LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA DAVIS THE WITCHING HOUR A Drama in Four Acts AUGUSTUS THOMAS Revised 1916 by AUGUSTUS THOMAS Copyright, 1916, by AUGUSTUS THOMAS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. CAUTION. All persons are hereby warned that "THE WITCHING HOUB," being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, is subject to royalty, and anyone presenting the play without the consent of the owners or their authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Application for amateur acting rights must be made to SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 33th Street, New York. Applica tion for the professional acting rights must be made to the AMERICAN PLAY COMPANY, 33 West 42nd Street, New York. NEW YORK SAMUEL FRENCH PUBLISHER 28-30 WEST 38TH STREET LONDON SAMUEL FRENCH. L*d. C SOUTHAMPTON STREET STRAND L: UNIVERSITY OF CALLFORJNIA DAVIS Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book without a valid contract for production first having been obtained from the publisher, confers no "*ght 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 of it may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York. SECTION 28 That any person who wilfully or for profit shall infringe any copyright secured by this act, or who shall knowingly and wilfully aid or abet such infringement shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction thereof shall be punished by imprisonment for not exceeding one year, or by a fine of not less than one hundred nor more than one thousand dollars, or both ; in the discretion of the court. Act of March ^ 1909, PREFACE. " The Witching Hour " was played and had run its full consecutive course upon the stage, and had settled into the occasional presentation by local stock companies before it was put into print; and when printed it was given to the reading public without author's or publisher's comment. It is only with this edition by Samuel French addressed to amateur players and students that a preface has been con sidered desirable ; and even here its pertinence would not be evident except as one of a number of prefaces intended collectively to set forth in rather haphazard fashion some illustrations of the problems that come to a dramatist, and his individual manner of solving them.* The whole enterprise is prompted by the fact that in some college classes some plays of mine among others, are discussed educationally ; it may be no less as examples of what to avoid than as models of what, in part, to repeat ; but in either case an author's own ideas and intentions may be informing. In a discussion of this play, as of all plays of theme rather than of situation, clearness may be attained by considering subject and treatment separately ; and economy of attention would suggest considering the subject first. Apparently in all ages there have been an appre hension and evidence of some force by which one mind acted upon another without communication by the known physical senses. This force, vaguely felt and undefined, has been variously designated as magic, imagination, mesmerism, witchcraft, sorcery, voodooism, clairvoyance, charm, enchantment and * In Mizzoura ; Mrs. Leffingweil's Boots ; Oliver Goldsmith ; The Harvest Moon; The Other Girl. 4 PREFACE. the like ; and has had its professors and practitioners of varying degrees of knowledge and proficiency from scientist to fakir. And it has had its deniers and its denouncers. About the year 1882 F. W. H. Meyers, convinced of the existence and character of the force called it " telepathy " ; Oliver Wendel Holmes, years before, had written of some personal telepathic experiences and coined the word " cerebricity " to describe the force; and Mark Twain afterwards furnished two serious papers to recount his own experiences in telepathy. Such scientists as Professor M. F. Bar rett, Henry Sidgwick, Sir Oliver Lodge, Sir W. Crooks, Dr. Pierre Janet, Professors Dessoir and Flournoy conducted extended series of experiments in the study of the subject ; Andrew Lang adapted the French phrase telepathic a trois to describe the transmission to a first person through a second one of some bit of knowledge that might be only in the possession of a third person. Dr. Thomas Hudson, convinced of telepathy and telepathic a trois as well, wrote a treatise explaining by the telepathic hypothesis all alleged spiritistic communication. The Society of Psychical Research in England, and the associated society of the same name in America, filled volumes with the records of experiments in telepathy ; and the principal psycholo gists of the world treated it as an established fact. This cumulative testimony is recalled to bolster my own interest in the subject ; and in order that I may add somewhat of my own observation ; and I do so because successful plays are seldom written upon themes that have been merely intellectually adopted : the drama is dependent upon emotional appeal and even the thematic side of a play to be effective should be founded upon a real belief. In the year 1888 I was the publicity man for the thought-reader, Washington Irving Bishop; and had PREFACE. 5 a fairly intimate association with Bishop, and a con siderable knowledge of him. Bishop was a showman and it is possible that some of his work had in it elements of fraud ; but the fraud, if it existed, was never discoverable by me, nor, to my knowledge, was it ever finally charged by an investigator. Bishop's program consisted of the usual so-called thought reader exhibitions, such as finding, while blind folded, hidden articles ; playing melodies men tally suggested by other persons; locating some chosen word in a large library of books; driving blind-folded a team of horses through the city streets, etc. The public is familiar with these ex hibitions and the so-called physical and muscle read ing explanations of them. I wish to report in detail only one performance not of a general public char acter and not explicable on the muscle-reading theory : One morning in the city of Minneapolis, in the parlor of the West Hotel, a committee of fifty professional men was in session. These men, in about equal numbers, were physicians, lawyers and clergymen. They had been invited by letters ad dressed by me from public lists and without con ferences. Nearly all of them knew of Bishop through the telegraphed reports of his work in New York, recently run as first-page stories; none of them knew him personally. It was the first day of Bishop's first visit *o the city; a sub-committee of five had gone in a carriage to a distant point in the city to hide an article which Bishop was to find : during their absence he had one of the remaining committeemen get a map of the city and this was spread out and pinned to the wall. When the sub committee returned they were asked to stand behind him, without contact, and mentally to locate on the city map the square corresponding to the place to which they had driven. Bishop, with his back to them, faced the map, and after a moment's hesita- 6 PREFACE. tion, marked the spot where the article was hidden and where, in his blindfold drive immediately after wards, he found it. This latter performance was followed by a cataleptic fit lasting several hours ; and the doctors' warning that an attempted repetition of the work might prove fatal, which, a few weeks later, was the case. Bishop's own explanation of his ability to do these things was that he did them under auto-hypnosis. In the years that followed his death, a sustained interest in telepathy led me to read all that I could find authoritatively printed on the subject and to make or to see such experiments as were afforded by the occasional meeting with professionals or ama teurs who possessed telepathic sensibility or power. Some of these experiments were with persons under external hypnotic control, but often with those work ing independently there was noticeable a condition recalling that of Bishop, and suggesting a measure of self-induced hypnosis. From this fact, the ques tions of telepathy and hypnotism came to be, not necessarily, but permissibly associated in my mind and therefore concurrently presented when the play was planned. There is a maxim in the theatre that no material is useful for a play until it has been used as subject- natter for all other literary forms, and made familiar to the public through poetry, fiction, lectures and re- pertorial and editorial comment. A one-act play on the subject was written by me for Mr. Palmer in 1890, when he wanted a short piece for Agnes Booth and James H. Stoddart; and although both those veteran artists were anxious to try the play, Mr. Palmer was no doubt right in his belief that the subject was too foreign to the thinking of the gen eral public. When the discussion of telepathy by both scientists and laymen had gone on for some sixteen years PREFACE. 7 after Mr. Palmer's decision, the interest in telepathy and more especially the personal responsibility that its existence implied for all conscious thinkers stimulated me to the making of the four-act play that follows. On its presentation, there was some discussion and more than a few personal inquiries as to whether the play was a bit of mere sensa tionalism or a true expression of the author's belief. Because of such sincerity as the occasion of their utterance implied, the following lines from a short speech made in response to the curtain-calls on the first night of the play in New York were usually in cluded in the replies to such inquiries : " The members of a large part of the community with whom I am in sympathy have long been ac customed to regard their private minds as parks in which there might be neither prohibition nor police men ; but if, as scientists assert, a malignant and destructive thought of mine, like a circling Mar- conigram, affects, first my family, then friends, then acquaintances, before it finally filters impotently to its finish, I want to know it; and if, after twenty years of fairly intelligent investigation, I believe that it is so, I feel it my duty as a dramatist to state it." THE MAKING OF THE PLAY. In the season of 1890, Mr. Dion Boucicault re- signed, and I acquired, the rather high-sounding title of " dramatist extraordinary " for Mr. Palmer's Madison Square stock Company ; and when I could forget the title, I thought about writing plays. One day, Mrs. Booth and Mr. Stoddart asked for a one- act play; and I immediately cast about for a subject that would give those two players each an adequate opportunity. Mrs. Booth was no longer young; and Mr. Stod dart was nearly seventy years old: Mrs. Booth's latest successes had been in playing mothers; and Mr. Stoddart had just made a hit as a magistrate. I had recently reported a murder trial in St. Louis, wherein the attorneys for the defense had tried to take their case to the Supreme Court at Washington on the constitutional point, that the accused had been denied an open trial, by the fact of the sheriff re stricting the number of spectators to those holding tickets of admission. This Constitutional point, and Mr. Stoddart's venerable appearance, and Mrs. Booth's pathos as a mother, were the high lights that suggested the mother in person making the appeal to the judge in person ; and this enforced the story of a son, apparently guilty, but morally innocent. The reverberation of the Bishop telepathic experiences invited a bond of that kind between the Justice and the mother; and a recent reading of Bret Harte's poem quoted in Act II of the present play offered a point of contact between the ordinary reading public and the esoteric group interested in telepathy. The 8 THE WITCHING HOUR 9 result was a one-act play which, with the exception of the Brookfield and the Viola elements introduced later, was substantially Act II of the present drama ; and was the little sketch, written quickly for Mrs. Booth and Mr. Stoddart, and as quickly declined by Mr. Palmer, About that time, Mr. Henry Loomis Nelson, my neighbor at New Rochelle, showed me a letter from Mark Twain, refusing to write a short story for Harper's because Mark Twain had found " that a short story was a novel in the cradle which, if taken out occasionally and fondled, would grow into a full- sized book." Partly on that hint, my one-act play was occasionally taken from its cradle and caressed. During several years, with the increasing public interest in telepathy and additional information, the cradle playlet grew, in plan at least, into a four-act play. Before wasting time on its actual writing, however, I accepted a chance to have the one-act piece played to a private audience of some two hun dred men in the Lamb's Club ; and as the little play contained what was most diaphanous and attenu ated in the whole story, if such an audience, entirely lacking the feminine element, would accept the fa ble, the remainder of the venture would be up to the skill of the dramatist. While a one-act play, undoubtedly a four-act drama in the cradle, is still in petto, it is permitted some of the cradle gelatinous characteristics; but when the growth is attained, it is expected to have a developed backbone, and substantially articulated members. Instead of being perhaps a mere sugges tive cross-section of a story, it must have a begin ning, a middle and an end; and the dramatist's in junction of " don't tell it do it," becomes inflexibly operative. To merely report the murder and describe the prisoner is not enough ; the audience must see the occurrence and must know the individual: also, it io THE WITCHING HOUR. must know him enough to be interested in him ; and know him in a way that will make them like him. That his mother loves him is not sufficient for the longer story, as it is for the shorter one, where the mother is so much more the dominant factor. As Auditors, our interest in the boy is thus far through the mother ; but to make the interest deeper, it is best to give him a sweetheart, who shall also suf fer through his trouble ; and by our sympathy for her give us an additional emotional stir. Again, every force in the theatre is unconvincing until it is personified; therefore we must carry through the play a representative of that civic law that is opposed to our boy. This representative is our prosecuting attorney. As an officer of the law his opposition to a criminal is logically enough ; but it is stronger when the personal equation also comes into play : this rule invites us to make our exponent of civic law not only a prosecuting attorney but a ri val for the boy's sweetheart. As I have said, the one-act play was practically Act II of the four-act version ; and as'far as the story goes contained all that is there now : that is, it had the story and besides the story, the mystery of coin cidence and the hint of telepathic communication. If the story was to expand into four acts, these hints and gropings must take on a firmer fiber along with the structural strength of the story: in addition to theory, there must be some substanial and tangible performances ; telepathy must do something; hyp notism must dominate some important situation. This something to be done, and this situation to be dominated, must be devised by the dramatist. It wasn't the work of a moment; with my mind on the characters of the little play and the tentative additions of boy, and sweetheart, and prosecuting ri val, I went round this nucleus, at times, like a cooper round a barrel ; and again like a blind hore round THE- WITCHING HOUR. n the mill-stone. I emphasize that fact, not to ask sympathy for a task that is always fascinating and filled with compensations ; but to remind the younger writers that as Emerson says : " The oracle speaks because we have laid siege to the shrine." In mentally considering possible telepathic at tempts and accomplishments, there gradually dawned, and increasingly bore in upon my conscious ness, the moral side of the question. If anyone's thinking could affect the thoughts of another, what a responsibility for the thinker! And how dare to exploit this force in the theatre and blink that side of it ? How make a drama in which that power was to be consciously exerted and ignore the morals of it? And, on the other hand, how admit, recognize, touch and manipulate that phase of it and not make a preachy play that the public would flee? It pre sented almost an impasse but one that piqued and generated the force for its own removal. My cogitations ran somewhat in this line : If the civic law required to be personified, this force of telepathy required personification no less: The character of the old Justice in the little play lent himself readily as this latter exponent. Now, as the civic law's representative would have his dramatic opposition in the boy hero, the Justice representing telepathy needed likewise an opponent on whom he might work. A desire for economy lost considerable time trying to adjust the attorney to this role also. And then the requirements slowly seemed to de mand that this opponent should be one who, when convinced, would be thereby improved or reformed and to be made better, he must start bad, or, at any rate, only negatively good and perhaps he should be a person who had misused this mental influence, if only unconsciously. A dreamy ramble through the trades and professions in search of him found the grass tied when the path of the imagination reached 12 THE WITCHING HOUR. " Gamblers " ; then there was one of those associa tive stumbles that, as far as I know, hook-up the as sembling of every play ; and Mr. Canfield, the art- loving gambler of New York and the sunset picture by Rosseau, which was already a " property " in the little play, flowed together and I had an idea of Jack Brookfield. The one-act play already placed the boy and his trial in Kentucky; and the sporting inclinations of Louisville offered continued hospitality to the story's added items. The new character of Brookfield ab sorbed my attention. I built him up physically, men tally and morally or, rather, he built himself up. He lived in a most attractive dwelling ; he was soft spoken, reticent, and awfully determined ; he was ed ucated and refined. Of course, his pictures prompted much of that he owned quite a gallery of them by this time ; and I liked him. Quite against my bet ter judgment, I admired him. I introduced him to Helen ; and found that they were old sweethearts that was one of the things Brookfield had been keep ing from me all the time. He and Justice Prentice began to talk pictures as soon as they saw each other. I expected that the prosecuting attorney and he would quarrel, but they didn't; they were quite friendly. I saw that the attorney had spent consider able time in Brookfield's place ; and that Brookfield was always the finer, the deeper, the superior man. The " niggers ", the old darky body-servant and the fresh young hall-boy came in with drinks and terrapin and messages. Real Southern gentlemen were there more than I needed, in fact more than any dramatist could afford to have about. That's the way with a play; you dig, and lift, and build, and ponder and suddenly the attraction of gravitation seems overcome ; and the things and the people float, and flow, and drift, until you coax and shepherd them into the orderly walks and divisions THE WITCHING HOUR. 13 that you've laid out for them, and which you call scenes and acts. Colonel Watterson, in an after-dinner talk when the Witching Hour was playing, said derisively: " Think of a Louisville gambler owning a Corot and think of a Justice of the Supreme Court on that account, or any other, visiting his den and consorting with him. Preposterous! What does this author ask us to accept ? And yet," he continued " it hap pened. One of the most cultivated men of Louis ville a generation ago was Mr. Eli Marks, a profes sional gambler with a luxuriously fitted house such as Mr. Thomas giv*s Brookfield ; a house filled taste fully with rare pictures and rare books ; and I have on more than one occasion been in his delightful place in the company of a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. Mr. Thomas didn't know Eli Marks that was before his time. I'm sure he never heard of him. He could only have got this combination of refined gambler rare picture Louisville and a Supreme Justice, from me tele- pathically." With the discovery of Brookfield, things every where began to click and drop into place ; the mur der had been committed in his house; the fat- headed young rowdy who was killed was one of his patrons; the boy hero was a young architect and decorator who had " done over " the house ; Brook- field had given him the job because he knew the mother; the boy's sweetheart was Brookfield's niece; Brookfield began to arrange himself on the side of the boy and against the attorney before the murder, and on this earlier question of the sweet heart niece. Brookfield, almost my last acquaintance in the case, was the whole story. The telepathic power was his ; explained and made clear by the Jus tice. Think of a telepathic gambler, a fellow that knew what the other fellow held but believed his knowledge was only good guess-work. Then that I 4 THE WITCHING HOUR. quiet, dominant way of his fitting in so comfort ably with all that we know about hypnotism. Of course, Brookfield was there all the time, wait- ing to be deduced, calculated and discovered like the planet Neptune. And it so happens with most play-building: the various difficulties seem to point to a general center ; seem to call for some facts or figures of extrication that more and more, as we go round them condense to a single happening or personage; and suddenly that solvent takes on a principal importance ; and our whole fabric is to be revised and adjusted to the newly-found situation or man. But Brookfield and his magic were to much of a discovery; it was all too smooth; no public would accept it ; it was just another of those dreams which aren't any truer for the playwright than for any other when the dreamer wakes. Too bad ! A gold mine to be abandoned because of an embarrassment of nuggets ! That is another stopping place in play building, like the three-quarter, mark depression of author and actors that comes during play rehearsals. Couldn't something be found to still the foreseen objections of the public? Couldn't the press-agent stand up in the private box and present a few ar guments? And then this discovery or rather re discovery : The public at the play where there must be contest is always itself a third point of a triangle. Why not give the public a representative in the cast of characters a person who should doubt and disbe lieve and deny to the very finish ? Of course ! And in that setting, to doubt and to deny would be to be comic; but standing for the public, our represen tative must be made good-hearted and likable and so, last of all, Lew Ellinger was invented, or, at least, he stepped out from that convivial chafing-dish group around Brookfield. In the early part of the drama, Ellinger was some- THE WITCHING HOUR. i$ what in the way, but when he couldn't be conven iently put into a scene, his business of doubt and de nial was given temporarily to someone else and his own best work reserved until most needed, which is when Brookfield, informed and converted, turns about and begins to array himself on the side of the theories and against our hard-headed and sane in credulity. There are the bones of the play and somewhat of the manner of their putting together. It would be only to write the play ovr again, to report, if it were possible, the multiplication of incident and cross-ref erence that make the articulation, tissue and com plexion for it, as they do for every play. This much, however, is offered in the belief that something in it may be helpfully suggestive to less experienced though more promising journeymen working some where in the same familiar but uncertain stuff. Augustus Thomas. THE WITCHING HOUR. Original company in Mr. Shubert's production AT THE HACKETT THEATRE NEW YORK Nov. 1 8, 1907 In order of their appearance Jo S. E. Hines JACK BROOKFIELD John Mason TOM DENNING Freeman Barnes HARVEY T. P. Jackson MRS. ALICE CAMPBELL Ethel Winthrop MRS. HELEN WHIPPLE Jennie A. Eustace VIOLA Adelaide Nowak CLAY WHIPPLE Morgan Coman FRANK HARDMUTH George Nash LEW ELLINGER William Sampson JUSTICE PRENTICE Russ Whytal JUSTICE HENDERSON E.J. Walton SERVANT W. Butterfield COLONEL BAYLEY Harry Had field MR. EMMETT Mr. Fawnsgaines m THE WITCHING HOUR ACT I. SCENE : The library and card-room at " JACK BROOKFIELD'S/' Louisville. There is a large doorway center, at the back, that lets into a hallway, in which the bannister of a stairway that descends to the street level is seen. A second and smaller doorway is near the front in the wall to the left of the stage. This doorway leads to the dining-room. The second plan of the left wall is occupied by a fireplace and mantel, surmounted by a marine painting. The fireplace is surrounded by a garde au feu club seat. The rest of the left wall, as well as the rear wall on both sides of the center door and all of the right wall, is fitted with bookcases about five feet high, in which are books handsomely bound. The walls above these bookcases are hung with heavy brocaded Genoese velvet of a deep maroon in color and loosely draped. The ceil ing is of hard wood, gilded. On the wall vel vet, at proper intervals, are paintings by cele brated modern artists. Some of these paintings are fitted with hooded electric lights. Such a fitting is above a noticeable Corot, which hangs to the right of the center door. A dark-red rug of luxuriant thickness is on the floor. The furniture is simple, massive, and Colonial in type. It consists of a heavy sofa 17 i8 THE WITCHING HOUR. above the fireplace and running at right angles to the wall. A heavy table fitted with books is in the center; a smaller table for cards is at the stage, right. Chairs are at both tables. Above the center door is a marble bust of Minerva, surmounted by a bronze raven, lac quered black, evidently illustrating Poe's poem. The Antommarchi death-mask of Napoleon in bronze hangs on the dark wood fireplace. A bronze mask of Beethoven is on one of the bookcases and on another is a bust of Dante. A bronze Sphinx is on another bookcase. The room is lighted by a standing lamp at the back and by the glow from the fireplace. Over the table, center, is suspended an electric lamp in a large bronze shade. This lamp, while not lighted, is capable of being turned on by a push button, which depends from it. On the table, center, is a large paper-cutter made of an ivory tusk. Empty stage. After pause, sound of laughter and dishes, left. (Enter Jo, sleek negro of Pullman car variety, by stairway and center door. He goes to door, left, and pauses laughter ceases.) Jo. Massar Brookfield. JACK (outside left). Well, Jo? Jo. Mr. Denning, sah. JACK. Ask Mr. Denning to come up. Jo. Yes, sah. (Exit center. More talk and laughter, left.) (JACK enters left. He walks to center on way to ward main door. Pauses. Returns, left.) THE WITCHING HOUR. 19 JACK (at door left). Lew! I say Lew you ladies excuse Mr. Ellinger a moment ? HELEN, ALICE, VIOLA (outside). Oh yes, cer tainly. (Enter LEW ELLINGER, from dining-room, left.) LEW. See me ? JACK. Tom Denning's here he expects a game. My sister and Mrs. Whipple object to the paste boards so don't mention it before them. LEW. Not a word but, Tom ? JACK. I'll attend to Tom. LEW. Good. (Starts back to dining-room.) (Enter TOM DENNING, right center; he is fat, in dolent type.) TOM. Hello, Lew. (LEW stops and turns. JACK motions him out and LEW goes.) What you got to night ? Young Rockefeller ? JACK. Some ladies. TOM (grinning). What JACK (sternly). My sister and her daughter and a lady friend of theirs. TOM (disappointed). No game? JACK. Not until they go. TOM (getting a peek off into dining-room). Oh chafing dish. JACK. They've been to the opera. I had Harvey brew them some terrapin. TOM (complaining). My luck! (His hands hang limp,) JACK. No, I think there's some left. (Pause.) I'm going to take a long chance and introduce you, Tom, only don't say anything about poker before the ladies. TOM. Thought you said your sister JACK. I did. 20 THE WITCHING HOUR. TOM. Well, she's on, isn't she? JACK. But she doesn't like it and my niece my niece doesn't like it. (Enter HARVEY, old negro servant, from dining- room, left.) HARVEY. I'se made some coffee, Mars Jack. You have it in the dining-room or heah, sah? JACK (going). I'll ask the ladies. TOM. How are you, Harvey ? HARVEY (bowing). Mars Denning JACK (who has paused at door, left). Got some terrapin for Mr. Denning, Harvey? HARVEY. Yas, sah. (To TOM.) Yas, sah. (Exit JACK, left.) TOM. They left some of the rum, too, I hope. HARVEY. Couldn't empty my ice-box in one even ing, Mars Denning. (Starts off. Pause.) De ladies getting up. (Stands up stage in front of fire. TOM goes right. A pause.) (Enter JACK.) JACK. The ladies will have their coffee in here, Harvey. HARVEY. Yes, sir. (Enter ALICE. She is smartly gowned and is ener getic.) JACK. Alice this is my friend, Mr. Denning my sister Mrs. Campbell. ALICE. Mr. Denning. (Enter HELEN and VIOLA. HELEN is thoroughly THE WITCHING HOUR. 21 feminine in type, and is young-looking for the mother of a boy of twenty VIOLA is- an athletic Kentucky girl.) HELEN. I never take coffee even after dinner and at this hour never! (Exit HARVEY.) JACK. Mrs. WhippK may I present Mr. Den ning? HELEN. Mr. Denning. TOM. Good-evening! JACK. My niece, Miss Viola Campbell. TOM. How are you? ( VIOL A bows.) JACK. Mr. Denning's just left the foundry and he's very hungry. TOM. And thirsty JACK, (pushing him tofvard dining room). Yes, and thirsty. Uncle Harvey's going to save his life. TOM. Ha, ha! Excuse me! (Exit.) ALICE. The foundry? (Sits right of table.) JACK. Never did a day's work in his life. That's Tom Denning. VIOLA (on sofa at fireplace). Tom Denning's the name of the big race-horse. JACK. Yes he's named after the race-horse. HELEN, (on sofa, beside VIOLA). What does he do? JACK. His father father's in the packing busi ness Kansas City ; this fellow has four men shovel ing money away from him so he can berathe. (Starts toward dining-room.) ALICE, (in amused protest). Oh, Jack! 22 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. Yes I'm one of them you'll find cigar ettes in that box. ALICE. Jack! (Rises.) JACK (apologising). Not you, Alice, but VIOLA (protesting). Well, certainly not for me, Uncle Jack? JACK. Of course, not you. HELEN. Thank you, Mr. Brookfield ! ALICE (joining JACK) . My dear brother, you con fuse the Kentucky ladies with some of your Eas tern friends. JACK. Careful, Alice. Helen lived in the East twenty years, remember. HELEN. But even my husband didn't smoke. JACK. No? HELEN. Never in his life JACK. In his life? Why make such a pessimis tic distinction ? (HELEN turns away right.) ALICE. Jack! (After a look to HELEN.) How can you say a thing like that ? JACK. She's the man's widow I've got to say it if any one does. (Enter HARVEY, with coffee.) Mr. Denning's got his tortoise, Uncle Harvey ? HARVEY (offering tray to HELEN). He's got the same as we all had, Mars Jack. Yas, sah. (Laughs.) HELEN. None, thank you. (HARVEY moves on.) JACK. I'll take it, Uncle Harvey, I think three or four of them'll help this head of mine. THE WITCHING HOUR. 23 ALICE (taking coffee). Why don't you let Viola cure your headache ? VIOLA (taking coffee). Yes, Uncle Jack. JACK. No, the coffee '11 fix it, I'm sure. (Exit HARVEY.) VIOLA. Sit here while you drink it. JACK. No no, Viola. It isn't enough for that. I'll conserve your mesmeric endowment for a real occasion. (Swallows coffee in one mouthful.) VIOLA. Goodness ! Just to please me ? JACK (shaking head). Don't want to spoil your awful stories. (Exit to dining-room.) HELEN. Is Viola a magnetic healer, too? (Sits right of table.) VIOLA. (Takes a book, and returns to sofa, carrying also the large ivory tusk paper-cutter.) Oh, no. ALICE (sitting left of table.) Yes a remark able one. VIOLA. Only headaches, Mrs. Whipple. Those I crush out of my victims. HELEN. I remember Jack used to have a wonder ful ability that way as a young man. VIOLA, He says only with the girls. ALICE. We know better, don't we? HELEN. Yes. VIOLA. Well, for myself, I'd rather have Uncle Jack sit by me than any regular physician I ever saw. HELEN. You mean if you were ill ? VIOLA. Of course. ALICE. You must be very clear with Mrs. Whip- pie on that point, Viola, because she used to prefer your Uncle Jack to sit by her, even when she wasn't ill. HELEN. (To VIOLA.) But especially when ill, 24 THE WITCHING HOUR. my dear. (To ALICE) And has he quit it? ALICE. Yes you know Jack went into politics for a while. HELEN. Did he? ALICE. Local politics yes something about the police didn't please him and then he quit all of his curative work. HELEN. Why? ALICE. Well, in politics, I believe there's some thing unpleasant about the word " heeler." HELEN. Oh ! VIOLA. Entirely different spelling, however. HELEN. Our English language is so elastic in that way. ALICE. Yes, the papers joked about his magnetic touch. The word " touch " is used offensively also. So Jack dropped the whole business. HELEN. And Viola inherits the ability? ALICE. Well, if one can inherit ability from an uncle. HELEN. From a family. ALICE. That's even more generous, but Viola is like Jack in every way in which a girl may resemble a man. Horses and boats and every kind of personal risk and VIOLA. (Rises.) I'm proud of it. ALICE. And Jack spoils her ? VIOLA. Am I spoiled? (Goes to back of table.) ALICE. He couldn't love her more if he were her father (Enter CLAY, L., a boy of twenty.) CLAY (pausing at door) . May I come in ? VIOLA. Certainly. CLAY. Isn't this a jolly room, mother? HELEN. Beautiful. CLAY (waiving hand above). And the sleeping THE WITCHING HOUR. 25 apartments are what I take pride in. Private bath to every bedroom, reading lamps just over the pil lows VIOLA. Haven't Jou seen the house, Mrs. Whip- pie? HELEN. Not above this floor. ALICE. Would it interest you? (Rises and goes left.) HELEN. Very much. ALICE (at door of dining-room). Jack JACK (outside). Yes ALICE. (To HELEN.) Will I do as your guide? HELEN (Rises.) Oh, yes. (Enter JACK L.) ALICE. I want to show Helen over the house. JACK. Do. ALICE. The rooms are empty? JACK. Empty, of course. ALICE. Don't be too indignant, they're not al ways empty. (To HELEN.) In Jack's house one is liable to find a belated pilgrim in any room. HELEN (laughing). And a lady walking in un announced would be something of a surprise, wouldn't she ? JACK. Well two ladies would, certainly. ALICE. Jack ! JACK. My dear sister they would. Hard lines when the reputation of a man's house isn't respec ted by his own sister ha! (Exit left f with mock indignation.) HELEN (smiling). The same Jack. ALICE. Intensified and confirmed! (Pausing at door.) Will you come, too, Viola? VIOLA. No, thank you, mother. (HELEN looks at ALICE. She and ALICE 'exeunt L. c.) 26 THE WITCHING HOUR. CLAY. What was Frank Hardmuth saying to you? VIOLA. When? CLAY. At supper and in the box at the theater, too? VIOLA. Oh Frank Hardmuth nobody pays any attention to him. CLAY. I thought you paid a great deal of atten tion to what he was saying. VIOLA. In the same theater party a girl's got to listen or leave the box. CLAY. Some persons listen to the opera. VIOLA. I told him that was what I wanted to do. CLAY. Was he making love to you, Viola ? VIOLA. I shouldn't call it that. CLAY. Would anybody else have called it that if they'd overheard it ? VIOLA. I don't think so. CLAY. Won't you tell me what it was about ? VIOLA. I don't see why you ask. CLAY. I asked because he seemed so much in earnest and because you seemed so much in earnest. VIOLA. Well? CLAY. And Frank Hardmuth's a fellow that'll stand watching. (Looks off left.) VIOLA (smiling). He stood a good deal to-night. CLAY. I mean that he's a clever lawyer and would succeed in making a girl commit herself in some way to him before she knew it. VIOLA. I think that depends more on the way the girl feels. CLAY. Well I don't want you to listen to Frank Hardmuth under the idea that he's the only chance in Kentucky. VIOLA. Why, Clay Whipple CLAY. You know very well I've been courting you myself, Viola, don't you? THE WITCHING HOUR. 27 VIOLA. You haven't. You've been coming round like a big boy. CLAY. (Follows right.) Have I gone with any other girl anywhere? VIOLA. I don't know. (Sits right.) CLAY. And I've spoken to your Uncle Jack about it. VIOLA. To Uncle Jack? CLAY. Yes. VIOLA. (Rises.) Nobody told you to speak to Uncle Jack. CLAY. Mother did. VIOLA. Your mother? CLAY. Yes. Mother's got regular old-fashioned ideas about boys and young ladies and she said, "if you think Viola likes you, the honorable thing to do is to speak to her guardian first." VIOLA. Oh ! you thought that, did you ? CLAY. I certainly did. VIOLA. I can't imagine why. CLAY. I thought that because you're Jack Brook- field's niece, and nobody of his blood would play a game that isn't fair. VIOLA. I wish you wouldn't always throw that up to me. (Goes to sofa.) 'Tisn't our fault if Un cle Jack's a sporting man. (Sits.) CLAY (following^. Why, Viola, I was praising him. I think your Uncle Jack the gamest man in Kentucky. VIOLA. Nor that either. I don't criticise my Uncle Jack, but he's a lot better man than just a fighter or a card-player. I love him for his big heart. CLAY. So do I. If I'd thought you cared I'd have said you were too much like him at heart to let a fellow come a-courtin* if you meant to refuse him and that was all that was in my mind when I asked about Frank Hardmuth and I don't care 28 THE WITCHING HOUR. what Hardmuth said either, if it wasn't personal that way. VIOLA. Frank Hardmuth's nothing to me. CLAY. And he won't be? (Pause.) Will he-? (Pause.) Say that. Because I'm awfully in love with you. VIOLA. Are you ? CLAY. You bet I am. Just Tom-fool heels over head in love with you. VIOLA. You never said so. CLAY. Mother said a boy in an architect's office had better wait till he was a partner but I can't wait, Viola, if other fellows are pushing me too hard. VIOLA. (Rises.) Uncle Jack says you are a regular architect if there ever was one. CLAY. It's what you think that makes the differ ence to me. VIOLA. Well, I think (Pause.) -Uncle Jack certainly knows. CLAY. And an architect's just as good as a law yer. VIOLA. Every bit. CLAY. Viola. (Takes her in his arms.) VIOLA. Now I don't mind tellin' you he was speakin' for himself Frank Hardmuth. CLAY. By Jove on this very night. VIOLA. Yes. CLAY. Seems like the Hand of Providence that I was here. Let's sit down. (They sit.) You've got confidence in me, haven't you ? VIOLA. Yes I've always said to mother Clay Whipple'll make his mark some day I should say I had confidence in you. CLAY. Huh. (Laughs.) Of course the big jobs pay. Things like insurance buildings but my heart's in domestic architecture and if you don't laugh at me, I'll tell you something. THE WITCHING HOUR. 29 VIOLA. Laugh at you about your work and your ambition ! Why, Clay ! CLAY. I do most of the domestic interiors for the firm already and whenever I plan a second floor or a staircase I can see you plain as day walkin' through the rooms or saying good-night over the banisters. VIOLA. Really? (CLAY nods.) You mean in your mind? CLAY. No, with my eyes. Domestic architec ture's the most poetic work a man can get into out side of downright poetry itself. VIOLA. It must be if you can see it all that way. CLAY. Every room I can see your short sleeves as you put your hands on the banisters and some times you push up your front hair with the back of your hand that way (Brushes his forehead.) VIOLA. Oh, this (repeats the gesture) all girls do that. CLAY. But not just the same way as you do it. Yes, sir ! I can see every little motion you make. VIOLA. Whenever you care to think about me. CLAY. Bless you, no that's the trouble of it. VIOLA. What trouble? CLAY. The pictures of you don't come just when I want them to come and they don't go when I want them to go especially in the dark. VIOLA. Why, how funny. CLAY. Sometimes I've had to light the gas in order to go to sleep. VIOLA. Why, I never heard of anything like that. CLAY. Well, it happens with me often. I de signed this room for your Uncle Jack but before I put a brush in my color-box I saw this very Gen oese velvet and the picture frames in their places and that Corot right there I've got kind of a su perstition about that picture. 30 THE WITCHING HOUR. VIOLA. (Rises.) A superstition ! (Regards the Corot.) CLAY. I said to Jack, have anything else you want on the other walls, but right there I want you to put a Corot that I've seen at a dealer's in New York-^ and he did it. VIOLA. Uncle Jack generally has his own way about pictures. CLAY. I only mean that he approved my taste in the matter but my idea of this house really star ted with and grew around that canvas of Corot's. VIOLA. Then it isn't always me that you see ? CLAY. Always you when I think about a real house, you bet a house for me and you'll be there, won't you? (Takes her in his arms.) VIOLA. Will I? CLAY. Yes say, " I will." VIOLA. I will. ^ (Reenter ALICE and HELEN.)' ALICE (astonished). Viola! ( VIOLA goes left.) CLAY. I've asked her mother. ALICE. Helen, you knew ? HELEN. Yes. CLAY. (To ALICE.) And I asked Jack, too. ALICE. You mean CLAY. We're engaged if you say it's all right:. ALICE. And you Viola? VIOLA, (nodding). Yes ALICE (going to chair left of table). Well, if Jack's been consulted and you all know of it I should make a very hopeless minority. CLAY. Why any minority? THE WITCHING HOUR. 31 ALICE. Only the necessary considerations. (To HELEN.) Clay's prospects his youth. VIOLA. Why, he designs most of the work for his firm now. CLAY. That is, dwellings. HELEN. I should advise waiting myself until Clay is in the firm (To CLAY.) And I did advise delay in speaking to Viola herself. CLAY. I'd 'a' waited, mother, only Frank Hard- muth proposed to Viola to-night! ALICE. To-night ? VIOLA. At the opera. ALICE. One isn't safe anywhere. CLAY. You wouldn't want him ! So you do con sent, don't you ? ALICE. I think your mother and I should talk it over. CLAY. Well, it's a thing a fellow doesn't usually ask his mother to arrange, but (Pause.) VIOLA. You mean privately? ALICE. Yes. CLAY. We can go to the billiard room, I sup pose? VIOLA. Come on. CLAY (at the center door with VIOLA). You know, mother how I feel about it. (Exit with VIOLA L. c.) HELEN. I supposed you had guessed it. (Sits right of table.) ALICE. I had but when the moment arrives after all, it's such a surprise that a mother can't act naturally. HELEN. Clay is really very trustworthy for his years. ALICE. There's only one thing to discuss. I haven't mentioned it because well, because I've seen so little of you since it began and because the fault is in my own family. 32 THE WITCHING HOUR. HELEN. Fauk? ALICE. Yes Jack's fauk (Pause.) Clay is playing. HELEN. You mean ALICE. Here with Jack's friends. HELEN. Clay gambling! ALICE (wincing). I don't quite get used to the word, though we've had a lifetime of it (sits left of table) gambling. HELEN. I shouldn't have thought Jack would do that with my boy. ALICE. Jack hasn't our feminine viewpoint, Helen and, besides, Jack is calloused to it. HELEN. You should have talked to Jack your self. ALICE. Talked to him ? I did much more that is, as much more as a sister dependent on a brother for support could do. You know Jack really built this place for me and Viola. HELEN. I'd thought so yes. ALICE. Viola is the very core of Jack's heart well, we both left the house and went into our little apartment and are there now. A woman can't do much more than that and still take her living from a man, can she? HELEN. No ALICE. And it hurt him hurt him past any idea. HELEN. You did that because my Clay was was playing here? ALICE. Not entirely Clay everybody! (Pause a distant burst of laughter comes from the men in the dining-room.) There isn't a better-hearted man nor an abler one in the State than Jack Brookfield, but I had my daughter to consider. There were two nights under our last city government when nothing but the influence of Frank Hardmuth kept the police from coming to this house and arresting everybody thmk of it. THE WITCHING HOUR. 33 HELEN. Dreadful ALICE Now, that's something, Helen, that wouldn't tell a soul but you. Viola doesn't know it_but Jack's card-playing came between you and him years ago and you may know it. (Rises and looks toward dining-room,) You may even have some influence with Jack. HELEN. I ah, no. ALICE. Yes this supper to-night was Jack s idea for you. The box at the opera for you. HELEN. Why, Jack didn't even sit with us. ALICE. Also for you Jack Brookfield is a more notable character in Louisville to-day than he was twenty-two years agro. His company would have made you the subject of unpleasant comment. That's why he left us alone in the box. HELEN. Isn't it a pitya terrible pity ! (Laugh ter off left. HELEN rises.} (Enter HARDMUTH, JACK, DENNING, and LEW. HARDMUTH is the aggressive prosecutor.) HARDMUTH. I tell the gentlemen we've left th'e ladies to themselves long enough, Mrs. Campbell. ALICE. Quite long enough, Mr. Hardmuth. DENNING. Where's the young lady? Jack's niece ? HELEN. In the billiard room, I believe. DENNING. (To HELEN, disappointed.) Oh Jack's been telling us what a great girl she is. HARDMUTH. Some of us knew that without being told. DENNING. And she's wonderfully like you wonderfully. HELEN. You compliment me JACK. Are you under the impression you're Speaking to Viola's mother? DENNING. Ain't I? , JACK. This lady is Mrs. Whipple. 34 THE WITCHING HOUR. DENNING. Oh, Clay's mother? (HELEN bows.) Well, your boy, Mrs. Whipple, plays in the hardest luck of all the people I ever sat next to. HELEN. You mean JACK (interrupting and putting his arm about DENNING). You depreciate yourself, Tom. There's no hard luck in merely sitting next to you. DENNING. Ha, ha. HELEN. (To ALICE.) I think Clay and I should be going. JACK (consulting his watch). Oh, no only a little after twelve and no one ever goes to sleep here before two. (To DENNING.) I told you to keep still about card games. DENNING. I meant unlucky at billiards. They're all right, ain't they ? JACK. Oh (Walks away impatiently.) DENNING. Let's go and see the young lady play billiards with Clay. (To ALICE.) I can see now your daughter resembles you. (Moves up with ALICE toward door. LEW follows.) JACK. Shall we join them? HELEN. I'd like it. (JACK and HELEN start up.) HARDMUTH. Jack! Just a minute. JACK. (To HELEN.) Excuse me DENNING. (To ALICE as they go.) No, Kansas City's my home, but I don't live there. (Exit with ALICE. ) JACK. Be right in, Lew. (Exit HELEN with LEW.) Well, Frank HARDMUTH. I took advantage of your hospitality, old man, to-night JACK. Advantage ? HARDMUTH, Yes Pve been talking to your niece. JACK. Oh! THE WITCHING HOUR. 35 HARDMUTH. Proposed to her. JACK. Yes HARDMUTH. Yes (Enter Jo from downstairs.) Jo. A gentleman called you on the telephone, sah. JACK. (Regarding watch) Who? Jo. Judge Brennus name sounds like. Holdin* the wire, sah. JACK. I don't know any Judge Brennus. Jo. Says you don't know him, sah, but he's got to leave town in the mornin' and he'd be very much obliged if you'd see him to-night. JACK. Did you tell him we were dark to-night? Jo. He didn't want no game. It's about a pic ture a picture you've got. JACK. A picture ? Jo. He wants to look at it. (JACK looks at HARDMUTH.) HARDMUTH. It's a blind. JACK. (Consulting watch) Well, this is a good night to work a blind on me. (To Jo) Tell the gentleman I'll be up for half an hour. Jo. Yes, sah. (Exit) JACK. So you proposed to Viola? HARDMUTH. Yes. How do you feel about that? JACK. You know the story of the barkeeper ask ing the owner, " Is Grady good for a drink ? " " Has he had it? " " He has."" He is." HARDMUTH. Just that way, eh? (JACK nods) Well she hasn't answered me. JACK. (Musing) Mm HARDMUTH. And under those conditions, how's Grady's credit with you ? 36 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. Well, Frank, on any ordinary proposi tion you're aces with me. You know that. HARDMUTH (seated right of table). But for the girl? JACK. It's different. HARDMUTH. Why ? JACK. She's only nineteen you know. HARDMUTH. My sister married at eighteen. JACK. I mean you're thirty-five. HARDMUTH. That's not an unusal difference. JACK. Not an impossible difference, but I think unusual and rather unadvisable. HARDMUTH. That's what you think. JACK. That's what I think. ^ HARDMUTH. But suppose the lady is willing to give that handicap? (Pause JACK shrugs his shoulder. ) What then ? JACK. Let's cross that bridge when we come fo if. HARDMUTH. You mean you'd still drag a little? JACK. (Pause.) Do you think Viola likes you well enough to say yes? HARDMUTH. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. JACK. We have come to that one, Frank. There's another man in the running and I think she like's him. HARDMUTH. You mean young Whipple ? (Rises, goes to fireplace.) Well, he took second money in the box party to-night at the supper table, too. Ill agree to take care of him if you're with me. JACK (at table, center). I think he's your big gest opposition. HARDMUTH. But you. Can I count on you in the show-down? JACK. (Pause. Sits right of table.) If Viola didn't care enough for you, Frank, to accept you in spite of everything, I shouldn't try to influence her in your favor. THE WITCHING HOUR. 37 (Enter LEW, center, from left.) LEW. I think a bum game of billiards is about as thin an entertainment for the outsiders as " Who's got the buttom." HARDMUTH (meeting LEW up left center). I've got a little business, Lew, with Jack for a minute. LEW. Well, I can sit in by the bottle, can't I? (Moves toward dining-room.) JACK. Help yourself, Lew. LEW. Such awful " stage waits " while they chalk their cues. (Exit left.) HARDMUTH. But you wouldn't try to influence her against me. JACK. (Pause.) She's about the closest thing to me there is that niece of mine. HARDMUTH. (Pause.) Well? JACK. I'd protect her happiness to the limit of my ability. HARDMUTH. If she likes me or should come to like meenough her happiness would be with me, wouldn't it? (Sits again.) JACK. She might think so. HARDMUTH. Well ? JACK. But she'd be mistaken. It would be a mistake, old chap. HARDMUTH. I know twenty men twelve to fifteen years older than their wives all happy wives happy, too. JACK. 'Tisn't just that. HARDMUTH. What is it? JACK. She's a fine girl that niece of mine not a blemish. HARDMUTH. Well JACK. I want to see her get the best the very best in family position character HARDMUTH. Anything against the Hardmuths? (JACK shakes head.) I'm assistant district attorney and next trip I'll be the district attorney. 38 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. I said character. HAKDMUTH. Character? JACK. Yes. HARDMUTH. You mean there's anything against my reputation? JACK. No I mean character pure and simple I mean the moral side of you! HARDMUTH. Well, by God! JACK. You see, I'm keeping the girl in mind all the time. HARDMUTH. My morals! JACK. Let's say your moral fiber. HARDMUTH. (Rises) Well, for richness this beats anything I've struck. Jack Brookfield talking to me about my moral fiber! (Goes toward fire) JACK. You asked for it. HARDMUTH. (Returns aggressively) Yes I did, and now I'm going to ask for the show-down What do you mean by it? JACK. (With fateful repression) I mean as long as you've called attention to the " richness " of Jack Brookfield talking to you on the subject that Jack Brookfield is a professional gambler people get from Jack Brookfield just what he promises a square game. Do you admit that? HARDMUTH. I admit that. Go on. JACK. (Rises, front of table) You're the assis tant prosecuting attorney for the city of Louisville ; the people don't get from you just what you prom ised not by a jugful HARDMUTH. I'm the assistant prosecuting at torney, remember I promised to assist in prosecu tion, not to institute it. JACK. I expect technical defense, old man, but this was to be a show-down. HARDMUTH. Let's have it I ask for particulars. JACK. Here's one. You play here in my house and you know it's against the law that you've sworn to support. THE WITCHING HOUR. 39 HARDMUTH. I'll support the law whenever it's invoked. Indict me and I'll plead guilty. JACK. This evasion is what I mean by lack of moral fiber. HARDMUTH. Perhaps we're a little shy some where on mental fiber. JACK. You make me say it, do you, Frank? Your duty, at least, is to keep secret the information of your office ; contrary to that duty you've betrayed the secrets of your office to warn me and other men of this city when their game was in danger from the police. HARDMUTH. You throw that up to me ? JACK. (Site on left end of table.) Throw noth ing you asked for it. HARDMUTH. I stand by my friends. JACK. Exactly and you've taken an oath to stand by the people. HARDMUTH. Do you know any sure politician that doesn't stand by his friends? JACK. Not one. HARDMUTH. Well, there! JACK. But, I don't know any sure politician that I'd tell my niece to marry. HARDMUTH. That's a little too fine-haired for me! (Turns to fire.) JACK. I think it is. HARDMUTH. (Returns.) I'll bet you a thousand dollars I'm the next prosecuting attorney of this city. TACK. I'll take half of that if you can place it. I'll bet even money you're anything in politics that you go after for the next ten years. HARDMUTH. Then I don't understand your kick. JACK. But I'll give odds that the time'll come when you're way up there full of honor and rep utation and pride that somebody'll drop to you, Frank, and flosh ! You for the down and outs. HARDMUTH. Rot ! 40 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. It's the same in every game in the work! the crook either gets too gay or gets too slow, or both, and the " come on " sees him make the pass. I've been pallbearer for three of the slickest men that ever shuffled a deck in Kentucky just a little too slick, that's all and they've always got it when it was hardest for the family. HARDMUTH. So that'll be my finish, will it? JACK. Sure. HARDMUTH (going back of table). You like the moral fiber of this Whipple kid? JACK. I don't know. (Crosses to fireplace.) HARDMUTH. Weak as dishwater. JACK. I don't think so. HARDMUTH. I'll do him at any game you name. JACK. He's only a boy you should. HARDMUTH. I'll do him at this game. JACK. What game ? HARDMUTH. The girl ! I thought I could count on you because well, for the very tips you hold against me; but you're only her uncle, old man, after all. (Swaggers down right.) JACK. That's all. HARDMUTH. And if she says " yes " JACK. (Comes to front of table. Pause. THe men confront each other.) Frank! Some day the truth'll come out as to who murdered the gover nor-elect of this State. HARDMUTH. Is there any doubt about that? JACK. Isn't there? HARDMUTH. The man who fired that shot's in jail. JACK. I don't want my niece mixed up in it. HARDMUTH (angrily). What do you mean by that? (Enter HELEN, center. An awkward pause.) The young people still playing ? HELEN. Yes. HARDMUTH. I'll look 'em over. {Exit.) HELEN. Won't you come, too? THE WITCHING HOUR. 41 JACK. I'd rather stay here with you. HELEN. That gentleman that called after sup- per- JACK. Mr. Denning - HELEN. Yes. He seems to take pleasure in an noying Clay JACK. (Seriously). Yes I know that side of Denning! (Goes to door of dining-room) Lew! LEW. Yes. JACK. I wish you'd go into the billiard room and look after Tom Denning. LEW. (Entering left) What's he doing? (JACK turns to HELEN.) HELEN. (To JACK) Commenting humorously hiding the chalk and so on. LEW. (As he goes up) Lit up a little I suppose. JACK. (Nodding) Just " ride herd " on him. HELEN. (Going left to sofa) He doesn't seem much of a gentleman, this Mr. Denning. JACK. He wasn't expected to-night. HELEN. Is he one of your " clients " ? JACK. (Smiling) One of my " clients." HELEN. Clay meets him here? JACK. Yes has met him here. HELEN. I didn't think you'd do that Jack with my boy. JACK. Do what? HELEN. Gamble. JACK. (Smiling) It's no gamble with your boy, Helen sure thing. He hasn't won a dollar ! HELEN. I'm glad you're able to smile over it. JACK. Perhaps it would be more humorous to you if he'd won. 42 THE WITCHING HOUR. HELEN. If he plays I'd rather see him win, of course. JACK. (Beside sofa.) That's what put me in the business winning. The thing that makes every gambler stick to it is winning occasionally. I've never let your boy get up from the table a dollar to the good and because he was your boy. HELEN. Why let him play at all? JACK. He'll play somewhere till he gets sick of it or marries. HELEN. Will marriage cure it ? JACK. It would have cured me but you didn't see it that way. HELEN. You made your choice. JACK. I asked you to trust me you wanted some ironclad pledge well, my dear Helen that wasn't the best way to handle a fellow of spirit. (Goes front of table.) HELEN. So you chose the better way? JACK. No choice I stood pat that's all. HELEN. And wasted your life. JACK (sitting on edge of table). That depends on how you look at it. You married a doctor who wore himself out in the Philadelphia hospitals. I've had three meals a day and this place and a pretty fat farm and a stable with some good blood in it and HELEN (coming to him). And every one of them, Jack, is a monument to the worst side of you. JACK. (Stands and takes her hands; he smiles.) Prejudice, my dear Helen. You might say that if I'd earned these things in some respectable business combination that starved out all its little competi tors but I've simply furnished a fairly expensive entertainment to eminent citizens looking for rest. HELEN. I know all the arguments of your pro fession Jack, and I don't pretend to answer them any more than I answer the arguments of reckless THE WITCHING HOUR. 43 women who claim that they are more commendable than their sisters who make loveless marriages. JACK. (Goes to chair, right.) I'm not flattered by the implied comparsion still HELEN. I only feel sure that anything which the majority of good people condemn is wrong. (Sits left of table.) JACK. (Sits right of table.) I'm sorry HELEN. I'd be glad if you meant that but you're not sorry. JACK. I am sorry I'm sorry not to have public respect as long as you think it's valuable. . HELEN. I amuse you don't I? JACK (elbows on knees). Not a little bit but you make me blue as the devil, if that's any satis faction. HELEN. I'd be glad to make you blue as the devil, Jack, if it meant discontent with what you're doing if it could make you do better. JACK. I'm a pretty old leopard to get nervous about my spots. HELEN. Why are you blue? JACK. You. HELEN. In what way? JACK. 1 had hoped that twenty years of charit able deeds had made you also charitable in your judgment. HELEN. 1 hope it has. JACK. Don't seem to ease up on my specialty. HELEN. You called your conduct "wild oats" twenty years ago. JACK. It was but I found such an excellent market for my wild oats that I had to stay in that branch of the grain business. Besides, it has been partly your fault, you know. (HELEN plays with the ivory paper-knife, balanc ing it on the front edge of table.) 44 THE WITCHING HOUR. HELEN. Mine? JACK. Your throwing me over for my wild oats put it up to me to prove that they were a better thing than you thought. HELEN. Well having demonsrated that JACK. Here we are HELEN. Yes here we are. JACK. Back in the old town. Don't you thinK it would be rather a pretty finish, Helen, if despite all my my leopard's spots and despite that (pause) that Philadelphia episode of yours HELEN. You call twenty years of marriage epi sodic. JACK. I call any departure from the main story episodic. HELEN. And the main story is TACK. You and I HELEN. Oh (Paper-knife falls to floor JACK rises and picks it up, stands w front of table left hand on HELENA his right gesticulating with paper- knife.) JACK. Wouldn't it be a pretty finish if you took my hand and I could walk right up to the camera and say, " I told you so " ? You know I always felt that you were coming back. HELEN. Oh, did you? JACK (playfully, and going right center). Had a candle Burning in the window every night. HELEN. You're sure it wasn't a red light? JACK (remonstrating). Dear Helen! have some poetry in your composition. Literally " red light " of course but the real flame was here (hand on breast) a flickering hope that somewhere some how somewhen I should be at rest with the proud Helen tKat loved and rode away. THE WITCHING HOUR. 45 HELEN. (Almost accusingly) I believe you. JACK. Of course you believe me. HELEN. You had a way, Jack when you were a boy at college, of making me write to you. JACK. Had I? (Goes back of table) HELEN. You know you had; at nights about this hour I'd find it impossible to sleep until I'd got up and written to you and two days later I'd get from you a letter that had crossed mine on the road. I don't believe the word " telepathy " had been coined then but I guessed something of the force and all these years, I've felt it nagging! Nagging ! JACK. Nagging? HELEN. Yes I could keep you out of my waking hours out of my thought but when I sur rendered myself to sleep the call would come and I think it was rather cowardly of you, really. JACK. (Back of table) I plead guilty to having thought of you, Helen lots and it was generally when I was alone late my clients gone. This room " Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed." HELEN. And as you say here we are. JACK. Well, what of my offer? Shall we say to the world "We told you so?" What of my picturesque finish ? HELEN. You know my ideas you've known them twenty-two years. JACK. No modification? HELEN. None ! JACK. I'll be willing to sell the tables. (Points above to second floor) And well I don't think I could get interested in this bridge game that the 46 THE WITCHING HOUR. real good people play would you object to a gentle man's game of " draw " now and then ? HELEN. You called it a gentleman's game in those days. JACK. No leeway at all ? HELEN. No compromise, Jack no JACK. M (Pause.) I trust you won't consider my seeming hesitation uncomplimentary ? HELEN. Not unprecedented, at least. JACK. You see it opens up a new line of thought and (Passes his hand over -forehead.) HELEN (rising in sympathy). And you have a headache, too, it isn't kind I'm sure. (Enter Jo, R. c.) JACK. Oh, nothing nothing. (To Jo.) Well? Jo. That gentleman, sah, about the picture. JACK. I'll see him. (Exit Jo.) HELEN. A caller? JACK. Won't be a minute don't go away, be cause I think we can settle this question to-night, you and I. HELEN. Please don't put me in the light of wait ing for an answer. JACK. Dear Helen we're both past that aren't we? If I can only be sure that I could be worthy of you. I'm the one that's waiting for an answer from my own weak character and rotten irresolu tion. (JACK goes with HELEN to door, center, kisses her hand. She goes; JACK retains her hand as long as possible and when he lets it go, it falls limply to HELENA side as she disappears.) They say cards make a! fellow superstitious. (Pause.) Well I guess they do THE WITCHING HOUR. 47 (Enter Jo and JUSTICE PRENTICE. PRENTICE wears overcoat, carries cane and silk hat.) JACK. Judge de Brennus? PRENTICE (after amused look at Jo). Justice Prentice. (Exit Jo.) JACK. Oh, Justice Prentice! Good-evening! PRENTICE. You are Mr. Brookfield? JACK. Yes. PRENTICE. I shouldn't have attempted so late a call but that a friend pointed you out to-night at the opera, Mr. Brookfield, and said that your habit was well JACK. Not to retire immediately? PRENTICE. Yes. JACK. Will you be seated? PRENTICE. I'm only passing through the city. I called to see a Corot that I understand you bought from Knoedler. JACK. That's it. PRENTICE. Oh thank you. (Starts.) You don't object to my looking at it ? JACK. Not at all. (Touches button, light shows on picture.) PRENTICE (after regard). That's it. (Pause.) I thought at one time that I would buy this picture. JACK. You know it, then ? PRENTICE. Yes. (Pause.) Are you particularly attached to it, Mr. Brookfield? JACK (sitting). I think not irrevocably. (Takes pad of paper and figures mechanically.) PRENTICE. Oh. (Pause, during which the JUSTICE looks at the picture.) Do I understand that is what you paid for it, or what you intend to ask me for it? (JACK starts.) JACK. What? 48 THE WITCHING HOUR. PRENTICE. Sixty-five hundred. JACK (astonished). I didn't speak the price, did PRENTICE. Didn't you oh. (Pause.) I couldn't pay that amount. JACK (puzzled). That's its price however. PRENTICE. I regret I didn't buy it from the dealer when I had my chance. (Looks about at other pictures on back wall.) I couldn't have given it so beautiful a setting, Mr. Brookfield, nor such kindred but it would not have been friendless (At fireplace.) That's a handsome marine. JACK. Yes. PRENTICE. Pretty idea I read recently in an essay of Dr. Van Dyke's. His pictures were for him his windows by which he looked out from his study onto the world. (Pause.) Yes? JACK. Quite so. PRENTICE (regarding a picture over dining-room door) . Mm Washington ! JACK (again astonished). What? PRENTICE. My home is Washington I thought you asked me? JACK. No, I didn't. PRENTICE. I beg your pardon JACK (front of table; aside). But I'm damned if I wasn't just going to ask him. PRENTICE (mewing other pictures). And the phases of your world, Mr. Brookfield, have been very prettily multiplied. JACK. Thank you may I offer you a cigar? (Opens box on table.) PRENTICE. Thank you, I won't smoke. JACK. Or a glass of wine? PRENTICE. Nothing. I'll return to the hotel- first asking you again to excuse my untimely call. JACK. I wish you'd sit down awhile. PRENTICE. But I didn't know until I'd missed it from Knoedler's how large a part of my world THE WITCHING HOUR. 49 my dream world I had been looking at through this frame. (Regards the Corot again.) JACK. Well, if it's a sentimental matter, Mr. Justice, we might talk it over. PRENTICE. I mustn't submit the sentimental side of it, Mr. Brookfield, and where I have so so in truded. JACK. That's the big side of anything for me the sentimental. PRENTICE. I'm sure of it and I mustn't take advantage of that knowledge. JACK. You're sure of it? PRENTICE. Yes. JACK. Is that my reputation? PRENTENCE. I don't know your reputation. JACK. Then, how are you sure of it? PRENTICE (impressively) . Oh I see you and well, we have met. JACK. (Pause) Ah PRENTICE. Good-night. (Going up.) JACK. One moment. (Pause.) You said your address was Washington? PRENTICE. Yes, JACK. You thought at the time I was about to ask you that question? PRENTICE. I thought you had asked it. JACK. And you thought a moment before I had said sixty-five hundred for the picture? PRENTICE. Yes. JACK. Do you often pick answers that way? PRENTICE. Well, I think we all do at times. JACK. We all do? PRENTICE. Yes but we speak the answers only as we get older and less attentive and mistake a person's thought for his spoken word. JACK. A person's thought? PRENTICE. Yes. JACK. Do you mean you know what I think? PRENTICE (returning to tafile). I hadn't meant 50 THE WITCHING HOUR. to claim any monopoly of that power. It's my opin ion that every one reads the thoughts of others that is, some of the thoughts. JACK. Every one? PRENTICE. Oh, yes. JACK. That / do? PRENTICE (regarding him). I should say you more generally than the majority of men. JACK. There was a woman said something like that to me not ten minutes ago. PRENTICE. A woman would be apt to be con scious of it. JACK. You really believe that that stuff? (Sits left of table.) PRENTICE. Oh, yes and I'm not a pioneer in the belief. The men who declare the stuff most stoutly are scientists who have given it most attention. JACK. How do they prove it ? PRENTICE. They don't prove it that is, not uni versally. Each man must do that for himself, M-. Brookfield. JACK. How PRENTICE. (Pause. Smiles.) Well, Til tell you all I know of it. (Becoming serious.) Every thought is activethat is, born of a desire and travels from us or it is born of the desire of some one else and comes to us. We send them out or we take them in that is all. JACK. How do we know which we are doing? PRENTICE. If we are idle and empty-headed, our brains are the playrooms for the thought of others frequently rather bad. If we are active, whether benevolently or malevolently, our brains are work shops power-houses. I was passively regarding the pictures ; your active idea of the price regis tered, that's all so did your wish to know where I was from. JACK. You say " our brains "do you still in clude mine? THE WITCHING HOUR. 51 PRENTICE. Yes. JACK. You said mine more than the majority of men's. PRENTICE. I think so. JACK. Why hasn't this whatever it is effect happened to me, then ? PRENTICE. It has. JACK. (Pause.) Why didn't I know it? PRENTICE. Vanity? Perhaps. JACK. Vanity ? PRENTICE. Yes often some friend has broached some independent subject and you have said, " I was just about to speak of that myself." JACK. Very often, but PRENTICE. Believing the idea was your own your vanity shut out the probably proper solution that it was his. JACK. Well, how, then, does a man tell which of his thoughts are his own? PRENTICE. It's difficult. Most of his idle ones are not. When we drift we are with the current. To go against it or to make even an eddy of our own we must swim Most everything less than that is hopeless. JACK (smiling). Well I haven't been exactly helpless. PRENTICE. No one would call you so, Mr. Brook- field. (Going^.) You have a strong psychic a strong hypnotic ability. JACK (smiling). You think so? PRENTICE. I know it. JACK. This business? (Makes slight pass after manner of the professional hypnotist.) PRENTICE (smiling). That business for the be ginner, yes JACK. You mean that I could hypnotize any body? PRENTICE. Many persons yes but I wouldn't do it if I were you 52 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. Why not ? PRENTICE. Grave responsibility. JACK. In what way ? PRENTICE. (Pause. Smiles.) I'll send you a book about it if I may. JACK. Instructions ? PRENTICE. And cautions yes (Goes up to pic ture again.) If you tire of your Corot, I'd be glad to hear from you. JACK. Why couldn't I save postage by just think ing another price? PRENTICE. The laws on contracts haven't yet rec ognized that form of tender. (Enter TOM, L. center. He laughs and shows signs of drink.) TOM. I say, Jack here's the greatest joke you ever saw (Sees the JUSTICE.) Oh, excuse me. (Enter LEW, following.) LEW. That won't do, Tom. (To JACK.) Ex cuse me, Jack, but I had to get him out of there. JACK. I'll go downstairs with you, Mr. Justice. (Exit with the JUSTICE.) TOM. Who's that old bird? LEW. You'll offend Jack if you're not careful, Tom. You've got half a jag now. TOM. J' ever see anything's as funny as that? He don't like my scarf-pin ha, ha well, I don't like it-r-but my valet put it on me and what's differ ence (Enter L. HARDMUTH.) HARDMUTH. What was that? TOM. My scarf-pin! ,. HARDMUTH. Scarf-pin ? THE WITCHING HOUR. 53 TOM. Yes he pushed me away from him and I said " what's matter." He said " I don't like your scarf-pin "ha, ha I said "don't? I don't like your face." LEW. Very impolite with the ladies there. HARDMUTH. Why should he criticize Tom's scarf-pin ? TOM. 'Zactly. I said " I can change my scarf- pin but I don't like your face." (Enter CLAY from dining-room excitedly.) CLAY. Where's Jack? LEW. Saying good-night to some old gentleman below. TOM (interposing as CLAY starts up left center). And I don't like your face. CLAY. That's all right, Mr. Denning. (Tries to pass.) Excuse me. TOM (with scarf-pin in hand). Excuse me. What's the matter with that scarf-pin? CLAY. It's a cat's-eye and I don't like them, that's all I don't like to look at them. LEW. Let him alone, Tom. TOM. Damn 'fee ain't scared of it, ha, ha! (Pushing pin in front of CLAY'S face.) CLAY (greatly excited). Don't do that. HARDMUTH (sneering). T won't bite you, will it? CLAY. (Averts his face.) Go away, I tell you. TOM. (Holds CLAY with left hand. Has pin in right.) 'T will bite him bow wow wow CLAY. Don't, I tell you don't. TOM (still holding him). Bow wow wow . LEW. Tom ! HARDMUTH (laughing). Let them alone. CLAY. Go away. TOM. Bow wow 54 THE WITCHING HOUR. '(Enter JACK.) JACK. What's the matter here? TOM (pursuing CLAY). Wow '(CLAY in frenzy swings the large ivory paper-knife, from table, blindly strikes TOM, who falls.) JACK. Clay ! CLAY (horrified). He pushed that horrible cat's- eye right against my face. JACK. What cat's-eye? HARDMUTH. (Picks up the pin which DENNING has dropped.) Only playing with him a scarf- pin. LEW (kneeling by DENNING). He's out, Jack. (Enter Jo.) CLAY. I didn't mean to hurt him ; really I didn't mean that. HARDMUTH (taking the paper-knife from CLAY). The hell you didn't. You could kill a bull with that ivory tusk. JACK. Put him on the window seat give him some air. _^ (Enter ALICE, left center.) ALICE. Jack, we're going now all of us. (Enter HARVEY L.) JACK (turning to ALICE). Wait a minute (To Jo.) Help Mr. Ellinger there. (Jo., LEW, owe? HARVEY carry off TOM into the dining-room.) THE WITCHING HOUR. 55 ALICE. What is it? JACK. An accident keep Helen and Viola out of these rooms. ALICE. Hadn't we better go? Clay is with us. CLAY. I can't go just now, Mrs. Campbell (Looks off.) I hope it isn't serious I didn't mean to hurt him, really. (Exit left.) ALICE. A quarrel? (LEW enters and waves hand, meaning "All over") HARDMUTH (with paper-knife). A murder! (Enter HELEN and Viola.) VIOLA. What's the matter? (Enter CLAY.) CLAY (in panic and up right center. To HELEN). Oh, mother, I've killed him. HELEN (taking CLAY in her arms). Killed him whom ? HARDMUTH. Tom Denning. CLAY. But I never meant it Jack ; I just struck struck wild. HARDMUTH. With this. HELEN. With that ! Oh, my boy ! JACK. That will do ! Everybody Lew, telephone Dr. Monroe it's an emergency case and to come in dressing-gown and slippers. (Exit LEW, right 'center.) Alice, I know you're not afraid of a sick man or that sort of thing. Help me and Jo. (Leads ALICE, left. She braces herself.) Viola, you take Mrs. Whipple upstairs and wait there. HARDMUTH (starting up right). I'll notify the police. HELEN. Oh! 56 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK (interposing). Stop! You'll stay just where you are! HARDMUTH. You tryin' to hide this thing? JACK. The doctor'll tell us exactly what this thing is. And then the boy'll have the credit himself of notifying the police. CURTAIN. ACT II SCENE The library-living room of JUSTICE PRENTICE, Washington, D. C. The walls of this room are bookcases glassed quite to the ceiling, and filled with books mostly in sheep skin binding. This array is broken by a large bay window at the back, center, which is equipped with a window seat, and by two doors near the front of the stage, one on the right and one on the left. At the left is also a fireplace with a log fire. In the upper left-hand corner of the room there is a buffet, fitted with glasses and decanters. A dark rug is on the floor. The furniture of the room is dark oak in Gothic. It consists of a table and three chairs at the center, sofa, and smaller table up right. The smaller table holds a lamp. Over the buffet there is a small canvas by Rousseau showing a sunset. JUSTICE PRENTICE and JUDGE HENDERSON are playing chess. HENDERSON. Checkmate in three moves. PRENTICE. I don't see that. HENDERSON. Well, Knight to PRENTICE. Yes, yes, I see. Checkmate in three THE WITCHING HOUR. 57 moves. That's one game each. Shall we play an other ? HENDERSON. Let us look at the enemy. (Draws watch.) By Jove! Quarter of twelve. I guess Mrs. Henderson will be expecting me soon. (Pause.) I'll play a rubber with you, and its result shall decide your position on the Whipple case. PRENTICE. Why, Mr. Justice, I'm surprised at you. A United States Supreme Court decision shaped by a game of chess. We'll be down to the level of intelligent jurymen soon flipping pennies for the verdict. HENDERSON. And a very good method in just such cases as this. Well, if you won't play (rises) I'll have to go. PRENTICE. (Rises.) Not without another toddy. HENDERSON. Yes. PRENTICE (at sideboard up left). Oh, no. Come, now, don't you like this liquor ? HENDERSON. Immensely. Where did you say you got it ? PRENTICE. Kentucky. One lump? HENDERSON. Only one ! PRENTICE. My old home, sir, and a bit of lemon ? HENDERSON. A piece of the peel yes. PRENTICE. They make it there. HENDERSON. I'll pour the water. (Pours.) PRENTICE. There, there, don't drown me. HENDERSON. My folks were Baptists, you see. What do you say it costs you ? PRENTICE. Fifty cents a gallon. HENDERSON. What!! I think I'll take water. (Puts down glass.) PRENTICE. That's what it cost me. Its value I don't know. An old friend sends it to me. Fifty cents for express. HENDERSON. Oh ! PRENTICE. That's different, isn't it? 58 THE WITCHING HOUR. HENDERSON. (Recovers glass.) Very! PRENTICE. He makes it down there. Why, it's in the same county in which this Whipple murder occurred. HENDERSON. How about that point? We might as well admit it and remand t'-ie case. PRENTICE. No. There 's no constitutional point involved. HENDERSON. A man 's entitled to an open trial. PRENTICE. Well, Whipple had it. HENDERSON. No, he didn't. They wouldn't ad mit the public. PRENTICE. Oh, come, now; the court-room was crowded and the Judge refused admission to others only when there was danger of the floor breaking. HENDERSON. But, my dear Mr. Justice, that would have been all right to limit the attendance PRENTICE. Well, that 's all he did. HENDERSON. Only he did it by having the sheriff issue tickets of admission. That placed the atten dance entirely in the control of the prosecution and the defense is right in asking a rehearing. PRENTICE. Oh, nonsense! Justice is a little too slow in my old State and I'm impatient with technical delays. It is two years since they openly assassinated the governor-elect and the guilty man is still at large. HENDERSON. Why should the killing of Scovill bear on this case ! PRENVICE. It bears on me. I 'm concerned for the fair 1 me of Kentucky. HENDERSON. Well, if you won't, you won't, and there 's an end of it. (Rings call bell.) PRENTICE. Have another? HENDERSON. Not another drop. (Enter SER VANT.) Get my coat! PRENTICE. A nightcap. SERVANT. I beg pardon, sir. PRENTICE. Speaking to the Justice. THE WITCHING HOUR. 59 (Exit SERVANT.) HENDERSON. No, I must n't. Mrs. Henderson filed her protest against my coming home loaded and I 've got to be moderate. PRENTICE. Well, if you won't, you won't. HENDERSON (front of table, picks up book). Hello ! Reading the Scriptures in your old age ? PRENTICE. It does look like a Bible, does n't it? That 's a flexible binding I had put on a copy of Bret Harte. I admire him very much. HENDERSON. I like some of his stuff. PRENTICE. When I get home from the Capitol and you prosy lawyers, I 'm too tired to read Brown ing and those heavy guns, so I take Bret Harte very clever, I think ; I was reading before you came (takes book) "A Newport Romance." Do you know it ? HENDERSON. I don't think I do. PRENTICE. It 's about an old house at Newport that 's haunted a young girl in the colonial days died of a broken heart in this house, it seems. Her sweetheart sailed away and left her and here *s the way Bret Harte tells of her coming back. (HENDERSON sits.) Oh, I 'm not going to read all of it to you only one verse. (Looks at book. Pause.) Oh, I forgot to tell you that when this chap left the girl he gave her a little bouquet un derstand? That 's a piece of material evidence necessary to this summing up. (HENDERSON nods. PRENTICE reads. ) "And ever since then when the clock strikes two, She walks unbidden from room to room, And the air is filled, that she passes through, With a subtle, sad perfume. The delicate odor of mignonette, The ghost of a dead-and-gone bouquet, 60 THE WITCHING HOUR* Is all that tells of her story ; yet Could she think of a sweeter way ? " Isn't that charming, eh ? HENDERSON. A very pretty idea. PRENTICE. Beautiful to have a perfume suggest: her. I suppose it appeals to me especially because I used to know a girl who was foolishly fond of mignonette. HENDERSON. Well, you don't believe in that stuff, do you ? PRENTICE. What stuff? HENDERSON. That Bret Harte stuff the dead coming back ghosts and so forth ? PRENTICE. Yes, in one way I do. I find as I get older, Judge, that the things of memory become more real every day every day. Why, there are com panions of my boyhood that I haven't thought of for y ears that seem to come about me more tangible, or as much so as they were in life. HENDERSON. JVell, how do you account for that ? Spiritualism ? PRENTICE. Oh, no. It's Time's perspective. HENDERSON. Time's perspective ? PRENTICE. Yes. (Pause.) I'll have to illustrate my meaning. (Indicates a painting.) Here's a sunset by Rousseau. I bought it in Paris last sum mer. Do you see what an immense stretch of land there is in if? HENDERSON. Yes. PRENTICE. A bird's-eye view of that would re quire a chart reaching to the ceiling. But see Rous seau's perspective. The horizon line isn't two inches from the base. HENDERSON. Well ? PRENTICE. (Returns to table.) Well, my dear Judge, that is the magic in the perspective of Time. My boyhood's horizon is very near to my old eyes now. The dimmer they grow, the nearer it comes, THE WITCHING HOUR. 61 until I think sometimes that when we are through with it all we go out almost as we entered little children. HENDERSON. (Pause.) That's a very beautiful painting, Judge a Russell, you say ? PRENTICE. A Rousseau. HENDERSON. Oh PRENTICE. Yes cost me three thousand only, and a funny thing about it: the canvas just fitted into the top of my steamer trunk, and it came through the custom-house without a cent of duty. I completely forgot it. HENDERSON. Your memory isn't so retentive, then, as it seems ? PRENTICE. Not on those commercial matters. (Enter SERVANT with coat. In crossing front of table to HENDERSON, the coat knocks a miniature from the table to the floor) You dropped your tobacco-box, I guess, Mr. Justice. HENDERSON. (Examines pocket.) No. SERVANT. (Picks up miniature.) It was this picture, sir. PRENTICE. My gracious my gracious! It might have been broken. SERVANT. Oh, it often falls when I'm dusting, sir. PRENTICE. Oh, does it? Well, I'll put it away. (Exit SERVANT.) An ivory miniature by Wimar. I prize it highly old-fashioned portrait, see! Gold back. HENDERSON. A beautiful face. PRENTICE (eagerly). Isn't it? Isn't it? (Looks over HENDERSON'S shoulder.) HENDERSON. Very. What a peculiar way of combing the hair long, and over the ears. PRENTICE. The only becoming way women ever wore their hair. I think the scrambly style they have now is disgraceful. HENDERSON. Your mother? 62 THE WITCHING HOUR. PRENTICE. Dear, no, a young girl I used to know. Oh, don't smile, she's been dead a good thirty years married and had a large family. HENDERSON. Very sweet very sweet, indeed. PRENTICE. Isn't it? (Enter SERVANT.) Well? SERVANT. Card, sir. PRENTICE. Gentleman here? (Takes card.) SERVANT. Yes, sir. PRENTICE. I'll see him. (Exit SERVANT.) HENDERSON. Call ? PRENTICE. Yes. The man owns a picture that I've been trying to buy a Corot. HENDERSON. Oh another of these perspective fellows? PRENTICE. Yes his call doesn't surprise me, for he's been in my mind all day. HENDERSON. Seems to be in a hurry for the money coming at midnight. PRENTICE. I set him the example besides, mid night is just the shank of the evening for Mr. Brook- fTeld. He's supposed to be a sporting man ahem. (Enter SERVANT and JACK, JACK is paler and less physical than in first act) Good-evening. JACK. You remember me, Mr. Justice ? PRENTICE. Perfectly, Mr. Brookfield this is Justice Henderson. HENDERSON. Mr. Brookfield. JACK. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Justice. (To PRENTICE.) I hope I'm not intruding. HENDERSON. I'm just going, Mr. Brookfield. (To PRENTICE.) To-morow? PRENTICE. To-morrow ! HENDERSON, (at door, inquiringly). No con stitutional point about it ? Eh ? PRENTICE. None. HENDERSON. Good-night. PRENTICE. Good-night. (To JACK.) Have a chair. JACK. Thank you. (Stands by chair left of table.) THE WITCHING HOUR. 63 PRENTICE (toward buffet). I've some medicine here that comes directly from your city. JACK. I don't think I will if you'll excuse me. PRENTICE. Ah (Pause. Smiles.) Well, have you brought the picture ? JACK. The picture is still in Louisville I I'm in Washington with my niece. PRENTICE. Yes ? JACK. And a lady friend of hers. They're very anxious to meet you, Mr. Justice. PRENTICE. Ah. (Pause.) Well I go to the Capitol at noon to-morrow and JACK. To-night ! They're leaving the city to morrow as you were when I had the pleasure of receiving you. PRENTICE. I remember. JACK (with watch). They were to come after me in five minutes if I didn't return ; and those five minutes, Mr. Justice, I hoped you would give to me. PRENTICE. With pleasure. (Sits right of table.) JACK (plunging at once into his subject). Those two books you sent me PRENTICE. Yes ? JACK. I want to thank you for them again and to ask you how far you go with the men that wrote them especially the second one. Do you believe that book ? PRENTICE. Yes. JACK. You do? PRENTICE. I do. I know the man who wrote it and I believe him. JACK. Did he ever do any of his stunts for you that he writes about ? PRENTICE. He didn't call them " stunts," but he has given me many demonstrations of his ability and mine. JACK. For example? PRENTICE. For example ? He asked me to think of him steadily at some unexpected time, and to think 64 THE WITCHING HOUR. of some definite thing. A few days later this room two o'clock in the morning I concentrated my thoughts I mentally pictured him going to his telephone and calling me. JACK. And did he do it? PRENTICE. No (pause) but he came here at my breakfast hour and told me that at two o'clock he had waked and risen from his bed and walked to his 'phone in the hallway with an impulse to call me and then had stopped because he had no mes sage to deliver and because he thought his imagi nation might be tricking him. JACK. You hadn't given him any tip, such as ask ing how he'd slept ? PRENTICE. None. Five nights after that I re peated the experiment. JACK. Well? PRENTICE. That time he called me. JACK. What did he say ? PRENTICE. He said, " Old man, you ought to be in bed asleep; and not disturbing honest citizens," which was quite true. JACK. By Jove, it's a devilish creepy business, isn't it? PRENTICE. Yes. JACK. And if it's so PRENTICE. And it is so. JACK. Pay a man to be careful what he thinks eh? PRENTICE. It will very well pay your type of man to do so. JACK. I don't want to be possessed by any of these bughouse theories ; but I'll be blamed if a few things haven't happened to me, Mr. Justice, since you started me on this subject. PRENTICE. Along this line? JACK. Yes. (Pause) And I've tried the other side of it, too. PRENTICE. What other side? THE WITCHING HOUR. 65 JACK. The mesmeric business. (Pause. Makes passes.) I can do it. PRENTICE. Then I should say, Mr. Brookfield, that for you the obligation for clean and unselfish thinking was doubly imperative. JACK. Within this last year I've put people well practically asleep in a chair and I've made them tell me what a boy was doing a mile away in a jail. PRENTICE. I see no reason to call clairvoyance a " bughouse " theory. JACK. I only know that I do it. PRENTICE. Yes you have the youth for it the glorious strength. Does it make any demand on your vitality ? JACK. (Passes hand over his eyes.) I've fancied that a headache to which I'm subject is more fre quent that's all. PRENTICE. But you find the ability the power - increases don't you ? JACK. Yes in the last month I've put a man into a hypnotic sleep with half a dozen waves of the hand. (Makes pass.) PRENTICE. Why any motion ? JACK. Fixes his attention, I suppose. PRENTICE (shaking head) . Fixes your attention. When in your own mind your belief is sufficiently trained, you won't need this. (Another slight pass.) JACK. I won't ? PRENTICE. No. JACK. What'll I do? PRENTICE. Simply think. (Pause.) You have a headache, for example. JACK. I have a headache for a fact. ( JACK again passes hand over eyes and forehead) PRENTICE. Well some persons could cure it by rubbing your forehead. JACK. I know that. PRENTICE. Others could cure it by the passes of 66 THE WITCHING HOUR. the hypnotist. Others by simply willing that it should (Pause) be cured. JACK. Well, that's where I can't follow you and your friend the author. PRENTICE. You simply think your headache. JACK. I know it aches. PRENTICE. I think it doesn't. JACK. (Astonished) What? PRENTICE. I think it doesn't. JACK. (Pause) Well, just this moment, it doesn't but (Pause) isn't that simply mental excitement won't it come back? PRENTICE. It won't come back to-day. JACK. That's some comfort. The blamed things have made it busy for me since I've been studying this business. PRENTICE. It is a two-edged sword JACK. You mean it's bad for a man who tries it? PRENTICE. I mean that it constantly opens to the investigator new mental heights, higher planes and every man, Mr. Brookfield, is ill in some man ner who lives habitually on a lower level than the light he sees. (Enter SERVANT.) SERVANT. Two ladies, sir. PRENTICE. Your friends? JACK. I think so. (PRENTICE and JACK look at SERVANT.) SERVANT. Yes, sir. PRENTICE. Ask them up. (Exit SERVANT.) JACK. Thank you. THE WITCHING HOUR. 67 PRENTICE. (Rises.) I'll put away Judge Hen derson's glass. JACK. They're Kentucky ladies, Mr. Justice. PRENTICE (indicating JACK). But I don't want any credit for a hospitality I haven't earned. JACK. I see. (Enter SERVANT with HELEN and VIOLA.) JACK. My niece, Miss Campbell. PRENTICE. Miss Campbell. JACK. And HELEN. One moment, Jack ; I prefer to introduce myself. PRENTICE. Won't you be seated, ladies? (Exit SERVANT. HELEN sits right of table. VIOLA goes to the window-seat. JACK stands up center. ) HELEN. You are not a married man, Justice Prentice ? PRENTICE. I am not. HELEN. But you have the reputation of being a very charitable one. PRENTICE. (Sits left of table.) That's pleasant to hear what charity do you represent ? HELEN. None. I hardly know how to tell you my object. PRENTICE. It's a personal matter, is it ? JACK (back of table.) Yes, a very personal mat ter. PRENTICE. Ah ! HELEN. I have here an autograph book PRENTICE. (To JACK.) I usually sign my au tograph for those who wish it at the HELEN. I did not come for an autograph, Jus tice Prentice; I have brought one. PRENTICE. Well, I don't go in for that kind of thing very much. I have no collection my taste runs more toward 68 THE WITCHING HOUR. HELEN. The autograph I have brought is one of yours, written many years ago. It is signed to a let ter. Will you look at it ? ( Opens an autograph book and gives small folded and old lace handkerchief from book to VIOLA, who joins her. ) PRENTICE. With pleasure. (Takes book.) Is this the letter? Ah (Reads.) "June 15, 1860." Dear me, that's a long time ago. (Reads.) "My dear Margaret, the matter passed satisfactorily A mere scratch. Boland apologized. Jim." What is this? HELEN. A letter from you. PRENTICE. And my dear Margaret 1860. Why, this letter was it written to Margaret? HELEN. To Margaret Price PRENTICE. Is it possible well well. (Pause.) I wonder if what we call coincidences are ever mere coincidences. Margaret Price! Her name was on my lips a moment ago. JACK. Really, Mr. Justice? PRENTICE. (To JACK.) Yes. Did you know Margaret Price ? JACK. Yes. (Looks at HELEN PRENTICE'S gaze follows.) HELEN. She was my mother PRENTICE. Margaret Price was HELEN. Was my mother. PRENTICE. Why, I was just speaking of her to Justice Henderson whom you saw go out. Her pic ture dropped from the table here. (Gets it.) This miniature, Margaret Price gave it to me herself. And you are her daughter ? HELEN. Yes, Justice Prentice. PRENTICE. Yes, I can see the likeness. At twenty you must have looked very like this minia ture. (Passes miniature to HELEN.) HELEN (as JACK and VIOLA look at miniature). I have photographs of myself that are very like this. (To PRENTICE.) And you were speaking of her just now. THE WITCHING HOUR. 69 PRENTICE. Not five minutes ago. But be seated, please. ( VIOLA sits again at window.) I'm very delighted to have you call. HELEN. Even at such an hour? PRENTICE. At any hour. Margaret Price was a very dear friend of mine ; and to think, you're her daughter. And this letter 1860 what's this ? HELEN. Oh, don't touch that. It will break. It's only a dry spray of mignonette, pinned to the note when you sent it. PRENTICE (musingly). A spray of mignonette. HELEN. My mother's favorite flower, and per fume. PRENTICE. I remember. Well, well, this is equally astonishing. JACK. Do you remember the letter, Mr. Justtice ? PRENTICE. Perfectly JACK. And the circumstances it alludes to? PRENTICE. Yes. It was the work of a romantic boy. I I was very fond of your mother, Mrs. by the way, you haven't told me your name. HELEN. Never mind that now. Let me be Mar garet Price's daughter for the present. PRENTICE. Very well. Oh, this was a little scratch of a duel they've gone out of fashion now, I'm thankful to say. HELEN. Do you remember the cause of this one ? PRENTICE. Yes ; Henry Boland had worried Mar garet some way. She was frightened, I think, and fainted. HELEN. And you struck him? PRENTICE. Yes, and he challenged me. HELEN. I've heard mother tell it. Do you re member what frightened her? PRENTICE. I don't believe I do. Does the letter say? HELEN. No. Try to think. PRENTICE. Was it a snake or a toad ? HELEN. No a jewel. 70 THE WITCHING HOUR. PRENTICE. A jewel? I remember now a a cat's-eye. A cat's-eye jewel, wasn't it? HELEN (with excitement). Yes, yes, yes. (Weeping.) PRENTICE. My dear madam, it seems to be a very emotional subject with you. HELEN. It is. I've hoped so you would remem ber it. On the cars I was praying all the way you would remember it. And you do you do. PRENTICE. I do. VIOLA. (Comes to HELEN.) Compose yourself, dear. Remember what depends on it. PRENTICE. It is evidently something in which I can aid you. HELEN. It is and you will ? PRENTICE. There is nothing I would not do for a daughter of Margaret Price. You are in mourn ing, dear lady ; is it for your mother ? HELEN. For my son. PRENTICE. (To JACK.) How long has he been dead? HELEN. He is not dead. Justice Prentice, my boy the grandson of Margaret Price is under a sentence of death. PRENTICE. Sentence of death ? HELEN. Yes. I am the mother of Clay Whip- pie PRENTICE (Rises). But, madam HELEN. He is to die. I come PRENTICE. (Retreats towards second door.) Stop ! You forget yourself. The case of Whipple is before the Supreme Court of the United States. I am a member of that body I cannot listen to you. HELEN. You must. PRENTICE. You are prejudicing his chances. (To JACK.) You are making it necessary for me to rule against him. (To HELEN.) My dear madam, for the sake of your boy, do not do this. It is unlawful without dignity or precedent. (To JACK.) THE WITCHING HOUR. 7* If the lady were not the mother of the boy I should call your conduct base VIOLA. But she is his mother. HELEN (following). And Justice Prentice, I am the daughter of the woman you loved. PRENTICE. I beg you to be silent. JACK. Won't you hear us a moment ? PRENTICE. I cannot. I dare not I must 'leave you. ( Going. ) VIOLA. Why? PRENTICE. I have explained the matter is be fore the court. For me to hear you would be cor rupt. HELEN. I won't talk of the question before your court. That our attorneys tell us, is a constitu tional point. PRENTICE. That is its attitude. HELEN. I will not talk of that. I wish to speak of this letter. JACK. You can listen to that, can't you, Mr. Jus tice? PRENTICE. Do you hope for its influence indi rectly ? HELEN. No ; sit down, Justice Prentice, and com pose yourself. I will talk calmly to you. PRENTICE. My dear madam, my heart bleeds for you. (To JACK.) Her agony must be past ju dicial measurement. JACK. Only God knows, sir ! (HELEN sits at table; VIOLA stands by her side* PRENTICE sits by the fire; JACK remains stand ing.) HELEN. (Pause.) Justice Prentice. PRENTICE. Mrs. Whipple. HELEN. You remember this letter you have recalled the duel. You remember thank God its cause? PRENTICE. I do. 72 THE WITCHING HOUR. HELEN. You know that my mother's aversion to that jewel amounted almost to an insanity? PRENTICE. I remember that. HELEN. I inherited that aversion. When a child, the sight of one of them would throw me almost into convulsions. PRENTICE. Is it possible? HELEN. It is true. The physicians said I would outgrow the susceptibility, and in a measure I did so. But I discovered that Clay had inherited the fatal dislike from me. JACK. You can understand that, Mr. Justice? PRENTICE. Medical jurisprudence is full of such cases. Why should we deny them ? Is nature faith ful only in physical matters ? You are like this por trait. Your voice is that of Margaret Price. Nature's behest should have also embraced some of the less apparent possessions, I think. JACK. We urged all that at the trial, but they called it invention. PRENTICE. Nothing seems more probable to me. HELEN. Clay, my boy, had that dreadful and unreasonable fear of the jewel. I protected him as far as possible, but one night over a year ago, some men companions finding that the sight of this stone annoyed him, pressed it upon his attention. He did not know, Justice Prentice, he was not re sponsible. It was insanity, but he struck his tor mentor and the blow resulted in the young man's death. PRENTICE. Terrible terrible ! HELEN. My poor boy is crushed with the awful deed. He is not a murderer. He was never that, but they have sentenced him, Justice Prentice he is to die. (Rises impulsively.) JACK (catching her). Now now my dear Helen, compose yourself. VIOLA (embracing her). You promised. HELEN. Yes, yes, I will. ( VIOL A leads HELEN aside. ) THE WITCHING HOUR. 73 PRENTICE. All this was ably presented to the trial court, you say? JACK. By the best attorneys. PRENTICE. And the verdict ? JACK. Still was guilty. But, Mr. Justice, the sentiment of the community has changed very much since then. We feel that a new trial would result differently. HELEN. When our lawyers decided to go to the Supreme Court, I remembered some letters of yours in this old book. Can you imagine my joy when I found the letter was on the very point of this in herited trait on which we rested our defense? JACK. We have ridden twenty-four hours to reach you. The train came in only at ten o'clock. HELEN. You you are not powerless to help me. What is an official duty to a mother's love ? To the life of her boy ? PRENTICE. My dear, dear madam, that is not necessary believe me. This letter comes very prop erly under the head of new evidence. (To JACK.) The defendant is entitled to a rehearing on that. HELEN. Justice Prentice! Justice Prentice! (Turns again to VIOLA.) VIOLA. There there (Comforts HELEN.) PRENTICE. Of course that isn't before us, but when we remand the case on this constitutional point HELEN. Then you will you will remand it? PRENTICE (prevaricating). Justice Henderson had convinced me on the point as you called. So I think there is no doubt of the decision. HELEN. You can never know the light you let into my heart. (VIOLA returns lace handkerchief to book which HELEN opens for the purpose, closing it again on handkerchief.) 74 THE WITCHING HOUR. PRENTICE. What is that perfume? Have you one about you ? HELEN. Yes, on this handkerchief. PRENTICE. What is it? HELEN. Mignonette. PRENTICE. Mignonette. HELEN. A favorite perfume of mother's. This handkerchief of hers was in the book with the let ter. PRENTICE. Indeed, HELEN. Oh, Justice Prentice, do you think I can save my boy ? PRENTICE. (To JACK.) On the rehearing I will take pleasure in testifying as to this hereditary aver sion and what I knew of its existence in Margaret Price. JACK. May I tell the lawyers so ? PRENTICE. No. They will learn it in the court to-morrow. They can stand the suspense. I am speaking comfort to the mother's heart. HELEN. Comfort. It is life ! PRENTICE. (To JACK.) Say nothing of this call, if you please. Nothing to anyone. JACK. We shall respect your instructions, Mr. Justice. My niece, who has been with Mrs. Whipple during this trouble, is the fiancee of the boy who is in jail. PRENTICE. You have my sympathy, too, my dear. VIOLA. Thank you. (Goes to PRENTICE and gives him her hand,) PRENTICE. And now good-night. VIOLA. Good-night. (Goes to door where JACK joins her.) HELEN. Good-night, Justice Prentice. You must know my gratitude words cannot tell it. (Exit VIOLA.) PRENTICE. Would you do me a favor? HELEN. Can you ask it? (JACK waits at the door.\ THE WITCHING HOUR. 75 PRENTICE. If that was the handkerchief of Mar garet Price, I'd like to have it. (With a moment's effort at self-control, HELEN gives PRENTICE the handkerchief. She does not dare to speak, but turns to JACK who leads her out. PRENTICE goes to the table anl takes up the miniature. A distant bell strikes two.) PRENTICE. Margaret Price. People will say that she has been in her grave thirty years, but I'll swear her spirit was in this room to-night and directed a decision of the Supreme Court of the United States. (Noticing the handkerciehf which he holds, he puts it to his lips.) " The delicate odor of mignonette, The ghost of a dead-and-gone bouquet, Is all that tells of her story ; yet Could she think of a sweeter way ? " CURTAIN. ACT III. SCENE : Same as Act L JACK in chair R. of table with elbows on knees apparently in deep thought. (Enter HARVEY, left.) HARVEY. Mars Jack. JACK. Well, Uncle Harvey? HARVEY. 'Scuse me, sah, when you wants to be alone, but Tse awful anxious, myself. Is dey any word from the court-house ? JACK. None, Uncle Harvey. 76 THE WITCHING HOUR. HARVEY. 'Cause Jo said Missus Campbell done come in, an* I thought she'd been to the trial, you know. JACK. She has. You're not keeping anything from me, Uncle Harvey. HARVEY. 'Deed, no, sah. Ah jes' like to ask you, Mars Jack, if I'd better have de cook fix sumpun' to eat maybe de other ladies comin' too? JACK. Yes, Uncle Harvey, but whether they'll want to eat or not'll depend on what word comes back with the jury. HARVEY. Yes, sah. (Exit left.) (Enter ALICE, right center.) ALICE (in astonishment and reproach). Jack (She comes down left.) JACK. Well ALICE. Why are you here? JACK. Well I live here. ALICE. But I thought you'd gone to Helen and Viola. JACK. No. ALICE. You should do so, Jack. Think of them alone when that jury returns as it may at any mo ment with its verdict. JACK. The lawyers are there and Lew Ellinger is with them. ALICE. But Helen Helen needs you. JACK. I may be useful here. ALICE. How ? JACK. There's one man on that jury that I think is a friend. ALICE. One man ? JACK. Yes. ALICE. Out of a jury of twelve. JACK. One man can stop the other eleven from bringing in an adverse verdict and this one is with us. THE WITCHING HOUR. 77 ALICE. Would your going to Helen and Viola in the court-house stop his being with us? JACK. Perhaps not, but it would stop my being with him. ALICE. What? (Looks about.) I don't under stand you. JACK. Justice Prentice told me that he could sft alone in his room and make another man get up and walk to the telephone and call him by simply think ing steadily of that other man. ALICE. Superstitious people imagine anything JACK. Imagine much yes but this isn't imag ination. ALICE. It's worse Jack. I call it spiritualism. JACK. Call it anything you like spiritualism or socialism or rheumatism it's there. I know noth ing about it scientifically, but I've tried it on and it works, my dear Alice, it works. ALICE. You've tried it on? JACK. Yes. ALICE. With whom? JACK. With you. ALICE. I don't know it if you have. JACK. That is one phase of its terrible subtlety. ALICE. When did you try it on ? JACK (inquiringly). That night, a month ago, when you rapped at my door at two o'clock in the morning and asked if I was ill in any way. ALICE. I was simply nervous about you. JACK. Call it " nervousness " if you wish to but that was an experiment of mine a simple ex periment. ALICE. Oh! JACK. Two Sundays ago you went up to the church door hesitated, and turned home again. ALICE. Lots of people do that. JACK. I don't ask you to take stock in it, but that was another experiment of mine. The thing appeals to me. I can't help Helen by being at the court- 78 THE WITCHING HOUR. house, but, as I'm alive and my name's Jack Brook- field, I do believe that my thought reaches that par ticular juryman. ALICE. That's lunacy, Jack, dear. JACK. (Rises and walks.) Well, call it "lun acy." I don't insist on " rheumatism." ALICE. Oh, Jack, the boy's life is in the balance. Bitter vindictive lawyers are prosecuting him, and I don't like my big strong brother, who us : 1 to meet men and all danger face to face, treating the situa tion with silly mind-cure methods hidden alone in his rooms. I don't like it. JACK. You can't acquit a boy of murder by hav ing a strong brother thrash somebody in the court- room ; If there was anything under the sun I could do with my physical strength, I'd do it; but there isn't. Now, why not try this? Why not, if I be lieve I can influence a juryman by my thought, why not try ? (ALICE turns away. Enter Jo, right center.) JACK. Well? Jo. Mistah Hardmuth. ALICE (astonished). Frank Hardmuth? Jo. Yes. JACK. Here's one of the " bitter vindictive " men you want me to meet face to face. You stay here while I go and do it. (Starts up.) (Enter HARDMUTH.) HARDMUTH. Excuse me, but I can't wait in an anteroom. JACK. That'll do, Jo. (Exit Jo.) HARDMUTH. I want to see you alone. JACK. (To ALICE) Yes ALICE (going). What do you think it is? JACK. Nothing to worry over. (Conducts her to door left. Exit ALICE.) THE WITCHING HOUR. 79 HARDMUTH. (threateningly) Jack Brookfield. JACK. Well ? ( Confronts HARDMUTH. ) HARDMUTH. I've just seen Harvey Fisher of the Courier. JACK. Yet;. HARDMUTH. He says you've hinted at something associating me with the shooting of Scovill. JACK. Right. HARDMUTH. What do you mean ? JACK. I mean, Frank Hardmuth, that you shan't hound this boy to the gallows without reckoning with me and the things I know of you. HARDMUTH. I'm doing my duty as a prosecuting attorney. JACK. You are, and a great deal more you're venting a personal hatred. HARDMUTH. That hasn't anything to do with this insinuation you've handed to a newspaper man, an insinuation for which anybody ought to kill you. JACK. I don't deal in " insinuations." It was a charge. HARDMUTH. A statement? JACK. A charge! You understand English a specific and categorical charge. HARDMUTH. That I knew Scovill was to be shot. JACK. That you knew it ? No. That you planned it and arranged and procured his assassination. HARDMUTH (in low ione). If the newspapers print that, I'll kill you damn you, I'll kill you. JACK. I don't doubt your willingness. And they'll print it if they haven't done so already and if they don't print it, by God, I'll print it myself and paste it on the fences. HARDMUTH (weakening.) What have I ever done to you, Jack Brookfield, except to be your friend? JACK. You've been much too friendly. With this murder on your conscience, you proposed to take to yourself, as wife, my niece, dear to me as my life. As revenge for her refusal and mine, you've perse- 8o THE WITCHING HOUR. cuted through two trials the boy she loved, and the son of the woman whose thought regulates the pulse of my heart, an innocent, unfortunate boy. In your ambition you've reached out to be the governor of this State, and an honored political party is seriously considering you for that office to-day. HARDMUTH. That Scovill story's a lie a political lie. I think you mean to be honest, Jack Brookfield, but somebody's strung you. JACK. Wait ! The man that's now hiding in In diana a fugitive from your feeble efforts at ex tradition sat upstairs drunk and desperate his last dollar on a case card. I pitied him. If a priest had been there he couldn't have purged his soul cleaner than poor Raynor gave it to me. If he put me on, am I strung ? HARDMUTH (frightened.) Yes, you are. I can't tell you why, because this jury is out and may come in any moment and I've got to be there, but I can square it. So help me God, I can square it. JACK. You'll have to square it. (Enter ALICE, left, followed by PRENTICE.) ALICE Jack. (Indicates PRENTICE.) PRENTICE. Excuse me, I HARDMUTH. Oh Justice Prentice. JACK. Mr. Hardmuth the State's attorney. PRENTICE. I recognize Mr. Hardmuth. I didn't salute him because I resent his disrespectful treat ment of myself during his cross-examination. HARDMUTH. Entirely within my rights as a law yer and PRENTICE. Entirely and never within the op portunities of a gentleman. HARDMUTH. Your side foresaw the powerful effect on a local jury of any testimony by a member of the Supreme Court, and my wish to break that PRENTICE. Was quite apparent, sir, quite ap- THE WITCHING HOUR, 81 parent, but the testimony of every man is entitled to just such weight and consideration as that man's character commands. But it is not that disrespect which I resent. I am an old man That I am un married childless without a son to inherit the vigor that time has reclaimed, is due to a sentiment that you endeavored to ridicule, Mr. Hardmuth, a sentiment which would have been sacred in the hands of any true Kentuckian, which I am glad to hear you are not. JACK. That's all. HARDMUTH. Perhaps not. (Exit.) PRENTICE. My dear Mr. Brookfield, that man certainly hasn't seen this newspaper ? JACK. No but he knows it's coming. PRENTICE. When I urged you as a citizen to tell anything you knew of the man, I hadn't expected a capital charge. ALICE. What is it, Jack, what have you said ? JACK. (To ALICE. Hands paper.) All in the headlines read it. (To PRENTICE.) That enough for your purpose, Justice Prentice ? PRENTICE. I never dreamed of an attack of that that magnitude Enough! ALICE. Why why did you do this, Jack ? JACK. Because I'm your big strong brother and I had the information. PRENTICE. It was necessary, Mrs. Campbell, necessary. ALICE. Why necessary ? JACK. My poor sister, you don't think. If that jury brings in a verdict of guilty what then ? ALICE. What then? I don't know. JACK. An appeal to the governor for clemency. ALICE. Well? JACK. Then we delay things until a new governor comes in. But suppose that new governor is Hard muth himself. ALICE. How can the new governor be Hard muth? 82 THE WITCHING HOUR. PRENTICE. Nothing can stop it if he gets the nomination, and the convention is in session at Frankfort to-day with Mr. Hardmuth's name in the lead. JACK (indicating paper). I've served that notice on them and they won't dare nominate him. That is, I think they won't. ALICE. But to charge him with murder ? PRENTICE. The only thing to consider there is, have you your facts ? JACK. I have. PRENTICE. Then it was a duty and you chose the psychological moment for its performance. " With what measure you mete it shall be measured to you again." I have pity for the man whom that paper crushes, but I have greater pity for the boy he is trying to have hanged. (Goes to ALICE.) You know, Mrs. Campbell, that young Whipple is the grandson of an old friend of mine. ALICE. Yes, Justice Prentice, I know that. (Enter Jo, R. c., followed by HELEN and VIOLA.) Jo. Mars Jack ! JACK (turning). Yes? HELEN. Oh, Jack! (Comes down to JACK. VIOLA goes to ALICE.) JACK. What is it? (Catches and supports HELEN.) VIOLA. The jury returned and asked for instruc tions. JACK. Well? HELEN. There's a recess of an hour. VIOLA. The court wishes them locked up for the night, but the foreman said the jurymen were all anxious to get to their homes and he felt an agree ment could be reached in an hour. PRENTICE. Did he use exactly those words " to their homes " ? THE WITCHING HOUR. 83 VIOLA. " To their homes "yes. PRENTICE (smiling at Jack.) There you are. HELEN. What, Jack? JACK. What ? PRENTICE. Men with vengeance or severity in their hearts would hardly say they're " anxious to get to their homes." They say " the jury is anxious to get away," or " to finish its work." HELEN. Oh, Justice Prentice, you pin hope upon such slight things. PRENTICE. That is what hope is for, my dear Mrs. Whipple ; the frail chances of this life. VIOLA. And now, Uncle Jack, Mrs. Whipple ought to have a cup of tea and something to eat. HELEN. Oh, I couldn't we must go back at once. VIOLA. Well, I could I I must. ALICE. Yes you must both of you. (Exit to dining-room.) VIOLA (returning to HELEN). You don't think it's heartless, do you? HELEN. You dear child. (Kisses her.) VIOLA. You come, too. HELEN (refusing). Please. (Exit VIOLA. HELEN sinks to sofa.) JACK. And now, courage, my dear Helen; it's almost over. HELEN. At the other trial the jury delayed just this way. PRENTICE. Upon what point did the jury ask instruction ? HELEN. Degree. PRENTICE. And the court? HELEN. Oh, Jack, the judge answered guilty in the first degree, or not guilty. PRENTICE. That all helps us. HELEN. It does? JACK. Who spoke for the jury? HELEN. The foreman and one other juryman asked a question. 84 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. Was it the man in the fourth chair first now? HELEN (inquiringly). Yes ? JACK. Ah. HELEN. Why? JACK. I think he's a friend, that's all. HELEN. I should die, Jack, if it wasn't for your courage. You won't get tired of it will you '. and forsake my poor boy and me? JACK (encouragingly). What do you think? HELEN. All our lawyers are kindness itself, but -. but you Jack you somehow (Enter VIOLA.) VIOLA. Oh, Uncle Jack here's a note our lawyer asked me to give to you I forgot it until tills minute. JACK. Thank you. (Takes note.) VIOLA. Please try a cup of tea. HELEN. No no Viola. (Exit VIOLA.) What is it, Jack? Are they afraid? JACK. It's not about the trial at all. (Hands note to PRENTICE.) HELEN. Really ? JACK. Yes. HELEN. But why don't you show it to us, then? JACK. (PRENTICE returns note.) I will if my keeping it gives you so much alarm as that. (Turns on the large drop light and stands under it. ) Colonel Bay ley says " Dear Jack, I've seen the paper ; Hardmuth will shoot on sight." HELEN (quickly to JACK'S side). Oh, Jack, if anything should happen to you JACK. " Anything " is quite as likely to happen to Mr. Hardmuth. HELEN. But not even that my boy has killed a man and you Jack you well, you just mustn't let it happen, that's all. JACK. I mustn't let it happen because ? THE WITCHING HOUR. 85 HELEN. Because I couldn't bear it. (JACK lifts her hand to his face and kisses it. Enter ALICE.) ALICE. What was the letter, Jack? JACK. (Hands letter to ALICE as he passes, leading HELEN to door.) And, now I'll agree to do the best I can for Mr. Hardmuth if you'll take a cup of tea and a biscuit. HELEN. There isn't time. JACK. There's plenty of time if the adjournment was for an hour. ALICE (in alarm). Jack! TACK. Eh (Turns to ALICE). Wait one minute. (Goes on to door with HELEN.) Go. (Exit HELEN.) ALICE (as JACK returns). He threatens your life. JACK. Not exactly. Simply Colonel Bayley's opinion that he will shoot on sight. ALICE (impatiently). Oh JACK. There is a difference, you know. (Enter Jo.) Jo. Mr. Ellinger, sah. (Enter LEW.) LEW (briskly). Hello, Jack. (Exit Jo.) JACK. Well, Lew? LEW (with newspaper). Why, that's the dam nedest thing (To ALICE.) I beg your pardon. ALICE. Don't, please some manly emphasis is a real comfort, Mr. Ellinger. LEW. That charge of yours against Hardmuth is raisin' more h-h-high feeling than anything that ever happened. 86 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. I saw the paper. LEW. You didn't see this it's an extra. (Reads.) " The charge read to the convention in night session at Frankfort Bill Glover hits Jim Macey on the nose DeVoe of Carter County takes Jim's gun away from him The delegation from Butler get down to their stomachs and crawl under the. benches some statemen go through the win dows. Convention takes recess till morning. Local sheriff swearin' in deputies to keep peace in the barrooms." That's all you've done, JACK. (To ALICE.) Good! (To PRENTICE.) Well, they can't nominate Mr. Hardmuth now. LEW. (To ALICE.) I been hedgin' I told the fellows I'd bet Jack hadn't said it. JACK. Yes I did say it. LEW. In just those words ? (Reads.) "The poor fellow that crouched back of a window sill and shot Kentucky's governor deserves hanging less than the man whom he is shielding the man who laid the plot of assassination. The present pros ecuting attorney by appointment Frank Allison Hardmuth." Did you say that? JACK. Lew, that there might be no mistake I wrote it. (LEW whistles; JACK takes the paper and scans it.) LEW. Is it straight? JACK. Yes. (Pushes hanging button and turns off the large drop^.) LEW. He was in the plot to kill the governor ? JACK. He organized it. LEW. Well, what do you think of that? And now he's runnin' for governor himself a murderer ! JACK. Yes. LEW. (To PRENTICE.) And for six months he's been houndin* every fellow in Louisville that sat down to a game of cards. (JACK nods.) The damned rascal's nearly put me in the poorhouse. JACK. Poor old Lew! THE WITCHING HOUR. 87 LEW. (To PRENTICE.) Why, before I could get to that court-house to-day I had to take a pair of scissors that I used to cut coupons with and trim the whiskers off o' my shirt cuffs. (To JACK.) How long have you known this? JACK. Ever since the fact. PRENTICE. Mm LEW. Why do you spring it only now ? JACK. Because until now I lacked the character and the moral courage. I spring it now by the advice of Justice Prentice to reach that convention at Frankfort. LEW. Well, you reached them. PRENTICE. The convention was only a secondary consideration with me my real object was this jury witR whom Mr. Hardmuth seemed too power ful. LEW. Reach the jury ? JACK (enthusiastically). The jury? Why, of course, the entire jury, and I was hoping for one man LEW. Why, they don't see the papers the jury won't get a line of this. JACK. I think they will. LEW. You got 'em fixed? JACK. Fixed ? No. LEW. Then how will they see it. PRENTICE (firmly and slowly to LEW, who is half dazed). How many people in Louisville have al ready read that charge as you have read it ? LEW. Thirty thousand, maybe, but PRENTICE. And five hundred thousand in the little cities and the towns. Do you think, Mr. Ellinger, that all those minds can be at white heat over that knowledge and none of it reach the thought of those twelve men ? Ah, no - JACK. To half a million good Kentuckians to night Frank Hardmuth is a repulsive thing and that jury's faith in him is dead. 88 THE WITCHING HOUR. LEW. (Pause.) Why, Jack, old man, you're dippy. (ALICE turns away wearily, agreeing with LEW.) PRENTICE. Then, Mr. Ellinger, I am dippy, too. (ALICE turns back.) LEW. You mean you think the jury gets the public opinion without anybody tellin' them or their reading it. PRENTICE. Yes. (Pause. LEW looks stunned) In every widely discussed trial the defendant is tried not alone by his twelve peers, but by the entire com munity. LEW. Why, blast it! The community goes by what the newspaper says! PRENTICE. That is often the regrettable part of it but the fact remains. JACK. And that's why you asked me to expose Frank Hardmuth? PRENTICE. Yes. LEW. Well, the public will think you did it be cause he closed your game. JACK. Hardmuth didn't close my game. LEW. Who did? JACK (pointing to PRENTICE). This man. PRENTICE. (To JACK.) Thank you. LEW. How the he er heaven's name did he close it? JACK. He gave my self-respect a slap on the back and I stood up. (Exit.) LEW (thoroughly confused. Pause). Stung! (Turns to PRENTICE.) So you are responsible for these these new ideas of Jack's ? PRENTICE. In a measure. Have the ideas ap parently hurt Mr. Brookfield? LEW. They've put him out of business that's all. THE WITCHING HOUR. 89 PRENTICE. Which business? LEW. Why, this house of his. PRENTICE. I see. But his new ideas? Don't you like them, Mr. Ellinger? LEW. I love Jack Brookfield love him like a brother but I don't want even a brother askin' me If I'm sure I've " thought it over " when I'm startin' to take the halter off for a pleasant evenin'. Get my idea? PRENTICE. I begin to. LEW. In other words I don't want to take my remorse first. It dampens the fun. The other day a lady at the races said, " We've missed you, Mr. Ellinger." And I said, " Have you ? Well I'll be up this evening," and I'm pressing her hand and hang ing on to it till I'm afraid I'll get the carriage grease on my coat feelin' only about thirty-two, you know ; then I turn round and Jack has those sleepy lamps on me and " bla " (Turns and sinks onto sofa.) PRENTICE. And you don't go? LEW (bracing up). I do goas a matter of self- respect but I don't make a hit. I'm thinking so much more about th^se morality ideas of Jack's than I am about the lady that it cramps my style and we never get past the weather, and " when did you last hear from So and-so?" (Rises.) I want to reform all right. I believe in reform. But first I want to have the fun of fallin' and fallin' hard. Jo (distant and outside). 'Fore God, Mars Clay! CLAY. Jo, is my mother here? ALICE (entering left). Why, that's Clay. (Voices off continue together and approach.) LEW. (To PRENTICE.) It's the boy. ALICE. His mother! (Starts to call HELEN, then falters in indecision.) Oh! (The outside voices grow louder.) 90 THE WITCHING HOUR. PRENTICE. Acquittal ! (Enter CLAY, followed by COLONEL BAYLEY, his at" torney.) ALICE. Clay, Clay! CLAY. Oh, Mrs. Campbell. (ALICE embraces him. Enter JACK, HELEN, and VIOLA from the dining-room.) JACK (seeing CLAY and speaking back to HELEN). Yes. HELEN (as she enters). My boy! CLAY. Mother ! (They embrace. CLAY slips to his knee with his face hidden in HELEN'S lap, repeating her name. HELEN standing szvays and is caught by JACK. CLAY noting this weakness rises and helps support her.) JACK (rousing her). He's free, Helen, he's free. CLAY. Yes, mother, I'm free. (ViOLA, who has crossed back of CLAY and HELEN, weeps on shoulder of ALICE, who comforts her.) HELEN. My boy, my boy ! (VIOLA looks at them. HELEN sees VIOLA and turns CLAY toward her. CLAY takes VIOLA in his arms.) CLAY. Viola, my brave sweetheart! VIOLA. It's really over? CLAY. Yes. JACK. It's a great victory, Colonel. BAYLEY. Thank you. JACK. If ever a lawyer made a good fight for a man's life, you did. Helen, Viola, you must wanf to shake this man's hand. THE WITCHING HOUR. 91 VIOLA. I could have thrown my arms around you when you made that speech. BAYLEY (laughing). Too many young fellows crowding into the profession as it is. HELEN (taking his hand). Life must be sweet to a man who can do so much good as you do. BAYLEY. I couldn't stand it, you know, if it wasn't that my ability works both ways. (Enter HARVEY, left.) HARVEY. Mars Clay. CLAY. Harvey ! Why, dear old Harvey. (Half embraces HARVEY and pats him affectionately.) HARVEY. Yes, sah. Could could you eat any thing, Mars Clay? CLAY. Eat anything ! Why I'm starvin', Harvey. HARVEY. Ha, ha. Yes, sah. (Exit quickly.) CLAY. But you with me mother and Viola. HELEN. My boy ! Colonel ! ( Turns to BAYLEY. Exeunt CLAY, VIOLA, HELEN, BAYLEY, and ALICE to dining-room.) JACK. (Alone with PRENTICE. Picks up BAY- LEY'S letter; takes hold of push button over head.) Mr. Justice I shall never doubt you again. PRENTICE. Mr. Brookfield, never doubt your self. (Enter HARDMUTH. He rushes down toward dining- room and turns back to JACK who is under the lamp with his hand on its button.) HARDMUTH. You think you'll send me to the gallows, but, damn you, you go first yourself. (Thrusts a derringer against JACK'S body) JACK. Stop! (The big light flashes on above HARDMUTH'S eyes. At JACK'S "Stop" PRENTICE inclines forward with eyes on HARDMUTH so that there is a double battery of hypnotism on him. A pause.) You can't shoot that gun. You can't 92 THE WITCHING HOUR. pull the trigger. (Pause.) You can't even hold the gun. (Pause. The derringer drops from HARDMUTH'S hand.) Now, Frank, you can go. HARDMUTH (recoiling slowly). I'd like to know how in hell you did that to me. CURTAIN. ACT IV SCENE: Same as Act III. All lights on includ ing big electric. CLAY and VIOLA seated on sofa near the fire place. VIOLA. I must really say good-night and let you get some sleep. CLAY. Not before Jack gets home. Our mothers have considerately left us alone together. They'll just as considerately tell us when it's time to part. VIOLA. My mother said it was time half an hour ago. CLAY. Wait till Jack comes in. (Enter Jo.) Jo. Mars Clay? CLAY. Well, Jo? Jo. Dey's another reporter to see you, sah? VIOLA. Send him away Mr.Whipple won't see any more reporters. CLAY. (Rises.) Wait a minute who is he? (Jo hands card.) I've got to see this one, Viola. VIOLA (complaining). Why "got to"? CLAY. He's a friend I'll see him, Jo. Jo. Yas, sah (Exit.) VIOLA. (Rises.) You've said that all day they're all friends. CLAY. Well, they are but this boy especially. THE WITCHING HOUR. 93 It was fine to see you and mother and Jack when I was in that jail great but you were there day times. This boy spent hours on the other side of the bars helping me pass the awful nights. I tell you death-cells would be pretty nearly hell if it wasn't for the police reporters ministers ain't in it with \Enter EMMETT, a reporter.) EMMETT. Good-evening. CLAY. How are you, Ned? You know Miss Campbell? EMMETT (bowing). Yes. VIOLA. Good-evening. CLAY. Have a chair. EMMETT. Thank you. (Defers to VIOLA who sits first on sofa. Pause.) This is different. (Looks around the room.) CLAY. Some. EMMETT. Satisfied? The way we handled the story? CLAY. Perfectly. You were just bully, old man. EMMETT. (To VIOLA.) That artist of ours is only a kid and they work him to death on the " Sunday " so (Pause. To CLAY.) You under stand. CLAY. Oh I got used to the pictures a year ago. EMMETT. Certainly. (Pause.) Anything you want to say? VIOLA. For the paper? EMMETT. Yes. CLAY. I think not. (Enter HELEN and ALICE from dining-room. EMMETT rises.) HELEN. Gay, dear (Pause.) Oh 94 THE WITCHING HOUR. CLAY. You met my mother? EMMETT. No CLAY. Mother this is Mr. Emmett of whom Fve told you so often. HELEN. Oh the good reporter. EMMETT. (To CLAY.) Gee! That'd be a wonder if the gang heard it. (Taking HELEN'S hand as she offers it.) We got pretty well ac quainted yes'm. CLAY (introducing ALICE). Mrs. Campbell. ALICE. Won't you sit down, Mr. Emmett? EMMETT. Thank you. I guess we've covered everything, but the chief wanted me to see your son (turns to CLAY) and see if you'd do the paper a favor? CLAY. If possible gladly EMMETT. I cfcn't like the assignment because well for the very reason that it was handed to me and that is because we're more or less friendly. (Enter JACK R. c. in fur coat with cap and goggles in hand.) JACK. Well, it's a wonderful night outside. ALICE. You're back early. JACK. Purposely. (To EMMETT.) How are you? EMMETT (rising). Mr. Brookfield. JACK. I thought you girls might like a little run in the moonlight before I put in the machine. HELEN. Mr. Emmett has some message from his editor. JACK. What is it? EMMETT. There's a warrant out for Hardmuth you saw that? VIOLA. Yes, we saw that. (Goes to JACK.) JACK. To-night's paper EMMETT. If they get him and he comes to trial and all that, it'll be the biggest trial Kentucky ever saw. THE WITCHING HOUR. 95 CLAY. Well? EMMETT. Well the paper wants you to agree to report it for them the trial there'll be other papers after you, of course. VIOLA. Oh, no EMMETT. Understand, Clay, I'm not asking it. (To VIOLA.) I'm here under orders just as I'd be at a fire or a bread riot. CLAY (demurring). And of course you un derstand, don't you? EMMETT. Perfectly and I told the chief myself you wouldn't see it. CLAY. Paper's been too friendly for me to as sume any any JACK. Unnecessary dignity CLAY. Exactly but I just couldn't, you see EMMETT (going). Oh, leave it t- me I'll let 'em down easy. CLAY. Thank you. EMMETT. You expect to be in Europe or CLAY. But I don't. (JACK removes fur coat, puts it on chair up right center.) VIOLA. We're going to stay right here in Louis ville CLAY. And work out my my own future among the people who know me. EMMETT. Of course Europe's just to stall off the chief get him on to some other dope HELEN (rising). But JACK (interrupting). It's all right. HELEN. (To Jack). I hate to begin with a false hood. EMMETT. Not your son me Saw some copy on our telegraph desk, Mr. Brookfield, that'd in terest you. JACK. Yes. EMMETT. Or maybe you know of it? Frank fort 96 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. No. EMMETT. Some friend named you in the caucus. JACK. What connection ? EMMETT. Governor. VIOLA. (To EMMETT.) Uncle Jack? EMMETT. Yes'm that is, for the nomination. JACK. It's a joke. EMMETT. Grows out of these Hardmuth charges, of course. JACK. That's all. EMMETT. Good-night (Bows.) Mrs. Whipple ladies (Exit.) CLAY (going to door with EMMETT). You'll make that quite clear, won't you? EMMETT (outside). I'll fix it. CLAY (returning). If it wasn't for the notoriety of it, I'd like to do that. (Sits right of table.) HELEN (reproachfully). My son! JACK. Why would you like to do it? CLAY. To get even. I'd like to see Hardmuth suffer as he made me suffer. I'd like to watch him suffer and write of it. JACK. That's a bad spirit to face the world with, my boy. CLAY. I hate him. (Goes to VIOLA.) JACK. Hatred is heavier freight for the shipper than it is for the consignee. CLAY. I can't help it. JACK. Yes, you can help it. Mr. Hardmuth should be of the utmost indifference to you. To hate him is weak. VIOLA. Weak? JACK. Yes, weak-minded. Hardmuth was in love with you at one time he hated Clay. He said Clay was as weak as dishwater (to CLAY) and you were at that time. You've had your lesson profit by it. Its meaning was self-control. Begin now if you're going to be the custodian of this girl's happiness. THE WITCHING HOUR. 97 HELEN. I'm sure he means to, Jack. JACK. You can carry your hatred of Hardmuth and let it embitter your whole life or you can drop it so (Drops a book on table.) The power that any man or anything has to annoy us we give him or it by our interest. Some idiot told your great- grandmother that a jewel with different colored strata in it was " bad luck " or a " hoodoo " she believed it, and she nursed her faith that passed the lunacy on to your grandmother. HELEN. Jack, don't talk of that, please. JACK. I'll skip one generation but I'd like to talk of it. ALICE (rising, comes to HELEN). Why talk of it ? JACK. It was only a notion, and an effort of will can banish it. CLAY. It was more than a notion. JACK. Tom Denning's scarf-pin which he dropped there (indicates floor) was an exhibit in your trial Judge Bayley returned it to me to-day. (Puts hand in pocket.) VIOLA. I wish you wouldn't, Uncle Jack. ( Turns away. ) JACK. (To CLAY.) You don't mind, do you? CLAY. I'd rather not look at it to-night. JACK. You needn't look at it. I'll hold it in my hand and you put your hands over mine. ALICE. I really don't see the use in this experi ment, Jack. JACK (with CLAY'S hand over his). That doesn't annoy you, does it ? CLAY. I'm controlling myself, sir but I feel the influence of the thing all through and through me. HELEN. Jack ! ( VIOLA turns away in protest.) JACK. Down your back, isn't it, and in the roots of your hair tingling ? 98 THE WITCHING HOUR. CLAY. Yes. HELEN. Why torture him? JACK. Is it torture? CLAY (with brave self-control). I shall be glad when it's over. JACK (severely). What rot! That's only my night-key look at it. I haven't the scarf-pin about me. CLAY. Why make me think it was the scarf-pin ? JACK. To prove to you that it's only thinking that's all. Now, be a man the cat's-eye itself is in that table drawer. Get it and show Viola that you're not a neuropathic idiot. You're a child of the everlasting God and nothing on the earth or under it can harm you in the slightest degree. (CLAY opens drawer and takes pin.) That's the spirit look at it (pushes CLAY'S hand up to his face) I've made many ja young horse do that to an umbrella. Now, give it to me. ( To VIOLA. ) You're not afraid of it. VIOLA. Why, of course I'm not. JACK (putting pin on her breast). Now, if you want my niece, go up to that hoodoo like a man. (CLAY embraces VIOLA.) HELEN. Oh, Jack, do you think that will last ? JACK. Which indifference to the hoodoo or partiality to my niece? CLAY. They'll both last. JACK. Now, my boy, drop your hatred of Hard- muth as you drop your fear of the scarf-pin. Don't look back your life's ahead of you. Don't mount for the race over-weight. (Enter Jo, R. c.) Jo. Mr. Ellinger. (Enter LEW.) LEW. I don't intrude, do I? THE WITCHING HOUR. 99 JACK. Come in. LEW. (To LADIES.) Good-evening. Ah, Clay. (Shakes hands with CLAY. ) Glad to see you looking so well. Glad to see you in such good company. (To JACK, briskly.) I've got him. JACK. Got whom? LEW. Hardmuth. (To LADIES.) Detectives been hunting him all day, you know. HELEN. He's caught, you say? LEW. No but I've treed him (to JACK) and I thought I'd just have a word with you before passing the tip. (To LADIES.) He's nearly put me in the poorhouse with his raids and closing laws, and I see a chance to get even. JACK. In what way? LEW. They've been after him nearly twenty- four hours morning paper's going to offer a re ward for him, and I understand the State will also. If I had a little help I'd hide him for a day or two and then surrender him for those rewards. JACK. Where is Hardmuth? (Sits at table.) LEW. Hiding. JACK (writing a note). Naturally. LEW. You remember Big George? JACK. The darkey ? LEW. Yes used to be on the door at Phil Kelly's? JACK. Yes. LEW. He's there. In Big George's cottage long story Big George's wife that is, she well, his wife used to be pantry maid for Hardmuth's mother. When they raided Kelly's game, Big George pretended to turn State's evidence, but he really hates Hardmuth like a rattler 30 it all comes back to me. You see, if I'd win a couple of hundred at Kelly's I used to slip George a ten going out. Your luck always stays by you if you divide a little with a nigger or a humpback and in Louisville it's easier to find a nigger so ioo THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. He's there now? LEW. Yes. He wants to get away. He's got two guns and he'll shoot before he gives up so I'd have to con him some way. George's wife is to open the door to Kelly's old signal, you remember (raps) one knock, then two, and then one. JACK. Where is the cottage? LEW. Number 7 Jackson Street little dooryard border of arbor-vitae on the path. JACK. One knock then two and then one (Rises with note written.) LEW. What you gonta do ? JACK. Send for him. LEW. Who you gonta send? JACK. That boy there. CLAY. Me? JACK. Yes. HELEN. Oh, no no. JACK. And my niece. VIOLA. What! To arrest a man? JACK. (To CLAY.) My machine is at the door. Give Hardmuth this note. He'll come with you quietly. Bring him here. We'll decide what to do with him after that. ALICE. I can't allow Viola on such an errand. JACK. When the man she's promised to marry is going into danger VIOLA. If Mr. Hardmuth will come for that note why can't I deliver it? JACK. You may if Clay '11 let you. CLAY (quietly taking note as JACK offers it to VIOLA). I'll hand it to him. JACK. I hope so. (Gives goggles and coat.) Take these remember one rap, then two, then one. CLAY. I understand number seven ? LEW. Jackson Street. ALICE. I protest. HELEN. So do I. THE WITCHING HOUR. 101 JACK. (To CLAY and VIOLA.) You're both of age. I ask you to do it. If you give Hardmuth the goggles, nobody'll recognize him and with a lady beside him you'll get him safely here. CLAY. Come. (Exit with VIOLA.) LEW (following to door). I ought to be in the party. JACK. No you stay here. ALICE. That's scandalous. JACK. But none of us will start the scandal, will we? HELEN. Clay knows nothing of that kind of work a man with two guns think of it. JACK. After he's walked barehanded up to a couple of guns a few times, he'll quit fearing men that are armed only with a scarf-pin. HELEN (hysterically). It's cruel to keep con stantly referring to that that mistake of Clay's I want to forget it. JACK (going to HELEN. Tenderly). The way to forget it, my dear Helen, is not to guard it as a sensitive spot in your memory, but to grasp it as the wise ones grasp a nettle crush all its power to harm you in one courageous contact. We think things are calamities and trials and sorrows only names. They are spiritual gymnastics and have an eternal value when once you front them and make them crouch at your feet. Say once for all to your soul and thereby to the world " Yes, my boy killed a man because I'd brought him up a half -effem inate, hysterical weakling, but he's been through the fire and I've been through the fire, and we're both the better for it." HELEN. I can say that truthfully, but I don't want to make a policeman of him, just the same. (Exit to dining-room.) ALICE (following). Your treatment's a little too heroic, Jack. (Exit.) LEW. Think they'll fetch him? 102 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. (Sits left of table.) Yes. LEW. He'll come, of course, if he does, under the idea that you'll help him when he gets here. JACK. Yes. LEW. Pretty hard double-cross, but he deserves it. I've got a note of fifteen thousand to meet to morrow, or, damn it, I don't think I'd fancy this man-huntin'. I put up some Louisville-Nashville bonds for security, and the holder of the note'll be only too anxious to pinch 'em. JACK. You can't get your rewards in time for that. LEW. I know and that's one reason I come to you, Jack. If you see I'm in a fair way to get a reward JACK. I'll lend you the money, Lew. LEW. Thank you. (JACK takes check-book and writes.) I thought you would. If I lose those bonds they'll have me selling programs for a livin' at a grand stand. You see, I thought hatin' Hard- muth as you do, and your reputation bein' up through that stuff to the papers JACK. There. (Gives check.) LEW. Thank you, old man. I'll hand this back to you in a week. JACK. (Rises.) You needn't. LEW. What? JACK. You needn't hand it back. It's only fifteen thousand and you've lost a hundred of them at poker in these rooms. LEW. Never belly-ached, did I ? JACK. Never but you don't owe me that fifteen. LEW. Rot ! I'm no baby square game, wasn't it ? JACK. Perfectly. LEW. And I'll sit in a square game any time I get a chance. JACK. I know, Lew, all about that. LEW. I'll play you for this fifteen right now (Displays check.) THE WITCHING HOUR. 103 JACK. No. (Walks aside.) LEW. Ain't had a game in three weeks and, be sides, I think my luck's changin' ? When Big George told me about Hardmuth I took George's hand be fore I thought what I was doin' and you know what shakin' hands with a nigger does just before any play. JACK (resisting LEW'S plea.) No, thank you, Lew. LEW. My money's good as anybody else's, ain't it? JACK. Just as good, but LEW. It ain't a phoney check, is it? (Examines check.) JACK. The check's all right. LEW (taunting). Losing your nerves ? JACK. No (pause) suppose you shuffle those and deal a hand. (Indicates small table, right.) LEW. That's like old times; what is it stud horse or draw ? -(Sits at table.) JACK. (Goes to fireplace.) Draw if you say so. LEW. I cut 'em? JACK. You cut them. LEW (dealing two poker hands). Table stakes check goes for a thousand. JACK. That suits me. LEW (taking his own cards). Sit down. JACK (at other side of room looking, into fire). I don't need to sit down just yet. LEW. As easy as that, am I ? JACK. Lew ! LEW. Yes ? JACK. (Pause.) Do you happen to have three queens ? (LEW looks at JACK, then carefully at back of his own cards, then at the deck.) LEW. Well, I can't see it. 104 THE WITCHING HOUR. JACK. No use looking they're noE marked LEW. Well, I shuffled'm all right/ JACK. Yes. LEW. And cut'm? (JACK Wo'ds) Couldn't V been a cold deck ? JACK. No. LEW. Then, how did you know I had three queens ? JACK. I didn't know it. I just thought you had. LEW. Can you do it again ? JACK. I don't know. Draw one card. LEW (drawing one card from deck). All right. JACK. (Pause.) Is it the ace of hearts ? LEW. It is. JACK. Mm turns me into a rotter, doesn't it? (Comes gloomily to the big table.) LEW. Can you do that every time ? JACK. I never tried it until to-night that is, con sciously. I've always had luck and I thought it was because I took chances on a game same as any player but that don't look like it, does it ? LEW. Beats me. JACK. And what a monster it makes of me these years I've been in the business. LEW. You say you didn't know before ? JACK. I didn't know it no but some things have happened lately that have made me think it might be so; that jury yesterday some facts I've had from Justice Prentice. Telepathy of a very common kind and I guess it's used in a good many games, old man, we aren't on to. LEW. Well have you told anybody ? JACK. No. LEW (excitedly). Good! (Rises and comes to JACK.) Now, see here, Jack, if you can do that right along I know a game in Cincinnati where it'd be like takin* candy from children. JACK. Good God! you're not suggesting that I keep it up ? THE WITCHING HOUR. 105 LEW. Don't over-do it no (Pause.) Or you show me the trick and I'll collect all right. JACK (slowly). Lew (Pause.) Some of the fellows I've won from in this house have gone over to the park and blown their heads off. LEW. Some of the fellows anybody wins from in any house go somewhere and blow their heads off. JACK. True (Pause.) LEW. Three queens before the draw well, you could 'a* had me all right and you won't tell me how you do it ? JACK. I don't know how I do it ; the thougftt just comes to my mind stronger than any other thought. LEW (reprovingly). God A 'mighty gives you a mind like that and you won't go with me to Cincinnati. (Goes to card table; studies cards.) (Enter Jo.) b. Justice Prentice, sah. ACK. Ask him to step up here, b. Yes, sah. (Exit.) FACK. (Goes to door, left.) Alice Helen Justice Prentice has called ; I'd like you to join us. LEW.' Can the old man call a hand like that, too? JACK. I'm sure he could. LEW. And are there others ? JACK. I believe there are a good many others who unconsciously have the same ability. LEW. Well, it's a God's blessin' there's a sucker born every minute. I'm a widow and an orphan 'longside o' that. (Throws cards in disgust onto table.) (Enter ALICE and HELEN.) ALICE. Been losing, Mr. Ellinger? LEW. Losing? I just saved fifteen thousand I was gonta throw 'way like sand in a rathole. I'm a io6 THE WITCHING HOUR. babe eatin* spoon victuals and only gettin' half at that (Enter PRENTICE, R. c.)]7 TACK. Good-evening. PRENTICE. Good-evening. (Shakes hands with ALICE and HELEN) JACK. I stopped at your hotel, Mr. Justice, but you were out. (Enter VIOLA, R. c.) ALICE (anxiously). Viola. HELEN. Where's Gay? VIOLA. Downstairs. Good-evening. PRENTICE. Good-evening. JACK. (Toothers.) Pardon. (To VIOLA.) Did the gentleman come 'With you ? VIOLA. Yes. (LEW flutters and shows excitement.) JACK. Won't you ask Clay, my dear, to take him through the lower hall and into the dining-room until I'm at liberty ? VIOLA. Certainly. (Exit) PRENTICE. I am keeping you from other appoint ments ? JACK. Nothing that can't wait. PRENTICE. I am leaving for Washington in the morning. JACK. We'll all be at the train to see you off. PRENTICE. That's good, because I should like to say good-bye to to the young people I can see them there I shan't see you then, Mr. Ellinger (Goes to LEW, who stands at card table.) LEW. Good-bye, Judge you you've given me more of a " turn over " than you know. THE WITCHING HOUR. 107 PRENTICE. Really ? LEW. I'd 'a' saved two hundred thousand dollars if I'd 'a' met you thirty years ago. PRENTICE. Well, that's only about six thousand a year, isn't it ? LEW. That's so and, damn it, I have lived. (Smiles looks dreamily into the past.) PRENTICE. Good-night. (Exit PRENTICE.) JACK. Good-night good-night. ALICE. Is that Hardmuth in there? (Points to dining-room. ) JACK. Yes. ALICE. I don't want to see him. JACK. Very well, dear, I'll excuse you. ALICE, (going). Come, Helen. JACK (at door, left). Come in. (To HELEN, who is going with ALICE.) Helen ! I'd like you to stay. HELEN. Me? JACK. Yes. (Exit ALICE L. c. Enter CLAY, HARDMUTH, and VIOLA from dining-room. VIOLA lays automo bile coat on sofa. HARDMUTH bows to HELEN. HELEN bows.) JACK. Your mother has just left us, Viola. You'd better join her. VIOLA. Very well. JACK (taking her hand as she passes him). And I want you to know I appreciate very much, my dear, your going on this errand for me you're the right stuff. (Kisses her. Exit VIOLA, L. c. To HARDMUTH.) You're trying to get away? HARDMUTH. This your note? JACK. Yes. HARDMUTH. You say you'll help me out of the State? JACK. I will. io8 THE WITCHING HOUR. HARDMUTH. When? JACK. Whenever you're ready. HARDMUTH. I'm ready now. JACK. Then I'll help you now. LEW. Now ? JACK. Yes. HELEN. Doesn't that render you liable in some way, Jack, to the law ? JACK. Yes but I've been liable to the law in some way for the last twenty years. (To CLAY.) You go down and tell the chauffeur to leave the machine and walk home. I'm going to run it myself and I'll turn it in. CLAY. Yes, sir. (Exit R. e.) HARDMUTH. You're going to run it yourself? JACK. Yes. HARDMUTH. Where to? JACK. Across the river, if that's agreeable to you or any place you name. HARDMUTH. Is anybody waiting for you across the river ? JACK. No. HARDMUTH (again with note). This is all on the level? JACK. Completely. LEW. Why, I think you mean that. JACK. I do. LEW (aggressively). But I've got something to say, haven't I ? JACK. I hope not. LEW (quitting). If you're in earnest, of course. But I don't see your game. JACK. I'm not fully convinced of Mr. Hardmuth's guilt. LEW. Why, he's running away ? (Enter CLAY.) HARDMUTH. I know what a case they'd make against me, but I'm not guilty in any degree. THE WITCHING HOUR. 109 JACK. I want to do this thing for you, Frank don't make it too difficult by any lying. When I said I wasn't fully convinced of your guilt, my reservation was one you wouldn't understand. (To CLAY.) He gone? CLAY. Yes. JACK. My coat and goggles ? CLAY. Below in the reception-room. JACK. Thank you. I wish now you'd go to Viola and her mother and keep them wherever they are. CLAY. All right. (Exit.) JACK. (To HARDMUTH.) Hungry? (Touches push button.) HARDMUTH. No, thank you. JACK. Got money ? HARDMUTH. Yes. (Enter Jo, R. c.) JACK. Jo, take Mr. Hardmuth below and lend him one of the fur coats. (To HARDMUTH.) I'll join you immediately. (Exit HARDMUTH with Jo.) HELEN. What does it all mean, Jack ? JACK. Lew, I called that ace of hearts, didn't I ? LEW. And the three queens. JACK. Because the three queens and the ace were in your mind. LEW. I don't see any other explanation. JACK. Suppose, instead of the cards there'd been in your mind a well-developed plan of assassina tion the picture of a murder LEW. Did you drop to him that way ? JACK. No. Raynor told me all I know of Hardmuth but here's the very hell of it. Long before Scovill was killed I thought he deserved kill- no THE WITCHING HOUR. ing and I thought it could be done just as it was done. HELEN. Jack ! JACK. I never breathed a word of it to a living soul, but Hardmuth planned it exactly as I dreamed it and by God, a guilty thought is almost as crim inal as a guilty deed. I've always had a consider able influence over that poor devil that's running away to-night, and I'm not sure that before the Judge of both of us the guilt isn't mostly mine. HELEN. That's morbid, Jack, dear, perfectly morbid. JACK. I hope it is we'll none of us ever know in this life but we can all of us (Pause) LEW. What? JACK. Live as if it were true. (Change of man ner to brisk command) I'm going to help him over the line the roads are watched, but the police won't suspect me and they won't suspect Lew and all the less if there's a lady with us (To LEW) Will you go? LEW. The limit. JACK. Get a heavy coat from Jo. LEW. Yes. (Exit) JACK. (Alone with HELEN) You know you said I used to be able to make you write to me when I was a boy at college ? HELEN. Yes. JACK. And you were a thousand miles away while this fellow Hardmuth was just at my el bow half the time. HELEN. It can't help you to brood over it. JACK. It can help me to know it, and make what amend I can. Will you go with me while I put this poor devil over the line ? HELEN. (Taking VIOLA'S fur coat) Yes, I'll go with you. JACK. Helen, you stood by your boy in a fight for his life. THE WITCHING HOUR. in HELEN. Didn't you ? JACK. Will you stand by me while I make my fight? HELEN (giving her hand). You've made your fight, Jack, and you've won. (JACK kisses her hand, which he reverently holds in both of his.) CURTAIN. ^ THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW RENEWED BOOKS ARE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE RECALL LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS Book Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 N9 PS3022 Thomas, A. W5 The witching 1916 hour. LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA DAVIS