Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 210

RULER [_taking a revolver out of his pocket aims it at Mrs. Pencil_].

Harm her and I'll shoot _you_!

INKWELL [_who has come to in the meantime, manages to get his own revolver out of his pocket, he half raises himself from his lying position on the table and aims at Ruler, crying hoa.r.s.ely_]. You thought you could be my rival--the girl said she would be mine! If you shoot the woman she'll kill the girl. I'm going to save the girl. Shoot and I'll kill _YOU_!

MR. IVORY [_he enters from right and, hearing these desperate words--takes revolver from his pocket and aims at Inkwell! Screams in fear and rage_]. Stop! Save him or I'll shoot to kill! I'll shoot to kill! I'll shoot to kill!

WOULDBY [_thrilled and excited, cries out_]. Who shoots?

SUD [_overcome with sudden realization, jumps up, grabs his forehead_].

My G.o.d! It's a deadlock!!! I don't know who shoots!

OTHERS. Oh! Shoot the _AUTHOR_!!

[_Curtain._]

ENTER THE HERO

A COMEDY

BY THERESA HELBURN

Copyright, 1916, by Theresa Helburn.

Copyright, 1918, by Egmont Arens.

All rights reserved.

ENTER THE HERO was first produced in San Francis...o...b.. the St. Francis Little Theater Players, on January 16th, 1918, with the following cast:

RUTH CAREY _Ruth Hammond_.

ANNE CAREY _Helene Sullivan_.

HAROLD LAWSON _Arthur Maitland_.

MRS. CAREY _Julia Deane_.

Reprinted from No. 4, of the "Flying Stag Plays," published by Egmont Arens, by special permission of Miss Helburn. The professional and amateur stage rights on this play are strictly reserved by the author.

Applications for permission to produce the play should be made to Egmont Arens, 17 West 8th St., New York.

ENTER THE HERO

A COMEDY BY THERESA HELBURN

[_The scene presents an upstairs sitting room in a comfortable house in a small city. The wall on the spectator's left is broken by a fireplace, and beyond that a door leading into the hall. At the back of the stage is a deep bay window from which one may have a view up and down the street. A door in the right wall leads to Anne Carey's bedroom. The sitting room, being Anne's particular property, is femininely furnished in chintz. A table desk with several drawers occupies an important place in the room, which is conspicuously rich in flowers._

_The curtain rises on an empty stage. Ruth Carey, a pretty girl of eighteen years, enters hurriedly, carrying a large box; she wears a hat and coat._]

RUTH. Oh, Anne, here's _another_ box of flowers! Anne, where are you?

VOICE FROM ANNE'S BEDROOM. In here. I thought you had gone out.

RUTH [_opening door left_]. I was just going when the expressman left these--and I wanted to see them. [_Looking into the bedroom._] Oh, how pretty your dress is. Turn round. Just adorable! May I open these?

THE VOICE. Yes, but hurry. It's late.

RUTH [_throwing her sister a kiss_]. You dear! It's almost like having a fiance of my own. Three boxes in two days! He's adorably extravagant.

Oh, Anne, exquisite white roses! Come, look!

[_Anne Carey appears in the bedroom door. She is a girl of twenty-two. Her manner in this scene shows nervousness and suppressed excitement._]

ANNE. Yes, lovely. Get a bowl, Ruth. Quickly.

RUTH. I will. Here's a card. [_She hands Anne an envelope, goes to the door, then stops._] What does he say, Anne? May I see?

[_Anne, who has read the card quickly with a curious little smile, hands it back to her without turning._]

RUTH [_reading_]:

"The red rose whispers of pa.s.sion And the white rose breathes of love; Oh, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove.

"But I send you a cream-white rosebud With a flush on its petal tips, For the love that is purest and sweetest Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

Oh, how beautiful! Did he make that up, do you suppose? I didn't know he was a real poet.

ANNE [_who has been pinning some of the roses on her dress_]. Any one in love is a poet.

RUTH. It's perfectly beautiful! [_She takes a pencil and little notebook out of her pocket._] May I copy it in my "Harold Notebook"?

ANNE. Your _what_?

RUTH. I call it my "Harold Notebook." I've put down bits of his letters that you read me, the lovely bits that are too beautiful to forget. Do you mind?

ANNE. You silly child!

RUTH. Here, you may see it.... That's from the second letter he wrote you from Rio Janeiro. I just couldn't get over that letter. You know I made you read it to me three times. It was so--so delicate. I remembered this pa.s.sage--see. "A young girl seems to me as exquisite and frail as a flower, and I feel myself a vandal in desiring to pluck and possess one.

Yet, Anne, your face is always before me, and I know now what I was too stupid to realize before, that it was you and you only, who made life bearable for me last winter when I was a stranger and alone." Oh, Anne--[_Sighing rapturously._] that's the sort of love letters I've dreamed of getting. I don't suppose I ever shall.

ANNE. [_still looking over the notebook with her odd smile_]. Have you shown this to any one?

RUTH. Only to Caroline--in confidence. [_Pauses to see how Anne will take it._] But really, Anne, every one knows about Harold. You've told Madge and Eleanor, and I'm sure they've told the others. They don't say anything to us, but they do to Caroline and she tells me. [_Watching Anne's face._] You're not angry, are you, Anne?