Collected Works of Booth Tarkington

by Booth Tarkington

  ELOISE. Oh!

  [She utters a choked scream and rushes at him.]

  Swine!

  VALSIN [warding her off with outstretched hands]. Spare me! Ha, ha, ha! I am helpless!

  Ho, ho, ho! Citizeness, it would not be worth your while to strangle a man who is already dying!

  ELOISE [beside herself]. Do you dream that I meant it?

  VALSIN [feebly]. Meant to strangle me?

  ELOISE [frantic]. To give myself to you!

  VALSIN. In short, to — to marry me!

  [He splutters.]

  ELOISE [furiously]. It was a ruse —

  VALSIN [soothingly]. Yes, yes, a trick. I saw that all along.

  ELOISE [even more infuriated]. For their sake, beast!

  [She points to the other room.] To save them!

  VALSIN [wiping his eyes]. Of course, of course.

  [He rises, stepping quickly to the side of the chair away from her and watching her warily.]

  I knew it was to save them. We’ll put it like that.

  ELOISE [in an anger of exasperation]. It was that!

  VALSIN. Yes, yes.

  [Keeping his distance.]

  I saw it from the first.

  [Suppressing symptoms of returning mirth.]

  It was perfectly plain. You mustn’t excite yourself — nothing could have been clearer!

  [A giggle escapes him, and he steps hastily backward as she advances upon him.]

  ELOISE. Poodle! Valet! Scum of the alleys! Sheep of the prisons! Jailer! Hangman! Assassin! Brigand! Horse-doctor!

  [She hurls the final epithet at him in a climax of ferocity which wholly exhausts her; and she sinks into the chair by the desk, with her arms upon the desk and her burning face hidden in her arms. VALSIN, morbidly chuckling, in spite of himself, at each of her insults, has retreated farther and farther, until he stands with his back against the door of the inner room, his right hand behind him, resting on the latch. As her furious eyes leave him he silently opens the door, letting it remain a few inches ajar and keeping his back to it. Then, satisfied that what he intends to say will be overheard by those within, he erases all expression from his face, and strides to the dismantled doorway in the passage.]

  VALSIN [calling loudly]. Dossonville!

  [He returns, coming down briskly to ELOISE. His tone is crisp and soldier-like.]

  Citizeness, I have had my great hour. I proceed with the arrests. I have given you four plenty of time to prepare yourselves. Time? Why, the Emigrant could have changed clothes with one of the women in there a dozen times if he had hoped to escape in that fashion — as historical prisoners have won clear, it is related. Fortunately, that is impossible just now; and he will not dare to attempt it.

  DOSSONVILLE [appearing in the hallway]. Present, my chieftain!

  VALSIN [sharply]. Attend, Dossonville. The returned Emigrant, Valny-Cherault, is forfeited; but because I cherish a special grievance against him, I have decided upon a special punishment for him. It does not please me that he should have the comfort and ministrations of loving women on his journey to the Tribunal. No, no; the presence of his old sweetheart would make even the scaffold sweet to him. Therefore I shall take him alone. I shall let these women go.

  DOSSONVILLE. What refinement! Admirable!

  [ELOISE slowly rises, staring incredulously at VALSIN.]

  VALSIN [picking up the “permit” from the desk]. “Permit the Citizen Balsage and his sister, the Citizeness Virginie Balsage, and his second sister, Marie Balsage, and Eloise d’Anville—” Ha! You see, Dossonville, since one of these three women is here, there are two in the other room with the Emigrant. They are to come out, leaving him there. First, however, we shall disarm him. You and I have had sufficient experience in arresting aristocrats to know that they are not always so sensible as to give themselves up peaceably, and I happened to see the outline of a pistol under the Emigrant’s frock the other day in the diligence.

  We may as well save one of us from a detestable hole through the body.

  [He steps toward the door, speaking sharply.]

  Emigrant, you have heard. For your greater chagrin, these three devoted women are to desert you. Being an aristocrat, you will pretend to prefer this arrangement. They are to leave at once. Throw your pistol into this room, and I will agree not to make the arrest until they are in safety. They can reach your vessel in five minutes. When they have gone, I give you my word not to open this door for ten.

  [A pistol is immediately thrown out of the door, and falls at VALSIN’S feet. He picks it up, his eyes alight with increasing excitement.]

  VALSIN [tossing the pistol to DOSSONVILLE]. Call the lieutenant.

  [DOSSONVILLE goes to the window, leans out, and beckons. VALSIN writes hastily at the desk, not sitting down.]

  “Permit the three women Balsage to embark without delay upon the Jeune Pierrette. Signed: Valsin.” There, Citizeness, is a “permit” which permits.

  [He thrusts the paper into the hand of ELOISE, swings toward the door of the inner room, and raps loudly upon it.]

  Come, my feminines! Your sailors await you — brave, but no judges of millinery. There’s a fair wind for you; and a grand toilet is wasted at sea. Come, charmers; come!

  [The door is half opened, and Madame DE LASEYNE, white and trembling violently, enters quickly, shielding as much as she can the inexpressibly awkward figure of her brother, behind whom she extends her hand, closing the” door sharply. He wears the brocaded skirt which Madame DE LASEYNE has taken from the portmanteau, and ELOISE’S long mantle, the lifted hood and Madame DE LASEYNE’S veil shrouding his head and face.]

  VALSIN [in a stifled voice]. At last! At last one beholds the regal d’Anville! No Amazon — DOSSONVILLE [aghast]. It looks like — VALSIN [shouting]. It doesn’t!

  [He bows gallantly to Louis.]

  A cruel veil, but, oh, what queenly grace!

  [Louis stumbles in the skirt. VALSIN falls back, clutching at his side. But ELOISE rushes to Louis and throws herself upon her knees at his feet. She pulls his head down to hers and kisses him through the veil.]

  VALSIN [madly]. Oh, touching devotion! Oh, sisters! Oh, love! Oh, honey! Oh, petticoats —

  DOSSONVILLE [interrupting humbly]. The lieutenant, Citizen Commissioner.

  [He points to the hallway, where the officer appears, standing at attention.]

  VALSIN [wheeling]. Officer, conduct these three persons to the quay. Place them on board the Jeune Pierrette. The captain will weigh anchor instantly.

  [The officer salutes.]

  ANNE [hoarsely to Louis, who is lifting the weeping ELOISE to her feet]. Quick! In the name of —

  VALSIN. Off with you!

  [Madame DE LASEYNE seizes the portmanteau and rushes to the broken doorway, half dragging the others with her. They go out in a tumultuous hurry, followed by the officer. ELOISE sends one last glance over her shoulder at VALSIN as she disappears, and one word of concentrated venom: “Buffoon!” In wild spirits he blows a kiss to her. The fugitives are heard clattering madly down the stairs.]

  DOSSONVILLE [excitedly]. We can take the Emigrant now.

  [Going to the inner door.]

  Why wait —

  VALSIN. That room is empty.

  DOSSONVILLE. What!

  VALSIN [shouting with laughter]. He’s gone! Not barebacked, but in petticoats: that’s worse! He’s gone, I tell you! The other was the d’An ville.

  DOSSONVILLE. Then you recog —

  VALSIN. Imbecile, she’s as well known as the Louvre! They’re off on their honeymoon! She’ll take him now! She will! She will, on the soul of a prophet!

  [He rushes to the window and leans far out, shouting at the top of his voice:]

  Quits with you, Louis! Quits! Quits!

  [He falls back from the window and relapses into a chair, cackling ecstatically.]

  DOSSONVILLE [hoarse with astonishment]. You’ve let him go! You’ve let ’em all go!

  VALSIN [weak with laughter]. We
ll, you’re not going to inform.

  [With a sudden reversion to extreme seriousness, he levels a sinister forefinger at his companion.]

  And, also, take care of your health, friend; remember constantly that you have a weak throat, and don’t you ever mention this to my wife! These are bad times, my Dossonville, and neither you nor I will see the end of them.

  Good Lord! Can’t we have a little fun as we go along?

  [A fresh convulsion seizes him, and he rocks himself pitiably in his chair.]

  [THE CURTAIN]

  The Gibson Upright

  Co-written with Harry Leon Wilson

  CONTENTS

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  ACT I

  ACT II

  ACT III

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  ANDREW GIBSON, A piano factory owner

  NORA GORODNA, a piano tester and socialist labor organizer

  MR. MIFFLIN, a socialist journalist

  CARTER, an elderly factory worker

  FRANKEL, a young Jewish factory worker

  SHOMBERG, a factory worker

  SIMPSON, an elderly factory worker

  SALVATORE, an Italian factory worker

  RILEY, a truck driver

  ELLA, Mr. Gibson’s housemaid

  MRS. SIMPSON, wife of Simpson

  MRS. COMMISKEY, wife of a worker (offstage voice)

  POLENSKI, a worker

  FIRST WOP and SECOND WOP, workers

  ACT I

  ANDREW GIBSON’S OFFICE in his piano factory where he manufactures “The Gibson Upright.” A very plain interior; pleasant to the eye, yet distinctly an office in a factory, and without luxuries; altogether utilitarian.

  Against the wall on our right is a roll-top desk, open, very neat, and in the centre of the writing pad a fresh rose stands in a glass of water. Near by is a long, plain table and upon it a very neat arrangement of correspondence and a couple of ledgers.

  Against the walls are a dozen plain cane-seated chairs. Near the centre of the room is a sample of the Gibson upright piano in light wood. There is a large safe, showing the word “Gibson,” and there are filing cases. In the rear wall there is a door with the upper half of opaque glass, which shows “Mr. Gibson” in reverse; and near this door is a water filter upon a stand. In the wall upon our left is a plain wooden door. The rear door opens into the factory; the other into a hall that leads to the street.

  Upon the walls are several posters, one showing “The Gibson Upright” — a happy family, including children and a grandparent, exclaiming with joy at sight of this instrument. Another shows a concert singer singing widely beside “The Gibson Upright,” with an accompanist seated. Another shows a semi-colossal millionaire, and a workingman of similar size in paper cap and apron, shaking hands across “The Gibson Upright,” and, printed: “$188.00 — The Price for the Millionaire, the Same for Plain John Smith — $188.00.” This poster and the others all show the slogan: “How Cheap, BUT How Good!”

  Nothing is new in this room, but everything is clean and accurately in order. The arrangement is symmetrical.

  As the curtain rises NORA GORODNA is seen at work on the sample “Gibson Upright.” The front is not removed; but through the top of the piano she is adjusting something with a small wrench. NORA is a fine-looking young woman, not over twenty-six; she wears a plain smock over a dark dress. As she is a piano tester in the factory she is dressed neither so roughly as a working woman nor perhaps so fashionably as a stenographer. She is serious and somewhat preoccupied. From somewhere come the sounds of several pianos being tuned. After a moment NORA goes thoughtfully to the desk and looks at the rose in the glass; then lifts the glass as if to inhale the odour of the rose, but abruptly alters her decision and sets the glass down without doing so. She returns quickly and decisively to her work at the piano, as if she had made a determination.

  A bell at the door on our left rings. NORA goes to the door and opens it.

  NORA: Good morning, Mr. Mifflin.

  MIFFLIN [entering]: Good morning, Miss Gorodna.

  [MIFFLIN is a beaming man of forty, with gold-rimmed eyeglasses and a somewhat grizzled beard which has been, a week or so ago, a neatly trimmed Vandyke. He wears a “cutaway suit,” not much pressed, not new; a derby hat, a standing collar, and a “four-in-hand” dark tie; hard, round cuffs, not link cuffs. He carries a folded umbrella, not a fashionable one; wears no gloves; and has two or three old magazines and a newspaper under his arm.]

  MIFFLIN: I believe I’m here just to the hour, Miss Gorodna.

  NORA: Mr. Gibson has been very nice about it. He told me he would give you the interview for your article. He’s in the factory — trying to settle some things he can’t settle. I’ll let him know you’re here.

  [She goes out by the door into the factory. MIFFLIN, smiling with benevolent anticipation, places his umbrella and hat on a chair, then takes his fountain pen and a pencil from his pocket, smilingly decides to use the pencil, sharpens it without going to a wastebasket over by the desk; then beamingly looks about the room. He is about to strike a chord on the piano, seems alarmed by the idea, moves away from it, dusts the lapel of his coat, adjusts his collar, studies the posters, shakes his head over them as if they were not to his taste, goes to the desk, and after studying it smiles at the rose and gives it a kittenish peck with his forefinger. NORA comes back and MIFFLIN turns to her with his benevolent smile.]

  NORA [going back to her work at the piano]: He’ll be right here.

  [GIBSON appears in the open doorway, speaking with crisp

  determination to someone not seen.]

  GIBSON: That’s my last word on it; that’s in accordance with the agreement you signed two weeks ago.

  A HARSH VOICE: We don’t care nothin’ about no agreement!

  GIBSON: That’s all!

  [He comes in. He is a man of thirty-something; well but not clubbishly dressed; an intelligent, thoughtful face; a man of affairs. Just now he is exercising some self-control over irritations which have become habitual, but he is not uncordial, merely quiet, during his greeting of MIFFLIN.]

  NORA: This is Mr. Mifflin, Mr. Gibson.

  GIBSON: How do you do, Mr. Mifflin.

  MIFFLIN [heartily, as they shake hands]: I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Gibson! I hope you don’t mind my not writing to you myself for this interview.

  GIBSON: Not at all!

  MIFFLIN [taking a chair]: I heard Miss Gorodna speak at a meeting two nights ago —

  GIBSON: Yes?

  MIFFLIN: And learning that she was one of your employees I asked her to speak to you about it for me.

  GIBSON: I see.

  MIFFLIN: Now, in the first place, Mr. Gibson —

  [There is a telephone on GIBSON’S desk; its bell rings.]

  GIBSON: Excuse me a moment!

  [At the telephone]: Hello!… Yes — Gibson…. Oh, hello, McCombs!… Yes. I want you to buy it…. I want you to buy all of that grade wire you can lay your hands on. Get it now and go quick. All you can get; I don’t care if it’s a three years’ supply. There’ll be a shortage within a month…. No; I don’t want any more of the celluloid mixture…. No, I don’t want it. They can’t make a figure good enough. I’ve got my own formula for keys and we’re going to make our own mixture…. I’m going to have my own plant for it right here. I can make it just under fifty per cent, better than I can buy it…. Wait a minute! I want you to get hold of that lot of felt over in Newark; the syndicate’s after it, but I want you to beat them to it. Don’t go to Johnson. You go to Hendricks — he’s Johnson’s brother-in-law. You tell him as my purchasing agent you’ve come to finish the talk I had with him the other night. You’ll find that does it…. All right. Wait! Call me up to-morrow afternoon; I’m on the track of a stock of that brass we’ve been using. We may get three-eighths of a cent off on it. I’ll know by that time. All right!… All right! [Then he hangs up the receiver and turns to MIFFLIN.] Where do you propose to publish this interview, Mr. Mifflin?


  MIFFLIN [cheerily]: Oh, I shall select one of the popular magazines in sympathy with my point of view in these matters. You probably know my articles. Numbers of them have been translated. One called “Coöperation and Brotherhood” has been printed in thirteen languages and dialects, including the Scandinavian. But I expect this to be my star article.

  GIBSON: Why?

  MIFFLIN: Because your factory here is so often called a model factory. “The model factory!” [He repeats the phrase with unction.]

  GIBSON [wearily]: Yes, model because it has the most labour trouble!

  MIFFLIN [enthusiastically]: That is the real reason why it will be my star article. As you may know from my other articles this problem is where I am in my element.

  GIBSON: Yes; I understood so from Miss Gorodna.

  [Giving him an inimical glance, NORA closes the top of piano, and moves to go. GIBSON checks her with a slight gesture.]

  GIBSON: Would you mind staying, Miss Gorodna? Miss Gorodna knows more about one side of this factory than I do, I’m afraid, Mr. Mifflin. We may need her for reference, especially as she seems to be the ringleader of the insurgents.

  MIFFLIN [with jovial reproach]: Now, now! Before we come to that, Mr. Gibson, suppose we get at the origin of this interesting product. [He waves to the sample piano.] Let’s see! I understand it was never your own creation, Mr. Gibson; that you inherited this factory from your father.

  GIBSON: Oh, no, I didn’t.

  NORA [challenging]: What! [She checks herself.] I beg your pardon!

  GIBSON: The piano factory I inherited from my father was about one third this size.

  MIFFLIN [genially; always genial]: Nevertheless, you inherited it. We know that everything grows with the times, naturally. Let us simply state that it was a capitalistic family inheritance.

  NORA [under her breath but emphatically]: Yes!

  MIFFLIN: Up to the time of your inheriting it, you, I suppose, had led the usual life of pleasure of the wealthy young man?