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Theft: A Play In Four Acts
CHARACTERS
Margaret Chalmers
Howard Knox
Thomas Chalmers
Master Thomas Chalmers
Ellery Jackson Hubbard
Anthony Starkweather
Mrs Starkweather
Connie Starkweather
Felix Dobleman
Linda Davis
Julius Rutland
John Gieford
Matsu Sakari
Dolores Ortega
Senator Dowsett Mrs Dowsett
Housekeeper, Servs
Wife of Senator Chalmers
A Congressman from Oregon
A United States Senator and several times millionaire
Son of Margaret and Senator Chalmers
A Journalist
A great magnate, and father of Margaret Chalmers
His wife
Their younger daughter
Secretary to Anthony Starkweather
Maid to Margaret Chalmers
Episcopalian Minister
Labor Agitator
Secretary of Japanese Embassy
Wife of Peruvian Minister
Agents, etc
ACTORS' DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTERS
Margaret Chalmers. Twenty-seven years of age; a strong, mature woman, but quite feminine where her heart or sense of beauty are concerned. Her eyes are wide apart. Has a dazzling smile, which she knows how to use on occasion. Also, on occasion, she can be firm and hard, even cynical An intellectual woman, and at the same time a very womanly woman, capable of sudden tendernesses, flashes of emotion, and abrupt actions. She is a finished product of high culture and refinement, and at the same time possesses robust vitality and instinctive right-promptings that augur well for the future of the race.
Howard Knox. He might have been a poet, but was turned politician. Inflamed with love for humanity. Thirty-five years of age. He has his vision, and must follow it. He has suffered ostracism because of it, and has followed his vision in spite of abuse and ridicule. Physically, a well-built, powerful man. Strong-featured rather than handsome. Very much in earnest, and, despite his university training, a trifle awkward in carriage and demeanor, lacking in social ease. He has been elected to Congress on a reform ticket, and is almost alone in fight he is making. He has no party to back him, though he has a following of a few independents and insurgents.
Thomas Chalmers. Forty-five to fifty years of age. Iron-gray mustache. Slightly stout. A good liver, much given to Scotch and soda, with a weak heart. Is liable to collapse any time. If anything, slightly lazy or lethargic in his emotional life. One of the "owned" senators representing a decadent New England state, himself master of the state political machine. Also, he is nobody's fool. He possesses the brain and strength of character to play his part. His most distinctive feature is his temperamental opportunism.
Master Thomas Chalmers. Six years of age. Sturdy and healthy despite his grandmother's belief to the contrary.
Ellery Jackson Hubbard. Thirty-eight to forty years of age. Smooth-shaven. A star journalist with a national reputation; a large, heavy-set man, with large head, large hands – everything about him is large. A man radiating prosperity, optimism and selfishness. Has no morality whatever. Is a conscious individualist, cold-blooded, pitiless, working only for himself, and believing in nothing but himself.
Anthony Starkweather. An elderly, well preserved gentleman, slenderly built, showing all the signs of a man who has lived clean and has been almost an ascetic. One to whom the joys of the flesh have had little meaning. A cold, controlled man whose one passion is for power. Distinctively a man of power. An eagle-like man, who, by keenness of brain and force of character, has carved out a fortune of hundreds of millions. In short, an industrial and financial magnate of the first water and of the finest type to be found in the United States. Essentially a moral man, his rigid New England morality has suffered a sea change and developed into the morality of the master-man of affairs, equally rigid, equally uncompromising, but essentially Jesuitical in that he believes in doing wrong that right may come of it. He is absolutely certain that civilization and progress rest on his shoulders and upon the shoulders of the small group of men like him.
Mrs. Starkweather. Of the helpless, comfortably stout, elderly type. She has not followed her husband in his moral evolution. She is the creature of old customs, old prejudices, old New England ethics. She is rather confused by the modern rush of life.
Connie Starkweather. Margaret's younger sister, twenty years old. She is nothing that Margaret is, and everything that Margaret is not. No essential evil in her, but has no mind of her own – hopelessly a creature of convention. Gay, laughing, healthy, buxom – a natural product of her care-free environment.
Feux Dobleman. Private secretary to Anthony Starkweather. A young man of correct social deportment, thoroughly and in all things just the sort of private secretary a man like Anthony Starkweather would have. He is a weak-souled creature, timorous, almost effeminate.
Linda Davis. Maid to Margaret. A young woman of twenty-five or so, blond, Scandinavian, though American-born. A cold woman, almost featureless because of her long years of training, but with a hot heart deep down, and characterized by an intense devotion to her mistress. Wild horses could drag nothing from her where her mistress is concerned.
Junus Rutland. Having no strong features about him, the type realizes itself.
John Gifford. A labor agitator. A man of the people, rough-hewn, narrow as a labor-leader may well be, earnest and sincere. He is a proper, better type of labor-leader.
Matsu Sakari. Secretary of Japanese Embassy. He is the perfection of politeness and talks classical book-English. He bows a great deal.
Dolores Ortega. Wife of Peruvian Minister; bright and vivacious, and uses her hands a great deal as she talks, in the Latin-American fashion.
Senator Dowsett. Fifty years of age; well preserved.
Mrs. Dowsett. Stout and middle-aged.
ACT I
A ROOM IN THE HOUSE OF SENATOR CHALMERS
Scene. In Senator Chalmers' home. It is four o'clock in the afternoon, in a modern living room with appropriate furnishings. In particular, in front, on left, a table prepared for the serving of tea, all excepting the tea urn itself. At rear, right of center, is main entrance to the room. Also, doorways at sides, on left and right. Curtain discloses Chalmers and Hubbard seated loungingly at the right front.
Hubbard
(After an apparent pause for cogitation.) I can't understand why an old wheel-horse like Elsworth should kick over the traces that way.
Chalmers
Disgruntled. Thinks he didn't get his fair share of plums out of the Tariff Committee. Besides, it's his last term. He's announced that he's going to retire.
Hubbard
(Snorting contemptuously, mimicking an old man's pompous enunciation.) "A Resolution to Investigate the High Cost of Living!" – old Senator Elsworth introducing a measure like that! The old buck! – How are you going to handle it?
Chalmers
It's already handled.
Hubbard
Yes?
Chalmers
(Pulling his mustache.) Turned it over to the Committee to Audit and Control the Contingent Expenses of the Senate.
Hubbard
(Grinning his appreciation.) And you're chairman. Poor old Elsworth. This way to the lethal chamber, and the bill's on its way.
Chalmers
Elsworth will be retired before it's ever reported. In the meantime, say after a decent interval, Senator Hodge will introduce another resolution to investigate the high cost of living. It will be like Elsworth's, only it won't.
Hubbard
(Nodding his head and anticipating.) And it will go to the Committee on Finance and come back for action inside of twenty-four hours.
Chalmers
By the way, I see Cartwright's Magazine has ceased muck-raking.
Hubbard
Cartwrights never did muck-rake – that is, not the big Interests – only the small independent businesses that didn't advertise.
Chalmers
Yes, it deftly concealed its reactionary tendencies.
Hubbard
And from now on the concealment will be still more deft. I've gone into it myself. I have a majority of the stock right now.
Chalmers
I thought I had noticed a subtle change in the last two numbers.
Hubbard
(Nodding.) We're still going on muck-raking. We have a splendid series on Aged Paupers, demanding better treatment and more sanitary conditions. Also we are going to run "Barbarous Venezuela" and show up thoroughly the rotten political management of that benighted country.
Chalmers
(Nods approvingly, and, after a pause.) And now concerning Knox. That's what I sent for you about. His speech comes off tomorrow per schedule. At last we've got him where we want him.
Hubbard
I have the ins and outs of it pretty well. Everything's arranged. The boys have their cue, though they don't know just what's going to be pulled off; and this time to-morrow afternoon their dispatches will be singing along the wires.
Chalmers
(Firmly and harshly.) This man Knox must be covered with ridicule, swamped with ridicule, annihilated with ridicule.
Hubbard
It is to laugh. Trust the great American people for that. We'll make those little Western editors sit up. They've been swearing by Knox, like a little tin god. Roars of laughter for them.
Chalmers
Do you do anything yourself?
Hubbard
Trust me. I have my own article for Cartwright's blocked out. They're holding the presses for it. I shall wire it along hot-footed to-morrow evening. Say – ?
Chalmers
(After a pause.) Well?
Hubbard
Wasn't it a risky thing to give him his chance with that speech?
Chalmers
It was the only feasible thing. He never has given us an opening. Our service men have camped on his trail night and day. Private life as unimpeachable as his public life. But now is our chance. The gods have given him into our hands. That speech will do more to break his influence —
Hubbard
(Interrupting.) Than a Fairbanks cocktail.
(Both laugh.) But don't forget that this Knox is a live wire. Somebody might get stung. Are you sure, when he gets up to make that speech, that he won't be able to back it up?
Chalmers
No danger at all.
Hubbard
But there are hooks and crooks by which facts are sometimes obtained.
Chalmers
(Positively.) Knox has nothing to go on but suspicions and hints, and unfounded assertions from the yellow press.
(Man-servant enters, goes to tea-table, looks it over, and makes slight rearrangements.) (Lowering his voice.) He will make himself a laughing stock. His charges will turn into boomerangs. His speech will be like a sheet from a Sunday supplement, with not a fact to back it up. (Glances at Servant.) We'd better be getting out of here. They're going to have tea.
(The Servant, however, makes exit.) Come to the library and have a high-ball. (They pause as Hubbard speaks.)
Hubbard
(With quiet glee.) And to-morrow Ali Baba gets his.
Chalmers
Ali Baba?
Hubbard
That's what your wife calls him – Knox.
Chalmers
Oh, yes, I believe I've heard it before. It's about time he hanged himself, and now we've given him the rope.
Hubbard
(Sinking voice and becoming deprecatingly confidential. )
Oh, by the way, just a little friendly warning, Senator Chalmers. Not so fast and loose up New York way. That certain lady, not to be mentioned – there's gossip about it in the New York newspaper offices. Of course, all such stories are killed. But be discreet, be discreet If Gherst gets hold of it, he'll play it up against the Administration in all his papers.
(Chalmers, who throughout this speech is showing a growing resentment, is about to speak, when voices are heard without and he checks himself.)
(Enter. Mrs. Starkweather, rather flustered and imminently in danger of a collapse, followed by Connie Starkweather, fresh, radiant, and joyous.)
Mrs. Starkweather
(With appeal and relief.)
Oh – Tom!
(Chalmers takes her hand sympathetically and protectingly.)
Connie
(Who is an exuberant young woman, bursts forth.) Oh, brother-in-law! Such excitement! That's what's the matter with mother. We ran into a go-cart. Our chauffeur was not to blame. It was the woman's fault. She tried to cross just as we were turning the corner. But we hardly grazed it. Fortunately the baby was not hurt – only spilled. It was ridiculous. (Catching sight of Hubbard.) Oh, there you are, Mr. Hubbard. How de do.
(Steps half way to meet him and shakes hands with him.) (Mrs. Starkweather looks around helplessly for a chair, and Chalmers conducts her to one soothingly.)
Mrs. Starkweather
Oh, it was terrible! The little child might have been killed. And such persons love their babies, I know.
Connie
(To Chalmers.) Has father come? We were to pick him up here. Where's Madge?
Mrs. Starkweather
(Espying Hubbard, faintly.) Oh, there is Mr. Hubbard.
(Hubbard comes to her and shakes hands.) I simply can't get used to these rapid ways of modern life. The motor-car is the invention of the devil. Everything is too quick. When I was a girl, we lived sedately, decorously. There was time for meditation and repose. But in this age there is time for nothing. How Anthony keeps his head is more than I can understand. But, then, Anthony is a wonderful man.
Hubbard
I am sure Mr. Starkweather never lost his head in his life.
Chalmers
Unless when he was courting you, mother.
Mrs. Starkweather
(A trifle grimly.) I'm not so sure about that.
Connie
(Imitating a grave, business-like enunciation.) Father probably conferred first with his associates, then turned the affair over for consideration by his corporation lawyers, and, when they reported no flaws, checked the first spare half hour in his notebook to ask mother if she would have him.
(They laugh.) And looked at his watch at least twice while he was proposing.
Mrs. Starkweather
Anthony was not so busy then as all that.
Hubbard
He hadn't yet taken up the job of running the United States.
Mrs. Starkweather
I'm sure I don't know what he is running, but he is a very busy man – business, politics, and madness; madness, politics, and business.
(She stops breathlessly and glances at tea-table.) Tea. I should like a cup of tea. Connie, I shall stay for a cup of tea, and then, if your father hasn't come, we'll go home. (To Chalmers.) Where is Tommy?
Chalmers
Out in the car with Madge.
(Glances at tea-table and consults watch.) She should be back now.
Connie
Mother, you mustn't stay long. I have to dress.
Chalmers
Oh, yes, that dinner.
(Yawns.) I wish I could loaf to-night.
Connie
(Explaining to Hubbard.) The Turkish Charge d'Affaires – I never can remember his name. But he's great fun – a positive joy. He's giving the dinner to the British Ambassador.
Mrs. Starkweather
(Starting forward in her chair and listening intently.) There's Tommy, now.
(Voices of Margaret Chalmers and of Tommy heard from without. Hers is laughingly protesting, while Tommy's is gleefully insistent.) (Margaret and Tommy appear and pause just outside door, holding each other's hands, facing each other, too immersed in each other to be aware of the presence of those inside the room. Margaret and Tommy are in street costume.)
Tommy
(Laughing.)
But mama.
Margaret
(Herself laughing, but shaking her head.) No. Tommy First —
Margaret
No; you must run along to Linda, now, mother's boy. And we'll talk about that some other time.
(Tommy notices for the first time that there are persons in the room. He peeps in around the door and espies Mrs. Starkweather. At the same moment, impulsively, he withdraws his hands and runs in to Mrs. Starkweather.)
Tommy
(Who is evidently fond of his grandmother.) Grandma!
(They embrace and make much of each other.)
(Margaret enters, appropriately greeting the others – a kiss (maybe) to Connie, and a slightly cold handshake to Hubbard.)
Margaret
(To Chalmers.) Now that you're here, Tom, you mustn't run away.
(Greets Mrs. Starkweather.)
Mrs. Starkweather
(Turning Tommy's face to the light and looking at it anxiously.) A trifle thin, Margaret.
Margaret
On the contrary, mother —
Mrs. Starkweather
(To Chalmers.) Don't you think so, Tom?
Connie
(Aside to Hubbard.) Mother continually worries about his health.
Hubbard
A sturdy youngster, I should say.
Tommy
(To Chalmers.) I'm an Indian, aren't I, daddy?
Chalmers
(Nodding his head emphatically.) And the stoutest-hearted in the tribe.
(Linda appears in doorway, evidently looking for Tommy, and Chalmers notices her.) There's Linda looking for you, young stout heart.
Margaret
Take Tommy, Linda. Run along, mother's boy.
Tommy
Come along, grandma. I want to show you something.
(He catches Mrs. Starkweather by the hand. Protesting, but highly pleased, she allows him to lead her to the door, where he extends his other hand to Linda. Thus, pausing in doorway, leading a woman by either hand, he looks back at Margaret.) (Roguishly.) Remember, mama, we're going to scout in a little while.
Margaret
(Going to Tommy, and bending down with her arms around him.) No, Tommy. Mama has to go to that horrid dinner to-night. But to-morrow we'll play.
(Tommy is cast down and looks as if he might pout.) Where is my little Indian now?
Hubbard
Be an Indian, Tommy.
Tommy
(Brightening up.)
All right, mama. To-morrow. – if you can't find time to-day.
(Margaret kisses him.) (Exit Tommy, Mrs. Starkweather, and Linda, Tommy leading them by a hand in each of theirs.)
Chalmers
(Nodding to Hubbard, in low voice to Hubbard and starting to make exit to right.) That high-ball.
(Hubbard disengages himself from proximity of Connie, and starts to follow.)
Connie
(Reproachfully.) If you run away, I won't stop for tea.
Margaret
Do stop, Tom. Father will be here in a few minutes.
Connie
A regular family party.
Chalmers
All right. We'll be back. We're just going to have a little talk.
(Chalmers and Hubbard make exit to right.) (Margaret puts her arm impulsively around Connie – a sheerly spontaneous act of affection – kisses her, and at same time evinces preparation to leave.)
Margaret
I've got to get my things off. Won't you wait here, dear, in case anybody comes? It's nearly time.
(Starts toward exit to rear, but is stopped by Connie.) Madge.
(Margaret immediately pauses and waits expectantly, smiling, while Connie is hesitant.)
I want to speak to you about something, Madge. You don't mind?
(Margaret, still smiling, shakes her head.) Just a warning. Not that anybody could believe for a moment, there is anything wrong, but —
Margaret
(Dispelling a shadow of irritation that has crossed her face.)
If it concerns Tom, don't tell me, please. You know he does do ridiculous things at times. But I don't let him worry me any more; so don't worry me about him.
(Connie remains silent, and Margaret grows curious.) Well?
Connie
It's not about Tom —
(Pauses.) It's about you.
Margaret
Oh.
Connie
I don't know how to begin.
Margaret
By coming right out with it, the worst of it, all at once, first.
Connie
It isn't serious at all, but – well, mother is worrying about it. You know how old-fashioned she is. And when you consider our position – father's and Tom's, I mean – it doesn't seem just right for you to be seeing so much of such an enemy of theirs. He has abused them dreadfully, you know. And there's that dreadful speech he is going to give to-morrow. You haven't seen the afternoon papers. He has made the most terrible charges against everybody – all of us, our friends, everybody.
Margaret
You mean Mr. Knox, of course. But he wouldn't harm anybody, Connie, dear.
Connie
(Bridling,) Oh, he wouldn't? He as good as publicly called father a thief.
Margaret
When did that happen? I never heard of it.
Connie
Well, he said that the money magnates had grown so unprincipled, sunk so low, that they would steal a mouse from a blind kitten.
Margaret
I don't see what father has to do with that.
Connie
He meant him just the same.
Margaret
You silly goose. He couldn't have meant father. Father? Why, father wouldn't look at anything less than fifty or a hundred millions.
Connie
And you speak to him and make much of him when you meet him places. You talked with him for half an hour at that Dugdale reception. You have him here in your own house – Tom's house – when he's such a bitter enemy of Tom's. (During the foregoing speech, Anthony Starkweather makes entrance from rear. His face is grave, and he is in a brown study, as if pondering weighty problems. At sight of the two women he pauses and surveys them. They are unaware of his presence.)
Margaret
You are wrong, Connie. He is nobody's enemy. He is the truest, cleanest, most right-seeking man I have ever seen.
Connie
(Interrupting.) He is a trouble-maker, a disturber of the public peace, a shallow-pated demagogue —
Margaret
(Reprovingly.)
Now you're quoting somebody – father, I suppose. To think of him being so abused – poor, dear Ali Baba —
Starkweather
(Clearing his throat in advertisement of his presence.) A-hem.
(Margaret and Connie turn around abruptly and discover him.)
Margaret
And Connie Father!
(Both come forward to greet him, Margaret leading.)
Starkweather
(Anticipating, showing the deliberate method of the busy man saving time by eliminating the superfluous.) Fine, thank you. Quite well in every particular. This Ali Baba? Who is Ali Baba?
(Margaret looks amused reproach at Connie.)
Connie
Mr. Howard Knox.
Starkweather
And why is he called Ali Baba?
Margaret
That is my nickname for him. In the den of thieves, you know. You remember your Arabian Nights.
Starkweather
(Severely.) I have been wanting to speak to you for some time, Margaret, about that man. You know that I have never interfered with your way of life since your marriage, nor with your and Tom's housekeeping arrangements. But this man Knox. I understand that you have even had him here in your house —
Margaret
(Interrupting.) He is very liable to be here this afternoon, any time, now.
(Connie displays irritation at Margaret.)
Starkweather
(Continuing imperturbably.) Your house —you, my daughter, and the wife of Senator Chalmers. As I said, I have not interfered with you since your marriage. But this Knox affair transcends household arrangements. It is of political importance. The man is an enemy to our class, a firebrand. Why do you have him here?
Margaret
Because I like him. Because he is a man I am proud to call "friend." Because I wish there were more men like him, many more men like him, in the world. Because I have ever seen in him nothing but the best and highest. And, besides, it's such good fun to see how one virtuous man can so disconcert you captains of industry and arbiters of destiny. Confess that you are very much disconcerted, father, right now. He will be here in a few minutes, and you will be more disconcerted. Why? Because it is an affair that transcends family arrangements. And it is your affair, not mine.
Starkweather
This man Knox is a dangerous character – one that I am not pleased to see any of my family take up with. He is not a gentleman.
Margaret
He is a self-made man, if that is what you mean, and he certainly hasn't any money.
Connie
(Interrupting.) He says that money is theft – at least when it is in the hands of a wealthy person.
Starkweather
He is uncouth – ignorant.
Margaret
I happen to know that he is a graduate of the University of Oregon.
Starkweather
(Sneeringly.) A cow college. But that is not what I mean. He is a demagogue, stirring up the wild-beast passions of the people.
Margaret
Surely you would not call his advocacy of that child labor bill and of the conservation of the forest and coal lands stirring up the wild-beast passions of the people?
Starkweather
(Wearily.) You don't understand. When I say he is dangerous it is because he threatens all the stabilities, because he threatens us who have made this country and upon whom this country and its prosperity rest.
(Connie, scenting trouble, walks across stage away from them.)
Margaret
The captains of industry – the banking magnates and the mergers?
Starkweather
Call it so. Call it what you will. Without us the country falls into the hands of scoundrels like that man Knox and smashes to ruin.
Margaret
(Reprovingly.) Not a scoundrel, father.
Starkweather
He is a sentimental dreamer, a hair-brained enthusiast. It is the foolish utterances of men like him that place the bomb and the knife in the hand of the assassin.
Margaret
He is at least a good man, even if he does disagree with you on political and industrial problems. And heaven knows that good men are rare enough these days.
Starkweather
I impugn neither his morality nor his motives – only his rationality. Really, Margaret, there is nothing inherently vicious about him. I grant that. And it is precisely that which makes him such a power for evil.
Margaret
When I think of all the misery and pain which he is trying to remedy – I can see in him only a power for good. He is not working for himself but for the many. That is why he has no money. You have heaven alone knows how many millions – you don't; you have worked for yourself.
Starkweather
I, too, work for the many. I give work to the many. I make life possible for the many. I am only too keenly alive to the responsibilities of my stewardship of wealth.
Margaret
But what of the child laborers working at the machines? Is that necessary, O steward of wealth? How my heart has ached for them! How I have longed to do something for them – to change conditions so that it will no longer be necessary for the children to toil, to have the playtime of childhood stolen away from them. Theft – that is what it is, the playtime of the children coined into profits. That is why I like Howard Knox. He calls theft theft. He is trying to do something for those children. What are you trying to do for them?
Starkweather
Sentiment. Sentiment. The question is too vast and complicated, and you cannot understand. No woman can understand. That is why you run to sentiment. That is what is the matter with this Knox – sentiment. You can't run a government of ninety millions of people on sentiment, nor on abstract ideas of justice and right.
Margaret
But if you eliminate justice and right, what remains?
Starkweather
This is a practical world, and it must be managed by practical men – by thinkers, not by near-thinkers whose heads are addled with the half-digested ideas of the French Encyclopedists and Revolutionists of a century and a half ago.
(Margaret shows signs of impatience – she is not particularly perturbed by this passage-at-arms with her father, and is anxious to get off her street things.)
Don't forget, my daughter, that your father knows the books as well as any cow college graduate from Oregon. I, too, in my student days, dabbled in theories of universal happiness and righteousness, saw my vision and dreamed my dream. I did not know then the weakness, and frailty, and grossness of the human clay. But I grew out of that and into a man. Some men never grow out of that stage. That is what is the trouble with Knox. He is still a dreamer, and a dangerous one.
(He pauses a moment, and then his thin lips shut grimly. But he has just about shot his bolt.)
Margaret
What do you mean?
Starkweather
He has let himself in to give a speech to-morrow, wherein he will be called upon to deliver the proofs of all the lurid charges he has made against the Administration – against us, the stewards of wealth if you please. He will be unable to deliver the proofs, and the nation will laugh. And that will be the political end of Mr. Ali Baba and his dream.
Margaret
It is a beautiful dream. Were there more like him the dream would come true. After all, it is the dreamers that build and that never die. Perhaps you will find that he is not so easily to be destroyed. But I can't stay and argue with you, father. I simply must go and get my things off.
(To Connie.) You'll have to receive, dear. I'll be right back.
(Julius Rutland enters. Margaret advances to meet him, shaking his hand.) You must forgive me for deserting for a moment.
Rutland
(Greeting the others.) A family council, I see.
Margaret
(On way to exit at rear.) No; a discussion on dreams and dreamers. I leave you to bear my part.
Rutland
(Bowing.) With pleasure. The dreamers are the true architects. But – a – what is the dream and who is the dreamer?
Margaret
(Pausing in the doorway.) The dream of social justice, of fair play and a square deal to everybody. The dreamer – Mr. Knox.
(Rutland is so patently irritated, that Margaret lingers in the doorway to enjoy.)
Rutland
That man! He has insulted and reviled the Church – my calling. He —
Connie
(Interrupting.) He said the churchmen stole from God. I remember he once said there had been only one true Christian and that He died on the Cross.
Margaret
He quoted that from Nietzsche.
Starkweather
(To Rutland, in quiet glee.) He had you there.
Rutland
(In composed fury.) Nietzsche is a blasphemer, sir. Any man who reads Nietzsche or quotes Nietzsche is a blasphemer. It augurs ill for the future of America when such pernicious literature has the vogue it has.
Margaret
(Interrupting, laughing.) I leave the quarrel in your hands, sir knight. Remember – the dreamer and the dream. (Margaret makes exit.)
Rutland
(Shaking his head.) I cannot understand what is coming over the present generation. Take your daughter, for instance. Ten years ago she was an earnest, sincere lieutenant of mine in all our little charities.
Starkweather
Has she given charity up?
Connie
It's settlement work, now, and kindergartens.
Rutland
(Ominously.) It's writers like Nietzsche, and men who read him, like Knox, who are responsible.
(Senator Dowsett and Mrs. Dowsett enter from rear.)
(Connie advances to greet them. Rutland knows Mrs. Dowsett, and Connie introduces him to Senator Dowsett.)
(In the meantime, not bothering to greet anybody, evincing his own will and way, Starkweather goes across to right front, selects one of several chairs, seats himself, pulls a thin note-book from inside coat pocket, and proceeds to immerse himself in contents of same.) (Dowsett and Rutland pair and stroll to left rear and seat themselves, while Connie and Mrs. Dowsett seat themselves at tea-table to left front. Connie rings the bell for Servant.)
Mrs. Dowsett
(Glancing significantly at Starkweather, and speaking in a low voice.) That's your father, isn't it? I have so wanted to meet him.
Connie
(Softly.) You know he's peculiar. He is liable to ignore everybody here this afternoon, and get up and go away abruptly, without saying good-bye.
