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The Man from Home, a play by Booth Tarkington |
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Act 4 |
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_ THE FOURTH ACT
As the curtain rises HAWCASTLE, in a travelling suit and cap, is directing a porter who is adjusting a strap on a travelling bag. ALMERIC enters from the hotel, smoking a cigarette. ALMERIC. Ah, Governor; see you're moving! HAWCASTLE. I may. [His manner is nervous, apprehensive, and wary. Porter touches his cap and goes into hotel.] It depends. ALMERIC. Depends? Madame de Champigny took the morning boat to Naples, and your trunks are gone. Shouldn't say that looked much like dependin'. HAWCASTLE [nervously]. It does, though, with that devilish convict-- ALMERIC. Oh, but I say, Governor, you're not in a funk about him! You could bowl him over with a finger. HAWCASTLE [glancing over his shoulder]. Not if he had what he didn't have last night, or I shouldn't be here to-day. ALMERIC. You don't think the beggar'd be taking a shot at you? HAWCASTLE [fastening clasp of hat-box]. I don't know what the crazy fool mightn't do. ALMERIC. But, you know, he's really quite as much in custody as you could wish. That Vasilivitch chap has got him fast enough. [LADY CREECH enters from the hotel.] HAWCASTLE [sharply]. The Grand-Duke Vasili has the reputation of being a romantic fool. I don't know what moment he may decide to let Ivanoff loose. LADY CREECH [with triumphant indignation]. Then I have the advantage over you, Hawcastle. He's just done it. HAWCASTLE [startled]. What? LADY CREECH [continuing]. Got him a pardon from Russia by telegraph. HAWCASTLE. You don't mean that! LADY CREECH. Ethel has just told me. HAWCASTLE. My God! [He springs forward and touches a bell on wall.] LADY CREECH. An outrage! Our plans all so horribly upset-- HAWCASTLE [turning and coming down steps]. No, they're not. [MARIANO appears in the doorway.] HAWCASTLE. Mariano, I'm off for Naples. Sharp's the word! MARIANO. It is too late for the boat, Milor'. You must drive to Castellamare for the train. HAWCASTLE. There's a carriage waiting for me at the gate yonder. Get these things into it quick--quick! [MARIANO beckons porters from the hotel. Porters enter sharply and carry bags, etc., off.] [Meanwhile, HAWCASTLE, without pause, continues rapidly and in an excited voice to ALMERIC and LADY CREECH.] You must see it through; you mustn't let the thing fail; what's more, you've got to hurry it, just as if I were here. This girl gave her word last night that she'd stick. LADY CREECH. But she's behaving very peculiarly this morning. Outrageously would be nearer it. HAWCASTLE. How? LADY CREECH. Shedding tears over this Ivanoff's story. What's more, she has sent that dreadful Pike person to him with assistance. HAWCASTLE. What sort of assistance? LADY CREECH. Money. I don't know how much, but I'm sure it was a lot. ALMERIC [with a sudden inspiration]. By Jove! Buying the beggar off, perhaps, to keep him from making a scandal for us. HAWCASTLE [excitedly]. That's what she's trying to do! LADY CREECH. Then why do you go? HAWCASTLE. Because I'm not sure she can. [Going to steps.] Wire me at the Bertolini, Naples. [Turning at stoop.] This shows she means to stick. LADY CREECH. For the sake of her promise. HAWCASTLE [emphatically]. Yes, and for the sake of the name. [He runs out rapidly.] [PIKE enters from the grove, smoking.] PIKE [thoughtfully]. Your pa seems in a hurry. [LADY CREECH and ALMERIC turn, startled. LADY CREECH haughtily sweeps away, entering the hotel.] ALMERIC [cheerfully]. Oh yes, possibly--he's off, you know--to catch a train. He's so easily worried by trifles. [PIKE looks at ALMERIC with a sort of chuckling admiration.] PIKE. Well, you don't worry--not too easy; do you, son? ALMERIC. Oh, one finds nothing in particular this morning to bother one. PIKE [assenting]. Nothing at all. ALMERIC. Not I. Of course, Miss Ethel is standing to her promise? PIKE [grimly]. Yes, she is. ALMERIC. The Governor only thought it best to clear out a bit until we were certain that she manages to draw off this convict chap. PIKE [puzzled]. Draw him off? ALMERIC. What you Americans call "affixing him," isn't it? PIKE. "Affixing him?" Don't try to talk United States, my son. Just tell me in your own way. ALMERIC. She's been giving him money, hasn't she? You took it to him yourself, didn't you? Naturally, we understood what it was for. She's trying to keep the beggar quiet. PIKE. So that's what she sent this poor cuss the money for, was it? ALMERIC. Why, what other reason could there be? PIKE. Well, you know I sort of gathered it was because she was sorry for him--thought he'd been wronged; but, of course, I'm stupid. ALMERIC. Well, ra-_ther_! I don't know that it was so necessary for her to hush him up, but it showed a very worthy intention in her, didn't it? PIKE [slowly]. Would you mind my being present when you thank her for it? ALMERIC. Shouldn't in the least if I intended thanking her. It simply shows she considers herself already one of us. It's perfectly plain--why, it's plain as _you_ are! [Chuckles.] PIKE. Oh! if I could only get it over to Kokomo! And that's why you're not worrying, is it, son? ALMERIC. Worrying? My good man, do you mind excusing me. I saw a most likely pup yesterday; I'm afraid some other chap'll snatch him up before I do. I should have taken him at once. Good-morning! [Exit through the grove with a sprightly gait and a wave of his stick.] [PIKE gazes after him, shaking his head with a half-admiring, half-sardonic chuckle.] [Enter ETHEL from the hotel. She wears a pretty morning dress and hat; her face is very sad.] ETHEL. I hear that Lord Hawcastle has left the hotel. PIKE [dryly]. Yes; I saw him go. ETHEL. He left very quickly? PIKE. He did seem to be forgetting the scenery. ETHEL [decidedly]. He was afraid of Ivanoff. PIKE. I shouldn't be surprised. Ivanoff wants to thank you. May I bring him? ETHEL. Yes. [PIKE goes off into the grove.] [MARIANO and a file of servants enter from the hotel, form a line, and bow profoundly as VASILI enters. They withdraw at a sign from him.] ETHEL [making a deep curtsy]. Monseigneur! VASILI [to ETHEL]. Not _you_! You see, I must fly to some place where an incognito will be respected. If I stay here it will be--what you call--fuss and feathers and revolutionary agents. I have come to make my adieu to your guardian. Incognito or out of it, he is my very good friend--no matter if he is an egoist. ETHEL. An egoist! That is the last thing in the world he should be called. VASILI. Ah, so; what do you call him? ETHEL. I? I call him-- [She begins bravely, but at a keen glance from him stops abruptly, blushing.] VASILI. Bravo! I call him an egoist because he is so content to be what he is he will not pretend to be something else! I respect your country in him, my dear young lady; and he cares nothing whether I am a king or a commoner. Everywhere the people bow and salaam half on their knees to me; but _he_-- ETHEL. No, I can't quite imagine _him_ doing that. [Enter PIKE from the grove, followed by IVANOFF.] VASILI [to PIKE]. I have come to bid you goodbye, my friend. Life is a service of farewells, they say; but if you ever come to St. Petersburg when I am there you will be made welcome. Your ambassador will tell you where to find me. PIKE. I know I'd be welcome; and if you ever get out as far as Indiana, don't miss Kokomo--the depot hackman will tell you where to find me, and the boys will help me show you a good time. You'd like it, Doc-- [He stops, horrified at his slip of the tongue.] VASILI. I _know_ that. PIKE. I don't know how to call you by name, but I reckon you'll understand I do think an awful lot of you. VASILI [as they shake hands]. My friend, I have confided to you that you are a great man. But a great man is sure to be set upon a pedestal by some pretty lady. [ETHEL turns away.] It is a great responsibility to occupy a pedestal. On that account I depart in some anxiety for you. PIKE. What do you mean? VASILI. Ah, you do not understand? Then, my friend--what is it you have taught me to say?--ah, yes--then there is sand in your gear-box. [VASILI gives his hand to IVANOFF quietly, bows deeply to ETHEL, and goes quickly into the hotel.] IVANOFF [turning to ETHEL]. Dear, kind young lady, your guardian has known how to make me accept the help you granted. He has known how because his heart is like yours, full of goodness. I shall go to London and teach the languages. There I shall be able to repay you--at least what you have given me in money. ETHEL. Professor Ivanoff, are you following Lord Hawcastle and your wife? IVANOFF. My wife exists no longer for me. ETHEL. But Lord Hawcastle? Do you mean to follow him? IVANOFF [with great feeling]. No, no, no! I could not hurt his body--I could not. The suffering of a man is here--here! What is it _he_ has of most value in this world? It is that name of his. Except for that, he is poor, and that I shall destroy. He shall not go in his clubs; he shall not go among his own class, and in the streets they will point at him. His story and mine shall be made--ah, but too well known! And that name of which he and all his family have been so proud, it shall be disgrace and dishonor to bear. ETHEL [sadly]. Already it is that. IVANOFF. But I forget myself. I talk so ugly. ETHEL. It is not in my heart to blame you. Your wrongs have given you the right. IVANOFF [kissing her hand]. God bless you always! [Illustration: "MY FRIEND, THERE IS SAND IN YOUR GEAR-BOX"] [He takes PIKE'S hand, tries to speak, but chokes up and cannot. He goes into the hotel.] PIKE. There _are_ some good people over here, aren't there? ETHEL. When you're home again I hope you will remember _them._ PIKE. I will. ETHEL. And I hope you will forget everything I've ever said. PIKE. Somehow it doesn't seem as if I very likely would. ETHEL [coming toward him]. Oh yes, you will! All those unkind things I've said to you-- PIKE. Oh, I'll forget _those_ easy! ETHEL [going on eagerly, but almost tearfully]. And the other things, too, when you're once more among your kind, good home folks you like so well--and probably there's one among them that you'll be so glad to get back to you'll hardly know you've been away--an unworldly girl--[she falters]--one that doesn't need to be cured--oh! of all sorts of follies--a kind girl, one who's been always sweet to you. [Turns away from him.] I can see her--she wears a white muslin and waits by the gate for you at twilight [turns to him again]--isn't she like that? PIKE [shaking his head gravely]. No; not like that. ETHEL. But there _is_ some one there?--some one that you've cared for? PIKE [sadly]. Well, she's only been there in a way. I've had her picture on my desk for a good while. Sometimes when I go home in the evening she kind of seems to be there. I bought a homey old house up on Main Street, you know; it's the house you were born in. It's kind of lonesome sometimes, and then I get to thinking that she's there, sitting at an old piano, that used to be my mother's, and singing to me-- ETHEL [smiling sorrowfully]. Singing "Sweet Genevieve"? PIKE. Yes--that's my favorite. But then I come to and I find it ain't so, no voice comes to me, and I find there ain't anybody but me [swallows painfully], and it's so foolish that even Jim Cooley can write me letters making fun of it! ETHEL. You'll find her some day--you'll find some one to fulfil that vision--and I shall think of you in your old house among the beech-trees. I shall think of you often with her, listening to her voice in the twilight. And I shall be far away from that sensible, kindly life--keeping the promise that I have made [falters], and living out--my destiny. PIKE [gravely]. What destiny? ETHEL. I am bound to Almeric in his misfortune, I am bound to him _by_ his misfortune. [She goes on with a sorrowful eagerness.] He has to bear a name that will be a by-word of disgrace, and it is my duty to help him bear it, to help him make it honorable again; to inspire him in the struggle that lies before him to rise above it by his own efforts, to make a career for himself; to make the world forget the disgrace of his father in his own triumphs--in the product of his own work-- PIKE [aghast]. Work! ETHEL. Oh, I am all American to-day. No matter how humbly he begins, it will be a beginning, and no matter what it costs me I must be by his side helping him, with all my energy and strength. Can you challenge that? Isn't it true? PIKE. I can't deny it--that's what any good and brave woman ought to feel. ETHEL. And since it has to be done, it must be done at once. I haven't seen Almeric since last night; I must see him now. PIKE [grimly]. He's not here just now. [HORACE enters; stands in the doorway unobserved, listening.] ETHEL. I've shirked facing him to-day. He has always been so light and gay, I have dreaded to see him bending under this blow, shamed and overcome. Now it is my duty to see him, to show him how he can hold up his head in spite of it! PIKE. I agree, it's your duty-- ETHEL [eagerly, but tremulously]. That means that you--as my guardian--think I am right? PIKE. I agree to it, I said. ETHEL [excited]. Then that must mean that you consent-- PIKE. It does--I give my consent to your marriage. ETHEL [shocked and frightened]. You _do_? PIKE. I place it in your hands. HORACE [vehemently interrupting]. I protest against this. She's talking like a romantic schoolgirl. And I for one won't bear it--and I won't allow it! ETHEL. Too late--he's consented. [With a half-choked, sudden sob she runs into the hotel.] HORACE [turning furiously on PIKE]. I tell you I shall not permit her to throw herself away! PIKE. Look here, who's the guardian of this girl? HORACE. A magnificent guardian you are! You came here to protect her from something you thought rotten; now we all know it's rotten, you hand her over! [Turns with a short, bitter laugh, walks up stage, then comes back.] By Jove! I shouldn't be surprised if you consent to the settlement, too! PIKE [solemnly]. My son, I shouldn't be surprised if I did. HORACE. Is the world topsy-turvy? Have I gone crazy? [With accusing finger pointed at PIKE.] I'll bet my _soul_ that'll disgust her as much as it does me! PIKE. My son, I shouldn't be surprised if it would. HORACE [staring at him]. By the Lord, but you play a queer game, Mr. Pike! PIKE. Oh, I'm jest crossing the Rubicon. Your father used to have a saying: "If you're going to cross the Rubicon, cross it. Don't wade out to the middle and _stand_ there; you only get hell from both banks." [Enter LADY CREECH from the hotel.] LADY CREECH [testily]. Mr. Granger-Simpson, have you seen my nephew? HORACE. No; I've rather avoided that, if you don't mind my saying so. LADY CREECH. Mr. Granger-Simpson! HORACE. I'm sorry, Lady Creech, but I've had a most awful shaking-up, and I'm almost thinking of going back home with Mr. Pike. I rather think he's about right in his ideas. You know we abused him, not only for himself, but for his vulgar friend; yet his vulgar friend turned out to be a grand-duke--and look at what our friends turned out to be. [Goes rapidly into the hotel.] [ALMERIC'S voice is heard from the grove. "Come along! There's a good fellow!"] LADY CREECH. Isn't that Almeric? PIKE. Here he comes, shamed and bending under the blow! [ALMERIC enters from the grove, leading a bull terrier pup.] ALMERIC. Mariano, Mariano--I say, Mariano! I say, Aunty, ain't he rippin'? Lucky I got there just as I did--a bounder wanted to buy him five minutes later. [MARIANO enters from hotel.] Mariano, do you think you could be trusted to wash him? MARIANO. Wash him! ALMERIC. Tepid water, you know; and mind he doesn't take cold; and just a little milk afterward--nothing else but milk, you understand. You be deuced careful, I mean to say. MARIANO [with dignity]. I will give him to the porter. [He carries the animal into the hotel.] LADY CREECH. Almeric, really, there are more important things, you know. ALMERIC. But you don't seem to realize I might have missed him altogether. I think I'm rather to be congratulated, you know. What? PIKE. I think you are, my son. I have given my consent. ALMERIC. Rippin'! LADY CREECH. And the settlement? PIKE. The settlement also--everything! [ETHEL enters from the hotel, followed by HORACE.] LADY CREECH [greatly relieved and overjoyed, starting toward ETHEL]. Ethel, my dear! ALMERIC [cheerfully]. I told you it would all be plain sailing, Aunty. There was nothing to worry about. LADY CREECH [continuing, to ETHEL]. All shall be forgiven, my child. I am too pleased, too overjoyed in your good-fortune to remember any little bickerings between us. The sky has cleared wonderfully. Everything is settled. ETHEL. Yes; it's all over; my guardian has consented. ALMERIC. Of course _I_ never worried about it--but I fancy it will be a weight off the Governor's mind. I'll see that a wire catches him at Naples--and he'll be glad to know what became of that arrangement about the convict fellow, too. ETHEL [very seriously]. Almeric, I think it's noble to be brave in trouble, but-- ALMERIC [puzzled]. I say, you know, you've really _got_ me! ETHEL. I mean that I admire you for your pluck, for seeming unconcerned under disgrace, but-- ALMERIC. _Disgrace_? Why, who's disgraced--not even the Governor, as I see it. You got that chap called off, didn't you? ETHEL. Whom do you mean? ALMERIC. Why, that convict chap--didn't you send him away? You bought him off, didn't you, so that he won't talk? Gave him money not to bother us? ETHEL [rising, and turning on him indignantly]. Why, Heaven pity you! Do you think that? ALMERIC. Oh--what?--he wouldn't agree to be still? Oh, I say, that'll be rather a pill for the Governor--he'll be a bit worried, you know. ETHEL. Don't you see that it's time for you to worry a little for yourself? That you've got to begin at once to do something worthy that will obliterate this shame--to begin a career--to work--to work! ALMERIC [puzzled]. But? But I mean to say, though--but what _for_? What possible need will there be for an extreme like that? Don't you see, in the first place, there's the settlement-- ETHEL [aghast]. Settlement! You talk of settlement, _now_. LADY CREECH [angrily]. Settlement, _certainly_ there's the settlement! ETHEL. What for? LADY CREECH. Why, don't you understand--you're to be the Countess of Hawcastle, aren't you? ALMERIC. Why--hasn't he told you?--the only obstacle on earth between us was this fellow's consent to the settlement, and he's just given it. ETHEL [dazed and angry]. Do you mean to say he's consented to that! ALMERIC. Why, to be sure--he's just consented with his own lips--didn't you? PIKE [gravely]. I did. LADY CREECH. Don't you see, don't you hear that--he's consented? He didn't mumble his words--don't you hear him? ETHEL. I do, and disbelieve my own ears. Yesterday, when I wanted something I thought of value--and that was a name--he refused to let me buy it--to-day, when I know that that name is less than nothing, worse than nothing--he bids me give my fortune for it. What manner of man is this! And _you_ [to LADY CREECH and ALMERIC], what are you that after last night you come to me and ask a settlement? LADY CREECH [angrily]. Certainly we do--would you expect to enter a family like this and bring nothing? ALMERIC. _I_ can't see that the situation has changed since yesterday. I don't stick out for the precise amount the Governor said. If it ought to be less on account of that little affair last night--why, we should be the last people in the world to haggle over a few thousand pounds-- ETHEL [with a cry of rage and relief]. Oh! That is the final word of my humiliation! I felt that you were in shame and dishonor, and, because of that, I was ready to keep my word--to stand by you, to help you make yourself into something like a man--to give my life to you. That you permitted the sacrifice was enough! Now you ask me to PAY for the privilege of making it, I am released! I am free! _I am not that man's property to give away!_ LADY CREECH [violently]. You're beside yourself. Isn't this what we've been wanting all the time? ALMERIC. But slow up a bit--didn't you say you'd stick? ETHEL. Any promise I ever made to you is a thousand times cancelled. This is final! [With concentrated rage, turning to PIKE.] And as for you--never presume to speak to me again! ALMERIC [to LADY CREECH]. Most extraordinary girl--she's rather dreadful, _isn't_ she? LADY CREECH [with agitation]. Give me your arm, Almeric. [They go into the hotel.] ETHEL [to PIKE]. What have you to say to me? [PIKE raises his hands slowly, with palms outward, and drops them.] ETHEL. What explanation have you to make? PIKE. None. ETHEL. That's because you don't care what I think of you. [Bitterly.] Indeed, you've already shown that, when you were willing to give me up to those people, and to let me pay them for taking me! You let me romanticize to you about honor and duty and sympathy--about my efforts to make that creature a man--and you pretended to sympathize with me, and you knew all the time it was only the money they were after! PIKE [humbly]. Well, I shouldn't be surprised. ETHEL. Didn't you have the faint little understanding of me enough to see that their asking for money, now--would horrify me? Didn't you know that your consenting to it, leaving me free to give it to them, would release me--make me free to deny everything to them? PIKE [slowly]. Well, I shouldn't be surprised if I _had_ seen that. ETHEL [staggered]. You mean you've been saving me again from myself, from my silliness, from my romanticism, that you've given me another revelation of the falsity, the unreality of my attitude toward these people, and toward life. PIKE [placatingly]. No, no! ETHEL [vehemently]. You'd always say that, you'd always deny it--it's like you. You let me make a fool of myself and then you show it to me, and after that you deny it! [Angrily.] You're always exhibiting your superiority! Would you do that to the dream girl you told me of, to the girl at home who plays dream songs for you in the empty house among the beeches? Do you think _any_ girl could love a man for that? Go back to your dream girl, your lady of the picture! PIKE [disconsolately]. She won't be there. ETHEL [stubbornly]. She _might_ be. PIKE. No, there ain't any chance of that. The house will still be empty. ETHEL [almost crying]. Are you _sure_? PIKE [sadly]. There ain't any doubt of it now. ETHEL. You might be wrong--for once! [She gives him a look between tears and laughter, then runs into the hotel.] [PIKE stands sadly, his head bent, every line of his body expressing dejection; then from within the hotel come the sounds of a piano in the preliminary chords of "Sweet Genevieve." ETHEL'S voice is lifted in the song, at first faint, somewhat tremulous and quavering, then rising strongly and confidently. PIKE'S face, slowly upraised, becomes transfigured. He crosses the stage spellbound, to the hotel door with the look of a man in a dream. He falls back a step, looking in.] [THE END] _ |
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