Theft Part 53

{Margaret}

(_To Chalmers._)

He is weak to-day. What of it? He was strong last night. He will win back his strength again. It is human to be weak. And in his very weakness now, I have my pride, for it is the weakness of love. G.o.d knows I have been weak, and I am not ashamed of it. It was the weakness of love. It is hard to stifle one's womanhood always with morality. (_Quickly._)

But do not mistake, Tom. This of mine is no conventional morality. I do not care about nasty gossipy tongues and sensation-mongering sheets; nor do I care what any persons of all the persons I know, would say if I went away with Mr. Knox this instant. I would go, and go gladly and proudly with him, divorce or no divorce, scandal or scandal triple-fold--if--if no one else were hurt by what I did. (_To Knox._)

Howard, I tell you that I would go with you now, in all willingness and joy, with May-time and the songs of all singing birds in my heart--were it not for the others. But there is a higher morality. We must not hurt those others. We dare not steal our happiness from them. The future belongs to them, and we must not, dare not, sacrifice that future nor give it in pledge for our own happiness. Last night I came to you. I was weak--yes; more than that--I was ignorant. I did not know, even as late as last night, the monstrous vileness, the consummate wickedness of present-day conditions. I learned that today, this morning, and now. I learned that the morality of the Church was a pretense.

Far deeper than it, and vastly more powerful, was the morality of the dollar. My father, my family, my husband, were willing to condone what they believed was my adultery. And for what? For a few sc.r.a.ps of paper that to them represented only the privilege to plunder, the privilege to steal from the people.

(_To Chalmers._) Here are you, Tom, not only willing and eager to give me into the arms of the man you believe my lover, but you throw in your boy--your child and mine--to make it good measure and acceptable. And for what? Love of some woman?--any woman?

No. Love of humanity? No. Love of G.o.d? No. Then for what? For the privilege of perpetuating your stealing from the people--money, bread and b.u.t.ter, hats, shoes, and stockings--for stealing all these things from the people.

(_To Knox._) Now, and at last, do I realize how stern and awful is the fight that must be waged--the fight in which you and I, Howard, must play our parts and play them bravely and uncomplainingly--you as well as I, but I even more than you. This is the den of thieves. I am a child of thieves. All my family is composed of thieves. I have been fed and reared on the fruits of thievery. I have been a party to it all my life. Somebody must cease from this theft, and it is I. And you must help me, Howard.

{Chalmers}

(_Emitting a low long whistle._) Strange that you never went into the suffragette business. With such speech-making ability you would have been a s.h.i.+ning light.

{Knox}

(_Sadly._) The worst of it is, Margaret, you are right. But it is hard that we cannot be happy save by stealing from the happiness of others. Yet it hurts, deep down and terribly, to forego you.

(_Margaret thanks him with her eyes._)

{Chalmers}

(_Sarcastically._) Oh, believe me, I am not too anxious to give up my wife. Look at her. She's a pretty good woman for any man to possess.

{Margaret}

Tom, I'll accept a quiet divorce, marry Mr. Knox, and take Tommy with me--on one consideration.

{Chalmers}

And what is that?

{Margaret}

That I retain the letters. They are to be used in his speech this afternoon.

{Chalmers}

No they're not.

{Margaret}

Whatever happens, do whatever worst you can possibly do, that speech will be given this afternoon. Your worst to me will be none too great a price for me to pay.

{Chalmers}

No letters, no divorce, no Tommy, nothing.

{Margaret}

Then will you compel me to remain here. I have done nothing wrong, and I don't imagine you will make a scandal.

(_Enter Linda at right rear, pausing and looking inquiringly._) There they are now.

(_To Linda._) Yes; give them to me.

(_Linda, advancing, draws package of doc.u.ments from her breast.

As she is handing them to Margaret, Chalmers attempts to seise them._)

{Knox}

(_Springing forward and thrusting Chalmers back._) That you shall not!

(_Chalmers is afflicted with heart-seizure, and staggers._)

{Margaret}

(_Maternally, solicitously._) Tom, don't! Your heart! Be careful!

(_Chalmers starts to stagger toward bell_) Howard! Stop him! Don't let him ring, or the servants will get the letters away from us.

(_Knox starts to interpose, but Chalmers, growing weaker, sinks into a chair, head thrown back and legs out straight before him._) Linda, a gla.s.s of water.

(_Linda gives doc.u.ments to Margaret, and makes running exit to right rear._) (_Margaret bends anxiously over Chalmers._) (_A pause._)

{Knox}

(_Touching her hand._) Give them to me.

(_Margaret gives him the doc.u.ments, which he holds in his hand, at the same time she thanks him with her eyes._) (_Enter Linda with gla.s.s of water, which she hands to Margaret._) (_Margaret tries to place the gla.s.s to Chalmer's lips._)

{Chalmers}

(_Das.h.i.+ng the gla.s.s violently from her hand to the floor and speaking in smothered voice._) Bring me a whiskey and soda.

(_Linda looks at Margaret interrogatively. Margaret is undecided what to say, shrugs her shoulders in helplessness, and nods her head._)

(_Linda makes hurried exit to right._)

{Margaret}

(_To Knox._) You will go now and you will give the speech.

{Knox}

(_Placing doc.u.ments in inside coat pocket._) I will give the speech.