The Project Gutenberg EBook of Two Men of Sandy Bar, by Bret Harte This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Two Men of Sandy Bar A Drama Author: Bret Harte Release Date: January 8, 2009 [EBook #2570] Last Updated: December 17, 2012 Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR *** Produced by Donald Lainson, and David Widger
The Prodigals.
"SANDY".. Son of Alexander Morton, sen.
JOHN OAKHURST.. His former partner, personating the prodigal son, Sandy.
COL. STARBOTTLE.. Alexander Morton, sen.'s, legal adviser.
OLD MORTON.. Alexander Morton, sen.
DON JOSE.. Father of Jovita Castro.
CAPPER.. A detective.
CONCHO.. Major-domo of Don Jose's rancho.
YORK.. An old friend of Oakhurst.
PRITCHARD.. An Australian convict.
SOAPY & SILKY.. His pals.
JACKSON.. Confidential clerk of Alexander Morton, jun., and confederate of Pritchard.
HOP SING.. A Chinese laundryman.
SERVANT of Alexander Morton, sen.—POLICEMEN.
MISS MARY MORRIS.. The schoolmistress of Red Gulch, in love with Sandy, and cousin of Alexander Morton, sen.
DONA JOVITA CASTRO.. In love with John Oakhurst, and daughter of Don Jose.
THE DUCHESS.. Wife of Pritchard, illegally married to Sandy, and former "flame" of John Oakhurst.
MANUELA.. Servant of Castro, and maid to Dona Jovita.
ACT I
The Rancho of the Blessed Innocents, and House of Don Jose Castro.
ACT II
Red Gulch.
ACT III
The Banking-House of Morton & Son, San Francisco.
ACT IV
The Villa of Alexander Morton, sen., San Francisco.
ALEXANDER MORTON ("SANDY").—First dress: Mexican vaquero; black
velvet trousers open from knee, over white trousers; laced black velvet
jacket, and broad white sombrero; large silver spurs. Second dress:
miner's white duck jumper, and white duck trousers; (sailor's) straw hat.
Third dress: fashionable morning costume. Fourth dress: full evening
dress.
JOHN OAKHURST.—First dress: riding-dress, black, elegantly fitting.
Second and third dress: fashionable. Fourth dress: full evening dress.
COL. STARBOTTLE.—First dress: blue double-breasted frock, and white
"strapped" trousers; white hat. Second dress: same coat, blue trousers,
and black broad-brimmed felt hat; cane, semper; ruffles, semper. Third
dress: the same. Fourth dress: the same, with pumps.
YORK.—Fashionable morning dress.
JACKSON.—Business suit.
CONCHO.—First dress: vaquero's dress. Second dress: citizen's dress.
HOP SING.—Dress of Chinese coolie: dark-blue blouse, and dark-blue
drawers gathered at ankles; straw conical hat, and wooden sabots.
DON JOSE.—First dress: serape, black, with gold embroidery. Second
class: fashionable black suit, with broad-brimmed black stiff sombrero.
OLD MORTON.—First, second, third, and fourth dress: black, stiff,
with white cravat.
CAPPER.—Ordinary dress of period.
MISS MARY.—First dress: tasteful calico morning dress. Second and
third dress: lady's walking costume—fashionable. Fourth dress: full
dress.
DONA JOVITA.—First dress: handsome Spanish dress, with manta. Second
dress: more elaborate, same quality.
THE DUCHESS.—First dress: elaborate but extravagant fashionable
costume. Second dress: traveling dress.
MANUELA.—The saya y manta; white waist, and white or black skirt,
with flowers.
MANUELA (arranging supper-table in corridor L., solus). There!
Tortillas, chocolate, olives, and—the whiskey of the Americans!
And supper's ready. But why Don Jose chooses to-night, of all nights,
with this heretic fog lying over the Mission Hills like a wet serape, to
take his supper out here, the saints only know. Perhaps it's some
distrust of his madcap daughter, the Dona Jovita; perhaps to watch her—who
knows? And now to find Diego. Ah, here he comes. So! The old story. He
is getting Dona Jovita's horse ready for another madcap journey. Ah!
(Retires to table.)
Enter cautiously from corridor, L., SANDY MORTON, carrying lady's saddle
and blanket; starts on observing MANUELA, and hastily hides saddle and
blanket in recess.
Sandy (aside). She's alone. I reckon the old man's at his siesta yet. Ef
he'll only hang onto that snooze ten minutes longer, I'll manage to let
that gal Jovita slip out to that yer fandango, and no questions asked.
Manuela (calling SANDY). Diego!
Sandy (aside, without heeding her). That's a sweet voice for a serenade.
Round, full, high-shouldered, and calkilated to fetch a man every time.
Only thar ain't, to my sartain knowledge, one o' them chaps within a
mile of the rancho. (Laughs.)
Manuela. Diego!
Sandy (aside). Oh, go on! That's the style o' them Greasers. They'll
stand rooted in their tracks, and yell for a chap without knowin'
whether he's in sight or sound.
Manuela (approaching SANDY impatiently). Diego!
Sandy (starting, aside). The devil! Why, that's ME she's after.
(Laughs.) I clean disremembered that when I kem yer I tole those chaps
my name was James,—James Smith (laughs), and thet they might call
me "Jim." And De-a-go's their lingo for Jim. (Aloud.) Well, my beauty,
De-a-go it is. Now, wot's up?
Manuela. Eh? no sabe!
Sandy. Wot's your little game. (Embraces her.)
Manuela (aside, and recoiling coquettishly). Mother of God! He must be
drunk again. These Americans have no time for love when they are sober.
(Aloud and coquettishly.) Let me go, Diego. Don Jose is coming. He has
sent for you. He takes his supper to-night on the corridor. Listen,
Diego. He must not see you thus. You have been drinking again. I will
keep you from him. I will say you are not well.
Sandy. Couldn't you, my darling, keep him from ME? Couldn't you make him
think HE was sick? Couldn't you say he's exposin' his precious health by
sittin' out thar to-night; thet ther's chills and fever in every breath?
(Aside.) Ef the old Don plants himself in that chair, that gal's chances
for goin' out to-night is gone up.
Manuela. Never. He would suspect at once. Listen, Diego. If Don Jose
does not know that his daughter steals away with you to meet some
caballero, some LOVER,—you understand, Diego,—it is because
he does not know, or would not SEEM to know, what every one else in the
rancho knows. Have a care, foolish Diego! If Don Jose is old and blind,
look you, friend, we are NOT. You understand?
Sandy (aside). What the devil does she expect?—money? No! (Aloud.)
Look yer, Manuela, you ain't goin' to blow on that young gal! (Putting
his arm around her waist.) Allowin' that she hez a lover, thar ain't
nothin' onnateral in thet, bein' a purty sort o' gal. Why, suppose
somebody should see you and me together like this, and should just let
on to the old man.
Manuela. Hush! (Disengaging herself.) Hush! He is coming. Let me go,
Diego. It is Don Jose!
Enter Don Jose, who walks gravely to the table, and seats himself.
MANUELA retires to table.
Sandy (aside). I wonder if he saw us. I hope he did: it would shut that
Manuela's mouth for a month of Sundays. (Laughs.) God forgive me for it!
I've done a heap of things for that young gal Dona Jovita; but this yer
gittin' soft on the Greaser maid-servant to help out the misses is a
little more than Sandy Morton bargained fur.
Don Jose (to MANUELA). You can retire. Diego will attend me. (Looks at
DIEGO attentively.) [Exit MANUELA.
Sandy (aside). Diego will attend him! Why, blast his yeller skin, does
he allow that Sandy Morton hired out as a purty waiter-gal? Because I
calkilated to feed his horses, it ain't no reason thet my dooty to
animals don't stop thar. Pass his hash! (Turns to follow MANUELA, but
stops.) Hello, Sandy! wot are ye doin', eh? You ain't going back on Miss
Jovita, and jest spile that gal's chances to git out to-night, on'y to
teach that God-forsaken old gov'ment mule manners? No! I'll humor the
old man, and keep one eye out for the gal. (Comes to table, and leans
familiarly over the back of DON JOSE'S chair.)
Don Jose (aside). He seems insulted and annoyed. His manner strengthens
my worst suspicions. He has not expected this. (Aloud.) Chocolate,
Diego.
Sandy (leaning over table carelessly). Yes, I reckon it's somewhar thar.
Don Jose (aside). He is unused to menial labor. If I should be right in
my suspicions! if he really were Dona Jovita's secret lover! This
gallantry with the servants only a deceit! Bueno! I will watch him.
(Aloud.) Chocolate, Diego!
Sandy (aside). I wonder if the old fool reckons I'll pour it out. Well,
seein's he's the oldest. (Pours chocolate awkwardly, and spills it on
the table and DON JOSE.)
Don Jose (aside). He IS embarrassed. I am right. (Aloud.) Diego!
Sandy (leaning confidentially over DON JOSE'S chair). Well, old man!
Don Jose. Three months ago my daughter the Dona Jovita picked you up, a
wandering vagabond, in the streets of the Mission. (Aside.) He does not
seem ashamed. (Aloud.) She—she—ahem! The aguardiente, Diego.
Sandy (aside). That means the whiskey. It's wonderful how quick a man
learns Spanish. (Passes the bottle, fills DON JOSE'S glass, and then his
own. DON JOSE recoils in astonishment.) I looks toward ye, ole man.
(Tosses off liquor.)
Don Jose (aside). This familiarity! He IS a gentleman. Bueno! (Aloud.)
She was thrown from her horse; her skirt caught in the stirrup; she was
dragged; you saved her life. You—
Sandy (interrupting, confidentially drawing a chair to the table, and
seating himself). Look yer! I'll tell you all about it. It wasn't that
gal's fault, ole man. The hoss shied at me, lying drunk in a ditch, you
see; the hoss backed, the surcle broke; it warn't in human natur for her
to keep her seat, and that gal rides like an angel; but the mustang
throwed her. Well, I sorter got in the way o' thet hoss, and it stopped.
Hevin' bin the cause o' the hoss shyin', for I reckon I didn't look much
like an angel lyin' in that ditch, it was about the only squar thing for
me to waltz in and help the gal. Thar, thet's about the way the thing
pints. Now, don't you go and hold that agin her!
Don Jose. Well, well! She was grateful. She has a strange fondness for
you Americans; and at her solicitation I gave you—YOU, an unknown
vagrant—employment here as groom. You comprehend, Diego. I, Don
Jose Castro, proprietor of this rancho, with an hundred idle vaqueros on
my hands,—I made a place for you.
Sandy (meditatively). Umph.
Don Jose. You said you would reform. How have you kept your word? You
were drunk last Wednesday.
Sandy. Thet's so.
Don Jose. And again last Saturday.
Sandy (slowly). Look yer, ole man, don't ye be too hard on me: that was
the same old drunk.
Don Jose. I am in no mood for trifling. Hark ye, friend Diego. You have
seen, perhaps,—who has not?—that I am a fond, an indulgent
father. But even my consideration for my daughter's strange tastes and
follies has its limit. Your conduct is a disgrace to the rancho. You
must go.
Sandy (meditatively). Well, I reckon, perhaps I'd better.
Don Jose (aside). His coolness is suspicious. Can it be that he expects
the girl will follow him? Mother of God! perhaps it has been already
planned between them. Good! Thank Heaven I can end it here. (Aloud.)
Diego!
Sandy. Old man.
Don Jose. For my daughter's sake, you understand,—for her sake,—I
am willing to try you once more. Hark ye! My daughter is young, foolish,
and romantic. I have reason to believe, from her conduct lately, that
she has contracted an intimacy with some Americano, and that in her
ignorance, her foolishness, she has allowed that man to believe that he
might aspire to her hand. Good! Now listen to me. You shall stay in her
service. You shall find out,—you are in her confidence,—you
shall find out this American, this adventurer, this lover if you please,
of the Dona Jovita my daughter; and you will tell him this,—you
will tell him that a union with him is impossible, forbidden; that the
hour she attempts it, without my consent, she is PENNILESS; that this
estate, this rancho, passes into the hands of the Holy Church, where
even your laws cannot reach it.
Sandy (leaning familiarly over the table). But suppose that he sees that
little bluff, and calls ye.
Don Jose. I do not comprehend you (coldly).
Sandy. Suppose he loves that gal, and will take her as she stands,
without a cent, or hide or hair of yer old cattle.
Don Jose (scornfully). Suppose—a miracle! Hark ye, Diego! It is
now five years since I have known your countrymen, these smart
Americanos. I have yet to know when love, sentiment, friendship, was
worth any more than a money value in your market.
Sandy (truculently and drunkenly). You hev, hev ye? Well, look yar, ole
man. Suppose I REFUSE. Suppose I'd rather go than act as a spy on that
young gal your darter! Suppose that—hic—allowin' she's my
friend, I'd rather starve in the gutters of the Mission than stand
between her and the man she fancies. Hey? Suppose I would—damn me!
Suppose I'd see you and your derned old rancho in—t'other place—hic—damn
me. You hear me, ole man! That's the kind o' man I am—damn me.
Don Jose (aside, rising contemptuously). It is as I suspected. Traitor.
Ingrate! Satisfied that his scheme has failed, he is ready to abandon
her. And this—THIS is the man for whom she has been ready to
sacrifice everything,—her home, her father! (Aloud, coldly.) Be it
so, Diego: you shall go.
Sandy (soberly and seriously, after a pause.) Well, I reckon I had
better. (Rising.) I've a few duds, old man, to put up. It won't take me
long. (Goes to L., and pauses.)
Don Jose (aside). Ah! he hesitates! He is changing his mind. (SANDY
returns slowly to table, pours out glass of liquor, nods to DON JOSE,
and drinks.) I looks towards ye, ole man. Adios!
[Exit SANDY.
Don Jose. His coolness is perfect. If these Americans are cayotes in
their advances, they are lions in retreat! Bueno! I begin to respect
him. But it will be just as well to set Concho to track him to the
Mission; and I will see that he leaves the rancho alone.
[Exit Jose.
Enter hurriedly JOVITA CASTRO, in riding habit, with whip.
So! Chiquita not yet saddled, and that spy Concho haunting the plains
for the last half-hour. What an air of mystery! Something awful,
something deliciously dreadful, has happened! Either my amiable drunkard
has forgotten to despatch Concho on his usual fool's errand, or he is
himself lying helpless in some ditch. Was there ever a girl so
persecuted? With a father wrapped in mystery, a lover nameless and
shrouded in the obscurity of some Olympian height, and her only
confidant and messenger a Bacchus instead of a Mercury! Heigh ho! And in
another hour Don Juan—he told me I might call him John—will
be waiting for me outside the convent wall! What if Diego fails me? To
go there alone would be madness! Who else would be as charmingly
unconscious and inattentive as this American vagabond! (Goes to L.) Ah,
my saddle and blanket hidden! He HAS been interrupted. Some one has been
watching. This freak of my father's means something. And to-night, of
all nights, the night that Oakhurst was to disclose himself, and tell me
all! What is to be done? Hark! (DIEGO, without, singing.)
"Oh, here's your aguardiente, Drink it down!"
Jovita. It is Diego; and, Mother of God! drunk again!
Enter SANDY, carrying pack, intoxicated; staggers to centre, and,
observing JOVITA, takes off his hat respectfully.
Jovita (shaking him by the shoulders passionately). Diego! How dare you!
And at such a time!
Sandy (with drunken solemnity). Miss Jovita, did ye ever know me to be
drunk afore at such a time?
Jovita. No.
Sandy. Zachy so. It's abnormal. And it means—the game's up.
Jovita. I do not understand. For the love of God, Diego, be plain!
Sandy (solemnly and drunkenly). When I say your game's up, I mean the
old man knows it all. You're blowed upon. Hearken, miss. (Seriously and
soberly.) Your father knows all that I know; but, as it wasn't my
business to interfere with, I hev sorter helped along. He knows that you
meet a stranger, an American, in these rides with me.
Jovita (passionately). Ingrate! You have not dared to tell him! (Seizing
him by the collar, and threatening him with the horsewhip.)
Sandy (rising with half-drunken, half-sober solemnity). One minit, miss!
one minit! Don't ye! don't ye do that! Ef ye forget (and I don't blame
ye for it), ef ye forget that I'm a man, don't ye, don't ye forget that
you're a woman! Sit ye down, sit ye down, so! Now, ef ye'll kindly
remember, miss, I never saw this yer man, yer lover. Ef ye'll recollect,
miss, whenever you met him, I allers hung back and waited round in the
mission or in the fields beyond for ye, and allowed ye to hev your own
way, it bein' no business o' mine. Thar isn't a man on the ranch, who,
ef he'd had a mind to watch ye, wouldn't hev known more about yer lover
than I do.
Jovita (aside). He speaks truly. He always kept in the background. Even
Don Juan never knew that I had an attendant until I told him. (Aloud.) I
made a mistake, Diego. I was hasty. What am I to do? He is waiting for
me even now.
Sandy. Well (with drunken gravity), ef ye can't go to him, I reckon it's
the squar thing for him to come to ye.
Jovita. Recollect yourself, Diego. Be a man!
Sandy. Fash jus war I say. Let him be a man, and come to ye here. Let
him ride up to this ranch like a man, and call out to yer father that
he'll take ye jist as ye are, without the land. And if the old man
allows, rather than hev ye marry that stranger, he'll give this yer
place to the church, why, let him do it, and be damned.
Jovita (recoiling, aside). So! That is their plan. Don Jose has worked
on the fears or the cupidity of this drunken ingrate.
Sandy (with drunken submission). Ye was speaking to me, miss. Ef ye'll
take my advice,—a drunken man's advice, miss,—ye'll say to
that lover of yours, ef he's afeard to come for ye here, to take ye as
ye stand, he ain't no man for ye. And, ontil he does, ye'll do as the
ole man says. Fur ef I do say it, miss,—and thar ain't no love
lost between us,—he's a good father to ye. It ain't every day that
a gal kin afford to swap a father like that, as she DOES KNOW, fur the
husband that she DON'T! He's a proud old fool, miss; but to ye, to ye,
he's clar grit all through.
Jovita (passionately, aside). Tricked, fooled, like a child! and through
the means of this treacherous, drunken tool. (Stamping her foot.) Ah! we
shall see! You are wise, you are wise, Don Jose; but your daughter is
not a novice, nor a helpless creature of the Holy Church.
(Passionately.) I'll—I'll become a Protestant to-morrow!
Sandy (unheeding her passion, and becoming more earnest and
self-possessed). Ef ye hed a father, miss, ez instead o' harkinin' to
your slightest wish, and surroundin' ye with luxury, hed made your
infancy a struggle for life among strangers, and your childhood a
disgrace and a temptation; ef he had left ye with no company but want,
with no companions but guilt, with no mother but suffering; ef he had
made your home, this home, so unhappy, so vile, so terrible, so awful,
that the crowded streets and gutters of a great city was something to
fly to for relief; ef he had made his presence, his very name,—your
name, miss, allowin' it was your father,—ef he had made that
presence so hateful, that name so infamous, that exile, that flyin' to
furrin' parts, that wanderin' among strange folks ez didn't know ye, was
the only way to make life endurable; and ef he'd given ye,—I mean
this good old man Don Jose, miss,—ef he'd given ye as part of yer
heritage a taint, a weakness in yer very blood, a fondness for a poison,
a poison that soothed ye like a vampire bat and sucked yer life-blood
(seizing her arm) ez it soothed ye; ef this curse that hung over ye
dragged ye down day by day, till hating him, loathing him, ye saw
yerself day by day becoming more and more like him, till ye knew that
his fate was yours, and yours his,—why then, Miss Jovita (rising
with an hysterical, drunken laugh), why then, I'd run away with ye
myself,—I would, damn me!
Jovita (who has been withdrawing from him scornfully). Well acted,
Diego. Don Jose should have seen his pupil. Trust me, my father will
reward you. (Aside.) And yet there were tears in his drunken eyes. Bah!
it is the liquor: he is no longer sane. And, either hypocrite or
imbecile, he is to be trusted no longer. But where and why is he going?
(Aloud.) You are leaving us, Diego.
Sandy (quietly). Well, the old man and me don't get on together.
Jovita (scornfully). Bueno! I see. Then you abandon me.
Sandy (quickly). To the old man, miss,—not the young one. (Walks
to the table, and begins to pour out liquor.)
Jovita (angrily). You would not dare to talk to me thus if John Oakhurst—ah!
(Checking herself.)
Sandy (drops glass on table, hurries to centre, and seizes DONA JOVITA).
Eh! Wot name did you say? (Looks at her amazed and bewildered.)
Jovita (terrified, aside). Mother of God! What have I done? Broken my
sacred pledge to keep his name secret. No! No! Diego did not hear me!
Surely this wretched drunkard does not know him. (Aloud.) Nothing. I
said nothing: I mentioned no name.
Sandy (still amazed, frightened, and bewildered, passing his hand over
his forehead slowly). Ye mentioned no name? Surely. I am wild, crazed.
Tell me, miss—ye didn't,—I know ye didn't, but I thought it
sounded like it,—ye didn't mention the name of—of—of—John
Oakhurst?
Jovita (hurriedly). No, of course not! You terrify me, Diego. You are
wild.
Sandy (dropping her hand with a sigh of relief). No, no! In course ye
didn't. I was wild, miss, wild; this drink has confused me yer.
(Pointing to his head.) There are times when I hear that name, miss,—times
when I see his face. (Sadly.) But it's when I've took too much—too
much. I'll drink no more—no more!—to-night—to-night!
(Drops his head slowly in his hands.)
Jovita (looking at DIEGO—aside). Really, I'm feeling very
uncomfortable. I'd like to ask a question of this maniac. But nonsense!
Don Juan gave me to understand Oakhurst wasn't his real name; that is,
he intimated there was something dreadful and mysterious about it that
mustn't be told,—something that would frighten people. HOLY
VIRGIN! it has! Why, this reckless vagabond here is pale and agitated.
Don Juan shall explain this mystery to-night. But then, how shall I see
him? Ah, I have it. The night of the last festa, when I could not leave
the rancho, he begged me to show a light from the flat roof of the upper
corridor, that he might know I was thinking of him,—dear fellow!
He will linger to-night at the Mission; he will see the light; he will
know that I have not forgotten. He will approach the rancho; I shall
manage to slip away at midnight to the ruined Mission. I shall—ah,
it is my father! Holy Virgin, befriend me now with self-possession.
(Stands quietly at L., looking toward SANDY, who still remains buried in
thought, as)—
Enter DON JOSE; regards his daughter and DIEGO with a sarcastic smile.
Don Jose (aside). Bueno! It is as I expected,—an explanation, an
explosion, a lover's quarrel, an end to romance. From his looks I should
say she has been teaching the adventurer a lesson. Good! I could embrace
her. (Crosses to SANDY—aloud.) You still here!
Sandy (rising with a start). Yes! I—a—I was only taking
leave of Miss Jovita that hez bin kind to me. She's a good gal, ole man,
and won't be any the worse when I'm gone.—Good-by, Miss Jovita
(extending his hand): I wish ye luck.
Jovita (coldly). Adios, friend Diego. (Aside, hurriedly.) You will not
expose my secret?
Sandy (aside). It ain't in me, miss. (To DON JOSE, going.) Adios, ole
man. (Shouldering his pack.)
Don Jose. Adios, friend Diego. (Formally.) May good luck attend you!
(Aside.) You understand, on your word as—as—as—A
GENTLEMAN!—you have no further communication with this rancho, or
aught that it contains.
Sandy (gravely). I hear ye, ole man. Adios. (Goes to gateway, but pauses
at table, and begins to fill a glass of aguardiente.)
Don Jose (aside, looking at his daughter). I could embrace her now. She
is truly a Castro. (Aloud to JOVITA.) Hark ye, little one! I have news
that will please you, and—who knows? perhaps break up the monotony
of the dull life of the rancho. To-night come to me two famous
caballeros, Americanos, you understand: they will be here soon, even
now. Retire, and make ready to receive them. [Exit JOVITA.
Don Jose (aside, looking at SANDY). He lingers. I shall not be satisfied
until Concho has seen him safely beyond the Mission wall.
Enter CONCHO.
Concho. Two caballeros have dismounted in the corral, and seek the honor
of Don Jose's presence.
Don Jose. Bueno! (Aside.) Follow that fellow beyond the Mission.
(Aloud.) Admit the strangers. Did they give their names?
Concho. They did, Don Jose,—Col. Culpepper Starbottle and the Don
Alexandro Morton.
Sandy (dropping glass of aguardiente, and staggering stupidly to the
centre, confronting DON JOSE and CONCHO, still holding bottle). Eh! Wot?
Wot name did you say? (Looks stupidly and amazedly at CONCHO and DON
JOSE, and then slowly passes his hand over his forehead. Then slowly and
apologetically.) I axes your pardon, Don Jose, and yours, sir (to
CONCHO), but I thought ye called me. No!—that ez—I mean—I
mean—I'm a little off color here (pointing to his head). I don't
follow suit—I—eh—eh! Oh!—ye'll pardon me, sir,
but thar's names—perhaps yer darter will remember that I was took
a bit ago on a name—thar's names sorter hangin' round me yer
(pointing to his head), that I thinks I hear—but bein' drunk—I
hopes ye'll excoos me. Adios. (Staggers to gateway, CONCHO following.)
Concho (aside). There is something more in this than Don Jose would have
known. I'll watch Diego, and keep an eye on Miss Jovita too.
Exit, following SANDY, who, in exit, jostles against COL. STARBOTTLE
entering, who stops and leans exhaustedly at the wall to get his breath;
following him closely, and oblivious of SANDY MORTON, ALEXANDER MORTON,
sen. Enter COL. STARBOTTLE and ALEXANDER MORTON, sen.
SCENE 2.—The Same.
Col. Starbottle (entering, to DON JOSE). Overlooking the insult of—er—inebriated
individual, whose menial position in this—er—er—household
precludes a demand for personal satisfaction, sir, I believe I have the
honor of addressing Don Jose Castro. Very good, sir. Permit me, sir, to
introduce myself as Col. Culpepper Starbottle—demn me! the legal
adviser of Mr. Alexander Morton, sen., and I may add, sir, the friend of
that gentleman, and as such, sir—er—er—personally—personally
responsible.
Alexander Morton (puritanically and lugubriously). As a God-fearing man
and forgiving Christian, Mr. Castro, I trust you will overlook the
habitual profanity of the erring but well-meaning man, who, by the
necessities of my situation, accompanies me. I am the person—a
helpless sinner—mentioned in the letters which I believe have
preceded me. As a professing member of the Cumberland Presbyterian
Church, I have ventured, in the interest of works rather than faith, to
overlook the plain doctrines of the church in claiming sympathy of a
superstitious Papist.
Starbottle (interrupting, aside to ALEXANDER MORTON). Ahem! ahem! (Aloud
to DON JOSE.) My friend's manner, sir, reminds me of—er—er—Ram
Bootgum Sing, first secretary of Turkish legation at Washington in '45;
most remarkable man—demn me—most remarkable—and warm
personal friend. Challenged Tod Robinson for putting him next to Hebrew
banker at dinner, with remark—demn me—that they were both
believers in the profit! he, he! Amusing, perhaps; irreverent,
certainly. Fought with cimeters. Second pass, Ram divided Tod in two
pieces—fact, sir—just here (pointing) in—er—er—regions
of moral emotions. Upper half called to me,—said to me warningly—last
words—never forget it,—"Star,"—always called me Star,—"Respect
man's religious convictions." Legs dead; emotion confined to upper part
of body—pathetic picture. Ged, sir, something to be remembered!
Don Jose (with grave Spanish courtesy). You are welcome, gentlemen, to
the rancho of the Blessed Fisherman. Your letters, with their honorable
report, are here. Believe me, senores, in your modesty you have
forgotten to mention your strongest claim to the hospitality of my
house,—the royal right of strangers.
Morton. Angels before this have been entertained as strangers, says the
Good Book; and that, I take it, is your authority for this
ceremoniousness which else were but lip-service and Papist airs. But I
am here in the performance of a duty, Mr. Castro,—the duty of a
Christian father. I am seeking a prodigal son. I am seeking him in his
wine-husks and among his harl—
Starbottle (interrupting). A single moment. (To DON JOSE.) Permit me to—er—er—explain.
As my friend Mr. Morton states, we are, in fact, at present engaged in—er—er—quest—er—pilgrimage
that possibly to some, unless deterred by considerations of
responsibility—personal responsibility—sir—Ged, sir,
might be looked upon as visionary, enthusiastic, sentimental, fanatical.
We are seeking a son, or, as my friend tersely and scripturally
expresses it—er—er—prodigal son. I say scripturally,
sir, and tersely, but not, you understand it, literally, nor I may add,
sir, legally. Ged, sir, as a precedent, I admit we are wrong. To the
best of my knowledge, sir, the—er—Prodigal Son sought his
own father. To be frank, sir,—and Ged, sir, if Culpepper
Starbottle has a fault, it is frankness, sir. As Nelse Buckthorne said
to me in Nashville, in '47, "You would infer, Col. Starbottle, that I
equivocate." I replied, "I do, sir; and permit me to add that
equivocation has all the guilt of a lie, with cowardice superadded." The
next morning at nine o'clock, Ged, sir, he gasped to me—he was
lying on the ground, hole through his left lung just here (illustrating
with DON JOSE'S coat),—he gasped, "If you have a merit, Star,
above others, it is frankness!" his last words, sir,—demn me....
To be frank, sir, years ago, in the wild exuberance of youth, the son of
this gentleman left his—er—er—er—boyhood's home,
owing to an innocent but natural misunderstanding with the legal
protector of his youth—
Morton (interrupting gravely and demurely). Driven from home by my own
sinful and then unregenerate hand—
Starbottle (quickly). One moment, a simple moment. We will not weary you
with—er—er—history, or the vagaries of youth. He—er—came
to California in '49. A year ago, touched by—er—er—parental
emotion and solicitude, my friend resolved to seek him here. Believing
that the—er—er—lawlessness of—er—er—untrammelled
youth and boyish inexperience might have led him into some trifling
indiscretion, we have sought him successively in hospitals, alms-houses,
reformatories, State's prisons, lunatic and inebriate asylums, and—er—er—even
on the monumental inscriptions of the—er—er—country
churchyards. We have thus far, I grieve to say, although acquiring much
and valuable information of a varied character and interest, as far as
the direct matter of our search,—we have been, I think I may say,
unsuccessful. Our search has been attended with the—er—disbursement
of some capital under my—er—er—direction, which,
though large, represents quite inadequately the—er—er—earnestness
of our endeavors.
Enter MANUELA.
Manuela (to DON JOSE). The Dona Jovita is waiting to receive you.
Don Jose (to MORTON). You shall tell me further of your interesting
pilgrimage hereafter. At present my daughter awaits us to place this
humble roof at your disposal. I am a widower, Don Alexandro, like
yourself. When I say that, like you, I have an only child, and that I
love her, you will understand how earnest is my sympathy. This way,
gentlemen. (Leading to door in corridor, and awaiting them.)
Starbottle (aside). Umph! an interview with lovely woman means—er—intoxication,
but—er—er—no liquor. It's evident that the Don doesn't
drink. Eh! (Catches sight of table in corridor, and bottle.) Oh, he
does, but some absurd Spanish formality prevents his doing the polite
thing before dinner. (Aloud, to DON JOSE.) One moment, sir, one moment.
If you will—er—er—pardon the—er—seeming
discourtesy, for which I am, I admit—or—personally
responsible, I will for a few moments enjoy the—er—er—delicious
air of the courtyard, and the beauties of Nature as displayed in the—er—sunset.
I will—er—rejoin you and the—er—er—ladies
a moment later.
Don Jose. The house is your own, senor: do as you will. This way, Don
Alexandro. [Exit, in door L., DON JOSE and MORTON, sen.
Starbottle. "Do as you will." Well, I don't understand Spanish ceremony,
but that's certainly good English. (Going to table.) Eh! (Smelling
decanter.) Robinson County whiskey! Umph! I have observed that the
spirit of American institutions, sir, are already penetrating the—er—er—superstitions
of—er—foreign and effete civilizations. (Pours out glass of
whiskey, and drinks; pours again, and observes MANUELA watching him
respectfully.) What the Devil is that girl looking at? Eh! (Puts down
glass.)
Manuela (aside). He is fierce and warlike. Mother of God! But he is not
so awful as that gray-haired caballero, who looks like a fasting St.
Anthony. And he loves aguardiente: he will pity poor Diego the more.
(Aloud.) Ahem! Senor. (Courtesies coquettishly.)
Col. Starbottle (aside). Oh, I see. Ged! not a bad-looking girl,—a
trifle dark, but Southern, and—er—tropical. Ged, Star, Star,
this won't do, sir; no, sir. The filial affections of Aeneas are not to
be sacrificed through the blandishments of—er—Dodo—I
mean a Dido.
Manuela. O senor, you are kind, you are good. You are an Americano, one
of a great nation. You will feel sympathy for a poor young man,—a
mere muchacho,—one of your own race, who was a vaquero here,
senor. He has been sent away from us here disgraced, alone, hungry,
perhaps penniless. (Wipes her eyes.)
Col. Starbottle. The Devil! Another prodigal. (Aloud.) My dear, the case
you have just stated would appear to be the—er—er—normal
condition of the—er—youth of America. But why was he
discharged? (Pouring out liquor.)
Manuela (demurely glancing at the colonel). He was drunk, senor.
Starbottle (potently). Drunkenness, my child, which is—er—weakness
in the—er—er—gentleman, in the subordinate is a crime.
What—er—excites the social impulse and exhilarates the fancy
of the—er—master of the house, in the performance of his
duty, renders the servant unfit for his. Legally it is a breach of
contract. I should give it as my opinion,—for which I am
personally responsible,—that your friend Diego could not recover.
Ged! (Aside.) I wonder if this scapegoat could be our black sheep.
Manuela. But that was not all, senor. It was an excuse only. He was sent
away for helping our young lady to a cavalier. He was discharged because
he would not be a traitor to her. He was sent away because he was too
good, too honorable,—too— (Bursts out crying.)
Starbottle (aside). Oh, the Devil! THIS is no Sandy Morton. (Coming
forward gravely.) I have never yet analyzed the—er—er—character
of the young gentleman I have the honor to assist in restoring to his
family and society; but judging—er—calmly—er—dispassionately,
my knowledge of his own father—from what the old gentleman must
have been in his unregenerate state, and knowing what he is now in his
present reformed Christian condition, I should say calmly and
deliberately that the son must be the most infernal and accomplished
villain unhung. Ged, I have a thought, an inspiration. (To MANUELA,
tapping her under the chin.) I see, my dear; a lover, ha, ha! Ah, you
rogue! Well, well, we will talk of this again. I will—er—er—interest
myself in this Diego. [Exit MANUELA.
Starbottle (solus). How would it do to get up a prodigal? Umph.
Something must be done soon: the old man grows languid in his search. My
position as a sinecure is—er—in peril. A prodigal ready
made! But could I get a scoundrel bad enough to satisfy the old man?
Ged, that's serious. Let me see: he admits that he is unable to
recognize his own son in face, features, manner, or speech. Good! If I
could pick up some rascal whose—er—irregularities didn't
quite fill the bill, and could say—Ged!—that he was
reforming. Reforming! Ged, Star! That very defect would show the
hereditary taint, demn me! I must think of this seriously. Ged, Star!
the idea is—an inspiration of humanity and virtue. Who knows? it
might be the saving of the vagabond,—a crown of glory to the old
man's age. Inspiration, did I say? Ged, Star, it's a DUTY,—a
sacred, solemn duty, for which you are responsible,—personally
responsible.
Lights down half. Enter from corridor L., MORTON, DON JOSE, the DONA
JOVITA, and MANUELA.
Dona Jovita (stepping forward with exaggerated Spanish courtesy). A
thousand graces await your Excellency, Commander Don—Don—
Starbottle (bowing to the ground with equal delight and exaggerated
courtesy). Er—Coolpepero!
Dona Jovita. Don Culpepero! If we throw ourselves unasked at your
Excellency's feet (courtesy), if we appear unsought before the light of
your Excellency's eyes (courtesy), if we err in maidenly decorum in thus
seeking unbidden your Excellency's presence (courtesy), believe us, it
is the fear of some greater, some graver indecorum in our conduct that
has withdrawn your Excellency's person from us since you have graced our
roof with your company. We know, Senor Commander, how superior are the
charms of the American ladies. It is in no spirit of rivalry with them,
but to show—Mother of God!—that we are not absolutely ugly,
that we intrude upon your Excellency's solitude. (Aside.) I shall need
the old fool, and shall use him.
Col. Starbottle (who has been bowing and saluting with equal
extravagance, during this speech—aside). Ged! she IS beautiful!
(Aloud.) Permit me er—er—Dona Jovita, to correct—Ged,
I must say it, correct erroneous statements. The man who should—er—utter
in my presence remarks disparaging those—er—charms it is my
privilege to behold, I should hold responsible,—Ged! personally
responsible. You—er—remind me of er—incident, trifling
perhaps, but pleasing, Charleston in '52,—a reception at John C.
Calhoun's. A lady, one of the demnedest beautiful women you ever saw,
said to me, "Star!"—she always called me Star,—"you've
avoided me, you have, Star! I fear you are no longer my friend."—"Your
friend, madam," I said. "No, I've avoided you because I am your lover."
Ged, Miss Jovita, a fact—demn me. Sensation. Husband heard garbled
report. He was old friend, but jealous, rash, indiscreet. Fell at first
fire—umph—January 5th. Lady—beautiful woman—never
forgave: went into convent. Sad affair. And all a mistake—demn me,—all
a mistake, through perhaps extravagant gallantry and compliment. I
lingered here, oblivious perhaps of—er—beauty, in the
enjoyment of Nature.
Dona Jovita. Is there enough for your Excellency to share with me, since
it must be my rival? See, the fog is clearing away: we shall have
moonlight. (DON JOSE and MORTON seat themselves at table.) Shall we not
let these venerable caballeros enjoy their confidences and experiences
together? (Aside.) Don Jose watches me like a fox, does not intend to
lose sight of me. How shall I show the light three times from the
courtyard roof? I have it! (Takes STARBOTTLE'S arm.) It is too pleasant
to withdraw. There is a view from the courtyard wall your Excellency
should see. Will you accompany me? The ascent is easy.
Starbottle (bowing). I will ascend, although, permit me to say, Dona
Jovita, it would be—er—impossible for me to be nearer—er—heaven,
than—er—at present.
Dona Jovita. FLATTERER! Come, you shall tell me about this sad lady who
died. Ah, Don Culpepero, let me hope all your experiences will not be so
fatal to us!
[Exeunt DONA JOVITA and STARBOTTLE.
Morton (aside). A froward daughter of Baal, and, if I mistake not, even
now concocting mischief for this foolish, indulgent, stiff-necked
father. (Aloud.) Your only daughter, I presume.
Don Jose. My darling, Don Alexandro. Motherless from her infancy. A
little wild, and inclined to gayety, but I hope not seeking for more
than these walls afford. I have checked her but seldom, Don Alexandro,
and then I did not let her see my hand on the rein that held her back. I
do not ask her confidence always: I only want her to know that when the
time comes it can be given to me without fear.
Morton. Umph!
Don Jose (leaning forward confidentially). To show that you have not
intrusted your confidence regarding your wayward son—whom may the
saints return to you!—to unsympathetic or inexperienced ears, I
will impart a secret. A few weeks ago I detected an innocent intimacy
between this foolish girl and a vagabond vaquero in my employ. You
understand, it was on her part romantic, visionary; on his, calculating,
shrewd, self-interested, for he expected to become my heir. I did not
lock her up. I did not tax her with it. I humored it. Today I satisfied
the lover that his investment was not profitable, that a marriage
without my consent entailed the loss of the property, and then left them
together. They parted in tears, think you, Don Alexandro? No, but
mutually hating each other. The romance was over. An American would have
opposed the girl, have driven her to secrecy, to an elopement perhaps.
Eh?
Morton (scornfully). And you believe that they have abandoned their
plans?
Don Jose. I am sure—hush! she is here!
Enter, on roof of corridor, STARBOTTLE and JOVITA.
Col. Starbottle. Really, a superb landscape! An admirable view of the—er—fog—rolling
over the Mission Hills, the plains below, and the—er—er—single
figure of—er—motionless horseman—
Dona Jovita (quickly). Some belated vaquero. Do you smoke, Senor
Commander?
Starbottle. At times.
Dona Jovita. With me. I will light a cigarette for you: it is the
custom.
COL. STARBOTTLE draws match from his pocket, and is about to light, but
is stopped by DONA JOVITA.
Dona Jovita. Pardon, your Excellency, but we cannot endure your American
matches. There is a taper in the passage.
COL. STARBOTTLE brings taper: DONA JOVITA turns to light cigarette, but
manages to blow out candle.
Dona Jovita. I must try your gallantry again. That is once I have
failed. (Significantly.)
COL. STARBOTTLE relights candle, business, same results.
Dona Jovita. I am stupid and nervous to-night. I have failed twice.
(With emphasis.)
COL. STARBOTTLE repeats business with candle. DONA JOVITA lights
cigarette, hands it to the colonel.
Dona Jovita. Thrice, and I have succeeded. (Blows out candle.)
Col. Starbottle. A thousand thanks! There is a—er—er—light
on the plain.
Dona Jovita (hastily). It is the vaqueros returning. My father gives a
festa to peons in honor of your arrival. There will be a dance. You have
been patient, Senor Commander: you shall have my hand for a waltz.
Enter vaqueros, their wives and daughters. A dance, during which the
"sembi canca" is danced by COL. STARBOTTLE and DONA JOVITA. Business,
during which the bell of Mission Church, faintly illuminated beyond the
wall, strikes twelve. Dancers withdraw hurriedly, leaving alone MANUELA,
DONA JOVITA, COL. STARBOTTLE, DON JOSE, and CONCHO. CONCHO formally
hands keys to Don Jose.
Don Jose (delivering keys to MORTON with stately impressiveness). Take
them, Don Alexandro Morton, and with them all that they unlock for bliss
or bale. Take them, noble guest, and with them the homage of this
family,—to-night, Don Alexandro, your humble servants. Good-night,
gentlemen. May a thousand angels attend you, O Don Alexandro and Don
Culpepero!
Dona Jovita. Good-night, Don Alexandro. May your dreams to-night see all
your wishes fulfilled! Good-night, O Senor Commander. May she you dream
of be as happy as you!
Manuela and Concho (together). Good-night, O senores and illustrious
gentlemen! may the Blessed Fisherman watch over you! (Both parties
retreat into opposite corridors, bowing.)
SCENE 3.—The same. Stage darkened. Fog passing beyond wall
outside, and occasionally obscuring moonlit landscape beyond. Enter
JOVITA softly, from corridor L. Her face is partly hidden by Spanish
mantilla.
Jovita. All quiet at last; and, thanks to much aguardiente, my warlike
admirer snores peacefully above. Yet I could swear I heard the old
Puritan's door creak as I descended! Pshaw! What matters! (Goes to
gateway, and tries gate.) Locked! Carramba! I see it now. Under the
pretext of reviving the old ceremony, Don Jose has locked the gates, and
placed me in the custody of his guest. Stay! There is a door leading to
the corral from the passage by Concho's room. Bueno! Don Jose shall see!
[Exit R.
Enter cautiously R. OLD MORTON.
Old Morton. I was not mistaken! It was the skirt of that Jezebel
daughter that whisked past my door a moment ago, and her figure that
flitted down that corridor. So! The lover driven out of the house at
four P. M., and at twelve o'clock at night the young lady trying the
gate secretly. This may be Spanish resignation and filial submission,
but it looks very like Yankee disobedience and forwardness. Perhaps it's
well that the keys are in my pocket. This fond confiding Papist may find
the heretic American father of some service. (Conceals himself behind
pillar of corridor.)
After a pause the head of JOHN OAKHURST appears over the wall of
corridor: he climbs up to roof of corridor, and descends very quietly
and deliberately to stage.
Oakhurst (dusting his clothing with his handkerchief). I never knew
before why these Spaniards covered their adobe walls with whitewash.
(Leans against pillar in shadow.)
Re-enter JOVITA, hastily.
Jovita. All is lost; the corral door is locked; the key is outside, and
Concho is gone,—gone where? Madre di Dios! to discover, perhaps to
kill him.
Oakhurst (approaching her). No.
Jovita. Juan! (Embracing him.) But how did you get here? This is
madness!
Oakhurst. As you did not come to the mission, I came to the rancho. I
found the gate locked—by the way, is not that a novelty here?—I
climbed the wall. But you, Miss Castro, you are trembling! Your little
hands are cold!
Jovita (glancing around). Nothing, nothing! But you are running a
terrible risk. At any moment we may be discovered.
Oakhurst. I understand you: it would be bad for the discoverer. Never
fear, I will be patient.
Jovita. But I feared that you might meet Concho.
Oakhurst. Concho—Concho—(meditatively). Let me see,—tall,
dark, long in the arm, weighs about one hundred and eighty, and active.
Jovita. Yes; tell me! You have met him?
Oakhurst. Possibly, possibly. Was he a friend of yours?
Jovita. No!
Oakhurst. That's better. Are his pursuits here sedentary, or active?
Jovita. He is my father's major-domo.
Oakhurst. I see: a sinecure. (Aside.) Well, if he has to lay up for a
week or two, the rancho won't suffer.
Jovita. Well?
Oakhurst. Well!
Jovita (passionately). There, having scaled the wall, at the risk of
being discovered—this is all you have to say! (Turning away.)
Oakhurst (quietly). Perhaps, Jovita (taking her hand with grave
earnestness), to a clandestine intimacy like ours there is but one end.
It is not merely elopement, not merely marriage, it is exposure! Sooner
or later you and I must face the eyes we now shun. What matters if
tonight or later?
Jovita (quickly). I am ready. It was you who—
Oakhurst. It was I who first demanded secrecy, but it was I who told you
when we last met that I would tell you why to-night.
Jovita. I am ready; but hear me, Juan, nothing can change my faith in
you!
Oakhurst (sadly). You know not what you say. Listen, my child. I am a
gambler. Not the man who lavishes his fortune at the gaming-table for
excitement's sake; not the fanatic who stakes his own earnings—perhaps
the confided earnings of others—on a single coup. No, he is the
man who loses,—whom the world deplores, pities, and forgives. I am
the man who wins—whom the world hates and despises.
Jovita. I do not understand you, Juan.
Oakhurst. So much the better, perhaps. But you must hear me. I make a
profession—an occupation more exacting, more wearying, more
laborious, than that of your meanest herdsman—of that which others
make a dissipation of the senses. And yet, Jovita, there is not the
meanest vaquero in this ranch, who, playing against me, winning or
losing, is not held to be my superior. I have no friends—only
confederates. Even the woman who dares to pity me must do it in secret.
Jovita. But you will abandon this dreadful trade. As the son of the rich
Don Jose, no one dare scorn you. My father will relent. I am his
heiress.
Oakhurst. No more, Jovita, no more. If I were the man who could purchase
the world's respect through a woman's weakness for him, I should not be
here to-night. I am not here to sue your father's daughter with hopes of
forgiveness, promises of reformation. Reformation, in a man like me,
means cowardice or self-interest. (OLD MORTON, becoming excited, leans
slowly out from the shadow of the pillar listening intently.) I am here
to take, by force if necessary, a gambler's wife,—the woman who
will share my fortunes, my disgrace, my losses; who is willing to leave
her old life of indulgence, of luxury, of respectability, for mine. You
are frightened, little dove: compose yourself (soothing her tenderly and
sadly); you are frightened at the cruel hawk who has chosen you for a
mate.
Old Morton (aside). God in heaven! This is like HIM! like me!—like
me, before the blessed Lord lifted me into regeneration. If it should
be! (Leans forward anxiously from pillar.)
Oakhurst (aside). Still silent! Poor dove, I can hear her foolish heart
flutter against mine. Another moment decides our fate. Another moment:
John Oakhurst and freedom, or Red Gulch and—she is moving. (To
JOVITA.) I am harsh, little one, and cold. Perhaps I have had much to
make me so. But when (with feeling) I first met you; when, lifting my
eyes to the church-porch, I saw your beautiful face; when, in sheer
recklessness and bravado, I raised my hat to you; when you—you,
Jovita—lifted your brave eyes to mine, and there, there in the
sanctuary, returned my salute,—the salutation of the gambler, the
outcast, the reprobate,—then, then I swore that you should be
mine, if I tore you from the sanctuary. Speak now, Jovita: if it was
coquetry, speak now; I forgive you: if it was sheer wantonness, speak
now; I shall spare you: but if—
Jovita (throwing herself in his arms). Love, Juan! I am yours, now and
forever. (Pause.) But you have not told me all. I will go with you
to-night—now. I leave behind me all,—my home, my father, my—(pause)
my name. You have forgotten, Juan, you have not told me what I change
THAT for: you have not told me YOURS.
OLD MORTON, in eager excitement, leans beyond shadow of pillar.
Oakhurst (embracing her tenderly, with a smile). If I have not told you
who I am, it was because, darling, it was more important that you should
know what I am. Now that you know that—why—(embarrassedly) I
have nothing more to tell. I did not wish you to repeat the name of
Oakhurst—because—(aside) how the Devil shall I tell her that
Oakhurst was my real name, after all, and that I only feared she might
divulge it?—(aloud) because—because—(determinedly) I
doubted your ability to keep a secret. My real name is—(looks up,
and sees MORTON leaning beyond pillar) is a secret. (Pause, in which
OAKHURST slowly recovers his coolness.) It will be given to the good
priest who to-night joins our fate forever, Jovita,—forever, in
spite of calumny, opposition, or SPIES! the padre whom we shall reach,
if enough life remains in your pulse and mine to clasp these hands
together. (After a pause.) Are you content?
Jovita. I am.
Oakhurst. Then there is not a moment to lose. Retire, and prepare
yourself for a journey. I will wait here.
Jovita. I am ready now.
Oakhurst (looking toward pillar). Pardon, my darling: there was a
bracelet—a mere trifle—I once gave you. It is not on your
wrist. I am a trifle superstitious, perhaps: it was my first gift. Bring
it with you. I will wait. Go!
[Exit JOVITA.
OAKHURST watches her exit, lounges indifferently toward gate; when
opposite pillar, suddenly seizes MORTON by the throat, and drags him
noiselessly to centre.
Oakhurst (hurriedly). One outcry,—a single word,—and it is
your last. I care not who YOU may be!—who I am,—you have
heard enough to know, at least, that you are in the grip of a desperate
man. (Keys fall from MORTON'S hand. OAKHURST seizes them.) Silence! on
your life.
Morton (struggling). You would not dare! I command you—
Oakhurst (dragging him to gateway). Out you must go.
Morton. Stop, I command you. I never turned MY father out of doors!
Oakhurst (gazing at MORTON). It is an OLD man! I release you. Do as you
will, only remember that that girl is mine forever, that there is no
power on earth will keep me from her.
Morton. On conditions.
Oakhurst. Who are you that make conditions? You are not—her
father?
Morton. No but I am YOURS! Alexander Morton, I charge you to hear me.
Oakhurst (starting in astonishment; aside). Sandy Morton, my lost
partner's father! This is fate.
Morton. You are astonished; but I thought so. Ay, you will hear me now!
I am your father, Alexander Morton, who drove you, a helpless boy, into
disgrace and misery. I know your shameless life: for twenty years it was
mine, and worse, until, by the grace of God, I reformed, as you shall. I
have stopped you in a disgraceful act. Your mother—God forgive me!—left
HER house, for MY arms, as wickedly, as wantonly, as shamelessly—
Oakhurst. Stop, old man! Stop! Another word (seizing him), and I may
forget your years.
Morton. But not your blood. No, Alexander Morton, I have come thousands
of miles for one sacred purpose,—to save you; and I shall, with
God's will, do it now. Be it so, on one condition. You shall have this
girl; but lawfully, openly, with the sanction of Heaven and your
parents.
Oakhurst (aside). I see a ray of hope. This is Sandy's father; the cold,
insensate brute, who drove him into exile, the one bitter memory of his
life. Sandy disappeared, irreclaimable, or living alone, hating
irrevocably the author of his misery; why should not I—
Morton (continuing). On one condition. Hear me, Alexander Morton. If
within a year, you, abandoning your evil practices, your wayward life,
seek to reform beneath my roof, I will make this proud Spanish Don glad
to accept you as the more than equal of his daughter.
Oakhurst (aside). It would be an easy deception. Sandy has given me the
details of his early life. At least, before the imposition was
discovered I shall be— (Aloud.) I—I— (Aside.)
Perdition! SHE is coming! There is a light moving in the upper chamber.
Don Jose is awakened. (Aloud.) I—I—accept.
Morton. It is well. Take these keys, open yonder gate, and fly! (As
OAKHURST hesitates.) Obey me. I will meet your sweetheart, and explain
all. You will come here at daylight in the morning, and claim
admittance, not as a vagabond, a housebreaker, but as my son. You
hesitate. Alexander Morton, I, your father, command you. Go!
OAKHURST goes to the gate, opens it, as the sound of DIEGO'S voice,
singing in the fog, comes faintly in.
O yer's your Sandy Morton, Drink him down! O yer's your Sandy Morton, Drink him down! O yer's your Sandy Morton, For he's drunk, and goin' a-courtin'. O yer's your Sandy Morton, Drink him down!
OAKHURST recoils against gate, MORTON hesitates, as window in corridor
opens, and DON JOSE calls from upper corridor.
Don Jose. Concho! (Pause.) 'Tis that vagabond Diego, lost his way in the
fog. Strange that Concho should have overlooked him. I will descend.
Morton (to OAKHURST). Do you hear?
Exit OAKHURST through gateway. MORTON closes gate, and returns to
centre. Enter JOVITA hurriedly.
Jovita. I have it here. Quick! there is a light in Don Jose's chamber;
my father is coming down. (Sees MORTON, and screams.)
Morton (seizing her.) Hush! for your own sake; for HIS; control
yourself. He is gone, but he will return. (To JOVITA, still struggling.)
Hush, I beg, Miss Jovita. I beg, I command you, my daughter. Hush!
Jovita (whispering). His voice has changed. What does this mean?
(Aloud.) Where has he gone? and why are YOU here?
Morton (slowly and seriously). He has left me here to answer the
unanswered question you asked him. (Enter Don Jose and Col. STARBOTTLE,
R. and L.) I am here to tell you that I am his father, and that he is
Alexander Morton.
Curtain.
SCENE 1.—Red Gulch. Canyon of river, and distant view of Sierras,
snow-ravined. Schoolhouse of logs in right middle distance. Ledge of
rocks in centre. On steps of schoolhouse two large bunches of flowers.
Enter STARBOTTLE, slowly climbing rocks L., panting and exhausted. Seats
himself on rock, foreground, and wipes his face with his
pocket-handkerchief.
Starbottle. This is evidently the er—locality. Here are the—er—groves
of Academus—the heights of er—Ida! I should say that the
unwillingness which the—er—divine Shakespeare points out in
the—er—"whining schoolboy" is intensified in—er—climbing
this height, and the—er—alacrity of his departure must be in
exact ratio to his gravitation. Good idea. Ged! say it to schoolma'am.
Wonder what she's like? Humph! the usual thin, weazened, hatchet-faced
Yankee spinster, with an indecent familiarity with Webster's Dictionary!
And this is the woman, Star, you're expected to discover, and bring back
to affluence and plenty. This is the new fanaticism of Mr. Alexander
Morton, sen. Ged! not satisfied with dragging his prodigal son out of
merited obscurity, this miserable old lunatic commissions ME to hunt up
another of his abused relatives; some forty-fifth cousin, whose mother
he had frozen, beaten, or starved to death! And all this to please his
prodigal! Ged! if that prodigal hadn't presented himself that morning,
I'd have picked up—er—some—er—reduced gentleman—Ged,
that knew how to spend the old man's money to better advantage.
(Musing.) If this schoolmistress were barely good-looking, Star,—and
she's sure to have fifty thousand from the old man,—Ged, you might
get even with Alexander, sen., for betrothing his prodigal to Dona
Jovita, in spite of the—er—evident preference that the girl
showed for you. Capital idea! If she's not positively hideous I'll do
it! Ged! I'll reconnoitre first! (Musing.) I could stand one eye; yes—er—single
eye would not be positively objectionable in the—er—present
experiments of science toward the—er—the substitution of
glass. Red hair, Star, is—er—Venetian,—the beauty of
Giorgione. (Goes up to schoolhouse window, and looks in.) Too early!
Seven empty benches; seven desks splashed with ink. The—er—rostrum
of the awful Minerva empty, but—er—adorned with flowers,
nosegays—demn me! And here, here on the—er—very
threshold (looking down), floral tributes. The—er—conceit of
these New England schoolma'ams, and their—er—evident
Jesuitical influence over the young, is fraught, sir, fraught with—er—darkly
political significance. Eh, Ged! there's a caricature on the blackboard.
(Laughing.) Ha, ha! Absurd chalk outline of ridiculous fat person.
Evidently the schoolma'am's admirer. Ged! immensely funny! Ah! boys will
be boys. Like you, Star, just like you,—always up to tricks like
that. A sentence scrawled below the figure seems to be—er—explanation.
Hem! (Takes out eyeglass.) Let's see (reading.) "This is old"—old—er—old—demme,
sir!—"Starbottle!" This is infamous. I haven't been forty-eight
hours in the place, and to my certain knowledge haven't spoken to a
child. Ged, sir, it's the—er—posting of a libel! The woman,
the—er—female, who permits this kind of thing, should be
made responsible—er—personally responsible. Eh, hush! What
have we here? (Retires to ledge of rocks.)
Enter MISS MARY L., reading letter.
Miss Mary. Strange! Is it all a dream? No! here are the familiar rocks,
the distant snow-peaks, the schoolhouse, the spring below. An hour ago I
was the poor schoolmistress of Red Gulch, with no ambition nor hope
beyond this mountain wall; and now—oh, it must be a dream! But
here is the letter. Certainly this is no delusion: it is too plain,
formal, business-like. (Reads.)
MY DEAR COUSIN—I address the only surviving child of my cousin
Mary and her husband John Morris, both deceased. It is my duty as a
Christian relative to provide you with a home—to share with you
that wealth and those blessings that a kind providence has vouchsafed
me. I am aware that my conduct to your father and mother, while in my
sinful and unregenerate state, is no warrantee for my present promise;
but my legal adviser, Col. Starbottle, who is empowered to treat with
you, will assure you of the sincerity of my intention, and my legal
ability to perform it. He will conduct you to my house; you will share
its roof with me and my prodigal son Alexander, now by the grace of God
restored, and mindful of the error of his ways. I enclose a draft for
one thousand dollars: if you require more, draw upon me for the same.
Your cousin,
My mother's cousin—so! Cousin Alexander! a rich man, and reunited
to the son he drove into shameful exile. Well! we will see this
confidential lawyer; and until then—until then—why, we are
the schoolmistress of Red Gulch, and responsible for its youthful
prodigals. (Going to schoolhouse door.)
Miss Mary (stopping to examine flowers). Poor, poor Sandy! Another
offering, and, as he fondly believes, unknown and anonymous! As if he
were not visible in every petal and leaf! The mariposa blossom of the
plain. The snowflower I longed for, from those cool snowdrifts beyond
the ridge. And I really believe he was sober when he arranged them. Poor
fellow! I begin to think that the dissipated portion of this community
are the most interesting. Ah! some one behind the rock,—Sandy,
I'll wager. No! a stranger!
Col. Starbottle (aside, and advancing). If I could make her think I left
those flowers! (Aloud.) When I state that—er—I am perhaps—er—stranger—
Miss Mary (interrupting him coldly). You explain, sir, your appearance
on a spot which the rude courtesy of even this rude miner's camp has
preserved from intrusion.
Starbottle (slightly abashed, but recovering himself). Yes—Ged!—that
is, I—er—saw you admiring—er—tribute—er—humble
tribute of flowers. I am myself passionately devoted to flowers. Ged!
I've spent hours—in—er—bending over the—er—graceful
sunflower, in—er—plucking the timid violet from the
overhanging but reluctant bough, in collecting the—er—er—fauna—I
mean the—er—flora—of this—er—district.
Miss Mary (who has been regarding him intently). Permit me to leave you
in uninterrupted admiration of them. (Handing him flowers.) You will
have ample time in your journey down the gulch to indulge your
curiosity!
Hands STARBOTTLE flowers, enters schoolhouse, and quietly closes door on
STARBOTTLE as SANDY MORTON enters cautiously and sheepishly from left.
SANDY stops in astonishment on observing STARBOTTLE, and remains by wing
left.
Starbottle (smelling flowers, and not noticing MISS MARY'S absence).
Beautiful—er—exquisite. (Looking up at closed door.) Ged!
Most extraordinary disappearance! (Looks around, and discovers SANDY;
examines him for a moment through his eyeglass, and then, after a pause,
inflates his chest, turns his back on SANDY, and advances to schoolhouse
door. SANDY comes quickly, and, as STARBOTTLE raises his cane to rap on
door, seizes his arm. Both men, regarding each other fixedly, holding
each other, retreat slowly and cautiously to centre. Then STARBOTTLE
disengages his arm.)
Sandy (embarrassedly but determinedly). Look yer, stranger. By the rules
of this camp, this place is sacred to the schoolma'am and her children.
Starbottle (with lofty severity). It is! Then—er—permit me
to ask, sir, what YOU are doing here.
Sandy (embarrassed, and dropping his head in confusion). I was—passing.
There is no school to-day.
Starbottle. Then, sir, Ged! permit me to—er—DEMAND—DEMAND,
sir—an apology. You have laid, sir, your hand upon my person—demn
me! Not the first time, sir, either; for, if I am not mistaken, you are
the—er—inebriated menial, sir, who two months ago jostled
me, sir,—demn me,—as I entered the rancho of my friend Don
Jose Castro.
Sandy (starting, aside). Don Jose! (Aloud.) Hush, hush! She will hear
you. No—that is—(stops, confused and embarrassed. Aside.)
She will hear of my disgrace. He will tell her the whole story.
Starbottle. I shall await your apology one hour. At the end of that
time, if it is not forthcoming, I shall—er—er—waive
your menial antecedents, and expect the—er—satisfaction of a
gentleman. Good-morning, sir. (Turns to schoolhouse.)
Sandy. No, no: you shall not go!
Starbottle. Who will prevent me?
Sandy (grappling him). I will. (Appealingly.) Look yer, stranger, don't
provoke me, I, a desperate man, desperate and crazed with drink,—don't
ye, don't ye do it! For God's sake, take your hands off me! Ye don't
know what ye do. Ah! (Wildly, holding STARBOTTLE firmly, and forcing him
backward to precipice beyond ledge of rocks.) Hear me. Three years ago,
in a moment like this, I dragged a man—my friend—to this
precipice. I—I—no! no!—don't anger me now! (Sandy's
grip on STARBOTTLE relaxes slightly, and his head droops.)
Starbottle (coolly). Permit me to remark, sir, that any reminiscence of
your—er—friend—or any other man is—er—at
this moment, irrelevant and impertinent. Permit me to point out the—er—fact,
sir, that your hand is pressing heavily, demned heavily, on my shoulder.
Sandy (fiercely). You shall not go!
Starbottle (fiercely). Shall not?
Struggle. STARBOTTLE draws derringer from his breast-pocket, and SANDY
seizes his arm. In this position both parties struggle to ledge of
rocks, and COL. STARBOTTLE is forced partly over.
Miss Mary (opening schoolhouse door). I thought I heard voices. (Looking
toward ledge of rocks, where COL. STARBOTTLE and SANDY are partly hidden
by trees. Both men relax grasp of each other at MISS MARY'S voice.)
Col. Starbottle (aloud and with voice slightly raised, to SANDY). By—er—leaning
over this way a moment, a single moment, you will—er—perceive
the trail I speak of. It follows the canyon to the right. It will bring
you to—er—the settlement in an hour. (To MISS MARY, as if
observing her for the first time.) I believe I am—er—right;
but, being—er—more familiar with the locality, you can
direct the gentleman better.
SANDY slowly sinks on his knees beside rock, with his face averted from
schoolhouse, as COL. STARBOTTLE disengages himself, and advances
jauntily and gallantly to schoolhouse.
Col. Starbottle. In—er—er—showing the stranger the—er—way,
I perhaps interrupted our interview. The—er—observances of—er—civility
and humanity must not be foregone, even for—er—the ladies. I—er—believe
I address Miss Mary Morris. When I—er—state that my name is
Col. Starbottle, charged on mission of—er—delicate nature, I
believe I—er—explain MY intrusion.
MISS MARY bows, and motions to schoolhouse door; COL. STARBOTTLE, bowing
deeply, enters; but MISS MARY remains standing by door, looking toward
trees that hide SANDY.
Miss Mary (aside). I am sure it was Sandy's voice! But why does he
conceal himself?
Sandy (aside, rising slowly to his feet, with his back to schoolhouse
door). Even this conceited bully overcomes me, and shames me with his
readiness and tact. He was quick to spare her—a stranger—the
spectacle of two angry men. I—I—must needs wrangle before
her very door! Well, well! better out of her sight forever, than an
object of pity or terror. [Exit slowly, and with downcast eyes, right.
Miss Mary (watching the trail). It WAS Sandy! and this concealment means
something more than bashfulness. Perhaps the stranger can explain.
[Enters schoolhouse, and closes door.
SCENE 2.—The same. Enter CONCHO, lame, cautiously, from R. Pauses
at R., and then beckons to HOP SING, who follows R.
Concho (impatiently). Well! you saw him?
Hop Sing. Me see him.
Concho. And you recognized him?
Hop Sing. No shabe likoquize.
Concho (furiously). You knew him, eh? Carramba! You KNEW him.
Hop Sing (slowly and sententiously). Me shabe man you callee Diego. Me
shabbee Led Gulchee call Sandy. Me shabbee man Poker Flat callee
Alexandlee Molton. Allee same, John! Allee same!
Concho (rubbing his hands). Bueno! Good John! good John! And you knew he
was called Alexander Morton? And go on—good John—go on!
Hop Sing. Me plentee washee shirtee—Melican man Poker Flat. Me
plentee washee shirt Alexandlee Molton. Always litee, litee on shirt
allee time. (Pointing to tail of his blouse, and imitating writing with
finger.) Alexandlee Molton. Melican man tellee me—shirt say
Alexandlee Molton—shabbee?
Concho. Bueno! Excellent John. Good John. His linen marked Alexander
Morton. The proofs are gathering! (crosses to C.)—the letter I
found in his pack, addressed to Alexander Morton, Poker Flat, which
first put me on his track; the story of his wife's infidelity, and her
flight with his partner to red Gulch, the quarrel and fight that
separated them, his flight to San Jose, his wanderings to the mission of
San Carmel, to the rancho of the Holy Fisherman. The record is complete!
Hop Sing. Alexandlee Molton—
Concho (hurriedly returning to HOP SING). Yes! good John; yes, good John—go
on. Alexander Morton—
Hop Sing. Alexandlee Molton. Me washee shirt, Alexandlee Molton; he no
pay washee. Me washee flowty dozen hep—four bittie dozen—twenty
dollar hep. Alexandlee Molton no payee. He say, "Go to hellee!" You pay
me (extending his hand).
Concho. Car—! (checking himself). Poco tiempo, John! In good time,
John. Forty dollar—yes. Fifty dollar! Tomorrow, John.
Hop Sing. Me no likee "to-mollow!" Me no likee "nex time, John!" Allee
time Melican man say, "Chalkee up, John," "No smallee change, John,"—umph.
Plenty foolee me!
Concho. You shall have your money, John; but go now—you
comprehend. Carramba! go! (Pushes HOP SING to wing.)
Hop Sing (expostulating). Flowty dozen, hep, John! twenty dollar, John.
Sabe. Flowty—twenty—(gesticulating with fingers).
[Exit HOP SING, pushed off by CONCHO.
Concho. The pagan dolt! But he is important. Ah, if he were wiser, I
should not rid myself of him so quickly! And now for the schoolmistress,—the
sweetheart of Sandy. If these men have not lied, he is in love with her;
and, if he is, he has told her his secret before now; and she will be
swift to urge him to his rights. If he has not told her—umph!
(laughing) it will not be a DAY—an HOUR—before she will find
out if her lover is Alexander Morton, the rich man's son, or "Sandy,"
the unknown vagabond. Eh, friend Sandy! It was a woman that locked up
your secret: it shall be a woman, Madre di Dios! who shall unlock it.
Ha! (Goes to door of schoolhouse as door opens, and appears COL.
STARBOTTLE.)
Concho (aside). A thousand devils! the lawyer of the old man Morton.
(Aloud.) Pardon, pardon! I am a stranger. I have lost my way on the
mountain. I am seeking a trail. Senor, pardon!
Starbottle (aside). Another man seeking the road! Ged, I believe he's
lying too. (Aloud.) It is before you, sir, DOWN,—down the
mountain.
Concho. A thousand thanks, senor. (Aside.) Perdition catch him! (Aloud.)
Thanks, senor. [Exit R.
Starbottle. Ged, I've seen that face before. Ged, it's Castro's
major-domo. Demn me, but I believe all his domestics have fallen in love
with the pretty schoolma'am.
Enter MISS MARY from schoolhouse.
Miss Mary (slowly refolding letter). You are aware, then, of the
contents of this note; and you are the friend of Alexander Morton, sen.?
Col. Starbottle. Permit me a moment, a single moment, to—er—er—explain.
I am Mr. Morton's legal adviser. There is—er—sense of—er—responsibility,—er—personal
responsibility, about the term "friend," that at the—er—er—present
moment I am not—er—prepared to assume. The substance of the
letter is before you. I am here to—er—express its spirit. I
am here (with great gallantry) to express the—er—yearnings
of cousinly affection. I am aware—er—that OUR conduct,—if
I may use the—er—the plural of advocacy,—I am aware
that—er—OUR conduct has not in the past years been of—er—er—exemplary
character. I am aware that the—er—death of our lamented
cousin, your sainted mother, was—er—hastened—I may—er—say—pre—cip—itated—by
our—er—indiscretion But we are hereto—er—confess
judgment—with—er—er—costs.
Miss Mary (interrupting). In other words, your client, my cousin, having
ruined my father, having turned his own widowed relation out of doors,
and sent me, her daughter, among strangers to earn her bread; having
seen my mother sink and die in her struggle to keep her family from
want,—this man now seeks to condone his offences—pardon me,
sir, if I use your own legal phraseology—by offering me a home; by
giving me part of his ill-gotten wealth, the association of his own
hypocritical self, and the company of his shameless, profligate son—
Starbottle (interrupting). A moment, Miss Morris,—a single moment!
The epithets you have used, the—er—vigorous characterization
of our—er—conduct, is—er—within the—er—strict
rules of legal advocacy, correct. We are—er—rascals! we are—er—scoundrels!
we are—er—well, I am not—er—prepared to say that
we are not—er—demn me—hypocrites! But the young man
you speak of—our son, whose past life (speaking as Col.
Starbottle) no one more sincerely deprecates than myself,—that
young man has reformed; has been for the past few months a miracle of
sobriety, decorum, and industry; has taken, thanks to the example of—er—friends,
a position of integrity in his father's business, of filial obedience in
his father's household; is, in short, a paragon; and, demn me, I doubt
if he's his father's son.
Miss Mary. Enough, sir! You are waiting for my answer. There is no
reason why it should not be as precise, as brief, and as formal as your
message. Go to my cousin; say that you saw the person he claims as his
relation; say that you found her, a poor schoolmistress, in a rude
mining camp, dependent for her bread on the scant earnings of already
impoverished men, dependent for her honor on the rude chivalry of
outcasts and vagabonds; and say that then and there she repudiated your
kinship, and respectfully declined your invitation.
Starbottle (aside). Ged! Star! this is the—er—female of your
species! This is the woman—the—er—one woman—for
whom you are responsible, sir!—personally responsible!
Miss Mary (coldly). You have my answer, sir.
Col. Starbottle. Permit me—er—single moment,—a single
moment! Between the er—present moment, and that of my departure—there
is an—er—interval of twelve hours. May I, at the close of
that interval—again present myself—without prejudice, for
your final answer?
Miss Mary (indifferently). As you will, sir. I shall be here.
Col. Starbottle. Permit me. (Takes her hand gallantly.) Your conduct and
manner, Miss Morris, remind me—er—singularly—of—er
beautiful creature—one of the—er—first families.
(Observing MISS MARY regarding him amusedly, becomes embarrassed.) That
is—er—I mean—er—er—good morning, Miss
Morris! (Passes by schoolhouse door, retreating and bowing, and picks up
flowers from door-step.) Good morning!
Miss Mary. Excuse me, Col. Starbottle (with winning politeness), but I
fear I must rob you of those flowers. I recognize them now as the
offering of one of my pupils. I fear I must revoke my gift (taking
flowers from astonished colonel's hand), all except a single one for
your buttonhole. Have you any choice, or shall I (archly) choose for
you? Then it shall be this. (Begins to place flowers in buttonhole, COL.
STARBOTTLE exhibiting extravagant gratitude in dumb show. Business
prolonged through MISS MARY's speech.) If I am not wrong, colonel, the
gentleman to whom you so kindly pointed out the road this morning was
not a stranger to you. Ah! I am right. There, one moment,—a sprig
of green, a single leaf, would set off the pink nicely. Here he is known
only as "Sandy": you know the absurd habits of this camp. Of course he
has another name. There! (releasing the colonel) it is much prettier
now.
Col. Starbottle. Ged, madam! The rarest exotic—the Victoria Regina—is
not as—er—graceful—er—tribute!
Miss Mary. And yet you refuse to satisfy my curiosity?
Col. Starbottle (with great embarrassment, which at last resolves itself
into increased dignity of manner). What you ask is—er—er—impossible!
You are right: the—er—gentleman you allude to is known to me
under—er—er—another name. But honor—Miss Morris,
honor!—seals the lips of Col. Starbottle. (Aside.) If she should
know he was a menial! No. The position of the man you have challenged,
Star, must be equal to your own. (Aloud.) Anything, Miss Morris, but—er—that!
Miss Mary (smiling). Be it so. Adios, Col. Starbottle.
Col. Starbottle (gallantly). Au revoir, Miss Morris. [Exit,
impressively, L.
Miss Mary. So! Sandy conceals another name, which he withholds from Red
Gulch. Well! Pshaw! What is that to me? The camp is made up of refugees,—men
who perhaps have good reason to hide a name that may be infamous, the
name that would publish a crime. Nonsense! Crime and Sandy! No, shame
and guilt do not hide themselves in those honest but occasionally
somewhat bloodshot eyes. Besides, goodness knows! the poor fellow's
weakness is palpable enough. No, that is not the reason. It is no guilt
that keeps his name hidden,—at least, not his. (Seating herself,
and arranging flowers in her lap.) Poor Sandy! he must have climbed the
eastern summit to get this. See, the rosy sunrise still lingers in its
very petals; the dew is fresh upon it. Dear little mountain baby! I
really believe that fellow got up before daylight, to climb that giddy
height and secure its virgin freshness. And to think, in a moment of
spite, I'd have given it to that bombastic warrior! (Pause.) That was a
fine offer you refused just now, Miss Mary. Think of it: a home of
luxury, a position of assured respect and homage; the life I once led,
with all its difficulties smoothed away, its uncertainty dispelled,—think
of it! My poor mother's dream fulfilled,—I, her daughter, the
mistress of affluence, the queen of social power! What a temptation! Ah,
Miss Mary, WAS it a temptation? Was there nothing in your free life here
that stiffened your courage, that steeled the adamant of your refusal?
or was it only the memory of your mother's wrongs? Luxury and wealth!
Could you command a dwelling more charming than this? Position and
respect! Is not the awful admiration of these lawless men more
fascinating than the perilous flattery of gentlemen like Col.
Starbottle? is not the devotion of these outcasts more complimentary
than the lip-service of perfumed gallantry? (Pause.) It's very odd he
doesn't come. I wonder if that conceited old fool said anything to him.
(Rises, and then seats herself, smiling.) He HAS COME. He is dodging in
and out of the manganita bushes below the spring. I suppose he imagines
my visitor still here. The bashful fool! If anybody should see him, it
would be enough to make a petty scandal! I'll give him a talking-to.
(Pause.) I wonder if the ridiculous fool has gone to sleep in those
bushes. (Rises.) Well, let him: it will help him to recover his senses
from last night's dissipation; and you, Miss Mary, it is high time you
were preparing the lessons for to-morrow. (Goes to schoolhouse, enters
door, and slams it behind her; after a moment reappears with empty
bucket.) Of course there's no water, and I am dying of thirst. (Goes
slowly to left, and pauses embarrassedly and bashfully, presently
laughs,—then suddenly frowns, and assumes an appearance of
indignation.) Miss Mary Morris, have you become such an egregious fool
that you dare not satisfy the ordinary cravings of human nature, just
because an idle, dissipated, bashful blockhead—nonsense! [Exit,
brandishing pail.
SCENE 3.—The Same.
(A pause. SANDY'S voice, without.) This way, miss: the trail is easier.
(MISS MARY'S voice, without.) Never mind me; look after the bucket.
Enter SANDY, carrying bucket with water, followed by MISS MARY. SANDY
sets bucket down.
Miss Mary. There, you've spilt half of it. If it had been whiskey, you'd
have been more careful.
Sandy (submissively). Yes, miss.
Miss Mary (aside). "Yes, miss!" The man will drive me crazy with his
saccharine imbecility. (Aloud.) I believe you would assent to anything,
even if I said you were—an impostor!
Sandy (amazedly). An impostor, Miss Mary?
Miss Mary. Well, I don't know what other term you use in Red Gulch to
express a man who conceals his real name under another.
Sandy (embarrassed, but facing MISS MARY). Has anybody been tellin' ye I
was an impostor, miss? Has thet derned old fool that I saw ye with—
Miss Mary. "That old fool," as you call him, was too honorable a
gentleman to disclose your secret, and too loyal a friend to traduce you
by an epithet. Fear nothing, Mr. "Sandy": if you have limited your
confidence to ONE friend, it has not been misplaced. But, dear me, don't
think I wish to penetrate your secret. No. The little I learned was
accidental. Besides, his business was with me: perhaps, as his friend,
you already know it.
Sandy (meekly). Perhaps, miss, he was too honorable a gentleman to
disclose YOUR secret. His business was with me.
Miss Mary (aside). He has taken a leaf out of my book! He is not so
stupid, after all. (Aloud.) I have no secret. Col. Starbottle came here
to make me an offer.
Sandy (recoiling). An offer!
Miss Mary. Of a home and independence. (Aside.) Poor fellow! how pale he
looks! (Aloud.) Well, you see, I am more trustful than you. I will tell
you MY secret; and you shall aid me with your counsel. (They sit on
ledge of rocks.) Listen! My mother had a cousin once,—a cousin
cruel, cowardly, selfish, and dissolute. She loved him, as women are apt
to love such men,—loved him so that she beguiled her own husband
to trust his fortunes in the hands of this wretched profligate. The
husband was ruined, disgraced. The wife sought her cousin for help for
her necessities. He met her with insult, and proposed that she should
fly with him.
Sandy. One moment, miss: it wasn't his pardner—his pardner's wife—eh?
Miss Mary (impatiently). It was the helpless wife of his own blood, I
tell you. The husband died broken-hearted. The wife, my mother,
struggled in poverty, under the shadow of a proud name, to give me an
education, and died while I was still a girl. To-day this cousin,—this
more than murderer of my parents,—old, rich, self-satisfied,
REFORMED, invites me, by virtue of that kinship he violated and
despised, to his home, his wealth, his—his family roof-tree! The
man you saw was his agent.
Sandy. And you—
Miss Mary. Refused.
Sandy (passing his hand over his forehead). You did wrong, Miss Mary.
Miss Mary. Wrong, sir? (Rising.)
Sandy (humbly but firmly). Sit ye down, Miss Mary. It ain't for ye to
throw your bright young life away yer in this place. It ain't for such
as ye to soil your fair young hands by raking in the ashes to stir up
the dead embers of a family wrong. It ain't for ye—ye'll pardon
me, Miss Mary, for sayin' it—it ain't for ye to allow when it's
TOO LATE fur a man to reform, or to go back of his reformation. Don't ye
do it, miss, fur God's sake,—don't ye do it! Harkin, Miss Mary. If
ye'll take my advice—a fool's advice, maybe—ye'll go. And
when I tell ye that that advice, if ye take it, will take the sunshine
out of these hills, the color off them trees, the freshness outer them
flowers, the heart's-blood outer me,—ye'll know that I ain't
thinkin' o' myself, but of ye. And I wouldn't say this much to ye, Miss
Mary; but you're goin' away. There's a flower, miss, you're wearin' in
your bosom,—a flower I picked at daybreak this morning, five miles
away in the snow. The wind was blowing chill around it, so that my hands
that dug for it were stiff and cold; but the roots were warm, Miss Mary,
as they are now in your bosom. Ye'll keep that flower, Miss Mary, in
remembrance of my love for ye, that kept warm and blossomed through the
snow. And, don't start, Miss Mary,—for ye'll leave behind ye, as I
did, the snow and rocks through which it bloomed. I axes your parding,
miss: I'm hurtin' yer feelin's, sure.
Miss Mary (rising with agitation). Nothing,—nothing; but climbing
these stupid rocks has made me giddy: that's all. Your arm. (To SANDY
impatiently). Can't you give me your arm? (SANDY supports MISS MARY
awkwardly toward schoolhouse. At door MISS MARY pauses.) But if
reformation is so easy, so acceptable, why have you not profited by it?
Why have you not reformed? Why have I found you here, a disgraced,
dissipated, anonymous outcast, whom an honest girl dare not know? Why do
you presume to preach to me? Have you a father?
Sandy. Hush, Miss Mary, hush! I had a father. Harkin. All that you have
suffered from a kinship even so far removed, I have known from the hands
of one who should have protected me. MY father was—but no matter.
You, Miss Mary, came out of your trials like gold from the washing. I
was only the dirt and gravel to be thrown away. It is too late, Miss
Mary, too late. My father has never sought me, would turn me from his
doors had I sought him. Perhaps he is only right.
Miss Mary. But why should he be so different from others? Listen. This
very cousin whose offer I refused had a son,—wild, wayward, by all
report the most degraded of men. It was part of my cousin's reformation
to save this son, and, if it were possible, snatch him from that
terrible fate which seemed to be his only inheritance.
Sandy (eagerly). Yes, miss.
Miss Mary. To restore him to a regenerated home. With this idea he
followed his prodigal to California. I, you understand, was only an
after-thought consequent upon his success. He came to California upon
this pilgrimage two years ago. He had no recollection, so they tell me,
by which he could recognize this erring son; and at first his search was
wild, profitless, and almost hopeless. But by degrees, and with a
persistency that seemed to increase with his hopelessness, he was
rewarded by finding some clew to him at—at—at—
Sandy (excitedly). At Poker Flat?
Miss Mary. Ah, perhaps you know the story,—at Poker Flat. He
traced him to the Mission of San Carmel.
Sandy. Yes, miss: go on.
Miss Mary. He was more successful than he deserved, perhaps. He found
him. I see you know the story.
Sandy. Found him! Found him! Miss, did you say found him?
Miss Mary. Yes, found him. And today Alexander Morton, the reclaimed
prodigal, is part of the household I am invited to join. So you see, Mr.
Sandy, there is still hope. What has happened to him is only a promise
to you. Eh! Mr. Sandy—what is the matter? Are you ill? Your
exertion this morning, perhaps. Speak to me! Gracious heavens, he is
going mad! No! No! Yes—it cannot be—it is—he HAS
broken his promise: he is drunk again.
Sandy (rising, excited and confused). Excuse me, miss, I am a little
onsartain HERE (pointing to his head). I can't—I disremember—what
you said jus' now: ye mentioned the name o' that prodigal that was
found.
Miss Mary. Certainly: compose yourself,—my cousin's son, Alexander
Morton. Listen, Sandy, you promised ME, you know, you said for MY sake
you would not touch a drop. (Enter cautiously toward schoolhouse the
DUCHESS, stops on observing SANDY, and hides behind rock.)
Sandy (still bewildered and incoherent). I reckon. Harkin, miss, is that
thar thing (pointing towards rock where DUCHESS is concealed)—is
that a tree, or—or—a woman? Is it sorter movin' this way?
Miss Mary (laying her hand on SANDY'S). Recover your senses, for
Heaven's sake, Sandy,—for MY sake! It is only a tree.
Sandy (rising). Then, miss, I've broke my word with ye: I'm drunk.
P'r'aps I'd better be a-goin' (looking round confusedly) till I'm sober.
(Going toward L.)
Miss Mary (seizing his hand). But you'll see me again, Sandy: you'll
come here—before—before—I go?
Sandy. Yes, miss,—before ye go. (Staggers stupidly toward L.
Aside.) Found him! found Alexander Morton! It's a third time, Sandy, the
third time: it means—it means—you're mad! (Laughs wildly,
and exit L.)
Miss Mary (springing to her feet). There is a mystery behind all this,
Mary Morris, that you—you—must discover. That man was NOT
drunk: he HAD NOT broken his promise to me. What does it all mean? I
have it. I will accept the offer of this Alexander Morton. I will tell
him the story of this helpless man, this poor, poor, reckless Sandy.
With the story of his own son before his eyes, he cannot but interest
himself in his fate. He is rich: he will aid me in my search for Sandy's
father, for Sandy's secret. At the worst, I can only follow the advice
of this wretched man,—an advice so generous, so kind, so
self-sacrificing. Ah—
SCENE 4.—The same. Enter the DUCHESS, showily and extravagantly
dressed. Her manner at first is a mixture of alternate shyness and
bravado.
The Duchess. I heerd tell that you was goin' down to 'Frisco to-morrow,
for your vacation; and I couldn't let ye go till I came to thank ye for
your kindness to my boy,—little Tommy.
Miss Mary (aside. Rising abstractedly, and recalling herself with an
effort). I see,—a poor outcast, the mother of my anonymous pupil.
(Aloud.) Tommy! a good boy,—a dear, good little boy.
Duchess. Thankee, miss, thankee. If I am his mother, thar ain't a
sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. And, if I ain't much as says
it, thar ain't a sweeter, dearer, angeler teacher than he's got. It
ain't for you to be complimented by me, miss; it ain't for such as me to
be comin' here in broad day to do it, either; but I come to ask a favor,—not
for me, miss, but for the darling boy.
Miss Mary (aside—abstractedly). This poor, degraded creature will
kill me with her wearying gratitude. Sandy will not return, of course,
while she is here. (Aloud.) Go on. If I can help you or yours, be
assured I will.
The Duchess. Thankee, miss. You see, thar's no one the boy has any claim
on but me, and I ain't the proper person to bring him up. I did allow to
send him to 'Frisco, last year; but when I heerd talk that a schoolma'am
was comin' up, and you did, and he sorter tuk to ye natril from the
first, I guess I did well to keep him yer. For, oh, miss, he loves ye so
much; and, if you could hear him talk in his purty way, ye wouldn't
refuse him anything.
Miss Mary (with fatigued politeness, and increasing impatience). I see,
I see: pray go on.
The Duchess (with quiet persistency). It's natril he should take to ye,
miss; for his father, when I first knowed him, miss, was a gentleman
like yourself; and the boy must forget me sooner or later—and I
ain't goin' to cry about THAT.
Miss Mary (impatiently). Pray tell me how I can serve you.
The Duchess. Yes, miss; you see, I came to ask you to take my Tommy,—God
bless him for the sweetest, bestest boy that lives!—to take him
with you. I've money plenty; and it's all yours and his. Put him in some
good school, whar ye kin go and see, and sorter help him to—forget—-his
mother. Do with him what you like. The worst you can do will be kindness
to what he would learn with me. You will: I know you will; won't you?
You will make him as pure and as good as yourself; and when he has grown
up, and is a gentleman, you will tell him his father's name,—the
name that hasn't passed my lips for years,—the name of Alexander
Morton.
Miss Mary (aside). Alexander Morton! The prodigal! Ah, I see,—the
ungathered husks of his idle harvest.
The Duchess. You hesitate, Miss Mary. (Seizing her.) Do not take your
hand away. You are smiling. God bless you! I know you will take my boy.
Speak to me, Miss Mary.
Miss Mary (aloud). I will take your child. More than that, I will take
him to his father.
The Duchess. No, no! for God's sake, no, Miss Mary! He has never seen
him from his birth: he does not know him. He will disown him. He will
curse him,—will curse me!
Miss Mary. Why should he? Surely his crime is worse than yours.
The Duchess. Hear me, Miss Mary. (Aside.) How can I tell her? (Aloud.)
One moment, miss. I was once—ye may not believe it, miss—as
good, as pure, as you. I had a husband, the father of this child. He was
kind, good, easy, forgiving,—too good for me, miss, too simple and
unsuspecting. He was what the world calls a fool, miss: he loved me too
well,—the kind o' crime, miss,—beggin' your pardon, and all
precepts to the contrairy,—the one thing that women like me never
forgives. He had a pardner, miss, that governed him as HE never governed
me; that held him with the stronger will, and maybe ME too. I was young,
miss,—no older than yourself then; and I ran away with him,—left
all, and ran away with my husband's pardner. My husband—nat'rally—took
to drink. I axes your pardin', miss; but ye'll see now, allowin' your
larnin', that Alexander Morton ain't the man as will take my child.
Miss Mary. Nonsense. You are wrong. He has reformed; he has been
restored to his home,—your child's home, your home if you will but
claim it. Do not fear: I will make that right.
Enter SANDY slowly and sheepishly, R.; stops on observing the Duchess,
and stands amazed and motionless.
Miss Mary (observing SANDY—aside). He HAS returned. Poor fellow!
How shall I get rid of this woman? (Aloud.) Enough. If you are sincere,
I will take your child, and, God help me! bring him to his home and
yours. Are you satisfied?
The Duchess. Thank ye! Thank ye, miss; but—but thar's a mistake
somewhar. In course—it's natural—ye don't know the father of
that child, my boy Tommy, under the name o' Alexander Morton. Ye're
thinking, like as not, of another man. The man I mean lives yer, in this
camp: they calls him Sandy, miss,—SANDY!
Miss Mary (after a pause, coming forward passionately). Hush! I have
given you my answer, be it Alexander Morton or Sandy. Go now: bring me
the child this evening at my house. I will meet you there. (Leads the
DUCHESS to wing. The DUCHESS endeavors to fall at her feet.)
The Duchess. God bless you, miss!
Miss Mary (hurriedly embracing her). No more, no more—but go!
[Exit DUCHESS. MISS MARY returns hurriedly to centre, confronting SANDY.
Miss Mary (to SANDY, hurriedly and excitedly). You have heard what that
woman said. I do not ask you under what alias you are known here: I only
ask a single question.—Is SHE your wife? are you the father of her
child?
Sandy (sinking upon his knees before her, and covering his face with his
hands). I am!
Miss Mary. Enough! (Taking flower from her bosom.) Here, I give you back
the flower you gave me this morning. It has faded and died here upon my
breast. But I shall replace it with your foundling,—the child of
that woman, born like that flower in the snow! And I go now, Sandy, and
leave behind me, as you said this morning, the snow and rocks in which
it bloomed. Good-by! Farewell, farewell—forever! (Goes toward
schoolhouse as—)
Enter COL. STARBOTTLE.
Miss Mary (to STARBOTTLE). You are here in season, sir. You must have
come for an answer to your question. You must first give me one to mine.
Who is this man (pointing to SANDY), the man you met upon the rocks this
morning?
Col. Starbottle. Ahem! I am—er—now fully prepared and
responsible, I may say, miss—er—personally responsible, to
answer that question. When you asked it this morning, the ordinary
courtesy of the—er—code of honor threw a—er—cloak
around the—er—antecedents of the—er—man whom I
had—er—elected by a demand for personal satisfaction, to the
equality of myself, an—er—gentleman! That—er—cloak
is now removed. I have waited six hours for an apology or a—er—reply
to my demand. I am now free to confess that the—er—person
you allude to was first known by me, three months ago, as an inebriated
menial,—a groom in the household of my friend Don Jose Castro,—by
the—er—simple name of "Diego."
Miss Mary (slowly). I am satisfied. I accept my cousin's invitation.
[Exit slowly, supported by COL. STARBOTTLE, R.
As STARBOTTLE and MISS MARY exeunt R., CONCHO and HOP SING enter
cautiously, L. SANDY slowly rises to his feet, passes his hand across
his forehead, looks around toward exit of STARBOTTLE and MISS MARY.
Sandy (slowly, but with more calmness of demeanor). Gone, gone—forever!
No: I am not mad, nor crazed with drink. My hands no longer tremble.
There is no confusion here. (Feeling his forehead). I heard them all. It
was no dream. I heard her every word. Alexander Morton, yes, they spoke
of Alexander Morton. She is going to him, to my father. She is going—she,
Mary, my cousin—she is going to my father. He has been seeking me—has
found—ah! (Groans.) No, no, Sandy! Be patient, be calm: you are
not crazy—no, no, good Sandy, good old boy! Be patient, be
patient: it is coming, it is coming. Yes, I see: some one has leaped
into my place; some one has leaped into the old man's arms. Some one
will creep into HER heart! No! by God! No! I am Alexander Morton. Yes,
yes! But how, how shall I prove it?—how? Who (CONCHO steps
cautiously forward towards SANDY unobserved) will believe the vagabond,
the outcast—my God!—the crazy drunkard?
Concho (advancing, and laying his hand on SANDY). I will!
Sandy (staggering back amazedly). You!
Concho. Yes,—I, I,—Concho! You know me, Diego, you know me,—Concho,
the major-domo of the Blessed Innocents. Ha! You know me now. Yes, I
have come to save you. I have come to make you strong. So—I have
come to help you strip the Judas that has stepped into your place,—the
sham prodigal that has had the fatted calf and the ring,—ah! ah!
Sandy. You? You do not know me!
Concho. Ah! you think, you think, eh? Listen: Since you left I have
tracked HIM—THE IMPOSTOR, this Judas, this coyote—step by
step, until his tracks crossed yours; and then I sought you out. I know
all. I found a letter you had dropped; that brought me to Poker Flat.
Ah, you start! I have seen those who knew you as Alexander Morton. You
see! Ah, I am wise.
Sandy (aside). It is true. (Aloud.) But (suspiciously) why have you done
this? You, Concho?—you were not my friend.
Concho. No, but HE is my enemy. Ah, you start! Look at me, Alexander
Morton, Sandy, Diego! You knew a man, strong, active, like yourself. Eh!
Look at me now! Look at me, a cripple! Eh! lame and crushed here
(pointing to his leg), broken and crushed here (pointing to his heart),
by him,—the impostor! Listen, Diego. The night I was sent to track
you from the rancho, he—this man—struck me from the wall,
dashed me to the earth, and made MY BODY, broken and bruised, a
stepping-stone to leap the wall into your place, Diego,—into your
father's heart,—into my master's home. They found me dead, they
thought,—no, not dead, Diego! It was sad, they said,—unfortunate.
They nursed me; they talked of money—eh, Diego!—money! They
would have pensioned me to hush scandal—eh! I was a dog, a
foreigner, a Greaser! Eh! That is why I am here. No! I love you not,
Diego; you are of his race; but I hate—Mother of God!—I HATE
him!
Sandy (rising to his feet, aside). Good! I begin to feel my courage
return: my nerves are stronger. Courage, Sandy! (Aloud.) Be it so,
Concho: there is my hand! We will help each other,—you to my
birthright, I to your revenge! Hark ye! (SANDY'S manner becomes more
calm and serious.) This impostor is NO craven, NO coyote. Whoever he is,
he must be strong. He has most plausible evidences. We must have rigid
proofs. I will go with you to Poker Flat. There is one man, if he be
living, knows me better than any man who lives. He has done me wrong,—a
great wrong, Concho,—but I will forgive him. I will do more,—I
will ask his forgiveness. He will be a witness no man dare gainsay—my
partner—God help him and forgive him as I do!—John Oakhurst.
Concho. Oakhurst your partner!
Sandy (angrily). Yes. Look ye, Concho, he has wronged me in a private
way: that is MY business, not YOURS; but he was MY partner, no one shall
abuse him before me.
Concho. Be it so. Then sink here! Rot here! Go back to your husks, O
prodigal! wallow in the ditches of this camp, and see your birthright
sold for a dram of aguardiente! Lie here, dog and coyote that you are,
with your mistress under the protection of your destroyer! For I tell
you—I, Concho, the cripple—that the man who struck me down,
the man who stepped into your birthright, the man who to-morrow welcomes
your sweetheart in his arms, who holds the custody of your child, is
your partner,—John Oakhurst.
Sandy (who has been sinking under CONCHO'S words, rising convulsively to
his feet). God be merciful to me a sinner! (Faints.)
Concho (standing over his prostrate body exultingly). I am right. You
are wise, Concho, you are wise! You have found Alexander Morton!
Hop Sing (advancing slowly to SANDY'S side, and extending open palm). Me
washee shirt flo you, flowty dozen hab. You no payee me. Me wantee
twenty dollar hep. Sabe!
Curtain.
SCENE 1.—The bank parlor of Morton & Son, San Francisco. Room
richly furnished; two square library desks, left and right. At right,
safe in wall; at left, same with practicable doors. Folding door in flat
C., leading to counting-room. Door in left to private room of ALEXANDER
MORTON, sen.; door in right to private room of MORTON, jun. ALEXANDER
MORTON, sen., discovered at desk R., opening and reading letters.
Morton, sen. (laying down letter). Well, well, the usual story; letters
from all sorts of people, who have done or intend to do all sorts of
things for my reclaimed prodigal. (Reads.) "Dear Sir: five years ago I
loaned some money to a stranger who answers the description of your
recovered son. He will remember Jim Parker,—Limping Jim, of Poker
Flat. Being at present short of funds, please send twenty dollars,
amount loaned, by return mail. If not convenient, five dollars will do
as instalment." Pshaw! (Throws letter aside, and takes up another.)
"Dear Sir: I invite your attention to enclosed circular for a proposed
Home for Dissipated and Anonymous Gold-Miners. Your well-known
reputation for liberality, and your late valuable experience in the
reformation of your son, will naturally enlist your broadest sympathies.
We enclose a draft for five thousand dollars, for your signature." We
shall see! Another: "Dear Sir: the Society for the Formation of Bible
Classes in the Upper Stanislaus acknowledge your recent munificent gift
of five hundred dollars to the cause. Last Sabbath Brother Hawkins of
Poker Flat related with touching effect the story of your prodigal to an
assemblage of over two hundred miners. Owing to unusual expenses, we
regret to be compelled to draw upon you for five hundred dollars more."
So! (Putting down letter.) If we were given to pride and vainglory, we
might well be puffed up with the fame of our works and the contagion of
our example: yet I fear that, with the worldly-minded, this praise of
charity to others is only the prayerful expectation of some personal
application to the praiser. (Rings hand-bell.)
Enter JACKSON.
(To JACKSON.) File these letters (handing letters) with the others.
There is no answer. Has young Mr. Alexander come in yet?
Jackson. He only left here an hour ago. It was steamer day yesterday: he
was up all night, sir.
Old Morton (aside). True. And the night before he travelled all night,
riding two hours ahead of one of our defaulting agents, and saved the
bank a hundred thousand dollars. Certainly his devotion to business is
unremitting. (Aloud.) Any news from Col. Starbottle?
Jackson. He left this note, sir, early this morning.
Old Morton (takes it, and reads). "I think I may say, on my own personal
responsibility, that the mission is successful. Miss Morris will arrive
to-night with a female attendant and child." (To JACKSON.) That is all,
sir. Stop! Has any one been smoking here?
Jackson. Not to my knowledge, sir.
Old Morton. There was a flavor of stale tobacco smoke in the room this
morning when I entered, and ashes on the carpet. I KNOW that young Mr.
Alexander has abandoned the pernicious habit. See that it does not occur
again.
Jackson. Yes, sir. (Aside.) I must warn Mr. Alexander that his friends
must be more careful; and yet those ashes were good for a deposit of
fifty thousand.
Old Morton. Is any one waiting?
Jackson. Yes, sir,—Don Jose Castro and Mr. Capper.
Old Morton. Show in the Don: the policeman can wait.
Jackson. Yes, sir. [Exit.
Old Morton (taking up STARBOTTLE'S note). "Miss Morris will arrive
to-night." And yet he saw her only yesterday. This is not like her
mother: no. She would never have forgiven and forgotten so quickly.
Perhaps she knew not my sin and her mother's wrongs; perhaps she has—has—CHRISTIAN
forgiveness (sarcastically); perhaps, like my prodigal, she will be
immaculately perfect. Well, well: at least her presence will make my
home less lonely. "An attendant and child." A child! Ah, if HE, my boy,
my Alexander, were still a child, I might warm this cold, cold heart in
his sunshine! Strange that I cannot reconstruct from this dutiful,
submissive, obedient, industrious Alexander,—this redeemed
outcast, this son who shares my life, my fortunes, my heart,—the
foolish, wilful, thoughtless, idle boy, that once defied me. I remember
(musing, with a smile) how the little rascal, ha, ha! once struck me,—STRUCK
ME!—when I corrected him: ha, ha! (Rubbing his hands with
amusement, and then suddenly becoming grave and lugubrious.) No, no.
These are the whisperings of the flesh. Why should I find fault with him
for being all that a righteous conversion demands,—all that I
asked and prayed for? No, Alexander Morton: it is you, YOU, who are not
yet regenerate. It is YOU who are ungrateful to Him who blessed you, to
Him whose guiding hand led you to—
Enter JACKSON.
Jackson. Don Jose Castro.
Enter DON JOSE.
Don Jose. A thousand pardons, senor, for interrupting you in the hours
of business; but it is—it is of business I would speak. (Looking
around.)
Old Morton (to JACKSON). You can retire. (Exit JACKSON.) Be seated, Mr.
Castro: I am at your service.
Don Jose. It is of your—your son—
Old Morton. Our firm is Morton & Son: in business we are one, Mr.
Castro.
Don Jose. Bueno! Then to you as to him I will speak. Here is a letter I
received yesterday. It has significance, importance perhaps. But,
whatever it is, it is something for you, not me, to know. If I am
wronged much, Don Alexandro, you, you, are wronged still more. Shall I
read it? Good. (Reads.) "The man to whom you have affianced your
daughter is not the son of Alexander Morton. Have a care. If I do not
prove him an impostor at the end of six days, believe me one, and not
your true friend and servant, Concho." In six days, Don Alexandro, the
year of probation is over, and I have promised my daughter's hand to
your son. (Hands letter to MORTON.)
Old Morton (ringing bell). Is that all, Mr. Castro?
Don Jose. All, Mr. Castro? Carramba! is it not enough?
Enter JACKSON.
Old Morton (to JACKSON). You have kept a record of this business during
the last eighteen months. Look at this letter. (Handing letter.) Is the
handwriting familiar?
Jackson (taking letter). Can't say, sir. The form is the old one.
Old Morton. How many such letters have you received?
Jackson. Four hundred and forty-one, sir. This is the four hundred and
forty-second application for your son's position, sir.
Don Jose. Pardon. This is not an application: it is only information or
caution.
Old Morton (to JACKSON). How many letters of information or caution have
we received?
Jackson. This makes seven hundred and eighty-one, sir.
Old Morton. How, sir! (Quickly.) There were but seven hundred and
seventy-nine last night.
Jackson. Beg pardon, sir! The gentleman who carried Mr. Alexander's
valise from the boat was the seven hundred and eightieth.
Old Morton. Explain yourself, sir.
Jackson. He imparted to me, while receiving his stipend, the fact that
he did not believe young Mr. Alexander was your son. An hour later, sir,
he also imparted to me confidentially that he believed you were his
father, and requested the loan of five dollars, to be repaid by you, to
enable him to purchase a clean shirt, and appear before you in
respectable condition. He waited for you an hour, and expressed some
indignation that he had not an equal show with others to throw himself
into your arms.
Don Jose (rising, aside, and uplifting his hands). Carramba! These
Americanos are of the Devil! (Aloud.) Enough, Don Alexandro! Then you
think this letter is only worth—
Old Morton. One moment. I can perhaps tell you exactly its market value.
(To JACKSON.) Go on, sir.
Jackson. At half-past ten, sir, then being slightly under the influence
of liquor, he accepted the price of a deck passage to Stockton.
Old Morton. How much was that, sir?
Jackson. Fifty cents.
Old Morton. Exactly so! There you have, sir (to DON JOSE), the market
value of the information you have received. I would advise you, as a
business matter, not to pay more. As a business matter, you can at any
time draw upon us for the amount. (To JACKSON.) Admit Mr. Capper. [Exit
JACKSON.
Don Jose (rising with dignity). This is an insult, Don Alexandro.
Old Morton. You are wrong, Mr. Castro: it is BUSINESS; sought, I
believe, by yourself. Now that it is transacted, I beg you to dine with
me to-morrow to meet my niece. No offence, sir, no offence. Come, come!
Business, you know, business.
Don Jose (relaxing). Be it so! I will come. (Aside.) These Americanos,
these Americanos, are of the Devil! (Aloud.) Adios. (Going.) I hear, by
report, that you have met with the misfortune of a serious loss by
robbery?
Old Morton (aside). So our mishap is known everywhere. (Aloud.) No
serious misfortune, Mr. Castro, even if we do not recover the money.
Adios.
[Exit Don Jose.
Old Morton. The stiff-necked Papist! That he should dare, for the sake
of his black-browed, froward daughter, to—question the faith on
which I have pinned my future! Well, with God's blessing, I gave him
some wholesome discipline. If it were not for my covenant with Alexander—and
nobly he has fulfilled his part,—I should forbid his alliance with
the blood of this spying Jesuit.
Enter Mr. JACKSON, leading in CAPPER.
Jackson. Policeman, sir. [Exit.
Capper (turning sharply). Who's that man?
Old Morton. Jackson, clerk.
Capper. Umph! Been here long?
Old Morton. A year. He was appointed by my son.
Capper. Know anything of his previous life?
Old Morton (stiffly). I have already told you he is an appointee of my
son's.
Capper. Yes! (Aside.) "Like master, like man." (Aloud.) Well, to
business. We have worked up the robbery. We have reached two
conclusions,—one, that the work was not done by professionals; the
other, consequent upon this, that you can't recover the money.
Old Morton. Excuse me, sir, but I do not see the last conclusion.
Capper. Then listen. The professional thief has only one or two ways of
disposing of his plunder, and these ways are always well known to us.
Good! Your stolen coin has not been disposed of in the regular way,
through the usual hands which we could at any time seize. Of this we are
satisfied.
Old Morton. How do you know it?
Capper. In this way. The only clew we have to the identification of the
missing money were two boxes of Mexican doubloons.
Old Morton (aside). Mr. Castro's special deposit! He may have reason for
his interest. (Aloud.) Go on.
Capper. It is a coin rare in circulation in the interior. The night
after the robbery, the dealer of a monte-table in Sacramento paid out
five thousand dollars in doubloons. He declared it was taken in at the
table, and could not identify the players. Of course, OF COURSE! So far,
you see, you are helpless. We have only established one fact, that the
robber is—is—(significantly) a gambler.
Old Morton (quietly). The regular trade of the thief seems to me to be
of little importance if you cannot identify him, or recover my money.
But go on, sir, go on: or is this all?
Capper (aside). The old fool is blind. That is natural. (Aloud.) It is
not all. The crime will doubtless be repeated. The man who has access to
your vaults, who has taken only thirty thousand dollars when he could
have secured half a million,—this man, who has already gambled
that thirty thousand away,—will not stop there. He will in a day
or two, perhaps to-day, try to retrieve his losses out of YOUR capital.
I am here to prevent it.
Old Morton (becoming interested). How?
Capper. Give me, for forty-eight hours, free access to this building.
Let me conceal myself somewhere, anywhere, within these walls. Let it be
without the knowledge of your clerks, even of YOUR SON!
Old Morton (proudly). Mr. Alexander Morton is absent to-day. There is no
other reason why he should not be here to consent to the acts of his
partner and father.
Capper (quickly). Very good. It is only to insure absolute secrecy.
Old Morton (aside). Another robbery might excite a suspicion, worse for
our credit than our actual loss. There is a significant earnestness
about this man, that awakens my fears. If Alexander were only here.
(Aloud.) I accept. (CAPPER has been trying doors R. and L.)
Capper. What room is this? (At R.)
Old Morton. My son's: I would prefer—
Capper. And this? (At L.)
Old Morton. Mine, sir; if you choose—
Capper (locking door, and putting key in his pocket). This will do.
Oblige me by making the necessary arrangements in your counting-room.
Old Morton (hesitating and aside). He is right: perhaps it is only
prudence, and I am saving Alexander additional care and annoyance.
[Exit.
Enter MR. SHADOW cautiously, C.
Shadow (in a lisping whisper to CAPPER). I've got the litht of the
clerkth complete.
Capper (triumphantly). Put it in your pocket, Shadow. We don't care for
the lackeys now: we are after the master.
Shadow. Eh! the mathter?
Capper. Yes: the master,—the young master, the reclaimed son, the
reformed prodigal! ha, ha!—the young man who compensates himself
for all this austere devotion to business and principle by dipping into
the old man's vaults when he wants a pasear: eh, Shadow? That's the man
we're after. Look here! I never took any stock in that young man's
reformation. Ye don't teach old sports like him new tricks. They're a
bad lot, father and son,—eh, Shadow?—and he's a chip of the
old block. I spotted him before this robbery, before we were ever called
in here professionally. I've had my eye on Alexander Morton, alias John
Oakhurst; and, when I found the old man's doubloons raked over a
monte-table at Sacramento, I knew where to look for the thief. Eh,
Shadow?
Shadow (aside). He ith enormouth, thith Mithter Capper.
Enter OLD MORTON.
Old Morton. I have arranged everything. You will not be disturbed or
suspected here in my private office. Eh! (Looking at SHADOW.) Who has
slipped in here?
Capper. Only my Shadow, Mr. Morton; but I can rid myself even of that.
(Crosses to SHADOW.) Take this card to the office, and wait for further
orders. Vanish, Shadow! [Exit SHADOW.
Enter JACKSON.
Jackson. Mr. Alexander has come in, sir. (OLD MORTON and CAPPER start.)
Old Morton. Where is he?
Jackson. In his private room, sir.
Old Morton. Enough: you can go.
[Exit JACKSON.
Capper (crossing to MORTON). Remember, you have given your pledge of
secrecy. Beware! Your honor, your property, the credit and reputation of
your bank, are at stake.
Old Morton (after a pause of hesitation, with dignity). I gave you my
word, sir, while my son was not present. I shall save myself from
breaking my word with you, or concealing anything from him, by
withdrawing myself. For the next twenty-four hours, this room (pointing
to private room R.) is yours.
Each regards the other. Exit OLD MORTON C., as CAPPER exit in private
room R. After a pause, door of room L. opens, and HARRY YORK appears,
slightly intoxicated, followed by JOHN OAKHURST.
Harry York (looking around). By Jove! Morton, but you've got things in
style here. And this yer's the gov'nor's desk; and here old Praise god
Barebones sits opposite ye. Look yer, old boy (throwing himself in
chair), I kin allow how it comes easy for ye to run this bank, for it's
about as exciting, these times, as faro was to ye in '49, when I first
knew ye as Jack Oakhurst; but how the Devil you can sit opposite that
stiff embodiment of all the Ten Commandments, day by day, damn it!
that's wot GETS me! Why, the first day I came here on business, the old
man froze me so that I couldn't thaw a deposit out of my pocket. It
chills me to think of it.
Oakhurst (hastily). I suppose I am accustomed to him. But come, Harry:
let me warm you. (Opens door of safe L., and discovers cupboard,
decanter, and glasses.)
York (laughing). By Jove! under the old man's very nose. Jack, this is
like you. (Takes a drink.) Well, old boy, this is like old times. But
you don't drink?
Oakhurst. No, nor smoke. The fact is, Harry, I've taken a year's pledge.
I've six days still to run; after that (gloomily), why (with a reckless
laugh), I shall be Jack Oakhurst again.
York. Lord! to think of your turning out to be anybody's son, Jack!—least
of all, HIS! (Pointing to chair.)
Oakhurst (laughing recklessly). Not more strange than that I should find
Harry York, the spendthrift of Poker Flat, the rich and respected Mr.
York, produce merchant of San Francisco.
York. Yes; but, my boy, you see I didn't strike it—in a rich
father. I gave up gambling, married, and settled down, saved my money,
invested a little here and there, and—worked for it, Jack, damn
me,—worked for it like a damned horse!
Oakhurst (aside). True, this is not work.
York. But that ain't my business with ye now, old boy: it's this. You've
had some trials and troubles in the bank lately,—a defalcation of
agents one day, a robbery next. It's luck, my boy, luck! but ye know
people will talk. You don't mind my sayin' that there's rumors 'round.
The old man's mighty unpopular because he's a saint; and folks don't
entirely fancy you because you used to be the reverse. Well, Jack, it
amounts to 'bout this: I've withdrawn my account from Parkinson's, in
Sacramento, and I've got a pretty heavy balance on hand—nigh on
two hundred thousand—in bonds and certificates here; and if it
will help you over the rough places, old boy, as a deposit, yer it is
(drawing pocket-book.)
Oakhurst (greatly affected, but endeavoring to conceal it). Thank you,
Harry, old fellow—but—
York (quickly). I know: I'll take the risk, a business risk. You'll
stand by me all you can, old boy; you'll make it pay all you can; and if
you lose it—why—all right!
Oakhurst (embarrassed). As a deposit with Morton & Son, drawing two
per cent monthly interest—
York. Damn Morton & Son! I'll back it with Jack Oakhurst, the man I
know.
Oakhurst (advancing slowly). I'll take it, Harry.
York (extending his hand). It's a square game, Jack!
Oakhurst (seizing his hand with repressed emotion). It's a square game,
Harry York, if I live.
York. Then I'll travel. Good-night, old boy. I'll send my clerk around
in the morning to put things right. Good-night (going).
Oakhurst (grasping YORK'S hand). One moment—no—nothing!
Good-night. [Exit YORK.
OAKHURST follows him to door, and then returns to desk, throwing himself
in chair, and burying his face in his hands.
Oakhurst (with deep feeling). It needed but this to fill the measure of
my degradation. I have borne the suspicions of the old man's enemies,
the half-pitying, half-contemptuous sympathy of his friends, even his
own cold, heartless, fanatical fulfilment of his sense of duty; but THIS—this
confidence from one who had most reason to scorn me, this trust from one
who knew me as I WAS,—this is the hardest burden. And he, too, in
time will know me to be an impostor. He too—a reformed man; but he
has honorably retraced his steps, and won the position I hold by a
trick, an imposture. And what is all my labor beside his honest
sincerity? I have fought against the chances that might discover my
deception, against the enemies who would overthrow me, against the fate
that put me here; and I have been successful—yes, a successful
impostor! I have even fought against the human instinct that told this
fierce, foolish old man that I was an alien to his house, to his blood;
I have even felt him scan my face eagerly for some reflection of his
long-lost boy, for some realization of his dream; and I have seen him
turn away, cold, heartsick, and despairing. What matters that I have
been to him devoted, untiring, submissive, ay, a better son to him than
his own weak flesh and blood would have been? He would to-morrow cast me
forth to welcome the outcast, Sandy Morton. Well, what matters?
(Recklessly.) Nothing. In six days it will be over; in six days the year
of my probation will have passed; in six days I will disclose to him the
deceit I have practised, and will face the world again as John Oakhurst,
the gambler, who staked and lost ALL on a single cast. And Jovita! Well,
well!—the game is made: it is too late to draw out now. (Rings
bell. Enter JACKSON.) Who has been here?
Jackson. Only Don Jose, and Mr. Capper, the detective.
Oakhurst. The detective? What for?
Jackson. To work up the robbery, sir.
Oakhurst. True! Capper, Capper, yes! A man of wild and ridiculous
theories, but well-meaning, brave, and honest. (Aside.) This is the old
man's idea. He does not know that I was on the trail of the thieves an
hour before the police were notified. (Aloud.) Well, sir?
Jackson. He told your father he thought the recovery of the money
hopeless, but he came to caution us against a second attempt.
Oakhurst (aside, starting). True! I had not thought of that.
(Excitedly.) The success of their first attempt will incite them to
another; the money they have stolen is gone by this time. (Aloud.)
Jackson, I will stay here to-night and to-morrow night, and relieve your
regular watchman. You will, of course, say nothing of my intention.
Jackson. Yes, sir. (Lingering.)
Oakhurst (after a pause). That is all, Mr. Jackson.
Jackson. Beg your pardon, Mr. Morton; but Col. Starbottle, with two
ladies, was here half an hour ago, and said they would come again when
you were alone.
Oakhurst. Very well: admit them.
Jackson. Beg pardon, sir; but they seemed to avoid seeing your father
until they had seen you. It looked mysterious, and I thought I would
tell you first.
Oakhurst (laughing). Admit them, Mr. Jackson. (Exit JACKSON.) This poor
fellow's devotion is increasing. He, too, believes that his old
associate in dissipation, John Oakhurst, IS the son of Alexander Morton.
He, too, will have to share in the disgrace of the impostor. Ladies!
umph! (Looking down at his clothes.) I'm afraid the reform of Alexander
Morton hasn't improved the usual neatness of John Oakhurst. I haven't
slept, nor changed my clothes, for three days. (Goes to door of MORTON,
sen.'s, room.) Locked, and the key on the inside! That's strange.
Nonsense! the old man has locked his door and gone out through the
private entrance. Well, I'll find means of making my toilet here. [Exit
into private room L.
Enter JACKSON, leading in COL. STARBOTTLE, MISS MARY, the DUCHESS, and
child of three years.
Jackson. Mr. Alexander Morton, jun., is in his private room. He will be
here in a moment. [Exit JACKSON.
Starbottle. One moment, a single moment, Miss Mary. Permit me to—er—if
I may so express myself, to—er—group the party, to—er—place
the—er—present company into position. I have—er—observed
as part of my—er—legal experience, that in cases of moral
illustration a great, I may say—er—tremendous, effect on the—er—jury,
I mean the—er—guilty party, has been produced by the
attitude of the—er—victim and martyr. You, madam, as the—er—injured
wife (placing her), shall stand here, firm yet expectant, protecting
your child, yet looking hopefully for assistance toward its natural
protector. You, Miss Mary, shall stand here (placing her), as Moral
Retribution, leaning toward and slightly appealing to me, the image of—er—er—Inflexible
Justice! (Inflates his chest, puts his hand in his bosom, and strikes an
attitude.)
Door of young Morton's room opens, and discloses MR. OAKHURST gazing at
the group. He starts slightly on observing the DUCHESS, but instantly
recovers himself, and faces the company coldly. The DUCHESS starts on
observing OAKHURST, and struggles in confusion towards the door,
dragging with her the child and MISS MARY, who endeavors to re-assure
her. COL. STARBOTTLE looks in astonishment from one to the other, and
advances to front.
Col. Starbottle (aside). The—er—tableau, although striking
in moral force, is apparently—er—deficient in moral stamina.
Miss Mary (angrily to the DUCHESS). I'm ashamed of you! (To OAKHURST,
advancing.) I don't ask pardon for my intrusion. If you are Alexander
Morton, you are my kinsman, and you will know that I cannot introduce
myself better than as the protector of an injured woman. Come here! (To
the DUCHESS, dragging her towards OAKHURST. To OAKHURST.) Look upon this
woman: she claims to be—
Starbottle (stepping between MISS MARY and the DUCHESS). A moment, Miss
Mary, a single moment! Permit me to—er—explain. The whole
thing, the—er—situation reminds me, demn me, of most amusing
incident at Sacramento in '52. Large party at Hank Suedecois: know Hank?
Confirmed old bach of sixty. Dinner for forty. Everything in style,
first families, Ged,—Judge Beeswinger, Mat Boompointer, and Maje
Blodgett of Ahlabam: know old Maje Blodgett? Well, Maje was there. Ged,
sir, delay,—everybody waiting. I went to Hank. "Hank," I says,
"what's matter? why delay?"—"Star," he says,—always called
me Star,—"Star,—it's cook!"—"Demn cook," I says:
"discharge cook,—only a black mulatto anyway!"—"Can't,
Star," he says: "impossible!"—"Can't?" says I.—"No," says
he. "Listen, Star," he says, "family secret! Honor! Can't discharge
cook, because cook—demn it—'s MY wife!" Fact, sir, fact—showed
marriage certificate—married privately seven years! Fact, sir—
The Duchess (to MISS MARY). Some other time, miss, let us go now.
There's a mistake, miss, I can't explain. Some other time, miss! See,
miss, how cold and stern he looks! another time, miss! (Struggling.) For
God's sake, miss, let me go!
Miss Mary. No! This mystery must be cleared up now, before I enter HIS
house,—before I accept the charge of this—
Starbottle (interrupting, and crossing before MISS MARY). A moment—a
single moment, miss. (To OAKHURST.) Mr. Morton, you will pardon the
exuberance, and perhaps, under the circumstances, somewhat natural
impulsiveness, of the—er—sex, for which I am perhaps
responsible; I may say—er—personally, sir,—personally
responsible—
Oakhurst (coldly). Go on, sir.
Starbottle. The lady on my right is—er—the niece of your
father,—your cousin. The lady on my left, engaged in soothing the—er—bashful
timidity of infancy, is—er—that is—er—claims to
be, the mother of the child of Alexander Morton.
Oakhurst (calmly). She is right.
Miss Mary (rushing forward). Then you are—
Oakhurst (gently restraining her). You have another question to ask: you
hesitate: let me ask it. (Crossing to the DUCHESS.) You have heard my
answer. Madam, are you the legal wife of Alexander Morton?
The Duchess (sinking upon her knees, and dropping her face in her
hands). No!
Oakhurst. Enough: I will take the child. Pardon me, Miss Morris, but you
have heard enough to know that your mission is accomplished, but what
else passes between this woman and myself becomes no stranger to hear.
(Motions toward room L.)
Miss Mary (aside). It is HIS son. I am satisfied (going). Come, colonel.
[Exeunt into room L., STARBOTTLE and MISS MARY.
The Duchess (crossing to OAKHURST, and falling at his feet). Forgive me,
Jack, forgive me! It was no fault of mine. I did not know that you were
here. I did not know that you had taken his name!
Oakhurst. Hush—on your life!
The Duchess. Hear me, Jack! I was anxious only for a home for my child.
I came to HER—the schoolmistress of Red Gulch—for aid. I
told her the name of my boy's father. She—she brought me here. Oh,
forgive me, Jack! I have offended you!
Oakhurst. How can I believe you? You have deceived HIM. You have
deceived me. Listen! When I said, a moment ago, you were not the wife of
Alexander Morton, it was because I knew that your first husband—the
Australian convict Pritchard—was still living; that you had
deceived Sandy Morton as you had deceived me. That was why I left you.
Tell me, have you deceived me also about him, as you did about the
other? Is HE living, and with you; or dead, as you declared.
The Duchess (aside). He will kill me if I tell him. (Aloud.) No, no. He
is gone—is dead these three years.
Oakhurst. You swear!
The Duchess (hesitates, gasps, and looks around for her child; then
seizing it, and drawing it toward her). I—swear.
Oakhurst. Enough. Seek not to know why I am here, and under his name.
Enough for you that it has saved your child's future, and secured him
his heritage past all revocation. Yet remember! a word from you within
the next few days destroys it all. After that, I care not what you say.
The Duchess. Jack! One word, Jack, before I go. I never thought to bring
my shame to you!—to HIM!
Oakhurst. It was no trick, then, no contrivance, that brought her here.
No: it was fate. And at least I shall save his child.
Re-enter STARBOTTLE, MISS MARY, and DUCHESS.
Col. Starbottle (impressively). Permit me, Mr. Alexander Morton, as the
friend of my—er—principal to declare that we have received—honorable—honorable—satisfaction.
Allow me, sir, to grasp the hand, the—er—cherished hand of a
gentleman who, demn me! has fulfilled all his duties to—er—society
and gentlemen. And allow me to add, sir, should any invidious criticism
of the present—er—settlement be uttered in my presence, I
shall hold that critic responsible, sir—er—personally
responsible!
Miss Mary (sweeping truculently and aggressively up to JOHN OAKHURST).
And permit ME to add, sir, that, if you can see your way clearly out of
this wretched muddle, it's more than I can. This arrangement may be
according to the Californian code of morality, but it doesn't accord
with my Eastern ideas of right and wrong. If this foolish, wretched
creature chooses to abandon all claim upon you, chooses to run away from
you,—why, I suppose, as a GENTLEMAN, according to your laws of
honor, you are absolved. Good-night, Mr. Alexander Morton. (Goes to door
C., and exit, pushing out STARBOTTLE, the DUCHESS, and child. MR.
OAKHURST sinks into chair at desk, burying his face in his hands.
Re-enter slowly and embarrassedly, MISS MARY: looks toward OAKHURST, and
comes slowly down stage.)
Miss Mary (aside). I was too hard on him. I was not so hard on Sandy
when I thought that he—he—was the father of her child. And
he's my own flesh and blood, too; and—he's crying. (Aloud.) Mr.
Morton.
Oakhurst (slowly lifting his head). Yes; Miss Mary.
Miss Mary. I spoke hastily just then. I—I—thought—you
see—I—(angrily and passionately) I mean this. I'm a
stranger. I don't understand your Californian ways, and I don't want to.
But I believe you've done what you thought was right, according to a
MAN'S idea of right; and—there's my hand. Take it, take it; for
it's a novelty, Mr. Morton: it's the hand of an honest girl!
Oakhurst (hesitates, then rises, sinks on one knee, and raises MISS
MARY'S fingers to his lips). God bless you, miss! God bless you!
Miss Mary (retreating to centre door). Good-night, good-night (slowly),—cousin—Alexander.
[Exit. Dark stage.
Oakhurst (rising swiftly). No, no: it is false! Ah! She's gone. Another
moment, and I would have told her all. Pshaw! courage, man! It is only
six days more, and you are free, and this year's shame and agony forever
ended.
Enter JACKSON.
Jackson. As you ordered, sir, the night watchman has been relieved, and
has just gone.
Oakhurst. Very good, sir; and you?
Jackson. I relieved the porter, sir; and I shall bunk on two chairs in
the counting-room. You'll find me handy if you want me, sir. Good-night,
sir. [Exit C.
Oakhurst. I fear these rascals will not dare to make their second
attempt to-night. A quiet scrimmage with them, enough to keep me awake
or from thinking, would be a good fortune. No, no! no such luck for you
to-night, John Oakhurst! You are playing a losing game.... Yet the
robbery was a bold one. At eleven o'clock, while the bank was yet
lighted, and Mr. Jackson and another clerk were at work here, three
well-dressed men pick the lock of the counting-house door, enter, and
turn the key on the clerks in this parlor, and carry away a box of
doubloons not yet placed in the vaults by the porter; and all this done
so cautiously that the clerks within knew nothing of it until notified
of the open street door by the private watchman, and so boldly that the
watchman, seeing them here, believed them clerks of the bank, and let
them go unmolested. No: this was the coincidence of good luck, not of
bold premeditation. There will be no second attempt. (Yawns.) If they
don't come soon I shall fall asleep. Four nights without rest will tell
on a man, unless he has some excitement to back him. (Nods.) Hallo! What
was that? Oh! Jackson in the counting-room getting to bed. I'll look at
that front door myself. (Takes revolver from desk and goes to door C.,
tries lock, comes down stage with revolver, examines it, and lays it
down.)
Oakhurst (slowly and quietly.) The door is locked on the outside: that
may have been an accident. The caps are taken from my pistol: THAT was
not! Well, here is the vault, and here is John Oakhurst: to reach the
one, they must pass the other.
(Takes off his coat, seizes poker from grate, and approaches safe.) Ha!
some one is moving in the old man's room. (Approaches door of room R. as—
Enter noiselessly and cautiously from room L., PRITCHARD, SILKY, and
SOAPY. PRITCHARD and his confederates approach OAKHURST from behind,
carrying lariat, or slip-noose.
Oakhurst (listening at door R.) Good. At least I know from what quarter
to expect the attack. Ah!
PRITCHARD throws slip-noose over OAKHURST from behind; OAKHURST puts his
hand in his breast as the slip-noose is drawn across his bosom,
pinioning one arm over his breast, and the other at his side. SILKY and
SOAPY, directed by PRITCHARD, drag OAKHURST to chair facing front, and
pinion his legs. PRITCHARD, C., regarding him.
Oakhurst (very coolly). You have left me my voice, I suppose, because it
is useless.
Pritchard. That's so, pard. 'Twon't be no help to ye.
Oakhurst. Then you have killed Jackson.
Pritchard. Lord love ye, no! That ain't like us, pard! Jackson's tendin'
door for us, and kinder lookin' out gin'rally for the boys. Thar's
nothin' mean about Jackson.
Soapy. No! Jackson's a squar man. Eh, Silky?
Silky. Ez white a man ez they is, pard!
Oakhurst (aside). The traitor! (Aloud.) Well!
Pritchard. Well, you want ter know our business. Call upon a business
man in business hours. Our little game is this, Mr. Jack Morton
Alexander Oakhurst. When we was here the other night, we was wantin' a
key to that theer lock (pointing to vault), and we sorter dropped in
passin' to get it.
Oakhurst. And suppose I refuse to give it up?
Pritchard. We were kalkilatin' on yer bein' even that impolite: wasn't
we, boys?
Silky and Soapy. We was that.
Pritchard. And so we got Mr. Jackson to take an impression of it in wax.
Oh, he's a squar man—is Mr. Jackson!
Silky. Jackson is a white man, Soapy!
Soapy. They don't make no better men nor Jackson, Silky.
Pritchard. And we've got a duplicate key here. But we don't want any
differences, pard: we only want a squar game. It seemed to us—some
of your old pards as knew ye, Jack—that ye had a rather soft thing
here, reformin'; and we thought ye was kinder throwin' off on the boys,
not givin' 'em any hand in the game. But thar ain't anythin' mean about
us. Eh, boys?
Soapy. We is allers ready to chip in ekal in the game. Eh, Silky?
Silky. That's me, Soapy.
Pritchard. Ye see, the boys is free and open-handed, Jack. And so the
proposition we wanter make to ye, Jack, is this. It's reg'lar on the
squar. We reckon, takin' Mr. Jackson's word,—and thar ain't no
man's word ez is better nor Jackson's,—that there's nigh on to two
millions in that vault, not to speak of a little speshil deposit o'
York's, ez we learn from that accommodatin' friend, Mr. Jackson. We
propose to share it with ye, on ekil terms—us five—countin'
Jackson, a square man. In course, we takes the risk o' packin' it away
to-night comfortable. Ez your friends, Jack, we allow this yer little
arrangement to be a deuced sight easier for you than playin' Sandy
Morton on a riglar salary, with the chance o' the real Sandy poppin' in
upon ye any night.
Oakkurst. It's a lie. Sandy is dead.
Pritchard. In course, in course; that is your little game! But we
kalkilated, Jack, even on that, on yer bein' rambunktious and contrary;
and so we went ter Red Gulch, and found Sandy. Ye know I take a kind o'
interest in Sandy: he's the second husband of my wife, the woman you run
away with, pard. But thar's nothin' mean about me! eh, boys?
Silky. No! he's the forgivingest kind of a man, is Pritchard.
Soapy. That's so, Silky.
Pritchard. And, thinkin' ye might be dubious, we filled Sandy about full
o' rye whiskey, and brought him along; and one of our pards is
preambulatin' the streets with him, ready to bring him on call.
Oakhurst. It's a lie, Pritchard,—a cowardly lie!
Pritchard. Is it? Hush!
Sandy (without, singing),—
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton, Drink him down! Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton, Drink him down! Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton, All alive and just a-snortin'! Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton, Drink him down!
Pritchard. We don't propose to run him in yer, cept we're took, or yer
unaccommodatin' to the boys.
Oakhurst. And if I refuse?
Pritchard. Why, we'll take what we can get; and we'll leave Sandy Morton
with you yer, to sorter alleviate the old man's feelin's over the loss
of his money. There's nothin' mean about us; no! eh, boys? (Going toward
safe.)
Oakhurst. Hear me a moment, Henry Pritchard. (PRITCHARD stops abreast of
OAKHURST.) Four years ago you were assaulted in the Arcade Saloon in
Sacramento. You would have been killed, but your assailant suddenly fell
dead by a pistol-shot fired from some unknown hand. I stood twenty feet
from you with folded arms; but that shot was fired by me,—me,
Henry Pritchard,—through my clothes, from a derringer hidden in my
waistcoat! Understand me, I do not ask your gratitude now. But that
pistol is in my right hand, and now covers you. Make a single motion,—of
a muscle,—and it is your last.
Pritchard (motionless, but excitedly). You dare not fire! No, dare not!
A shot here will bring my pal and Sandy Morton to confront you. You will
have killed me to save exposure, have added murder to imposture! You
have no witness to this attempt!
Capper (opening door of room L., at the same moment that two policemen
appear at door C., and two at room R). You are wrong: he has five
(crossing to SILKY and SOAPY, and laying his hands on their shoulders);
and, if I mistake not, he has two more in these gentlemen, whom I know,
and who will be quite as willing to furnish the necessary State's
evidence of the robbery, as of the fact that they never knew any other
Alexander Morton than the gentleman who sits in that chair.
Soapy. That's so, Silky.
Silky. That's so, Soapy.
Capper (to policemen). Take them away.
[Exit policemen with PRITCHARD, SOAPY, and SILKY. CAPPER unbinds
OAKHURST.
Oakhurst. Then I have to thank you, Mr. C.
Capper. Yes! "A man of ridiculous theories, but well-meaning, brave, and
honest." No, sir; don't apologize: you were right, Mr. Oakhurst. It is I
who owe you an apology. I came here, believing YOU were the robber,
having no faith in you or your reformation, expecting,—yes, sir,—hoping,
to detect you in the act. Hear me! From the hour you first entered the
bank, I have shadowed your every movement, I have been the silent
witness of all that has passed in this room. You have played a desperate
game, Mr. Oakhurst; but I'll see you through it. If you are true to your
resolve, for the next six days, I will hold these wretches silent. I
will protect your imposture with the strong arm of the law. I don't like
YOUR theories, sir; but I believe you to be well-meaning, and I know you
to be brave and honest.
Oakhurst (grasping his hand). I shall not forget this. But Sandy—
Capper. I will put my men on his track, and have him brought quietly
here. I can give you no aid beyond that. As an honorable man, I need not
tell you your duty. Settle it with him as best you can.
Oakhurst. You are right; I WILL see him. (Aside.) Unless he has changed,
he will listen to me, he will obey me.
Capper. Hush! (Blows out candle.) Stand here!
CAPPER and OAKHURST retreat to wing L., as enter MORTON, sen., from room
R.
Morton. The private door open, the room dark, and Capper gone. I don't
like this. The more I think of the mystery of that man's manner this
morning, the more it seems to hide some terrible secret I must fathom!
There are matches here. (Strikes a light, as CAPPER draws OAKHURST,
struggling, back into shadow.) What's this? (Picking up key.) The key of
the vault. A chair overturned. (Touches bell.) No answer! Jackson gone!
My God! A terrible suspicion haunts me! No. Hush! (Retreats to private
room R., as door of L. opens and—)
Enter SANDY.
Sandy (drunkenly). Shoo! Shoo! boys, whar are ye, boys, eh? Pritchard,
Silky, Soapy! Whar are ye, boys?
Morton (aside). A crime has been committed, and here is one of the gang.
God has delivered him in my hands. (Draws revolver, and fires, as
OAKHURST breaks from CAPPER, and strikes up MORTON'S pistol. CAPPER at
same moment seizes SANDY, and drags him in room L. MORTON and OAKHURST
struggle to centre.)
Morton (relaxing hold of OAKHURST). Alexander! Good God! Why are you
here? Why have you stepped between me and retribution? You hesitate. God
in heaven! Speak, Alexander, my son, speak for God's sake! Tell me—tell
me that this detective's suspicions are not true. Tell me that you are
not—not—no, I cannot say it. Speak, Alexander Morton, I
command you! Who is this man you have saved? Is it—is it—your
accomplice?
Oakhurst (sinking at his feet). Don't ask me! You know not what you ask!
I implore you—
Capper (appearing quietly from room L., and locking the door behind
him). Your son has acted under MY orders. The man he has saved, as he
has saved you, was a decoy,—one of my policemen.
Curtain.
SCENE 1.—MR. MORTON'S villa, Russian Hill, Night. OAKHURST'S
bedroom. Sofa in alcove C., door in flat left of C. SANDY MORTON
discovered, unconscious, lying on sofa; OAKHURST standing at his head,
two policemen at his feet. Candles on table L.
Oakhurst. That will do. You are sure he was unconscious as you brought
him in?
First Policeman. Sure, sir? He hasn't known anything since we picked him
up on the sidewalk outside the bank.
Oakhurst. Good! You have fulfilled your orders well, and your chief
shall know it. Go now. Be as cautious in going out as you were on
entering. Here is the private staircase. (Opens door L.) [Exit
policeman.
Oakhurst (listening). Gone! and without disturbing any one. So far, luck
has befriended me. He will sleep to-night beneath his father's roof. His
father! umph! would the old man recognize him here? Would he take to his
heart this drunken outcast, picked from the gutters of the street, and
brought here by the strong arm of the law? Hush! (A knock without.) Ah,
it is the colonel: he is prompt to the hour. (Opens door cautiously, and
admits COL. STARBOTTLE.)
Starbottle (looking around, and overlooking SANDY). I presume the other—er—principal
is not yet on the ground?
Oakhurst (motioning to sofa). He IS!
Starbottle (starting as he looks towards sofa). Ged, you don't mean to
say it's all OVER, without witnesses, without my—er—presence?
Oakhurst. Pardon me, Col. Starbottle; but, if you look again, you will
perceive that the gentleman is only drunk.
Starbottle. Eh? Ged! not uncommon, sir, not uncommon! I remember
singular incident at—er—Louisville in '47. Old Judge Tollim—know
old Judge Tolly?—Ged! he came to ground drunk, sir; couldn't
stand! Demn me, sir, had to put him into position with kitchen poker
down his back, and two sections of lightning-rod in his—er—trousers,
demn me! Firm, sir, firm, you understand, here (striking his breast),
but—here (striking his legs)—er—er—wobbly! No,
sir! Intoxication of principal not a bar, sir, to personal satisfaction!
(Goes towards sofa with eyeglass.) Good Ged! why, it's Diego! (Returning
stifly to OAKHURST.) Excuse me, sir, but this is a case in which I
cannot act. Cannot, sir,—impossible! absurd! pre—post—or—ous!
I recogmze in the—er—inebriated menial on yonder sofa a
person, sir, who, having already declined my personal challenge, is—er—excluded
from the consideration of gentlemen. The person who lies there, sir, is
Diego,—a menial of Don Jose Castro,—-alias "Sandy," the
vagabond of Red Gulch.
Oakhurst. You have omitted one title, his true one. He is Alexander
Morton, the son of the master of this house.
Starbottle (starting in bewilderment). Alexander Morton! (Aside.) Ged!
my first suspicions were correct. Star, you have lost the opportunity of
making your fortune as a scoundrel; but you have at a pecuniary
sacrifice, preserved your honor.
Oakhurst. Yes. Hear me, Col. Starbottle. I have summoned you here
to-night, as I have already intimated, on an affair of honor. I have
sought you as my father's legal counsel, as a disinterested witness, as
a gentleman of honor. The man who lies before you was once my friend and
partner. I have wronged him doubly. As his partner, I ran away with the
woman he believed, and still believes, to be his wife; as his friend, I
have for a twelvemonth kept him from the enjoyment of his home, his
patrimony, by a shameful deception. I have summoned you to-night to
witness my confession; as a lawyer, to arrange those details necessary
to restore to him his property; as a man of honor, to receive from me
whatever retribution he demands. You will be a witness to our interview.
Whatever befalls me here, you will explain to Mr. Morton—to Jovita—that
I accepted it as a man, and did not avoid, here or elsewhere, the
penalty of my crime. (Folding his arms.)
Slarbottle. Umph! The case is, as you say, a delicate one, but not—not—peculiar.
No, sir! Ged, sir, I remember Tom Marshall—know Tom Marshall of
Kentucky?—said to me, "Star!"—always calls me Star,—"how
in blank, sir, can you remember the REAL names of your clients?"—"Why,"
says I, "Tom," always called him Tom,—"yesterday I was called to
make will—most distinguished family of Virginia—as lawyer
and gentleman, you understand: can't mention name. Waited for signature—most
distinguished name: Ged, sir, man signed Bloggins,—Peter Bloggins.
Fact, demme! 'Mistake,' I said,—'excitement; exaltation of fever.
Non compos. Compose yourself, Bob.'—'Star,' he said,—always
called me Star,—'for forty-seven years I have been an impostor!'—his
very words, sir. 'I am not'—you understand: 'I AM Peter
Bloggins!'"
Oakhurst. But, my dear colonel, I—
Starbottle (loftily). Say no more, sir! I accept the—er position.
Let us see! The gentleman will, on recognition, probably make a personal
attack. You are armed. Ah, no? Umph! On reflection I would not permit
him to strike a single blow: I would anticipate it. It will provoke the
challenge from him, leaving YOU, sir, the—er—choice of
weapons.
Oakhurst. Hush! he is moving! Take your stand here, in this alcove.
Remember, as a gentleman, and a man of honor, Col. Starbottle, I trust
you not to interfere between the injured man and—justice! (Pushes
COL. STARBOTTLE into alcove behind couch, and approaches SANDY.)
Sandy (waking slowly—and incoherently). Hush, Silky! hush! Eh? Oh,
hush yourself! (Sings.)
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton, Drink him down!
Eh! Oh! (Half sits up on couch.) Eh! (Looking around him.) Where the
devil am I?
Oakhurst (advancing and leaning over SANDY'S couch). In the house of
your father, Alexander Morton.
Sandy (recoiling in astonishment). His voice, John Oakhurst! What—ah!
(Rises, and rushes towards OAKHURST with uplifted hand.)
Starbottle (gesticulating in whisper). A blow! a single blow would be
sufficient.
Sandy (looking at OAKHURST, who regards him calmly). I—eh! I—eh!
Ha, ha! I'm glad to see—old pard! I'm glad to see ye! (COL.
STARBOTTLE lifts his hand in amazement.)
Oakhurst (declining his hand). Do you understand me, Sandy Morton?
Listen. I am John Oakhurst,—the man who has deceived your father,
who has deceived you.
Sandy (without heeding his words, but regarding him affectionately). To
think of it—Jack Oakhurst! It's like him, like Jack. He was allers
onsartain, the darned little cuss! Jack! Look at him, will ye, boys?
look at him! Growed too, and dressed to kill, and sittin' in this yer
house as natril as a jaybird! (Looking around.) Nasty, ain't it, Jack?
and this yer's your house—the old man's house—eh? Why, this
is—this is where she came. Jack, Jack! (Eagerly.) Tell me, pard,
where is she?
Starbottle (aside, rubbing his hands). We shall have it now!
Oakhurst. She has gone,—gone! But hear me. She had deceived you as
she has me. She has gone,—gone with her first husband, Henry
Pritchard.
Sandy (stupefied). Gone! Her first husband! Pritchard!
Oakhurst. Ay, your wife!
Sandy. Oh, damn my wife! I'm talking of Mary,—Miss Mary,—the
little schoolma'am, Jack; the little rose of Poker Flat. Oh! I see—ye
didn't know her, Jack,—the pertiest, sweetest little—
Oakhurst (turning away coldly). Ay, ay! She is here!
Sandy (looking after him affectionately). Look at him, boys! Allers the
same,—high-toned, cold, even to his pardner! That's him,—Jack
Oakhurst! But Jack, Jack, you're goin' to shake hands, ain't ye?
(Extends his hand, after a pause. OAKHURST takes it gloomily.)
Col. Starbottle (who has been regarding interview with visible scorn and
disgust, advancing to OAKHURST). You will—er—pardon me if,
under the—er—circumstances, I withdraw from this—er—disgraceful
proceeding. The condonation, by that man, of two of the most tremendous
offences to society and to the code, without apology or satisfaction,
Ged, sir, is—er—er—of itself an insult to the
spectator. I go, sir—
Oakhurst. But, Col. Starbottle—
Starbottle. Permit me to say, sir, that I hold myself for this, sir,
responsible, sir,—personally responsible.
[Exit STARBOTTLE, glancing furiously at SANDY, who sinks on sofa
laughing.
Oakhurst (aside). He will change his mind in half an hour. But, in the
mean time, time is precious. (Aloud.) Sandy, come!
Sandy (rising with alacrity). Yes, Jack, I'm ready.
Oakhurst. We are going (slowly and solemnly)—we are going to see
your father.
Sandy (dropping back with bashful embarrassment, and struggling to
release his arm from OAKHURST). No, Jack! Not just yet, Jack; in a
little while, ole boy! in about six months, or mebbe—a year, Jack!
not now, not now! I ain't feelin' exactly well, Jack,—I ain't.
Oakhurst. Nonsense, Sandy! Consider your duty and my honor.
Sandy (regaining his seat). That's all very well, Jack; but ye see,
pard, you've known the old man for nigh on a year, and it's twenty-five
since I met him. No, Jack; you don't play any ole man on to me to-night,
Jack. No, you and me'll just drop out for a pasear. Jack, eh? (Taking
OAKHURST'S arm.) Come!
Oakhurst. Impossible! Hush! (Listening.) It is HE passing through the
corridor. (Goes to wing R., and listens.)
Sandy (crowding hastily behind OAKHURST in alarm). But, I say, Jack! he
won't come in here? He's goin' to bed, you know. Eh? It ain't right for
a man o' his years—and he must be goin' on ninety, Jack—to
be up like this. It ain't healthy.
Oakhurst. You know him not. He seems to need no rest (sadly). Night
after night, long after the servants are abed, and the house is still, I
hear that step slowly pacing the corridor. It is the last sound as I
close my eyes, the first challenge of the morning.
Sandy. The ol' scound—(checking himself)—I mean, Jack, the
ol' man has suthin' on his mind. But, Jack (in great alarm), he don't
waltz in upon ye, Jack? He don't p'int them feet in yer, Jack? Ye ain't
got to put up with that, Jack, along o' yer other trials?
Oakhurst. He often seeks me here. Ah—yes—he is coming this
way now.
Sandy (in ludicrous terror). Jack, pard, quick I hide me somewhere,
Jack!
Oakhurst (opening door R.). In there, quick! Not a sound, as you value
your future! [Exit SANDY hurriedly R.
SCENE 2.—The same. Enter door R., OLD MORTON, in dressing-gown,
with candle.
Old Morton. Not abed yet, Alexander? Well, well, I don't blame you, my
son it has been for you a trying, trying night. Yes, I see: like me, you
are a little nervous and wakeful. (Slowly takes chair, and comfortably
composes himself.)
Oakhurst (aside). He is in for a midnight gossip. How shall I dispose of
Sandy?
Old Morton. Yes (meditatively),—yes, you have overworked lately.
Never mind. In a day or two more you shall have a vacation, sir,—a
vacation!
Oakhurst (aside). He knows not how truly he speaks. (Aloud.) Yes, sir, I
was still up. I have only just now dismissed the policemen.
Old Morton. Ay. I heard voices, and saw a light in your window. I came
to tell you, Alexander, Capper has explained all about—about the
decoy! More; he has told me of your courage and your invaluable
assistance. For a moment, sir,—I don't mind telling you now in
confidence,—I doubted YOU—
Oakhurst (in feigned deprecation). Oh, sir!
Old Morton. Only for a moment. You will find, Alexander, that even that
doubt shall have full apology when the year of your probation has
expired. Besides, sir. I know all.
Oakhurst (starting). All!
Old Morton. Yes, the story about the Duchess and your child. You are
surprised. Col. Starbottle told me all. I forgive you, Alexander, for
the sake of your boy.
Oakhurst. My boy, sir!
Old Morton. Yes, your boy. And let me tell you, sir, he's a fine young
fellow. Looks like you,—looks as you did when YOU were a boy. He's
a Morton too, every inch of him, there's no denying that. No, sir. You
may have changed; but he—he—is the living image of my little
Alexander. He took to me, too,—lifted his little arms—and—and—
(Becomes affected, and leans his head in his hands.)
Oakhurst (rising). You are not well, sir. Let me lead you to your room.
Old Morton. No! it is nothing: a glass of water, Alexander!
Oakhurst (aside). He is very pale. The agitation of the night has
overcome him. (Goes to table R.) A little spirits will revive him.
(Pours from decanter in glass, and returns to MORTON.)
Old Morton (after drinking). There was spirits in that water, Alexander.
Five years ago, I vowed at your mother's grave to abandon the use of
intoxicating liquors.
Oakhurst. Believe me, sir, my mother will forgive you.
Old Morton. Doubtless. It has revived me. I am getting to be an old man,
Aleck. (Holds out his glass half-unconsciously, and OAKHURST replenishes
it from decanter.) Yes, an old man, Aleck; but the boy,—ah, I live
again in him. The little rascal! He asked me, Aleck, for a "chaw
tobacker!" and wanted to know if I was the "ol' duffer." Ha, ha! He did.
Ha, ha! Come, come, don't be despondent. I was like you once, damn it,—ahem—it's
all for the best, my boy, all for the best. I'll take the young rascal
(aside)—damn it, he's already taken me—(aloud) on equal
terms. There, Aleck, what do you say?
Oakhurst. Really, sir, this forbearance,—this kindness—(aside)
I see a ray of light.
Old Morton. Nonsense! I'll take the boy, I tell you, and do well for
him,—the little rascal!—as if he were the legal heir. But, I
say, Aleck (laughing), ha, ha!—what about—ha, ha!—what
about Dona Jovita, eh? and what about Don Jose Castro, eh? How will the
lady like a ready-made family, eh? (Poking OAKHURST in the ribs.) What
will the Don say to the family succession? Ha, ha!
Oakhurst (proudly). Really, sir, I care but little.
Old Morton (aside). Oh, ho! I'll sound him. (Aloud.) Look ye, Alexander,
I have given my word to you and Don Jose Castro, and I'll keep it. But
if you can do any better, eh—if—eh?—the schoolma'am's
a mighty pretty girl and a bright one, eh, Aleck? And it's all in the
family—eh? And she thinks well of you; and I will say, for a girl
brought up as she's been, and knowin' your relations with the Duchess
and the boy, to say a kind word for ye, Aleck, is a good sign,—you
follow me, Aleck,—if you think—why, old Don Jose might
whistle for a son-in-law, eh?
Oakhurst (interrupting indignantly). Sir! (Aside.) Stop! (Aloud.) Do you
mean to say, sir, that if I should consent to this—suggestion—that,
if the lady were willing, YOU would offer no impediment?
Old Morton. Impediment, my dear boy! you should have my blessing.
Oakhurst. Pardon me a moment. You have in the last year, sir, taught me
the importance of business formality in all the relations of life.
Following that idea, the conditions of my engagement with Jovita Castro
were drawn up with your hand. Are you willing to make this recantation
as formal, this new contract as businesslike and valid?
Old Morton (eagerly). I am.
Oakhurst. Then sit here, and write at my dictation. (Pointing to table
L. OLD MORTON takes seat at table.) "In view of the evident preferences
of my son Alexander Morton, and of certain family interests, I hereby
revoke my consent to his marriage with the Dona Jovita Castro, and
accord him full permission to woo and win his cousin, Miss Mary Morris,
promising him the same aid and assistance previously offered in his suit
with Miss Castro."
Old Morton (signing). Alexander Morton, sen. There, Aleck! You have
forgotten one legal formality. We have no witness. Ha, ha!
Oakhurst (significantly). I will be a sufficient witness.
Old Morton. Ha, ha! (Fills glass from decanter, after which OAKHURST
quietly removes decanter beyond his reach.) Very good! Aleck, I've been
thinking of a plan,—I've been thinking of retiring from the bank.
I'm getting old, and my ways are not the popular ways of business here.
I've been thinking of you, you dog,—of leaving the bank to you,—to
you, sir, eh—the day—the day you marry the schoolma'am—eh.
I'll stay home and take care of the boy—eh—hic! The little
rascal!—lifted his arms to me—did, Aleck! by God!
(Incoherently.) Eh!
Oakhurst. Hush! (Aside.) Sandy will overhear him, and appear.
Old Morton (greatly affected by liquor.) Hush! eh!—of course—shoo!
shoo! (The actor will here endeavor to reproduce in OLD MORTON'S drunken
behavior, without exactly imitating him, the general characteristics of
his son's intoxication.) Eh!—I say, Aleck, old boy! what will the
Don say? eh? Ha, ha, ha! And Jovita, that firebrand, how will she—hic—like
it, eh? (Laughs immoderately.)
Oakhurst. Hush! We will be overheard! The servants, sir!
Old Morton. Damn the servants! Don't I—hic—pay them wages—eh?
Oakhurst. Let me lead you to your own room. You are nervously excited. A
little rest, sir, will do you good. (Taking his arm.)
Old Morton. No shir, no shir, 'm nerrer goin' to bed any more. Bed's bad
habit!—hic—drunken habit. Lesh stay up all ni, Aleck! You
and me! Lesh nev'r—go—bed any more! Whar's whiskey—eh?
(Staggers to the table for decanter as OAKHURST seizes him, struggle up
stage, and then OLD MORTON, in struggle, falls helplessly on sofa, in
same attitude as SANDY was discovered.)
Enter SANDY cautiously from door L.
Sandy (to OAKHURST). Jack! Eh, Jack—
Oakhurst. Hush! Go! I will follow you in a moment. (Pushes him back to
door L.)
Sandy (catching sight of OLD MORTON). Hallo! What's up?
Oakhurst. Nothing. He was overtaken with a sudden faintness. He will
revive presently: go!
Sandy (hesitating). I say, Jack, he wasn't taken sick along o' me, eh,
Jack?
Oakhurst. No! No! But go (pushing him toward door).
Sandy. Hold on: I'm going. But, Jack, I've got a kind of faintness yer,
too. (Goes to side-table, and takes up decanter.) And thar's nothing
reaches that faintness like whiskey. (Fills glass.) Old Morton
(drunkenly and half-consciously from couch). Whiskey—who shed—whiskey—eh?
Eh—O—gimme some, Aleck—Aleck, my son,—my son!—my
old prodigal—Old Proddy, my boy—gimme—whiskey—(sings)—
Oh, yer's yer good old whiskey, Drink it down!
Eh? I com—mand you,—pass the whiskey!
SANDY, at first panic-stricken, and then remorsefully conscious, throws
glass down, with gesture of fear and loathing. OAKHURST advances to his
side hurriedly.
Oakhurst (in hurried whisper). Give him the whiskey, quick! It will keep
him quiet. (Is about to take decanter when SANDY seizes it: struggle
with OAKHURST.)
Sandy (with feeling). No, no, Jack, no! (Suddenly with great strength
and determination, breaks from him, and throws decanter from window.)
No, NEVER!
Old Morton (struggling drunkenly to his feet). Eh—who sh'd never?
(OAKHURST shoves SANDY in room L., and follows him, closing door.) Eh,
Aleck? (Groping.) Eh, where'sh light? All gone. (Lapses on sofa again,
after an ineffectual struggle to get up, and then resumes his old
attitude.)
(Change scene quickly.)
SCENE 3.—Ante-room in MR. MORTON'S villa. Front scene. Enter DON
JOSE CASTRO and CONCHO, preceded by SERVANT, L.
Servant. This way, gentlemen.
Don Jose. Carry this card to Alexander Morton, sen.
Servant. Beg pardon, sir, but there's only one name here, sir (looking
at CONCHO).
Don Jose (proudly). That is my servant, sir. [Exit SERVANT.
Don Jose (aside). I don't half like this business. But my money locked
up in his bank, and my daughter's hand bound to his son, demand it.
(Aloud.) This is no child's play, Concho, you understand.
Concho. Ah! I am wise. Believe me, if I have not proofs which shall
blanch the cheek of this old man, I am a fool, Don Jose!
Re-enter SERVANT.
Servant. Mr. Morton, sen., passed a bad night, and has left word not to
be disturbed this morning. But Mr. Morton, jun., will attend you, sir.
Concho (aside). So the impostor will face it out. Well, let him come.
Don Jose (to SERVANT) I wait his pleasure. [Exit SERVANT.
Don Jose. You hear, Concho? You shall face this man. I shall repeat to
him all you have told me. If you fail to make good your charge, on your
head rests the consequences.
Concho. He will of course deny. He is a desperate man: he will perhaps
attack me. Eh! Ah! (Drawing revolver.)
Don Jose. Put up your foolish weapon. The sight of the father he has
deceived will be more terrible to him than the pistol of the spy.
Enter COL. STARBOTTLE, C.
Starbottle. Mr. Alexander Morton, Jun., will be with you in a moment.
(Takes attitude by door, puts his hand in his breast, and inflates
himself.)
Concho (to DON JOSE, aside). It is the bullying lawyer. They will try to
outface us, my patron; but we shall triumph. (Aloud.) He comes, eh!—Mr.
Alexander Morton, gentlemen! I will show you a cheat, an impostor!
Enter, in correct, precise morning dress, SANDY MORTON. There is in his
make-up and manner a suggestion of the father.
Concho (recoiling, aside). Diego! The real son. (Aloud, furiously.) It
is a trick to defeat justice,—eh!—a miserable trick! But it
shall fail, it shall fail!
Col. Starbottle. Permit me, a moment,—a single moment. (To
Concho.) You have—er—er—characterized my introduction
of this—er—gentleman as a "cheat" and an "imposture." Are
you prepared to deny that this is Alexander Morton?
Don Jose (astonished, aside). These Americanos are of the Devil! (Aloud
and sternly.) Answer him, Concho, I command you.
Concho (in half-insane rage). It is Alexander Morton; but it is a trick,—a
cowardly trick! Where is the other impostor, this Mr. John Oakhurst?
Sandy (advancing with dignity and something of his father's cold
manner). He will answer for himself, when called for. (To DON JOSE.) You
have asked for me, sir: may I inquire your business?
Concho. Eh! It is a trick,—a trick!
Don Jose (to CONCHO). Silence, sir! (To SANDY, with dignity.) I know not
the meaning of this masquerade. I only know that you are NOT the
gentleman hitherto known to me as the son of Alexander Morton. I am
here, sir, to demand my rights as a man of property and a father. I have
received this morning a check from the house of Morton & Son, for
the amount of my deposit with them. So far—in view of this
complication—it is well. Who knows? Bueno! But the signature of
Morton & Son to the check is not in the handwriting I have known.
Look at it, sir. (To SANDY, handing check.)
Sandy (examining check). It is my handwriting, sir, and was signed this
morning. Has it been refused?
Don Jose. Pardon me, sir. It has not been presented. With this doubt in
my mind, I preferred to submit it first to you.
Starbottle. A moment, a single moment, sir. While as a—er—gentleman
and a man of honor, I—er—appreciate your motives, permit me
to say, sir, as a lawyer, that your visit is premature. On the testimony
of your own witness, the identification of Mr. Alexander Morton, jun.,
is—er—complete; he has admitted the signature as his own;
you have not yet presented the check to the bank.
Don Jose. Pardon me, Col. Starbottle. It is not all. (To SANDY.) By a
written agreement with Alexander Morton, sen., the hand of my daughter
is promised to his son, who now stands before me, as my former servant,
dismissed from my service for drunkenness.
Sandy. That agreement is revoked.
Don Jose. Revoked!
Sandy (handing paper). Cast your eyes over that paper. At least you will
recognize THAT signature.
Don Jose (reads). "In view of the evident preferences of my son,
Alexander Morton, and of certain family interests, I hereby revoke my
consent to his marriage with the Dona Jovita Castro, and accord him full
permission to woo and win his cousin, Miss Mary Morris; promising him
the same aid and assistance previously offered in his suit with Miss
Castro.—ALEXANDER MORTON, SEN."
Concho. Ah! Carramba! Do you not see the trick,—eh, the
conspiracy? It was this man, as Diego, your daughter's groom, helped his
friend Mr. Oakhurst to the heiress. Ah, you comprehend! It was an old
trick! You shall see, you shall see! Ah! I am wise, I am wise!
Don Jose (aside). Could I have been deceived? But no! This paper that
releases HIM gives the impostor no claim.
Sandy (resuming his old easy manner, dropping his formality, and placing
his hand on DON JOSE'S shoulder). Look yar, ole man: I didn't allow to
ever see ye agin, and this yer ain't none o' MY seekin'. But, since yer
here, I don't mind tellin' ye that but for me that gal of yours would
have run away a year ago, and married an unknown lover. And I don't mind
adding, that, hed I known that unknown lover was my friend John
Oakhurst, I'd have helped her do it. (Going.) Good-morning, Don Jose.
Don Jose. Insolent! I shall expect an account for this from your—father,
sir.
Sandy. Adios, Don Jose. [Exit C.
Concho. It is a trick—I told you. Ah, I am wise. (Going to DON
JOSE.)
Don Jose (throwing him off). Fool! [Exit DON JOSE.
Concho (infuriated). Eh! Fool yourself—dotard! No matter: I will
expose all—ah! I will see Jovita;—I will revenge myself on
this impostor! (Is about to follow, when COL. STARBOTTLE leaves his
position by the door, and touches CONCHO on the shoulder.)
Starbottle. Excuse me.
Concho. Eh?
Starbottle. You have forgotten something.
Conhho. Something?
Starbottle. An apology, sir. You were good enough to express—er—incredulity—when
I presented Mr. Morton: you were kind enough to characterize the conduct
of my er—principal by—an epithet. You have alluded to me,
sir,—ME—
Concho (wrathfully). Bully! (Aside.) I have heard that this pomposo,
this braggart, is a Yankee trick too; that he has the front of a lion,
the liver of the chicken. (Aloud.) Yes, I have said, you hear I have
said, I, Concho (striking his breast), have said you are a—bully!
Starbottle (coolly). Then you are prepared to give me satisfaction, sir,—personal
satisfaction.
Concho (raging). Yes, sir, now—you understand, now (taking out
pistol), anywhere, here! Yes, here. Ah! you start,—yes, here and
now! Face to face, you understand, without seconds,—face to face.
So. (Presenting pistol.)
Starbottle (quietly). Permit me to—er—apologize.
Concho. Ah! It is too late!
Starbottle (interrupting). Excuse me, but I feared you would not honor
me so completely and satisfactorily. Ged, sir, I begin to respect you! I
accede to all your propositions of time and position. The pistol you
hold in your hand is a derringer, I presume, loaded. Ah—er—I
am right. The one I now produce (showing pistol) is—er—as
you will perceive the same size and pattern, and—er—unloaded.
We will place them both, so, under the cloth of this table. You shall
draw one pistol, I will take the other. I will put that clock at ten
minutes to nine, when we will take our positions across this table; as
you—er—happily express it, "face to face." As the clock
strikes the hour, we will fire on the second stroke.
Concho (aside). It is a trick, a Yankee trick! (Aloud.) I am ready. Now—at
once!
Starbottle (gravely). Permit me, sir, to thank you. Your conduct, sir,
reminds me of singular incident—
Concho (angrily interrupting). Come, come! It is no child's play. We
have much of this talk, eh! It is action, eh, you comprehend,—action.
(STARBOTTLE places pistols under the cloth, and sets clock. CONCHO draws
pistol from cloth; STARBOTTLE takes remaining pistol. Both men assume
position, presenting their weapons; STARBOTTLE pompously but seriously,
CONCHO angrily and nervously.)
Starbottle (after a pause). One moment, a single moment—
Concho. Ah, a trick! Coward! you cannot destroy my aim.
Starbottle. I overlook the—er—epithet. I wished only to ask,
if you should be—er—unfortunate, if there was anything I
could say to your—er—friends.
Concho. You cannot make the fool of me, coward. No!
Starbottle. My object was only precautionary. Owing to the position in
which you—er—persist in holding your weapon, in a line with
my right eye, I perceive that a ray of light enters the nipple, and—er—illuminates
the barrel. I judge from this that you have been unfortunate enough to
draw the—er—er—unloaded pistol.
Concho (tremulously lowering weapon). Eh! Ah! This is murder! (Drops
pistol.) Murder!—eh—help (retreating), help!
[Exit hurriedly door C., as clock strikes. COL. STARBOTTLE lowers his
pistol, and moves with great pomposity to the other side of the table,
taking up pistol.
Starbottle (examining pistol). Ah! (Lifts it, and discharges it.) It
seems that I am mistaken. (Going.) The pistol WAS—er—loaded!
[Exit.
SCENE 4.—Front scene. Room in villa. Enter MISS MARY and JOVITA.
Miss Mary. I tell you, you are wrong, you are not only misunderstanding
your lover, which is a woman's privilege, but you are abusing my cousin,
which, as his relative, I won't put up with.
Jovita (passionately). But hear me, Miss Mary. It is a year since we
were betrothed; and such a betrothal! Why, I was signed, sealed, and
delivered to him, on conditions, as if I were a part of the rancho; and
the very night, too, I had engaged to run away with him! And during that
year I have seen the gentleman twice,—yes, twice!
Miss Mary. But he has written?
Jovita. Mother of God! Yes,—letters delivered by my father, sent
to HIS CARE, read by him first, of course; letters hoping that I was
well, and obeying my father's commands; letters assuring me of his
unaltered devotion; letters that, compared with the ones he used to hide
in the confessional of the ruined mission church, were as ice to fire,
were as that snow-flower you value so much, Mary, to this mariposa
blossom I wear in my hair. And then to think that this man—this
John Oakhurst, as I knew him; this man who used to ride twenty miles for
a smile from me on the church porch; this Don Juan who leaped that
garden wall (fifteen feet, Mary, if it is an inch), and made old Concho
his stepping-stone; this man, who daily perilled death for my sake—is
changed into this formal, methodical man of business—is—is—I
tell you there's a WOMAN at the bottom of it! I know it sure!
Miss Mary (aside). How can I tell her about the Duchess? I won't!
(Aloud.) But listen, my dear Jovita. You know he is under probation for
you, Jovita. All this is for you. His father is cold, methodical,
unsympathetic. HE looks only to his bond with this son,—this son
that he treats, even in matters of the heart, as a BUSINESS partner.
Remember, on his complete reformation, and subjection to his father's
will, depends your hand. Remember the agreement!
Jovita. The agreement; yes! It is the agreement, always the agreement!
May the Devil fly away with the agreement! Look you, Miss Mary, I, Dona
Jovita, didn't fall in love with an agreement: it was with a man! Why, I
might have married a dozen agreements—yes, of a shorter limitation
than this! (Crossing.)
Miss Mary. Yes. But what if your lover had failed to keep those promises
by which he was to gain your hand? what if he were a man incapable of
self-control? what if he were—a—a drunkard?
Jovita (musing). A drunkard! (Aside.) There was Diego, he was a
drunkard; but he was faithless. (Aloud.) You mean a weak, faithless
drunkard?
Miss Mary. No! (Sadly.) Faithless only to himself, but devoted—yes,
devoted to YOU.
Jovita. Miss Mary, I have found that one big vice in a man is apt to
keep out a great many smaller ones.
Miss Mary. Yes; but if he were a slave to liquor?
Jovita. My dear, I should try to change his mistress. Oh, give me a man
that is capable of a devotion to anything, rather than a cold,
calculating average of all the virtues!
Miss Mary (aside). I, who aspire to be her teacher, am only her pupil.
(Aloud.) But what if, in this very drunkenness, this recklessness, he
had once loved and worshipped another woman? What if you discovered all
this after—after—he had won your heart?
Jovita. I should adore him! Ah, Miss Mary! Love differs from all the
other contagious diseases: the last time a man is exposed to it, he
takes it most readily, and has it the worst! But you, YOU cannot
sympathize with me. You have some lover, the ideal of the virtues; some
man as correct, as well regulated, as calm as—yourself; some one
who addresses you in the fixed morality and severe penmanship of the
copy-books. He will never precipitate himself over a garden wall or
through a window. Your Jacob will wait for you through seven years, and
receive you from the hands of your cousin and guardian—as a reward
of merit! No, you could not love a vagabond.
Miss Mary (very slowly and quietly). No?
Jovita. No! (Passionately.) No, it is impossible. Forgive me, Miss Mary:
you are good; a better girl than I am. But think of me! A year ago my
lover leaped a wall at midnight to fly with me: today, the day that
gives me to him, he writes a few cold lines, saying that he has
business, BUSINESS—you understand—business, and that he
shall not see me until we meet in the presence of—of—of—our
fathers.
Miss Mary. Yes; but you will see him at least, perhaps alone. Listen: it
is no formal meeting, but one of festivity. My guardian has told me, in
his quaint scriptural way, it is the killing of the fatted calf, over
his long-lost prodigal. Have patience, little one. Ah! Jovita, we are of
a different race, but we are of one sex; and as a woman I know how to
accept another woman's abuse of her lover. Come, come! [Exeunt MISS MARY
and JOVITA.
SCENE 5.—The drawing-room of MR. MORTON'S villa. Large open arch
in centre, leading to veranda, looking on distant view of San Francisco;
richly furnished,—sofas, arm-chairs, and tete-a-tetes. Enter COL.
STARBOTTLE, C., carrying bouquet, preceded by SERVANT, bowing.
Starbottle. Take my kyard to Miss Morris. [Exit SERVANT.
Starbottle. Star! This is the momentous epoch of your life! It is a
moment for which you—are—I may say alone responsible,—personally
responsible! She will be naturally gratified by the—er—flowers.
She will at once recognize this bouquet as a delicate souvenir of Red
Gulch, and will appreciate your recollection. And the fact, the crushing
fact, that you have overlooked the—er—ungentlemanly conduct
of her OWN cousin Sandy, the real Alexander Morton, that you have—er—assisted
to restore the ex-vaquero to his rights, will—er—er—at
once open the door to—er—mutual confidence and—er—a
continuance of that—er—prepossession I have already noticed.
Ahem! here she is.
Enter MISS MARY in full dress.
Miss Mary. You are early, Col. Starbottle. This promptitude does honor
to our poor occasion.
Col. Starbottle. Ged, Miss Mary, promptness with a lady and an adversary
is the first duty of—er—gentleman. I wished that—er—the
morning dew might still be—er—fresh in these flowers. I
gathered them myself (presenting bouquet) at—er—er—flower-stand
in the—er—California market.
Miss Mary (aside). Flowers! I needed no such reminder of poor Sandy.
(Aloud.) I thank you, colonel.
Starbattle. Ged, ma'am, I am repaid doubly. Your conduct, Miss Mary,
reminds me of little incident that occurred at Richmond, in '58. Dinner
party—came early—but obliged to go—as now—on
important business, before dessert—before dessert. Lady sat next
to me—beautiful woman—excuse me if I don't mention names—said
to me, "Star,"—always called me Star,—"Star, you remind me
of the month of May."—"Ged, madam,"—I said, "delighted,
proud; but why?"—"Because," she said, "you come in with the—er—oysters."—No!
Ged, pardon me—ridiculous mistake! I mean—er—"you come
in with the—er—flowers, and go before the—er—fruits."
Miss Mary. Ah, colonel! I appreciate her disappointment. Let us hope,
however, that some day you may find that happy woman who will be able to
keep you through the whole dinner and the whole season, until December
and the ices!
Starbottle. Ged! excellent! Capital! (seriously.) Miss Mary! (Suddenly
inflating his chest, striking attitude, and gazing on MISS MARY with
languishing eyes.) There is—er such a woman!
Miss Mary (aside). What can he mean?
Starbottle (taking seat beside her). Allow me, Miss Mary, a few moments
of confidential—er—confidential disclosure. To-day is, as
you are aware—the day on which, according to—er—agreement
between parties, my friend and client, Mr. Morton, sen.,—formally
accepts his prodigal son. It is my—er—duty to state that—er—the
gentleman who has for the past year occupied that position has behaved
with great discretion, and—er—fulfilled his part of the—er—agreement.
But it would—er—appear that there has been a—er—slight
delusion regarding the identity of that prodigal,—a delusion
shared by all the parties except, perhaps, myself. I have to prepare you
for a shock. The gentleman whom you have recently known as Alexander
Morton, jun., is not the prodigal son; is not your—er—cousin;
is, in fact, no relation to you. Prepare yourself, Miss Mary, for a
little disappointment,—for— er—degradation. The
genuine son has been—er—discovered in the person of—er—low
menial—or—vagabond,—"Sandy," the—er—outcast
of Red Gulch!
Miss Mary (rising in astonishment). Sandy! Then he was right. (Aside.)
The child is his! and that woman—
Starbottle. Compose yourself, Miss Mary. I know the—er—effect
of—er—revelation like this upon—er—proud and
aristocratic nature. Ged! My own, I assure you, beats in—er—responsive
indignation. You can never consent to remain beneath this roof, and—er—receive
a—er—vagabond and—er—menial on equal terms. The—er—necessities
of my—er—profession may—er—compel me; but you—er—never!
Holding myself—er—er—responsible for having introduced
you here, it is my—er—duty to provide you with—another
home! It is my—er—duty to protect—
Miss Mary (aside). Sandy here, and beneath this roof! Why has he not
sought me? Ah, I know too well: he dare not face me with his child!
Starbottle (aside). She turns away! it is maiden coyness. (Aloud.) If,
Miss Mary, the—er—devotion of a life-time; if the—er—chivalrous
and respectful adoration of a man—er—whose record is—er—not
unknown in the Court of Honor (dropping on one knee with excessive
gallantry); if the—er—measure—
Miss Mary (oblivious of COL. STARBOTTLE). I WILL—I MUST see him!
Ah! (looking L.) he is coming!
Enter SANDY.
Starbottle (rising with great readiness and tact). I have found it
(presenting flower). It had fallen beneath the sofa.
Sandy (to MISS MARY, stopping short in embarrassment). I did not know
you—I—I—thought there was no one here.
Miss Mary (to STARBOTTLE). May I ask you to excuse me for a moment? I
have a few words to say to—to my COUSIN!
STARBOTTLE bows gallantly to MISS MARY, and stiffly to SANDY, and exit
R. A long pause; MISS MARY remains seated pulling flowers, SANDY remains
standing by wing, foolish and embarrassed. Business.
Miss Mary (impatiently). Well?
Sandy (slowly). I axes your pardon, miss; but you told THAT gentleman
you had a few words—to say to me.
Miss Mary (passionately, aside). Fool! (Aloud.) I had; but I am waiting
to first answer your inquiries about your—your—child. I have
fulfilled my trust, sir.
Sandy. You have, Miss Mary, and I thank you.
Miss Mary. I might perhaps have expected that this revelation of our
kinship would have come from other lips than a stranger's; but—no
matter! I wish you joy, sir, of your heritage. (Going.) You have found a
home, sir, at last, for yourself and—and—your child.
Good-day, sir.
Sandy. Miss Mary!
Miss Mary. I must make ready to receive your father's guests. It is his
orders: I am only his poor relation. Good-by, sir. [Exit L.
Sandy (watching her). She is gone!—gone! No! She has dropped on
the sofa in the ante-room, and is crying. Crying! I promised Jack I
wouldn't speak until the time came. I'll go back. (Hesitating, and
looking toward L.) Poor girl! How she must hate me! I might just say a
word, one word to thank her for her kindness to Johnny,—only one
word, and then go away. I—I—can keep from liquor. I swore I
would to Jack, that night I saw the old man—drunk,—and I
have. But—I can't keep—from—her! No—damn it!
(Going toward L.) No!—I'll go! [Exit L.
Enter hurriedly and excitedly JOVITA, R., followed by MANUELA.
Jovita. Where is she? Where is HE?—the traitor!
Manuela (entreatingly). Compose yourself, Dona Jovita, for the love of
God! This is madness: believe me, there is some mistake. It is some
trick of an enemy,—of that ingrate, that coyote, Concho, who hates
the Don Alexandro.
Jovita. A trick! Call you this a trick? Look at this paper, put into my
hands by my father a moment ago. Read it. Ah! listen. (Reads.) "In view
of the EVIDENT PREFERENCES of my son, Alexander Morton, I hereby revoke
my consent to his marriage with the Dona Jovita Castro, and accord him
full permission to woo and win his cousin, Miss Mary Morris!" Call you
this a trick, eh? No, it is their perfidy! This is why SHE was brought
here on the eve of my betrothal. This accounts for his silence, his
absence. Oh, I shall go mad!
Manuela. Compose yourself, miss. If I am not deceived, there is one here
who will aid us,—who will expose this deceit. Listen: an hour ago,
as I passed through the hall, I saw Diego, our old Diego,—your
friend and confidant, Diego.
Jovita. The drunkard—the faithless Diego!
Manuela. Never, Miss Jovita; not drunken! For, as he passed before me,
he was as straight, as upright, as fine as your lover. Come, miss, we
will seek him.
Jovita. Never! He, too, is a traitor.
Manuela. Believe me, no! Come, Miss Jovita. (Looking toward L.) See, he
is there. Some one is with him.
Jovita (looking). You are right; and it is she—SHE, Miss Mary!
What? he is kissing her hand! and she—SHE, the double traitress—drops
her head upon his shoulder! Oh, this is infamy!
Manuela. Hush! Some one is coming. The guests are arriving. They must
not see you thus. This way, Miss Jovita,—this way. After a little,
a little, the mystery will be explained. (Taking JOVITA'S hand, and
leading her R.)
Jovita (going). And this was the correct schoolmistress, the preceptress
and example of all the virtues! ha! (laughing hysterically) ha!
[Exeunt JOVITA and MANUELA.
SCENE 6.—The same. Enter SERVANT; opens folding doors C.,
revealing veranda and view of distant city beyond. Stage, fog effect
from without. Enter STARBOTTLE and OAKHURST, R., in full evening dress.
Starbottle (walking towards veranda). A foggy evening for our
anniversary.
Oakhurst. Yes. (Aside.) It was such a night as this I first stepped into
Sandy's place, I first met the old man. Well, it will be soon over.
(Aloud.) You have the papers and transfers all ready?
Starbottle. In my—er—pocket. Mr. Morton, sen., should be
here to receive his guests.
Oakhurst. He will be here presently: until then the duty devolves on me.
He has secluded himself even from me! (Aside.) Perhaps it is in very
shame for his recent weakness.
Enter SERVANT.
Servant. Don Jose Castro, Miss Castro, and Miss Morris.
Enter DON JOSE with JOVITA and MISS MARY on either arm. All formally
salute MR. OAKHURST, except MISS JOVITA, who turns coldly away, taking
seat remotely on sofa. COL. STARBOTTLE gallantly approaches MISS MARY,
and takes seat beside her.
Oakhurst (aside). They are here to see my punishment. There is no
sympathy even in her eyes.
Enter SERVANT.
Servant. Mr. Concepcion Garcia and Mr. Capper.
Concho (approaching OAKHURST, rubbing his hands). I wish you joy, Mr.
Alexander Morton!
Oakhurst (excitedly, aside). Shall I throw him from the window! The dog!—even
he!
Capper (approaching MR. OAKHURST). You have done well. Be bold. I will
see you through. As for THAT man (pointing to CONCHO), leave him to ME!
(Lays his hand on Concho's shoulder, and leads him to sofa R. OAKHURST
takes seat in chair L. as SANDY enters quietly from door L., and stands
leaning upon his chair.)
Starbottle (rising). Ladies and gentlemen, we are waiting only for the
presence of Mr. Alexander Morton, sen. I regret to say that for the last
twenty-four hours—he has been—er—exceedingly
preoccupied with the momentous cares of the—er—occasion. You
who know the austere habits of my friend and—er—client will
probably understand that he may be at this very moment engaged in
prayerful and Christian meditation, invoking the Throne of Grace,
previous to the solemn duties of—er—er—tonight.
Enter SERVANT.
Servant. Mr. Alexander Morton, sen.
Enter OLD MORTON, drunk, in evening costume, cravat awry, coat
half-buttoned up, and half-surly, half-idiotic manner. All rise in
astonishment. SANDY starts forward. OAKHURST pulls him back.
Morton (thickly). Don't rish! Don't rish! We'll all sit down! How do you
do, sir? I wish ye well, miss. (Goes around and laboriously shakes hands
with everybody.) Now lesh all take a drink! lesh you take a drink, and
you take a drink, and you take a drink!
Starbottle. Permit me, ladies and gentlemen, to—er—explain:
our friend is—er—evidently laboring under—er—er—accident
of hospitality! In a moment he will be himself.
Old Morton. Hush up! Dry up—yourself—old turkey-cock! Eh!
Sandy (despairingly). He will not understand us! (To STARBOTTLE.) He
will not know me! What is to be done?
Old Morton. Give me some whishkey. Lesh all take a drink! (Enter SERVANT
with decanter and glasses.)
Old Morton (starting forward). Lesh all take a drink!
Sandy. Stop!
Old Morton (recovering himself slightly). Who says stop? Who dares
countermand my orderish?
Concho (coming forward). Who? I will tell you: eh! eh! Diego—dismissed
from the rancho of Don Jose for drunkenness! Sandy—the vagabond of
Red Gulch!
Sandy (passionately seizing OLD MORTON'S arm). Yes, Diego—Sandy—the
outcast—but, God help me! no longer the drunkard. I forbid you to
touch that glass!—I, your son, Alexander Morton! Yes, look at me,
father: I, with drunkenness in my blood, planted by you, fostered by you—I
whom you sought to save—I—I stand here to save you! Go! (To
SERVANT.) Go! While he is thus, I—I, am master here!
Old Morton (cowed and frightened). That voice! (Passing his hand over
his forehead.) Am I dreaming Aleck, where are you? Alexander, speak, I
command you: is this the truth?
Oakhurst (slowly). It is!
Starbottle. One moment—a single moment: permit me to—er—er—explain.
The gentleman who has just—er—dismissed the refreshment is,
to the best of my legal knowledge, your son. The gentleman who for the
past year has so admirably filled the functions of that office is—er—prepared
to admit this. The proofs are—er—conclusive. It is with the—er—intention
of offering them, and—er—returning your lawful heir, that we—er—are
here to-night.
Old Morton (rising to his feet). And renounce you both! Out of my house,
out of my sight, out of my heart, forever! Go! liars, swindlers,
confederates! Drunk—
Oakhurst (retiring slowly with SANDY). We are going, sir!
Old Morton. Go! open the doors there WIDE, wide enough for such a
breadth of infamy! Do you hear me? I am master here!
Stands erect, as OAKHURST and SANDY, hand in hand, slowly retreat
backward to centre,—then suddenly utters a cry, and falls heavily
on sofa. Both pause: OAKHURST remains quiet and motionless; SANDY, after
a moment's hesitation, rushes forward, and falls at his feet.
Sandy. Father, forgive me!
Old Morton (putting his hand round SANDY'S neck, and motioning him to
door). Go! both of you, both of you! (Resisting SANDY'S attempt to
rise.) Did you hear me? Go!
Starbottle. Permit me to—explain. Your conduct, Mr. Morton,
reminds me of sing'lar incident in '47—
Old Morton. Silence!
Oakhurst. One word, Mr. Morton! Shamed and disgraced as I am, I leave
this roof more gladly than I entered it. How I came here, you best know.
How I yielded madly to the temptation, the promise of a better life; how
I fell, through the hope of reformation,—no one should know better
than you, sir, the reformer. I do not ask your pardon. You know that I
did my duty to you as your presumed son. Your real son will bear
witness, that, from the hour I knew of his existence, I did my duty
equally to him. Col. Starbottle has all the legal transfers and papers
necessary to make the restoration of your son—the integrity of
your business name—complete. I take nothing out of this life that
I did not bring in it,—except my self-respect! I go—as I
came—alone!
Jovita (rushing towards him). No! no! You shall take ME! I have wronged
you, Jack, cruelly; I have doubted you; but you shall not go alone. I
care not for this contract! You are more to me, by your own right, Jack,
than by any kinship with such as these!
Oakhurst (raising her gently). I thank you, darling. But it is too late
now. To be more worthy of you, to win YOU, I waived the title I had to
you in my own manhood, to borrow another's more legal claim. I who would
not win you as a gambler, cannot make you now the wife of a convicted
impostor. No! Hear me, darling! do not make my disgrace greater than it
is. In the years to come, Jovita, think of me as one who loved you well
enough to go through shame to win you, but too well to ask you to share
with him that shame. Farewell, darling, farewell! (Releases himself from
JOVITA'S arms, who falls beside him.)
Concho (rubbing his hands, and standing before him). Oho! Mr. John
Oakhurst—eh—was it for this, eh—you leaped the garden
wall, eh? was it for this you struck me down, eh? You are not wise, eh?
You should have run away with the Dona when you could—ah, ah,
impostor!
Sandy (leaping to his feet). Jack, you shall not go! I will go with you!
Oakhurst. No! Your place is there. (Pointing to old MORTON, whose head
has sunk drunkenly on his breast.) Heed not this man; his tongue carries
only the borrowed lash of his master.
Concho. Eh! you are bold now—bold; but I said I would have revenge—ah,
revenge!
Sandy (rushing toward him). Coward!
Don Jose. Hold your hand, sir! Hold! I allow no one to correct my
menials but myself. Concho, order my carriage!
Concho. It is ready, sir.
Don Jose. Then lead the way to it, for my daughter and her husband, John
Oakhurst.—Good-night, Mr. Morton, I can sympathize with you; for
we have both found a son. I am willing to exchange my dismissed servant
for your dismissed PARTNER.
Starbottle (advancing). Ged, sir, I respect you! Ged, sir, permit me,
sir, to grasp that honorable hand!
Old Morton (excitedly). He is right, my partner. What have I done! The
house of Morton & Son dissolved. The man known as my partner—a
fugitive! No, Alexander!
Starbottle. One moment—a single moment! As a lawyer, permit me to
say, sir, that the whole complication may be settled, sir, by the—er—addition
of—er—single letter! The house of Morton & Son shall
hereafter read Morton & Sons. The papers for the legal adoption of
Mr. Oakhurst are—er—in my pocket.
Old Morton (more soberly). Have it your own way, sir! Morton & Sons
be it. Hark ye, Don Jose! We are equal at last. But—hark ye,
Aleck! How about the boy, eh?—my grandson, eh? Is this one of the
sons by adoption?
Sandy (embarrassedly). It is my own, sir.
Capper (advancing). He can with safety claim it; for the mother is on
her way to Australia with her husband.
Old Morton. And the schoolma'am, eh?
Miss Mary. She will claim the usual year of probation for your prodigal,
and then—
Sandy. God bless ye, Miss Mary!
Old Morton. I am in a dream! But the world—my friends—my
patrons—how can I explain?
Starbottle. I will—er—explain. (Advancing slowly to front—to
audience.) One moment—er—a single moment! If anything that
has—er—transpired this evening—might seem to you,
ladies and gentlemen—er—morally or—er—legally—or
honorably to require—er—apology—or—er—explanation—permit
me to say—that I—Col. Culpepper Starbottle, hold myself
responsible—er—personally responsible.
Capper. Concho.
Old Morton. Sandy. Miss Mary. Don Jose. Jovita. Oakhurst.
Col. Starbottle.
Curtain.
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