S60 
 svie 
 
SWEET 
 
 AND 
 
 TWENTY 
 
 BY 
 
 FLOYD DELL 
 
 Stewart Kidd 
 
 MODERN PLAYS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 FRANK SHAY 
 
Stewart Kidd Dramatic Anthologies 
 
 Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays 
 
 Edited by 
 FRANK SHAY and PIERRE LOVING 
 
 THIS volume contains FIFTY REPRESENTATIVE ONE-ACT PLAYS 
 of the MODERN THEATER, chosen from the dramatic works of con- 
 temporary writers all over the world and is the second volume in the 
 Stewart Kidd Dramatic Anthologies, the first being European Theories of the 
 Drama, by Barrett H. Clark, which has been so enthusiastically received. 
 
 The editors have scrupulously sifted countless plays and have selected the 
 best available in English. One-half the plays have never before been pub- 
 lished in book form; thirty-one are no longer available in any other edition. 
 The work satisfies a long-felt want for a handy collection of the choicest 
 plays produced by the art theaters all over the world. It is a complete reper- 
 tory for a little theater, a volume for the study of the modern drama, a rep- 
 resentative collection of the world's best short plays. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 AUSTRIA 
 
 Schnitzler (Arthur) — Literature 
 BELGIUM 
 
 Maeterlinck (Maurice)— The Intruder 
 BOLIVIA 
 
 More (Federico) — Interlude 
 FRANCE 
 
 Ancey (George) — M. Lamblin 
 
 Porto- Riche (Georges) — Francoise's Luck 
 GERMANY 
 
 Ettinger (Karl) — Altruism 
 
 von HofmannstLal (Hugo) — Madonna Dia- 
 nora 
 
 Wedekind (Frank)— The Tenor 
 GREAT BRITAIN 
 
 Bennett (Arnold)— A Good "Woman 
 
 Calderon (George)— The Little Stone 
 House. 
 
 Cannan (Gilbert)— Mary's Wedding 
 
 Dowson (Ernest) — The Pierrot of the Min- 
 ute. 
 
 Ellis (Mrs. Havelock) — The Subjection 
 of Kezia 
 
 Hankin (St. John) — The Constant Lover 
 INDIA 
 
 Mukerji (Dhan Gopal) — The Judgment of 
 Indra 
 IRELAND 
 
 Gregory (Lady) — The Workhouse Ward 
 HOLLAND 
 
 Speenhoff (J. H.) — Louise 
 HUNGARY 
 
 Biro (Lajos) — The Grandmother 
 ITALY 
 
 Giocosa (Giuseppe) — The Rights of the 
 Soul 
 RUSSIA 
 
 Andreyev (Leonid) — Love of One's Neigh- 
 bor 
 
 Tchekoff (Anton) — The Boor 
 
 SPAIN 
 
 Benevente (Jacinto) — His Widow's Hus- 
 band 
 Quinteros (Serafina and Joaquin Alverez) 
 
 — A Sunny Morning 
 SWEDEN 
 
 Strindberg (August) — The Creditor 
 Wied (Gustave) — Autumn Fires 
 UNITED STATES 
 
 Beach (Lewis) — Brothers 
 Cowan (Sada) — In the Morgue 
 Crocker (Bosworth) — The Baby Carriage 
 Cronyn (George W.) — A Death in Fever 
 
 Flat 
 Davies (Mary Carolyn) — The Slave with 
 
 Two Faces 
 Day (Frederick L.) — The Slump 
 Flanner (Hildegard) — Mansions 
 Glaspell (Susan) — Trifles 
 Gerstenberg (Alice) — The Pot Boiler 
 Helburn (Theresa) — Enter the Hero 
 Hudson (Holland) — The Shepherd in the 
 
 Distance 
 Kemp (Harry) — Boccaccio's Untold Tale 
 Langner (Lawrence) — Another Way Out 
 MacMillan (Mary) — The Shadowed Star 
 Millay (Edna St. Vincent) — Aro da Capo 
 Moeller (Philip) — Helena's Husband 
 O'Neill (Eugene)- He 
 Stevens (Thomas Wood) — The Nursery 
 
 Maid of Heaven 
 Stevens (Wallace) — Three Travelers Watch 
 
 a Sunrise 
 Tompkins (Frank G.) — Sham 
 Waffeer (Stuart)— The Medicine Show 
 Wellman (Rita)— For All Time 
 Wilde (Percival) — The Finger of God 
 YIDDISH 
 
 Ash (Sholom)— Night 
 
 Pinski (David) — Forgotten Souls 
 
 Large 8vo, j<?j pages. Net, $^.oo 
 
 Send for Complete Dramatic Catalogue 
 
 STEWART KIDD COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS, - - CINCINNATI, U. S. A. 
 
STEWART KIDD MODERN PLAYS 
 Edited by Frank Shay 
 
 
 IW 
 
 SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
Stewart Kidd Modern Plays 
 Edited by FRANK SHAY 
 
 To meet the immensely increased demands of the play-reading public 
 and those interested in the modern drama, Stewart Kidd are issuing 
 under the general editorship of Frank Shay a series of plays from the pens 
 of the world's best contemporary writers. No effort is being spared to 
 secure the best work available, and the plays are issued in a form that is 
 at once attractive to readers and suited to the needs of the performer 
 and producer. Buffalo Express: "Each play is of merit. Each is unlike 
 the other. The group furnishes a striking example [of the realistic trend 
 of the modern drama." 
 
 From time to time special announcements will be printed giving com- 
 plete lists of the plays. 
 
 SHAM, a Social Satire in One Act. By Frank G. Tompkins. 
 Originally produced by Sam Hume, at the Arts and Crafts Theatre, 
 
 Detroit. 
 San Francisco Bulletin: "The lines are new and many of them 
 are decidedly clever." 
 Providence Journal : "An ingenious and merry little one-act play." 
 
 THE SHEPHERD IN THE DISTANCE, a Pantomime in 
 One Act. By Holland Hudson. 
 
 Originally produced by the Washington Square Players. 
 
 Oakland Tribune: "A pleasing pantomime of the Ancient East." 
 
 MANSIONS, a Play in One Act. By Hildegarde Flanner. 
 Originally produced by the Indiana Little Theatre Society. 
 Three Arts Magazine : "This thoughtful and well-written play of 
 Characters and Ideals has become a favorite with Little Theatres 
 and is now available in print." 
 
 HEARTS TO MEND, a Fantasy in One Act. 
 
 By H. A. Over street. 
 Originally produced by the Fireside Players, White Plains, N. Y. 
 St. Louis Star : "It is a light whimsy and well carried out." 
 San Francisco Chronicle: "No one is likely to hear or read it 
 without real and legitimate pleasure." 
 
 SIX WHO PASS WHILE THE LENTILS BOIL. 
 
 By Stuart Walker. 
 Originally produced by the Portmanteau Players at Christodora 
 
 House, New York City. 
 Brooklyn Eagle : "Literary without being pedantic, and dramatic 
 without being noisy." 
 
 OTHERS TO FOLLOW. Bound in Art Paper. Each, net, .50 
 
Sweet and Twenty 
 
 A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 
 
 By 
 
 FLOYD DELL 
 
 Author of 
 MOON CALF 
 
 First produced by the Provincetown Players, New York City 
 January 25, 1918, with the following cast: 
 
 THE YOUNG WOMAN - - - Edna Si. Vincent Mtllay 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN Ordway Tead 
 
 THE AGENT Otto Liver ighl 
 
 THE GUARD Louis Ell 
 
 STEWART & KIDD 
 
 aNONNATL U S. A. 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 STEWART KIDD COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
MAIfl UB, 
 
 COPYRIGHT, I921 
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 COPYRIGHT IN ENGLAND 
 
 Sweet and Twenty is fully protected by the copyright law, 
 all requirements of which have been complied with. No perform- 
 ance, either professional or amateur, may be given without the 
 written permission of the author or his representative, i tewart 
 Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 
%0 
 
 1)351 
 su~e. 
 
 Sweet and Twenty 
 
 Scene — A corner of the cherry orchard on the coun- 
 try place of the late Mr. Boggley^ now on sale and 
 open for inspection to prospective buyers. The 
 cherry orchard ^ now in full bloom ^ is a very 
 pleasant place. There is a green-painted rustic 
 bench beside the path. 
 
 {This scene can be effectively produced on a small 
 stage by a back-drop painted a blue-green color , with 
 a single conventionalized cherry branch painted 
 across it, and two three-leaved screens masking the 
 wings J painted in blue-green with a spray of cherry 
 blossoms). 
 
 A young woman, dressed in a light summer frock 
 and carrying a parasol, drifts in from the back. 
 She sees the bench, comes over to it and sits down 
 with an air of petulant weariness. 
 
 A handsome young man enters from the right. He 
 stops short in surprise on seeing the charming 
 stranger who lolls upon the bench. He takes off 
 his hat. 
 
 HE 
 
 Ohj I beg your pardon! 
 
 SHE 
 
 Oh, you needn't! IVe no right to be here, 
 either. 
 
 HE 
 
 (Coming down to her) Now what do you mean 
 by that? 
 
 SHE 
 
 I thought perhaps you were playing truant, 
 as I am. 
 
 5 
 
 812 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 HE 
 
 Playing truant? 
 
 SHE 
 
 I was looking at the house, you know. And I 
 got tired and ran away. 
 
 HE 
 
 Well, to tell the truth, so did I. It's dull work, 
 isn't it? 
 
 SHE 
 
 Fve been upstairs and down for two hours. 
 That family portrait gallery finished me. It 
 was so old and gloomy and dead that I felt as 
 if I were dead myself. I just had to do some- 
 thing. I wanted to jab my parasol through the 
 window-pane. I understood just how the suf- 
 fragettes felt. But I was afraid of shocking 
 the agent. He is such a meek little man, and 
 he seemed to think so well of me. If I had 
 broken the window I would have shattered his 
 ideals of womanhood, too, I'm afraid. So I 
 just slipped away quietly and came here. 
 
 HE 
 
 I've only been there half an hour and we — 
 I've only been in the basement. That's why 
 our tours of inspection didn't bring us together 
 sooner. I've been cross-examining the furnace. 
 Do you understand furnaces? {He sits down 
 beside her) I don't. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Do you like family portraits? I hate 'em! 
 
 HE 
 
 What! Do the family portraits go with the 
 house ? 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 SHE 
 
 No, thank heaven. They've been bequeathed 
 to the Metropolitan Museum of Horrors, I un- 
 derstand. They're valuable historically— early 
 colonial governors and all that sort of stuff. 
 But there is someone with me who— who takes 
 a deep interest in such things. 
 
 HE 
 
 {frowning at a sudden memory) Hm. Didn't 
 I see you at that real estate office in New York 
 yesterday? 
 
 SHE 
 
 Yes. He was with me then. 
 
 HE (compassionately) 
 
 I— I thought I remembered seeing you with— 
 
 with him 
 
 SHE {cheerfully) . 
 
 Isn't he just the sort of man who would be m- 
 terested in family portraits? 
 
 HE {confused) 
 
 Well — since you ask me — I — ! 
 
 SHE 
 
 Oh, that's all right. Tubby's a dear, m spite 
 of his funny old ideas. I like him very much. 
 
 HE 
 
 {gulping the pill) Yes. . . . 
 
 SHE 
 
 He's so anxious to please me in buying this 
 house. I suppose it's all right to have a house, 
 but I'd like to become acquainted with it grad- 
 ually. I'd like to feel that there was always 
 some corner left to explore— some mystery 
 
 7 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 saved up for a rainy day. Tubby can't under- 
 stand that. He drags me everywhere, explain- 
 ing how we'll keep this and change that — 
 dormer windows here and perhaps a new wing 
 there. ... I suppose youVe been re- 
 building the house, too.^ 
 
 HE 
 
 No. Merely decided to turn that sunny south 
 room into a study. It would make a very 
 pleasant place to work. But if you really want 
 the place, I'd hate to take it away from you. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I was just going to say that \i you really wanted 
 it, Fd withdraw. It was Tubby's idea to buy 
 it, you know — not mine. You do want it, don't 
 you? 
 
 HE 
 
 I can't say that I do. It's so infernally big. 
 But Maria thinks I ought to have it. {Ex- 
 planatorily) Maria is — 
 SHE {gently) 
 
 She's — the one who is interested in furnaces, 
 I understand. I saw her with you at the real- 
 estate office yesterday. Well — furnaces are 
 necessary, I suppose. {There is a pause ^ which 
 she breaks suddenly) Do you see that bee? 
 
 HE 
 
 A bee ? {He follows her gaze up to a cluster of 
 blossoms.) 
 
 SHE 
 
 Yes — there ! {Affectionately) The rascal ! There 
 he goes. {Their eyes follow the flight of the bee 
 across the orchard. There is a silence^ in which 
 
 8 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 Maria and Tubby drift into the limbo of forgotten 
 things. Alone together beneath the blossoms^ a 
 spell seems to have fallen upon them. She tries to 
 think of something to say — and at last succeeds.) 
 
 SHE 
 
 Have you heard the story of the people who 
 used to live here? 
 
 HE 
 
 No; why? 
 
 SHE 
 
 An agent was telling us. It's quite romantic — 
 and rather sad. You see, the man that built 
 this house was in love with a girl. He was 
 building it for her — as a surprise. But he had 
 neglected to mention to her that he was in love 
 with her. And so, in pique, she married an- 
 other man, though she was really in love with 
 him. The news came just when he had finished 
 the house. He shut it up for a year or two, but 
 eventually married someone else, and they lived 
 here for ten years — most unhappily. Then 
 they went abroad, and the house was sold. It 
 was bought, curiously enough, by the husband 
 of the girl he had been in love with. They lived 
 here till they died — hating each other to the 
 end, the agent says. 
 
 HE 
 
 It gives me the shivers. To think of that house, 
 haunted by the memories of wasted love! 
 Which of us, I wonder, will have to live in it? 
 I don't want to. 
 SHE {prosaically) 
 
 Oh, don't take it so seriously as all that. If 
 
 9 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 one can't live in a house where there's been an 
 unhappy marriage, why, good heavens, where 
 is one going to hve? Most marriages, I fancy, 
 are unhappy. 
 
 HE 
 
 A bitter philosophy for one so — 
 
 SHE 
 
 Nonsense! But listen to the rest of the story. 
 The most interesting part is about this very 
 orchard. 
 
 HE 
 
 Really! 
 
 SHE 
 
 Yes. This orchard, it seems, was here before 
 the house was. It was part of an old farm 
 where he and she — the unhappy lovers, you 
 know — stopped one day, while they were out 
 driving, and asked for something to eat. The 
 farmer's wife was busy, but she gave them 
 each a glass of milk, and told them they could 
 eat all the cherries they wanted. So they 
 picked a hatful of cherries, and ate them, sit- 
 ting on a bench like this one. And then he fell 
 in love with her. . . . 
 
 HE 
 
 And . . . didn't tell her so. . . . (She 
 glances at him in alarm. His self -possession has 
 vanished. He is pale and frightened^ but there is 
 a desperate look in his eyes, as if some unknown 
 power were forcing him to do something very rash. 
 In short, he seems like a young man who has just 
 fallen in love,) 
 
 lO 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 SHE (hastily) 
 
 So you see this orchard is haunted, too! 
 
 HE 
 
 I feel it. I seem to hear the ghost of that old- 
 time lover whispering to me. . . . 
 
 SHE {provocatively) 
 
 Indeed! What does he say? 
 
 HE 
 
 He says: *T was a coward; you must be bold. 
 I was silent; you must speak out." 
 
 SHE {mischievously) 
 
 That's very curious — because that old lover 
 isn't dead at all. He's a baronet or something 
 in England. 
 
 HE {earnestly) 
 
 His youth is dead; and it is his youth that 
 speaks to me. 
 
 SHE {quickly) 
 
 You mustn't believe all that ghosts tell you. 
 
 HE 
 
 Oh, but I must. For they know the folly of 
 silence — the bitterness of cowardice. 
 
 SHE 
 
 The circumstances were — slightly — different, 
 weren't they? 
 
 HE {stubbornly) 
 I don't care! 
 
 SHE {soberly) 
 
 You know perfectly well it's no use. 
 
 HE 
 
 I can't help that! 
 
 n . 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 SHE 
 
 Please! You simply mustn't! It's disgraceful! 
 
 HE 
 
 What's disgraceful? 
 
 SHE {confused) 
 
 What you are going to say. 
 
 HE {simply) 
 
 Only that I love you. What is there disgrace- 
 ful about that? It's beautiful! 
 
 SHE 
 
 It's wrong. 
 
 HE 
 
 It's inevitable. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Why inevitable? Can't you talk with a girl in 
 a cherry orchard for half an hour without fall- 
 ing in love with her? 
 
 HE 
 
 Not if the girl is you. 
 
 SHE 
 
 But why especially me? 
 
 HE 
 
 I don't know. Love — is a mystery. I only 
 know that I was destined to love you. 
 
 SHE 
 
 How can you be so sure? 
 
 HE 
 
 Because you have changed the world for me. 
 It's as though I had been groping about in the 
 dark, and then — sunrise! And there's a queer 
 feeling here. {He puts his hand on his heart) 
 To tell the honest truth, there's a still queerer 
 
 12 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a gone 
 feeling, if you must know. And my knees are 
 weak. I know now why men used to fall on 
 their knees when they told a girl they loved 
 her; it was because they couldn't stand up. 
 And there's a feeling in my feet as though I 
 were walking on air. And — 
 SHE {faintly) 
 That's enough! 
 
 HE 
 
 And I could die for you and be glad of the 
 chance. It's perfectly absurd, but it's abso- 
 lutely true. I've never spoken to you before, 
 and heaven knows I may never get a chance to 
 speak to you again, but I'd never forgive my- 
 self if I didn't say this to you now. I love 
 you! love you! love you! Now tell me I'm a 
 fool. Tell me to go. Anything — I've said my 
 say. . . . Why don't you speak .^ 
 
 SHE 
 
 I — I've nothing to say — except — except that I 
 — well — {almost inaudibly) I feel some of those 
 symptoms myself. 
 HE {triumphantly) 
 You love me! 
 
 SHE 
 
 I — don't know. Yes. Perhaps. 
 
 HE 
 
 Then kiss me! 
 SHE {doubtfully) 
 No. . . . 
 
 HE 
 
 Kiss me! 
 
 13 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 SHE (tormentedly) 
 Oh, what's the use? 
 
 HE 
 
 I don't know. I don't care. I only know that 
 we love each other. 
 
 SHE 
 
 {after a moment's hesitation^ desperately) I don't 
 care, either! I do want to kiss you. {She does. 
 . . . He is the first to awake from the ecstasy.) 
 
 HE 
 
 It is wicked — 
 SHE {absently) 
 Is it? 
 
 HE 
 
 But, oh heaven! kiss me again! {She does.) 
 
 SHE 
 
 Darling! 
 
 HE 
 
 Do you suppose anyone is likely to come this 
 way? 
 
 SHE 
 
 No. 
 HE {speculatively) Your husband is probably still 
 in the portrait gallery. . . . 
 
 SHE 
 
 My husband! {Drawing away) What do you 
 mean? {Thoroughly awake now) You didn't 
 think — ? {She jumps up and laughs convul- 
 sively) He thought poor old Tubby was my 
 husband!! 
 
 HE 
 
 {staring up at her bewildered) Why, isn't he 
 your husband? 
 
 14 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 SHE {scornfully) 
 No!! He's my uncle! 
 
 HE 
 
 Your unc — 
 
 SHE 
 
 Yes, of course ! {Indignantly) Do you suppose 
 I would be married to a man that's fat and bald 
 and forty years old? 
 HE {distressed) 
 
 I — I beg your pardon. I did think so. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Just because you saw me with him? How 
 ridiculous! 
 
 HE 
 
 It was a silly mistake. But — the things you said ! 
 You spoke so — realistically — about marriage. 
 
 SHE 
 
 It was your marriage I was speaking about. 
 {With hasty compunction) Oh, I beg your — 
 
 HE 
 
 My marriage! {He rises) Good heavens! And 
 to whom, pray, did you think I was married? 
 {A light dawning) To Maria? Why, Maria is 
 my aunt! 
 
 SHE 
 
 Yes — of course. How stupid of me. 
 
 HE 
 
 Let's get this straight. Are you married to 
 anybody? 
 
 SHE 
 
 Certainly not. As if I would let anybody make 
 love to me if I were! 
 
 15 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 HE 
 
 Now don't put on airs. You did something 
 quite as improper. You kissed a married man. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I didn't. 
 
 HE 
 
 It's the same thing. You thought I was married. 
 
 SHE 
 
 But you arenU. 
 
 HE 
 
 No. I'm not married. And — and — you re not 
 married. {The logic of the situation striking him 
 all of a sudden) In fact — ! {He pauses ^ rather 
 alarmed^ 
 
 SHE 
 
 Yes? 
 
 HE 
 
 In fact — well — there's no reason in the world 
 why we shouldn't make love to each other! 
 
 SHE 
 
 {equally startled) Why — that's so! 
 
 HE 
 
 Then — then — shall we? 
 
 SHE 
 
 {sitting down and looking demurely at her toes) 
 Oh, not if you don't want to! 
 
 HE 
 
 {adjusting himself to the situation) Well — under 
 the circumstances — I suppose I ought to begin 
 by asking you to marry me. . . . 
 
 SHE 
 
 {languidly y with a provoking glance) You don't 
 seem very anxious to. 
 
 i6 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 HE 
 
 {feeling at a disadvantage^ It isn't that — but — 
 well — 
 SHE {lightly) 
 Well what? 
 
 HE 
 
 Dash it all, I don't know your name! 
 
 SHE 
 
 {looking at him with wild curiosity) That didn't 
 
 seem to stop you a while ago. . . . 
 HE {doggedly) 
 
 Well, then — will you marry me? 
 SHE {promptly) 
 
 No. 
 HE {surprised) 
 
 No! Why do you say that? 
 
 SHE {coolly) 
 
 Why should I marry you? I know nothing 
 
 about you. I've known you for less than an 
 
 hour. 
 HE {sardonically) 
 
 That fact didn't seem to keep you from kissing 
 
 me. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Besides — I don't like the way you go about it. 
 If you'd propose the same way you made love 
 to me, maybe I'd accept you. 
 
 HE 
 
 All right. {Dropping on one knee before her) 
 Beloved! {An awkward pause) No, I can't do 
 it. {He gets up and distractedly dusts off his 
 knees with his handkerchief) I'm very sorry. 
 
 17 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 SHE 
 
 {with calm inquiry) Perhaps it's because you 
 
 don't love me any more? 
 HE {fretfully) 
 
 Of course I love you ! 
 SHE {coldly) 
 
 But you don't want to marry me. ... I 
 
 see. 
 
 HE 
 
 Not at all! I do want to marry you. But — 
 
 SHE 
 
 Well? 
 
 HE 
 
 Marriage is a serious matter. Now don't take 
 offense! I only meant that — well — {He starts 
 again) We are in love with each other, and 
 that's the important thing. But, as you said, 
 we don't know each other. Tve no doubt that 
 when we get acquainted we will like each other 
 better still. But we've got to get acquainted 
 first. 
 
 SHE {rising) 
 
 You're just like Tubby buying a house. You 
 want to know all about it. Well! I warn you 
 that you'll never know all about me. So you 
 needn't try. 
 
 HE {apologetically) 
 
 It was your suggestion. 
 
 SHE {impatiently) 
 
 Oh, all right! Go ahead and cross-examine me 
 if you like. I'll tell you to begin with that I'm 
 perfectly healthy, and that there's no T. B., 
 
 i8 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 insanity, or Socialism in my family. What else 
 do you want to know? 
 HE {hesitantly) 
 
 Why did you put Socialism in ? 
 
 SHE 
 
 Oh, just for fun. You aren't a Socialist, are 
 
 you? 
 
 HE 
 
 Yes. {Earnestly) Do you know what Socialism 
 
 IS? 
 
 SHE {innocently) 
 
 It's the same thing as Anarchy, isn't it? 
 
 HE {gently) 
 
 No. At least not my kind. I believe in mu- 
 nicipal ownership of street cars, and all that 
 sort of thing. I'll give you some books to read 
 
 SHE 
 
 Well, I never ride in street cars, so I don't care 
 whether they're municipally owned or not. By 
 the way, do you dance? 
 
 HE 
 
 No. 
 
 SHE 
 
 You must learn right away. I can't bother to 
 teach you myself, but I know where you can 
 get private lessons and become really good in 
 a month. It is stupid not to be able to 
 dance. 
 
 HE 
 
 {as if he had tasted quinine) I can see myself 
 doing the tango! Grr! 
 
 SHE 
 
 The tango went out long ago, my dear, 
 
 19 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 HE 
 
 {with great decision) Well — I wont learn to 
 dance. You might as well know that to begin 
 with. 
 
 SHE 
 
 And I won^t read your old books on Socialism. 
 You might as well know that to begin with! 
 
 HE 
 
 Come, come! This will never do. You see, 
 my dear, it's simply that I cant dance, and 
 there's no use for me to try to learn. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Anybody can learn. Tve made expert dancers 
 out of the awkwardest men! 
 
 HE 
 
 But, you see, I've no inclination toward danc- 
 ing. It's out of my world. 
 
 SHE 
 
 And I've no inclination toward municipal owner- 
 ship. Ifs out of my world! 
 
 HE 
 
 It ought not to be out of the world of any in- 
 telligent person. 
 
 SHE 
 
 {turning her back on him) All right — if you want 
 to call me stupid! 
 
 HE 
 
 {turning and looking away meditatively) It ap- 
 pears that we have very few tastes in common. 
 
 SHE 
 
 {tapping her foot) So it seems. 
 
 HE 
 
 If we married we might be happy for a month — 
 
 20 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 SHE 
 
 Perhaps. {They remain standing with their backs 
 to each other ^ 
 
 HE 
 
 And then — the old story. Quarrels. . . . 
 
 SHE 
 
 I never could bear quarrels. ... 
 
 HE 
 
 An unhappy marriage. . . . 
 
 SHE 
 
 (realizing it) Oh! 
 
 HE 
 
 {hopelessly turning toward her) I can't marry you. 
 
 SHE 
 
 {recovering quickly and facing him with a smile) 
 Nobody asked you, sir, she said! 
 
 HE 
 
 {with a gesture of finality) Well — there seems 
 
 to be no more to say. 
 SHE {sweetly) 
 
 Except good-bye. 
 HE (firmly) 
 
 Good-bye, then. {He holds out his hand?) 
 
 SHE 
 
 {taking it) Good-bye! 
 
 HE 
 
 {taking her other hand — after a pause, helplessly) 
 Good-bye! 
 
 SHE 
 
 {drawing in his eyes) Good-bye! {They cling 
 to each other, and are presently lost in a pas- 
 sionate embrace. He breaks loose and stamps 
 away, then turns to her.) 
 
 21 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 HE 
 
 Damn it all, we do love each other! 
 
 SHE 
 
 {wiping her eyes) What a pity that is the only- 
 taste we have in common! 
 
 HE 
 
 Do you suppose that is enough? 
 
 SHE 
 
 I wish it were! 
 
 HE 
 
 A month of happiness — 
 
 SHE 
 
 Yes! 
 
 HE 
 
 And then — wretchedness. 
 
 SHE 
 
 No — never ! 
 
 HE 
 
 We mustn't do it. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I suppose not. 
 
 HE 
 
 Come, let us control ourselves. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Yes, let's. {They take hands again ^ 
 
 HE 
 
 {with an efort) I wish you happiness. I — I'll 
 go to Europe for a year. Try to forget me. 
 
 SHE 
 
 I shall be married when you get back — perhaps. 
 
 HE 
 
 I hope it's somebody that's not bald and fat 
 and forty. Otherwise — ! 
 
 22 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 SHE 
 
 And you — for goodness sake! marry a girl that's 
 very young and very, very pretty. That will help. 
 
 HE 
 
 We mustn't prolong this. If we stay together 
 another minute — 
 
 SHE 
 
 Then go! 
 
 HE 
 
 I can't go! 
 
 SHE 
 
 You must, darling! You must! 
 
 HE 
 
 Oh, if somebody would only come along! {They 
 are leaning toward each other ^ dizzy upon the 
 brink of another kiss, when somebody does come — 
 a short, mild-looking man in a Derby hat. There 
 is an odd gleam in his eyes). 
 
 THE INTRUDER {s tar tied) 
 
 Excuse me! {They turn and stare at him, but 
 their hands cling fast to each other.) 
 
 SHE {faintly) 
 The Agent! 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 {in despairing accents) Too late ! Too late ! 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 No! Just in time! 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Too late, I say! I will go. {He turns ^ 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 No! Stay! 
 
 23 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 What's the use? It has already begun. What 
 good can I do now? 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 I'll show you what good you can do now. Come 
 here! {The Agent approaches) Can you un- 
 loose my hands from those of this young woman ? 
 
 THE YOUNG WOMAN 
 
 {haughtily releasing herself and walking away) 
 You needn't trouble! I can do it myself. 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 Thank you. It was utterly beyond my power. 
 {To the Agent) Will you kindly take hold of 
 me and move me over there? {The Agent propels 
 him away from the girl) Thank you. At this 
 distance I can perhaps make my farewell in a 
 seemly and innocuous manner. 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Young man, you will not say farewell to that 
 young lady for ten days — and perhaps never! 
 
 THE YOUNG WOMAN 
 
 What! 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 They have arranged it all. 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 Who has arranged what? 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Your aunt. Miss Brooke — and {to the young 
 wo?nan) your uncle, Mr. Egerton — {The young 
 people turn and stare at each other in amazement.) 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 Egerton! Are you Helen Egerton? 
 
 24 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 HELEN 
 
 And are you George Brooke? 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Your aunt and uncle have just discovered each 
 other up at the house, and they have arranged 
 for you all to take dinner together to-night, and 
 then go to a ten-day house-party at Mr. Eger- 
 ton's place on Long Island. {Grimly) The 
 reason of all this will be plain to you. They 
 want you two to get married. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Then we're done for! We'll have to get mar- 
 ried now whether we want to or not! 
 
 HELEN 
 
 What! Just to please them? I shan't do it! 
 GEORGE {gloomily) 
 
 You don't know my Aunt Maria. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 And Tubby will try to bully me, I suppose. 
 But I won't do it — no matter what he says! 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Pardon what may seem an impertinence. Miss; 
 but is it really true that you don't want to marry 
 this young man? 
 
 HELEN {flaming) 
 
 I suppose because you saw me in his arms — ! 
 Oh, I want to, all right, but — 
 
 THE AGENT {mildly) 
 
 Then what seems to be the trouble ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 I — oh, you explain to him, George. {She goes 
 to the bench and sits down.) 
 
 25 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Well, it's this way. As you may have deduced 
 from what you saw, we are madly in love with 
 each other — 
 
 HELEN 
 
 {from the bench) But Fm not madly in love 
 with municipal ownership. That's the chief 
 difficulty. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 No, the chief difficulty is that I refuse to enter- 
 tain even a platonic affection for the tango. 
 HELEN {irritably) 
 
 I told you the tango had gone out long ago! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Well, then, the maxixe. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Stupid! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 And there you have it! No doubt it seems 
 ridiculous to you. 
 
 THE AGENT {gravcly) 
 
 Not at all, my boy. I've known marriage to 
 go to smash on far less than that. When you 
 come to think of it, a taste for dancing and a 
 taste for municipal ownership stand at the two 
 ends of the earth away from each other. They 
 represent two different ways of taking life. 
 And if two people who live in the same house 
 can't agree on those two things, they'd disagree 
 on ten thousand things that came up every day. 
 And what's the use for two different kinds of 
 beings to try to live together? It doesn't work, 
 
 26 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 no matter how much love there is between 
 them. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 {rushing up to him in surprise and gratification^ 
 and shaking his hand warmly) Then you're 
 our friend. You will help us not to get married! 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Your aunt is very set on it — and your uncle, 
 too. Miss! 
 
 HELEN 
 
 We must find some way to get out of it, or 
 they'll have us cooped up together in that 
 house before we know it. (Rising and coming 
 over to the Agent) Can't you think up some 
 scheme? 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Perhaps I can, and perhaps I can't. I'm a 
 bachelor myself. Miss, and that means that 
 I've thought up many a scheme to get out of 
 marriage myself. 
 
 HELEN (outraged) 
 You old scoundrel! 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Oh, it's not so bad as you may think, Miss. 
 I've always gone through the marriage cere- 
 mony to please them. But that's not what I 
 call marriage. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Then what do you call marriage? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Yes, I'd like to know! 
 
 27 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Marriage, my young friends, is an iniquitous 
 arrangement devised by the Devil himself for 
 driving all the love out of the hearts of lovers. 
 They start out as much in love with each other 
 as you two are to-day, and they end by being 
 as sick of the sight of each other as you two will 
 be twenty years hence if I don't find a way of 
 saving you alive out of the Devil's own trap. 
 It's not lack of love that's the trouble with mar- 
 riage — it's marriage itself. And when I say 
 marriage, I don't mean promising to love, 
 honor, and obey, for richer, for poorer, in sick- 
 ness and in health till death do you part — 
 that's only human nature to wish and to at- 
 tempt. And it might be done if it weren't for 
 the iniquitous arrangement of marriage. 
 
 GEORGE {puzzled) 
 
 But what is the iniquitous arrangement? 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Ah, that's the trouble! If I tell you, you won't 
 believe me. You'll go ahead and try it out, 
 and find out what all the unhappy ones have 
 found out before you. Listen to me, my chil- 
 dren. Did you ever go on a picnic? {He looks 
 from one to the other — they stand astonished and 
 silent) Of course you have. Everyone has. 
 There is an instinct in us which makes us go 
 back to the ways of our savage ancestors — to 
 gather about a fire in the forest, to cook meat 
 on a pointed stick, and eat it with our fingers. 
 But how many books would you write, young 
 man, if you had to go back to the camp-fire 
 
 28 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 every day for your lunch? And how many new 
 dances would you invent if you lived eternally 
 in the picnic stage of civilization? No! the 
 picnic is incompatible with everyday living. 
 As incompatible as marriage. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 But— 
 
 HELEN 
 
 But— 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Marriage is the nest-building instinct, turned 
 by the Devil himself into an institution to hold 
 the human soul in chains. The whole story of 
 marriage is told in the old riddle; "Why do 
 birds in their nests agree? Because if they 
 don't, they'll fall out." That's it. Marriage 
 is a nest so small that there is no room in it for 
 disagreement. Now it may be all right for birds 
 to agree, but human beings are not built that 
 way. They disagree, and home becomes a little 
 hell. Or else they do agree, at the expense of 
 the soul's freedom stifled in one or both. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Yes, but tell me — 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Ssh! 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Yet there is the nest-building instinct. You 
 feel it, both of you. If you don't now, you will 
 as soon as you are married. If you are fools, 
 you will try to live all your lives in a love-nest; 
 and you will imprison your souls within it, and 
 the Devil will laugh. 
 
 29 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 HELEN 
 
 {to George) I am beginning to be afraid of him. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 So am I. 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 If you are wise, you will build yourselves a 
 little nest secretly in the woods, away from 
 civilization, and you will run away together to 
 that nest whenever you are in the mood. A 
 nest so small that it will hold only two beings 
 and one thought — the thought of love. And 
 then you will come back refreshed to civiliza- 
 tion, where every soul is different from every 
 other soul — you will let each other alone, forget 
 each other, and do your own work in peace. 
 Do you understand? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 He means we should occupy separate sides of 
 the house, I think. Or else that we should live 
 apart and only see each other on week-ends. 
 I'm not sure which. 
 THE AGENT {passiofiately) 
 
 I mean that you should not stifle love with 
 civilization, nor encumber civilization with love. 
 What have they to do with each other? You 
 think you want a fellow student of economics. 
 You are wrong. You think you want a dancing 
 partner. You are mistaken. You want a 
 revelation of the glory of the universe. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 (to George^ confidentially) It's blithering non- 
 sense, of course. But it was something like 
 that — a while ago. 
 
 30 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 GEORGE [bewilderedly) 
 
 Yes; when we knew it was our iirst kiss and 
 thought it was to be our last. 
 
 THE AGENT {fiercely) 
 
 A kiss is always the first kiss and the last — or 
 it is nothing. 
 
 HELEN {conclusively) 
 He's quite mad. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Absolutely. 
 
 THE AGENT 
 
 Mad? Of course I am mad. But — {He turns 
 suddenly^ and subsides as a man in a guard* s 
 uniform enters.) 
 
 THE GUARD 
 
 Ahj here you are! Thought you'd given us 
 the slip, did you? {To the others) Escaped 
 from the Asylum, he did, a week ago, and got a 
 job here. We've been huntin' him high and 
 low. Come along now! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 {recovering with difficulty the power of speech) 
 What — what's the matter with him? 
 
 GUARD 
 
 Matter with him? He went crazy, he did, 
 readin' the works of Bernard Shaw. And if he 
 wasn't in the insane asylum he'd be in jail. He's 
 a bigamist, he is. He married fourteen women. 
 But none of 'em would go on the witness stand 
 against him. Said he was an ideal husband, 
 they did. Fourteen of 'em! But otherwise he's 
 perfectly harmless. Come now! 
 
 31 
 
SWEET AND TWENTY 
 
 THE AGENT (^pleasantly) 
 
 Perfectly harmless! Yes, perfectly harmless! 
 (He is led out.) 
 
 HELEN 
 
 That explains it all! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Yes — and yet I feel there was something in 
 what he was saying. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Well — are we going to get married or not? 
 We've got to decide that before we face my 
 uncle and your aunt. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Of course we'll get married. You have your 
 work and I mine, and — 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Well, if we do, then you can't have that sunny 
 south room for a study. I want it for the 
 nursery. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 The nursery! 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Yes; babies, you know! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Good heavens! 
 
 [curtain] 
 
 32 
 
MORE SHORT PLAYS 
 
 By MARY MacMILLAN 
 
 Plays that act well may read well. Miss MacMIUan's 
 Plays are good reading. Nor is literary excellence a detriment 
 to dramatic performance. 
 
 This volume contains eight Plays: 
 
 His Second Girl. One-act comedy, just before the Civil War. 
 Interior, 45 minutes. Three women, three men. 
 
 At the Church Door. Fantastic farce, one act, 20 to 30 minutes. 
 Interior. Present. Two women, two men. 
 
 Honey. Four short acts. Present, in the southern mountains. 
 Same interior cabin scene throughout. Three women, one 
 man, two girls. 
 
 The Dress Rehearsal of Hamlet. One-act costume farce. 
 Present. Interior. Forty-five minutes. Ten women taking 
 men's parts. 
 
 The Pioneers. Five very short acts. 179 1 in Middle-West. 
 Interior. Four men, five women, five children, five Indians. 
 
 In Mendelesia, Part I. Costume play. Middle Ages. Interior. 
 Thirty minutes or more. Four women, one man-servant. 
 
 In Mendelesia, Part II. Modern realism of same plot. One 
 act. Present. Interior. Thirty minutes. Four women, one 
 maid-servant. 
 
 The Dryad. Fantasy in free verse, one act. Thirty minutes. 
 Outdoors. Two women, one man. Present. 
 
 These plays, as well as SHORT PLAYS, have been pre- 
 sented by clubs and schools in Boston, New York, Buffalo, 
 Detroit, Cleveland, New Orleans, San Francisco, etc., and by 
 the Portmanteau Theatre, the Chicago Art Institute Theatre, 
 the Denver Little Art Theatre, at Carmel-by-the-Sea in 
 California, etc. 
 
 Handsomely hound and uniform with S. & K. Dramatic Series. 
 i2mo. Cloth. Net, $2.50; 3^ Turkey Morocco, Net, $8.30. 
 
 STEWART 
 
 Publishers 
 
 & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 Cincinnati, U. S. A. 
 
Stewart Kidd Modern Plays 
 
 Edited by Frank Shay 
 
 T^O MEET the immensely increased de- 
 -*- mands of the play-reading public and those 
 interested in the modern drama, Stewart & Kidd 
 Company are issuing under the general editor- 
 ship of Frank Shay a series of plays from the 
 pens of the world's best contemporary writers. 
 No effort is being spared to secure the best 
 work available, and the plays are issued in a 
 form that is at once attractive to readers and 
 suited to the needs of the performer and 
 producer. 
 
 From time to time special announcements will 
 be printed giving complete lists of the Plays. 
 Those announced thus far are: 
 
 SHAM, a Social Satire in One Act. 
 By Frank G. Tompkins. 
 Originally produced by Sam Hume, at the 
 Arts and Crafts Theatre, Detroit. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD IN THE DISTANCE, 
 
 a Pantomime in One Act. By Holland Hudson. 
 Originally produced by the Washington Square 
 Players. 
 
 MANSIONS, a Play in One Act. 
 By Hildegarde Planner. 
 Originally produced by the Indiana Little 
 Theatre Society. 
 
 HEARTS TO MEND, a Fantasy in One Act. 
 By H. A. Overstreet. 
 
 Originally produced by the Fireside Players, 
 White Plains, N. Y. 
 
 Others to follow. 
 Bound in Art Paper, Each net 50 cents. 
 
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