Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 8

SIR HARRY. [_On his hearth._] I don't like her style at all.

LADY SIMS. [_Meekly._] Of course you know best.

[_This is the right kind of woman._

SIR HARRY. [_Rather anxious for corroboration._] Lord, how she winced when I said I was to give you those ropes of pearls.

LADY SIMS. Did she? I didn't notice. I suppose so.

SIR HARRY. [_Frowning._] Suppose? Surely I know enough about women to know that.

LADY SIMS. Yes, oh yes.

SIR HARRY. [_Odd that so confident a man should ask this._] Emmy, I know you well, don't I? I can read you like a book, eh?

LADY SIMS. [_Nervously._] Yes, Harry.

SIR HARRY. [_Jovially, but with an inquiring eye._] What a different existence yours is from that poor lonely wretch's.

LADY SIMS. Yes, but she has a very contented face.

SIR HARRY. [_With a stamp of his foot._] All put on. What?

LADY SIMS. [_Timidly._] I didn't say anything.

SIR HARRY. [_Snapping._] One would think you envied her.

LADY SIMS. Envied? Oh, no--but I thought she looked so alive. It was while she was working the machine.

SIR HARRY. Alive! That's no life. It is you that are alive. [_Curtly._]

I'm busy, Emmy. [_He sits at his writing-table._

LADY SIMS. [_Dutifully._] I'm sorry; I'll go, Harry.

[_Inconsequentially._] Are they very expensive?

SIR HARRY. What?

LADY SIMS. Those machines?

[_When she has gone the possible meaning of her question startles him. The curtain hides him from us, but we may be sure that he will soon be bland again. We have a comfortable feeling, you and I, that there is nothing of_ HARRY SIMS _in us_.

TRADITION

BY

GEORGE MIDDLETON

_Tradition_ is reprinted by permission of the author and the publisher, Henry Holt & Company, New York City. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address the author, in care of the publisher.

The author and publisher of this play have permitted this reprinting of copyrighted material on the understanding that the play will be used only in cla.s.sroom work. No other use of the play is authorized, and permission for any other use must be secured from the holder of the acting rights.

GEORGE MIDDLETON

George Middleton, one of the first to write and publish a volume of one-act plays in America, was born in Paterson, New Jersey, 1880. He was graduated from Columbia University in 1902. Since 1921 he has been literary editor of _La Follette's Weekly_, and, in addition, has been a frequent contributor to magazines and reviews on dramatic and literary subjects. During the last few years he has spent much of his time abroad.

George Middleton's chiefest interest has been in the one-act play. He has been an ardent champion of the shorter form of drama. Among his three volumes of one-act plays are _Embers_ (including _The Failures_, _The Gargoyle_, _In His House_, _Madonna_, and _The Man Masterful_), _Tradition_ (including _On Bail_, _Their Wife_, _Waiting_, _The Cheat of Pity_, and _Mothers_), and _Possession_ (including _The Grove_, _A Good Woman_, _The Black Tie_, _Circles_, and _The Unborn_). Other one-act plays are _Criminals_ and _The Reason_. His longer plays are _Nowadays_ and _The Road Together_. Mr. Middleton has lectured widely on the one-act play before colleges, in Little Theatres, and clubs. Perhaps his most notable article is _The Neglected One-Act Play_, which appeared in _The New York Dramatic Mirror_ in 1912.

_Tradition_ is one of Mr. Middleton's best and most popular one-act plays; and it most nearly conforms to the organic technic of the one-act play.

FIRST PERFORMANCE AT THE BERKELEY THEATRE, NEW YORK CITY, JANUARY 24, 1913.

(Produced under the personal direction of Mr. FRANK REICHER.)

THE PEOPLE

GEORGE OLLIVANT MR. GEORGE W. WILSON

EMILY, _his wife_ MISS ALICE LEIGH

MARY, _his daughter, an actress_ MISS FOLA LA FOLLETTE

TRADITION[B]

SCENE: _The sitting-room at the_ OLLIVANTS' _in a small town up-State. It is an evening late in the spring._

_A simple room is disclosed, bearing the traces of another generation. Old-fas.h.i.+oned window-doors at the right, overlooking the garden, open on a porch; another door in back opening on the hall-way. A large fire-place at the left, now concealed by an embroidered screen; the horsehair furniture, several terra-cotta statuettes, and a woodcut or two on the walls create the subtle atmosphere of the past. There is a lamp on the table, and another on a bracket by the door in back. Moonlight filters through the window-doors._

_The_ OLLIVANTS _are discovered together_. MARY, _a rather plain woman of about twenty-five, with a suggestion of quick sensibilities, is standing, lost in thought, looking out into the garden. Her mother_, EMILY, _nearing fifty, quiet and subdued in manner, is seated at the table tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a hat. Occasionally she looks at_ MARY, _stops her work, glances at her husband, closes her eyes as though tired, and then resumes. The silence continues for some time, broken only by the rattle of the town paper which_ GEORGE OLLIVANT _is reading. He is well on in middle life, with a strong, determined face not entirely without elements of kindness and deep feeling. When he finishes, he folds the paper, puts it on the table, knocks the ashes carefully from his pipe into his hand, and throws them behind the screen; takes off his spectacles and wipes them as he, too, looks over toward his daughter, still gazing absently into the garden. Finally, after a slight hesitation, he goes to her and puts his arm about her; she is startled but smiles sweetly._

OLLIVANT. [_Affectionately._] Glad to be home again, Mary?

MARY. [_Evasively._] The garden is so pretty.

OLLIVANT. Hasn't changed much, eh?

MARY. It seems different; perhaps it's the night.

OLLIVANT. I guess it isn't up to its usual standard. Haven't seen your mother there so often this spring.