Capt. He's got 'em bad. (Runs to entrance, r.) Fight 'em, young man, fight 'em: it's your only chance. I guess I won't drink: can't stop. (Runs up and off, r.)
Harry (raises his head). Gone, gone at last with him. I've driven them off again; but they will come again. What's that? (Glares into corner, l.) Rats again: fierce and big! how they look at me! Away! Gleaming teeth and eyes of fire! Away, I say! I cannot drive them back. They swarm about me: they're at my legs. (Tears them off.) Devils, I'll fight you all! Closer and closer! (Gets to his feet.) They're making for my throat: away, I say! (Tears them from his breast.) I cannot, cannot. Now they're at my throat! (Hands at his throat.) Off, devils; off, I say! Help, help! oh, help! (Falls quivering upon the stage. Enter Thornton, l.)
Thornton. What's this, Maynard? Maynard, I say! (Drags him to his feet.)
Harry (clinging to Thornton). Don't let them get at me: there's a thousand of them thirsting for my life. Save me from them!
Thornton. Oh, you've been dreaming! you're all right now. Come, get to bed: you'll sleep it off. Up above you're safe enough. (Drags him up stage.)
Harry. Not there, not there, Thornton. Don't thrust me into that hole to-night. They're up there, lurking in corners, waiting to eat me. Don't, Thornton, don't!
Thornton (struggling with him). Fool, do as I bid you! (Throws open mirrored door. Stub comes down steps, l., and watches them.)
Harry. Not to-night, Thornton, not to-night! (Thornton pushes him in, closes door, and locks it. Stub comes down softly, and sits l. of table.)
Thornton. He's safe there. I shouldn't wonder if this night rid me of him.
Stub (aside). Shouldn't wonder a bit. (Raps on table.) Here, bar-keeper, innholder, porter, bootblack, somebody or anybody, am a genblem gwine to wait all night? am he, say, somebody?
Thornton. Hallo! who are you?
Stub. Hallo, yourself: a genblem widout extinction ob color. Hop beer and peppermint for one. Be libely, be libely!
Thornton. We don't serve niggers here.
Stub. Wh-wh-what dat? Wha's yer ignorance? wha's yer ignorance? Take, keer, take keer: five hundred dollars fine! Cibil rights bill: dat's me. You can't fool dis yer citizen widout extinction ob color: no, sir. (Raps on table.) Ginger ale and sassaparilla for one. Be libely!
Thornton. Take yourself off: you cannot be served here.
Stub. Take keer, take keer; don't elebate my choler: don't rouse de slumbrin' African lion; ef yer does, down goes de whole hippodrome. Don't cibil rights bill say, don't he, ebery citizen, widout extinction ob color, am entitled to all de privileges ob trabel, – de smokeolotive, steamboat, and – and horse cars: an' to be taken in to all de inns, an' giben all de freedom, – free lunch, free drinks, an' five hundred dollars out ob de pocket ob any man dat says, Dry up? Dat's de law, mind yer eye. (Raps on table.) Soda and sassafras. Be libely, be libely!
Thornton (takes a revolver from his pocket). Will you have my pocket flask?
Stub. O Lor! (Slides under table.) Dat ain't de kind: put 'im up, put 'im up! Ain't dry: guess I won't drink.
Thornton. Out of this, or you'll get a taste of civil rights that will teach you better manners.
Stub. I's gwine: don't want no manners. (Creeps out, and goes up stage. Enter Charity Goodall, r., down steps, enveloped in a waterproof cloak: she comes down c.)
Thornton. What want you here? Who are you?
Charity (extending her hand). Charity.
Thornton (turning to table, and laying down pistol). Away: you'll get nothing here!
Charity (throws off cloak). Don't be too sure of that, Robert Thornton.
Thornton (turns quickly). Charity Goodall! (Stub comes down softly, takes pistol, goes up, crosses stage, and hides behind bar.) I beg your pardon, Mrs. Goodall. This is indeed a surprise!
Charity. And yet you have been expecting me; dreading the hour when you and I should meet face to face.
Thornton. This is hardly the place for a woman who would guard her good name from scandal.
Charity. You forget I am a woman above suspicion: that I have won a good name, by daring to enter such dens as yours, on errands of mercy.
Thornton. Ah! indeed! what errand of mercy brings the saintly Charity Goodall into my humble saloon?
Charity. Ah, you confess ownership! The spider of the gilded web! You, who, under the guise of a gentleman, lured my husband from an honorable life: you, who, with flattering promises of honorable wealth, tricked a brave lad to his ruin. Your humble saloon! You sneer, and yet you tremble. Confess all: confess you are a villain and a cheat!
Thornton. I will not listen to you. Be warned in time: at any moment, a rude throng may burst upon you. You are liable to insult from which I could not protect you.
Charity. Fear not for me: my mission is my protection. Alone, I have walked into the worst dens, without fear, without insult. With the most abandoned, no hand is raised against one who comes to rescue and deliver. Robert Thornton, listen to me: day and night I have sought, with ready helpers, Harry Maynard. To-night I have tracked him here.
Thornton. Here?
Charity. Ay, here! You threw me from the scent with your story of his utter degradation. I never dreamed the silly fly was ensnared in the gilded web. Give him back to the friends who mourn for him, and, spite my wrongs, all shall be forgotten.
Thornton. You ask too much: you see he is not here. You have been misinformed: for once the shrewd angel of mercy has been deceived.
Charity. Indeed! Perhaps another may be more successful – Jessie! (Enter from r., hurriedly, Jessie.)
Jessie. Have you found him? Speak! in mercy, speak!
Charity (putting her arm about Jessie). Be calm, my child: there is the man who holds him in his power, – Robert Thornton.
Jessie. Mr. Thornton? No, no, it cannot be! (Falls on her knees to him.) If you know where he is, if you can give him back to his father, to me, I will bless you.
Thornton. You are mistaken, Jessie; I cannot give him back. You know how much I loved him. Think you, if it were in my power, I would refuse the request of the only woman I truly loved?
Jessie. Oh, this is mockery! (Rises, and goes to Charity, who folds her in her arms.)
Charity. Poor child, your prayers are vain: that man is pitiless!
Thornton. I told you you had been deceived. Was I not right? You tracked him here, and yet you cannot find him. See how your well-laid plan has failed!
Charity. No; for I have one resource left, one taught me by the noble women of the West. You fear for my good name: do you fear for those who come to my aid with the song he loved? Pray heaven it reach the prisoner's ear! (Raises her hand. Chorus outside: —
"In the sweet by and by,
We will meet on that beautiful shore," &c.
Enter, singing, from r. and l. down steps, filling the steps, a chorus of women, well dressed, in light costumes; they stop upon the steps.)
Harry (above when the song ceases.) Help, help! save, oh, save me!
Jessie. His voice, Harry's voice! (Kneels to Thornton.) Man, now, if you have a spark of pity, lead me to him!
Charity. Robert Thornton, be merciful!
Thornton. You plead in vain: he is beyond your reach.
Stub (rising, behind bar). Dat's a lie, dat's a lie! (Runs up to door, c., and throws it open.) Quick, Miss Jessie: he's up dar. Go fur him, go fur him! (Steps l.)
Jessie. O Harry, Harry! (Runs up steps, and exits through door.)
Thornton. Curse that fool: you must not enter there! (Goes towards door. Charity runs up, closes door, and stands with back to it.)
Charity. Back! you shall not enter here.
Thornton. Woman, stand back: who shall prevent me? (Stub steps before Charity, and presents pistol to Thornton.)
Stub. Cibil rights bill: dat's me. (Tom runs in from r. steps, and seizes Thornton's arms, binding them back.)
Tom. Ha, ha! shrewdness, old fellow!
(Lime light thrown on from l., above archway, showing Maynard extended on a low couch, resting on his right arm: dark pants, white shirt. Jessie has her arm about him, supporting him).
Jessie. Harry, my own Harry, found at last!
Harry. Jessie, Jessie, thank Heaven for this! (Chorus:
"In the sweet by and by," &c.
Repeated. Slow curtain.)
ACT IV. – Thanksgiving at the Old Home
Scene. —Interior of John Maynard's house. In flat, r. c., bow-window, backed by road and trees, white with snow; snow falling; door l. Open fire-place, r., with bright fire; beside it, a high-backed seat for two; bureau between door and window, in flat. Mantle over the fire-place, with dried grasses in vases, clock, and other ornaments. Arm-chair l.; chair back of that. Door r. u. e.; door l., 2d entrance. Mrs. Maynard discovered at window, looking out.
Mrs. Maynard. The snow comes faster and faster. It's time Stub was back from the depot with Charity. Ah, 'twill be a dull Thanksgiving for us this year: not like the old times when we had Charley, Harry, and Jessie, to make us all merry. Dear me! time does break up households. (Enter John from door l.)
John. I've put him on Harry's bed, mother. I expect you'll scold when you see your white counterpane muddied by his boots, for I couldn't get him beneath it. Poor devil! I fear 'twill be his deathbed. I'd about made up my mind that I'd never give another tramp shelter; but he looked so bad, I hadn't the heart to turn him away (sits on bench) when I thought, mother, that our poor boy might have come in the same way.
Mrs. Maynard (comes down). That's so like you, John! Is he very bad?
John. Yes: broken down with hunger and drink. He begged hard for a little brandy. It was well I had none, for 'twould have been cruel to refuse him, and I would die ere I touched the curse, the cause of so much misery to us.
Mrs. Maynard. Ah, John, all that's over.
John. Yes, mother, we must hope for the best. He was saved, thanks to Charity: but still I fear for him. 'Twill be a day to remember, when we have him back.
Mrs. Maynard. A long, long year since Charity found him, and no word or sign from our loved one.
John. Ah, mother, I like that: I was uncharitable, – I, who have been so bitter against others who turned their faces from the fallen. But I'm proud of him. "Tell father," he said to Charity, "tell him I will never cross his threshold till I can return as I went, – a man." That's so like a Maynard! that's the true grit: I like that.
Mrs. Maynard. And Charity will give us no news of him.
John. No: she shakes her head. "Give him time, give him time: " but she smiles when she says it; and, when Charity smiles, you can depend upon it all's going well. We must trust her, mother. So we have two more faces in the fire, Harry's and Jessie's. (Sleigh-bells heard without.) Ah! there she is, there she is! (Goes to window.) No, it's Tom and Kitty with the baby. Why, mother, they've brought the baby: here's a surprise for you.
Tom (outside). Whoa, I tell you! Give me the baby, Kitty: that's all right. Now come along, come along. (Enters door in flat, with a baby well bundled in his arms.)
John. Tom, glad to see you: this is hearty. Come to the fire; and, Kitty, give us a smack. (Kisses Kitty.)
Tom. Hallo! easy there; but I suppose it's all right.
John. Right? of course 'tis. Now give me the baby.
Tom. To serve in the same style? No, I thank you; it's a tenderer bit than Kitty.
Kitty. Tom, don't be silly!
Mrs. Maynard. I'll take him, Tom, the little darling. (Takes baby.)
Tom (reluctantly giving it up). Certainly, only handle him gently: I'm terribly anxious.
Mrs. Maynard (sits on settle. John helps Kitty off with her things). Oh, you little beauty!
Tom (leans on mantle, back, and watches her). The picture of his daddy: that's what they all say. Is his nose all right? Ain't much of it, but, if the frost got at it, good-by nose. Take care! Oh, Lord, I thought you had dropped him. Hey, Johnny, look up: he's a smart one for a three-months' older. Hadn't I better take him?
Kitty. Tom, do you suppose Mrs. Maynard don't know how to handle a baby?
Tom. Well, I don't know, Kitty; they break awful easy. You just keep your eye on him until I put up the horse. (Going; returns.) Does he look all right, Mrs. Maynard?
Mrs. Maynard. Right! don't you see he's wide awake?
Tom. Yes: but hadn't he ought to be asleep?
Kitty. Tom, do go and put up your horse. I never saw such a goose; when he's awake, you think he should be asleep, and when he's asleep you want to wake him.
Tom. Parental anxiety. You see, Mrs. Maynard, this is something new to me.
Kitty. Well, isn't it new to all of us? Do go along!
Tom. I'm off. (Exit door in flat.)
Kitty. Such a plague!
John. Ah, Kitty, not satisfied! You regret not having taken the other, Nat Harlow.
Kitty. No, indeed. Tom's the best husband in the world. I've not heard a cross word from him the whole year since we've been married; but he does make such a fuss about baby! Sha'n't I take him, Mrs. Maynard?
John. Oh, ho! somebody else makes a fuss too. (Sleigh-bells heard.) Ah, here's Charity at last.
Charity (outside). Drive to the barn, Stub; I'll jump out. (Enters door in flat.) Here I am, you dear old John. (Shakes hands, and kisses John.)
John. Welcome, Charity; a thousand times welcome!
Charity. I knew you'd be glad to see me. (Runs to Mrs. Maynard, and kisses her.) You dear, dear old Hannah!
Mrs. Maynard. Ah, Charity, you always bring sunlight with you.
Charity. A baby! bless me! Oh! it's yours, Kitty. That for you (kisses her), and this for the baby. (Kisses baby.)
Kitty. Young as ever, Mrs. Goodall. Come, Mrs. Maynard, let me carry the baby off to bed. Don't move: I know the way. (Takes baby, and exits r. u. e.)
John. Now, Charity, our boy —
Mrs. Maynard. Yes, Harry! What news?
Charity. Dear me! do let me get my things off. (Removes cloak and hat. Mrs. Maynard takes them, and carries them off r. u. e. Charity sits, and looks into fire.) What a glorious blaze! (John leans on back of bench.) Ah, John, I've often envied you your quiet evenings here, with this for company; often seen you and Hannah sitting here together, taking so much comfort. (Enter Mrs. Maynard, r. u. e., and leans on bench, between Charity and the fire.)
Mrs. Maynard. O Charity! tell us of our boy.
John. Yes, yes, Charity, be merciful: what of him?
Charity (rises and comes l.). Oh, do be patient! I've a strange fancy to see how you look there in the old seat. Come, take your places, and tell me what you see there. (John sits with Mrs. Maynard on bench, she next the fire; he takes her hand.) That's nice. (Goes to back of bench.) Now, tell me, what see you there? (Enter Stub, door in flat, excitedly.)
Stub. I've put 'em up, Miss Charity, an' – an' —
Charity. Silence, Stub! (He comes down l.)
Stub (aside). Dat's de quarest woman eber I see: ben in de house five minutes, an' not tole de news.
Charity. Well, John, I'm waiting.
John. There, Charity, is my picture-gallery of old memories, that both sadden and cheer waiting and aching hearts. What do I see? (Looking into fire.) The face of my brave soldier boy: the face that has glowed upon us in its noble manhood for many, many years.
Charity. The face of a hero, John: there are no bitter memories there. He died bravely: passed into the better life with the grand army of martyrs, crowned with glory.
Stub. Yas indeed, dead an' gone, Massa Cap'n: God bless him! Miss Charity, am you gwine to tell —
Charity. Be silent! (Stub goes l., shaking his head.)
Stub. I shall bust it out: I can't help it.
Charity. Well, brother John.
John. Another, a younger face. Now I see it with the glow of health upon the cheeks, the eye bright and laughing, as I have seen it come and go before me in the old days. And now – 'tis pale and haggard: the eyes are bloodshot. O Charity, the face that has haunted my sleep! I have tried to shut it out; but it comes before me with a look full of reproach. Oh had I but been merciful, all this might not have been!