Plays by Susan Glaspell Part 29

GRANDMOTHER: Mr Fejevary's Delia brought them home with her. They've gone down to dam the creek, I guess. This young man's been waiting to see you, Silas.

SMITH: Yes, I wanted to have a little talk with you.

SILAS: Well, why not? (_he is tying the gay balloons to his gun, then as he talks, hangs his hat in the corner closet_) We've been having a little talk ourselves. Mother, Nat Rice was there. I've not seen Nat Rice since the day we had to leave him on the road with his torn leg--him cursing like a pirate. I wanted to bring him home, but he had to go back to Chicago. His wife's dead, mother.

GRANDMOTHER: Well, I guess she's not sorry.

SILAS: Why, mother.

GRANDMOTHER: 'Why, mother.' Nat Rice is a mean, stingy, complaining man--his leg notwithstanding. Where'd you leave the folks?

SILAS: Oh--scattered around. Everybody visitin' with anybody that'll visit with them. Wish you could have gone.

GRANDMOTHER: I've heard it all. (_to_ FEJEVARY) Your folks well?

FEJEVARY: All well, Mrs Morton. And my boy Felix is home. He'll stop in here to see you by and by.

SILAS: Oh, he's a fine-looking boy, mother. And think of what he knows!

(_cordially including the young man_) Mr Fejevary's son has been to Harvard College.

SMITH: Well, well--quite a trip. Well, Mr Morton, I hope this is not a bad time for me to--present a little matter to you?

SILAS: (_genially_) That depends, of course, on what you're going to present. (_attracted by a sound outside_) Mind if I present a little matter to your horse? Like to uncheck him so's he can geta a bit o'gra.s.s.

SMITH: Why--yes. I suppose he would like that.

SILAS: (_going out_) You bet he'd like it. Wouldn't you, old boy?

SMITH: Your son is fond of animals.

GRANDMOTHER: Lots of people's fond of 'em--and good to 'em. Silas--I dunno, it's as if he was that animal.

FEJEVARY: He has imagination.

GRANDMOTHER: (_with surprise_) Think so?

SILAS: (_returning and sitting down at the table by the young man_) Now, what's in your mind, my boy?

SMITH: This town is growing very fast, Mr Morton.

SILAS: Yes. (_slyly--with humour_) I know that.

SMITH: I presume you, as one of the early settlers--as in fact a son of the earliest settler, feel a certain responsibility about the welfare of--

SILAS: I haven't got in mind to do the town a bit of harm. So--what's your point?

SMITH: More people--more homes. And homes must be in the healthiest places--the--the most beautiful places. Isn't it true, Mr Fejevary, that it means a great deal to people to have a beautiful outlook from their homes? A--well, an expanse.

SILAS: What is it they want to buy--these fellows that are figuring on making something out of--expanse? (_a gesture for expanse, then a rea.s.suring gesture_) It's all right, but--just what is it?

SMITH: I am prepared to make you an offer--a gilt-edged offer for that (_pointing toward it_) hill above the town.

SILAS: (_shaking his head--with the smile of the strong man who is a dreamer_) The hill is not for sale.

SMITH: But wouldn't you consider a--particularly good offer, Mr Morton?

(SILAS, _who has turned so he can look out at the hill, slowly shakes his head_.)

SMITH: Do you feel you have the right--the moral right to hold it?

SILAS: It's not for myself I'm holding it.

SMITH: Oh,--for the children?

SILAS: Yes, the children.

SMITH: But--if you'll excuse me--there are other investments might do the children even more good.

SILAS: This seems to me--the best investment.

SMITH: But after all there are other people's children to consider.

SILAS: Yes, I know. That's it.

SMITH: I wonder if I understand you, Mr Morton?

SILAS: (_kindly_) I don't believe you do. I don't see how you could. And I can't explain myself just now. So--the hill is not for sale. I'm not making anybody homeless. There's land enough for all--all sides round.

But the hill--

SMITH: (_rising_) Is yours.

SILAS: You'll see.

SMITH: I am prepared to offer you--

SILAS: You're not prepared to offer me anything I'd consider alongside what I am considering. So--I wish you good luck in your business undertakings.

SMITH: Sorry--you won't let us try to help the town.

SILAS: Don't sit up nights worrying about my chokin' the town.

SMITH: We could make you a rich man, Mr Morton. Do you think what you have in mind will make you so much richer?

SILAS: Much richer.

SMITH: Well, good-bye. Good day, sir. Good day, ma'am.

SILAS: (_following him to the door_) Nice horse you've got.