Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays - BestLightNovel.com
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MADAME LE BARGY [_softly_]. This is the time, Diane.
DIANE. When you talk with him?
MADAME LE BARGY. Yes.
[_Diane goes slowly and sinks into the chair wearily. Suddenly she flings her arms out, crying "Maurice, Maurice." Madame le Bargy rises and goes to her._]
DIANE. Maurice, come back to me! Dear G.o.d, give him back to me!
[_Nanette enters at back with her black box. She sees Diane in the chair. Suddenly she takes out the revolver and shoots Diane._]
NANETTE. Maurice! Forgive me!
MADAME LE BARGY. Nanette! Child! My child! [_She rushes to take Diane in her arms._] Nanette, what have you done, what have you done?
NANETTE. I have rid Maurice of a stain.
DIANE [_calling softly_]. Maurice, Maurice.... Oh, I knew you couldn't stay away. I knew you would come back to me. Now we will never be separated. We will be together like this for always--for all time.
MADAME LE BARGY [_softly_]. For all time, Diane.
NANETTE [_kneeling beside Diane--crossing herself_]. For all time.
[_Curtain._]
THE FINGER OF G.o.d
A PLAY
BY PERCIVAL WILDE
Copyright, 1915, by Percival Wilde.
Professional stage and motion picture rights reserved.
THE FINGER OF G.o.d was produced by the Wisconsin Players at the Wisconsin Little Theatre, Milwaukee, Wis., March 28, 1916, and subsequently, with the following cast:
STRICKLAND _Frederick Irving Deakin_.
BENSON _Harry V. Meissner_.
A GIRL _Marjorie Frances Hollis_.
Under the direction of FREDERIC IRVING DEAKIN.
Reprinted from "Dawn, and Other One-Act Plays of Life To-day" by permission of, and special arrangement with, Mr. Wilde. The acting rights in this play are strictly reserved. Performances may be given by _amateurs_ upon payment to the author of a royalty of five dollars ($5.00) for each performance. Production by professional actors, without the written consent of the author, is forbidden. Persons who wish to produce this play should apply to Mr. Percival Wilde, in care of Walter H. Baker & Co., 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Ma.s.s.
THE FINGER OF G.o.d
A PLAY BY PERCIVAL WILDE
[_The living room of Strickland's apartment. At the rear, a doorway, heavily curtained, leads into another room. At the left of the doorway, a bay window, also heavily curtained, is set into the diagonal wall. Near the center, an ornate writing desk, upon which is a telephone. At the right, the main entrance. The furnis.h.i.+ngs, in general, are luxurious and costly._
_As the curtain rises Strickland, kneeling, is burning papers in a grate near the main door. Benson, his valet, is packing a suitcase which lies open on the writing desk. It is ten-thirty; a bitterly cold night in winter._]
STRICKLAND. Benson!
BENSON. Yes, sir.
STRICKLAND. Close the window: it's cold.
BENSON [_goes to the window_]. The window _is_ closed, sir. It's been closed all evening.
STRICKLAND [_s.h.i.+vers and b.u.t.tons his coat tightly_]. Benson.
BENSON. Yes, sir?
STRICKLAND. Don't forget a heavy overcoat.
BENSON. I've put it in already, sir.
STRICKLAND. Plenty of fresh linen?
BENSON. Yes, sir.
STRICKLAND. Collars and ties?
BENSON. I've looked out for everything, sir.
STRICKLAND [_after a pause_]. You sent off the trunks this afternoon?
BENSON. Yes, sir.
STRICKLAND. You're sure they can't be traced?
BENSON. I had one wagon take them to a vacant lot, and another wagon take them to the station.
STRICKLAND. Good!
BENSON. I checked them through to Chicago. Here are the checks. [_He hands them over._] What train do we take, sir?
