Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 20

THE FIGURE. I were about to say how gold bein' scarce down to the Treasury, I fetched ye some s'curities instead; some national I.O.U.'s, as ye might say. [_He takes out an old powder-horn, and rattles it quietly._] That's them. [_Pouring from the horn into his palm some glistening, golden grains._] Here they be.

ELLEN. [_Peering, with_ JOEL.] Gold, Andy!

JOEL. [_With a sn.i.g.g.e.r._] Gold--nothin'! That's corn--just Injun corn.

Ha!

THE FIGURE. [_Bowing gravely._] It's the quality, ma'am, what counts, as ye might say.

JOEL. [_Behind his hand._] His top-loft leaks!

THE FIGURE. These here karnels, now, were give' me down Plymouth way, in Ma.s.sachusetts, the fust Thanksgivin' seems like I can remember. 'Twa'n't long after the famine we had thar. Me bein' some hungry, the red-folks fetched a hull-lot o' this round, with the compliments of their capting--what were his name now?--Ma.s.sasoit. This here's the last handful on't left. Thought ye might like some, bein' Thanksgivin'.

JOEL. [_In a low voice, to_ ELLEN.] His screws are droppin' out. Come and pack. We've got to mark time and skip.

THE FIGURE. [_Without looking at_ JOEL.] Eight or ten minutes still to spare, boys. The sergeant said--wait till ye hear his jew's-harp playin'

of that new war tune, _The Star-Spangled Banner_. Then ye'll know the coast's clear.

JOEL. Gad, that's right, I remember now.

[_He draws_ ELLEN _away to the knapsack, which they begin to pack_.

ANDREW _has never removed his eyes from the tall form in the cloak_.

[_Now, as_ THE FIGURE _pours back the yellow grains from his palm into the powder-horn, he speaks, hesitatingly_.

ANDREW. I think--I'd like some.

THE FIGURE. Some o' what?

ANDREW. Those--my pay.

THE FIGURE. [_Cheerfully._] So. _Would_ ye? [_Handing him the horn._]

Reckon that's enough?

ANDREW. [_Not taking it._] That's what I want to make sure of--first.

THE FIGURE. Oh! So ye're hesitatin'!

ANDREW. Yes; but I want you to help me decide. Pardon me, sir. You're a stranger, yet somehow I feel I may ask your help. You've come just in time.

THE FIGURE. Queer I should a-dropped round jest now, wa'n't it? S'posin'

we take a turn.

[_Together they walk toward the embankment. By the knapsack_ ELLEN _finds the little frame_.

ELLEN. [_To herself._] My picture!

[_She looks toward_ ANDREW _affectionately_. JOEL, _lifting the knapsack, beckons to her_.

JOEL. There's more stuff over here.

[_He goes off, right_; ELLEN _follows him_.

ANDREW. [_To_ THE FIGURE.] I should like the judgment of your experience, sir. I can't quite see your face, yet you appear to be one who has had a great deal of experience.

THE FIGURE. Why, consid'able some.

ANDREW. Did you--happen to fight in the late war for independence?

THE FIGURE. Happen to? [_Laughing quietly._] N-no, not fight; ye see--I was paymaster.

ANDREW. But you went through the war?

THE FIGURE. Ye-es, oh, yes; I went through it. I took out my fust reg'lar papers down to Philadelphie, in '76, seems like 'twas the fourth day o' July. But I was paymaster afore that.

ANDREW. Tell me: I've heard it said there were deserters even in those days, even from the roll-call of Was.h.i.+ngton. Is it true?

THE FIGURE. True, boy? Have ye ever watched a prairie-fire rollin'

toward ye, billowin' with flame and smoke, and seed all the midget cowerin' prairie-dogs scootin' for their holes? Wall, that's the way I watched Howe's army sweepin' crosst the Ja.r.s.ey marshes, and seed the desartin' little patriots, with their chins over their shoulders, skedaddlin' home'ards.

ANDREW. What--the Americans!

THE FIGURE. All but a handful on 'em--them as weren't canines, ye might say, but men. _They_ set a back-fire goin' at Valley Forge. Most on 'em burnt their toes and fingers off, lightin' on't thar in the white frost, but they stuck it through and saved--wall, the prairie-dogs.

ANDREW. But they--those others. What reason did they give to G.o.d and their own souls for deserting?

THE FIGURE. To who?

ANDREW. To their consciences. What was their reason? It must have been a n.o.ble one in '76. _Their_ reason _then_; don't you see, I must have it.

I must know what reason real heroes gave for their acts. You were there.

You can tell me.

THE FIGURE. _Real_ heroes, eh? Look around ye, then. To-day's the heroic age, and the true brand o' hero is al'ays in the market. Look around ye!

ANDREW. What, here--in this war of jobsters, this petty campaign of monstrous boodle?

THE FIGURE. Thar we be!

ANDREW. Why, here are only a lot of cowardly half-men, like me--lovers of their own folks--their wives and babies at home. They'll make sacrifices for them. But real men like our fathers in '76: they looked in the beautiful face of Liberty, and sacrificed to _her_!

THE FIGURE. Our fathers, my boy, was jest as fond o' poetry as you be.

They talked about the beautiful face o' Liberty same's you; but when the hom'made eyes and cheeks of their sweethearts and young uns took to cryin', they desarted their beautiful G.o.ddess and skun out hom'.

ANDREW. But there were some----

THE FIGURE. Thar was some as didn't--yes; and thar's some as don't to-day. Those be the folks on my pay-roll. Why, look a-here: I calc'late I wouldn't fetch much on the beauty counter. My talk ain't rhyme stuff, nor the Muse o' Grammar wa'n't my schoolma'am. Th' ain't painter nor clay-sculptor would pictur' me jest like I stand. For the axe has hewed me, and the plough has furrered; and the arnin' of gold by my own elbow-grease has give' me the shrewd eye at a bargain. I manure my crops this side o' Jordan, and as for t'other sh.o.r.e, I'd ruther swap jokes with the Lord than listen to his sarmons. And yet for the likes o' me, jest for to arn my wages--ha, the many, many boys and gals that's gone to their grave-beds, and when I a-closed their eyes, the love-light was s.h.i.+nin' thar.

ANDREW. [_Who has listened with awe._] What _are_ you? What _are_ you?