ACT II.
(Green Cloth down.)
SCENE I.—Interior of a Basement. Street and railings seen through window at back. Entrance to F. from D. F. L. H. Stove with long pipe in fire-place, R. U. E. Table between two windows at back, with flowers, &c. Humble furniture. Table C. three chairs. Closet U. E. L. H..
Peachblossom is discovered polishing stove R. H.—a slip-shod girl a la Fanchon.
SONG—Peach:
A lordly knight and a lovely dame, were walking in the meadow,
But a jealous rival creeping came a-watching in the shadow;
They heeded not, but he whet his knife and dogg'd them in the shadow.
The knight was brave, and the dame was true, the rival fared but badly;
For the knight he drew and ran him through, and left him groaning sadly;
The knight and dame soon wedded were, with bells a-chiming gladly.
Peach. (Talking while working?) The stove won't shine. It's the fault of the polish I know. That boy that comes here, just fills the bottles with mud, and calls it stove polish. Only let me catch him. Ah! Ah! (threatning gesture with brush.) I declare I'd give it up if I didn't want to make everything look smart, before Miss Nina comes in. Miss Nina is the only friend I ever had, since I ran away from Mother Judas. I wonder where old Judas is now? I know she's drunk; she always was; perhaps that's why she never tried to find out what became of me. If she did she could not take me away. Miss Nina begged me off a policeman. I belong to her. I wonder why she ain't got any other friends? She's awful mysterious. Tells me never to let any strangers see her. She's afraid of somebody, I know. It looks just as if she was hiding. I thought only bad girls, such as I, had to hide. If I was good and pretty like her, I wouldn't hide from the President. (Still polishing.) (Judas appears at window with basket of ornaments, &c.)
Judas. Hum! Is your ma in my dear?
Peach. (Starting.) Oh! (aside.) Old Judas! She's found me out at last. No she h'aint, or she'd have got me by the hair before she spoke. That's her way.
Judas. (Coming in at door. Peach keeps her back towards her.) Any old clothes to change for chany, my dear? Where's your ma's old skirts and shawls, my pet. Get 'em quick before mother comes in, and I'll give you a beautiful chany mug or a tea-pot for them. Come here, my ducky—see the pretty—(recognizes Peach.) Eh! why you jail-bird, what are you doing here? Are you sneakin' it? Answer me, or I'll knock your head agin the wall. (Catches her by the hair.)
Peach. You just leave me be? I'm honest I am! I'm good.
Judas. You're good? Where's my shoe? I'll take the goodness out o you.
Peach. Oh, oh! please don't beat, me. I ain't good. I'm only trying to be.
Judas. You're only trying to be, eh? Trying to be good, and here's me as was a-weeping every night, thinking as you was sent up for six months. Who're you living with—you ain't a-keeping house, are you?
Peach. I'm living with Miss Nina.
Judas. Nina, what's she, concert-saloon girl?
Peach. No, she's a lady.
Judas. A lady—and have such baggage as you about. Where's my shoe, I'll make you speak the truth.
Peach. I don't know what she is. She met me when the police was taking me up for loafin' down Hudson Street, and she begged me off.
Judas. Has she any money?
Peach. No, she's poor.
Judas. Any nice clothes?
Peach. O, she's got good clothes.
Judas. Where are they?
Peach. Locked up, and she's got the key.
Judas. You're lying, I see it in your eye. You're always shamefaced when you are telling the truth, and now you're as bold as brass. Where's my shoe? (making a dash at her.)
Peach. (Shouting.) There's Miss Nina (as if curtseying to some one behind Judas.) Good morning, miss.
Judas. (Changing her tone.) Ah! my pretty dear! What a good lady to take you in and give you a home. (Turns and discovers the deception—in a rage.) You hussy, (Peach retreats) wait till I get you in my clutches again, my lady; and it won't be long. Miss Nina takes care of you, does she. Who will take care of her? Let her look to it. (Laura enters D. F. plainly dressed, at back.) Beg pardon, Miss, I just called to see if you had any old clothes you'd like to exchange.
Laura. No, I don't want anything, my good woman.
Judas. (Eyeing her sharply and going to door.) That's her—I'd know her anywheres!
(Malicious glance, and exit.)
Laura. You've been very good this morning, Blossom. The room is as nice as I could wish.
Peach. Please'm, I tried because you are so good to me. (Laura taking off her shawl and things.) Shall I sweep out the airy? (Laura does not answer.) I guess I'd better—then she'll be alone, as she loves to be.
(Takes broom and exit, D. F.)
Laura (Solos. Opening a package and taking out photographs.) No pay yet for coloring, 'till I have practiced a week longer. Then I shall have all the work I can do. They say at the photographer's I color well, and the best pictures will be given me. The best! Already I have had beneath my brush so many faces that I know, friends of the old days. The silent eyes seem to wonder at me for bringing them to this strange and lowly home. (Picking up letters from table.) Letters; ah! answers to my advertisement for employment. No, only a circular "To the lady of this house." What's that! (Starting) only Blossom sweeping. Every time there is a noise I dread the entrance of some one that knows me. But they could never find me in New York, I left them all too secretly and suddenly. None of them can expect I would have descended to this. But it is natural, everything will find its level. I sprang from poverty, and I return to it. Poor Pearl. How she must have wondered the next morning—Laura gone? But three months have passed, and they have forgotten me. Ray will cheer her. (Wrangling outside, Peachblossom bursts in dragging Bermudas, with his professional tape, pins, blacking and baskets, D. F.
Peach. Here he is m'm.
Ber. Leave go, I tell yer, or I'll make yer.
Laura. What is the matter?
Peach. He's the boy that sold me that stove polish what isn't stove polish.
Ber. What is it then—s-a-a-y?
Peach. It's mud! it's mud at ten pence a bottle.
Ber. Ah! Where could I get mud? Ain't the streets clean? Mud's dearer than stove polish now.
Peach. And your matches is wet, and your pins won't stick, and your shoe-strings is rotten, there now!
Ber. Well, how am I to live; it ain't my fault, it's the taxes. Ain't I got to pay my income tax, and how am I to pay it if I gives you your money's worth? Do you think I'm Stewart—Sa-a-y?
Laura. Do let the boy alone, Blossom. Send him away. (Enter Peanuts at door flat.)
Peanuts. Extra! Hollo, Bermudas! how's your sister? Papers, Miss. Extra! Revolution in Mexico!
Laura. Dear, dear, this is the way I'm worried from morning till night.
Ber. Here, just you get out! This is my beat.
Peanuts. Veil, I ain't blacking or hairpins now, I'm papers—How'm I hurting you?
Ber. Veil, I'm papers at four o'clock, and this is my beat. Take care of me, I'm in training for a fight. I'm a bruiser, I am.
Peanuts. Hold yer jaw. (they fight.)
Peach. (Beats them with broom.) Get out with you, Both of you.
(Grand escapade and exit of boys. D. F.)
Laura. Don't let be troubled in this way again. Have you got the things for dinner?
Peach. Lor, no, miss! It's twelve o'clock, and I forgot!
(Peach gets shawl, big bonnet from hooks on the wall, basket from closet, while Laura opens her pocket-book for money.)
Laura. What did we have for dinner yesterday, Blossom?
Peach. Beefsteak, 'm. Let's have some leg o' mutton to-day. We've never had that.
Laura. But I don;t know how to cook it. Do you?
Peach. No, but I'd just slap it on, and it's sure to come out right.
Laura. Slap it on what?
Peach. The gridiron.
Laura. (Giving money.) No, we'd better not try a leg of mutton to-day. Get some lamb chops, we know how to manage them.
Peach. (As she is going.) Taters, as usual, 'mum?
Laura. Yes; and stop Blossom—while you're buying the chops, just ask the butcher—off hand—you know—how he would cook a leg of mutton, if he were going to eat it himself!—as if you wanted to know for yourself.
Peach. Yes'm—but I'm sure it's just as good broiled a fried.
[Exit D. F.
Laura. Now to be cook. (Laughing.) "The Tuesday Sociable" ought to see me now. Artist in the morning, cook at noon, artist in the afternoon. (Snorkey raps at the door F. and enters.)
Snorkey. (With letter.) Beg pardon, is there anybody here as answers to the name of A. B. C.?
Laura. (Aside.) My advertisement for work. Yes, give it to me.
Snorkey. (Seeing her face.) If I'd been taking something this morning, 'I'd say that I'd seen that face in a different sort of place from this.
Laura. Is there anything to pay? Why do you wait?
Snorkey. Nothing, Miss. It's all right. (Going—and aside.) But it ain't all right, Snorkey, old boy! (Goes out after looking at her, stops at window, and gazes in.)
Laura. (Without noticing him, opening letter.) Yes, an answer to my advertisement. (Reads.) To A. B. C.: "Your advertisement promises that you are a good linguist, and can, teach children, of any age. I have two daughters for whom I wish to engage your services while on a tour of Europe. Call at seven o'clock, this evening, at No. 207 W. 34th Street. Annersley." Hope at last—a home, and in another land soon. I was sure the clouds would not always be black above me! (Kisses letter. Snorkey re-entering.)
Snorkey. Miss, I say, Miss. (Laura starts. )—Sh———
Laura. What do you want?
Snorkey. Only one word and perhaps it may be of service to you. I'd do anything to serve you.
Laura. And why me?
Snorkey. I'm a blunt fellow, Miss, but I hope my way don't offend. Ain't you the lady that I brought a bouquet to on New Year's night—not here, but in a big house, all bright and rich—and who was so kind to a poor soldier?
Laura. (Faint and leaning against chair.) Whoever you may be, promise to tell no one you saw me here.
Snorkey. No fear, Miss! I promise.
Laura. Sacredly!
Snorkey. No need to do more than promise, Miss—I keeps my word. I promised Uncle Sam I'd stick to the flag—though they tore my arm off, and by darnation I stuck. I don't want to tell on you Miss. I want to tell on some one else.
Laura. What do you mean?
Snorkey. They're looking for you.
Laura. Who?
Snorkey. Byke. (Laura utters a loud cry and sinks on chair.) He's on it day and night. I've got his money in my pocket now, and you've got his letter in your hand this minute.
(Laura drops the letter in dismay.
Laura. This?
Snorkey. Yes, it—his writin'—looks like a woman's, don't it? Lord! the snuff that man's up to, would make Barnum sneeze his head off. He's kept me in hand, 'cause he thinks I know you, having seen you that once. Every day he reads the advertisements, and picks out a dozen or so and says to me: "Snorkey, that's like my little pet," and then he sits down and answers them, and gets the advertisers to make appointments with him, which he keeps regularly, and regularly comes back cussing at his ill luck. See here Miss, I've a bundle of answers to deliver, as usual, to advertisers. I calls 'em Byke's Target Practice, and this time, you see, he's accidentally hit the mark.
Laura. For Heaven's sake do not betray me to him! I've got very little money, I earn it hardly; but take it, take it—and save me. (Offers money.)
Snorkey. No, Miss; not a cent of it. Though Byke is a devil, and would kick me hard if he thought I would betray him.
Laura. I don't want you to suffer for my sake, take the money.
Snorkey. No, I stood up to be shot at for thirteen dollars a month, and I can take my chances of a kickin' for nothing. But Byke ain't the only one Miss, there's another's looking for you.
Laura. (Her look of joy changing to fear.) Another! Who?
Snorkey. (Approaching smilingly find confidenlial.) Mr. Trafford. (Laura turns aside despairingly.) He's been at me every day for more than six weeks. "Snorkey" says he, "do you remember that beautiful young lady you brought the bouquet to on New Year's night?" "Well," says I, "Capt'n, the young lady I slightly disremember, but the cakes and wine I got there that night I shall never forget." "Search for that young lady," says he, "and when you find her"—
Laura. No, no, no; not even he must know. Do you hear—not he—not anyone. You have served them well; serve me and be silent.
Snorkey. Just as you please, Miss, but I hate to serve you by putting your friends off the track—it don't seem natural—Byke I don't mind; but the Capt'n wouldn't do you any harm. Just let me give him a bit of a hint. (Laura makes an entreating gesture.) Well I'm mum, but as I've only got one hand, it's hard work to hold my tongue. (Going.) Not the least bit of a hint? (Laura appealingly and then turns away.) They say when a woman says no, she means yes! I wonder if I dare tell her that he's not far off. Perhaps I'd better not. But I can tell him. (Exit D. F.
Laura. How shall I ever escape that dreadful man? And Ray searching for me too! Our friends then remember us as well as our enemies. (Peachblossom enters quickly D. F. shutting the door behind her, with basket which she places on table C.)
Peach. O, Miss Nina, whatever is into the people? There's a strange man coming down the entry. I heard him asking that red cap fellow about you.
Laura. Byke! Fasten the door quick, (Peach runs to door, it is slightly opened, she pushes it against some one on the other side.)
Peach. O dear! He's powerful strong, I can't keep it shut. Go away you willin! Oh! (The door is forced and Ray enters.)
Ray. (Advancing C.) Laura—It is I.
Laura. (R. H.) Ray! (Shrinks from him.)
Ray. Dear Laura! (He stops as he becomes conscious that Blossom with her basket on her arm and her bonnet hanging on her back is staring at him.) I say, my girl, havn't you some particular business somewhere else to attend to?
Peach. (Seriously, L. H.) No, sir; I've swept the sidewalk and gone a marketing, and now I'm in doors and I mean to stay.
Ray. And wouldn't you oblige me by going for a sheet of paper and an envelope? Here's a dollar—try and see how slow you can be.
Peach. (Firmly.) You can't sheet of paper me, mister; I'm protecting Miss Nina, and I'm not to be enveloped.
Laura. Go as the gentleman asks you, Blossom.
Peach. Oh! (Takes money, fixes her bonnet.) First it's "Keep the man out," now it's "Let him stay in alone with me." But I suppose she's like all of us—it makes a great difference which man it is.
(Exit, D. F.
Ray. (After watching Peach out.) Laura, when I approached you, you shrank from me. Why did you so?
Laura. Look around you and find your answer.
Ray. (Shuddering.) Pardon me, I did not come here to insult your misery. When I saw you I forgot everything else.
Laura. (R. C.) And now it's time for us to remember every thing. I told you to look around that you might understand that in such a place I am no longer Laura Courtland, nor anything I used to be. But I did not ask your pity. There is no misery here.
Ray. Alone, without means, exposed to every rudeness, unprotected, is this not misery for you?
Laura. (Laughing.) Oh, it's not so bad as that.
Ray. Laura, don't trifle with me. You cannot have exchanged everything that made you happy, for this squalid poverty, and not feel it deeply.
Laura. I have not time to feel anything deeply. (Takes basket up, goes to table, busies herself about preparing dinner.) I work from sunrise till night, and I sleep so soundly that I have not even dreams to recall the past. Just as you came in I was about to cook our dinner. Only think—lamb chops!
Ray. Lamb chops! It makes me shudder to hear you speak.
Laura. Does it? Then wait till I get the gridiron on the fire, and you'll shiver. And if you want to be transfixed with horror, stop and take dinner.
Ray. I will not hear you mock yourself thus, Laura. I tell you in this self-banishment you have acted thoughtlessly—you have done wrong.
Laura. Why?
Ray. Because, let the miserable creatures who slandered you say what they might, you had still a home and friends.
Laura. A home! Where the very servants would whisper and point. Friends who would be ashamed to acknowledge me. You are mistaken. That is neither home nor friendship.
Ray. And you are resolved to surrender the past forever.
Laura. The past has forgotten me in spite of myself.
Ray. Look at me.
Laura. (Coming down, C.) Well then, there's one who has not forgotten me, but I desire that he may. You speak to me of bitter ness. Your presence, your words, cause me the first pang I have felt since the night I fled unnoticed from my chamber, and began my life anew. Therefore I entreat you to leave me, to forget me.
Ray. Laura, by the tie that once bound us!—
Laura. (Going up.) Yes, once. It is a long time ago.
Ray. What have I said?— the tie which still—
Laura. (Sharply turning.) Mr. Tafford, must I remind you of that night, when all arrayed themselves so pitilessly against me? When a gesture from you might have saved me! And you saw me sink without stretching a finger to the woman who had felt the beating of your heart. No, you made your choice then—the world without me. I make my choice now—the wide, wide, world without you.
Ray. I have been bitterly punished, for we are never so humiliated as when we despise ourselves. But, by the Heaven above us both, I love you Laura, I have never ceased to love you.
Laura. I thank you. I know how to construe the love which you deny in the face of society, to offer me behind its back.
Ray. Will you drive me mad! I tell you Laura, your misery, your solitude is as nothing to the anguish I have suffered. The maniac who in his mental darkness, stabs to the heart the friend he loved, never felt in returning reason the remorse my error has earned me. Every day it says to me: "You have been false to the heart that loved you, and you shall account for it to your conscience all your life. You shall find that the bitterest drops in the cup of sorrow, are the tears of the woman you have forsaken." And it is true. O, forgive me—have pity on me.
Laura. (Moved.) I forgive you. Yes, and I pity you—and, so good-bye, forever.
Ray. Of course, lam nothing to you now. That is some comfort to me. I have only to be sorry on my own account. But, I come to you on behalf of others.
Laura. Whom?
Ray. My mother and Pearl. They ask for you. For them I have sought you, to urge you to return to them.
Laura. Dear little Pearl.
Ray. Yes, she has been quite ill.
Laura. She has been ill?
Ray. Think of those two hearts which you have caused to suffer and do not drive me from you. It is not only wealth, luxury and refinement which you have surrendered—you have also cast away those greater riches: loving and devoted friends. But they shall persuade you themselves. Yes, I'll go and bring them to you, you cannot resist their entreaties.
Laura. No, no, they must not come here. They must never know where I hide my shame, and you must never reveal it.
Ray. I promise it, if you will go to them with me. Think, they will insist on coming unless you do.
Laura. Poor Pearl! If I go with you, you promise not to detain me—to permit me to come back, and to trouble me and my poor life no more?
Ray. I promise; but I know you will release me from it when you see them. I will get a carriage. So that no one will meet you. Wait for me, I shall not be long. It is agreed?
Laura. (Smiling.) Yes, it is agreed.
[Enter Peachblossom, D. F. with a sheet of paper, foolscap, and some enormous envelopes.
Peach. (L. H.) Here they are.
Ray. C. That's a good girl, keep them till I come back. In half an hour, Laura, be ready.
[Exit D. F.
Peach. (With an air.) What's he going to do in half an hour?
Laura. He's going to take me away with him for a little while, Blossom, and while I'm gone, I wish you to be a good girl, and watch the house, and take care of it till I return.
Peach. I don't believe it. You won't return. (Crying.) That's what our Sal said when she went off with her young man, and she never came back at all. You shan't go; I hate him. He shan't take you away.
Laura. Blossom! (Who is getting ready, putting her hat on, &c.)
Peach. I don't care. If you go away, I'll go away; I'll bite and scratch him if he comes back. (Fiercely tearing up the paper and envelopes.) Let him come back. Let him dare come back.
Laura. Blossom, you're very wicked. Go into the corner this minute and put your apron over your head.
Peach. (Crying at Laura's feet.) O, please, Miss Nina, let me go with you, and I'll be so good and not say a word to any one. Do let me go with you. Let me ask him to let me go with you. (Figure passes the window.) Here he is; I see him coming.
Laura. Run! run! open the door. (Peach runs to door; throws it open, disclosing Byke.) (Exclamation of horror from Laura.)
Byke. (Advancing.) Ah, my dear little runaway! Found you at last,—and just going out. How lucky! I wanted you to take a walk with me.
Laura. Instantly leave this place!
Byke. How singular! you are always ordering me out, and I am always coming in. We want a change. I will go out, and I request you to come with me.
Laura. Blossom, go find an officer. Tell him the wretch is insulting me.
Byke. Blossom? ah,—exactly! Here you, Judas! (Judas appears at door, down L. H.) (Peach crosses to Laura, R.)
Judas. O, Miss, save me!
Byke. (Throws Peach over to Judas, L.) Take care of that brat. And as for you, daughter, come with me.
Laura. Daughter!
Byke. Yes; it is time to declare myself. Paternal feeling has been too long smothered in my breast. Come to my arms, my child, my long-estranged child! (Takes out dirty handkerchief and presses his eyes with pretended feeling.)
Laura. God! is there no help coming? (She attempts to escape. Byke seizes her.)
Byke. What, unfilial girl! You take advantage of a father's weakness, and try to bolt! (Clutching her by the arm.) Come, go with me; and cheer my old age. Aint I good, to take you back after all these years?
Picture.—Quick Curtain.