[He returns to the fire and begins to fumble over the contents of his knapsack.Joelwatches him idly.
[He returns to the fire and begins to fumble over the contents of his knapsack.Joelwatches him idly.
JOEL. One ofhercurls?
ANDREW. [Looking at a lock of hair in the firelight.] No; the baby's, little Andy's. Some day they'll tell him how his father——
[He winces, and puts the lock away.
JOEL. [Going toward the embankment.] Listen!
ANDREW. [Ties up the package, muttering.] Son of a traitor!
JOEL. [Tiptoeing back.] It's crowed—that's her.
[Leaping to his feet,Andrewstares toward the embankment where the flag is dipped; then turns his back to it, closing his eyes and gripping his hands.[After a pause, silently the figure of a young woman emerges from the dark and stands on the embankment. She is bareheaded and ill clad.[JoeltouchesAndrew,who turns and looks toward her. Silently she steals down to him and they embrace.
[Leaping to his feet,Andrewstares toward the embankment where the flag is dipped; then turns his back to it, closing his eyes and gripping his hands.
[After a pause, silently the figure of a young woman emerges from the dark and stands on the embankment. She is bareheaded and ill clad.
[JoeltouchesAndrew,who turns and looks toward her. Silently she steals down to him and they embrace.
ANDREW. My Nell!
ELLEN. Nearly a year——
ANDREW. Now, at last!
ELLEN. Hold me close, Andy.
ANDREW. You're better?
ELLEN. Let's forget—just for now.
ANDREW. Is he grown much?
ELLEN. Grown? You should see him! But so ill! What could I do? You see——
ANDREW. I know, I know.
ELLEN. The money was all gone. They turned me out at the old place, and then——
ANDREW. I know, dear.
ELLEN. I got sewing, but when the smallpox——
ANDREW. I have all your letters, Nell. Come, help me to pack.
ELLEN. What! You're really decided——
JOEL. [Approaching.] Hello, Sis!
ELLEN. [Absently.] Ah, Joel; that you? [Eagerly, followingAndrewto the knapsack.] But, my dear——
ANDREW. Just these few things, and we're off.
ELLEN. [Agitated.] Wait, wait! You don't know yet why I've come—instead of writing.
ANDREW. I can guess.
ELLEN. But you can't; that's—what's so hard! I have to tell you something, and then—— [Slowly.] I must know from your own eyes, from yourself, that you wish to do this, Andrew; that you think it isright.
ANDREW. [Gently.] I guessed that.
ELLEN. This is what I must tell you. It's not just the sickness, it's not only the baby, not the money gone—and all that; it's—it's——
ANDREW. [Murmurs.] My God!
ELLEN. It's what all that brings—the helplessness. I've been insulted. Andy—[Her voice breaks.] I want a protector.
ANDREW. [Taking her in his arms, where she sobs.] There, dear!
ELLEN. [With a low moan.] You know.
ANDREW. I know. Come, now; we'll go.
ELLEN. [Her face lighting up.] Oh! and youdare! It'sright?
ANDREW. [Moving from her, with a hoarse laugh.]Dare?Dare I be damned by God and all his angels? Ha! Come, we're slow.
JOEL. Time enough.
ELLEN. [Sinking uponJoel'sknapsack as a seat, leans her head on her hands, and looks strangely atAndrew.] I'd better have written, I'm afraid.
ANDREW. [Controlling his emotion.] Now, don't take it that way. I've considered it all.
ELLEN. [With deep quiet.] Blasphemously?
ANDREW. Reasonably, my brave wife. When I enlisted, I did so in a dream. I dreamed I was called to love and serve our country. But that dream is shattered. This sordid war, this political murder, has not one single principle of humanity to excuse its bloody sacrilege. It doesn't deserve my loyalty—our loyalty.
ELLEN. Are you saying this—for my sake? What of "God and his angels"?
ANDREW. [Not looking at her.] If we had a just cause—a cause of liberty like that in Seventy-six; if to serve one's country meant to serve God and his angels—then, yes; a man might put away wife and child. He might say: "I will not be a husband, a father; I will be a patriot." But now—like this—tangled in a web of spiders—caught in a grab-net of politicians—and you, you and our baby-boy, like this—hell let in on our home—no, Country be cursed!
ELLEN. [Slowly.] So, then, when little Andy grows up——
ANDREW. [Groaning.] I say that the only thing——
ELLEN. I am to tell him——
ANDREW. [Defiantly.] Tell him his father deserted his country, and thanked God for the chance. [Looking about him passionately.] Here! [He tears a part of the flag from its standard, and reaches it toward her.] You're cold; put this round you.
[As he is putting the strip of colored silk about her shoulders, there rises, faint yet close by, a sound of fifes and flutes, playing the merry march-strains of "Yankee Doodle."[At the same time there enters along the embankment, dimly, enveloped in a great cloak, a tallFigure,which pauses beside the standard of the torn flag, silhouetted against the first pale streaks of the dawn.
[As he is putting the strip of colored silk about her shoulders, there rises, faint yet close by, a sound of fifes and flutes, playing the merry march-strains of "Yankee Doodle."
[At the same time there enters along the embankment, dimly, enveloped in a great cloak, a tallFigure,which pauses beside the standard of the torn flag, silhouetted against the first pale streaks of the dawn.
ELLEN. [Gazing atAndrew.] What's the matter?
ANDREW. [Listening.] Who are they? Where is it?
JOEL. [Starts, alertly.] He hears something.
ANDREW. Why should they play before daybreak?
ELLEN. Andy——
JOEL. [Whispers.] Ssh! Look out! We're spied on!
[He points to the embankment.AndrewandEllendraw back.
[He points to the embankment.AndrewandEllendraw back.
THEFIGURE. [Straightening the flag-standard, and leaning on it.] Desartin'?
ANDREW. [PutsEllenbehind him.] Who's there? The watchword!
THEFIGURE. God save the smart folks!
JOEL. [ToAndrew.] He's on to us. Pickle him quiet, or it's court martial! [Showing a long knife.] Shall I give him this?
ANDREW. [Taking it from him.] No.Iwill.
ELLEN. [Seizing his arm.] Andrew!
ANDREW. Let go.
[The Figure,descending into the intrenchment, approaches with face muffled.JoeldrawsEllenaway.Andrewmoves towardthe Figureslowly.They meet and pause.
[The Figure,descending into the intrenchment, approaches with face muffled.JoeldrawsEllenaway.Andrewmoves towardthe Figureslowly.They meet and pause.
ANDREW. You're a spy!
[With a quick flash,Andrewraises the knife to strike, but pauses, staring.The Figure,throwing up one arm to ward the blow, reveals—through the parted cloak—a glint of stars in the firelight.[E]
[With a quick flash,Andrewraises the knife to strike, but pauses, staring.The Figure,throwing up one arm to ward the blow, reveals—through the parted cloak—a glint of stars in the firelight.[E]
THEFIGURE. Steady, boys; I'm one of ye. The sergeant told me to drop round.
JOEL. Oh, the sergeant! That's all right, then.
ANDREW. [Dropping the knife.] Who are you?
THEFIGURE. Who beI? My name, ye mean? My name'sAverage—Sam Average. Univarsal Sam, some o' my prophetic friends calls me.
ANDREW. What are you doing here—now?
THEFIGURE. Oh, tendin' to business.
JOEL. Tendin' tootherfolks' business, eh?
THEFIGURE. [With a touch of weariness.] Ye-es; reckon thatismy business. Some other folks is me.
JOEL. [Grimacing toEllen.] Cracked!
THEFIGURE. [ToAndrew.] You're a mite back'ard in wages, ain't ye?
ANDREW. Nine months. What of that?
THEFIGURE. That's what I dropped round for. Seems like when a man's endoored and fit, like you have, for his country, and calc'lates he'll quit, he ought to be takin' a little suthin' hom' for Thanksgivin'. So I fetched round your pay.
ANDREW. My pay! You?
THEFIGURE. Yes; I'm the paymaster.
ELLEN. [Coming forward, eagerly.] Andy! The money, is it?
THEFIGURE. [Bows with a grave, old-fashioned stateliness.] Your sarvent, ma'am!
ANDREW. [Speaking low.] Keep back, Nell. [ToThe Figure.] You—you were saying——
THEFIGURE. I were about to say how gold bein' scarce down to the Treasury, I fetched ye some s'curities instead; some national I.O.U.'s, as ye might say. [He takes out an old powder-horn, and rattles it quietly.] That's them. [Pouring from the horn into his palm some glistening, golden grains.] Here they be.
ELLEN. [Peering, withJoel.] Gold, Andy!
JOEL. [With a snigger.] Gold—nothin'! That's corn—just Injun corn. Ha!
THEFIGURE. [Bowing gravely.] It's the quality, ma'am, what counts, as ye might say.
JOEL. [Behind his hand.] His top-loft leaks!
THEFIGURE. These here karnels, now, were give' me downPlymouth way, in Massachusetts, the fust Thanksgivin' seems like I can remember. 'Twa'n't long after the famine we had thar. Me bein' some hungry, the red-folks fetched a hull-lot o' this round, with the compliments of their capting—what were his name now?—Massasoit. This here's the last handful on't left. Thought ye might like some, bein' Thanksgivin'.
JOEL. [In a low voice, toEllen.] His screws are droppin' out. Come and pack. We've got to mark time and skip.
THEFIGURE. [Without looking atJoel.] Eight or ten minutes still to spare, boys. The sergeant said—wait till ye hear his jew's-harp playin' of that new war tune,The Star-Spangled Banner. Then ye'll know the coast's clear.
JOEL. Gad, that's right, I remember now.
[He drawsEllenaway to the knapsack, which they begin to pack.Andrewhas never removed his eyes from the tall form in the cloak.[Now, asThe Figurepours back the yellow grains from his palm into the powder-horn, he speaks, hesitatingly.
[He drawsEllenaway to the knapsack, which they begin to pack.Andrewhas never removed his eyes from the tall form in the cloak.
[Now, asThe Figurepours back the yellow grains from his palm into the powder-horn, he speaks, hesitatingly.
ANDREW. I think—I'd like some.
THEFIGURE. Some o' what?
ANDREW. Those—my pay.
THEFIGURE. [Cheerfully.] So.Wouldye? [Handing him the horn.] Reckon that's enough?
ANDREW. [Not taking it.] That's what I want to make sure of—first.
THEFIGURE. Oh! So ye're hesitatin'!
ANDREW. Yes; but I want you to help me decide. Pardon me, sir. You're a stranger, yet somehow I feel I may ask your help. You've come just in time.
THEFIGURE. Queer I should a-dropped round jest now, wa'n't it? S'posin' we take a turn.
[Together they walk toward the embankment. By the knapsackEllenfinds the little frame.
[Together they walk toward the embankment. By the knapsackEllenfinds the little frame.
ELLEN. [To herself.] My picture!
[She looks towardAndrewaffectionately.Joel,lifting the knapsack, beckons to her.
[She looks towardAndrewaffectionately.Joel,lifting the knapsack, beckons to her.
JOEL. There's more stuff over here.
[He goes off, right;Ellenfollows him.
ANDREW. [ToThe Figure.] I should like the judgment of your experience, sir. I can't quite see your face, yet you appear to be one who has had a great deal of experience.
THEFIGURE. Why, consid'able some.
ANDREW. Did you—happen to fight in the late war for independence?
THEFIGURE. Happen to? [Laughing quietly.] N-no, not fight; ye see—I was paymaster.
ANDREW. But you went through the war?
THEFIGURE. Ye-es, oh, yes; I went through it. I took out my fust reg'lar papers down to Philadelphie, in '76, seems like 'twas the fourth day o' July. But I was paymaster afore that.
ANDREW. Tell me: I've heard it said there were deserters even in those days, even from the roll-call of Washington. Is it true?
THEFIGURE. True, boy? Have ye ever watched a prairie-fire rollin' toward ye, billowin' with flame and smoke, and seed all the midget cowerin' prairie-dogs scootin' for their holes? Wall, that's the way I watched Howe's army sweepin' crosst the Jarsey marshes, and seed the desartin' little patriots, with their chins over their shoulders, skedaddlin' home'ards.
ANDREW. What—the Americans!
THEFIGURE. All but a handful on 'em—them as weren't canines, ye might say, but men.Theyset a back-fire goin' at Valley Forge. Most on 'em burnt their toes and fingers off, lightin' on't thar in the white frost, but they stuck it through and saved—wall, the prairie-dogs.
ANDREW. But they—those others. What reason did they give to God and their own souls for deserting?
THEFIGURE. To who?
ANDREW. To their consciences. What was their reason? It must have been a noble one in '76.Theirreasonthen; don't you see, I must have it. I must know what reason real heroes gave for their acts. You were there. You can tell me.
THEFIGURE.Realheroes, eh? Look around ye, then. To-day's the heroic age, and the true brand o' hero is al'ays in the market. Look around ye!
ANDREW. What, here—in this war of jobsters, this petty campaign of monstrous boodle?
THEFIGURE. Thar we be!
ANDREW. Why, here are only a lot of cowardly half-men, like me—lovers of their own folks—their wives and babies at home. They'll make sacrifices for them. But real men like our fathers in '76: they looked in the beautiful face of Liberty, and sacrificed toher!
THEFIGURE. Our fathers, my boy, was jest as fond o' poetry as you be. They talked about the beautiful face o' Liberty same's you; but when the hom'made eyes and cheeks of their sweethearts and young uns took to cryin', they desarted their beautiful goddess and skun out hom'.
ANDREW. But there were some——
THEFIGURE. Thar was some as didn't—yes; and thar's some as don't to-day. Those be the folks on my pay-roll. Why, look a-here: I calc'late I wouldn't fetch much on the beauty counter. My talk ain't rhyme stuff, nor the Muse o' Grammar wa'n't my schoolma'am. Th' ain't painter nor clay-sculptor would pictur' me jest like I stand. For the axe has hewed me, and the plough has furrered; and the arnin' of gold by my own elbow-grease has give' me the shrewd eye at a bargain. I manure my crops this side o' Jordan, and as for t'other shore, I'd ruther swap jokes with the Lord than listen to his sarmons. And yet for the likes o' me, jest for to arn my wages—ha, the many, many boys and gals that's gone to their grave-beds, and when I a-closed their eyes, the love-light was shinin' thar.
ANDREW. [Who has listened with awe.] Whatareyou? Whatareyou?
THEFIGURE. Me? I'm the paymaster.
ANDREW. I want to serve you—like those others.
THEFIGURE. Slow, slow, boy! Nobody sarvesme.
ANDREW. But they died for you—the others.
THEFIGURE. No, 'twa'n't for me; 'twas for him as pays the wages; the one as works through me—the one higher up. I'm only the paymaster; kind of a needful makeshift—his obedient sarvant.
ANDREW. [With increasing curiosity, seeks to peer inThe Figure'sface.] But the one up higher—who is he?
THEFIGURE. [Turning his head away.] Would ye sarve him, think, if ye heerd his voice?
ANDREW. [Ardently, drawing closer.] And saw his face!
[Drawing his cowl lower and takingAndrew'sarm,The Figureleads him up on the embankment, where they stand together.
[Drawing his cowl lower and takingAndrew'sarm,The Figureleads him up on the embankment, where they stand together.
THEFIGURE. Hark a-yonder!
ANDREW. [Listening.] Is it thunder?
THEFIGURE. Have ye forgot?
ANDREW. The voice! I remember now—Niagara!
[With awe,Andrewlooks towardThe Figure,who stands shrouded and still, facing the dawn. From far off comes a sound as of falling waters, and with that—a deep murmurous voice, which seems to issue fromThe Figure'scowl.
[With awe,Andrewlooks towardThe Figure,who stands shrouded and still, facing the dawn. From far off comes a sound as of falling waters, and with that—a deep murmurous voice, which seems to issue fromThe Figure'scowl.
THEVOICE. I am the Voice that was heard of your fathers, and your fathers' fathers. Mightier—mightier, I shall be heard of your sons. I am the Million in whom the one is lost, and I am the One in whom the millions are saved. Their ears shall be shut to my thunders, their eyes to my blinding stars. In shallow streams they shall tap my life-blood for gold. With dregs of coal and of copper they shall pollute me. In the mystery of mymountains they shall assail me; in the majesty of my forests, strike me down; with engine and derrick and millstone, bind me their slave. Some for a lust, some for a love, shall desert me. One and one, for his own, shall fall away. Yet one and one and one shall return to me for life; the deserter and the destroyer shall re-create me. Primeval, their life-blood is mine. My pouring waters are passion, my lightnings are laughter of man. I am the One in whom the millions are saved, and I am the Million in whom the one is lost.
ANDREW. [Yearningly, toThe Figure.] Your face!
[The Figureturns majestically away.Andrewclings to him.
[The Figureturns majestically away.Andrewclings to him.
ANDREW. Your face!
[In the shadow of the flagThe Figureunmuffles for an instant.[Peering, dazzled,Andrewstaggers back, with a low cry, and, covering his eyes, falls upon the embankment.[From away, left, the thrumming of a jew's-harp is heard, playing "The Star-Spangled Banner."[From the right enterJoelandEllen.[Descending from the embankment,The Figurestands apart.
[In the shadow of the flagThe Figureunmuffles for an instant.
[Peering, dazzled,Andrewstaggers back, with a low cry, and, covering his eyes, falls upon the embankment.
[From away, left, the thrumming of a jew's-harp is heard, playing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
[From the right enterJoelandEllen.
[Descending from the embankment,The Figurestands apart.
JOEL. Well, Colonel Average, time's up.
ELLEN. [SeeingAndrew'sprostrate form, hastens to him.] Andy! What's happened?
ANDREW. [Rising slowly.] Come here. I'll whisper it.
[He leads her beside the embankment, beyond which the dawn is beginning to redden.
[He leads her beside the embankment, beyond which the dawn is beginning to redden.
JOEL. Yonder's the sergeant's jew's-harp. That's our signal, Nell. So long, colonel.
THEFIGURE. [Nodding.] So long, sonny.
ANDREW. [HoldingEllen'shands, passionately.] You understand? Youdo?
ELLEN. [Looking in his eyes.] I understand, dear.
[They kiss each other.
[They kiss each other.
JOEL. [Calls low.] Come, you married turtles. The road's clear. Follow me now. Sneak.
[Carrying his knapsack,Joelclimbs over the embankment and disappears.[The thrumming of the jew's-harp continues.[Ellen,taking the strip of silk flag from her shoulders, ties it to the standard.
[Carrying his knapsack,Joelclimbs over the embankment and disappears.
[The thrumming of the jew's-harp continues.
[Ellen,taking the strip of silk flag from her shoulders, ties it to the standard.
ANDREW. [Faintly.] God bless you!
ELLEN. [As they part hands.] Good-by!
[The Figurehas remounted the embankment, where—in the distincter glow of the red dawn—the gray folds of his cloak, hanging from his shoulders, resemble the half-closed wings of an eagle, the beaked cowl falling, as a kind of visor, before his face, concealing it.
[The Figurehas remounted the embankment, where—in the distincter glow of the red dawn—the gray folds of his cloak, hanging from his shoulders, resemble the half-closed wings of an eagle, the beaked cowl falling, as a kind of visor, before his face, concealing it.
THEFIGURE. Come, little gal.
[Ellengoes to him, and hides her face in the great cloak. As she does so, he draws from it a paper, writes on it, and hands it toAndrew,with the powder-horn.
[Ellengoes to him, and hides her face in the great cloak. As she does so, he draws from it a paper, writes on it, and hands it toAndrew,with the powder-horn.
THEFIGURE. By the by, Andy, here's that s'curity. Them here's my initials; they're all what's needful. Jest file this in the right pigeonhole, and you'll draw your pay. Keep your upper lip, boy. I'll meet ye later, mebbe, at Lundy's Lane.
ANDREW. [Wistfully.] You'll take her home?
THEFIGURE. Yes; reckon she'll housekeep for your uncle till you get back; won't ye, Nellie? Come, don't cry, little gal. We'll soon git 'quainted. 'Tain't the fust time sweethearts has called meUncle.
[Flinging back his great cloak, he throws one wing of it, with his arm, about her shoulders, thus with half its reverse side draping her with shining stripes and stars. By the same action his own figure is made partly visible—the legs clad in the tight, instep-strapped trousers (blue and white) of the Napoleonic era. Holding the girl gently to him—while her face turns back towardAndrew—he leads her, silhouetted against the sunrise, along the embankment, and disappears.[Meantime, the thrumming twang of the jew's-harp grows sweeter, mellower, modulated with harmonies that, filling now the air with elusive strains of the American war-hymn, mingle with the faint dawn-twitterings of birds.[Andrewstares silently after the departed forms; then, slowly coming down into the intrenchment, lifts from the ground his gun and ramrod, leans on the gun, and—reading the paper in his hand by the growing light—mutters it aloud:U. S. A.[Smiling sternly, he crumples the paper in his fist, makes a wad of it, and rams it into his gun-barrel.
[Flinging back his great cloak, he throws one wing of it, with his arm, about her shoulders, thus with half its reverse side draping her with shining stripes and stars. By the same action his own figure is made partly visible—the legs clad in the tight, instep-strapped trousers (blue and white) of the Napoleonic era. Holding the girl gently to him—while her face turns back towardAndrew—he leads her, silhouetted against the sunrise, along the embankment, and disappears.
[Meantime, the thrumming twang of the jew's-harp grows sweeter, mellower, modulated with harmonies that, filling now the air with elusive strains of the American war-hymn, mingle with the faint dawn-twitterings of birds.
[Andrewstares silently after the departed forms; then, slowly coming down into the intrenchment, lifts from the ground his gun and ramrod, leans on the gun, and—reading the paper in his hand by the growing light—mutters it aloud:
U. S. A.
[Smiling sternly, he crumples the paper in his fist, makes a wad of it, and rams it into his gun-barrel.
Hyacinth Halveyis reprinted by special permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York City, publishers of Lady Gregory's work in America. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address the publisher.
Hyacinth Halveyis reprinted by special permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York City, publishers of Lady Gregory's work in America. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address the publisher.
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
Lady Augusta Gregory, one of the foremost figures in the Irish dramatic movement, was born at Roxborough, County Galway, Ireland, in 1859. "She was then a young woman," says one who has described her in her early married life, "very earnest, who divided her hair in the middle and wore it smooth on either side of a broad and handsome brow. Her eyes were always full of questions.... In her drawing-room were to be met men of assured reputation in literature and politics, and there was always the best reading of the times upon her tables." Lady Gregory has devoted her entire life to the cause of Irish literature. In 1911 she visited the United States and at a dinner given to her byThe Outlookin New York City she said:
Lady Gregory, with William Butler Yeats and John Millington Synge, has been the very life of the Irish drama. The literary association of these three has been highly fruitful. She helped to found the Irish National Theatre Society, and for a number of years has been the managing force of the celebrated Abbey Theatre in Dublin.
Lady Gregory's chief interest has been in peasant comedies and folk-plays. HerSpreading the News,Hyacinth Halvey,The Rising of the Moon,The Workhouse Ward, andThe Travelling Manare well-known contributions to contemporary drama.
It is a noteworthy fact that most of the plays of the Irish dramatic movement are one-act plays. Much of Irish life lends itself admirably to one-act treatment.Hyacinth Halveyis one of Lady Gregory's best productions. This play contains a universal idea: reputation is in great measure a matter of "a password or an emotion." Hyacinth, having a good reputation thrust upon him, may do as he likes—his good name clings to him notwithstanding.
SCENE:Outside the post-office at the little town of Cloon.Mrs. Delaneat post-office door.Mr. Quirkesitting on a chair at butcher's door. A dead sheep hanging beside it, and a thrush in a cage above.Fardy Farrellplaying on a mouth-organ. Train-whistle heard.
MRS. DELANE. There is the four-o'clock train, Mr. Quirke.
MR. QUIRKE. Is it now, Mrs. Delane, and I not long after rising? It makes a man drowsy to be doing the half of his work in the night-time. Going about the country, looking for little stags of sheep, striving to knock a few shillings together. That contract for the soldiers gives me a great deal to attend to.
MRS. DELANE. I suppose so. It's hard enough on myself to be down ready for the mail-car in the morning, sorting letters in the half-dark. It's often I haven't time to look who are the letters from—or the cards.
MR. QUIRKE. It would be a pity you not to know any little news might be knocking about. If you did not have information of what is going on, who should have it? Was it you, ma'am, was telling me that the new sub-sanitary inspector would be arriving to-day?
MRS. DELANE. To-day it is he is coming, and it's likely he was in that train. There was a card about him to Sergeant Carden this morning.
MR. QUIRKE. A young chap from Carrow they were saying he was.
MRS. DELANE. So he is, one Hyacinth Halvey; and indeed ifall that is said of him is true, or if a quarter of it is true, he will be a credit to this town.
MR. QUIRKE. Is that so?
MRS. DELANE. Testimonials he has by the score. To Father Gregan they were sent. Registered they were coming and going. Would you believe me telling you that they weighed up to three pounds?
MR. QUIRKE. There must be great bulk in them indeed.
MRS. DELANE. It is no wonder he to get the job. He must have a great character, so many persons to write for him as what there did.
FARDY. It would be a great thing to have a character like that.
MRS. DELANE. Indeed, I am thinking it will be long before you will get the like of it, Fardy Farrell.
FARDY. If I had the like of that of a character it is not here carrying messages I would be. It's in Noonan's Hotel I would be, driving cars.
MR. QUIRKE. Here is the priest's housekeeper coming.
MRS. DELANE. So she is; and there is the sergeant a little while after her.
[EnterMiss Joyce.
[EnterMiss Joyce.
MRS. DELANE. Good evening to you, Miss Joyce. What way is his reverence to-day? Did he get any ease from the cough?
MISSJOYCE. He did not, indeed, Mrs. Delane. He has it sticking to him yet. Smothering he is in the night-time. The most thing he comes short in is the voice.
MRS. DELANE. I am sorry, now, to hear that. He should mind himself well.
MISSJOYCE. It's easy to say let him mind himself. What do you say to him going to the meeting to-night?
[Sergeantcomes in.
[Sergeantcomes in.
MISSJOYCE. It's for his reverence's "Freeman" I am come, Mrs. Delane.
MRS. DELANE. Here it is ready. I was just throwing an eye on it to see was there any news. Good evening, Sergeant.
SERGEANT. [Holding up a placard.] I brought this notice, Mrs. Delane, the announcement of the meeting to be held to-night in the court-house. You might put it up here convenient to the window. I hope you are coming to it yourself?
MRS. DELANE. I will come, and welcome. I would do more than that for you, Sergeant.
SERGEANT. And you, Mr. Quirke.
MR. QUIRKE. I'll come, to be sure. I forget what's this the meeting is about.
SERGEANT. The Department of Agriculture is sending round a lecturer in furtherance of the moral development of the rural classes. [Reads.] "A lecture will be given this evening in Cloon Court-House, illustrated by magic-lantern slides—" Those will not be in it; I am informed they were all broken in the first journey, the railway company taking them to be eggs. The subject of the lecture is "The Building of Character."
MRS. DELANE. Very nice, indeed, I knew a girl lost her character, and she washed her feet in a blessed well after, and it dried up on the minute.
SERGEANT. The arrangements have all been left to me, the archdeacon being away. He knows I have a good intellect for things of the sort. But the loss of those slides puts a man out. The thing people will not see it is not likely it is the thing they will believe. I saw what they call tableaux—standing pictures, you know—one time in Dundrum——
MRS. DELANE. Miss Joyce was saying Father Gregan is supporting you.
SERGEANT. I am accepting his assistance. No bigotry about me when there is a question of the welfare of any fellow creatures. Orange and green will stand together to-night, I, myself, and the station-master on the one side, your parish priest in the chair.
MISSJOYCE. If his reverence would mind me he would not quit the house to-night. He is no more fit to go speak at a meeting than [pointing to the one hanging outsideQuirke'sdoor] that sheep.
SERGEANT. I am willing to take the responsibility. He will have no speaking to do at all, unless it might be to bid them give the lecturer a hearing. The loss of those slides now is a great annoyance to me—and no time for anything. The lecturer will be coming by the next train.
MISSJOYCE. Who is this coming up the street, Mrs. Delane?
MRS. DELANE. I wouldn't doubt it to be the new sub-sanitary inspector. Was I telling you of the weight of the testimonials he got, Miss Joyce?
MISSJOYCE. Sure, I heard the curate reading them to his reverence. He must be a wonder for principles.
MRS. DELANE. Indeed, it is what I was saying to myself, he must be a very saintly young man.
[EnterHyacinth Halvey.He carries a small bag and a large brown-paper parcel. He stops and nods bashfully.
[EnterHyacinth Halvey.He carries a small bag and a large brown-paper parcel. He stops and nods bashfully.
HYACINTH. Good evening to you. I was bid to come to the post-office——
SERGEANT. I suppose you are Hyacinth Halvey? I had a letter about you from the resident magistrate.
HYACINTH. I heard he was writing. It was my mother got a friend he deals with to ask him.
SERGEANT. He gives you a very high character.
HYACINTH. It is very kind of him, indeed, and he not knowing me at all. But, indeed, all the neighbors were very friendly. Anything any one could do to help me they did it.
MRS. DELANE. I'll engage it is the testimonials you have in your parcel? I know the wrapping-paper, but they grew in bulk since I handled them.
HYACINTH. Indeed, I was getting them to the last. Therewas not one refused me. It is what my mother was saying, a good character is no burden.
FARDY. I would believe that, indeed.
SERGEANT. Let us have a look at the testimonials.
[Hyacinth Halveyopens a parcel, and a large number of envelopes fall out.
[Hyacinth Halveyopens a parcel, and a large number of envelopes fall out.
SERGEANT. [Opening and reading one by one.] "He possesses the fire of the Gael, the strength of the Norman, the vigor of the Dane, the stolidity of the Saxon——"
HYACINTH. It was the chairman of the Poor Law Guardians wrote that.
SERGEANT. "A magnificent example to old and young——"
HYACINTH. That was the secretary of the De Wet Hurling Club——
SERGEANT. "A shining example of the value conferred by an eminently careful and high-class education——"
HYACINTH. That was the national schoolmaster.
SERGEANT. "Devoted to the highest ideals of his motherland to such an extent as is compatible with a hitherto non-parliamentary career——"
HYACINTH. That was the member for Carrow.
SERGEANT. "A splendid exponent of the purity of the race——"
HYACINTH. The editor of the "Carrow Champion."
SERGEANT. "Admirably adapted for the efficient discharge of all possible duties that may in future be laid upon him——"
HYACINTH. The new station-master.
SERGEANT. "A champion of every cause that can legitimately benefit his fellow creatures—" Why, look here, my man, you are the very one to come to our assistance to-night.
HYACINTH. I would be glad to do that. What way can I do it?
SERGEANT. You are a newcomer—your example would carry weight—you must stand up as a living proof of the beneficialeffect of a high character, moral fibre, temperance—there is something about it here I am sure—(Looks.) I am sure I saw "unparalleled temperance" in some place——
HYACINTH. It was my mother's cousin wrote that—I am no drinker, but I haven't the pledge taken——
SERGEANT. You might take it for the purpose.
MR. QUIRKE. [Eagerly.] Here is an antitreating button. I was made a present of it by one of my customers—I'll give it to you [sticks it inHyacinth'scoat] and welcome.
SERGEANT. That is it. You can wear the button on the platform—or a bit of blue ribbon—hundreds will follow your example—I know the boys from the Workhouse will——
HYACINTH. I am in no way wishful to be an example——
SERGEANT. I will read extracts from the testimonials. "There he is," I will say, "an example of one in early life who by his own unaided efforts and his high character has obtained a profitable situation." [Slaps his side.] I know what I'll do. I'll engage a few corner-boys from Noonan's bar, just as they are, greasy and sodden, to stand in a group—there will be the contrast—the sight will deter others from a similar fate—that's the way to do a tableau—I knew I could turn out a success.
HYACINTH. I wouldn't like to be a contrast——
SERGEANT. [Puts testimonials in his pocket.] I will go now and engage those lads—sixpence each, and well worth it—nothing like an example for the rural classes.
[Goes off,Hyacinthfeebly trying to detain him.
[Goes off,Hyacinthfeebly trying to detain him.
MRS. DELANE. A very nice man, indeed. A little high up in himself, maybe. I'm not one that blames the police. Sure they have their own bread to earn like every other one. And indeed it is often they will let a thing pass.
MR. QUIRKE. [Gloomily.] Sometimes they will, and more times they will not.
MISSJOYCE. And where will you be finding a lodging, Mr. Halvey?
HYACINTH. I was going to ask that myself, ma'am. I don't know the town.
MISSJOYCE. I know of a good lodging, but it is only a very good man would be taken into it.
MRS. DELANE. Sure there could be no objection there to Mr. Halvey. There is no appearance on him but what is good, and the sergeant after taking him up the way he is doing.
MISSJOYCE. You will be near to the sergeant in the lodging I speak of. The house is convenient to the barracks.
HYACINTH. [Doubtfully.] To the barracks?
MISSJOYCE. Alongside of it, and the barrack-yard behind. And that's not all. It is opposite to the priest's house.
HYACINTH. Opposite, is it?
MISSJOYCE. A very respectable place, indeed, and a very clean room you will get. I know it well. The curate can see into it from his window.
HYACINTH. Can he now?
FARDY. There was a good many, I am thinking, went into that lodging and left it after.
MISSJOYCE. [Sharply.] It is a lodging you will never be let into or let stop in, Fardy. If they did go they were a good riddance.
FARDY. John Hart, the plumber, left it——
MISSJOYCE. If he did it was because he dared not pass the police coming in, as he used, with a rabbit he was after snaring in his hand.
FARDY. The schoolmaster himself left it.
MISSJOYCE. He needn't have left it if he hadn't taken to card-playing. What way could you say your prayers, and shadows shuffling and dealing before you on the blind?
HYACINTH. I think maybe I'd best look around a bit before I'll settle in a lodging——
MISSJOYCE. Not at all. You won't be wanting to pull down the blind.
MRS. DELANE. It is not likelyyouwill be snaring rabbits.
MISSJOYCE. Or bringing in a bottle and taking an odd glass the way James Kelly did.
MRS. DELANE. Or writing threatening notices, and the police taking a view of you from the rear.
MISSJOYCE. Or going to roadside dances, or running after good-for-nothing young girls——
HYACINTH. I give you my word I'm not so harmless as you think.
MRS. DELANE. Would you be putting a lie on these, Mr. Halvey? [Touching testimonials.] I know well the way you will be spending the evenings, writing letters to your relations——
MISSJOYCE. Learning O'Growney's exercises——
MRS. DELANE. Sticking post-cards in an album for the convent bazaar.
MISSJOYCE. Reading the "Catholic Young Man"——
MRS. DELANE. Playing the melodies on a melodeon——
MISSJOYCE. Looking at the pictures in the "Lives of the Saints." I'll hurry on and engage the room for you.
HYACINTH. Wait. Wait a minute——
MISSJOYCE. No trouble at all. I told you it was just opposite.
[Goes.
MR. QUIRKE. I suppose I must go up-stairs and ready myself for the meeting. If it wasn't for the contract I have for the soldiers' barracks and the sergeant's good word, I wouldn't go anear it.
[Goes into shop.
MRS. DELANE. I should be making myself ready, too. I must be in good time to see you being made an example of, Mr. Halvey. It is I, myself, was the first to say it; you will be a credit to the town.
[Goes.
HYACINTH. [In a tone of agony.] I wish I had never seen Cloon.
FARDY. What is on you?
HYACINTH. I wish I had never left Carrow. I wish I hadbeen drowned the first day I thought of it, and I'd be better off.
FARDY. What is it ails you?
HYACINTH. I wouldn't for the best pound ever I had be in this place to-day.
FARDY. I don't know what you are talking about.
HYACINTH. To have left Carrow, if it was a poor place, where I had my comrades, and an odd spree, and a game of cards—and a coursing-match coming on, and I promised a new greyhound from the city of Cork. I'll die in this place, the way I am, I'll be too much closed in.
FARDY. Sure it mightn't be as bad as what you think.
HYACINTH. Will you tell me, I ask you, what way can I undo it?
FARDY. What is it you are wanting to undo?
HYACINTH. Will you tell me what way can I get rid of my character?
FARDY. To get rid of it, is it?
HYACINTH. That is what I said. Aren't you after hearing the great character they are after putting on me?
FARDY. That is a good thing to have.
HYACINTH. It is not. It's the worst in the world. If I hadn't it, I wouldn't be like a prize marigold at a show, with every person praising me.
FARDY. If I had it, I wouldn't be like a head in a barrel, with every person making hits at me.
HYACINTH. If I hadn't it, I wouldn't be shoved into a room with all the clergy watching me and the police in the back yard.
FARDY. If I had it, I wouldn't be but a message-carrier now, and a clapper scaring birds in the summer-time.
HYACINTH. If I hadn't it, I wouldn't be wearing this button and brought up for an example at the meeting.
FARDY. [Whistles.] Maybe you're not so, what those papers make you out to be?
HYACINTH. How would I be what they make me out to be? Was there ever any person of that sort since the world was a world, unless it might be Saint Antony of Padua looking down from the chapel wall? If it is like that I was, isn't it in Mount Melleray I would be, or with the friars at Esker? Why would I be living in the world at all, or doing the world's work?
FARDY. [Taking up parcel.] Who would think, now, there would be so much lies in a small place like Carrow?
HYACINTH. It was my mother's cousin did it. He said I was not reared for laboring—he gave me a new suit and bid me never to come back again. I daren't go back to face him—the neighbors knew my mother had a long family—bad luck to them the day they gave me these. [Tears letters and scatters them.] I'm done with testimonials. They won't be here to bear witness against me.
FARDY. The sergeant thought them to be great. Sure he has the samples of them in his pocket. There's not one in the town but will know before morning that you are the next thing to an earthly saint.
HYACINTH. [Stamping.] I'll stop their mouths. I'll show them I can be a terror for badness. I'll do some injury. I'll commit some crime. The first thing I'll do I'll go and get drunk. If I never did it before I'll do it now. I'll get drunk—then I'll make an assault—I tell you I'd think as little of taking a life as of blowing out a candle.
FARDY. If you get drunk you are done for. Sure that will be held up after as an excuse for any breaking of the law.
HYACINTH. I will break the law. Drunk or sober, I'll break it. I'll do something that will have no excuse. What would you say is the worst crime that any man can do?
FARDY. I don't know. I heard the sergeant saying one time it was to obstruct the police in the discharge of their duty——
HYACINTH. That won't do. It's a patriot I would be then, worse than before, with my picture in the weeklies. It's a redcrime I must commit that will make all respectable people quit minding me. What can I do? Search your mind now.
FARDY. It's what I heard the old people saying there could be no worse crime than to steal a sheep——
HYACINTH. I'll steal a sheep—or a cow—or a horse—if that will leave me the way I was before.
FARDY. It's maybe in jail it will leave you.
HYACINTH. I don't care—I'll confess—I'll tell why I did it—I give you my word I would as soon be picking oakum or breaking stones as to be perched in the daylight the same as that bird, and all the town chirruping to me or bidding me chirrup——
FARDY. There is reason in that, now.
HYACINTH. Help me, will you?
FARDY. Well, if it is to steal a sheep you want, you haven't far to go.
HYACINTH. [Looking around wildly.] Where is it? I see no sheep.
FARDY. Look around you.
HYACINTH. I see no living thing but that thrush——
FARDY. Did I say it was living? What is that hanging on Quirke's rack?
HYACINTH. It's [fingers it] a sheep, sure enough——
FARDY. Well, what ails you that you can't bring it away?
HYACINTH. It's a dead one——
FARDY. What matter if it is?
HYACINTH. If it was living I could drive it before me——
FARDY. You could. Is it to your own lodging you would drive it? Sure every one would take it to be a pet you brought from Carrow.
HYACINTH. I suppose they might.
FARDY. Miss Joyce sending in for news of it and it bleating behind the bed.
HYACINTH. [Distracted.] Stop! stop!
MRS. DELANE. [From upper window.] Fardy! Are you there, Fardy Farrell?
FARDY. I am, ma'am.
MRS. DELANE. [From window.] Look and tell me is that the telegraph I hear ticking?
FARDY. [Looking in at door.] It is, ma'am.
MRS. DELANE. Then botheration to it, and I not dressed or undressed. Wouldn't you say, now, it's to annoy me it is calling me down. I'm coming! I'm coming!
[Disappears.
FARDY. Hurry on, now! Hurry! She'll be coming out on you. If you are going to do it, do it, and if you are not, let it alone.
HYACINTH. I'll do it! I'll do it!
FARDY. [Lifting the sheep on his back.] I'll give you a hand with it.
HYACINTH. [Goes a step or two and turns round.] You told me no place where I could hide it.
FARDY. You needn't go far. There is the church beyond at the side of the square. Go round to the ditch behind the wall—there's nettles in it.
HYACINTH. That'll do.
FARDY. She's coming out—run! run!
HYACINTH. [Runs a step or two.] It's slipping!
FARDY. Hoist it up. I'll give it a hoist!
[Halveyruns out.
MRS. DELANE. [Calling out.] What are you doing, Fardy Farrell? Is it idling you are?
FARDY. Waiting I am, ma'am, for the message——
MRS. DELANE. Never mind the message yet. Who said it was ready? [Going to door.] Go ask for the loan of—no, but ask news of—Here, now go bring that bag of Mr. Halvey's to the lodging Miss Joyce has taken——
FARDY. I will, ma'am. [Takes bag and goes out.
MRS. DELANE. [Coming out with a telegram in her hand.] Nobodyhere? [Looks round and calls cautiously.] Mr. Quirke! Mr. Quirke! James Quirke!
MR. QUIRKE. [Looking out of his upper window, with soap-suddy face.] What is it, Mrs. Delane?
MRS. DELANE. [Beckoning.] Come down here till I tell you.
MR. QUIRKE. I cannot do that. I'm not fully shaved.
MRS. DELANE. You'd come if you knew the news I have.
MR. QUIRKE. Tell it to me now. I'm not so supple as I was.
MRS. DELANE. Whisper now, have you an enemy in any place?
MR. QUIRKE. It's likely I may have. A man in business——
MRS. DELANE. I was thinking you had one.
MR. QUIRKE. Why would you think that at this time more than any other time?
MRS. DELANE. If you could know what is in this envelope you would know that, James Quirke.
MR. QUIRKE. Is that so? And what, now, is there in it?
MRS. DELANE. Who do you think now is it addressed to?
MR. QUIRKE. How would I know that, and I not seeing it?
MRS. DELANE. That is true. Well, it is a message from Dublin Castle to the sergeant of police!
MR. QUIRKE. To Sergeant Carden, is it?
MRS. DELANE. It is. And it concerns yourself.
MR. QUIRKE. Myself, is it? What accusation can they be bringing against me? I'm a peaceable man.
MRS. DELANE. Wait till you hear.
MR. QUIRKE. Maybe they think I was in that moonlighting case——
MRS. DELANE. That is not it——
MR. QUIRKE. I was not in it—I was but in the neighboring field—cutting up a dead cow, that those never had a hand in——
MRS. DELANE. You're out of it——
MR. QUIRKE. They had their faces blackened. There is no man can say I recognized them.
MRS. DELANE. That's not what they're saying——
MR. QUIRKE. I'll swear I did not hear their voices or know them if I did hear them.
MRS. DELANE. I tell you it has nothing to do with that. It might be better for you if it had.
MR. QUIRKE. What is it, so?
MRS. DELANE. It is an order to the sergeant, bidding him immediately to seize all suspicious meat in your house. There is an officer coming down. There are complaints from the Shannon Fort Barracks.
MR. QUIRKE. I'll engage it was that pork.
MRS. DELANE. What ailed it for them to find fault?
MR. QUIRKE. People are so hard to please nowadays, and I recommended them to salt it.
MRS. DELANE. They had a right to have minded your advice.
MR. QUIRKE. There was nothing on that pig at all but that it went mad on poor O'Grady that owned it.
MRS. DELANE. So I heard, and went killing all before it.
MR. QUIRKE. Sure it's only in the brain madness can be. I heard the doctor saying that.
MRS. DELANE. He should know.
MR. QUIRKE. I give you my word I cut the head off it. I went to the loss of it, throwing it to the eels in the river. If they had salted the meat, as I advised them, what harm would it have done to any person on earth?
MRS. DELANE. I hope no harm will come on poor Mrs. Quirke and the family.
MR. QUIRKE. Maybe it wasn't that but some other thing——
MRS. DELANE. Here is Fardy. I must send the message to the sergeant. Well, Mr. Quirke, I'm glad I had the time to give you a warning.
MR. QUIRKE. I'm obliged to you, indeed. You were always very neighborly, Mrs. Delane. Don't be too quick now sendingthe message. There is just one article I would like to put away out of the house before the sergeant will come.