Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 191

MRS. MADDEN [_impatiently_]. That's all right. [_She looks down again at her book._]

MADDEN [_with increasing emotion. Going to the arm chair and looking down at her tenderly from behind it_]. I kept thinkin' ... thinkin' how pretty an' how ... how good natured you are. [_With some embarra.s.sment._] I thought how we used to walk ... down by the river.

Four years ago ... you know--just before we was married.

MRS. MADDEN [_with growing annoyance_]. Don' choo want 'nuther choclick, Jim?

MADDEN [_unheeding_]. Florrie--d'you remember that time ... the first time you let me hold your hand?

MRS. MADDEN [_looking up impatiently_]. W'at's bitin' you? Don't y' see I'm readin'? [_He steps back and to the left a pace or two. She looks down again._]

MADDEN [_humbly_]. Scuse me, Florrie. I just wanted to tell you. [_With great earnestness._] You know, I'd forgotten.... I mean I didn't realize ... till just now--[_Awkwardly._] how fond ... how much I ... I love you.

MRS. MADDEN [_thickly, through a chocolate cream which she is eating.

Without looking up._] Tha's ... nice.

[_He looks at her pathetically, waiting, hoping that she will look up. His face is intense with longing. After a short interval he gives it up. He turns sadly and goes toward the door at the left, pa.s.sing in back of the table._]

MRS. MADDEN [_taking another chocolate and looking after him. He has almost reached the door_]. Jim. [_He stops and turns eagerly._] You ain't such a bad ol' boy. [_His face is suddenly radiant. He takes several steps back toward her, bringing him behind the table. She has looked down at her book again. Coaxingly._] Goin' t' take me t'

Horseman's t'night f'r lobster?

[_All the eagerness, the radiance, vanishes from his face.--He sits down heavily in the chair behind the table. He looks at her, uncomprehending, hurt, disillusionized._]

MRS. MADDEN [_without looking up_]. An' say--[_She puts another chocolate in her mouth. Speaking through it thickly._] I'm jus' _dyin'_ t' see a real ... comical ... show.

[_Madden's head droops. He looks at his wife dumbly, then back at the table. His left hand goes out toward the bills; then he drops both elbows limply on the table, resting his weight on them. Mrs.

Madden does not look up, but continues to read and munch a chocolate cream. Madden stares in front of him miserably, hopelessly as_

_The Curtain Falls._]

MANSIONS

A PLAY

BY HILDEGARDE FLANNER

Copyright, 1920, by Hildegarde Flanner.

All rights reserved.

CHARACTERS

HARRIET WILDE.

LYDIA WILDE [_her niece_].

JOE WILDE [_her nephew_].

TIME: _Yesterday_.

MANSIONS is an original play. The editors are indebted to Mr. Sam Hume for permission to include it in this volume. Applications for permission to produce this play must be made to Frank Shay, care Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.

MANSIONS

A PLAY BY HILDEGARDE FLANNER

[_In a small town on the southern border of a Middle-Western state, stands an old brick house. The town is sufficiently near the Mason and Dixon line to gather about its ankles the rustle of ancient petticoats of family pride and to step softly lest the delicate sounds should be lost in a too noisy world. Even this old brick house seems reticent of the present, and gazing aloofly from its arched windows, barely suffers the main street to run past its gate. Many of the blinds are drawn, as if the dwelling and its inhabitants preferred to hug to themselves the old strength of the past rather than to admit the untried things of the present._

_The scene of the play is laid in the living-room. At the back is a wide door leading into the hallway beyond. At the left are French doors opening upon steps which might descend into the garden. At the right side of the room, and opposite the French doors, is a marble fireplace, while on either side of the fireplace and a little distant from it, is a tall window. To the left of the main door is a lounge upholstered in dark flowered tapestry, and to the right of the door is a mahogany secretary.

Before the secretary and away from the hearth, an old-fas.h.i.+oned grand piano is placed diagonally, so that any one seated at the instrument would be partially facing the audience. To the left of the French doors is a lyre table, on which stands a bowl of flowers. Above the rear door hangs the portrait of a man._

_When the curtain rises Harriet Wilde is discovered standing precisely in the middle of her great-grandfather's carpet which is precisely in the middle of the floor. To Harriet, ancestors are a pa.s.sion, the future an imposition. Added to this, she is in her way, intelligent. Therefore even before she speaks, you who are observant know that she is a formidable person. Her voice is low, even, and--what is the adjective? Christian. Yes, Harriet is a good woman. But don't let that mislead you._]

HARRIET [_calling_]. Lydia!

[_Lydia comes into the room from the garden. In fact, she has been coming and going for more than fifteen years at the word of her aunt, although she is now twenty-seven. Her hands appear sensitive and in some way, deprived and restless. She is dressed in a slim black gown which could be worn gracefully by no one else, although Lydia is not aware of this fact. In one hand she carries a pair of garden shears with handles painted scarlet; in the other, a bright spray of portulaca; while over her wrist is slung a garden hat.

During their conversation Lydia moves fitfully about the room. Her manner changes from bitter drollery to a lonely timidness and from timidness to something akin to sulkiness. Harriet, whether seated or standing, gives the impression of having been for a long hour with dignity in the same position. She has no sympathy for Lydia nor any understanding of her. There is a wall of mistrust between the two. Both stoop to pick up stones, not to throw, but to build the wall even higher. Lydia employs by turns an att.i.tude of cheerful cynicism and one of indifference, both planned to annoy her aunt, though without real malice. But this has become a habit._]

HARRIET. What are you doing, Lydia?

LYDIA. I had been tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the rose hedge along the south garden, Aunt Harriet.

HARRIET. But surely you can find something better to do than that, my dear. [_She cannot help calling people "my dear." It is because she is so superior._] Some one might see in if you trim it too much. We want a bit of privacy in these inquisitive times.

LYDIA. The young plants on the edge of the walk needed sun.

HARRIET. Move the young plants. Don't sacrifice the rose hedge.

[_Pausing as she straightens the candle in an old bra.s.s candlestick on the mantel._] I--it seems to me that the furniture has been disarranged.

LYDIA. I was changing it a little this morning.

HARRIET. May I ask why?

LYDIA [_eagerly_]. Oh, just--just to be changing. Don't you think it is an improvement?

HARRIET [_coldly_]. It does very well. But I prefer it as it was. You know yourself that this room has never been changed since your grandfather died. [_Piously._] And as long as I am mistress in this house, it shall remain exactly as he liked it.

[_Lydia looks spitefully at the portrait over the rear door._]

HARRIET [_stepping to the window to the left of the fire-place and lowering the curtain to the middle of the frame._] The court house will be done before your brother is well enough to come downstairs, Lydia.

How astonished he will be to see it completed.