THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MORWNG5IDE 
 PLAYERS 
 
 Hattie: 
 
 by Elva De Pue 
 
 One a Day : 
 
 by Caroline Briggs 
 
 Markheim : 
 
 by Zellah MacDonald 
 
 The Home of the Free: 
 
 by Elmer L. Reizenstein 
 
 With an introduction by 
 
 BARRETT H. CLARK 
 
 FRANK SHAY AND COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
Morningside Plays 
 
Uniform with this Series: 
 
 We PROVINCETOWN PLAYS 
 
 First Series: 
 
 Bound East For Cardiff. By Eugene G. O Neill. 
 
 The Game. By Louise Bryant. 
 
 King Arthur s Socks. By Floyd Dell. 
 
 Second Series: 
 
 Suppressed Desires. By George Cram Cook and Susan 
 Glaspell. 
 
 Third Series: 
 
 The Two Sons. By Neith Boyce. 
 Lima Beans. By Alfred Kreymborg. 
 Before Breakfast. By Eugene G. O Neill. 
 
 Fourth Series: 
 
 Sauce for the Emperor. By John Chapin Mosher. 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 HATTIE 
 
 A drama, by Elva De Pue. 
 
 ONE A DAY 
 
 A fantasy, by Caroline Briggs. 
 
 MARKHEIM 
 
 A dramatization by Zellah Macdonald. 
 
 THE HOME OF THE FREE 
 
 A comedy, by Elmer L. Reizenstein. 
 
 With an Introduction by 
 
 BARRETT H. CLARK 
 
 NEW YORK 
 FRANK SHAY AND COMPANY 
 
 1917 
 

 Copyright 1917 
 The Morningside Players, Inc. 
 
 These plays in their present form are designed for 
 th reading public only, and no performance may be 
 
 Piv^-n without arrangement with The Morningside 
 layers, inc., Ea^l Hall, Columbia University, New York 
 
Introduction 
 
 The Morningside Players came into existence a few 
 months ago as the result of a definite need on the part of 
 a few persons who were interested in the making, pro 
 ducing, and witnessing of plays. It is not the purpose of 
 The Morningside Players to add another burden to the 
 long-suffering public, to uplift the drama, to exploit any 
 particular movement or group of dramatists ; the Players 
 are not a zealous group of reformers eager to resuscitate 
 the art of the past or discover the drama of the future ; 
 they refuse to ally themselves with any coterie or indi 
 vidual. These people, amateurs for the most part, had 
 been writing plays for some years, and while they were 
 fully aware that the mere writing of plays might in itsdf 
 be of value and interest, their work would probably be 
 rendered fruitless unless it was produced. The sporadic 
 amateur production, under auspices which would be none 
 too favorable, was not sufficient incentive to urge them 
 further, and they decided to organize an association whose 
 business it should be to produce the best of their plays, 
 with the collaboration of such professionals as would lend 
 their services, at some down-town theater, looking forward 
 meanwhile to a playhouse of their own. 
 
 Early in the present year Mr. Hatcher Hughe?, of Col 
 umbia University, together with two or three of his pupils 
 and two others organized The Morningside Players. At 
 that meeting the aims and policy were set forth in the 
 following words : 
 
 . . . It is not the purpose of the members to confine 
 their production to works of University students or to 
 limit membership to those connected with the University. 
 
 369869 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 Rather, The Morningside Players desire to coordinate the 
 dramatic interests of the University with the commercial 
 play-producing field and by so doing to raise the standard 
 of plays which are being produced, and to give the theater 
 going public an opportunity to see the best plays possible." 
 
 The policy has been further expanded and the field 
 widened, so that anyone who is willing to cooperate as 
 actor, playwright, or manager, may offer his services. The 
 Players have realized that no experimental theater move 
 ment can hope for any sort of success unless it is founded 
 on the truest sort of democracy: they seek the best, wher 
 ever it can be found. 
 
 The first production took place at the Comedy Theater 
 on Sunday night, February 11, and was followed by a 
 repetition of the bill on Tuesday afternoon, February 13. 
 The play was The Iron Cross , in four acts, by Elmer L. 
 Reizenstein, author of On Trial. It was produced under 
 the direction of the author and Mr. Will Hutchins. 
 
 The next bill (produced April 24th and 25th) composed 
 of the four plays which are printed in the present volume, 
 will serve to show something of the varied interests and 
 eclectic ideals of the Players long plays, one-acters, 
 tragedy and comedy, fantastic, romantic, naturalistic all 
 will find a place on their programs. 
 
 The future of this organization, which is fortunate in 
 having the cooperation of Miss Mary Shaw as producer, 
 will of course depend on the attitude of those in charge. 
 If they adhere to their program, if they continue to wel 
 come new work that is sincere and interesting, no matter 
 whence it comes, they cannot but fulfil a task which the 
 commercial theater has failed to accomplish ; and their 
 work will be at an end when the commercial manager 
 comes to realize that with intelligence and a little faith 
 he can experiment with his playwrights and his public. 
 
 BARRETT H. CLARK. 
 6 
 
HATTIE 
 
 A Drama 
 
 ELY A DE PUE 
 
HATTIE 
 
 Original Cast appearing 
 
 in the first production at the Comedy Theatre, 
 Neiv York, April 22nd, 1911 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 HATTIE SOPHIE WILDS 
 
 M INA CLARICE MCCAULEY 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS MILDRED HAMBURGER 
 
 TIM ROBERT A. PINES 
 
 HEINRICH . ROGER WHEELER 
 
Hattie 
 
 Time: The Present. 
 
 SCENE : Room in a New York tenement. At the back 
 of the stage a cot in left corner, and next it a mattress made 
 up as a bed. On the right a cupboard and a table. On the 
 left an old bureau. A door at the back leads into the next 
 room; a door at the right into the hall. Across the hall 
 from it are supposed to be the outside door to the street 
 and a window. A woman comes in hurriedly from the 
 hall. She is a small, bright German, whose hair at first 
 appears to be gray, but turns out to be flaxen. When 
 excited, she has an accent. She goes hastily to the door 
 in the back of the stage. 
 
 MINA: (Calls) Mrs. Scroggins! Oh, Mrs. Scroggins ! 
 (A tall woman opens the door and gestures to silence Mina. 
 She has a long neck that stretches forward, near-sighted 
 eyes with which she is always examining what is nearest, 
 and a parrot nose. She has in her hand a brown blanket.) 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: Sh . . . ! He s asleep. You don t 
 want him hollering all evening, do you ? 
 
 MINA: I ll just take a look at him. (She slips past 
 Mrs. Scroggins into the other room.) 
 
THE MORNINGSIDB PLAYS 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: (Tossing the blanket on the mattress) 
 Aw, shucks ! He s all right ... if you d let him alone. 
 (Mina reappears smiling, closing door carefully) 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS : Well, I ain t hurt him, have I ? Where s 
 Hattie? I want to talk to her ... I thought you two 
 worked in the same laundry. 
 
 MINA: She stayed behind for something to-night. She 
 wouldn t tell me. . . . You know how quiet she is. I 
 just had to run ahead and see if my baby was all rigiit. 
 (She takes off her cape and battered hat and hangs them 
 on hooks over the mattress.) 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: (Huffily) All right! I ain t going to 
 eat him. . . . Here s your blanket. But now let me tell 
 you something ... if you expect to stay right along here 
 as a steady thing, Hattie s got to pay me more for this 
 room. You said when you come you was going to stay a 
 few days. A few days ! It s been some few ! Nearly 
 three weeks. 
 
 MINA: (Blinking rapidly) Ah, Mrs. Scroggins, you 
 ain t goin to put up tfhe rent on her ! Every day I think 
 I hear dot my Heinrich has got a job. Sure I thought it 
 was goin to be a few days! 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: You Germans, you think you just about 
 own the country ! Here I been takin care of your squallin 
 kid for only fifty . . . 
 
 MINA: (Pleadingly) I ll pay you a little more for that 
 . . . lemme see . . . only I don t want to get Hattie into 
 trouble. Mrs. Scroggins, please don t say nothin to her 
 
 10 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 . . . she s been so good to me. I wasn t used to workin 
 right along at one job . . . them irons seemed so heavy 
 to me . . . You see, little Heinie ain t only six months old, 
 and I give out, the first day . . . Hattie, she was the only 
 one was sorry for me ... she brought me here to stay 
 so s I could be pretty near to my work. 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: Yes, you and her s been as thick as 
 thieves . . . (Suddenly) . . . What d you go and turn her 
 against my son Tim, for? Hey? That s what I d like to 
 know! (The door opens and Hattie comes in. She is a 
 big, raw-boned girl, seemingly gruff. She has had few 
 friends and seems shy and suspicious. She looks defiantly 
 at Mrs. Scroggins. She is carrying three packages, which 
 she lays down. Mrs. Scroggins approaches them, peering 
 curiously.) 
 
 MRS. SCROGGIXS: (In a conciliatory tone) Well, here 
 you are! Been shoppin ? 
 
 HATTIE: (Shortly) Where s the baby? 
 
 MINA: Oh, he s in there sleepin just fine ... I thought 
 I wouldn t wake him up. (Hattie goes into the next room. 
 Mina has throzvn herself on the cot in an attitude of ex 
 haustion. Mrs. Scroggins wanders about aimlessly, Hattie 
 comes back. She notices Mrs. Scroggins eyeing the pack 
 ages and removes her things deliberately. Finally she un 
 does one bundle, a loaf of bread. She starts to put it in 
 the cupboard, then puts it out on the table instead. With 
 it she sets out some sausage.) 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: (No longer able to contain herself, 
 pokes the large bundle) What you got here, Hattie? 
 
 11 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 HATTIE: (Sheepishly) Nothin . 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: (With withering sarcasm) Seems to 
 take a terrible lot o good paper to do up nothin in ! (Hattie 
 looks at her sullenly. There is nothing left to do but to 
 open the package. It is a baby s tin bath tub. Mina gives 
 an exclamation of pleasure. While Mrs. Scroggins is ex 
 amining the tub, bottom side up, Hattie slips the third 
 package in the bureau drawer.) 
 
 MRS. SCROGGIN : For the land s sakes ! The way you 
 do for that child . . . you d think he was your first born, 
 stead of another girl s . . . 
 
 MINA: (Sitting up, much enlivened by the good fortune 
 of acquiring a tub.) Ach, I must go to phone to the gros- 
 mutter . . . 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: To who? 
 
 MINA: She s . . . Why, my husband s mutter . . . 
 She s been takin care of my other children ever since . . . 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: Your other children? 
 
 MINA: (Proudly) Sure! I got two nice girls . . . 
 one can t see so very good, but she s getting better . . . 
 and one more boy . . . Say, Hattie, you got two nickels 
 for this dime? (Hattie gets them from her coat pocket) 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: For the love o Gawd! And you so 
 little and sick like . . . 
 
 MINA: Oh, I ain t really sick! (She puts on her dingy 
 cape but no hat and goes out) 
 
 12 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MRS. SCROGGIXS: (Spitefully) You see here, Hattie . . . 
 You re throwin money around on other people s brats, 
 when you ought to be havin some of your own. (Hattie, 
 putting coffee on the stove to heat, turns suddenly and 
 stares at the other woman) And you can up and pay me 
 a dollar more for this here room ; understand ? You make 
 good wages ... I heard tell you was one of the best 
 v/orkers they got, doin that fancy ironin . (She pauses 
 for breath. Hattie looks at her steadily without answer 
 ing. Annoyed at not feeling justified in her demands, Mrs. 
 Scroggins tries to work herself up into a fit of indignation) 
 What on earth did you get yourself all mixed up with her 
 for, anyhow? 
 
 HATTIE: (Muttering) The work was too hard for her. 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: Well, you fool, you can t afford to start 
 a hospital for all the laundry girls that ain t feelin like 
 workin , can youB (Hattie makes no reply, which irritates 
 Mrs. Scroggins, who cannot understand anyone not liking 
 to talk) What on earth s the matter with you lately, any 
 how? You go around with your jaw hangin . . . like 
 this . . . (Makes a face denoting dejection) Why can f 
 she help you pay for the room . . . She makes good money 
 at that laundry, too, I bet. 
 
 HATTIE: (Drily) Good money! 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: (Stamping her foot) You drive me 
 crazy just repeating what I says! Why don t she pony up, 
 I m askin ? 
 
 HATTIE: (In a low tone) Sends it to the other kids. 
 Husband s lost his job. 
 
 13 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: Oh, yes. That s what she s tellin you, 
 I know. I guess, maybe, there ain t no more husband 
 than there is a job! Ha! Ha! 
 
 HATTiE: (Hotly) There is too! (As they talk Hattie 
 unconsciously draws near the door, for there is a noise of 
 thumping outside, going along the hall. Hattie, drawn up 
 tensely, keeps looking toward the door. The thumping 
 passes without stopping. Her shoulders droop forward de 
 jectedly) 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: You seen him yourself? 
 HATTIE:: (With a start) Seen him? Seen who? 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS : ( With exasperation) There you go 
 again! Why don t you listen to what I m sayin ? Seen 
 her husband, of course. 
 
 HATTIE: (Sullenly) Naw ! When he come, I was out 
 with Tim. 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS i Now you take my word for it, I ve 
 seen the world ... I know these here soft spoken little 
 chits . . . 
 
 VOICE OUTSIDE : Say, Maw ! 
 
 HATTIE: (Jumping) That s Tim, ain t it? Why don t 
 he ... s-stop in here anymore? 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS : I guess you know that as well as me. 
 HATTIE : What do you mean ? 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: You know all right ... I can tell by 
 
 14 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 the look on your face. \Yhat d ye tell him you wasn t 
 goin with him no more unless he quit sellin papers? D ye 
 think a sperrited feller like Tim is goin to stand for that 
 kind o talk? He was doin all right at it, too. You kep 
 at him till he nearly went an tuk a job as bartend in 
 O Shaunessy s saloon down here at the corner . . . (With 
 a sneer) . . . You re so high and mighty . . . too good 
 for him, eh? 
 
 HATTIE: (Tensely, with clenched fists} No, no. That 
 wasn t it at all. I wanted him to get a better job, some 
 thing that would get him on ... so as ... so as ... 
 I didn t want him to be a bartend, though. 
 
 MRS. SCROGGIXS : Yes, so as to have money to throw 
 around on you. 
 
 HATTIE: No, no . . . so as we could . . . get married 
 . . . sometime. 
 
 MRS. SCROGGIXS : He works hard enough. He was wil 
 ling to marry you on what he s getting. 
 
 HATTIE : That s not enough ! You know that s not 
 enough ! \Yliy look at Mina . . . she says . . . 
 
 MRS. SCROGGIXS: (Furiously) That Mina! I knowed it 
 was her turned you against him! 
 
 HATTIE: (Slowly) I saw . . . from her . . . you got 
 to be careful. 
 
 MRS. SCROGGIXS: Careful? Tim would make any girl a 
 good husband ! There s plenty as thinks so too. 
 
 HATTIE: (On the verge of breaking down) I didn t go 
 
 15 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 to make him mad. I just spoke of the delicatessen shop 
 . . . they need a clerk there. Tim s so smart ... he 
 could ... he could ... I hate to have him have to 
 borrow money off of me. 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: (Hotly) See here! Don t you come 
 a-complainin of Tim to me ! I ve always humored him 
 with his lameness and all ... I ain t goin to have no 
 abusin of him. You re too old for him anyways . . . 
 He s got another girl now. 
 
 HATTIE;: (With effort) Who do you mean? 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: That Sadie Horst . . . 
 
 HATTIE;: (Shrilly) That . . . that little ... she ... 
 she makes eyes at every feller . . . 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS : Shut up your insults. She ain t makin 
 eyes at Tim. . . . She means business. 
 
 VOICE: (From back) Say, Maw, what about supper? 
 Do I get it or don t I ? 
 
 MRS. SCROGGINS: (Annoyed) I m comin , if you ll wait a 
 second. (She goes out, reopens the door and sets a clothes 
 basket on the mattress ivith a bump. Hattie stares at the 
 door a moment, then runs to the basket, takes out the baby, 
 holds him close, hiding her face. Through the window 
 comes the glow of a street lamp. Pause. Mina opens the 
 door and enters) 
 
 MINA: Hattie! Ach, there you are! Why don t you 
 light the gas? (Mina finds a match, lights the gas in center 
 
 16 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 of the room. She hangs up her cape and holds out her 
 arms for the baby} 
 
 HATTIE: (In a husky voice} Say, Mina, can t I ... 
 fix him and give him a bath to-night? It kind o takes my 
 mind off of . . . 
 
 MINA: (Solicitously} Why, Hattie, what s been happen 
 ing? Mrs. Scroggins . . . did she . . . did she stay long 
 after I went out? (Indignantly) Did she sass you about 
 the rent or anything? 
 
 HATTIE: (Bends over the baby but does not answer} 
 
 MINA: (Putting an arm over Hattie s shoulder} That 
 Tim . . . Has he been bothering you again? 
 
 HATTIE: (Throwing off Mina s arm; in a tearful voice} 
 Botherin ? Not likely he ll bother me no more ! He s got 
 another girl. 
 
 MINA: Another girl! How do you know? Did he tell 
 you? 
 
 HATTIE: No, Mrs. Scroggins did. (Suddenly} You 
 never did like Tim ! I wish I d never listened to you. 
 
 MINA: Mrs. Scroggins! Ach, she just tries to make 
 you jealous! Don t you pay no attention to that. 
 
 HATTIE: (Wistfully, wanting to be convinced} Do you 
 think that s it? 
 
 MINA: (Heartily} Sure! Don t you see? She wants 
 that Tim to get you. She wants him to have an easy time 
 ... to live off of you instead of off of her. She was as 
 
 17 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 sweet as honey cakes to you till you had that fight with 
 him . . . now she s a little grouchy. 
 
 HATTIE: (Her spirits rising somewhat} We d ought to 
 be a-givin him his bath. (Mina gets the tub and fills it in 
 the hall. She kneels on the other side of it from Hattie) 
 
 MINA : Tim, he ytist waitin for you to make up with him. 
 
 HATTIE: (Undressing the baby) Don t you be too sure. 
 Fellers here ain t so faithful as they are . . . some places. 
 
 MINA : Well, if you want to make up with him, you stick 
 to what I told you . . . You tell him you won t marry him 
 without enough to bring up a family on. . . . You better 
 give him to me, your hand is shaky. (Hattie hands her 
 the child, cooing to him) . . . Look, he s getting fat ... 
 just since I come here to you. 
 
 HATTIE: (In a dull voice) Aw, you needn t worry about 
 me and Tim. We ain t goin to make up. 
 
 MINA: (To the baby) Ach, you was a little kicker! Yust 
 see him kick . . . Hattie, you re awful touchy. I noticed 
 it with the girls at the laundry. You seemed like you was 
 scared of Tim. 
 
 HATTIE: (Shamefacedly) Always think people ain t 
 goin to like me ... I feel so kind o awkward and ugly. 
 (She gets a towel for Mina) 
 
 MINA: Ach, no, you ain t so bad. (She blinks at her 
 friend in embarrassment) 
 
 HATTIE : Now you, you re friendly to all of em, and you 
 make me feel right to home with you. 
 
 18 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MINA : Anyway, you got the best heart of em all. When 
 I was so sick, it was you who took me home. The others 
 said they was sorry, but they shied off, I noticed . . . 
 (Wiping the child} . . . He was pretty weak when he 
 was born, but I think he s gaining all right now. 
 
 HATTIE: (Hesitatingly) The other ones, are they 
 strong? 
 
 MINA: (After a moment) The two oldest, they are. I 
 had a little girl that died, and then little Elsa, I had an 
 awful time with her . . . poor little thing ... I used to 
 wish I could feel the pains for her. 
 
 HATTIE: (With her face buried, shuddering) Yes, it 
 don t seem fair for them to start out without a chance . . . 
 ain t it funny? Those that have em don t want em, al 
 ways . . . and there s other people, that hasn t anybody 
 of their own . . . 
 
 MINA (Reflectively) It s mighty different here from on 
 a farm in the old country. Here you haf to like a feller 
 pretty much before you want to take a chance on all the 
 trouble . . . (In a more cheerful voice) . . . Now my 
 Heinrich, he s so different to most of the Americans. I 
 don t mind the trouble ... if we ... if we could only 
 stay together. (She puts the baby in the basket and takes 
 the tub away to empty it) 
 
 HATTIE: Do you think he will find something soon? 
 
 MINA: Oh, yes, I know he will. He tries so hard . . . 
 I yust know how crazy he is for to get us all together again. 
 (Her face lights up and she looks much younger} 
 
 19 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 HATTIE: (Wistfully) It must be fine to be so sure of 
 anybody. You don t mind the hard work, if you think its 
 getting you anywheres. (Suddenly) Now what am / 
 workin for, I d like to know? What am I livin for? 
 
 MINA: (Alarmed by Hattie s unusual violence) Ach, 
 Hattie, you ll get somebody of your own . . . You ll feel 
 better to-morrow, maybe. 
 
 HATTIE: Somebody! You can t understand why I like 
 Tim . . . His shiftlessness just makes me like him all the 
 more. I kind o want to look out for him. It ain t his fault 
 his mother spoiled him. And the way he grins, kind of to 
 one side, and his blue eyes shinin , and all ... I guess 
 I m a fool. (She breaks down, sobbing hard) 
 
 MINA: (Patting her on the shoulder) Say, he ll be 
 comin out from his supper pretty soon. (She goes to the 
 bureau and pokes about in the drawer. She holds up a 
 little white dress, which she has taken out of the paper in 
 which it was wrapped. To divert Hattie s mind.) Did 
 you do this, Hattie? When did you iron it? (Hattie nods, 
 wiping her eyes.) When did you? It s just swell! 
 
 HATTIE: (With an occasional sob) After you left to 
 day. The boss let me use the fluter. 
 
 MINA : It s lovely. I put it on him the first time my 
 Heinrich is to see him. (She hunts further in the drawer 
 and finally brings out a piece of bright green ribbon, which 
 she takes to Hattie) 
 
 MINA: I don t wear this now, try it on. (Hattie shakes 
 her head. A thumping is heard in the hall. Hattie sud- 
 
 20 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 denly rouses herself, gets up and takes the ribbon. She ties 
 it nervously around her neck, glancing noiv and then fur 
 tively in the little cracked mirror over the bureau. She 
 wipes her eyes. The thumping goes into the hall. Mina 
 opens the door, and motions Hattic towards it. Hattie, 
 trembling, does not move, but shrinks back. Mina pulls 
 her with all her might. They almost struggle. Hattie 
 finally stands in the door, pressed against the casing. She 
 breathes hard with a rigid face. Mina slips back and 
 busies herself about the food) 
 
 HATTIE;: (Faintly) Hello, Tim! 
 
 VOICE: (Outside, carelessly) Hello, Hat ! (He does not 
 stop) 
 
 HATTIE: (With visible effort as he is passing) Say, Tim, 
 can t you come in ... just a minute? (Tim limps into 
 the room, standing just inside the door. He is slightly 
 shorter than Hattie, with reddish hair, blue eyes and a thin 
 face, with a sarcastic smile which has an indefinable charm 
 for girls, in spite of his infirmity. A short pause ensues, 
 agonizing for Hattie, boring to Tim and unnoticed by Mina 
 who is scanning Tim carefully) 
 
 HATTIE: (Choking a little) Make you acquainted with 
 my friend, Mrs. Kleber. (Tim murmurs an inarticulate 
 salutation, looking at the door) 
 
 MINA: Can t you set down, Mr. Scroggins? 
 
 TIM : Naw, I can t . . . Got to see somebody . . . out 
 side. (He turns) 
 
 HATTIE: (With a gasp) Right . . . right away? 
 
 21 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MINA: (Seeing how disturbed Rattle is) Ach, stay 
 awhile and eat somethin ... or have a cup of coffee. 
 
 TIM: (Looking uncomfortably toward the door) Naw, 
 I can t sure . . . I just eat. I got a date . . . (with a 
 faint smile) 
 
 HATTIE: (Throwing her pride to the winds) You don t 
 ever . . . make dates with . . . with me, no more, Tim. 
 
 TIM: Whose fault s that? 
 
 Oh, Tim ! I never meant to throw you down. 
 I only wanted you to get another job . . for your own 
 good . . . 
 
 TIM : Yes, for my own good. Say, I can picture myself 
 in the delicatessen joint there among the pickles and cheeses 
 and sauerkraut! Nobody ever goes in there but fat old 
 Dutch women. I m off the Germans, I tell you. (Hattie 
 looks ready to faint.) Stead of being outside with the 
 fellers that sells for me, goin where I please, seein all that 
 goes on, talkin to all kinds of folks . . . that s my job, 
 and it s as good or better than any . . . it s good enough 
 for me. 
 
 MINA : But you don t get ahead. 
 
 TIM : (Resenting Mina s interference and her knowledge 
 of his having been repulsed) Well, there s others as ain t 
 so fussy about my gettin ahead. 
 
 HATTIE: (Taking a sharp breath and moving toward 
 him.) Tim, forget what I said. I don t care what you 
 do . . . I . . . ( Tim, showing off before the other woman 
 
 22 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 holds up his hand humorously to ward off Hattie. He 
 smiles crookedly, not unkindly) 
 
 TIM : It s pretty late to come honeyin round me now. 
 How d ye know I ain t goin to get married . . . maybe 
 this afternoon? There s somebody outside. 
 
 HATTIE : Tim . . . you re not . . . 
 
 TIM : (Loftily) Well, maybe I ll put it off a day or two 
 . . . but I m goin to get hitched, all right ... So long. 
 (He limps out with unusual speed. Hattie waits a mo 
 ment, then runs after him. She calls him once but it is 
 muffled in the bang of the door. She looks out the window 
 in the hall and Mina hears her give a sharp ejaculation. 
 Then she reenters the room, staggering a little, and tears 
 the ribbon from her neck, dropping it and treading on it. 
 She throws herself face downward on the mattress. For 
 a moment Mina watches her with clasped hands and an 
 agonized expression, not daring to speak) 
 
 MIX A: Hattie . . . 
 
 HATTIE: (Frantically) What did you make me see him 
 for? What did you push me for? I m so ashamed . . . 
 Oh, I m so ashamed. 
 
 MINA: (In a small voice} I ... I knew you wanted 
 tc talk to him . . . Did you see who was outside? (She 
 biinks apprehensively at Hattie} 
 
 HATTIE: (Smothering her sobs in the bed) That Sadie 
 . . . that girl with the black eyes . . . Oh, oh ! I always 
 knew he would like somebody else. 
 
 23 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MINA: (Trying to soothe her) Never mind, Hattie, he 
 wasn t good enough for you anyway ! 
 
 HATTIE: (Bursting forth vehemently) Not good enough! 
 Not good enough! (With a laugh like a scream) . . . 
 Who s good enough then? Who s good enough? Who s 
 ever goin to look at me? He s the only feller I ever had. 
 It s better to have one like him than nobody at all. . . . 
 
 MINA: Ach, poor Hattie, I m so sorry . . . 
 
 HATTIE: You, . . . you spoiled my last chance. You 
 told me not to marry him ... I was a coward ... I was 
 afraid ... I can just see that Sadie s black eyes . . . 
 
 MINA: (Feeling that she has brought disaster, and sob 
 bing more than Hattie) Ach, Hattie, an you bin so good 
 to me, too . . . (She creeps up to Hattie and takes her 
 hand. Seeing that Hattie does not resent it, she puts her 
 arm about her and they cry together.) 
 
 MINA: (Sitting up trying to divert Hattie) Say, we 
 ain t ate our supper . . . (Hattie makes no answer) (She 
 takes the coffee from the stove and pours out a cupful) 
 Come on, Hattie, you better have a bite . . . (Hattie shakes 
 her head) ... A cup of this kaffee will do you good. 
 
 HATTIE: (Drags herself up and leans over the basket) 
 He ain t had his ... (sobs) . . . milk. (Mina gets the 
 baby s bottle, but Hattie takes it from her. She pours 
 milk into a saucepan to heat. She goes into the hall to 
 rinse the bottle then tries to fill it from the pan) (Turning 
 suddenly to Mina) How old are you? 
 
 MINA: (Surprised) I ... guess I m twenty-six. 
 
 24 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 HATTIE: (Tonelcssly) You got four children, ain t you? 
 . . . (She lets the milk drip on the floor) And I m thirty- 
 seven . . . thirty-seven years old, and . . . 
 
 MINA: (Changing the subject) Look out Hattie, all the 
 milk is spilling . Leave a little in the pan, we can feed him 
 again in the night . . . the way you did last night. Ach, 
 Gott! How tired I was last night. Anyway Hattie, you 
 got your strength ! 
 
 HATTIE: (Bitterly) What good s that? 
 
 MIXA: Last night when you was so good to get up and 
 feed him, I thought for a minute I had my good Heinrich 
 back. You bin so awful good, I d like to help you some 
 time ... I d like to do something nice for you. (Hattie 
 gives the baby his bottle and stands watching him. Mina 
 is putting away the food) 
 
 HATTIE: Lemme take care of him then. (There is a 
 knock at the door. Hattie starts violently, runs toward it, 
 then stops to get her breath.) 
 
 HATTIE: (In a loud whisper) Did you hear anybody 
 . . . come up ... did you Mina? We was talkin and 
 maybe didn t hear . . . 
 
 MINA: (Also agitated) Open the door quick. (The 
 knock is repeated and Hattie opens the door, so that Mina 
 does not at first see who it is. From Hattie s attitude Mina 
 knows it is not Tim) 
 
 VOICE: (Outside) Say, my wife Mina . . . she bin here? 
 ( Mina runs to the door and pulls in a big man with clean 
 
 25 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 skin and a shock of blond hair, his clothes those of a work 
 man. Hattie draws back. The couple stand looking joy 
 fully into each other s eyes, then Mina with a little cry 
 throws her arms about his neck. Hattie turns away, bends 
 over the basket, and seeing they do not notice her, picks up 
 the baby. The two whisper and Heinrich s vo we rises as 
 he says something in German. He kisses his wife below 
 the ear, and Mina smiles) 
 
 MINA: (Remembering they are not alone) Say Hattie, 
 what do you think? He s bin and got a job in Brooklyn, 
 driving a wagon for a big grocer. He s took a room al 
 ready in Brooklyn, and he s got the wagon downstairs, 
 right now to take us over in. He wanted to surprise me. 
 
 HEINRICH: Where s the little one? Ach, so, here he is. 
 (He takes the baby from Hattie clumsily) 
 
 MINA: (Delightedly) Ain t he got fat, Heinrich? 
 
 HKINRICH : (Beaming and laying the baby in the basket) 
 Oh, Mina, I brought some boxes that you can put your 
 things in. You don t have to carry them in the shawl. I 
 better go get them while you get ready. (He goes out) 
 
 MINA: (Excitedly) He thinks of every single thing. 
 Ain t he a fine man? And so good. He says he got a job 
 where they let him drive horses. (She spreads her shawl 
 and piles a few things in) You see he lost his job before 
 cause they changed the horses to having autos ... he 
 likes so much better to drive horses .... he likes them. 
 (She sees Hattie is not listening) 
 
 26 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 HATTIE : (In a high unnatural voice) You goin to take 
 . . . the baby . . . away? 
 
 MINA: What you say? 
 
 HATTIE: You goin to take . . . (Pointing to the 
 basket) 
 
 MINA: (In amazement) Take my little Heinie? Why, 
 what you think I do? 
 
 HATTIE : Couldn t you leave him . . . just a few days 
 . . . till I got used to bein alone? 
 
 MINA: Leave him here? How could I leave him here? 
 
 : (Desperately) You said . . . maybe you d do 
 something for me ... I ll be all alone, and . . . 
 
 MIXA: (After a pause, much concerned) Yes, that s 
 right ... I been so happy, I forgot all about that. 
 
 HATTIE : You got all the others, and your husband . . . 
 
 MINA: (Very doubtfully) But I m afraid . . . supposin* 
 he gets sick, or ... 
 
 HATTIE: I ll let you know right away. I know how to 
 tike good care of him. Oh, please, Mina. 
 
 MINA: (Uncertainly, not knowing how to refuse) Well, 
 I d like to do it for you, sure I would Hattie, but I got 
 lc see what Heinrich says. 
 
 HATTIE : He won t let me . . you beg him . . . can t 
 you make him? (She holds Minas arm in a frantic grip. 
 
 27 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 Heinrich enters with tzvo large boxes. Hattie drops Mina s 
 arm) 
 
 HEINRICH : Whew ! I run up all them steps. Here s 
 your trunks, Mina. (Mina piles her belongings into the 
 box, glances at her husband, but says nothing. She looks 
 around the room to see if she has left anything. Hattie 
 hands her a saucepan. Heinrich looks around, too, finds 
 an empty baby s bottle and puts that in. Hattie stares at 
 it, looking from it to Mina. Mina sees the tin bath tub, 
 which she does not take) 
 
 HEINRICH : (Pleasantly unconscious of anything) Well, 
 you don t need so many trunks, eh? 
 
 MINA: (Slowly) Heinrich, Hattie, she been awful good 
 to me. 
 
 HEINRICH : Much obliged to you Miss, I m sure. It was 
 fine for you and Mina to be company for one another. I d 
 like to pay you for half your room. How much do you 
 give for it? (Hattie shakes her head and mumbles) Yes, 
 yes, go ahead, I can afford to pay you. (He sets the 
 empty box on end by the door. Hattie looks at him ap- 
 pealingly) 
 
 MINA: (Not knowing how to begin) Heinrich, she don t 
 want the money, but . . . 
 
 HEINRICH : Well, if she won t have it ... much obliged, 
 Miss, I m sure . . . Come on, Mina you bring Heinie, and 
 I ll take this. (He starts to take up the full box) 
 
 MINA: (Trying to gain time) Maybe can t we stay here 
 a little while longer? 
 
 28 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 HEINRICH : (Straightening tip) Stay here? It s getting 
 late and we got a long way to go. 
 
 MINA: Well, you see, Hattie, she s goin to be awful lone 
 some. Maybe we could leave . . . little Heinie . . . with 
 her. 
 
 HEINRICH : That s a good joke . . . leave little Heinie, 
 eh? His father ain t seen him for some time. 
 
 MINA: No, but really, Hattie, she would like to keep 
 him . . . just a little while she can feed him fine now. 
 
 HEINRICH: You giving away your baby? You re crazy, 
 Mina? 
 
 MINA: Hattie, she goin to be awful lonesome. 
 
 HEINRICH: What s the matter with you Mina? You 
 ain t never complained about takin care of the children 
 before. How can she look out for him like his mother? 
 (More sternl\) You and she been havin too easy a time, 
 yes? 
 
 MINA: (Reproachfully) Ach, Heinrich. 
 HEINRICH : Now come on, no more nonsense ! 
 
 MINA: (More and more faintly) But I promised her I 
 would do something for ... 
 
 HEINRICH: (Used to being obeyed and getting angry) 
 Sure you can do something for her, but not give her your 
 child, Gott in Himmel ! 
 
 MINA: (Breathing fast) Not for one night? 
 
 29 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 HEINRICH : Why don t she get an orphan/ if she don t 
 want a family of her own? (Mina tries to stop him, but 
 he raises his voice) There s too many unmarried women 
 in this country. All they want is an easy time ... no 
 responsibility. (H attic has draivn further back in the 
 room. Heinrich takes the child summarily, and the bo.v 
 under the other arm and stalks out of the room. Mina, 
 with alarm goes toward Hattie, who stares at her fixedly. 
 Mina murmurs "Good bye, Hattie, Good bye, I ... I ll 
 come and see you." Hattie docs not answer and Mina 
 slips out. The baby cries, Hattie listens and takes a few 
 steps toward the door. She turns and looks about the 
 room, sees the green ribbon on the floor, picks it up and 
 starts across the room, stumbles over the bath tub, picks it 
 up, stands holding it for a moment, and then lets it fall 
 with a clatter and throws herself across the mattress) 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 30 
 
ONE A DAY 
 
 A Fantasy 
 
 CAROLINE BRIGG^ 
 
ONE A DAY 
 
 Original Cast appearing in the first production at the 
 Comedy Theatre, New York, April 22, 1917 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 G. BERNARD S. FLANAGAN .ROGER WHEELER 
 
 GERMAN PRISONER i S. S. McDANiEL 
 
 PRINCE OF WALES ORMOND V. GOULD 
 
 ENRY ARRIS JOHN MC!NERNEY 
 
 JERRY DUNN (EDWARD J. SCHOENBROD 
 
One A Day 
 
 PLACE: A trench somewhere in France. 
 
 (The curtain goes up disclosing a very dark stage. 
 Gradually there becomes risible at the back the sand bags 
 and general outlines of the ramparts of a trench. To the 
 right of the stage toward the front is a covered shelter, 
 betzvecn it and the rampart at the back is the opening of 
 another trench. To the left continuation of gallery, also 
 steps up to the top of the trench wall. 
 
 It is night and the stars arc the only apparent means of 
 light. Two figures are seen under the shelter, one sitting 
 in a constrained attitude leaning against the wall at right, 
 the other stretched out at ease on his back, and if the sounds 
 oj- snoring, which now* become audible and undoubtedly 
 emanate from him, are to be believed, he is asleep. The 
 other in moving around falls on his side. His hands are 
 seen to be tied, his feet also, and a handkerchief is over 
 Ins mouth. As lie can t straighten himself up he rolls over 
 and over until he bumps Into the sleeping figure). 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Sitting up) Can t you leave me be, Wil 
 liam? What s the matter with ye rolling- over and over 
 like a rolling- pin? Faith, it s the least you could be after 
 doing to kape quiet while I was saying my prayers. Be- 
 gorra ! Perhaps ye wanted me to say a prayer for you. 
 
 33 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 Well, it s the devil a lick of a prayer I d be saying for the 
 likes of ye, ye old bag of bones. Shure it s the fine big 
 nose ye have and a pair of mustaches like the old boy 
 himself. Here let s have a bit of light so I can see your 
 handsome face. (Here he lights an oil lantern and places 
 it on a stool by the prostrate man who makes an effort to 
 sit up. The light discloses him to be a tall thin young 
 man dressed in the grey uniform of a German soldier) 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Stands, with his hands on his hips looking 
 at him) Arrah ! It s sit up you want. (Making the 
 motion of straightening up, the German nods) So it wasn t 
 a night attack at all, at all, but just a bit of a nudge to call 
 me back from my conversation with the Holy Saints. Well ! 
 (He stoops over and takes the German under the arms, 
 drags him back again and sits him up against the sand bag 
 wall of the shelter) There ye are, my jolly German. (The 
 vn i makes grimaces, evidently wants the bandages taken 
 off so lie can speak. He looks anything but a "jolly Ger- 
 niau. ") 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Eyeing him disapprovingly) Ye needn t 
 tc making such pretty faces at me. I like ye just as ye 
 ere. I wouldn t be changing a thing about ye. Not a 
 tli in?;. Faith, I had trouble enough getting ye here all by 
 myself. And I ll be leavin ye just as ye are, Herman, 
 s MI til the guard comes. Ye poked yer head up once too 
 efi -o*! o .it of them rabbit holes of yours. There now, be 
 cniiet for a bit, while I speak to Saint Anthony. I ve lost 
 rnv pir3 and I want him to find it for me. (And Flanagan 
 s : ts down ati i is preparing to roll himself up in his over 
 coat. A look of disgust is on the face of the German but 
 
 34 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 he is apparently making a virtue of necessity and leans 
 back against the wall watching Flanagan. The sound of 
 a step is heard coming along the trench from the right. 
 Flanagan springs to his feet in an instant and stands there, 
 the model of a soldier on guard, as a man appears from 
 the right and advances to the middle of the stage. He is 
 evidently an English officer, is very slender and quite 
 young. Flanagan stands at attention. He returns Flana 
 gan s salute then holds out his hand. Flanagan looks at 
 the hand and apparently does not know what to do about 
 it) 
 
 OFFICER: (Laughing) Shake, comrade. (Flanagan 
 Icoks at him puzzled but puts out his hand and shakes 
 hands, meanwhile eyeing him very carefully) 
 
 OFFICER: (Continuing) A mere accident of birth put us 
 where we are. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Hotly) That s a true word. If we hadn t 
 have been born, we couldn t have been here. But I d like 
 ye to know it was no accident with my mother, whatever 
 it may have been with yours. She was married to my 
 father before my older brother James Barrie was born. 
 
 OFFICER : There, there, my good man, no offence ; it was 
 a mere facon de parler. I meant that you are an Irishman 
 and I the Prince of Wales. (The prisoner has not been 
 showing much attention until he hears Prince of Wales." 
 He looks most intently at the young officer as he stands in 
 the center of the stage talking to Flanagan. His back is 
 half turned to the German but his side face is quite dis 
 tinctly visible to him in the light from the lantern. He 
 
 35 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 seems quite moved by his scrutiny and sinks his head fur 
 ther down and away from the light.) 
 
 FLANAGAN : Arrah ! It s proud I am to be what I am. 
 
 PRINCE): (Looking at him with great interest) Why 
 sl-ould you be proud of it? You couldn t help being an 
 Irishman any more than I could being Prince of Wales. 
 I wish I could. (Sorrowfully) 
 
 FLANAGAN : ( Up on his tiptoes almost prancing with 
 rage, having comprehended only the first half of the Prince s 
 speech) And yer askin me why should I be proud of it? 
 (He sees the Prince eyeing him coolly and interestedly. 
 It seems to quiet him) Faith ! I don t know why I should 
 be proud of it ! 
 
 PRINCE): (Hastily agreeing, interrupts) Ireland never 
 did anything for you. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Interrupting in his turn) And Wales 
 doesn t do anything for you. 
 
 PRINCE): (Hastily) Oh yes it did. It gave me my in 
 vestiture. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Reprovingly) Well there! I call that 
 
 downright ungrateful of you. Do you think (Here the 
 
 conversation is broken upon by a snort from the German. 
 Both men turn. The Prince seeing the German for the 
 first time goes over to inspect him. The German again 
 sinks his head, trying to keep his face from the light. 
 Flanagan follows and both stand looking down on him) 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Raising his voice) Hey there, Johnny 
 
 36 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 Boche, do ye understand English? (As the German makes 
 no sign of having understood, Flanagan bellozvs in his ear) 
 I ll give ye a prod with this here toastin fork (Showing 
 his bayonet) if ye don t answer. Understand? (The Ger 
 man nods) 
 
 PRINCE : Come let s have off the handkerchief. He 
 probably talks English. 
 
 FLANAGAN: I ll not that. Faith! It s murdering the 
 King s English he d be. He d think no more of murder 
 ing that than he d think of murdering you or me, the 
 heathen. If so be he got the chance. 
 
 PRINCE: Come, come, Pat. He couldn t help being a 
 German any more than you could an Irishman, as I said 
 before. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (With dignity) If you please, your honor 
 my name is not Pat. It s George Bernard Shaw Flanagan, 
 and I m mostly called Flanagan. 
 
 PRINCE: (Laughing) Beg pardon, Flanagan. Sorry. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Forgivingly) That s all right, your grace. 
 You didn t know. 
 
 PRINCE: (Turning to German) It s a mere ac arbi- 
 tiary arrangement of Fate that he s there a German pris 
 oner and I a free man talking to him. 
 
 FLANAGAN : And it was not that. Shure wasn t it I had 
 the time catching him out there. And I m only waiting 
 for the guard to come to relieve me. Then I ll be after 
 taking him back as a present to the general. (Looking at 
 
 37 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 the prisoner with interest) He s the only one I ever took 
 whole. He hasn t a scratch, bless him! (Patting the 
 German on the head) A little thin but 
 
 PRINCE: Come, Flanagan. What have you against him? 
 He never did you a bit of harm. Come, let s untie him. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (With decision) That I ll not do, if ye were 
 the King himself that asked me. 
 
 PRINCE: (Looking sharply at the prisoner) Please now, 
 Flanagan. He looks like a Social Democrat. There are 
 too few of them in Germany now, we mustn t make pris 
 oners of them. I was telling Haig last Sunday at tea that 
 we oughtn t to make any of the Social Democrats prisoners 
 but send them back. That s the way to make public opin 
 ion. In a few years, you see, (the Prince warming to his 
 theme turns his back on the prisoner who looks up at him 
 scowling) all the Imperialists would be prisoners and the 
 country could be run by the Democrats and Cousin Wil 
 liam and family retired to private life. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Who has been watching the German) He 
 may be a Democrat but I ll be hanged if he s Social. Are 
 you a Democrat? (Turning to the Prince) 
 
 PRINCE: I m a Democrat and a Socialist. 
 
 FLANAGAN : You re related to him on both sides of the 
 house. I m only a Democrat. I voted the Democrat ticket 
 once in New York. I was there only six months. (Remi- 
 niscently) 
 
 PRINCE: (With enthusiasm) The States! If I could 
 only be President! (The prisoner has been listening in- 
 
 38 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 tently and a look of horror grozvs on his face. At the last 
 he becomes deadly pale and his head falls back against the 
 vail as if he were overcome with faintness. The noise of 
 advancing steps is heard coming from the left. Flanagan 
 springs to attention and calls out) 
 
 FLANAGAN: Who goes there? (A little undersized man 
 comes in whom one recognizes as a Cockney before he 
 opens his mouth. He is accompanied by a man who, as he 
 appears, is seen to be busily writing on a tablet by the light 
 of a little electric torch stuck under his arm. He is an 
 American reporter, Jerry Dunn by name) 
 
 DUNN: (Without looking up) And this is one of the 
 most advanced and dangerous positions, you say? 
 
 HARRIS: All of that. (He salutes Flanagan and starts 
 back in mock surprise) Who ave we ere! The bloomin 
 ero Flanagan! (He claps him on the shoulder and as he 
 does so catches sight of the Prince, but in the dim light 
 does not see he is an officer) Sy, introduce us to your pal, 
 old top. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (With a wave of his hand to the Prince) 
 Kis Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales. 
 
 HARRIS: (Taking it as a joke of Flanagan s, whips off 
 his hat and makes a low bow with great empressment) 
 Most onored, your Royal ighness. 
 
 PRINCE: (Stepping forward) Come lad. Shake hands. 
 We re but two men. (Holds out his hand. Flanagan s 
 repeating the name of the Prince of Wales evidently caught 
 the ear of the American, who looks up sharply at the 
 
 39 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 Prince, then thrusts his hand deep in the pocket of his coat 
 and pulls out what, at first, looks like a pack of cards. He 
 hastily goes through them, stops, takes out one, looks at 
 it critically under his electric torch, then shoots the light 
 of the torch on the Prince) 
 
 DUNN: (Ecstatically holding one of the pack of cards 
 which proves to be a postcard of the Prince of Wales) It 
 is, boys. It is the Prince of Wales. Here s his picture 
 on this postcard and he s the spittin image of it. Ah, your 
 Highness, this is too much luck. To get out to the. fur- 
 these trenches and to meet your Highness ! This is too 
 much luck for Jerry Dunn ! 
 
 PRINCE:: (Interestedly) Who s Jerry Dunn? 
 
 DUNN: (Taking out a business card and handing it to 
 him) I am, Your Highness. I m (He reads from the card 
 which he then gives to the Prince) Jeremiah H. Dunn, 
 Special Reporter for the New York "Times." Now you 
 don t know what a big thing it would be to me if you would 
 give me an interview. Tell me how it feels to be Prince 
 of Wales, when you think the war will end and what 
 
 Princess you are going to marry and (He stops for 
 
 breath) 
 
 PRINCE: No, I can t be interviewed. I promised 
 Mother before they d let me come that I would never be 
 interviewed but I ll tell you it s rotten to be Prince of 
 Wales. And I never am when I can help it. Here we 
 are just four men together. 
 
 FLANAGAN : And the German, your honor. 
 
 40 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 PRINCE:: Oh yes, and the German Five men. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Interrupting) And I ll not be associating 
 with that German at all. It s four men we are and the 
 German. 
 
 HARRIS: Ayn t the bloody German a man? S elp me! 
 Where Ve yer got im ? 
 
 FLANAGAN : Over there. (Pointing to where the Ger 
 man prisoner sits all crumpled up against the zvall with his 
 head sunk doivn lower than ever as if he were asleep. As 
 a matter of fact he is not as he has been interestedly fol 
 lowing the conversation until attention zvas called to him. 
 Harris goes over to him, followed by Dunn. They stand 
 looking down on him) 
 
 HARRIS : Sy ! You ve got the bloomin Hun tied so tight 
 he s fynted. (Dunn meanwhile has put his hand in his 
 other pocket and pulled out another batch of postal cards, 
 he goes through them stopping over two or three and look 
 ing inquiringly at the prisoner. One particularly seems to 
 hold his attention. The German has cast furtive glances 
 at him and now blows out his cheeks and rumples up his 
 forehead. The Prince moves back of Dunn and looks over 
 his shoulder at the postals ) 
 
 PRINCE: What are these? 
 
 DUNN : These are the postcards of the German royalties. 
 I keep them in the left pocket and the Allies in the right. 
 Nothing like system. Now I think (Pursing up his lips.) 
 I think he looks something like this one, but he s fuller in 
 
 41 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 the face. Can t see with that handkerchief tied over his 
 face. 
 
 PRINCE): Come, Flanagan, take off the handkerchief. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Stands with his feet apart looking at the 
 Prince) Are ye, or are ye not, talking to me as the Prince 
 of Wales? 
 
 PRINCE: I m not, Flanagan. I ve left that behind me 
 with Haig. I m talking to you as man to man. 
 
 FXANAGAN : Well then, as man to man, I ll see ye to the 
 devil first. I ll not have that handkerchief off that beast s 
 mouth. I made a vow come Thursday week never to hear 
 the German tongue again and that vow I m after keep 
 ing. Any one who touches that German will account to 
 me. And I m willing to fight ye singly or in couples. 
 (He assumes a belligerent attitude) Come on in closed or 
 open formation or in any damned formation that suits yer. 
 
 DUNN: (Pacifically) There, there, Erin, Home Rule, 
 think of it. Neutrality is our middle name. Quiet there, 
 England. (This to Harris who has been bristling and is 
 prancing about zvith his hand in position waiting for a 
 chance to get one in on Flanagan. Even the Prince seems 
 a little incensed) 
 
 PRINCE:: Come come, Flanagan. Be reasonable. (Turn 
 ing to Dunn) You re quite right. (With a wave of his 
 hand toward Flanagan) No wonder they won t let Father 
 give Ireland Home Rule if they re all like that. (Turning 
 to Flanagan and speaking in a high moral Sunday School 
 
 42 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 manner) Learn to rule yourself before you would rule 
 others. Mother says 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Calming down but with a watchful eye on 
 Harris) Who wants to rule anybody? It s a hell of a lot 
 of ruling your Father does ! 
 
 PRINCE: (Shaking his head dejectedly) Quite true. 
 They don t let Father do anything. 
 
 HARRIS: (Stopping his belligerent intentions and be 
 coming interested in the subject under discussion) And 
 why should they ? I arsk. \Yhy should they ? ( Waxing 
 vehement with the eloquence of the Park speakers) The 
 only bloomin thing e s done on is own since the war be 
 gan was to fall hoff is bloomin orse. (Waving his 
 hands) Now I arsk you stryght what do we want of im? 
 E can t hexpect a nytion to be proud of im? E can t. 
 E d better tyke is hairin s in a bally pram, e ad. 
 
 PRINCE: (Interrupting) I tell you nobody could have 
 been sorrier than Father was about that. He s laid up yet. 
 The Mater gave him quite a talking to. 
 
 HARRIS : Betcher she gave im some stryte talk. She 
 knows how to wear the "breeches." 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Breaking in) I ll not be after hearing you 
 speak so disrespectful of your Sovereign. God bless him ! 
 You be after keeping a civil tongue in your head. Don t 
 you know you re speaking of this boy s Father, and this 
 boy s a friend of mine. 
 
 PRINCE : Thank you, Flanagan. 
 
 43 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Turning to the Prince) Don t you pay any 
 attention to him, your Highness. Everybody knows how 
 they go on in the Park of a Sunday. You know they re 
 foine fighters and sound at heart, your Majesty. 
 
 PRINCE: (Dejectedly) I know. And they re right too. 
 It s listening to them has made me a Socialist. If I could 
 only be Prime Minister! But what chance have I to be 
 Prime Minister when I m Prince of Wales ! Any boy in 
 the Kingdom may become Prime Minister but me. Now 
 I ask you is that fair? Is that a square deal? 
 
 HARRIS: (Breaking in) No, it ayn t. 
 
 PRINCE: (Continuing) If anything should happen to 
 Father, then I d have to take his place and be trotted out 
 en State occasions like the Royal Coach in the Coronation. 
 I have to know how to write my name to sign the laws 
 and that s all. 
 
 DUNN: (He has been listening and making copious 
 notes, every now and again looking through his postcards 
 of the German royalties, now holds one out comparing it 
 to the prisoner) Say, boys, this one really looks something 
 like him, but the name s come off. 
 
 PRINCE: Let me see. (Takes the postcard) Oh, that s 
 the Crown Prince. I haven t seen the White Rabbit for 
 years but I d know him anywhere. The last time he 
 visited us he made Mary and me play Adam and Eve while 
 he was God and locked us out of the Garden. Kitchener 
 found us walking about in the street and made him unlock 
 the gate for us. He always hated Kitchener for that. 
 
 44 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 Mary made me promise if I met him I d give him one where 
 it would do the most good. I haven t met him yet, but 
 I m looking for him. (At this moment consternation is 
 cast over the group. The sound of an approaching aero 
 plane is heard. With one accord they dash for the open 
 ing of an underground shelter. Flanagan covers the lan 
 tern with his great coat as he runs by. The purr of the motor 
 grows louder and louder, evidently passing overhead, then 
 fades away in the distance. They emerge, Flanagan lead 
 ing. He takes the coat from the light as he passes, which 
 now falls directly on the prisoner and attracts his atten 
 tion. He stands there pointing his finger at the German 
 who is eyeing him with hostility) 
 
 FLANAGAN : Faith ! we forgot all about the Hun ! 
 
 HARRIS: t would have served him jolly well right if they 
 had dropped a bomb. 
 
 DUNN: (Interestedly, with pencil poised over pad to 
 make notes] How do you know that was one of theirs? 
 
 HARRIS : By the eart beat, lovey. 
 FLANAGAN : Your own, ye mean. 
 
 PRINCE: I ve heard they send one out about midnight 
 every night. (Leaning over so the light from the lantern 
 will fall upon his watch) Suffering Joseph! It s a quarter 
 to twelve and (in a panic of consternation) I haven t done 
 a good deed to-day and I must before the clock strikes 
 twelve! Which one of you shall I do it to? (/;/ a belli 
 gerent tone) 
 
 45 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 HARRIS: (Paying more attention to the tone than the 
 words) Not me, your Ighness. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (In a soothing voice) Don t worry yerself, 
 me boy. There s a lot of us haven t killed our German 
 to-day. 
 
 DUNN : (Speaking aloud as he writes) The Prince of 
 Wales kills one German a day. 
 
 PRINCE: (Overhearing him turns in his direction) I do 
 not. I ve vowed to do one good deed every day. I m the 
 head of the Boy Scouts. Baden Powell made me join. 
 (Rather peevishly) Oh dear, it s only ten minutes to and 
 none of you ll let me do him a good deed. What shall I 
 do! (His eye lights on the German) I ll take the handker 
 chief off his mouth. (Starting toward the prisoner with 
 hand outstretched) 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Stepping in front of him with open arms 
 to bar the way) And I ll not be after lettin ye do that. 
 Didn t I make a vow only last Thursday before a saint 
 who d lost its head, so I don t know which one it was 
 though I think it was a lady. Didn t I take a vow never 
 to hear the German tongue again? (A rhetorical ques 
 tion) Well, I did that same and I ll keep me vow. (The 
 Prince tries to dodge one side of him. Flanagan who is a 
 very big man catches him by the collar and holds him, quiet 
 in front of him) 
 
 PRINCE : We ll make him promise to speak English. 
 
 FLANAGAN : Well, even if he spoke English, wouldn t 
 
 46 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 he be using the German tongue? Seeing as how he s after 
 being a German. 
 
 PRINCE: But I ve been telling you that he can t help 
 being a German. He was born that way. I fancy he d 
 rather have been born something else a a 
 
 HARRIS : A bloody bloomin Turk ! 
 
 DUNN: (Saying aloud the words as he writes them 
 down) All Germans wash they had been born Turks. 
 (Nobody pays any attention to him but the German who 
 shoots a malevolent look at him out of the corner of his 
 eye. The Prince looks again at his watch) 
 
 PRINCE: Oh dear! Oh dear! Five minutes to twelve 
 and I haven t kept my vow and no one will let me do him 
 a good turn. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Lets go of Jiis collar and looks at him 
 sympathetically for a second) I ll tell ye what I ll do, me 
 boy. I ll give him to ye, for I m after taking a fancy to ye 
 Ye may set him free if ye want to. But he must not speak 
 while he s in my presence. (Grandiloquently) I must 
 keep me vow, and I ll not be lettin him wag his German 
 tongue at me. 
 
 PRINCE: (Enthusiastically) Oh, Flanagan, that is aw 
 fully good of you. Thank you so much. (Looks at his 
 watch) Only three minutes. (Goes and stands in front 
 of the German, and addresses him) Did you hear w r hat 
 this gentleman (with a wave of his hand toward Flanagan) 
 said? (The German nods) Now I can let you go free in 
 two minutes, you re my good deed the only one I can 
 
 47 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 find. I ve got to do it. Now you couldn t help being born 
 ? German, could you? (No response from the prisoner) 
 Answer me. Nod. (The German shakes his head, but 
 does not look very pleased) No, of course, you couldn t. 
 I m sorry for you and I m going to let you free but you 
 mustn t speak. Remember. 
 
 FLANAGAN : (As he takes a gun and raises it to his 
 shoulder) If he speaks I ll shoot him, tell him. I ll take 
 no talk from the likes of him. 
 
 PRINCE: Did you hear that?! (The German nods. 
 During the foregoing scene the audience hears the faint 
 purr of an aeroplane s motor and it grozvs louder during 
 the following. The actors are so taken up with the free 
 ing of the prisoner that they apparently do not hear it) 
 
 DUNN: (Writing busily, murmurs to himself) The 
 Prince of Wales is very humane and often frees German 
 prisoners, thereby setting a good example to the Boy Scouts. 
 (The Prince meanwhile has gone to the prisoner and has 
 started to untie his arms. He looks up and sees Harris 
 standing by, doing nothing) 
 
 PRINCE}: Here, Harris, you untie his legs. (Harris 
 leans over and undoes the rope around the prisoners ankles, 
 a he does so he gives the German a pinch that makes him 
 jump. The Prince looks up just in time to catch him at it) 
 
 PRINCE: Stop that, Harris, that s not fair. 
 
 HARRIS: Ave a eart, your Ighness, is legs re asleep. 
 (He leans over and takes the prisoner s hands) Give me 
 your clappers, my pretty. (With a mighty pull he brings 
 
 48 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 him to his feet, saying as he docs so) Ups-a-dysie. (The 
 sound of a tiny bell is heard striking twelve. It is the 
 Prince s repeater. The German sta)ids opposite him with 
 the handkerchief still muffling the lower part of his face) 
 
 PRINCE: (Saluting the German) You are free, sir. 
 (The German bows to each one of the company in turn, 
 who returns the salutation. He steps across the stage to 
 the stairzvay leading to the top of the rampart, mounts them 
 and stands but dimly seen in the light from the lantern. 
 He pulls the handkerchief away from his mouth and blows 
 a shrill blast upon a whistle. The aeroplane is heard very 
 distinctly. A searchlight waves across the stage and dis 
 closes Dunn busily writing, looking up every now and then 
 to see what is going on. The Prince and Harris stand 
 looking at the aeroplane and Flanagan, with his gun to his 
 shoulder, is ready to shoot if the German should speak. 
 The light at last falls on the figure on the wall and in its 
 strong blaze shoivs him to be the Crown Prince. In per 
 fect silence he bows again to each in turn but when he 
 comes to the Prince of Wales he puts his thumb to his nose, 
 then grasps a rope that is evidently dangling from the 
 aeroplane, and disappears from view. The light goes. 
 The motors start up and their purr soon fades awav in the 
 distance. The figures stand for a moment speechless) 
 
 DUNN: (Regaining his senses first) Well, well! What 
 do you know about that?! (Turning to Harris) It was 
 the Crown Prince after all. I 
 
 HARRIS: If you say "I told you so," I ll knock your silly 
 ead hoff. 
 
 49 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 DUNN : Oh, I wasn t but I did. (Harris makes a pass 
 at him) Oh, very well, very well. (Begins to write busily, 
 murmuring to himself) The cousinly relations between 
 the Crown Prince and the Prince of Wales have not been 
 broken off despite the War. 
 
 FLANAGAN: (Drops the butt of his gun to the pavement 
 and shakes his fist in the direction of the aeroplane) Arrah! 
 If you d only wagged that damned tongue of yours ! 
 
 PRINCE:: (Comes to himself last and looks around say 
 ing in a whisper) Don t any of you tell Mary. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 50 
 
MARKHEIM 
 
 A Dramatization from the Story 
 
 of (ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 Zellah Z&acDonald 
 
MARKHEIM 
 
 Original cast appearing in the first production at the 
 Comedy Theatre, New York, April 22, 1917 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 THE DEALER REMO BUFANO 
 
 MAIDIE i JOSEPHINE JEFFERSON 
 
 MARKHEIM GEORGE HAYES 
 
 A VOICE . . . PENDLETON KING 
 
Markheim 
 
 MARKHEIM A lean frowning face, good in its lines but 
 evil in expression. His long lean body Jias yet a 
 certain unfettered grace of carnage. His clothes 
 though shabby bear the marks of excellent tailoring. 
 
 THE DEALER A bird-like grotesque little creature with a 
 rounded back like a robin and spiderish arms and 
 legs with long, talon-like fingers, which by their 
 wild flourishes and gestures proclaim a French 
 strain somewhere. His tousled yellow mop of hair, 
 apple cheeks, and childishly brilliant blue e\es lend 
 a curious imbecility of expression to his face. Rip 
 ples of laughter break from him intermittently. 
 
 CONSCIENCE A whimsical figure never ver\ clearly de 
 nned, clad in a dark costume unillumined save when 
 touched b\ the light of the sunbeam when it turns 
 to pure gold. With something sprite-like in his 
 movements he is rarely still. 
 
 THE MAIDIE A vivid flash of natural color, too taken up 
 with her own tragedy in the beginning and her late 
 ness in the end to fully appreciate in her panting out 
 of breath state, the deep significance of Markheim s 
 hour. 
 TIME: From eleven to twelve on Christmas morning. 
 
 53 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 There is the sound of Church bells, their last clamor 
 hastily summoning to prayer the tardy who still linger 
 along the road. 
 
 The curtain rises upon the kind of old curiosity, jewelry 
 clock shop so common in the off streets of London. On 
 all sides is a furious ticking of clocks, big clocks, little 
 clocks, foolish French porcelains, and heavy mahogany s all 
 going, ticking away at a pace at once frenzied and anxious. 
 
 To the left in a kind of little alcove is a high desk on 
 which is placed a single dripping candle. Behind, a door 
 ajar leads to a cavernous stairway, and to the right the 
 room runs back to a murky doorway with murkier win 
 dows on either side heavily shuttered. The interstices are 
 filled with curious objects, a kind of a jumble of silver 
 candelabras, Chinese gongs, jeweled goblets, a glittering 
 porcelain and crystal chandelier with chinking prisms when 
 ever some wave of wind sets them in motion. In a con 
 spicuous place two tall, sneering Buddhas with limpid 
 glittering eyes in their foreheads. Beneath is an incense 
 coffer. 
 
 As the eye becomes accustomed to the scene, a great 
 empty room becomes visible above the shop. In the left, 
 set at an angle, a door is ajar. At the back are two tall 
 churchlike windows through one of which a single sun 
 beam finds its way across the room. 
 
 Above the sound of the clocks is evident a curious hum 
 ming, which grows querulous and cracky anon. 
 
 The Dealer enters, dodging out from behind one of the 
 clocks. He clambers on the high stood and from an old 
 bag drags out a few coins. He fingers them lovingly with 
 the feverish grasp of a miser. Then he glances at a cal- 
 
 54 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 endar marked in large letters, December 24th. which is 
 now visible in the light of the candle he holds up. 
 
 Suddenly he tears off the top page disclosing the new 
 one marked "December 25th," and then passing quickly 
 to a rather large looking clock of French make, resembling 
 a portion of the Strassburg Clock, he peers up into its 
 face holding the candle so as to illumine it, showing the 
 hands at two minutes to eleven. The bells are still ring 
 ing but now with a quickened watering note as if the bell- 
 ringer were putting extra strength into the few last pulls 
 and giz ing good measure. 
 
 He replaces the candle and running to the door flings 
 it wide, then going outside takes down one shutter and 
 staggers in with it. 
 
 The light in the shop brightens appreciabl\. 
 
 A view of the terraced entrance to the church now fills 
 the open doorway and the windows and a late comer is 
 seen hastening up the steps in a rain endeavor to combine 
 dignity and haste. 
 
 The Dealer pauses in the doorway as if to go for the 
 other shutter. The Bells cease. He hurries in and takes 
 another look at the clock. 
 
 Then with a profound bow, he addresses the Clocks. 
 
 The Dialogue begins: 
 
 THE DEALER: Good morning, my dears. Merry Christ 
 mas. (Running up to a tall Mahogany and putting his 
 arms around it so as to bring his ear close to the clock s 
 long body as a doctor might sound a patient s heart) How 
 is the heart this morning". Pat, pat, pat. Sixty to the 
 minute. Much better. Much better. Yesterday, ah yes- 
 
 55 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 terday, my dear, you were quite ill. (He stands a moment 
 regarding them, humming softly, and then hauling out a 
 great watch he stands close to a tall lacquered grandfather 
 clock of the seventeenth century) Ah! (Shaking his fin 
 ger) A touch of fever, my dear. Too much excitement. 
 Too much excitement. You will be an invalid. I have 
 told you. Running at that pace is not for such a frail old 
 one as you. Ha ! ha ! Not so young, little lady as you 
 used to be. Ah we re all getting old, very old. Ah yes. 
 You cannot deny that you are the child of old Mudge, and 
 Mudge has been dead dead long enough to give you (In 
 a voice of growing solemnity and horror) great, great, 
 great, great, great grandchildren, my dear. Ah yes. I 
 know. Oh it is true, too true. ( Walking to a little French 
 porcelain bracket clock and patting its golden domed head 
 lovingly) Well. Well. Well. A dirty face as usual. 
 Every morning, every single morning, there is smut on your 
 face. And your hands, Ma Petite! (His own large ex 
 pressive hands held up in horror) Ah ! Ma Petite they are 
 vrai horrible. (The little clock catches its breath and there 
 is a clutch like a sob) Whicht! It is nothing to cry about, 
 nothing. There, there, just a moment (vanishing a minute 
 to return with a bowl and a bit of old Turkish worked 
 linen) Just a minute. We will wash the roses and make 
 them as fresh as buttercups. N est-ce-pas ? Ah, now you 
 would not know yourself. No ! Such a dainty wee face. 
 Ah well, the others, they are so old that a smut more or 
 less scarcely shows on their yellowed old skins. (At this 
 moment a clock begins to strike. The dealer wheels quickly 
 and passionately shakes his fist at a gaunt specimen of old 
 English days) At it again ! At it again ! A fine old anti- 
 
 56 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 quated junk jumble you are. Always chattering out at 
 the wrong time. Wrong in the head. Wrong in the head. 
 Like me to think it was something wrong with your voice, 
 wouldn t you. But you re out of your head. Mad, quite 
 mad. You re no good, and I shall sell you. I won t have 
 you here. You old decrepit. I shall sell you the very 
 first chance. The oil I have fed you. It would keep a 
 whole family of clocks. Oh yes. I will get rid of you. 
 Your clothes, Monsieur are unimpeachable. Your stoop 
 only adds to your attractiveness. I shall manage quite a 
 sum for you. If if they only come in when you re right 
 in the head. (The dealer now shuts the front case with 
 a bang and turns to a small table clock a squat old marble 
 clock of rather pretentious size} Morning, grandma. 
 Merry Christmas. (Then bending nearer as if to one quite 
 
 deaf) M-e-r-r-y Chr ist mas. Fine hearty lady aren t 
 
 you? And they thought your day was over. But they 
 didn t fool old Silverthorne. Non, non. (He moves now 
 to a small ebony with a beautiful old face and elegantly 
 proportioned hands) Happy New Year, your highness. 
 You re so terribly dignified my dear. Merry Christmas 
 seems quite out of place. Well, well. (He compares its 
 time with his own watch and shakes his head dubiously) 
 Never do, never do, my dear. Your hands are your un 
 doing. So elegant and so useless. (He runs now to the 
 desk and, produces a huge book comically out of propor 
 tion to his small self. He consults it and addresses the 
 clock severely) A slight chill yesterday and two minutes 
 behind, and now to-day, a touch of fever and thirty sec 
 onds ahead. Never do. Never do in the wide wide 
 world. Your face is your fortune, my dear. We ll have 
 
 57 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 tc make the most of it. Ornamental, very, but for use 
 (Holding up his hands in horror) No use at all. (His 
 attention is now attracted to an onyx, modern and vulgar) 
 Well, Upstart? Keeping the time all right, aren t you? 
 Yes, to-day. But to-morrow? Next year? Never. 
 (Shaking one finger solemnly) Hurry up. Hurry up. 
 You get out of here just as soon as you can. Oh I know 
 you re in fashion. The latest. But out you go the first 
 opportunity. There ll be a young dandy in here presently 
 looking for a wedding present, and out you go. You 
 haven t any constitution. Can t fool with invalids and sick 
 folk. You re asthmatic and weak already. You ve got to 
 go, Upstart. (He stands back now and addresses them all 
 with a kind of fatherly pride) Now, my children, as it s 
 Christmas morning and a holiday and you ve all been good 
 I shall make you a little present, a wonderful present. I 
 shall give you all, yes Upstart, and you needn t snueeze 
 over it, a three drops of oil. Hah ! Ha ! I shall waste 
 quite a fortune on you. But you are my children. (He 
 starts his little song again and goes back stage picking up 
 a bottle here and a bowl there and making quite a clatter 
 zvith his mixing. Returning he proceeds to doctor the 
 clocks. Meantime steps sound cautiously down the stairs. 
 Timidly, cautiously, the Maidie enters from the stairway 
 door. She is evidently getting up courage. With a little 
 jerk she starts forward. The dealer discovers her and 
 turns upon her swiftly. She shrinks back but quickly re 
 covers herself) 
 
 MAIDIE: (Timidly) Very Merry Christmas Sir. 
 
 DEALER: Merry Christmas, indeed. Now I d like 
 
 58 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 to know what you ve got to be merry about. Father in 
 jail, mother ill, and a silly sister. 
 
 MAIDIE : Oh, sir, the doctor man thinks he can cure her. 
 
 DEALER : Cure her ! Cure her ! Does he ! Hm ! Well 
 you can tell your mother right now that people are 
 no different from clocks. And you can t cure a clock that s 
 wrongf in the head. 
 
 MAIDIE : Oh sir, we hoped- 
 
 DEALER: Hoped. I d like to know what right you had 
 to hope. 
 
 MAIDIE : Oh sir, it s it s Christmas. 
 
 DEALER: Christmas. Oh ho! Suppose you thought I d 
 give you something. 
 
 MAIDIE : Oh sir 
 
 DEALER: Don t deny it. Don t deny it. You did. 
 You came in here to ask me for a present. Hm ! I don t 
 even know that I ll give you your wages after the pot you 
 broke yesterday. 
 
 MAIDIE: (Beginning to cry) Oh please, please, my 
 mother is so ill 
 
 DEALER : Should have thought of that before you 
 broke it. 7 can t pay for your mother being ill, can I ? 
 Wages indeed. How much do you suppose is left out of 
 this month s or next month s or the month after for that 
 matter after breaking my best boiling pot? What are you 
 hanging round for? 
 
 59 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MAIDIE: Oh sir, it was cracked and oh my poor 
 mother, I I promised I d bring- her something, I - (The 
 dealer has picked up a small dagger and as he notices that 
 the clock is about to strike he flourishes it wildly) 
 
 Whicht ! Whicht ! Be quiet. They re going to 
 stiike! (The Maidie drazvs back, startled. Then in chorus 
 all the clocks strike out the hour, some racing ahead, some 
 Looming out, some high, some low, some rough and mas 
 culine, some sweet and silvery. Then the big clock chimes 
 out a carol while very faintly like the hidden silvery music 
 of elves, a music bo.v clock is playing a dainty minuet) 
 
 MAIDIE: O sir, isn t it beautiful? 
 
 DEALER: (Brusquely to cover his emotion) Beautiful! 
 What do you know about beauty? (She shrinks back) 
 Now what are you hanging around for? It will soon be 
 twelve o clock and if you re late I ll I ll take some more 
 off next week. 
 
 MAIDIE: Oh but Sir (Then with tremendous courage) 
 Oh if you d just give me my wages now. I I wanted to 
 take my mother It s her cough, Sir. It s Christmas. 
 
 DEALER: Spend it, would you? Much better for you not 
 to go spending it on foolishness. 
 
 MAIDIE: (In a sudden passionate flare of temper) It s 
 none of your business whether (But the Dealer threatens 
 her with the dagger and she hustles out dropping her bag 
 just inside the door.) 
 
 (Left alone the Dealer returns to his clocks. He buries 
 
 60 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 his head and shoulders in their works and produces strange 
 strokes and squeaks and groans from them. All the wJiile 
 he continues humming. Markheim for the last few seconds 
 has been peering in at the window. He now enters and 
 seeing the Maidic s bag upon the floor picks it up greedily. 
 The Maidie re-enters, casts one quick anxious glance around 
 and bursts into tears) 
 
 MAIDIE : Oh Sir, my bag. All I had. Only tuppence 
 but I d wanted to take something to my mother. She s 
 ill. And now I ve lost it. Ah, Sir, help me to find it. 
 (Markheim s shame is visible in his face. He stoops as if 
 finding the bag and picks it up) 
 
 MARKHEIM: What s this? 
 
 MAIDIE: Oh thank you, Sir, thank you. The little 
 mother guard you from all evil, Sir. (She runs off. Mark 
 heim enters into view of the dealer. His face grows 
 darker and more forbidding. The Dealer hears someone 
 coming and rubs his hands together. Markhcim s eye is 
 caught by a goblet and he deftly pockets it) 
 
 DEALER: (Excitedly) You come, Monsieur, at the iden 
 tical moment. (He waves to the clocks) The curtain is 
 up. The play is about to begin. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Sinisterly) I come on business. 
 
 DEALER: Of course. Of course, but having come on 
 business you have time for a little pleasure. Ha ! Ha ! It 
 is a holiday. I feel in a holiday mood. I will I will 
 show you my treasures. Ha ! Ha ! 
 
 61 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MARKHEIM : (Eagerly) You have things of great value 
 here. I hope you know how to take care of them. 
 
 DEALER : Take care of them ! Ah, Monsieur, I know 
 clocks as the priest knows souls. They are just like people. 
 Cranky to-day, fast to-morrow. They have their colds and 
 their fevers. And twice a day tw r ice every day they put 
 their hands up so (he holds his hands up, palms together) 
 and say their prayers. Oh, they are wise things, clocks 
 are. And they have a soul, Monsieur. Ah yes. Listen, 
 you can hear the beat of them. Do you know what it is, 
 Monsieur? It is the beat of a human heart echoing here. 
 Ah, yes. And when a clock stops do you know what I 
 say? I say somewhere a heart has stopped also. Oh yes. 
 It is a strange thing. And when they bring me their 
 clocks and they cry, "Monsieur, your clock is not good. It 
 will not go." I say, "Madame, Beware! There is some 
 thing wrong with your heart." 
 
 MARKHEIM : "And where your heart is there shall " 
 
 And you, you have a heart of iron, you keep all these clocks 
 going. Do they never stop? 
 
 DEALER : Never. Unless unless someone puts a feather 
 in the works. Old Peter Hush ! It is going to play now. 
 See! (He stands back admiringly as the old clock is about 
 to strike the quarter. Out of the little trap come tzvo fig 
 ures, one gaily belaboring the other. It is a little panto 
 mime and the figures make the semicircle of the little plat 
 form and retire, the one in a reclining position, felled by 
 the blow of the other) 
 
 MARKHEIM: A neat stroke! (Seemingly unconscious 
 
 62 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 he picks up the dagger with which the Dealer lias threat 
 ened the Maidie) 
 
 DEALER : A very old device. Peter Thompion built it. 
 (Bitterly) Clocks in Peter s day were not merely to keep 
 time. They were a part of the family. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Raising the dagger) A clean stroke. (The 
 Dealer springs back in alarm) 
 
 DEALER : Monsieur, Monsieur. Take care. Take care. 
 That is not a toy such as they play with in clocks. One 
 must not confuse the play with the reality. 
 
 MARKHEIM: Xo? Let the play proceed. (He lowers 
 his arm but does not relinquish the dagger) 
 
 DEALER : The play ? The play ? We have played enough. 
 It is time for business. 
 
 MARKHEIM : (As if suddenly resolved) Yes. Let us to 
 business. 
 
 DEALER: (Eyeing the lump in his pocket) You bring 
 something. Our windfalls you see are of various kinds. 
 Some who come are ignorant, and then I profit by my 
 superior knowledge. Some are dishonest, and in that case 
 i touch a dividend on my virtue. 
 
 MARKHEIM: I come (He pauses slightly and his hand 
 tightens on the dagger) not to buy but to get. 
 
 DEALER : So ? Ah it is well you come to me on Christ 
 mas Day. I am alone in my house (Markheim looks up 
 eagerly. It is evident the point is not lost on him.) My 
 shutters are up. I make it a point of refusing business 
 
 63 
 
THE MORNJNGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MARKIIEIM : (With an evil expression) The matter was 
 somewhat urgent. (He does not meet the Dealer s eyes) 
 
 DEALER : Well you will have to pay for that. And I will 
 make you pay for my loss of time when I should be bal 
 ancing my books. You will have to pay for a kind of 
 manner which I remark in you to-day strongly. I am the 
 essence of discretion. I ask no awkward questions but 
 when a customer cannot look me in the eye he has to pay 
 for it. 
 
 MARKHEIM : Pay? (Muttering) Yes. One of us pays. 
 
 Ha. Ha. You can give as usual a clear ac 
 count of how you came into possession of the object? Still 
 your uncle s cabinet? A remarkable collector, sir. 
 
 MARKIIEIM: (Scornfully, his scheme is so much bigger) 
 This time, I assure you, you are in error. 
 
 DEALER : So ? 
 
 MARKIIEIM : I have not come to sell. I I come to pur 
 chase. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle s cabinet 
 is bare to the wainscot. I I have gambled well (His eyes 
 wander round the room taking note) and should more 
 likely add to it than otherwise. My errand to-day is sim 
 plicity itself. (The Dealer nods his head from side to side 
 as at an old story. He glances as usual tozvard his clocks. 
 Markheim suddenly with a quick movement jams a tall 
 clock by thrusting his hand behind him into the peep hole 
 cf the pendulum} 
 
 MARKHEIM : I seek a Christmas present for one of 
 
 64 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 whom I think a great deal and (ingratiatingly) of course 
 I owe you every excuse for disturbing you upon so small 
 a matter. But the thing was neglected till now. As you 
 very well know a wealthy future is not a thing to be ne 
 glected. 
 
 DEALER: (Soberly weighing Markheim s words and nod 
 ding to his clocks in -final agreement) Well Sir, be it so. 
 You are an old customer after all (with a wink at the 
 clocks) So, so. A rich marriage. If you have a chance 
 to marry wealth far be it from me to put an obstacle in 
 the way. (Markhcim draws a quick breath as if relieved) 
 
 MARKHEIM : If I am not mistaken the tall clock has 
 stopped. (The dealer turns and Markheim quickly closes 
 the shop door) 
 
 DEALER: No. No. (Running forward feverishly) It 
 cannot be. It has not stopped for fifteen years. The old 
 Knibbs. (He becomes absorbed in the clock. Markheim 
 with a quick desperate lurch starts forward with the dagger, 
 but his hand falls inert and he leans back aghast. His 
 courage fails) Ah ! It is a feather in the works ! Old Peter 
 has done that. He said he would. (Triumphantly) It 
 is all right now. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Bitterly) Then, sir, your heart can beat 
 a little longer. It can enjoy these many treasures. What 
 a fortune you have here. 
 
 DEALER: No. No. (Suspiciously) I do not gather 
 these for nothing. I tell you, sir. Do you think I buy 
 for nothing? And nowadays the world is too well edu- 
 
 65 
 
THE MORNINGSIDB PLAYS 
 
 cated. Ah yes. A Fromantell brings a great price. They 
 know their value. They haggle. Haggle over a Froman 
 tell. Ah, it is not art it is a business. (Fussily) But to 
 business. I must waste no more time. A gift for a lady. 
 I think there is something here. (The dealer turns. The 
 candle wavers and nearly goes out. While the Dealer is 
 bent over a case, Markheim gathers himself again. He 
 stiffens his arm, wavers, and starts fonvard only to fall 
 back again} 
 
 THE; DEALER: (Turning) Here is a nice thing for a 
 lady, fifteenth century, warranted from a good collection 
 too ; but I reserve the name ; in the interests of my cus 
 tomer (chuckling). He was just like you, my dear sir, the 
 nephew and sole heir of a remarkable collector. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Stretches out his hand and receives a 
 mirror in which he shrinks back from his own face) A 
 mirror ! For Christmas ! Never ! 
 
 DEALER: So! And why not? Why not a mirror? 
 
 MARKHEIM: You, you ask me that? Look here, look in 
 it look at yourself. Do you like it? Do you want to see 
 it ? No ! Nor I nor any one. 
 
 DEALER: (Humping back at the almost sinister gesture 
 and then perceiving that nothing was meant, he chuckles) 
 Your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard favored. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (With sudden passion) I asked you for a 
 Christmas present, and you give me this this damned re 
 minder this hand conscience ! Did you mean it ? Had 
 you a thought in your mind? Tell me. (Threateningly, 
 
 66 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 the dagger in his hand) It will be better for you if you do. 
 You are alone in this house. Alone with these treasures. 
 
 DEALER: (Suddenly shaken with suspicion) No. No. 
 It was a mistake. I I am expecting a friend at any 
 moment. He he may be here now. Make your purchase 
 and -begone. I am a charitable man but I do not like your 
 looks. So ! 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Sarcasticall\ ; trying to recover himself) 
 Charitable? (With a grating laugh) Oh, I would hazard 
 a guess now that you are a most charitable man. 
 
 DEALER: You came to buy. Buy then and begone. I 
 must must return to my clocks. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Realizing that the time has come for ac 
 tion) Not charitable? Not pious, not scrupulous, unloving, 
 tmbeloved, a hand to get money, a safe to keep it? Is that 
 all? Dear God, man, is that all? (Markheim reels a little, 
 shaken by passion) 
 
 DEALER: (Greatly relieved) Ah, ha. I see that this 
 is not a love match of yours and you have been drinking 
 the lady s health. 
 
 MARKHEIM : (Playing for time, and toying with the 
 glass so that it reflects the light into the Dealer s eyes and 
 disconcerts him) You have been in love. Ah! Tell me 
 about it. 
 
 DEALER: / in love? I never had the time, nor have I 
 the time to-day for nonsense. Will you take the glass? 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Enjoying his discomfiture) What is the 
 
 67 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 hurry? It is pleasant to stand here talking; and life is so 
 short and insecure, that I would not hurry away from any 
 pleasure; no, not even from so milk a one as this. (The 
 Dealer begins to sense something sinister in the air, hastily 
 shuts the case and moves toward the door, but Markheim 
 forestalls him. Though the Dealer does not hide his shock 
 at the sight of the closed door he evidently nerves himself 
 to get rid of his customer) We should cling, cling to what 
 little we can get, like a man at a cliff s edge. Every second 
 is a cliff, if you think upon it a cliff a mile high high 
 enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature of hu 
 manity. Therefore, it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us 
 talk of each other; why should we wear this mask? Let 
 us be confidential. Who knows, we might be friends. (All 
 the while the hand behind him is stiffening and relaxing 
 as if on it alone depended the blow) 
 
 DEALER I have one word to say to you, my anxious 
 friend. Either make your purchase or walk out of my 
 shop. So ! 
 
 MARKHEIM : True. True. Enough fooling. Show me 
 something else. (The touch of pantomime which follows 
 shows both on the watch for the opportunity. The Dealer 
 fusses among the cases keeping his face carefully and 
 aiertly turned toivard Markheim. Once as he turns a trifle, 
 Markheim makes a dash and raises his hand and then a 
 trembling takes possession of him and he walks part way 
 to the door only to return quickly, still determined. The 
 Dealer looks up enquiringly and Markheim, to cover his 
 mistake, sets a flare to the incense in the censor beneath 
 
 68 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 the Buddha) Well. Well. You shall pay for my good 
 incense 
 
 MARKHEIM : But surely. 
 
 DEALER : Are you a follower 
 
 MARKHEIM: No. But I would make sure that my gift 
 would be appreciated. (As the Dealer stoops, he moves 
 nearer) 
 
 DEALER: Well. Well. Let us finish our business. Ah, 
 now surely I am successful, this time, see (He looks up 
 a moment, his hands busy in the case) 
 
 MARKHEIM: Ah yes. One moment (He stoops again 
 to lift it gingerly from the case) 
 
 (But Markhcim hesitates no longer. He draws a little 
 nearer shaking in ever\ limb, fills his lungs, his arm stiffens, 
 body and face become a study in resolve, fascination and 
 physical repulsion. Through a haggard lift of his upper 
 lip his teeth sJiozv clenched. His hand rises and as quickl\ 
 falls part wa\ behind him. The Dealer glances up) 
 
 DEALER: Voila. I have succeeded. Here is what you 
 
 wish (And snddenlv Markheim faces the up turned 
 
 face, finding it easier that way, and the long skewer-like 
 dagger flashes and falls hawk-like upon his victim. The 
 Dealer struggles like a hen, striking his temple on the shelf 
 and then thuds heavily to the floor in a heap. 
 
 The Pantomime begins: 
 
 Markheim slinks back, shuddering. The silence can be 
 felt, the ticking of the clocks seems to gain in intensity. 
 Pie starts. There is the pit, patter of a child s footsteps on 
 
 69 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 the pavement. Markheim begins to be afraid. The candle 
 quivers as in a draught, causing the long shadows to heave 
 over the room and the faces of the gods to quiver and blur. 
 The blots of shadow expand and shrink as if breathing. The 
 inner door is ajar and from it come strange creaking 
 sounds. Markheim drags back his shrinking gaze to his 
 victim. Is there not something paltry in it after all? He 
 moves and the tassel of a Chinese gong raps him smartly 
 on the shoulder. He starts and looks around furtively. 
 It is like the hand of the constable. Markheim is afraid. 
 Suddenly the clocks all begin striking, some fast, some 
 slow, one ringing on its treble notes the preludes of a 
 waltz. It is the first quarter. He moves quickly toivard 
 the candle. Time flies. He must ransack the house and 
 get away. He tries the desk. Gathers up the feiv miser 
 able coins it contains and looks at them reflectively. Was 
 it for this? No. This is but a taste of the treasure hidden 
 somewhere. He turns in other directions, candle in hand, 
 and every moment brings him face to face with his own 
 image in a mirror. The place is full of them, and from all 
 corners his own nerveracked face glares back at him. He 
 shrinks back, terribly shaken. Now and then he snatches 
 up something a strange curio, something bizarre, his very 
 bulky selection showing the over-balanced condition of hi? 
 usually clear-sighted mind. The eyes of the Buddha blink 
 suddenly as if alive. A goblet in his hand crashes to the 
 floor. He makes a quick movement toward the cabinet, 
 anxious to be gone. Suddenly with a shrinking gesture he 
 nerves himself to touch his victim. He must have the keys. 
 In Markheim s face is not remorse only fear, unreason 
 ing, gripping, superstitious fear. His nerves are jerking 
 
 70 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 automatically. He pauses listening. There is a distant 
 murmur as of many people saying a mass. Silence. Tick, 
 tick. He gets up. It is getting on his nerves and in a 
 frantic moment he stops the big clock. The sudden cessa 
 tion is so marked lie shrinks from it and then fran- 
 ticall\ sets it going again. He has recalled the re 
 mark of the Dealer about his clocks. Once again he 
 turns upon his victim. The Dealer lies like a thing of 
 sawdust. Markheim grips him distastefully. He is light 
 and supple in his hands. There is a momentary glimpse 
 of the ghastly face smeared with blood, then a quick jingle 
 as he falls in a heap. Markheim darts back. He has the 
 keys. Suddenly there is a knocking at the outer door. 
 Someone is hammering, clamoring to get in. He pauses 
 petrified with horror. It s the Dealer s expected friend) 
 
 VOICE WITHOUT : Silverthorne ! I say, Silverthorne. 
 (Rap, rap, rap, quick and impatient as with some hob 
 nobbed cudgel. A jolly old gentleman is visible at the door. 
 Markheim shrinks back into the sJiadows, quivering in 
 (Tt- er\ limb) Merry Christmas, Silverpricks. Let me in. 
 Let me in. I m coming in. See if I don t. You re mad 
 because I m late, but I m still in time to hear the Clocks 
 
 Oh, yes, I am. I m (silence) I m coming" to the other 
 
 door. (The footsteps retire to the other door past the 
 ivindow. In a sudden wild panic Markheim snatches the 
 candle and charges up the stairs. As the light recedes from 
 the lower room and only the panting of the clocks is heard,, 
 now and then, come odd creakings and ghostly murmur- 
 ings as if something were moving in the old shop. From 
 now on the light begins to appear in the upper room, first 
 as a shadoiv in the hall where its wavering and flickering 
 
 71 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 and drunken shadows mark Markheim s trembling and 
 hurried progress, and forming as he rises a long bar into 
 the room through the open part of the door which forms 
 with the sunbeam a palid cross in the shadow. Markheim 
 staggers in above. Suddenly the blows of the old gentle 
 man are heard on the door which opens from the stairway 
 kail) 
 
 VOICE) OF THE JOVIAL GENTIUM AN : (In evident disap 
 pointment} Good old Silverpricks. You know I always 
 come on Christmas. I m coming in. Indeed I am. (In 
 an excess of panic, Markheim flings to the door and puts 
 his body against it. A moment passes, Markheim lifts his 
 head. The gentleman has evidently gone away. Suddenly 
 Markheim shrinks back from the closed door, new terror 
 in his face. On the back of the door is a mirror. Once 
 again Markheim s mirrored face glares back the horror in 
 his own. Tramp, tramp, something is heard coming up 
 the stairs. Markheim is terror stricken. His eyes remain 
 fixed on the mirrored face, which the audience cannot quite 
 see. Suddenly high up in the mirror, a head is pushed 
 through at about the height of a knocker, a whimsical 
 kindly wlzzened -face which might be that of some age old 
 gnome, or some old fashioned child with shaggy hair, looks 
 out at Markheim} The Dialogue begins: 
 
 MARKHEIM: Who who are you? (Conscience with 
 draws and then suddenly comes through the picture, a 
 wavering uncertain figure) 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Don t you know? 
 
 MARKHEIM: What what do you want? (Conscience 
 
 12 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 enters through the mirror, a slight dark figure illumined 
 only when by chance he steps into the sunbeam, when his 
 Pierrot-like costume save for a long cloak changes to pure 
 gold. Seen through a quivering vapour even his outline 
 is a little uncertain like something seen through water. 
 He suggests in this respect the appearance of the Buddhas 
 after the murder) 
 
 CONSCIENCE: You are looking for the money. (Mark- 
 heim is speechless) I must warn you. The Maidie has 
 left her mother earlier than usual. It was not a happy 
 Christmas. And she will soon be here. If you, Mr. Mark- 
 heim, be found in this house, I need not describe to you 
 the consequences. 
 
 MARKHEIM : You you know me by name? 
 
 CONSCIENCE : For many years I have known you, Mark- 
 heim, and have often wanted to help you. 
 
 MARKHEIM: Are are you the Evil One? 
 
 CONSCIENCE : Does it matter ? I am here to render you 
 a service. What matter who I am? 
 
 MARKHEIM: What matter? Be helped by you? Never! 
 Not by you ! You you do not know me if you think so. 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Markheim, I know you to the soul. 
 
 MARKHEIM : It is impossible. Who can? I am a slander 
 on myself. I am not what the life I have lived would lead 
 you to think me. No man is. We are all better than the 
 disguise that grows about and stifles us. You see men 
 dragged away like one whom bravos have seized and muf- 
 
 73 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 fled in a cloak. If we could do as we would, if you could 
 see our real faces, they would be altogether different. 
 They would shine out like heroes and saints. I am worse 
 than most, it is true, but my excuse is known to me and 
 God. Had I the time I could make you understand. 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Me! 
 
 MARKHEIM : (With passionate fury) I have been born 
 and I have lived in a land of giants; giants have dragged 
 me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother the 
 giants of circumstance. Can t you see that I am that thing 
 which must be as common as humanity itself the unwil 
 ling sinner and and you would judge me by my acts. 
 (Markheim buries his face in his hands) 
 
 CONSCIENCE: (Breezily) Very feelingly expressed. But 
 I have no interest in argument. I care only that people 
 
 should walk in the right direction. But Time flies; the 
 
 servant delays, every moment moves nearer, and remember, 
 it is as if the gallows itself was striding towards you 
 through the Christmas streets. See, I will help you. Here 
 is the treasure. You would never find it alone. (And 
 suddenly with a leap Conscience produces a key and fitting 
 it into a hole in the wall slings open a secret closet. The 
 treasure pours in a magnificent brilliant stream on the floor. 
 Gold, silver, coins of every denomination, tiaras of dia 
 monds and garlanded chains of burning gems of every 
 color and lustre. Markheim heaves a great sigh of intense 
 desire and then drops upon the floor greedily gathering 
 the treasure. At this moment from downstairs the clocks 
 strike the quarter hour and a soft single peal of chimes 
 breaks the silence) 
 
 74 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MARKHEIM : (After a pause) The price? What must 
 I pay you for this? 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Pay me? Nothing. It is a gift. A 
 Christmas gift. 
 
 MARKHEIM : (Bitterly) Nothing were more expensive. 
 (Suddenly drawing back) No. I cannot take it. I will 
 take nothing from you. You cannot understand it but I 
 will not deliberately commit myself to evil. 
 
 CONSCIENCE : Why as for that, there there is always the 
 eleventh hour. One may confess then. Take it. See 
 riches for a life time. Think! Later you may confess and 
 be absolved. Now wealth, happiness, pleasure. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (With intense scorn) And you believe in 
 that? 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Oh, I did not say so. But I came but 
 now from such a death bed. The room full of sincere 
 mourners listening to the man s last words and when I 
 looked into that face which had been set as a flint against 
 mercy I found it smiling with hope. I am not a hard 
 master. Try me. Accept my help. 
 
 MARKHEIM : And you think I am such a creature. You 
 think I would sin and sin and sin and then sneak into 
 heaven. (Suddenly) Is it because you find me red handed 
 in sin that you suggest this thing? Has my one crime of 
 murder (He shudders visibly) changed my whole nature? 
 Am I no longer capable of any good action? 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Murder is in no special category. For me 
 
 75 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 all sins are murder even as all life is war. I live for evil 
 but for me it consists not in action but in character. The 
 bad man is dear to me, not the bad act whose fruits if we 
 could follow them hurtling down the cataract of the ages 
 might seem more blessed than those of the rarest virtues. 
 (The voice rises and grows melodious) It is not because 
 you have killed a dealer, that I offered to forward your 
 escape but because you are Markheim. 
 
 MARKHEIM : You judge me well. Let me tell you. This 
 is my last crime. I had to do it. But in the doing, I 
 learned many things. Poverty drove me to it. I didn t 
 want to do it. But where a man cannot get honestly he 
 must take. Perhaps I was weak, weaker than others might 
 have been, but the weakness is my character. 
 
 CONSCIENCE: (Sadly and lovingly) You are Markheim. 
 
 MARKHEIM: I wanted pleasure. I thirsted for it. Is 
 that wrong? But to-day I am rich. I go out of here a 
 master of poverty. Now it is my slave. I am free, free 
 lc be myself, Markheim Markheim a man who loves 
 good, whose heart thrills at homely love and virtues ; when 
 I was a child I sat at a good mother s knee. I learned of 
 good men; I had tremendous aspirations. But (with a 
 kind of a sob) Life got me, and held me, and squeezed me 
 as in a vise and I I had to have. I could not live without 
 having. So I took. But now now I understand. And 
 now, I shall go soberly. (And turning to the treasure he 
 begins to load it into his pockets) 
 
 CONSCIENCE: And this money? What will you do first? 
 
 76 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MARKHEIM : To-morrow, I shall go at once to the Ex 
 change. I shall make it double. 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Double? But have you not lost thousands 
 there already? 
 
 MARKHEIM : Ah, but this this that I would try is sure. 
 CONSCIENCE: No. This time also you must lose. 
 
 MARKHEIM : But I do not throw all. I keep back the 
 half. 
 
 CONSCIENCE : No. Not even the half. That also will go. 
 
 MARKHEIM: Well, then what matter! Say it is lost. 
 Say, I am again thrown into poverty. Shall it master me ? 
 Shall Markheim be conquered? Is he all black? Shall the 
 evil side forever dominate ? No. The eood in me is there, 
 
 o 
 
 and it shall, it must win. My heart is not hardened. I am 
 kind to the poor. And it still glows at honest laughter. I 
 have a happy soul. I have had to-night my chance. I 
 played and I lost, but poverty shall not make me into a 
 thing beyond all semblance of a man. 
 
 CONSCIENCE: (Sloii ly and solemnly, his figure more in 
 distinct than ever} For six and thirty years you have lived 
 in this world. Through many changes of fortune and 
 varieties of humor I have watched you, watched you stead 
 ily fall. (During this speech music is heard in the chapel 
 across the ic-ay and the Largo rises like a prisoned tiling 
 straining, beating, to be free) Fifteen years ago you would 
 have started at a theft. Three years ago you would have 
 blanched at murder. Is there any crime, is there any 
 
 77 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 cruelty or meanness from which you still recoil? Down 
 ward, downward lies your way, nothing- but death can stop 
 you. 
 
 MARKHEIM : (Rising slowly, the treasure dripping un 
 heeded from him) It is true. I have made partnership 
 with evil. And yet (Passionately) Am I different from 
 others? Do not all suffer and tarnish under their sur 
 roundings? Can any find pure air? 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Markheim, I would ask you one question. 
 You have grown in all things more lax, possibly your life 
 is accountable for that. Men do. But, granting it, are 
 you in any one particular, however trifling, more difficult 
 t please with your own conduct? 
 
 MARKHEIM : (Backing toivard the wall as if for support) 
 In any one? No. (Despairingly) No. I I have gone 
 down in all. 
 
 CONSCIENCE: Then be content. Your part is written. 
 You will not change. Being what you are, Markheim, 
 your life is irrevocably written down. (There is a tense 
 silence, terrible in its significance to Markheim who bows 
 under the weight of the accusation. He is like a man who 
 has braved until numbness overtakes him.) You had better 
 take the money. It is time to be gone. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Pleadingly) Have I no chance of mercy? 
 Is there not grace? I I have heard of it? 
 
 CONSCIENCE: (After a pause) Have you not tried it? 
 Two or three years ago did I not see you where they ex- 
 
 78 
 
THE MORNINGSIDB PLAYS 
 
 horted to save sinners and was not your voice the loudest 
 when they sang hymns? 
 
 MARKHEIM : Yes. I see. I understand. I thank you 
 from my soul. My eyes are opened. I behold myself at 
 last as I am. I am what I am. My part is indeed irre 
 vocably written down. I see what I must do. (Suddenly 
 the sharp note of the door be!! rings through the house) 
 
 CONSCIENCE: (In panic haste) The Maidie! She has 
 returned! There is only one thing to do. (The Largo 
 has fallen until it can barely be heard) Tell her, you must 
 tell her, her master is ill. Let her in with an assured but 
 easy countenance. Don t smile. Don t overact. You can 
 succeed. Once she is within the same dexterity that har- 
 already rid you of the Dealer will do it. No danger then 
 remains in your path. 
 
 MARKHEIM: (Thoughtfully) It is possible? (With a 
 strange eagerness, a tremendous resolve, Markheim grip 
 ping the dagger with which he has killed the Dealer, the 
 treasure spilling unheeded from his gorging pockets, flings 
 open the door and descends. Conscience remains, waiting, 
 and for a moment his wavering features seem to steady and 
 there is visible a woman s face of infinite compassion. 
 Markheim reappears below and though he brings no light, 
 light enters wnth him and illumines the shop. At the last 
 moment he pauses as if bracing himself for some great act. 
 The knock of the Maidie sounds impatiently from without) 
 
 VOICE OE THE MAIDIE: (Without) O please, please. Sir, 
 let me in. I I will I will never be late again. Indeed 
 I will not. Before the little mother I say it. (The Largo 
 
 79 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 swells up triumphantly and drops again. Markheim flings 
 wide the door. The Maidie appears on the threshold and 
 hesitates at sight of him, she is out of breath and tearful. 
 Markheim s arm is ready. His eye watches his oppor 
 tunity) 
 
 MARKHEIM : Come in. 
 
 MAIDIE: (Still hesitating) Is Is he very angry? Iran 
 all the way. Indeed I did. (She still hesitates) 
 
 MARKHEIM: He is not angry. Come in. (The Maidie 
 advances a little fearfully. Markheim stretches out his 
 left arm and quickly closes the door) 
 
 MAIDIE: It is all so still. Oh he must be very angry. 
 (Markheim s arm is ready. He moves quickly forward. 
 She suddenly clutches him and gases into his face) I feel 
 as if something terrible were going to happen. I I am 
 afraid. (Markheim s arm flies up with the dagger but 
 pauses in mid-air. The dagger falls clattering to the floor. 
 The Maidie springs back wonder in her face and a dawn 
 ing fear) 
 
 MARKHEIM : (Flinging wide the door. His whole body 
 undergoing a quick revulsion) You You had better go 
 for the police. I I have killed your master. (For an 
 instant the Maidie gazes at him horror, grozving in her face; 
 then with a sudden movement she turns in full flight. Left 
 alone Markheim with folded arms awaits what is coming. 
 Running feet sound down the street. The Largo rises 
 triumphant, and suddenly like a human applause, the clocks 
 rmg out their chimes and carols. Solemnly at the end 
 twelve long strokes ring out and in the moment of pause 
 which follows, the 
 
 CURTAIN DESCENDS 
 
 80 
 
THE HOME OF THE FREE 
 
 A Comedy 
 
 By ELME^L. ^EIZENSTEIN 
 
THE HOME OF THE FREE 
 
 Original Cast appearing in the first production at the 
 Comedy Theatre, New York, April 22, 1917 
 
 CHARACTERES 
 
 JOHN CALVIN BURKE: PENDLETON KING 
 
 FEXICIA HUMANS BURKE: AUCTHEA LUCE: 
 
 ROBERT INGERSOLL BURKE: MILTON WEINHANDLER 
 
 GIVNEVIEVE SWEET . ..DOROTHY NICHOLS 
 
The Home of the Free 
 
 SCENE: Living room in the home of the Burkes. At 
 the rise of the curtain, Mrs. Burke is discovered seated at 
 the table, industriously darning socks and humming "The 
 Rosary" in a high falsetto. Robert is lounging in an arm 
 chair, reading the "Masses." From time to time he yawns 
 audibly, but, after each yawn, he shakes himself angrily and 
 glues his eyes to the page. 
 
 ROBERT: (Suddenly putting down the magazine) Mother. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Yes dear? 
 
 ROBERT: I m expecting- Genevieve presently. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Interested) Oh, how lovely! 
 
 ROBERT: (Annoyed) I wish, mother, that you would 
 overcome your habit of making inappropriate and irre 
 levant ejaculations. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Contritely) I ll try, dear. 
 
 ROBERT : She s stopping here on her way home. I told 
 her to bring me something to read from the library and 
 
 MRS. BURKE : And I haven t a thing in the house to offer 
 her! 
 
 83 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 ROBERT: Why do you always find it necessary to evince 
 your affection for people by stimulating their gastric juices? 
 
 MRS. BURKE: But, Robert dear 
 
 ROBERT: (Interrupting her) What I wanted to say is, 
 that as Genevieve can t stay very long and as there s some 
 thing I want to talk with her about, I wish you d clear out 
 as soon as she comes. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: But I can t very well 
 
 ROBERT: Yes, you can. All the members of Genevieve s 
 family are in perfect health ; the weather is mild and prom 
 ises to continue so ; she bought her new hat at Madame 
 Dupont s and they haven t succeeded yet in getting a cook. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Anxiously) What are you going to talk 
 to her about, dear? 
 
 ROBERT: (In utter amazement) Why, what a question! 
 
 MRS. BURKE: I know I shouldn t ask. Still 
 
 ROBERT: Still what? 
 
 MRS. BURKE : I can t help feeling that it s not quite right 
 for you to talk to Genevieve about things that daren t be 
 discussed in my presence. 
 
 ROBERT: Daren t? It isn t a question of daren t. It s a 
 question of psychology. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Dubiously) Oh! 
 
 ROBERT: I realize that owing partly to inherited char 
 acteristics and partly to your faulty education 
 
 84 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 MRS. BURKE: (Sighing) Yes; I know dear. 
 
 ROBERT : Oh, it isn t your fault. You were never taught 
 the meaning of liberty. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: I m afraid you re right, dear. I ve tried 
 so hard to learn, but I was brought up with the idea that 
 duty is the most important thing in life. 
 
 ROBERT : Oh, duty ! I hate that word ! 
 MRS. BURKE: I m so sorry dear. 
 ROBERT: Oh, I m not blaming you. 
 MRS. BURKE: Thank you, dear. 
 
 ROBERT : But the fact remains that you are a little a 
 little well, let us say, old-fashioned. Consequently, there 
 are certain topics which I refrain from discussing in your 
 presence, because I understand that your somewhat unfor 
 tunate hereditary and environmental background has ren 
 dered you incapable of agreeing with me. 
 
 MRS. BURKE : That s sweet and dear of you, Robert. 
 Still, Genevieve is a young girl 
 
 ROBERT: (Proudly) Genevieve is a New Woman. And 
 it is I who have made her a New Woman. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Yes, that s just it. It s because she s so 
 very new. If she were a little older 
 
 ROBERT : I can t listen to any more of this, mother. I ve 
 been very patient with you, but, really, these objections are 
 an unwarranted intrusion upon my liberty. As father says, 
 
 85 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 this household is founded upon the principle of unqualified 
 freedom freedom of thought, freedom of speech and 
 freedom of conduct. 
 
 MRS. BURKE:: I know, dear, and I try to live up to it. 
 But, sometimes, it makes it so difficult for one to say and 
 do what one would like to. 
 
 ROBERT: (Magnanimously) Well, we ll say no more 
 about it. (He goes back to the "Masses") 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (After a pause) Robert, dear. 
 
 ROBERT : ( Ostensibly annoyed but secretly pleased by the 
 interruption) Well? 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Have you ever thought of marrying Gene- 
 vieve ? 
 
 ROBERT: (Very much provoked) Marrying Genevieve! 
 What put that into your head? 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Nothing. Except that I think she d make 
 a lovely match for you. 
 
 ROBERT: (Disgusted) Match! You talk like Queen Vic 
 toria at her worst. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Well, you know what I mean. She s a 
 nice, quiet girl and you ve known each other since infancy. 
 It s almost like a family affair. 
 
 ROBERT: Do I understand that you re deliberately trying 
 tc inveigle me into a marriage with Genevieve? 
 
 MRS. BURKE : Of course not, dear. But you seem so fond 
 of each other, that I thought 
 
 86 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 ROBERT: What has that to do with it? Do you think I d 
 allow myself to be influenced by a mere sentimental at 
 tachment ? 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Not altogether, of course. You ve too 
 much common-sense for that. But Genevieve s parents 
 are well-to-do, and 
 
 ROBERT: Oh, mother! 
 
 MRS. BURKE : I m sorry, dear. 
 
 ROBERT: (Angrily} This is really inexcusable your 
 attempting to force Genevieve upon me. It s an unwar 
 rantable infringement of my liberty. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Forgive me, Robert. It was only for your 
 good 
 
 ROBERT: (Pacing the room) You ve upset all my plans. 
 MRS. BURKE: (Rather alarmed) What plans? 
 ROBERT : You ve endangered my whole future. 
 MRS. BURKE: (An.rioi(sly) What is it, dear? 
 
 ROBERT: (Facing her) The reason I wanted to speak to 
 Genevieve alone this afternoon is that I might have an 
 opportunity to ask her to marry me. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Greatly relieved) Oh, I m so glad! 
 
 ROBERT : Now I shan t do it. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Amazed) Why not? 
 
 ROBERT : Because I feel that it is no longer a free choice. 
 The whole thing has degenerated into a romance. 
 
 87 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MRS. BURKE : Nonsense, Robert ; no one would ever 
 accuse you of being romantic. 
 
 ROBERT: (Brightening somewhat) You think not? 
 
 MRS. BURKE : I m sure of it. Just you go on and propose 
 to Genevieve without paying the slightest attention to my 
 wishes in the matter. 
 
 ROBERT: I ll think it over. You have given me a rude 
 blow. You have forced me to the conclusion that domestic 
 life is incompatible with the principle of freedom. (Shaking 
 his head gravely} Yes, I m afraid that the family must go. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Gently reproachful) I ve promised to go, 
 clear, as soon as Genevieve arrives. 
 
 ROBERT: (Pityingly) Poor mother, I m afraid we shall 
 never make a new woman of you. (The door bell rings) 
 There s Genevieve. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: I ll just pass the time of day and then I ll 
 slip out. 
 
 ROBERT: (Generously) Very well. (Genevieve enters 
 from the street, carrying several books. She is about 
 twenty and looks like the kind of girl who reads Henry 
 James and likes him) 
 
 GENEVIEVE: Good afternoon. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Going to her) Why, my dear! I m so 
 glad to see you. (She goes impulsively to Genevieve and 
 is about to kiss her, then recollects herself) Oh, excuse me, 
 dear! I forgot! Let s shake hands, then. (She extends 
 her hand) 
 
 88 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 GENEVIEVE: No, I ve decided to omit hand-shaking, too. 
 I read yesterday that the bubonic plague can be communi 
 cated by mere contact. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: But I haven t the bubonic plague! 
 GENEVIEVE: How do you know? 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Crushed) Well, really 
 
 GENEVIEVE: Hello, Robert. 
 
 ROBERT : Did you get me something to read ? 
 
 GENEVIEVE: Yes. (She hands him a book) I ve just 
 finished it. 
 
 ROBERT : (Looks at the book and grunts) Is it any good? 
 
 GENEVIEVE: (Enthusiastically) It s charming! I en 
 joyed every word of it. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: What is it, dear? 
 
 GENEVIEVE: "Survivals of Cannabilism in Tasmania." 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Resignedly) Oh! 
 
 GENEVIEVE: The author describes among other things 
 how he was captured and almost cooked before his party 
 rescued him. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Delighted) Now I understand! 
 GENEVIEVE: Understand what? 
 
 MRS. BURKE : What Mr. Burke means by half-baked 
 authors. I never had the courage to ask him, because I 
 
 89 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 don t like to show my ignorance. (Genevieve and Robert 
 look at each other pityingly) Well, Genevieve dear, I hope 
 that all your family 
 
 ROBERT: (Warningly) Mother! 
 
 MRS. BURKE : Oh, yes, I forgot ! You really must excuse 
 me, dear. I ve I ve dozens of socks to darn. (Hastily) 
 Most of them are Mr. Burke s. Robert is very easy on 
 clothes. (Seeing that Robert is beginning to fidget) Well, 
 I really must go. You ll excuse me, won t you? 
 
 GENEVIEVE : Certainly. 
 
 MRS. BURKE : That s a lovely hat. Where did you 
 
 (Rather pettishly as she remembers) Oh yes, of course. 
 This freedom is getting stricter all the time. (She goes 
 out leaving the socks behind) 
 
 GENEVIEVE: I hope you haven t been scolding your 
 mother again, Robert. I find her delightful a little old- 
 fashioned, but so interesting. I m writing her up for my 
 sociological seminar. I m demonstrating that her type oc 
 cupies relatively the same place in the evolution of the 
 Woman Movement that the Neanderthal man occupies in 
 the evolution of the human race. Original, isn t it? 
 
 ROBERT: (Abstractedly) Very. 
 
 GENEVIEVE: (Annoyed by his indifference) You don t 
 seem at all interested. 
 
 ROBERT : ( With determination) Genevieve, there s some 
 thing I want to ask you 
 
 GENEVIEVE: (Interested at once) Yes. 
 
 90 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 ROBERT: Something I ve been wanting to ask you for a 
 long time. (He stops) 
 
 GENEviEvE: (After a pause) Well what is it, Robert? 
 
 ROBERT : Can t you guess ? 
 
 GENEviEvE : Why no ! I haven t the slightest idea. 
 
 ROBERT: Genevieve will you will you be the mother of 
 my children? 
 
 GENEviEvE: (Hastily) Do you mean will I marry you? 
 
 ROBERT: (Rather coldly) If you want to put it that way. 
 We shall go through whatever idle legal ceremony you may 
 desire. / attach no importance to the law 
 
 GENEviEvE: (Quickly, in the manner of a school-girl who 
 knows the right answer) That s from Shaw, isn t it? 
 
 ROBERT: (Annoyed) Well, you needn t snap me up like 
 that. 
 
 GENEVIEVE: When shall we be married? 
 ROBERT : There s no hurry about that. 
 
 GExEviEvE : Xo, of course not ; three or four weeks from 
 now will be soon enough. This is all so unexpected. Oh, 
 you dear boy! (She goes to him impulsively and is about 
 to kiss him) 
 
 ROBERT: (Stopping her) Genevieve! Remember what 
 you told me about the transmission of pulmonary diseases. 
 
 GEXEVIEVE: (Dejectedly) Yes, of course! How stupid 
 of me to have forgotten. (She walks awa\ from him) 
 
 91 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 ROBERT: -(Rather disappointed) On the other hand, we 
 must recognize the compelling voice of the Life Force. 
 
 GENEVIEVE: (Brightening) Oh, certainly. We can t 
 ignore the Life Force. 
 
 ROBERT : The Life Force, it seems to me, must transcend 
 everything. 
 
 GENEViEvE : I think so, too. 
 
 ROBERT : Even the laws of hygiene, do you think ? 
 
 GENEVIEVE: (With conviction) Yes, even the laws of 
 hygiene. 
 
 ROBERT: Well, then (He kisses her several times. 
 They both seem to enjoy it) 
 
 ROBERT: (Drawing away at length) We mustn t become 
 sentimental, Genevieve. 
 
 GENEViEvE: There s no danger of that. 
 
 ROBERT : We mustn t descend to mere vulgar love-making. 
 
 GENEVIEVE: You do love me, don t you? 
 
 ROBERT: I can t say that I do 
 
 GENEVIEVE: (Alarmed) Robert! 
 
 ROBERT: I believe that love is a fiction created by the 
 second-rate poets of the nineteenth century. I believe that 
 Tennyson 
 
 GENEviEvE: But, Robert 
 
 ROBERT : I am a blind tool in the grip of the Life Force. 
 
 92 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 The Life Force has paralyzed my will. I am its slave. I 
 do whatever it impels me to. (He kisses her) 
 
 GENEviEVE: (Relieved) Oh, that s all right. (An auto 
 mobile is heard coming to a stop) 
 
 ROBERT : That s father. 
 
 GENEviEVE : I suppose I suppose you re going to tell 
 him. 
 
 ROBERT : Perhaps. 
 
 GENEviEVE : He won t object, will he? 
 
 ROBERT : Object ! I should like to see him try ! But 
 there s no danger of father s objecting. He s all for free 
 dom. Are you going to tell your parents. 
 
 GEXEVIEVE: Oh, I ve told them already. (Hastily) That 
 is of course, I ll tell them ! I must go now. It s late. 
 
 ROBERT: There s just one point. I don t want to be con 
 sulted about about whatever arrangements are to be made. 
 I regard my consent to any ceremony at all as a sufficient 
 surrender of my liberty to relieve me from the annoyance 
 of planning the details. 
 
 GEXEVIEVE: (Sighing) Very well. I suppose I ll have 
 to do it then. Let me see, there was something I wanted 
 to ask you. Oh yes, I remember now. (She hesitates) 
 
 ROBERT: What is it? 
 
 GENEviEVE : You said something about about children. 
 
 ROBERT: Of course. 
 
 93 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 GENEVIEVE : Had you thought of them at all in the way 
 of numbers. 
 
 ROBERT : Well, I should say five. 
 GENEviEvE: Five? 
 ROBERT : As a maximum. 
 
 GENEviEvE : Oh ! Yes, five will be all right as a maximum. 
 Well, I must really go. (Expectantly} Good-bye. 
 
 ROBERT: (Kissing her) We mustn t make a practise of 
 this sort of thing. 
 
 GENEviEvE: (Kissing him) Certainly not. (Burke 
 enters) 
 
 BURKE: Oh, I beg your pardon! (He is about to with 
 draw) 
 
 GENEviEvE: (Stopping him) I m just going. Good 
 afternoon. 
 
 BURKE: Good afternoon, my dear. (He looks after her 
 thoughtfully) 
 
 ROBERT: (Bursting out) Well, father, I d like to know 
 what you mean by tearing in here like that. 
 
 BURKE: I m very sorry. I didn t know there was any 
 one here. (He is plainly disturbed about something) 
 
 ROBERT : Life in this house is becoming intolerable. One 
 can t have a moment to oneself. Why, I d have more pri 
 vacy in state s prison. 
 
 BURKE: I shall not attempt to defend myself by the ob- 
 
 94 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 vious means of pointing out my inalienable right as a free 
 and responsible agent to enter and leave this room when 
 and how I please - 
 
 ROBERT : Oh, well if you re going to be tyrannical about 
 
 BURKE : As I said, I shall not discuss the point because 
 ROBERT : But I have the right to have it discussed. 
 
 BURKE : And I have the right to refrain from discussing 
 it. There is - 
 
 ROBERT : This is nothing short of despotism. 
 
 BURKE: Will you do me the kindness of holding your 
 tongue for a moment? I ve a matter of importance to talk 
 to you about. 
 
 ROBERT : Don t tell me to hold my tongue ! There s no 
 thing of more importance than my liberty. Herod! 
 
 BURKE: (Getting angry) Keep quiet ! 
 
 ROBERT : Nero ! 
 
 BURKE: (Bellowing] Shut up ! 
 
 ROBERT: Shut up yourself ! Machievelli ! 
 
 BURKE: (Inarticulate with rage) I ll I ll 
 
 ROBERT: Bismarck! Napoleon! Henry the Eighth! 
 Ivan the Terrible! Northcliffe ! Rockefeller! 
 
 BURKE: (Capitulating) Well, well, all right. Go on and 
 say what you have to say and when you ve finished give me 
 a chance. 
 
 95 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 ROBERT : I have nothing to say. But I insist upon my 
 right to freedom of speech. 
 
 BURKE : I concede you that right. Is there anything else ? 
 
 ROBERT : Nothing. And now that you have conceded my 
 right, I am willing to permit you to exercise yours. Pro 
 ceed. 
 
 BURKE: Thank you. I want to talk to you about Gene- 
 vieve. 
 
 ROBERT: (Displeased) Genevieve? 
 
 BURKE: (After a moment s hesitation) Yes. I thought 
 that as I came in I saw you kissing Genevieve. (He stops) 
 
 ROBERT : Well ? 
 BURKE: Did I? 
 
 ROBERT : That is a question which it is impossible for me 
 to answer. 
 
 BURKE: What do you mean? 
 
 ROBERT : How do I know whether or not you saw me 
 kissing Genevieve? 
 
 BURKE: Well, were you kissing her? 
 
 ROBERT: I decline either to challenge or to corroborate 
 the testimony of your senses. 
 
 BURKE: Robert, I want to know whether there is any 
 thing between you and Genevieve. 
 
 ROBERT : By what right do you ask that question ? 
 
 96 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 BURKE: By no right; but 
 
 ROBERT: Very well. As a mere matter of courtesy, then, 
 I don t mind telling you that Genevieve has consented to 
 become my mate. 
 
 BURKE: Do you mean your wife? 
 
 ROBERT: (Annoyed) Well, I suppose it will come to the 
 same thing. 
 
 BURKE : I was afraid of it ! 
 ROBERT : Afraid ? 
 
 BURKE : Yes. Robert you must make up your mind to 
 relinquish Genevieve. 
 
 ROBERT: I m afraid I don t understand. 
 
 BURKE : You must give her up. Marriage between you 
 is out of the question. 
 
 ROBERT : I really don t follow. 
 
 BURKE : I can t explain. It s impossible that s all. 
 
 ROBERT : That isn t all by a long shot. How do you 
 mean impossible? 
 
 BURKE : I mean simply that you can t marry Genevieve. 
 
 ROBERT : Why ? 
 
 BURKE: Because because well, because I forbid it. 
 
 ROBERT: (Ominously) Forbid? 
 
 BURKE: Yes. 
 
 97 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 ROBERT: If this is a joke, I consider it very ill-timed. 
 
 BURKS: It s not a joke. I never was more in earnest in 
 my life. (As Robert is about to explode) Listen to me 
 for a moment. Have I ever, within your memory, for 
 bidden you to do anything? 
 
 ROBERT: (Belligerently) I should think not. 
 
 BURKE: Exactly. You were brought up on the principle 
 that a human being is a free agent ; that the aim of human 
 life is unrestricted self-expression and . that unqualified 
 freedom of thought, speech and conduct is the sine qua 
 lion of an endurable existence. I have never in the least 
 degree attempted to curtail your liberty. Even when you 
 were an infant, I insisted, at the cost of interminable collo 
 quies with your mother and the neighbors, upon your right 
 tc cry whenever you elected to do so. 
 
 ROBERT : Well, what s the good of going into all that ? 
 
 BURKE : Merely to convince you that I would not lightly 
 oppose or attempt to restrain any wish or desire of yours. 
 But, in this instance, I regard the obstacle to your marriage 
 to Genevieve as of sufficient importance to over-ride, for 
 once, my principles, and to justify my arbitrary refusal to 
 permit the marriage to be consummated. 
 
 ROBERT: Father, I ve listened to you with a great deal 
 of patience with more patience than I would have given 
 myself credit for possessing because I have observed from 
 time to time that misguided and deplorable as your con 
 duct usually is, it is always actuated by praiseworthy mo 
 tives. But if you think that any attempt upon your part 
 
 98 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 to oppose my marriage to Genevieve will meet with any 
 thing but a militant response, you do my self-respect an 
 injustice. 
 
 BURKE: Then you refuse to break your engagement to 
 Genevieve ? 
 
 ROBERT: Not only do I refuse to break the engagement, 
 but, instead of marrying her three weeks from now, as was 
 my original intention, I shall marry her to-morrow. (Look 
 ing at his watch) By thunder, I ll do it to-night! 
 
 BURKE: (With determination) Very well. There is 
 nothing left for me then, but to tell the truth. 
 
 ROBERT : Well, go ahead. But I assure you that what 
 ever it is, it won t have the slightest effect upon me. 
 
 BURKE: (Clearing his throat) Robert, freedom has al 
 ways been the key-note of your life. You were suckled at 
 the sacred fount of 
 
 ROBERT: But why go over all that again? 
 
 BURKE: So that you will not allow your judgment to be 
 colored by your passions when you hear what I have to 
 tell you. In your life, respect for tradition has played no 
 part. You have been taught, and rightly, to scoff at laws, 
 at regulations, at social conventions, at antiquated codes of 
 morality. These things are but chains which bind us to 
 the dead past. In order to be free we must strike off these 
 shackles 
 
 ROBERT: (Interrupting) For the love of Haeckel, why 
 dc you always talk as though you were in Cooper Union? 
 
 99 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 BURKE): I m simply trying- to remind you that while I 
 was inculcating this spirit of liberty in you, I, of course, 
 reserved to myself the right of freedom of conduct the 
 right of self-expression 
 
 ROBERT: For pity s sake, get to the point! 
 
 BURKE: You cannot, therefore, be very greatly surprised 
 to learn that Genevieve is your half-sister. 
 
 ROBERT: (Thunder-struck) My ! 
 
 BURKE: Yes. 
 
 ROBERT: (Furious) You you 
 
 BURKE: (Holding up a warning hand) Robert, re 
 member ! 
 
 ROBERT: (Trying to control himself) Of course. It s 
 rather sudden, you know. 
 
 BURKE: (After a moment) Well, what have you to 
 say? 
 
 ROBERT: (Gulping hard) Nothing. Except that it s 
 damned unfortunate that your self-expression had to take 
 the form of Genevieve. 
 
 BURKE : Needless to say, marriage is out of the question. 
 
 ROBERT: Of course. (Querulously) It seems to me, 
 father, that you might have considered me just a little more. 
 
 BURKE: (Apologetically) You were very young at the 
 time. I m genuinely sorry about it, but 
 
 ROBERT : Well, there s no use talking about it. It should 
 
 100 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 be a lesson for you for the future, though. Are you going 
 to tell mother? 
 
 BURKE: Well er I wasn t exactly planning to. 
 ROBERT : She s got to know it. 
 BURKE: Why? 
 
 ROBERT : Because I told her that I was going to ask 
 Genevieve to marry me. 
 
 BURKE: Can t you say that Genevieve refused you? 
 
 ROBERT: (Haughtily) Do you think that even a credu 
 lous woman would believe that Genevieve refused me? 
 
 BURKE: Tell her I m opposed to the marriage. 
 
 ROBERT : She knows that wouldn t have the slightest 
 effect upon me. 
 
 BURKE: (Rubbing his chin) This makes it very awkward. 
 ROBERT: Are you afraid to tell her? 
 
 BURKE: (Bristling) Afraid? Certainly not. But your 
 mother is well just a little old-fashioned and she may 
 rot see things just as you and I do. 
 
 ROBERT: Do you think (The door opens) 
 
 BURKE: ? Sh ! Here she is now. (Mrs. Burke enters) 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Good evening John. May I come in? 
 
 BURKE: Just wait a few minutes, Felicia. (She is about 
 to go out again) 
 
 101 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 ROBERT : No, come in, mother. 
 BURKE: No, wait! 
 ROBERT: Come in, I tell you. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Who has been bobbing back and forth) 
 Well, what am I to do? I d like to get those socks, if it s 
 possible. 
 
 ROBERT : There s no use putting things off, father. 
 BURKE: (With a sigh) Very well. 
 ROBERT: Come in, mother. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Thank you, dear. (She goes to the table 
 and resumes her darning) 
 
 ROBERT: (After an awkward pause) Father, I ll talk to 
 mother. I m more tactful than you. Just leave us alone 
 together. 
 
 BURKE: (Rising) Thank you, my boy. (He is about to 
 go) 
 
 MRS. BURKE : Dinner is at seven, John. Try to be ready. 
 (Holding up a sock) And I wish, dear, that you wouldn t 
 insist upon giving your toes so much liberty. It s awfully 
 hard on your socks. 
 
 BURKE: Yes, of course. (He throws a last look at 
 Robert and goes out) 
 
 ROBERT: (After a moment) Mother, there s something 
 I want to talk to you about. 
 
 102 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 MRS. BURKE: Yes, dear. Is it about Genevieve? 
 ROBERT: Yes. (He stops) 
 MRS. BURKE: Did you ask her? 
 ROBERT : Yes. 
 MRS. BURKE: And she ? 
 ROBERT : Accepted, of course. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Effusively) Oh, how lovely! I con 
 gratulate you, dear. She s just the girl for you. I hope 
 you ll be very happy. 
 
 ROBERT: (Stopping her) I have just learned that it is 
 impossible for me to marry her. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Vv ~hy, what do you mean? 
 
 ROBERT: I m going to tell you. It s a little difficult for 
 me to explain 
 
 MRS. BURKE: I m completely bewildered, Robert. 
 
 ROBERT : As you know, mother, father and I are very 
 liberal in our views. We believe in absolute and un 
 qualified freedom. To us society s taboos and restrictions 
 are but so many barriers between the individual and the 
 expression of his will. It is our belief that all mob-im 
 posed standards of conduct and codes of morality should 
 be swept aside. 
 
 MRS. BURKE : Yes, but I don t see 
 
 ROBERT: I m coming to that. Father and I have from 
 
 103 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 time to time endeavored to convert you from your well, 
 let us say, old-fashioned way of thinking to our own 
 broader views. But without success. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: I m so sorry, dear. I ve really tried to 
 
 ROBERT : Don t mention it. I m not blaming" you. But 
 the point I want to make is that you should not be sur 
 prised or shocked to learn of conduct on our part which 
 you would regard as shall we say unconventional. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Worried) Why, Robert what have you 
 been doing? 
 
 ROBERT: It doesn t concern me. It s father. 
 MRS. BURKE: (Relieved) Oh, I m glad of that. 
 
 ROBERT : It is natural, in view of what I have been say 
 ing, that father has now and then, over-stepped what your 
 conservative mind regards as the limits of propriety. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: I suppose so. 
 
 ROBERT : So that it needn t be a matter of great surprise 
 to you to learn that the reason that I can t marry Genevieve 
 is that that that 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Yes. 
 
 ROBERT : That she that is to say, that father because I 
 I father - 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Whatever is it, dear? 
 
 ROBERT: (With a great effort) In a word, Genevieve is 
 my half-sister. There! I ve told you! 
 
 104 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 MRS. BURKE: You mean ? 
 
 ROBERT: Exactly. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Oh! (She darns thoughtfully) 
 
 ROBERT : You mustn t be too hard on father 
 
 MRS. BURKE: No, no. (After a pause) About your 
 marriage with Genevieve, dear. 
 
 ROBERT : That s out of the question, of course. 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Not at all. 
 
 ROBERT: What? 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Go on with your plans just the same. 
 
 ROBERT : But mother, you don t seem to understand. 
 Genevieve is father s daughter. 
 
 MRS. BURKE : I understand dear. But that doesn t 
 matter. 
 
 ROBERT: Doesn t matter? Why it makes me her half- 
 brother ! 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Quietly) No it doesn t. 
 ROBERT : What ? 
 
 MRS. BURKE : It s quite all right, dear. I assure you that 
 there is no relationship whatever between you and Gene 
 vieve. 
 
 ROBERT: (Almost speechless) You mean I m not 
 
 MRS. BURKE: Just SO. 
 
 105 
 
THE MORNINGSIDE PLAYS 
 
 ROBERT: Well!!!!! (He sinks into a chair, completely 
 overcome) 
 
 MRS. BURKE: (Darning quietly) You see dear, it was 
 the fault of my education. I had always been taught that 
 it is a wife s duty to live up to her husband s principles. 
 (She sighs) Oh, dear, I wonder if I shall ever finish these 
 socks. (A pause) I always thought that girl had John s 
 nose. 
 
 THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 106 
 

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