Chapter 9

For Mr. Egerton.

General Chadbourne.

No!

Butler.

(In a low voice over the crowd)

Mr. Egerton!

General Chadbourne.

Isn't that Captain Haskell?

Butler.

Mr. Jergens.

(Egerton comes forward, making his way through the crowd)

General Chadbourne.

Butler!

(The Butler goes to him and they talk)

Ralph Ardsley.

(Calls after Egerton as he goes out left)

Good luck!

(Calls to Chadbourne)

This probably ends it.

Governor Braddock.

What's your opinion of these mysteries, Bishop?

Bishop Hardbrooke.

I'm one of those that simply stand and wait.

Governor Braddock.

You don't believe in modern miracles.

Bishop Hardbrooke.

There are miracles and miracles, Governor Braddock.I try to keep elastic in these things,Steering a middle course with open mind.

Ralph Ardsley.

(Calls to Chadbourne)

Needed just this to crown the time we're having.

Bishop Hardbrooke.

We are living in an age in many waysWithout a parallel. I sometimes think—If I may say it not too seriously—Of those last days we read of when the worldGoes on its way unconscious of the end.We give and take in marriage, eat and drink,And meet our friends in social intercourse,And all the while a Spirit walks beside us,Enters our homes and writes upon our walls.There are whispers everywhere if we could hear them;And some of them grow louder with the days;And pools of quiet ruffle and show storms.You, Governor, feel the popular unrestAs it manifests itself in politics,The shift of parties and of principles,Rocks that we used to think would never change.And brother Egerton in industry;He feels it.

Egerton.

(Appearing at the door, excited, and keeping back so as not to be seen by the people)

Chadbourne!

(The General joins him and they disappear)

Bishop Hardbrooke.

I sincerely hopeWe're on the eve, however, of a dayWhen trouble-makers in the ranks of Labor,Not only here in Foreston but elsewhere,May find it to their interest to respect,Nay, reverence as a thing ordained by God,The right of men to earn their daily bread,As well as profitable to obey the lawsWithout the unseemly presence of armed men.

(There is a clapping of hands. General Chadbourne appears just inside the door and beckons to Ardsley, who goes in to him)

Bishop Hardbrooke.

And I will take occasion here and nowTo say what you've been thinking all this while,And in the presence of the man himself:We are fortunate, my friends——

Ralph Ardsley.

(Appears and calls to one of the guests farther back)

The Governor.

Bishop Hardbrooke.

In having at the helm of our great StateOne who loves order more than he loves votes.

(General clapping of hands)

Several.

Good!

Guest.

(In a low voice over the crowd)

Governor!

Several.

That's good!

(The Governor bows)

Cries.

Speech! Speech!

Governor Braddock.

My friends,I quite agree with the Bishop.

Several.

Ha, ha, ha!

Governor Braddock.

I don't mean in his estimate of me.

(More laughter. The Governor catches sight of the guest beckoning to him)

Governor Braddock.

But here's my better half. You might ask her.Pardon me till I see——

Ralph Ardsley.

(Calls urgently to the Bishop in a voice that is barely heard)

Go on! Go on!

Bishop Hardbrooke.

Society, my friends, is like this house,This mansion that we all so much admire.

(Ardsley stands impassive till the Governor has gone out and the Bishop has again got the attention of the people, then goes quickly into the side room)

Bishop Hardbrooke.

Imagine what a state of things we'd haveIf every wooden fellow in these walls,Not only here but in the mill upstairs,Should lend his heart to tongues of discontentUntil his very tools became a burden.

A Voice.

Anarchy.

Bishop Hardbrooke.

Very true. Where would this be,This beautiful thing that Colonel EgertonHas built with so much labor and so much taste?And out there in the world where we all dwell,Where all of us have places in the walls,Some working with their hands on farms, in mines;Some building; some at forges; at machinesWeaving our garments; others more endowedLoaned to us from the higher planes of being,Men of the Over-Soul, inventors, dreamers,Planners of longer railroads, bigger mills,The great preparers for the finer soulsThat build the dome, the finishers of things,Prophets of God, musicians, artists, poets,As we've all seen how Colonel EgertonIn his third story has his books and pictures—Suppose a bitter wind of discontentShould shake the great walls of this social order,Set the first story men against the second,The second against the third, until the mass,Throwing their tools down on the world's great floor,Should clamor up the dome for pens and brushes,Shutting their eyes to the cold facts of lifeThat we climb up Life's ladder by degrees—

(His attention is attracted for a moment to a group of men that has been collecting forward centre, evidently concerned with whatever it is that is going on in the side room)

Bishop Hardbrooke.

(Recovering himself quickly)

But I'm afraid, my friends——

Several.

Go on! Go on!

Bishop Hardbrooke.

I'm wasting good material for a sermon.

A Man's Voice.

Pearls before swine.

Bishop Hardbrooke.

I started to say brethren.

(Laughter)

A Lady.

(In the foreground)

Isn't he just too bright for anything!

Bishop Hardbrooke.

But now——

A Man.

(Joining the group)

What's up?

Bishop Hardbrooke.

To come home to the taskThat brother Egerton lays upon our ears.We have all of us read stories and seen things.

(Laughter)

A Voice.

But ghosts of trees?

(General laughter)

Bishop Hardbrooke.

That, I admit, is rare.

(Mrs. Egerton, who, since the ringing of the telephone bell, has shown an increasing anxiety as to the message that has come, unable longer to contain herself, comes hurriedly forward through the people)

Bishop Hardbrooke.

Don't let us scare you, sister Egerton.

(Laughter. The people turn just in time to see Governor Braddock, General Chadbourne, and Ralph Ardsley with overcoats on and hats in their hands, stealing across to get out forward right. Mrs. Egerton hurries into the room from which they came)

Ralph Ardsley.

It's nothing.

(The three go out)

Voices.

What's the matter? What's the matter?

Pale Lady.

It's something terrible, I know it is.

Lady in Black.

We always have to pay for our good times.

(George Egerton and Gladys Egerton come quickly from the conservatory and enter the side room)

Elderly Lady.

I shouldn't wonder if those horrid strikersWere burning the mill.

Lady in Black.

Or may be some one's hurt.

Lady With the Conspicuous Coiffure.

Provoking, isn't it?

Fat Lady.

What would we better do?

Young Matron.

(Calling out)

Please tell us what's the trouble.

(A silence)

Pale Lady.

I shall faint.

Bishop Hardbrooke.

(Coming forward)

It has been suggested, friends, in view of thisPersonal something that has happened here—I don't know what it is, but we all knowIn trouble how we like to be alone.Later I'll call them up and for us allExtend our sympathy when we know the cause.

(There is a movement of people departing)

Pink Lady.

I wonder who it is?

Fat Lady.

They've shut the door.

Lady With the Conspicuous Coiffure.

'Twas more like anger; didn't you see his face?

Lady in Black.

When everything was so, so beautiful!

(They vanish with the other guests. A minute or so later the Butler enters, right rear, and walks as though dazed through the empty hall)

A Maid.

(Appearing right rear)

Charlie!

Second Maid.

(Appears beside her)

What is it?

Butler.

(Without turning)

Trouble at the mill.

First Maid.

Charlie!

Butler.

That's all I know.

Second Maid.

A riot?

Gladys Egerton.

(Appearing forward left)

Gone!Father, they've gone!

George Egerton.

(Comes in quickly)

Look in the rooms.

(Goes rear)

Gladys Egerton.

(Looks in the room forward right)

They've gone!

George Egerton.

(Calls into the conservatory)

Chester! Marjorie! Well, I'll be damned!

Gladys Egerton.

I hate him, O I hate him!

George Egerton.

That's what comes!

Gladys Egerton.

What will we ever do! Just think of it!

George Egerton.

(To the Butler)

Why do you stand that way?

(Comes to the door forward left)

O do shut up,Mother.

(Donald Egerton comes in, putting on his overcoat)

Mrs. Egerton.

(Following him)

Remember, Donald, he's our son.

George Egerton.

Always defending him! You make me sick.

Mrs. Egerton.

You've always said you never in your lifeLost hold upon yourself.

Gladys Egerton.

No dance to-night.

Egerton.

(To the Butler)

Tell Jack to bring the car to the front door.

(The Butler goes out centre right)

George Egerton.

Wait, father, till I get my——

(Starts for the room forward left)

Mrs. Egerton.

If he's done it—He has some reason, Donald. And you knowJergens has never liked him.

(Harry Egerton comes in right rear, his hat and shoulders covered with snow)

Mrs. Egerton.

Harry! Harry!

(She hurries to him and embraces him)

Harry Egerton.

Mother!

Mrs. Egerton.

My son!

Harry Egerton.

I'm sorry.

(George Egerton reappears)

Gladys Egerton.

I just hate you!You selfish thing! See what you've done!

Harry Egerton.

I'm sorry.

George Egerton.

(With a sneer)

He's very sorry, sister.

Egerton.

A pretty son!

Harry Egerton.

I hadn't the least intention, father——

George Egerton.

Damn you!

Harry Egerton.

Who 'phoned it in?

Mrs. Egerton.

What is it you've done, Harry?

George Egerton.

(To the Butler and the Maids who have appeared at the doors)

Get away from there!

Harry Egerton.

Father——

(Egerton Tosses His Overcoat Into the Side Room)

Mrs. Egerton.

Harry, is it trueYou kept the men from going back to work?

Harry Egerton.

I wanted to have a talk with father first.

Egerton.

Um!

George Egerton.

(To his mother)

There!

Mrs. Egerton.

But hear him, Donald.

Harry Egerton.

All my lifeI've wanted to say something to you, father;Especially since I went to work. You once,When I came home from college, you remember,And hadn't made my mind up what to do,What my life work should be——

Egerton.

A pretty son!

Harry Egerton.

We talked together and you said that nowThree things lay open to me, that I could chooseAnd that you'd back me up. First, there was Art.And though you didn't say so, I could seeYou'd have been glad if I had chosen that.I had a talent for it, so you said,And I could study with the best of them.You'd set aside a hundred thousand dollars;And I could finish up by travelling,Seeing the beautiful buildings of the world;That I could take my time, then settle downAnd glorify my land: that's what you said.Then there was Public Life. You'd start me inBy giving me the Courier. That, you said,Would give me at once a standing among menAnd training in political affairs.And that if I made good you'd see to itI had a seat in Congress, and in the endThat probably I'd be Governor of the State.And then you paused. You didn't like the third.Business, you said, was an unpleasant life.'Twas all right as you'd used it, as a means,But as an end—And then you used words, father,That changed my life although you didn't know it—'Business, my son, is war; needful at times,But as a life,—you shook your head and sighed.With that we ended it, for some one cameAnd I went out. Six years ago last June,The seventh of June; I can't forget the day.The sun was shining but a strange new lightLay over everything. All of a suddenIt dawned upon my mind that I'd been rearedInside a garden full of flowers and trees,And only now had chanced upon the gateAnd stepped out. There was smoke upon the skiesAnd a rumbling of strange wagons in the street.I was afraid. For every man I metSeemed just about to ask, 'What side are you on?'And I was twenty-one and didn't know.

Egerton.

You seem to have found out since you've been away.

Harry Egerton.

I'd always thought 'twas garden everywhere.I walked on up the river and sat downUpon the logs up there, and night came on.And in the waters flowing at my feetThe lighted land went by, cities and townsAnd the vast murmur and the daily lifeOf those that toil, the hunger and the care.And in my heart I knew that it was true,That what you said was true. And I came backFilled with such peace as I had never known.'I'll enter business, father.' And I did.I started at the bottom in the millHelping the engineer, and from the sawsCarried the lumber with the other men.Then in the yard. You always praised my work.I'm in the office now at twenty-seven,And Secretary of the Company.I think I know the business pretty well.You've said so. But somehow——

(He pauses)

Mrs. Egerton.

What is it, Harry?

Harry Egerton.

In Public Life, if I had chosen that,And after six years' work that you approved,If one day I had come——

Egerton.

You want the mill.

Harry Egerton.

'Father, I can't go on; my way is blockedAnd all my hopes are falling to the ground.'There's nothing, not one thing you wouldn't have done.Or if I had a building half way up,My masterpiece, a mighty capitolThat finished would be known throughout the land,And I had met with interference, menWho had no vision—you know what I mean—And I had come to you, 'Father, I'm thwarted,'O I can see with one sweep of your handHow you would clear the skies.

Egerton.

You want the mill.

Harry Egerton.

Yes, father.

Egerton.

I thought so.

Harry Egerton.

I want the mill.

George Egerton.

And thought you'd blackmail father.

Harry Egerton.

Listen to me!For probably in all my life I'll neverSpeak to you as I'm speaking now, my father.

Mrs. Egerton.

Donald, I beg of you——

George Egerton.

Well, I'll be——

Mrs. Egerton.

George!

Harry Egerton.

In these six years for one cause or anotherThere've been three strikes that have cost the Company thousandsIn money, to say nothing of those thingsThat all the money in the world can't buy.Now let me ask, my father, if this loss,Instead of springing from these strikes, had comeThrough breakdowns of the machinery, or in the campsThrough failure to get the timber out in time,Wouldn't you have dismissed the man in charge?Then why do you let Jergens run the mill?Hasn't he failed, and miserably, with the men?

George Egerton.

What have you to do with it?

Egerton.

I'll attend to this.

(George Egerton walks away and stands by the pine trees, picking off and biting the needles)

Harry Egerton.

Is it because the earnings have increased?Think what it's cost you, father. In every millJergens has touched he's left a cursing thereThat's all come back on us. Why, my father,Our name's become a by-word through the State,'As hard as Egerton.' And when I thinkOf what might be, the good-will and the peace,The happiness! There's not the least excuseFor this cut in wages, father, and you know it.

Egerton.

Um!

Harry Egerton.

You can't help but know it. You've the books;You know what you've been making. But that aside:To come to what I would say: You've won this strike.You have the men in your power and you can say,'Go back,' and they'll go back. But you won't do it.

Egerton.

Won't I?

Harry Egerton.

Will you, when you know you're wrong?When you know you're losing friends who love what's right?Think of the sentiment against you, father.No, father, you don't know what's going on.

Egerton.

It seems I don't.

Harry Egerton.

If you knew how they liveAnd the hard time they have to get along.It isn't fair, my father, it isn't fair.

Gladys Egerton.

(In tears, to her mother)

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