Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 57

MORGAN. [_Desperately._] Candace!

MARY. [_Clutching at his arm._] Don't tell her. I ain't goin' to see her drove out in the cold from her home. Don't tell her.

[AUNT CANDACE _still looks in the fire_. JIM _sits lost in amazement, idly strumming his guitar_.

MORGAN. Well?

MARY. [_Looking wildly around, as if seeking help._] Oh!...

MORGAN. [_Wiping his face._] Gal, I don't want to be too hard on you.

But use common sense. I've been good to you. They ain't another man in the county that would have kept you for the last three years, an' losin'

money on you every year. I'm done of it, gal, I'm done. Marry Jim.

MARY. He wouldn't let you do it if he was here. He wouldn't.

MORGAN. Who? Who you talkin' about?

MARY. Mr. Hugh, your boy. He's got feelin's, he has. If he was here ...

MORGAN. [_Hoa.r.s.ely._] I know it. I know it. Don't you see? He's all I got. I can't run the risk of his ... Oh, Mary, I can't tell you. For G.o.d's sake, marry Jim. Can't you see? You've got to marry him! Hugh's gone off for a week, an' I'm goin' to settle it before he ever gets back. And when he gets back, you and Candace will be clean out of this country, if you don't marry Jim. They ain't n.o.body else 'round here will take you in, and keep you like I have.

MARY. Where ... where's he gone?

MORGAN. He's gone to see his gal. The one he's going to marry. And by G.o.d, you've got to marry Jim.

MARY. [_Half sobbing._] They ain't no use tryin' to change it. I've tried and tried, but they ain't no use. I jus' as well do it. Yes, yes, I'll marry him. I'll marry him. They ain't no way to be white. I got to be a n.i.g.g.e.r. I'll marry him, yes. I'll marry him, an' work an' hoe an'

wash an' raise more children to go through it all like me, maybe other children that'll want to be white an' can't. They ain't n.o.body can help me. But look at him. [_Pointing to_ JIM.] He's a n.i.g.g.e.r an' ... yes ...

I'm a n.i.g.g.e.r too.

[_She throws her arms out, letting them fall at her side._

MORGAN. [_Almost gently._] All right, Mary ... I'll send for the preacher and the license in the morning and have him marry you and Jim right here. You needn't think about leavin' any more. And you and Jim can live here as long as you please. Is that all right, Jim?

JIM. [_Uncertainly._] Yes-suh, yes-suh, Mr. Mawgin! An' I thanks you 'specially.

MORGAN. [_Going up to_ AUNT CANDACE.] Mary and Jim are going to be married to-morrow, Candace. It'll be a lucky day for you. [_She makes no answer, but continues her trancelike stare in the fire._ MORGAN _comes to_ MARY _and offers his hand. She fails to see it._] Child, what I've had to do to-night has hurt me a whole lot worse'n you.... Good-night, Mary.

[_He stands a moment looking at the floor, then goes out quietly._

JIM. [_Coming up to_ MARY.] Miss Mary, don't look lak dat. I's gwine do better, I's.... [MARY _keeps her head m.u.f.fled in her ap.r.o.n_.] Honey, I's sho' gwine make you a good man.

[MARY _pays no attention to him. In his embarra.s.sment he strums his guitar, clears his throat, props his foot up on a chair rung, and begins singing in a low voice._]

JIM. Lyin' in the jail house, A-peepin' th'ough de bars....

AUNT CANDACE. [_Waking from her reverie._] Bring me de li'l black box, gal. Bring me de box! [MARY _drops her ap.r.o.n and stares dully at the floor_.] Bring me de box! [_Half-screaming._] Bring me de box, I say!

[_Trembling and groaning, she stands up._ MARY _goes to the chest and brings her the black box_. AUNT CANDACE _drops her stick and clutches it_.] I's gwine tell you de secret o' dis li'l box. Yo' mammy told me to tell you if de time ever come, an' it's come. She seed trouble an' our mammy befo' us. [_She takes a key, tied by a string around her neck, and unlocks the box, pulling out a wrinkled white dress, yellowed with age, of the style of the last generation._ JIM _sits down, overcome with astonishment, staring at the old woman with open mouth_.] Look heah, chile. I's gwine tell you now. Nineteen yeahs ago come dis Christmas dey's a white man gi'n your mammy dis heah, an' dat white man is kin to you, an' he don't live fur off nuther. Gimme dat dress dere on de bed.

[MARY _gets it and holds it tightly to her breast_. AUNT CANDACE _s.n.a.t.c.hes at it, but_ MARY _clings to it_.] Gimme dat dress!

MARY. It's mine!

AUNT CANDACE. Gimme! [_She jerks the dress from_ MARY. _Hobbling to the fireplace, she lays both of them carefully on the flames._ JIM _makes a movement as if to save them, but she waves him back with her stick_.]

Git back, n.i.g.g.e.r! Git back! Dis night I's gwine wipe out some o' de traces o' sin. [MARY _sits in her chair, sobbing. As the dresses burn_ AUNT CANDACE _comes to her and lays her hand upon her head_.] I knows yo' feelin's, chile. But yo's got to smother 'em in. Yo's got to smother 'em in.

CURTAIN

MOONs.h.i.+NE

BY

ARTHUR HOPKINS

_Moons.h.i.+ne_ is reprinted by special permission of Arthur Hopkins, Plymouth Theatre, New York City. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address the author.

ARTHUR HOPKINS

Arthur Hopkins, one of the well-known men of the practical theatre of to-day, was born in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1878. He completed his academic training at Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio. At present he is the manager of Plymouth Theatre, New York City.

Mr. Hopkins's entire life has been given to the theatre, which is his hobby. In the midst of his various activities as a manager he has found time to do some dramatic writing. Among his one-act plays are _Thunder G.o.d_, _Broadway Love_, and _Moons.h.i.+ne_, which appeared in the _Theatre Acts Magazine_ for January, 1919.

_Moons.h.i.+ne_ is an excellent play of situation that has grown out of the reaction of character on character.

CHARACTERS

LUKE HAZY, _Moons.h.i.+ner_ A REVENUE OFFICER

MOONs.h.i.+NE

SCENE: _Hut of a moons.h.i.+ner in the mountain wilds of North Carolina. Door back left. Window back right centre. Old deal table right centre. Kitchen chair at either side of table, not close to it. Old cupboard in left corner. Rude stone fireplace left side. On back wall near door is a rough pencil sketch of a man hanging from a tree._

_At rise of curtain a commotion is heard outside of hut._

LUKE. [_Off stage._] It's all right, boys.... Jist leave him to me....

Git in there, Mister Revenue.

[REVENUE, _a Northerner in city attire, without hat, clothes dusty, is pushed through doorway_. LUKE, _a lanky, ill-dressed Southerner, following, closes door_. REVENUE'S _hands are tied behind him_.

LUKE. You must excuse the boys for makin' a demonstration over you, Mister Revenue, but you see they don't come across you fellers very frequent, and they allus gits excited.