Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 293

THE GIRL. Yes, sir. She says she doesn't want a big return on her investment. She wants something that will be perfectly safe, and she knows you will take care of her.

STRICKLAND. Yes. Of course. What else have you?

THE GIRL. A dozen other letters like it.

STRICKLAND. All from old women?

THE GIRL [_seriously_]. Some of them. Here is one from a young man who has saved a little money. He says that when he gets a little more he's going to open a store, and go into business for himself. Here is another from a girl whose father was an ironworker. He was killed accidentally, and she wants you to invest the insurance. Here is another from--but they're all pretty much alike.

STRICKLAND. Why did you bring them here?

THE GIRL. Every one of these letters asks you to do the investing yourself.

STRICKLAND. Oh!

THE GIRL. And you're leaving town to-night. Here are the checks. [_She pa.s.ses them over._] Every one of them is made out to you personally; not to the firm.

STRICKLAND [_after a pause_]. You shouldn't have come here.... I haven't time to bother with that sort of thing. Every man who has five dollars to invest asks the head of the firm to attend to it himself. It means nothing. I get hundreds of letters like those.

THE GIRL. Still--

STRICKLAND. What?

THE GIRL. You must do something to deserve such letters or they wouldn't keep on coming in. [_She smiles._] It's a wonderful thing to inspire such confidence in people?

STRICKLAND. Do you think so?

THE GIRL. It is more than wonderful! It is magnificent! These people don't know you from Adam. Not one in a hundred has seen you: not one in a thousand calls you by your first name. But they've all heard of you: you're as real to them as if you were a member of their family. And what is even more real than you is your reputation! Something in which they rest their absolute confidence: something in which they place their implicit trust!

STRICKLAND [_slowly_]. So you think there are few honest men?

THE GIRL. No: there are many of them. But there is something about you that is different: something in the tone of your voice: something in the way you shake hands: something in the look of your eye, that is rea.s.suring. There is never a doubt--never a question about you. Oh, it's splendid! Simply splendid! [_She pauses._] What a satisfaction it must be to you to walk along the street and know that every one you meet must say to himself, "There goes an honest man!" It's been such an inspiration to me!

STRICKLAND. To _you_?

THE GIRL. Oh, I know that I'm just one of the office force to you. You don't even know my name. But you don't imagine that any one can see you as I have seen you, can work with you as I have worked with you, without there being _some_ kind of an effect? You know, in my own troubles--

STRICKLAND [_interrupting_]. So _you_ have troubles?

THE GIRL. You don't pay me a very big salary, and there are others whom I must help. But I'm not complaining. [_She smiles._] I--I used to be like the other girls. I used to watch the clock. I used to count the hours and the minutes till the day's work was over. But it's different now.

STRICKLAND [_slowly_]. How--different?

THE GIRL. I thought it over, and I made up my mind that it wasn't right to count the minutes you worked for an honest man. [_Strickland turns away._] And there is a new pleasure in my work: I do my best--that's all I can do, but _you_ do your best, and it's the _least_ I can do.

STRICKLAND [_after a pause_]. Are you sure--I do my best? Are you sure I am an honest man?

THE GIRL. Don't you know it yourself, Mr. Strickland?

STRICKLAND [_after another pause_]. You remember--a few minutes ago, you spoke the name of Alfred Stevens?

THE GIRL. Yes.

STRICKLAND. Suppose I told you that there once _was_ an Alfred Stevens?

[_The girl does not answer._] Suppose I told you that Stevens, whom I knew, stole money--stole it when there was no excuse for it--when he didn't need it. His people had plenty, and they gave him plenty. But the chance came, and he couldn't resist the temptation.... He was eighteen years old then.

THE GIRL [_gently_]. Only a boy.

STRICKLAND. Only a boy, yes, but he had the dishonest streak in him!

Other boys pa.s.sed by the same opportunity. Stevens didn't even know what to do with the money when he had stolen it. They caught him in less than twenty-four hours. It was almost funny.

THE GIRL. He was punished.

STRICKLAND [_nodding_]. He served a year in jail. G.o.d! What a year! His folks wouldn't do a thing for him: they said such a thing had never happened in the family. And they let him take the consequences. [_He pauses._] When he got out--[_stopping to correct himself_]--when he was _let_ out, his family offered him help. But he was too proud to accept the help: it hadn't been offered when he needed it most. He told his family that he never wanted to see them again. He changed his name so they couldn't find him. He left his home town. He came here.

THE GIRL. And he has been honest ever since!

STRICKLAND. Ever since: for twenty-eight years! It was hard at times, terribly hard! In the beginning, when he had to go hungry and cold, when he saw other men riding around in carriages, he wondered if he hadn't made a mistake. He had knocked about a good deal; he had learnt a lot, and he wouldn't have been caught so easily the second time. It was _almost_ worth taking the chance! It was _almost_ worth getting a foot of lead pipe, and waiting in some dark street, waiting, waiting for some sleek _honest_ man with his pockets full of money! It would have been so simple! And he knew _how_! I don't know why he didn't do it.

THE GIRL. Tell me more.

STRICKLAND. He managed to live. It wasn't pleasant living. But he stayed alive! I don't like to think of what he did to stay alive: it was humiliating; it was shameful, because he hadn't been brought up to do that kind of thing, but it was honest. Honest, and when he walked home from his work at six o'clock, walked home to save the nickel, his betters never crowded him because they didn't want to soil their clothes with his _honest_ dirt! He had thought the year in jail was terrible.

The first year he was free was worse. He had never been hungry in jail.

THE GIRL. Then his chance came.

STRICKLAND. Yes, it _was_ a chance. He found a purse in the gutter, and he returned it to the owner before he had made up his mind whether to keep it or not. So they said he was honest! He knew he wasn't! He knew that he had returned it because there was so much money in it that he was afraid to keep it, but he never told them that. And when the man who owned the purse gave him a job, he worked--worked because he was afraid not to work--worked so that he wouldn't have any time to think, because he knew that if he began to think, he would begin to steal! Then they said he was a hard worker, and they promoted him: they made him manager.

That gave him more chances to steal, but there were so many men watching him, so many men anxious for him to make a slip so that they might climb over him, that he didn't dare.

[_He pauses._]

THE GIRL. And then?

STRICKLAND. The rest was easy. Nothing succeeds like a good reputation, and he didn't steal because he knew they'd catch him. [_He pauses again._] But he wasn't honest at bottom! The rotten streak was still there! After twenty-eight years things began to be bad. He speculated: lost all the money he could call his own, and he made up his mind to take other money that _wasn't_ his own, all he could lay his hands on, and run off with it! It was wrong! It was the work of a lifetime gone to h.e.l.l! But it was the rottenness in him coming to the surface! It was the thief he thought dead coming to life again!

THE GIRL [_after a pause_]. What a pity!

STRICKLAND. He had been honest so long--he had made other people think that he was honest so long, that he had made _himself_ think that he was honest!

THE GIRL. Was he wrong, Mr. Strickland?

STRICKLAND [_looking into her eyes; very quietly_]. Stevens, please.

[_There is a long pause._] I don't know what sent you: who sent you: but you've come here to-night as I am running away. You're too late. You can't stop me. Not even the finger of G.o.d Himself could stop me! I've gone too far. [_He goes on in a voice which is low, but terrible in its earnestness._] Here is money! [_He pulls out his pocketbook._] Hundreds of thousands of it, not a cent of it mine! And I'm stealing it, do you understand me? _Stealing_ it! To-morrow the firm will be bankrupt, and there'll be a reward out for me. [_He smiles grimly, and bows._] Here, if you please, is your honest man! What have you to say to him?

THE GIRL [_very quietly_]. The man who has been honest so long that he has made _himself_ think that he is honest can't steal!

STRICKLAND [_hoa.r.s.ely_]. You believe _that_?

THE GIRL [_opening her bag again_]. I was left a little money this week: only a few hundred dollars, hardly enough to bother you with. Will you take care of it for me--Alfred Stevens?