTCHMAN. He touches his forehead to her.
 
 64 OUT THERE 
 
 The DOCTOR turns to NURSE. She shows him CAN- 
 ADIAN'S chart and replaces it on foot of bed.) 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. Well, my man? 
 
 CANADIAN. (Looking at the DOCTOR apprehen- 
 sively, and speaking in a gruff, bass voice) Morn- 
 in', Doctor! 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. And how are you? 
 
 CANADIAN. (Nodding toward the SCOTCHMAN) 
 Same as him. 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. How's that? 
 
 CANADIAN. I'm sick of lying about here. 
 
 DR. HANWLLL. It's all in the day. You did your 
 share. 
 
 CANA^AN. Did? I'm not half through yet. Not 
 half. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. That's the spirit. 
 
 CANADIAN. (With a grim smile) I want to get 
 back to the Knickerbocker Club and the Times 
 Square, and the "Jinks." 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Where? 
 
 CANADIAN. "Out there." 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You're thinking of New York 
 surely ? 
 
 CANADIAN. (Eagerly) We've got 'em "Out there" 
 too. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiling) Have you? 
 
 CANADIAN. Sure! We get our mail at the Knick- 
 erbocker ye get there by the Subway to Times 
 Square ye crawl underground. The Knickerbock- 
 er's a dug-out, and we have our sing-songs at the 
 "Jinks." 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Laughing) Do you, really? 
 
 CANADIAN. Sure! We have a juggler, used to 
 play Hammerstein's, can keep twelve plates goin* at 
 the same time. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Quite interested and amused) 
 Fancy that! 
 
 CANADIAN. Sure! An' a couple o' comic sing-
 
 OUT THERE 65 
 
 ers. Real class they are. (Nods toward the SCOTCH- 
 MANj He'd kind o' like one of 'em. Sings all 
 Harry Lauder's. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Well, well! 
 
 CANADIAN. Sure! An' we've a soprano from 
 California. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Soprano? 
 
 CANADIAN. Fact! He could take a top "C" with 
 Caruso. Ye should hear him in "My Little Wet 
 Home in the Trench." (Sings) 
 
 "In my little wet home in the trench, 
 
 Where the rain drops continually drench." 
 It's a little high for me. but he's real class ! A pip- 
 pin! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You must have quite a good time. 
 
 CANADIAN. You bet yer life we do. (Regret- 
 fully) I wish I was back. Got a glee-party, too. 
 I'm bass. (Sings) 
 
 "I care for nobody, no, not I, 
 And nobody cares for me !" 
 
 We sang carols to the Boches last Christmas. (Sighs.) 
 And here I am, out of it all because I've got a head- 
 ache! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. With the piece of shrapnel you 
 got you're lucky to be able to talk about it at all. 
 
 CANADIAN. It was a piece, wasn't it? (Takes 
 from under his pillow a large, sinister-looking, 
 jagged piece of shrapnel.) My helmet got most of 
 it. (Looks up at helmet hanging above him with a 
 large hole in it.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Keep on as you've been going, 
 and you'll soon be enjoying all the comforts of the 
 Knickerbocker again. 
 
 CANADIAN. (Regretfully) We get a cocktail 
 every afternoon at five. I mix 'em when I get 
 the chance. Old-fashioned Bushmills. I wish I 
 could have one now. Can't I ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Oh, no, no.
 
 66 OUT THERE 
 
 CANADIAN. Well, they'll have one today if 
 they're not busy. (Sighs) And here I am, out of 
 it all. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (To the NURSE, who makes a 
 note) We'll look at it again this afternoon. 
 
 CANADIAN. (Irritably) Oh, it'll be all right. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Humouring him) Of course it 
 will. 
 
 CANADIAN. Take a lot more'n that to do me. 
 I'll have another go at them yet. Mark me ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I'm sure you will. Good-bye. 
 
 CANADIAN. Good-bye, sir. I like talking to you. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. That's right! (The NURSE is 
 waiting at foot of COCKNEY'S cot. No. Five. Shows 
 chart to DOCTOR. ) Well, my lad? 
 
 COCKNEY. Mornin', sir! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Nice and comfortable? 
 
 COCKNEY. Cawn't complain! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. How's the leg? 
 
 COCKNEY. Don* min' thet so much. I can 'op 
 abaout on thet. (Touches his left hand.) It's this 
 'ere wot gives me the pip. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Sympathetically) Oh? Does it 
 hurt? 
 
 COCKNEY. Don' min' thet so much. But, y' see, 
 I'm left-anded. You know ! I always cop 'em wit' 
 the left. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Cop whom? 
 
 COCKNEY. You know ! In a fight. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I see. 
 
 COCKNEY. Shawn't be much good wi' the gloves 
 no more, will I ? You know ! In the ring ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Oh, I wouldn't say that. 
 
 COCKNEY. I would. You know! Cawn't close 
 it. (Looking at the bandaged hand.) 'Tain't much 
 use inside a glove if y' cawn't close it, is it? You 
 know!
 
 OUT THERE 67 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It's a clean wound. It may take 
 time. But it will heal up. 
 
 COCKNEY. (Insisting) Yaas, but I cawn't close 
 it! I'm done as a fighter. Not'alf! Got t' handle 
 wood the rest o' me life. You know! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. What do you do? 
 
 COCKNEY. Box-maiker. You know! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Where do you live? 
 
 COCKNEY. Poplar born an' bred. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. How old are you ? 
 
 COCKNEY. Twen'y-two. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Been out here long? 
 
 COCKNEY. Ever since it started. You know! 
 Mons ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Really? 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas. Not many of us left w'at 
 started. You know! We got copped good an* 
 plenty. Bad luck! You know! Naa take me it 
 come my turn t' be a marker. You know ! Puts a 
 light coat on an' yer points 'em aat. 'E alwa's gits 
 'it. I got 'it. You know ! Got 'it twice. 'Ere, an* 
 'ere. (Touches his hand and his leg.) Never felt 
 nothin'. You know! Jes' flopped daan. My kep- 
 tin come a-running along. 'E sees me, an' 'e calls 
 aat, "'Ello!" 'e says. "Y've got 'it," 'e says. 
 "Yaas," says I. "Good job, too!" says 'e. "Ha! 
 ha !" tryin' t' laugh. "Y' bin aat 'ere long enough," 
 'e says. "Time y' went 'ome." Nice feller! You 
 know! 'E was only jokin'. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Of course! 
 
 COCKNEY. Got 'is that d'y. (Reflectively) Nice 
 feller! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Was he killed? 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas. 'E needn't 'a' bin. You know ! 
 alwa's runnin' abaat with 'is 'ead up. Nice feller! 
 Oh, well ! It's all in a life ! You know ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. (To NURSE ) At three! 
 Good-bye, my lad!
 
 68 OUT THERE 
 
 (The NURSE takes up PAT'S chart and waits at foot 
 of cot Six for DOCTOR.) 
 
 COCKNEY. Good-bye, sir! Think I'll ever fight 
 ag'in ? You know ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I'll make a thorough examina- 
 tion this afternoon. 
 
 COCKNEY. 'Fraid not! Cawn't close it. You 
 know! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. There's always a chance. Good- 
 bye. (Nods genially to him, goes to foot of PAT'S 
 cot and reads the chart. NURSE replaces chart, goes 
 to R. of PAT, and shakes him. PAT opens his eyes, 
 and looks at the DOCTOR sullenly.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. And how are you? 
 
 PAT. I don't know how I am. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Do you sleep well ? 
 
 PAT. I do not. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Ah! Does it bother you much? 
 
 PAT. It does. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Does it pain you ? 
 
 PAT. I can't use it. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. That's not to be wondered at, 
 is it? 
 
 PAT. It is not. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (To NURSE, who makes note) 
 We'll look him over, too. (To PAT) Is there any- 
 thing you want ? 
 
 PAT. ^ndeed there is. There's a lot o' things I 
 want. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. For instance? 
 
 PAT. ' want to get out o' here. I don't like the 
 ward. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Why not? Aren't you comfort- 
 able? 
 
 PAT. I am not. 
 
 DR. HARWELL. What do you need ? 
 
 PAT. Srring uneasily) Well, ^* "^e thing
 
 OUT THERE 69 
 
 I want more pillows. (The NURSE arranges the pil- 
 low in his: chair.) Listen, Miss ! Settle this so that 
 I can stretch back! And bring a whole lot of pil- 
 lows. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. All right. You shall have them. 
 (Nods to NURSE she makes a note.) Anything 
 else? 
 
 PAT. I want to be quiet. This place is too noisy. 
 I hate it. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. When there is room, I'll have you 
 transferred where it is quieter. Anything else? 
 
 PAT. I want to walk. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You must have patience. 
 
 PAT. I haven't. (Sullenly under his breath.) 
 I want to walk. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. How old are you? 
 
 PAT. It doesn't matter how old I am. I'm old 
 enough to walk. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Well, you'll have the pillows, and 
 we'll move you to a quieter place, and you'll walk as 
 soon as Nature permits. There ! Feel more cheer- 
 ful? 
 
 PAT. I do not. I'll never walk. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You mustn't feel that way about 
 it. 
 
 PAT. I do feel that way about it. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Breezily) Don't brood ! Cheer 
 up! 
 
 PAT. I can't. (Indicates the others.) They're 
 cheerful. I hate it. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiling) You seem to hate 
 everything. 
 
 PAT. I do. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You don't hate me? 
 
 PAT. (Looks at him long and hard) I do not. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiling) Well, that's some- 
 thing.
 
 70 OUT THERE 
 
 PAT. (Gets sullen again) Only when you ask me 
 questions, an' tell me to be cheerful. 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. I won't tell you any more. 
 
 PAT. All right! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Now smile. 
 
 PAT. I will not. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Coaxing) Ah! Ah! Ah! 
 Come on ! You know you can. Come on. (Smiling 
 broadly at him. PAT smiles slowly and reluctantly.) 
 There you are ! Do that once every hour. 
 
 PAT. I will not. (He turns away and closes his 
 eyes.) 
 
 (The DOCTOR looks at them all and turns to the 
 NURSE.J 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Everything seems very satisfac- 
 tory. 
 
 NURSE. Except one thing, Doctor. That girl, 
 Annie, the general help . . . 
 
 DR. HANWELL. What of her? 
 
 NURSE. Oh, she's very willing, and a hard worker, 
 but she is continually breaking rules. I find her 
 doing things for the men giving them things, mov- 
 ing them, replacing their bandages. I've warned her 
 repeatedly. She's always hovering around them. 
 Now that's all wrong, isn't it? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Certainly it is. 
 
 NURSE. This morning I found her lifting a man 
 up down there. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Lifting him ? 
 
 NURSE. Yes. He wanted to change his position, 
 and asked her, and I found her doing it. It might 
 be very dangerous in some cases. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Certainly it might. I'll speak to 
 her when we've finished in here. 
 
 NURSE. Thank you, Doctor! (They disappear,
 
 OUT THERE 71 
 
 talking; the DOCTOR saying good-bye as he passes. 
 Presently his voice is heard very faintly.) 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. Well, old man, and how are you? 
 Quite comfortable? 
 
 COCKNEY. Wat's she complainin' abaat? An- 
 nie's all right, ain't she ? 
 
 CANADIAN. Of course she is. She tried to move 
 me once. 
 
 COCKNEY. (Laughs) Fancy trying to move 'im. 
 
 CANADIAN. Yes, me. I couldn't move meself. 
 Didn't do any harm, did it? 
 
 COCKNEY. Not by the looks of yer. 
 
 CANADIAN. Well, what's the matter with my 
 looks ? 
 
 COCKNEY. 'Ere, w'at do you say, Pat Pat, Pat? 
 
 PAT. (Opening his eyes) What? 
 
 COCKNEY. W'at do you say abaat Annie? 
 
 PAT. About who? 
 
 COCKNEY. Annie. 
 
 PAT. Annie? Oh, she's all right. Only, I wish 
 to goodness she wouldn't try to sing. I hate it. 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Let her sing all she wants, if 
 only she wouldn't keep washin'! She's always wash- 
 in' round me. The place round me is that damp, 
 I'll get my death o' cold some day if she don' stop. 
 (Coughs.) 
 
 COCKNEY. Ho! Go h'on! 
 
 PAT. I hate her washin', too. Once a week's 
 enough. 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas, for anybody. Oh, g'wan, ef 
 thet's all y've got t' s'y abaat her. Don't she w'eel y' 
 aat in the sun? Ain't she alwa's trym' to find aat 
 w'at y' want? Yaas! 
 
 (The SCOTCHMAN goes on methodically dressing. 
 The NEW ZEALANDER painfully begins to write 
 a letter. The COCKNEY starts playing his mouth-
 
 72 OUT THERE 
 
 organ. He plays louder and louder, -wagging his 
 head in time to the tune.) 
 
 PAT. Stop that ! 
 
 COCKNEY. All right, maite! (Quiets down until 
 you can just hear the tune.) 
 
 (ANNIE enters, carrying glass of milk and sandwich 
 on tray in one hand and pail of water and wash- 
 rags in the other. She is dressed in the uniform 
 of a general "help." She wears a battered sol- 
 dier's cap and has a torn piece of a flag tied 
 round her waist.) 
 
 COCKNEY. 'Ello, Annie! Wat yer got? 
 
 CANADIAN. (Reaching out for the tray) Grub! 
 
 ANNIE. 'Ere! 'E's going out. (Places tray in 
 front of SCOTCH M AN. ) 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. Thank yer, Miss! 
 
 ANNIE. You're always thinkin' of something t' 
 eat. 
 
 CANADIAN. Well, I'm always hungry. 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, that's w'y you got such a nice fig- 
 ure. (She looks around, makes up her mind where 
 to begin, then goes to cot One, and starts washing 
 chair.) 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. (Irritably) What are you al- 
 ways washing round me for? First thing, I'll get 
 my death of pneumonia. 
 
 ANNIE. (Her face is quite bright the sadness 
 and anxiety have gone from it. She seems quite 
 happy.) Permonia ! You make me laugh. Ain't y' 
 bin standin* in mud an' water f 'r months ? Pmnonia. 
 (In turning round to wash chair, she bumps against 
 him. He makes a gesture.) Well, y' know, I've 
 got t' keep y' clean. 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Can't ye see I'm writin'? 
 
 ANNIE. Writin' 'ome?
 
 OUT THERE 73 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. That's different. (She goes to foot of 
 bed and washes rail. NEW ZEALANDER gives ANNIE 
 a savage look and turns over on his right side.) 
 Does this disturb you? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Oh, go on if ye want to. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, no. I'll come back w'en y're aat 
 gittin' the air. (Replaces chart holder noisily.) 
 
 (NEW ZEALANDER, after making several ineffectual 
 attempts to write, finally throws the book on the 
 floor savagely.) 
 
 ANNIE. My! You're nervous ! (Sees the pack- 
 age of "Woodbine" cigarettes on the table, picks it 
 up, and hands it to him.) Wy don't y' smoke? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Can't use them things. 
 
 ANNIE. Wat's the matter with 'em? (Smells 
 them.) They're "Woodbines." 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Can't use 'em, I tell ye. 
 
 ANNIE. (Puts the package back on the table) 
 Wat kind d' y' like? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Ee-gyptian. 
 
 ANNIE. Egyptian? I'll see if I can git y' some. 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. You get some? Where? 
 
 ANNIE. I dunno. Somewheres. I might run 
 acrorst 'em some place. 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. (Grimly) There ain't no shops 
 out here, young woman. 
 
 ANNIE. I'll run acrorst some one 'oo 'as 'em. 
 See if I don't! 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. (Brightening up) I would 
 like a few. 
 
 ANNIE. Leave it to me. (Picks up his pen and 
 puts a piece of paper in front of him.) Go on with 
 y'r letter. 'Ere ! ' Ave a dry smoke. (Takes a 
 "Woodbine" out of the package and makes him put 
 it in his mouth.) Put it in yer mouth and make yer
 
 74 OUT THERE 
 
 mind say as 'ow it's 'Gyptian. Don't 'ave ter light 
 it chew it. (Smiles at him, takes her pail and goes 
 on. She stops by the SCOTCH M AN. ) Goin', ain't 
 
 y'? 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. Aye. 
 
 ANNIE. I'll tidy up afterwards. 'Opes y' 'ave 
 a nice journey. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. Thank ye, Miss. 
 
 ANNIE. Drop us a card an' let's know 'ow y're 
 gittin' on. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. A' reet. 
 
 ANNIE. Make it a picture postcard. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. A' reet. 
 
 ANNIE. Cheer oh! Canada! 
 
 CANADIAN. Hello, Annie! 
 
 ANNIE. (Washing his chair) Give us y'r bit o' 
 shrapnel ? 
 
 CANADIAN. I should say not. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, gwan! Be a sport! 
 
 CANADIAN. What do you want with it? 
 
 ANNIE. Maike it into a bracelet f 'r me big sister. 
 
 CANADIAN. (Laughs) Get a bit of y'r own. 
 
 ANNIE. I will. (Picking up gas mask from 
 chair.) Oh, isn't that pretty? 
 
 CANADIAN. (Taking it from her) Here, you let 
 my lady friend alone. 
 
 ANNIE. I'm lookin' f'r keepsaikes. See this cap? 
 
 CANADIAN. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. It came from Flanders. 
 
 CANADIAN. No! 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, it did. See this 'ere flag? 
 
 CANADIAN. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. It come from Wipers. All I want now 
 is your bit o' shrapnel. 
 
 CANADIAN. Well, y' don't get it. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, yaas, I will. 
 
 CANADIAN. Oh, no, you won't. 
 
 ANNIE, Oh, yaas, I will
 
 OUT THERE 75 
 
 CANADIAN. Oh, no, you won't. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, yaas, I will you see if I don't. 
 Got everythin' y' want? 
 
 CANADIAN. No. 
 
 ANNIE. Wat's missin'? 
 
 CANADIAN. If ye see a nice box o* seegars, send 
 'em round here. 
 
 ANNIE. Don' know abaat a box. Would a 
 couple do t' go on wiv? 
 
 CANADIAN. (Starting up) Why? Have ye got 
 some? 
 
 ANNIE. No. (CANADIAN groans and falls back.) 
 But I'll run acrorst 'em somew'ere. 
 
 CANADIAN. (Sarcastically) Ye'll find some in 
 the Astor Hotel. 
 
 ANNIE. All right! I'll git y' some. See if I 
 don't! 
 
 CANADIAN. Seem' 's believin'! I could do with 
 one now first rate. 
 
 ANNIE. All right, Canada. You leave it to me. 
 
 CANADIAN. Be sure they're big and black. 
 
 ANNIE. You taike w'at y' can git. 
 
 CANADIAN. I will, believe me! An' glad of 'em. 
 
 ANNIE. (To PAT) 'Ow are y', Pat? 
 
 PAT. I'm not well. 
 
 ANNIE. You're lookin' much better. 
 
 PAT. I'm not better. 
 
 ANNIE. Don't you contradic' me. 
 
 PAT. Go away. 
 
 ANNIE. (Sees the orange) W'y, 'e ain't 'ad 'is 
 orange. (Picks it up and offers it to him.) 
 
 PAT. L'ave it alone. Put it down, out of yer 
 hand, will ye? (Takes it out of her hand and puts 
 it on bed.) I hate oranges. 
 
 ANNIE. Do y'? Well, never mind. T'morrow's 
 cherry d'y. 
 
 PAT. I hate cherries, too. That's all they ever 
 think of, oranges and cherries. I hate fruit.
 
 76 OUT THERE 
 
 ANNIE. Wat would y' like? 
 
 PAT. Never mind what I'd like. I can't get 
 what I'd like. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, gwan! Tell me! 
 
 PAT. I will not. (Closes his eyes.) 
 
 ANNIE. Aw-right, then. Don't ! Keep yer dark 
 secret ! 
 
 COCKNEY. I'll tell y* w'at 'e wants. Choc'lits. 
 Thet's w'at 'e wants. Gawn you arst 'im. 
 
 ANNIE. (To PAT) Like some some sweets? 
 
 PAT. (Brightens up.) I would. (Disgustedly) 
 What did ye want to speak about 'em for? No one 
 ever thinks of 'em here. 
 
 ANNIE. I'll git y' some 
 
 PAT. Where would you get them? 
 
 ANNIE. I dunno I may run acrost some some 
 place. I saw a feller eatin' some this mornin'. 
 
 PAT. (Wistfully) Did ye? 
 
 ANNIE. (Nods) I'm sure 'e'd give me some if 
 I arst 'im f'r meself. 
 
 PAT. What would he be givin' you sweets for? 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, 'e likes bein' washed raan'. 'E 
 comes from London The Tower 'amlets. 'E's got 
 a bad leg, too, on'y 'e's laughin' all the time. 
 
 PAT. So well he may. An' he having chocolates. 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas. An' pep'mints. 
 
 PAT. (Closing his eyes at the thought) Oh ! I 
 like them. 
 
 ANNIE. I'll be washin' raand 'is bed soon, an' I'll 
 arst 'im for some. 
 
 PAT. (Disconsolately) Oh, he'll have eaten them 
 all by then. 
 
 ANNIE. Not 'e ! 'E's got several boxes. 
 
 PAT. Don't be too long gettin' round to him. 
 
 ANNIE. All right. Pat ! (Goes up to CANADIAN'S 
 table.) O' w't a mussy person! (Sees orange peels, 
 etc., on table and bed.) You can make one orange 
 look like a box. Can't yer ? (Throws all the orange
 
 OUT THERE 77 
 
 peels into the pouch pocket of her apron. ) 'Ere, 'old 
 this ! (Picks up "Woodbine" package with only one 
 cigarette left in it and gives it to CANADIAN. She 
 dusts the table. He puts cigarette in his mouth and 
 throws the package on the floor.) 
 
 ANNIE. 'Ere ! 'Ere ! Wat 'ave I told you about 
 frowin' papers on the floor? 
 
 CANADIAN. (Puts his arm up for protection) 
 Don't strike me, Annie! 
 
 ANNIE. Make yer get out and pick it up next 
 time. (She picks it up.) Fink I was 'ere just ter 
 pick up paper arter yer. 
 
 CANADIAN. (Lights cigarette. Holds up used 
 match.) Annie! What shall I do with this? 
 
 ANNIE. (She takes it from him, puts it in the 
 pocket in her apron, and goes to PAT.) Cheer up, 
 Pat! Y'll soon be runnin' abaat ag'in. (Kneels 
 down and washes round his bed.) 
 
 PAT. I'll never run. 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, y' will. Y'll be back fightin' bime- 
 by. 
 
 PAT. I'll never fight again. 
 
 ANNIE. I s'pose as soon as y' git aat of 'ere y'll 
 be maikin' recruitin' speeches. 
 
 PAT. (Disgustedly) I will not. I'll never run. 
 An' I'll never fight. An' I can't make speeches. I 
 hate speeches. I can't do nothin' any more. 
 
 ANNIE. If y'r ain't goin' ter fight, an' yer ain't 
 goin' ter maike speeches, an' yer ain't goin' ter run 
 abaat, w'at are y' goin' to do the rest o' yer life? 
 
 PAT. For the rest o' me life I'm goin' to impose, 
 meself on the British Gover'ment. 
 
 ANNIE. (To COCKNEY J Ain't 'e the cheerful 
 one? (To PAT suddenly and enthusiastically) I'll 
 tell yer 'ow to get well. 
 
 PAT. How? 
 
 ANNIE. Keep on wishin' it. Naa taike me. I 
 was more mis'rable 'n you are once.
 
 78 OUT THERE 
 
 PAT. You were not. 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, I was. 
 
 PAT. Ye couldn't be. 
 
 ANNIE. Don't you contradic' me. I tell yer I 
 was. It took a bit of doin', but I managed it. Do 
 you know 'ow I got 'appy? 
 
 PAT. No. 
 
 ANNIE. I got 'appy 'cause I got out 'ere. Do 
 you know 'ow I got aat 'ere ? 
 
 PAT. No. 
 
 ANNIE. I wished meself aat 'ere. 
 
 PAT. ' You wished it? Well, if you have another 
 wish comin' to you, I wish to God you'd wish your- 
 self back. 
 
 ANNIE. Cheer o'. Pat! Y'll soon be all 'ole an' 
 runnin' abaat like a little white rabbit. 
 
 PAT. I'm sick o' wishin' ! I'm sick o' fisrhtin'! 
 I'm sick o' talkin'. I'd look lovelv. wouldn't I, run- 
 nin' about like a little white rabbit? (Turns his 
 back on her.) If you have nothing: better in store 
 for me I wish vou'd leave me alone altogether. 
 
 ANNIE. (To COCKNEY) I know w'at 'e wants. 
 'E wants me t' sing t' him. 
 
 PAT. I do not. 
 
 ANNIE. (Sings) 
 
 "Oh, Paddy, dear, an' did y' 'ear 
 The noos they're sendin' raand? 
 They'll stop the Irish shamrock naa 
 From a-growin' in the graand." 
 
 PAT. (Covering his ears) Mv God! To think 
 I should live to hear that sung in Cocknev! (COCK- 
 NEY plays the last bars of song on mouth organ.) 
 
 COCKNEY. (Beckons her) Don't mind 'im. 'E 
 don' mean a word 'e says. 
 
 ANNIE. (Whispering) 'E do take it 'ard, don't 
 'e? 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas. 
 
 ANNIE. Awful not t' be aible t' walk.
 
 OUT THERE 79 
 
 COCKNEY. 'Course it is! Still, w'at of it? 'E 
 cawn't walk, an' I cawn't scrap, but we 'ave seen a 
 bit o' life aat 'ere, ain't we? 
 
 ANNIE. (Earnestly) Thet's what 7 feels. Big 
 life, too. 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas. (Sings softly) 
 
 "Oh, we 'aven't got much money, 
 But we do see life." 
 (Plays on the mouth-organ.) 
 
 ANNIE. You're a funny one, yer know! W'at 
 did you do afore this? 
 
 COCKNEY. Maide boxes. Wen I was aat of a job 
 I boxed a bit, too. 
 
 ANNIE. (Eyes glistening) Prize fighter? 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas. I was jus' comin' on, too. w'n 
 this broke aat. Oh, but my brother! My brother 
 'Enery! 'E's a wonder! Gits five quid a fight at 
 the National Sportin' Club. Five quid a fight! 
 Thet's money ! 
 
 CANADIAN. You bet yer life it is. 
 
 COCKNEY. 'E's clarss, 'e is. 'E's somew'ere aat 
 'ere, too. 
 
 ANNIE. (Eagerly) D'yer ever 'ear of 'Erbert 
 'Udd? 
 
 COCKNEY. 'Erbert 'Udd? D'yer mean "Chunky- 
 'Erb," o' Camden Taan? 
 
 ANNIE. (Excitedly) Yaas. 
 
 COCKNEY. Ever 'ear of 'im! Bli' me! 'E put 
 me aat once. 
 
 ANNIE. Did 'e? 
 
 COCKNEY. (Sadly) Yaas. Put me aat f'r keeps. 
 Knocked me cold. W'at d' you know about 'im? 
 
 ANNIE. (Proudly) Know abaat 'im! 'E's my 
 brother. 
 
 COCKNEY. (Disbelievingly) G'wan ! (ANNIE 
 nods vigorously.) 'E ain't? (Incredulously.) 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, 'e is. 
 
 COCKNEY. G'wan. 'E ain't.
 
 8o OUT THERE 
 
 ANNIE. (Hurt) I tell y', 'e is. 
 
 COCKNEY. (Looking at her with new interest) 
 Well, bli'me! Ol' "Chunk's" sister ! (ANNIE nods, 
 her eyes glistening.) 'E's a bit of aw right wi' the 
 mitts. Got a wicked left! Caught me in the ear- 
 'ole. See thctf (Shows his car.) Ga' me a thick 
 un, an' no mistaike. Reg'lar colliflower! 
 
 ANNIE. It is a beauty, ain't it? Was it an 'ook? 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas, left 'ook. 
 
 ANNIE. 'E's a wonder at that. 
 
 COCKNEY. Bli'me! OP "Chunk's" sister ! W'at 
 are you doin' aat 'ere? 
 
 ANNIE. My bit. 
 
 COCKNEY. W'ere's "Chunk"? 
 
 ANNIE. (Evasively) 'E'll be aat 'ere presently. 
 
 COCKNEY. (Reflectively) Cocky beggar! 
 
 ANNIE. 'Oo is? 
 
 COCKNEY. 'E is. 
 
 ANNIE. G'wan, 'e ain't. 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas, 'e is. 
 
 ANNIE. Cocky, y'rself. 
 
 COCKNEY. Never took no notice o' me after 'e 
 knocked me aat. 
 
 ANNIE. W'at did y* want 'im to do? Kiss yer? 
 
 COCKNEY. Wait till all this is over. My brother 
 '11 give 'im w'at for. (Looking at her again.) Well, 
 bli' me ! Ol' "Chunk's" sister ! Like y' better'n I 
 do 'im! 
 
 ANNIE. Well, that's aw right. But don't you s'y 
 nothin' ag'in 'im. (Goes to PAT'S cot and washes.) 
 
 COCKNEY. Aw right ! Jus' f 'r your saike I won't. 
 (Whispers behind his hand to CANADIAN.J But 
 wait till my brother meets 'im. (Plays "Dead 
 March" and "Cock o' the North" to CANADIAN. 
 Plays the mouth-organ for a few moments. Then 
 with a deep sigh) I wish I 'ad a "Referee." You 
 know. Sunday paiper. Alwa's 'as one o' Sundays. 
 A "Referee," a packit o' fags, an' a gal on me arm.
 
 OUT THERE 81 
 
 Maybe I don't miss 'em! Not 'alf ! Oh, I do wish 
 I 'ad a "Referee." 
 
 ANNIE. Wot's that yer want ? 
 
 COCKNEY. "Referee." 
 
 ANNIE. I'll see if I can get yer one. 
 
 COCKNEY. I ain't seen one abaat. 
 
 ANNIE. That don' s'y as there ain't one 'ere. I 
 may run acrorst one. (Goes to SCOTCH MAN'S cot 
 and takes up his tray.) 
 
 COCKNEY. If y' do, don' f'rgit "Yours truly." 
 (Plays on mouth-organ.) 
 
 ANNIE. Awright ! (Stops at cot One, and dusts 
 rail. NEW ZEALANDER turns his back on her.) 
 
 COCKNEY. Gi'e us a song, Annie ! No one abaat. 
 
 ANNIE. Cawn't. . . . I'm busy. 
 
 COCKNEY Oh, g'wan ! Doctor an' nurse's on 
 their raands. 
 
 ANNIE. W'd y' like me to? 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas. 
 
 ANNIE. (Nodding to PAT) 'E wouldn' like me 
 to sing. 
 
 COCKNEY. Oh, 'e don' mind, so long as they ain't 
 Irish. Besides, 'e mightn't wake up. (To CANA- 
 DIAN) W't abaat you? 
 
 CANADIAN. Sure! I like that American one. 
 First time I've heard it in Cockney. 
 
 COCKNEY. W't abaat you, New Zealand? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. (Gravely) How do you spell 
 "holocaust"? 
 
 COCKNEY. Arst me another. 
 
 ANNIE. Wat's that word? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. "Holocaust." 
 
 ANNIE. (Thinking hard) Wait a minit. I seen 
 it abaat somewhere. (Spelling) "O-l-e k-o 
 (Pause.) s-t!" 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Thank ye. I can get nearer 
 than that meself. It begins with an "h," not a
 
 82 OUT THERE 
 
 ANNIE. Does it? Well I'll give yer a "h." (She 
 tries to spell the word many ways, putting an "h" on 
 each letter. Finally gives it up.) You leave a vacant 
 space. I'll arst some one as knows *ow ter spell it. 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Much obliged. You can sing. 
 I'm 'most finished. 
 
 ANNIE. Aw right! Wot'll I sing? "Weep No 
 More"? 
 
 CANADIAN. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. Aw right! (To NEW ZEALANDER ) 'Ere! 
 Stop yer writin' ! This is a favour, not an obliga- 
 tion. (He stops writing.) 
 
 ANNIE. (To COCKNEYJ Naa then, Cockney! 
 Gi's the overture ! 
 
 (COCKNEY plays overture of "Weep No More." 
 CANADIAN conducts with his crutch.) 
 
 CANADIAN. Now then, Annie! 
 ANNIE. (Sings song and chorus of "Weep No 
 More." At end of chorus) Naa, then, all together! 
 
 (They all join in the chorus, somewhat inharmoni- 
 ously. The COCKNEY accompanies on the mouth- 
 organ. The CANADIAN, sustaining the last note 
 in a very deep bass voice, long after all the others 
 have finished.) 
 
 ANNIE. 'Ere, 'ere! Wake up, Canada! (He 
 stops suddenly. ) The war's all over. (She goes off, 
 singing softly.) 
 
 COCKNEY. (Shaking the CANADIAN'S hand) Con- 
 gratulations ! You're awright on the bass notes. 
 
 (At the end of the song the SCOTCHMAN, who is now 
 ready to go out, starts hunting frantically for 
 something. He turns up the mattress and dis-
 
 OUT THERE 83 
 
 arranges the blankets, pillows, and water-proof 
 sheet.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Comes running in, takes both his hands) 
 'Ere, 'ere! Wat are yer doin' of? Wat d' yer 
 want? 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. Ma bonnet! Whaur's ma bonnet? 
 (Goes down threateningly to the COCKNEY.^ 
 Whaur's ma bonnet? 
 
 COCKNEY. I ain't seen y'r bloomin' bonnit. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. I had it this mornin'. Some o* 
 you's taken it. (To PAT) Ha' you got it? 
 
 PAT. I hate the sight of it. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. (Excitedly to CANADIAN ) Ha' you 
 ma bonnet? 
 
 CANADIAN. No, sir! I have not! 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. (Shouts across cot at NEW ZEA- 
 LANDERJ Whaur's that bonnet? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. I don't know. 
 
 ANNIE. (Handing him khaki hat which she takes 
 from NEW ZEALANDER'S cot) 'Ere ! Taike this ! 
 'Ave an 'at! 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. I want ma bonnet. 
 
 ANNIE. Cawn't understand y' wantin' t' wear a 
 bonnit, an' skirts, like a gal. Y've grown nat of it 
 long ago. 'Ere ! 'Ave a false face (Handing 
 him mask.) 'Ere's a helmet. (Takes CANADIAN'S 
 helmet .) 
 
 CANADIAN. (Takes it from her) No, I need it 
 in my business. 
 
 ANNIE. 'Ere's one with a 'ole in it. Y' can s'y 
 y' was shot at an' yer brain got in the way, and 
 saved yer, and ye escaiped ! 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. (Almost in tears) I want ma bon- 
 net. I wouldna wear onything else. I brought it 
 wi* me. I want to tak' it hame agen. (In loud voice 
 to the men.) Please gie me ma bonnet. (Then to AN-
 
 84 OUT THERE 
 
 NIE, almost in tears) Please, get me ma bonnet. 
 (He goes on looking for bonnet.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Seeing his distress) Come on! Give 
 'im 'is bonnit. Y've 'ad y'r little joke. Come on! 
 Give 'im 'is bonnit. (To NEW ZEALANDER j You 
 got 'is bonnit? 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. I ain't got it. 
 
 ANNTE. (To CANADIAN,) Come on, w'ere's 'is 
 bonnit ? 
 
 CANADIAN. Nothin' doin*. 
 
 ANNIE. (To PAT) W'ere's 'is bonnit? 
 
 PAT. I don't know where it is. 
 
 ANNIE. (To COCKNEY,) Hi! Cocky! Where's 
 'is bonnit? (COCKNEY points under his bed. AN- 
 NIE, taking it from under the mattress, holds it up 
 so that the strings dangle. To COCKNEY j 111 'ide 
 yer music on yer one day. Fancy makin' another 
 war over that ! (She runs over to cot Two and puts 
 bonnet under waterproof sheet; then, uncovering it, 
 calls) Sandy! 'ere it is! They're both pink, and 
 yer couldn't tell the difference. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. (Laughs and cries) Ma bonnet! 
 Ma preecious bonnet! (Fondling it.) I thocht I'd 
 lost ye. Ma deear bonnet! (To ANNIE,) Whaur 
 was it ? 
 
 ANNIE. Under there. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. Ah ! (Goes back to his bed, sits on 
 chair, and puts the bonnet on. COCKNEY, CANADIAN 
 and NEW ZEALANDER laugh.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Arranging bed-clothes) His "bonnet" 
 means more to 'im than any o' my 'ats ever did to 
 me. An' I 'ad one wif a feather in it. 
 
 SCOTCHMAN. (Delighted at finding his bonnet, 
 sings) 
 
 "I love a lassie, 
 A bonnie, highland lassie, 
 She's as pure as the lily in the dell."
 
 OUT THERE 85 
 
 (They all chime in here, the COCKNEY with the or- 
 gan.) 
 
 "She's as sweet as the heather, 
 The bonnie purple heather, 
 Annie, my Scotch blue-bell." 
 (SANDY gives a whoop at end of song.) 
 
 (During the last half of this chorus ANNIE goes off 
 to get her pail and tray. She comes on again, 
 trying to sing the chorus.) 
 
 ANNIE. 
 
 I love a lassie 
 
 A bonnie er Tland lassie 
 
 She's as er pure er as the lily in the dell 
 
 er 
 She's as sweet as the 'eather 
 
 The bonnie purple er 
 
 (She stops short. The CANADIAN prompts her.) 
 CANADIAN. "Heather." 
 
 ANNIE. I just said "'eather." Wat, again? 
 Awright! "The bonnie purple 'eather"- 
 
 CANADIAN. For the love o' Mike, Annie, give us 
 an "h." 
 
 ANNIE. Awright! I'll pick one up on the Han- 
 nie. (Sings) 
 
 "Hannie, my Scotch blue-beller." 
 
 (The NURSE enters with mail, newspapers, etc.) 
 
 NURSE. (To ANNIE^ What were you doing? 
 
 ANNIE. Nothin'. 
 
 NURSE. Were you making that noise? 
 
 ANNIE. Not all of it. 
 
 NURSE. Go on with your work. Oh ! Here's a 
 
 letter for you. 
 
 ^ ANNIE. Thenk'y', Miss ! Would yer mind put- 
 ting it on me tray, Miss? (Reads address as she
 
 86 OUT THERE 
 
 starts to go.) "Annie 'Udd, 'Orspital." Cheer-oh, 
 Cockney. (COCKNEY plays-a run on mouth-organ.) 
 
 PAT. (Calls to ANNIE,) Annie ! Don't forget the 
 sweets ! 
 
 ANNIE. Awright ! 
 
 PAT. And arrange this before you go. (Point- 
 ing to back of chair.) 
 
 ANNIE. I cawn't. I'll get turned out o' the 'ors- 
 pital. 
 
 PAT. Lord love us, if they turned you out we'd 
 all go on strike. 
 
 ANNIE. Awright! 'Ow do you want it, up or 
 down? 
 
 PAT. Down. 
 
 (ANNIE is about to adjust the chair -when NURSE 
 turns round and sees her.) 
 
 NURSE. Now, what did I tell you about moving 
 the men? Get some clean linen and make this bed. 
 (Pointing to cot.) 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, Miss! (Whispers) Good-bye, 
 Cocky ! 
 
 PAT. (In a whisper) Don't forget the sweets. 
 
 (ANNIE exits. NURSE hands out letters, etc., amid 
 thanks and comments. All have something ex- 
 cept PAT. NURSE gives one letter to NEW 
 ZEALANDER; second, two letters to SCOTCH- 
 MAN ; third, two letters and American news- 
 paper to CANADIAN ; fourth, one letter and 
 "Reynolds' Newspaper" to COCKNEY.J 
 
 CANADIAN. (Seeing postmark) New York ! 
 
 (COCKNEY tries to tear open the wrapper with his 
 one hand, the NURSE, seeing his difficulty )
 
 OUT THERE 87 
 
 NURSE. I'll open it for you. 
 
 COCKNEY. Bli' me! It's "Reynold^*." (Starts 
 to read.) 
 
 NURSE. (To PAT,) I'm sorry there's nothing for 
 you. 
 
 PAT. That's all right. No one ever writes to me. 
 (Pause) An' I never write to any one either. It 
 saves a lot of trouble on both sides. 
 
 NURSE. But I have a package for you. (Gives 
 him package, then goes to cot One.) 
 
 COCKNEY. (To PAT) Wat, oh ! Choc'lits ? 
 
 PAT. (Quickly unpacks box to find they are or- 
 anges) My God! (Throws box on cot. They all 
 laugh.) 
 
 NURSE. It's time for your airing. 
 
 COCKNEY. Awright, Miss! 
 
 (NURSE is about to help NEW ZEALANDER from cot.) 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. Never mind, Sister ! I'm get- 
 ting on fine. 
 
 NURSE. (Goes to COCKNEY'S cot. Speaks to 
 SANDY as she passes.) Help him, please ! 
 
 NEW ZEALANDER. (Meets SANDY as he comes to 
 foot of his cot. SANDY is carrying his comfort-bag.) 
 Good-bye, Sandy, old man ! I shall soon be with 
 yer again. All among the whizz-bangs and the pip- 
 squeaks. (They go off arm in arm.) 
 
 CANADIAN. (Hopping after them with the aid of 
 his crutch) Here ! Wait a minute, Sandy ! I want 
 to say good-bye to you. 
 
 NURSE. (To COCKNEY,) You can read that out- 
 side. 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas, Miss ! 
 
 NURSE. Come on, Pat. 
 
 PAT. I'd rather stay here. 
 
 NURSE. Oh, no. You must get some sunshine 
 and air. I'll wheel you.
 
 88 OUT THERE 
 
 COCKNEY. Le' me! I a'ways do, y' know. 
 NURSE. Thank you ! Did you get your "Wood- 
 bine" cigarettes? 
 
 COCKNEY. Yaas, Miss! In me pockit. ( NURSE 
 goes off into next ward. To PAT) 'Ere ! 'Old this ! 
 (Gives him "Reynolds's" to hold.) 
 PAT. I'd rather stay here. 
 
 COCKNEY. Naa, if you say another word I'll 'it 
 yer, see? (He playfully puts his fist against PAT'S 
 face and laughs. Starts -wheeling- PAT off L. and 
 sings ) 
 
 "So 'old yer 'and aat, naughty boy! 
 'Old yer 'and aat, y' naughty boy ! 
 Last night, in the pale moonlight, 
 I saw yer ! I saw yer ! 
 With a nice girl in the.park ; 
 You were strollin' full o' joy, 
 And ye told 'er ye never kissed a girl before ; 
 'Old yer 'and out, y' naughty boy!" 
 
 (On each "I saw yer" he makes a little hop, and is 
 just out of sight at the end of the song.) 
 
 (ANNIE comes in, carrying two clean sheets and pil- 
 low cases and some loose chocolates. She places 
 PAT'S pillmv at foot of bed, over the box of 
 oranges, and lays out six chocolates on it. She 
 goes to cot Two, imitating COCKNEY in his song 
 and hop, and starts to make up the bed. As she 
 does this she sings all the COCKNEY ditties she 
 can think of. The bed is nearly made when she 
 hears the DOCTOR coming. She runs to PAT'S 
 cot and covers up the chocolates just as the DOC- 
 TOR enters.) 
 
 DOCTOR. (Genially] Well, and how is "Nurse" 
 Annie ? 
 
 ANNIE. I wish I was "Nurse" Annie.
 
 OUT THERE 89 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You mustn't be in a hurry. 
 
 ANNIE. D' y' think I ever will be? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. There's no reason why you 
 shouldn't. Just now you must be content to do what 
 you can. 
 
 ANNIE. (Quickly) Oh, I'm content, sir. Reely, 
 I am. An' 'appy, too. 'Appier 'n I've ever bin, or 
 thought of being. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. That's right. Not "haunted" any 
 more? 
 
 ANNIE. No, sir. (Smiles sheepishly.) "Cheery" 
 Annie, they calls me 'ere. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Good! 
 
 ANNIE. I keep their minds orf themselves. Yaas, 
 sir. I'm doing jes' w'at I used t' dream abaat, an' 
 think abaat workin' f'r the soljers, doin' somethin' 
 f'r them, bein' near 'em. It's not much I'm doin'. 
 Still, it is somethin'. (Smiles wistfully.) 'Course, 
 I saw meself with a uniform an' a crorss all red 
 acrorss me chest. I would like to be a nurse in a 
 real uniform. It'd be fine to go back t' Camden 
 Taan like one o' them titled ladies y' see in the illus- 
 trated paipers. . . . Mother an' Liz would stare, 
 an' no mistake. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. What do you hear from them? 
 
 ANNIE. 'Erb's gorn. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. 'Erb? 
 
 ANNIE. My brother. You know! 'E's 'listed. 
 I've just 'ad a letter from mother. 'E went orf 
 the very d'y I left. 'Course 'e ain't fightin' yet! 
 Just trainin'. Oh, an' mother! She's goin' t' do 
 somethin'. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Isn't that splendid? What? 
 
 ANNIE. She don' s'y w'at. She just says, 
 "Somethin'," she says. I 'xpec' she'd bin 'avin' a 
 little drop o' comfort. Still, she writes very cheer- 
 ful. Not orf'n she's cheerful. Gin's a depressin' 
 sperrit, ain't it?
 
 90 OUT THERE 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Very. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, an' she says Lizzie's my sister, you 
 know Lizzie's willin' t' maik5 war-stuff if they p'y 
 'er better'n she's gettin'. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Good! 
 
 ANNIE. So, taike it all in all, aar fem'ly's doin' 
 aar bit. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes indeed ! (Laughing gen- 
 ially and taking out cigarette case.) You seem to 
 have stirred them all up. 
 
 ANNIE. (Eyeing the cigarettes) Yaas, sir. An' 
 Camden Taan taikes a bit o' stirrin', I can tell y'. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I suppose so. 
 
 ANNIE. (Suddenly stops making bed. Pointing 
 to cigarettes) Are they 'Gyptian? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. Can y' spare one ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Astonished) Do you smoke? 
 
 ANNIE. (Evasively) Oh, I won' s'y I do an' I 
 won' s'y I don't. But I would like one if y' don' 
 mind. (Di<. HANWELL holds out the case amusedly. 
 ANNIE takes one.) Sure y' can spare it? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Oh, yes. (Going to close the 
 case.) 
 
 ANNIE. Could I 'ave another? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Certainly. (Holds out the case 
 again and amusedly watches her take another.) 
 
 ANNIE. Thank ye, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You have expensive tastes. 
 
 ANNIE. (Holding the two cigarettes gingerly in 
 her fingers) Yaas, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You mustn't smoke on duty. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, no, sir. Not me. (Goes on with 
 her work.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Just about to go out, remember- 
 ing, turns back) By the way, that reminds me. I've 
 had some complaints about you. 
 
 ANNIE. (Startled) Complaints? Abaat me?
 
 OUT THERE 91 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. (Her eyes filling) I do me bes', sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It isn't about your work. 
 
 ANNIE. Wat is it, then? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You mustn't go near the men so 
 much. You can speak to them, of course. But you 
 mustn't touch them. Only nurses are allowed to do 
 that. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, but I don't orf'en. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. But 
 
 ANNIE. On'y w'en no one's bin near. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You mustn't at any time. 
 
 ANNIE. Sometimes they cry aat f'r somethin' 
 water, or an orange, or to 'elp 'em move w'en they 
 ain't able to by theirselves. I on'y moved Brown 
 'cos 'is shoulder 'ad gorn to sleep. Yer know, y' 
 cawn't git yer eyes to sleep if yer shoulder does it 
 first. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You must leave that to the nurses. 
 
 ANNIE. But if she ain't there? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Bring her. 
 
 ANNIE. It ain't much that I do, reely it ain't. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. It might be very serious. Sup- 
 posing the man shouldn't have water or an orange? 
 Suppose it was the worst thing he could possibly 
 have? 
 
 ANNIE. (Discouraged) I see, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. And many cases must not be 
 moved. The bandages may slip. It might be very 
 serious. 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I don't like having complaints. 
 You must obey the rules. 
 
 ANNIE. (Earnestly) Oh, I do. Indeed I do. I 
 fetch an' carry an' wash up an' mend all d'y. (With 
 a wan smile.) W'enever I've touched 'em, or give 
 'em anythin', it's bin a bit of extry. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You must deny yourself "ex-
 
 92 OUT THERE 
 
 tras." The only way you can hope to get on is by 
 scrupulously obeying. 
 
 ANNIE. (Disconsolately) All right, sir. I will. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Now don't get "Haunted" again. 
 
 ANNIE. (Brightening) I won't. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Discipline, my girl. Discipline. 
 
 ANNIE. (Nodding intelligently) I know. Same 
 as the soljers. We're all soljers aat 'ere, ain't we? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. We are. And we must all obey 
 the superior command. That's the only way to win. 
 
 ANNIE. (Determinedly) An' we are goin' t' win ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. We got to win, bli' me ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. So no more complaints, Annie. 
 
 ANNIE. No, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Be a good girl. (Walks away.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Hurrying after him) Doctor, can I 'ave 
 a cigar? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Turns back to her) Now don't 
 tell me you smoke cigars ? 
 
 ANNIE. No, sir. But I like to 'ave one 'andy. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Why? 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, jus' becos. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Looking at her sternly) Whom 
 do you want it for? 
 
 ANNIE. Won't git 'im into trouble? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No. 
 
 ANNIE. (Points to cot) The Canadian. 'E wants 
 one somethin' awful. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Now, there's another instance. 
 It might be the worst thing for him. You must say 
 whom you want these things for. 
 
 ANNIE. It couldn't 'urt 'im. 'E's a big feller. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. That doesn't matter. You must 
 ask. 
 
 ANNIE. Well, I 'ave asked. May 'e 'ave one? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (He holds open case. She takes 
 one.) Yes.
 
 OUT THERE 93 
 
 ANNIE. My, they are big, ain't they? Have you 
 got a black one ? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Here, try this one. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, that's brown, too. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Here's another one. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, they will last him an awful long 
 time. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I'll send him round some. But, 
 remember, always ask. 
 
 ANNIE. I will. An' thenk y', sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Struck by a thought) Annie! 
 
 ANNIE. Yaas, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You don't want those cigarettes 
 for yourself do you? 
 
 ANNIE. (Evasively) Well, y' see (Picks 
 
 up cigarettes and cigars quickly.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Whom are you collecting them 
 for? 
 
 ANNIE. (Frightened) The New Zealander, Bates. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Why did you say you wanted 
 them for yourself? 
 
 ANNIE. (Faintly) I thought p'r'aps y' mightn't 
 let me 'ave 'em if y' knew. (Pause DR. HANWELL 
 looks sternly at her.) It won't 'appen ag'in, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I hope not. 
 
 ANNIE. May 'e 'ave 'em, sir? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes . 
 
 ANNIE. Thenk y'! Won't 'appen ag'in! Doc- 
 tor, I've got three cigars ; can I 'ave another ciga- 
 rette ? (He gives her one more cigarette he is about 
 to go off.) Thenk yer, sir! Won't 'appen ag'in! 
 (Runs to NEW ZEALANDER'S cot, gets pen and paper.) 
 Would yer mind writing a word down for me? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Taking the pen and paper) 
 What is the word ? 
 
 ANNIE. "Olecorst." 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Looks at her and smiles) Who's 
 this for?
 
 94 OUT THERE 
 
 ANNIE. The New Zealander, Bates. That won't 
 'urt 'im, will it? 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. Not on paper. (He writes the 
 word and shakes the fountain pen. Some ink spurts 
 onto the floor.) 
 
 ANNIE. That's w'y they call 'em fountain pens, 
 ain't it? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Smiles and gives her pen and 
 paper. She puts them on NEW ZEALANDER'S table.) 
 Have you any other friends with any little idiosyn- 
 crasies ? 
 
 ANNIE. (Shocked not understanding) Oh, no, 
 sir. Nothin' like that in this ward, sir. 
 
 NURSE. (Enters) Two fresh cases, Doctor. 
 (She gives the DOCTOR two fever charts. To AN- 
 NIE,) Turn down those covers and remove the pil- 
 lows. 
 
 (ANNIE moves the table R. of cot Three back a little. 
 Puts pillows from cot Three on chair, then takes 
 the clothes off and holds them up at foot of cot. 
 They lay the stretcher on the empty cot, Three, 
 guided by the NURSE. ANNIE replaces covers. 
 Two other BEARERS carry on another case and, 
 by the NURSE'S order, place the stretcher on the 
 cot vacated by the SCOTCHMAN. The NURSE 
 has removed the pillows and is standing with 
 bed clothes at foot of cot Two. The men are put 
 in the beds very carefully, and the covers drawn 
 over them. DR. HANWELL dismisses the two 
 BEARERS, and, with the NURSE, arranges the men 
 in the most comfortable positions. One is ban- 
 daged across the head. The other has his arm 
 bound, and his back and chest bandaged. As 
 the two BEARERS pass out, ANNIE touches the 
 last one timidly. He stops.) 
 
 ANNIE. (In a whisper, pointing to a paper half 
 out of his pocket) Is that the "Referee"?
 
 OUT THERE 95 
 
 BEARER. Yes. 
 
 ANNIE. Can I 'ave it? 
 
 BEARER. (Cheerfully) All right! (Takes it out 
 and gives it to her.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Very pleased) I'm much obliged. 
 (Runs across and places "Referee" on COCKNEY'S 
 cot. BEARER joins the other BEARER. They pass 
 out.) 
 
 DR. HAN WELL. They've both had opiates? 
 
 NURSE. Yes, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Continuing conversation with 
 the NURSE and moving away, the NURSE following.) 
 Come across with me, and I'll give them to you. 
 (Stops when he sees ANNIE. J Stay here until the 
 nurse comes back. (Hurries out.) 
 
 NURSE. (Severely, to ANNIE,) And don't speak 
 to them or touch them. They mustn't be wakened 
 or moved. 
 
 ANNIE. I know, miss. I won't. 
 
 (NURSE rapidly follows the DOCTOR out. ANNIE 
 looks in awe and pity at the two men. The one 
 in No. Two is lying with his head away from 
 her. No. Three is perfectly motionless, too, 
 lying flat on his back. ANNIE gives a little 
 shiver, then goes to the NEW ZEALANDER'S cot 
 and puts the cigarettes, with the scrap of note 
 paper, on his pillow. She looks at the men as 
 she passes, and hurriedly puts the cigars on the 
 CANADIAN'S pillow. The man in No. Three 
 suddenly begins to speak in his delirium he 
 counts continually.) 
 
 No. THREE. (In delirium) One two three 
 four charge! (His voice rises as he mechanically 
 goes on counting.) 
 
 (ANNIE walks over nervously and looks down at
 
 96 OUT THERE 
 
 him. She is going to touch him, but checks her- 
 self. She looks off worriedly in the direction 
 in which the NURSE went, as though anxious 
 for her return. No. Three's voice rises louder 
 and louder. ANNIE tries to read the "Referee," 
 so as to resist the temptation to help the man. 
 She even walks over with it to the COCKNEY'S 
 cot, and puts it on his pillow. Finally, as no one 
 comes, and unable to stand the ceaseless mo- 
 notony of the man counting, she goes timidly to 
 him, takes his hand, and begins to stroke it, 
 singing, "Rock-a-by, Baiby." Gradually the 
 man's voice gets lower and lower, then fades 
 away. ANNIE stops the lullaby and stands look- 
 ing down at him. Suddenly the man in No. 
 Two struggles up with a groan, gives a cry, and 
 falls forward. ANNIE springs up and puts him 
 back on the pillow, then stares at him in mute, 
 helpless horror. The NURSE hurries back with 
 some medical packages, and catches ANNIE in 
 the act.) 
 
 NURSE. What do you mean by touching that 
 man? 
 
 ANNIE. (Wildly) 'E 'e 'e (Her hands 
 
 beating the air helplessly.) 
 
 NURSE. This is the last time. You will not be 
 allowed near the men again. Leave the ward ! 
 
 ANNIE. (Trying to speak articulately glaring 
 wild-eyed at the man) 'E was 'e was 'e was 
 
 (DR. HANWELL hurries in.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. What was that? 
 
 NURSE. She's been doing it again. I found her 
 pulling that man about on his pillow, after our strict 
 instructions. You said he was not to be touched. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. I did.
 
 OUT THERE 97 
 
 NURSE. She's not to be trusted near these people. 
 (To ANNIE) Leave the ward. 
 
 ANNIE. (Finds her voice, and screams vehement- 
 ly and wildly) 'E's my man my sweet'eart an* 
 I'm not t' touch 'im ! I'm t' be sent aw'y ! 'E went 
 becos I arst 'im to, an' naa 'e's there dyin', an' I'm 
 not t' touch 'im! I'm t' go! Wat 'ave I done? 
 Wat any one would do ! Not touch 'em ! (Points 
 to No. Three distractedly.) Look at 'im! Scream- 
 in* aat in 'is sleep, an' I stroked 'im an' sang 'im 
 quiet. (To NURSE) Not touch 'em! I wouldn't 
 'urt any of 'em. They're God's men. Thet's w'at 
 they are. Can any man do more'n they 'ave? 'E's 
 my man my sweet'eart ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Trying to soothe her) Quiet! 
 Quiet ! Tell me exactly what you did. 
 
 ANNIE. (Breathless crying distractedly) 'E 
 cried aat an' fell forward, an' I 'elped 'im back, saime 
 as 'e is naa. An' I sawr 'oo 'e was, an' I was 'oldin' 
 'im, 'ardly believin' it, w'en she come in an' saw me, 
 an' said I was t' leave the ward. I sent 'im t' the 
 war, an' I'm not t' touch 'im ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. In this instance you were per- 
 fectly right. From now, he will be your especial 
 care. See that he never plunges forward again. He 
 must be watched continually, and kept just as he is. 
 Don't allow him, under any circumstances, to fall 
 forward, or he may have a hemorrhage. You needn't 
 leave the ward. From now on, you are an assistant- 
 nurse. 
 
 ANNIE. (Dazed half-hysterical) Doctor ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Yes. And don't let him speak. 
 
 ANNIE. (Whispering) I won't, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. No excitement. 
 
 ANNIE. I know 'ow t' 'andle 'im, sir. (Looking 
 down at him.) 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Going to, cot Three) He's been 
 talking?
 
 98 OUT THERE 
 
 ANNIE. Countin', sir. "One two three four 
 Charge!" Time an' time ag'in ! 
 
 DR. HANWELL. (Nods under standingly as he 
 looks down at the man) I see. He goes through it 
 all up to the time he was hit. You sang to him? 
 
 ANNIE. (Nods) A baiby song. It used to quiet 
 mother when she was 'urt. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Take your instructions from her. 
 From now you're her assistant. (ANNIE gulps and 
 half sobs and nods. She cannot speak.) 
 
 NURSE. (To ANNIE, in a kindly voice) I'm 
 
 sorry! I didn't know when I spoke to you 
 
 (Puts her hand on ANNIE'S shoulder.) 
 
 ANNIE. (Huskily) Aw right, miss! 
 
 NURSE. Take care of them for a few minutes. 
 You seem to know how. (She hurries out.) 
 
 ANNIE. (DR. HANWELL goes back to cot Two 
 and listens to the man's breathing. She asks, wild- 
 eyed and anxious) Will 'e will 'e die, sir? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Certainly not! 
 
 ANNIE. (Her hand goes to her mouth and stifles 
 aery.) Oh! Will 'e live? 
 
 DR. HANWELL. Of course he will. We must keep 
 him asleep. Nature is fighting for him now. He 
 has everything on his side. How old is he? 
 
 ANNIE. Twen'y-four, sir. 
 
 DR. HANWELL. He'll live many more years. 
 (Smiling.) It will be a very happy waking for him. 
 But (Warning her) no fuss! 
 
 ANNIE. I know 'ow to f andle him 
 
 DR. HANWELL. You're a good girl, Annie. 
 
 ANNIE. (Huskily) You're a fine man, sir! 
 
 (DR. HANWELL goes out. ANNIE looks down at her 
 man resists the inclination to touch him sits 
 between the two beds thinks, takes off her 
 apron and folds it up and puts it under the chair 
 then takes from her bosom a little crumpled
 
 *. OUT THERE 99 
 
 nurse's cap, smooths it out, and puts it on. The 
 man in No. Three begins to count faintly she 
 looks at him then at No. Two who stirs un- 
 easily. The man's counting grows louder. She 
 stands up irresolutely looking from one cot to 
 the other and without leaving her sweetheart's 
 side, begins to croon "Rock-a-by, Baiby." The 
 man's voice rises louder and louder. She sees 
 that she must go to him if she is to quiet him. 
 She nerves herself to leave her lover's cot 
 goes to the troubled man, and closing her eyes 
 with an effort she sings as she did before and 
 strokes his hand. In a little while the man's 
 voice begins to soften. He is still. She gives 
 a great sigh of relief, and goes back and sits and 
 watches her lover. The sound of voices quite 
 near is heard, and the men appear, returning 
 from their airing. COCKNEY comes in first, 
 wheeling PAT, followed by CANADIAN, SCOTCH- 
 MAN and NEW ZEALANDER. She motions them 
 to be quiet, and points to the two new cases. 
 They nod and creep in. The COCKNEY noise- 
 lessly wheels PAT over to his place. As the NEW 
 ZEALANDER sits down by his cot he sees the ciga- 
 rettes gives an ejaculation, picks up one 
 lights it and inhales with evident satisfaction. 
 Then the COCKNEY finds the "Refere" and cries 
 under his breath, "Bli' me!" throws himself 
 full length on the coverlet and, turning to the 
 middle page, eagerly reads the sporting items. 
 Then the CANADIAN finds the cigars, gives a 
 little cry bites the end off one, lights it, and 
 starts smoking his face beaming. Lastly, PAT, 
 frowningly, looking around, sees the chocolates 
 on his pillow. He takes them up suspiciously 
 slowly a broad smile creases his features. He 
 takes a chocolate and devours it. The COCKNEY 
 looks at ANNIE and points her out to CANA-
 
 ioo OUT THERE 
 
 DIAN and the others, touching his head to indi- 
 cate the nurse's cap.) 
 
 CANADIAN. (In a whisper) Annie, w'at's thet 
 fer? 
 
 ANNIE. (In a whisper) I've got a right t' wear 
 it. 
 
 CANADIAN. (Whispering) Wat? Are y' a nurse? 
 
 ANNIE. (Solemnly and proudly) Yaas, I'm has- 
 sistant nurse. 
 
 END OF PART II
 
 PART III 
 "REVELATION'
 
 "REVELATION" 
 
 DIVISION ONE 
 SCENE: MRS. HUDD'S rooms. 
 
 MRS. HUDD'S living-room has been considerably 
 brightened. It is cleaner and neater. Many new 
 dishes have been added to the dresser. A good- 
 sized mirror and a clock adorn the walls. The 
 table has on it a brightly coloured cloth. 
 
 It is night. The room is lit by two lamps, one on the 
 table and one on the dresser. There is a gas-jet 
 in the hallway. 
 
 (The door opens and PRIVATE HUDD, in uniform, 
 looks in. His face is tanned by the sun and 
 wind, and he is attempting to grow a somewhat 
 anaemic moustache. Finding the room empty 
 he turns and beckons.) 
 
 Come in! (MR. MONTAGUE MARSH enters, 
 very much better dressed than when we last saw him. 
 He is carrying a new hat and cane, and is gloved.) 
 Sit daan ! (Goes into inner room, calling out bois- 
 terously and singing.) 
 
 'Ere we are! 
 
 'Ere we are! 
 
 'Ere we are again! 
 'Ello, Ma! Wat oh, Liz! 
 
 (His mother and sister can be heard greeting him.) 
 
 103
 
 104 OUT THERE 
 
 MRS. HUDD. (Affectionately) W'y, 'Erb! 
 LIZZIE. (With no enthusiasm) 'Ello. 
 'ERB. Go in an' see 'oo I've brought y'. 
 LIZZIE. 'Oo? 
 'ERB. Go in an' see. 
 
 LIZZIE. We're not 'avin' visitors ju't naa. 
 'ERB. (Pushing her into the room) Ga'n in. 
 (He closes the door.) 
 LIZZIE. 'Ere ! 'Oo yer shoving of ? 
 
 (LizziE, much more quietly dressed, and far more 
 acerb of manner, comes in suspiciously and looks 
 at MONTE disgustedly.) 
 
 "LizziE. Monte! (About to go out again.) 
 
 MONTE. Liz Miss 'Udd 
 
 "LizziE. Wat brought y' 'ere? 
 
 MONTE. 'E did. I 'appened t' meet 'Erb Pri- 
 vate 'Udd, 'e likes isself t' be called naa met 'im 
 yes'd'y arft'noon, an' we 'ad a bit of a chin. An' 'e 
 said, "Come on 'ome wi* me t'morrer," 'e said. "T'- 
 morrer evenin'," 'e said. An' I said, "No" ; I said 
 "No." An' e' said, "Yes" ; 'e said, "Y' got to." So 
 I come. I 'ear the rfoW-chap's gorn? 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Ootoldy'? 
 
 MONTE. 'Erb. 
 
 LIZZIE. Like 'is cheek! 
 
 MONTE. Trav'lin' men ain't no good. Got a gal 
 in ev'ry taan. Nothin* like a real stand-by. Y' know 
 w'ere 'e maikes 'is 'ome. 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas. Woolwich ! 
 
 MONTE. An' very nice, too. W'at abaat it, Liz 
 Miss 'Udd? It's there, waitin' f'r y'. 
 
 LIZZIE. No fear! Not with all I've got on me 
 mind! 
 
 MONTE. Oh ! 
 
 LIZZIE. I'm 'elpin* the Gov'm'nt naa. 
 
 MONTE. I know munitions.
 
 OUT THERE 105 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas. Wen I've pulled them through I'll 
 see abaat you an' Woolwich. 
 
 MONTB. (Going to her joyfully) Oh, Liz Miss 
 'Udd! 
 
 LIZZIE. Aw right naa. Taike y'r time! 
 
 MONTE. Then I m'y 'ope ? 
 
 LIZZIE. The's no lawr ag'in 'oping. 
 
 MONTE. (With a deep breath) Ah! I thought 
 y' loved me. 
 
 LIZZIE. Loved y'? (Laughs sneeringly.) The's 
 not much love in Camden Taan. 
 
 MONTE. (Fervently) There is in Woolwich 
 lots of it. Will y' walk aat ag'in? 
 
 LIZZIE. The's no 'urry. Wait till I've done me 
 job. Cawn't think o' marriage wi' the war on. 
 
 *ERB. (From inner room) Come on, Ma ! 
 
 MRS. HUDD. (From inner room) Aw right, 
 dearie. 
 
 LIZZIE. An', see ! Nothin' t' ma, or 'Erb, or it's 
 all orf. 
 
 MONTE. Aw right, Liz ! Then I m'y come araand 
 an' taike y' aat? 
 
 LIZZIE. I s'pose so. 
 
 MONTE. I do feel 'appy. 
 
 LIZZIE. Don' taike much t' maike y' 'appy ! Do 
 it? 
 
 MONTE. It taikes you. 
 
 LIZZIE. Y' ain't got me yet. 
 
 MONTE. G'wan ! (Playfully slapping her.) Yaas, 
 I 'ave. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Slapping him quite hard) No, y' ain't. 
 
 MONTE. (Slapping her again) Oh, yaas, I 'ave. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Hitting him on the face) I s'y you ain't. 
 
 ('ERB quietly opens the door and brings in his mother 
 they both see the blows.)
 
 106 OUT THERE 
 
 'ERB. W'y, they're a-'ittin' of each other. They 
 mus' be engaiged. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Angrily) Not yet, I ain't. 
 
 'ERB. But y're goin' to be. I know 'ow y' maikes 
 love. I've seen y'. (To MONTE ) The 'arder she 
 'its,, the more she cares. (To LIZZIE) Ga on ! Give 
 'im a good un. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Furiously) Oh, le' me alone! (Goes 
 away,) 
 
 MRS. HUDD. (Very respectably dressed, her hair 
 nicely done, and her whole manner very much im- 
 proved, shakes hands with MONTEJ Very glad, I'm 
 sure! 
 
 MONTE. It's a treat t' see y', Mrs. 'Udd. 
 
 'ERB. So you're workin' reg'lar, eh? 
 
 MRS. HUDD. (In a very superior manner) Yaas. 
 'Erb. Light, but steady! I hopens the door at an 
 'orspital. 
 
 'ERB. An' Liz is makin' shells, eh? 
 
 LIZZIE. An' w'y shouldn't I ? They p'ys me well. 
 
 'ERB. My Gawd ! 'Ow the money rolls in ! Liz 
 maikes the shells ! Monte maikes the guns ! I'm 
 goin' aat t' fire 'em ! Mother opens the door at the 
 'orspital! An' sister Annie nurses 'em! Wat oh, 
 the'Udds! (Sings) 
 
 " 'Ere we are ! 
 'Ere we are ! 
 'Ere we are ag'in!" 
 (To LIZZIE) S'y, I've got a little treat f'r y' t'night. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Brightening) The theaytre? 
 
 'ERB. Naow. Better'n thet. 
 
 LIZZIE. Wat ? 
 
 'ERB. A recruitin* meetin'. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Disgustedly) Oh ! Not f'r me ! 
 
 'ERB. 'Oo d'y think's goin' t' speak? 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Oo? Lloy' George? 
 
 'ERB. Naow, Annie! 
 
 LIZZIE. Annie f Annie speak ?
 
 OUT THERE 107 
 
 'ERB. Yaas. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, my Gawd ! 
 
 'ERB. Don't y' maike no mistake ! She can. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Laughs disdainfully) Ha! 
 
 MRS. HUDD. An' w'y not? W'y shouldn't she 
 speak? Ain't she my daughter? 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas. Thet's w'y! 
 
 MRS. HUDD. (To MONTE j Me pore gran'father 
 could speak for howers without a heffort w'en 'e 
 was in the 'Ouse of Commons. For howers with- 
 out a heffort. 
 
 LIZZIE. Were? 
 
 MRS. HUDD. (With great dignity) In the 'Ouse 
 of Commons ! An' the 'ole country a-waitin' to 'ear 
 'wat 'e said ! 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Erb! She's orf ag'in! 
 
 'ERB. 'Course, I never seed 'im, but from all I 
 'ear, your poor old gran'father must 'a' bin a bit of 
 all right. 
 
 MRS. HUDD. Mr. Marsh? 
 
 MONTE. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 MRS. HUDD. Did y' ever 'ear o' my pore ole gran'- 
 father? 
 
 MONTE. I must 'ave. Wat was 'is naime ? 
 
 MRS. HUDD. 'Is naime was Boyle. Y' see, me 
 married naime's 'Udd, but I'm really a Boyle on me 
 mother's side. Oh, 'e could talk. O, my Gord ; 'ow 
 he could talk! W'y, many's the time with thou- 
 sands o' people 'e'd 
 
 'ERB. Aw right, Ma! Git y'r bonnit on, an' y'r 
 shawl. We got a long w'y to go. 
 
 MRS. HUDD. H'all right, dearie! But don't y' 
 maike no mistaike abaat Annie. She's not my daugh- 
 ter f'r nothink. (To MONTEJ D' y' know she's a 
 fully sterrified nurse? 
 
 MONTE. Go on, ma'am, is she? 
 
 'ERB. Certified, she means.
 
 io8 OUT THERE 
 
 MRS. HUDD. Very glad yer goin' ter join the 'Udd 
 family. 
 
 'ERB. Come on, 'urry up, Ma ! It's goin' t' be a 
 graite meetin'. (Passes her across to the door. She 
 goes out. 'ERB, closing the door after her, sings, 
 "'Ere we are ag'in") Pore ol' Ma! An' Gran'- 
 father ! Come on. Liz ! Put y'r duds on ! 
 
 LIZZIE. I don't care abaat goin'. 
 
 MONTE. (Jumping at the opportunity) Nor do 
 I. Tell y' w'at ! I'll st'y 'ere with you. 
 
 'ERB. (Threateningly) Wat's thet? You st'y 
 'ere wi* Liz? Not if I knows it, y' won't! 
 
 LIZZIE. Never you mind abaat 'is st'yin' ! Rather 
 'n that, I'd 'ear Annie speak. I'll go. (Takes her 
 hat and coat from nail on side of dresser.) 
 
 'ERB. (Glaring at MONTEJ Not so much of the 
 "Stay 'ere with Liz" stuff! You come along with 
 me. See ? 
 
 MONTE. Aw right, 'Erb! Didn't mean nothin'. 
 (Thoroughly cowed.) 
 
 'ERB. I should think not, indeed. S'y, Lizzie! 
 Don' tell ma yet. I'm goin' aat nex' week. 
 
 LIZZIE. Were ? 
 
 'ERB. Aat there. 
 
 LIZZIE. Are y'? (Indifferently.) 
 
 'ERB. Yaas. An' mebbe I ain't glad ! Nat 'alf ! 
 I'm sick o' marchin* abaat an' stickin' bags with a 
 bay'nit. I want t' stick some o' them blighters. 
 W'at oh! 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, my ! Ain't we savige ! Y' wasn't so 
 anxious a w'ile ago. 
 
 'ERB. Well, I am naa. See? 
 
 LIZZIE. (Sneeringly) 'Cos y' was ashaimed. An- 
 nie maide y' ashaimed. 
 
 'ERB. An' w'at if she did? 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh! Annie! 
 
 'ERB. She's done well ain't she? 
 
 LIZZIE. So she says. We ain't seen 'er.
 
 * OUT THERE 109 
 
 'ERB. 'Cos she ain't 'ad a chance t' come. (To 
 MONTE) She's bin maikin' speeches all raan' the 
 country. This is 'er firs' night in London. 'Ope / 
 does as well as she 'as. 'Taint every one can go aat 
 as she did an 'come back an' maike speeches. 
 
 LIZZIE. 'Er maikin' speeches! She don' know 
 no more words 'n 7 do. 
 
 'ERB. She can use w'at she's got. (To MONTE J 
 She's bin recmitin' all daan from Liverpool, an' pull- 
 in' 'em in, d'y an' night. W'y, one place she got 
 two an' they didn't even know there was a war on. 
 She's wot the paipers calls a 'yptonist - 
 
 MONTE. Oh, indeed is that so? 
 
 'ERB. You know! Kind o' sends y' t' sleep, an* 
 we'n y* waikes up y're in the army. Thet's w'at 
 she does. 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh ! Annie! Gives me a pain ! 
 
 Y' wouldn't think they was sisters, would 
 
 MONTE. (Frightenedly) Oh, I dunno. 
 
 LIZZIE. Yaas, y' do! W'y don't y' own up? 
 W'at do 7 care if she is a nurse? 
 
 'ERB. She's jealous. Thet's what she is. 
 
 LIZZIE. Me? 
 
 'ERB. Yaas. 
 
 LIZZIE. Jealous of Annie? 
 
 'ERB. Thet's w'at I said. 
 
 LIZZIE. (Furiously to MONTE} 'Ere, wot d* you 
 think? 
 
 MONTE. (Alarmed) Well, er - Why, er - 
 Y' know, er - (Stops.) 
 
 LIZZIE. (Imitating him) Well, er - Why, er 
 You know, er - W'at kind o' talk is thet? 
 
 (Turns to 'ERB.j W'y, Annie's- 
 
 'ERB. (Seriously) 'Ere ! Thet's enough o' thet ! 
 See ? She's our sister. And I'm praad of it. France 
 'ad a Joan of Hare! Aw right, then. We've got a 
 Annie 'Udd! She showed me w'at for. An* I've
 
 no OUT THERE 
 
 never bin 'appier f'r anythin' I've done than I've bin 
 f'r inlistin'. See? Not even w'en I won me first 
 fight ! Yaas ! An' this is a bigger fight 'n thet. I'm 
 goin' to 'it the fellers I 'ates not me own kind. 
 Thet's w'at she said. See? An' I can look people 
 str'ight in the faice naa as I walks daan the street. 
 An' they looks at me in these 'ere (Pointing to his 
 uniform) as if they was praad o' me. An' I'm 
 praad o' meself. Thet's Annie's doin'. So you jes' 
 shut up talkin' ag'in' 'er. See? 
 
 LIZZIE. (Turning away, a little ashamed) Oh! 
 
 'ERB. (Watches her then goes to her and puts 
 his hand on her shoulder) Liz ! Liz ! I didn't mean 
 t' - 
 
 LIZZIE. (Distractedly) Oh! Lea'e me alone, 
 cawn't y' ? Annie ! Annie ! Annie ! Jes' becos she 
 sneaked 'er w'y inter bein' a nurse ! 
 
 (MRS. HUDD comes in -with her bonnet and shawl. 
 She is carrying a familiar, large black bottle.) 
 
 'Ere we are, Ma! (Sees the bottle.) W'at 
 oh! A little drop o' "the old," eh? (Takes the 
 bottle, gives a cry, puts it down quickly on the table, 
 and wrings his fingers.) Bli' me! Wat's in the 
 bottle? 
 
 MRS. HUDD. 'Ot water, dearie. 
 
 'ERB. 'Ot water? 
 
 MRS. HUDD. Yaas. So good f'r the 'eart, y' 
 know. The pore doctor bordered it with 'is larst 
 breath. 
 
 'ERB. What? Are y' givin' up the "Velvet"? 
 
 MRS. HUDD. Yaas, 'Erb. I are. 
 
 'ERB. F'rhever? 
 
 MRS. HUDD. No, hindeed! F'r the duration o' 
 the war. We all got t' give up somethin'. So I give 
 hit up. You don't think it will be a long war, do 
 you, 'Erb?
 
 OUT THERE in 
 
 *ERB. Not w'en some of us gets out there 
 
 (Digging her playfully in the ribs.) You're all right, 
 you are ! 'Ere, Monte, look slippy. ( MONTE goes 
 up to the door.) Put that aat, Liz. (Pointing to 
 lamp on dresser, which LIZZIE turns out. MONTE 
 opens door.) 'Ere y* are, Ma. You'd better take 
 the bottle you got your gloves on. 
 
 LIZZIE. (As they go to outer door) Fine evenin* 
 this is goin' to be! Annie! (Pushes her way past 
 MONTE and MRS. HUDD and goes out.) 
 
 MRS. HUDD. My pore gran' farther 
 
 LIZZIE. Oh, gran'farther me' at! (Opening the 
 outer door.) 
 
 MRS. HUDD. (To MONTE as they go out into the 
 street) 'E was w'at they calls a nachral horator ! 
 
 *ERB. (Leaves the inner door open, turns the gas 
 in the corridor down to half -strength, and goes to the 
 outside of the outer door.) Raan' t' the right! 
 (Bangs the outer door.) Keep on the paivement, 
 Ma. An' mind y'r bottle ! 
 
 END OF THE FIRST DIVISION OF PART THREE
 
 DIVISION TWO 
 
 A Public Place 
 THE NURSE
 
 Courtesy of White Studio 
 
 THE NURSE
 
 "REVELATION" 
 DIVISION Two 
 
 The scene represents the base of the Nelson Column 
 in Trafalgar Square, London, at night. In the 
 distance are street lamps dimly lighted. 
 
 ANNIE stands on the plinth at the base of the column 
 in the costume of a fully qualified Red Cross 
 Nurse. 
 
 Below her, and in front of her, is a crowd. 
 
 As the curtain rises the crowd is cheering ANNIE. 
 
 ANNIE. It's funny, me standin* up 'ere maikin* 
 speeches ! I ain't got much o' w'at y* call a v'cab- 
 yerlerry, but I've faand it ain't alwa's the biggest 
 words as maikes big things clear. A simple talk is 
 best understood by simple people, ain't it? Y' tell 
 'ow y'r feller loves y' by the w'y 'e looks at y', not 
 by w'at 'e says. Y' know a frien's a frien' by the 
 hatmosphere thet's maide w'en you're together. An* 
 so I want y' t' see love f 'r me own kind in me eyes 
 as I speak, an' I want y' t' feel a hatmosphere o' 
 frien's like even w'en I arsts y' t' go aat there an' 
 p'r'aps git killed w'ich don' seem hixac'ly frien'ly, 
 do it? I ain't f'r war. But I earn' see w'at you're 
 goin' t' do w'en y'r country's in it except 'elp y'r 
 country. If you 'old back, you're 'elpin' the enemy, 
 ain't y' ? There ain't no other w'y o' fiiggerin'. Naa, 
 suppose y' don' go aat. "No," y' says t' y'rself. "Hi 
 got me wife an' kids. Hi got me shop." Very well ! 
 I'll talk yo're kind o' talk. If the henemy ever gits 
 'ere d' y' fink 'e'll let y' keep y'r shop ? No, young
 
 ii6 OUT THERE 
 
 feller-me-lad. They need it t' maike up f 'r the shops 
 they lef be'ind. An' they'll taike it if y' don't 'elp t' 
 keep 'em aat o' y'r country. An' y'r wife an' kids ! 
 So 'elp me! If y'd seen w'at I've seen an' knoo 
 w'at 7 know, y' wouldn't 'old back. Y' wouldn' 
 wait f'r 'em t' come into England. Y'd be willin' t' 
 go aat an' fight 'em wiv y'r fem'ly miles be'ind y' in 
 their 'omes, instead o' waitin' till the henemy comes 
 over 'ere an' knocks y'r fem'ly abaat, an' y' 'ave t' 
 fight by y'rself wiv no charnce o' success, instead o' 
 wiv thaasan's o' y'r own kind to 'elp y'. An' w'en 
 it's over, w'y, y' won' know w'ere to go f'r comp'ny 
 unless y' maike up a batallion called "The Never- 
 Do-Nothin'-f'r-Nobodies," an' all stick t'gether in a 
 dark corner. 'Cos y' ain* goin' t' be aible t' 'sociate 
 wiv the lads y' knoo afore the war. They're gorn 
 way beyond you, 'cos they've realized thet w'en y' 
 s'y "My Country" y' don' mean the so-many miles 
 o' dirt thet's called Hingland or Hamerica, or w'at- 
 ever country y' 'appen t' belong t'. "Your Country" 
 means your right t' live hindependent on those miles 
 o' dirt hindependent in y'r bizniss, y'r religion, an' 
 y'r fem'ly. 
 
 The bes' thing t' do naa is t' join the army an' 
 pertect y' wife an' y'r kids an' y'r shop. After the 
 war, w'en men realize thet the honly thing as can be 
 perfected t' stand ag'inst the bes' machinery an' the 
 bigges' guns is the soul of a people, we won't 'ave 
 no more wars. Up t' naa, we ain' give as much at- 
 tention t' perfectin' the sperrit Gawd give us as we 
 'ave to aar movies an' telephones. At the presen* 
 time, set a million people armed wiv peace-an'-good- 
 will ag'inst a million people armed wiv shrapnel, an' 
 w'at 'appens? In the present siterwation the on'y 
 thing t' do is t' horfer peace wiv one 'and, but be 
 sure the other's full o' shrapnel. Hi know a nation 
 w'at's full o' the Gawd-like sperrit. They tried it 
 f'r months. They said t' the henemy, " 'Ere ! W'at
 
 OUT TPJERE 117 
 
 d' y' mean? Doncher know no better? Hixplaine 
 y'rself! W'y did y' do thet?" Did the henemy 
 reco'nize it, an* s'y, "Wat a Gawd-like sperrit ! 'Ow 
 Christian-like!" An' act Christian-like in return? 
 No! The henemy said, "Wat oh! Wat 'ave we 
 faand? 'Ere's a nation o' nuts!" That nation 'as 
 naa realized w'at we realized a few years ago thet 
 a gun in y'r 'and don't mean thet you're goin' t' 
 shoot, but it does maike the other feller listen t' w'at 
 you've got t' s'y. 
 
 So come on, young feller-me-lads, an' join up! 
 Give me y'r an's an' s'y y'll fight f'r y'r country! 
 Give those brutes all the war they want ! Give 'em 
 war until the very word "War" maikes 'em sick to 
 their stomicks to 'ear it! Give 'em war until they 
 pray for peace the honly peace we Henglish will 
 agree to peace wiv the victory of all civilization 
 over the foulest, dirtiest, vilest race that ever dis- 
 figured this 'ere earth! Come on, boys! Join up! 
 Carry on ! Who comes first ? (As the hands go up 
 to clasp hers.) 
 
 THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 THE END
 
 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 
 Jnodern. 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- 
 comfiture 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. 
 
 i 
 
 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. Holmet 
 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 Citj 
 
 Ha> and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free u Rsuuasi
 
 The Touch-Down 
 
 A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short. 8 males, 6 females, tmt 
 any number of characters can be introduced in the ensembles. Cos- 
 tumes modern. One interior scene throughout the play. Time, 2j 
 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 Eleven, &nd 
 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 Cants. 
 
 Hurry, Hurry, Hurry 
 
 A comedy in three acts, by LeRoy Arnold. 5 males, 4 females, 
 One interior scene. Costumes modern. Plays 2J4 hours. 
 
 The story is based on the will of an eccentric aunt. It stipulates 
 that her pretty niece must be affianced before rhe is twenty-one, and 
 married to her fiance within a year, if she is to get her spinster 
 relative's million. Father has nice notions of honor and fails to tell 
 daughter about the will, so that she may make her choice untram- 
 meled by any other consideration than that of true love. 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 from 
 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 an<l 
 the 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 of 
 a "spread" in his room in Regatta week by a visit from his aunt 
 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 oi 
 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 
 toy airi Explicit Diicriptmi Catalogue Mailed Frit oa RIOIMS*
 
 Nothing But the Truth 
 
 A Farcical Comedy in Three Acts 
 
 By 
 
 James Montgomery 
 Cast of Characters 
 
 Bennett 
 B. M. Ralston 
 Clarence Van Dusen 
 Bishop Doran 
 Dick Donnelly 
 Gwen 
 
 Mrs. Ralston 
 Ethel 
 Mable 
 Sable 
 
 SCENES 
 
 ACT i. A Broker'* Office 
 
 ACT 2. Parlor of a Country Home 
 
 ACT 3. 
 
 TIME: The Present 
 
 "Nothing But the Truth" is built upon the simpk. Idea 
 Of its hero speaking nothing but the absolute truth /for 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 the 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 
 Bee 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 
 with. 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*' 
 fco amateur production. 
 
 PBZCE 60 CENTS
 
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