Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856 to 1911: In Mizzoura written by Augustus Thomas
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Augustus Thomas >> Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856 to 1911: In Mizzoura
That illustrates one of the dramatist's discovered rules: "If you use
a _property_ once use it again and again if you can." It is a _visual_
thing that binds together your stuff of speech like a dowel in a
mission table.
There are few better places than a railroad train for building
stories; the rhythmic click of the wheels past the fish-plates makes
your thoughts march as a drum urges a column of soldiers. A tentative
layout of the story established in the first act, the educated Kate,
discontented in her blacksmith father's surroundings; the flash
fascination of our transient robber; the robber's distinct lead over
Goodwin's accustomed and older blandishments. The second act saw
Goodwin turned down and the robber preferred. The third act should see
the robber's apprehension and arrest. I milled around the question
of his identification as Illinois and Indiana went past the Pullman
window; and then the one sure and unfailing witness for that purpose
volunteered--the express messenger himself. There was no reason why
this young man shouldn't be a native of Bowling Green, and come home
from St. Louis at the end of certain runs. He would know Goodwin and
the blacksmith's family; but, to put him nearer to them, more "into
the story" sentimentally, I gave Goodwin a little sister, and made the
messenger her accepted lover, with his arrest and detention postponing
the wedding. This need to free his sister's fiance gave the sheriff
hero a third reason for getting the real robber; the other two being
his official duty and the rivalry for Kate. The messenger and the
sheriff's sister, the helper and the comedy daughter, and Goodwin and
Kate, made three pairs of young lovers. This number might easily
lead to a disastrous diffusion of interest unless the playwright were
careful always to make the work of each couple, even when apparently
about their own personal affairs, really to the forward trend of the
story.
I doubt if the production of novels, even to the writer
temperamentally disposed to that form of expression, is as absorbing
as play-making. The difference between the novel and the play is the
difference between _was_ and _is_. Something has _happened_ for the
writer of the novel and for his people. He describes it as it was; and
them as they were. In the play something _is happening_. Its form is
controversial--and the playwright, by force of this controversy, is
in turn each one of his characters, and not merely a witness of their
doings. When they begin to take hold of him, their possession is more
and more insistent--all interests in real life become more and more
secondary and remote until the questions in dispute are not only
decided, but there is also a written record of the debates and the
decision.
By the time our train pulled into New York, I was impatient to make a
running transcript of speeches of my contending people. But that is
a relief that must be deferred. Like over-anxious litigants, the
characters are disposed to talk too much, and must be controlled
and kept in bounds by a proportioned scenario, assigning order, and
respective and progressive values to them. That was the work of a day
by that time, and then, with the material gathered, and the intimacy
with the people and the places, the play was one that wrote itself.
AUGUSTUS THOMAS.
[Footnote 1: The Witching Hour; Mrs. Leffingwell's Boots; The Earl
of Pawtucket; The Harvest Moon; Oliver Goldsmith [Published by Samuel
French].]
[Footnote 2: Written before the death of Mr. Goodwin.]
=HOOLEY'S THEATRE,=
TWENTY-THIRD SEASON
R.M. HOOLEY Proprietor and Manager.
HARRY J. POWERS Business Manager.
* * * * *
COMMENCING MONDAY EVENING. AUGUST 7th, 1893.
Every Evening and Saturday (Only) Matinee
MR. NAT C GOODWIN
AND COMPANION PLAYERS
Under the direction of Mr. Geo. J. Appleton, will produce for the
first time on any stage, a drama of character, entitled
="IN MIZZOURA"=
By MR. AUGUSTUS THOMAS, author of "Alabama," etc.
* * * * *
CAST OF CHARACTERS.
JIM RADBURN MR. NAT C. GOODWIN
ROBERT TRAVERS MR. FRANCIS CARLYLE
JO VERNON MR BURR. McINTOSH
COLONEL BOLLINGER MR. WM. C. BEACH
BILL SARBER MR. ROBT. G. WILSON
SAM FOWLER MR. ARTHUR HOOPS
DAVE MR. LOUIS PAYNE
ESROM MR. J.W. McANDREWS
KELLY MR. LOUIS BARRETT
CAL MR CHARLES MILLER
KATE VERNON MISS BELLE ARCHER
MRS. JO VERNON MRS. JEAN CLARA WALTERS
'LIZBETH VERNON MISS MINNIE DUPREE
EM'LY RADBURN MISS MAE E. WOOD
Virginia Students Quartette and Villagers
* * * * *
SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.
ACT I.--Living room of Jo Vernon's house. Bowling Green, Pike County,
Missouri. Time--Evening in June.
ACT II.--Blacksmith shop of Jo Vernon adjoining his residence.
Time--Morning of the second day.
ACT III.--Living room of Jo Vernon. Time--Evening of the second day.
ACT IV.--Home and door yard of Jim Radburn. Time--The next Morning.
* * * * *
The scenery painted from sketches made of the exact locality, by
Albert and Burridge.
* * * * *
EXECUTIVE STAFF FOR MR. GOODWIN.
Mr. Charles E. Power Business Manager
Mr. Louis Barrett Stage Manager
Mr. Daniel Cronin Master Carpenter
Mr. Charles Miller Properties
* * * * *
CAST.
As given at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, on Monday Evening,
September 4, 1893.
JIM RADBURN Mr. Nat C. Goodwin.
ROBERT TRAVERS Mr. Emmett Corrigan.
JO VERNON Mr. Burr McIntosh.
COLONEL BOLLINGER Mr. William G. Beach.
BILL SARBER Mr. Robert G. Wilson.
SAM FOWLER Mr. Arthur Hoops.
DAVE Mr. Louis Payne.
ESROM Mr. J.W. McAndrews.
KELLY Mr. Louis Barrett.
CAL Mr. Charles Miller.
MRS. JO VERNON Mrs. Jean Clara Walters.
'LIZBETH VERNON Miss Minnie Dupree.
EM'LY RADBURN Miss Mae E. Wood.
KATE VERNON Miss Mabel Amber.
IN MIZZOURA.
ACT I.
_Music at rise of curtain. The old "Forty-nine" tune, "My name is Joe
Bowers."_
SCENE: _Pike Co., dining-room, living-room and kitchen combined. A
line of broken plaster and unmatched wall-papers marks the ceiling and
back flat a little left of center. Doors right and left in 3. Door in
right flat. Old-fashioned table. Dresser, low window with many panes,
window-sash sliding horizontally--outside of door is pan of leaves
burning to smoke off mosquitoes._
DISCOVERED: MRS. VERNON _and_ LIZBETH. MRS. VERNON _ironing;_ LIZBETH
_at pan of fire._
MRS. VERNON. Lizbeth!
LIZBETH. Ma--?
MRS. VERNON. Move that pan a little furder off. The smoke's a
durnation sight worse'n the skeeters.
LIZBETH. [_Rising and coming in._] Well, we couldn't sleep fur 'em
last night, and it's just as well to smoke 'em good.
MRS. VERNON. But such an all fired smell--what're you burnin'?
LIZBETH. Dog fannel--
MRS. VERNON. I thought so. It's nearly turned my stomich--come, hurry
with this ironin' now.
LIZBETH. [_Coming down right of table._] Let's leave it till mornin',
ma--
MRS. VERNON. Can't, Lizbeth, it's bin put off since Wednesday, an' the
furst thing we know we'll be havin' it to do Sunday--get me another
iron. [LIZBETH _goes left_.] I'm reg'lar tuckered out.
LIZBETH. Me too. [_Sound of sledge hammer from door left._ LIZBETH
_exits._
MRS. VERNON _sits on rocker and fans herself with frayed-out palm
leaf._
MRS. VERNON. Lor'--to think o' this weather in June. It's jis'
terrible.
_Enter_ KATE. _She is neatly gowned and is of a superior clay._
KATE. Mother--
MRS. VERNON. Well, Kate?
KATE. Must we have this awful odour again to-night?
MRS. VERNON. Got to have somethin', Kate, to drive off the skeeters.
[_Enter_ LIZBETH.] I ain't slep' none for two nights.
KATE. They might be kept out some other way. [_She sits in chair._
MRS. VERNON. [_Taking the fresh iron and resuming work._] I ruined
my best pillar-slips an' nearly smothered myself with coal oil last
night. I'll try my own way now. It's all very well fur you, Kate,
whose got the only muskeeter bar in the family--
LIZBETH. [_In the rocker._] Yes, and won't let your sister sleep with
you--
KATE. I'll gladly give you the mosquito bar, Lizbeth, but two grown-up
people can't sleep in a narrow single bed.
LIZBETH. I hope you don't s'pose I'd take it.
KATE. I gave you one to make the window frames.
MRS. VERNON. Well, kin the poor girl help that, Kate? Didn't the dogs
jump through 'em? [_She indicates the ragged netting on the frame._
KATE. Why do you have the dogs about?
MRS. VERNON. Well, when you've lived as long as I have in Pike County,
you'll know you got to have dogs if you leave your winders open.
There--I've ironed another pearl button in two--yes, an' it's pulled a
piece right out o' one o' yer pa's bosoms. That's 'cause I'm so tired,
I can't see. Lizbeth, where's them prescriptions?
LIZBETH. In the yeast-powder box.
MRS. VERNON. Well, get one for me. [LIZBETH _gets box from over the
stove._] I can't go on with this ironin' without some beer.
LIZBETH. Who'll go for it?
MRS. VERNON. Ask Dave--
LIZBETH. [_At door. Calls._] Dave!
DAVE. [_Off._] Yes, Lizbeth.
LIZBETH. Ma wants you to--
MRS. VERNON. Now, don't yawp it out to the whole neighbourhood,
Lizbeth--tell Dave to come here.
LIZBETH. [_In a lower tone._] Come here!
MRS. VERNON. Give me the prescription. [LIZBETH _arranges the linen
in the basket. Enter_ DAVE.] Dave, the ironin' an' the heat an'
everything jes' about floored me--won't you go to the drug-store with
this prescription, an' get me a quart bottle of St. Louis beer?
DAVE. [_Taking the prescription._] Certainly.
MRS. VERNON. I can't send the girls after dark.
DAVE. Oh, that's all right. [_Exits to street._
MRS. VERNON. [_Ironing again._] If your pa ever does get into the
Legislature, I hope he'll defeat this blamed local auction business.
It's all well enough for those Salvation women who ain't got a thing
to do but pound tambourines, but if they had the washin', and ironin',
an' cookin' to do for a fambly of six--an' three dogs--they'd need
something to keep body an' soul together.
KATE. [_Going to street door._] How much longer shall you iron
to-night?
MRS. VERNON. Why? Do you want the room?
KATE. Oh, no--but--
LIZBETH. Is Travers coming to-night, Kate? [_Sits in rocker._
KATE. I don't know who may come.
MRS. VERNON. What difference does it make who does come?
KATE. None, except that the room is filled with smoke and--is hot.
MRS. VERNON. Well, to my mind, Travers may as well get himself used to
places that are hot and filled with smoke--fur if he ain't one of Old
Nick's own ones, I never see any--
KATE. Mother!! Mr. Travers is a gentleman!
MRS. VERNON. How do you know? Four years to a female seminary don't
make you a better judge of gentlemen than us who stay to home here.
Your pa's a gentleman if he is a wheelwright--so is Jim Radburn--
LIZBETH. And Dave--
MRS. VERNON. Yes, and Dave--
KATE. But none of them is like Mr. Travers.
MRS. VERNON. No, thank God they ain't. Travers, Kate--[_Pause_]
Travers--[_Pause_] and, mind you, I've seen men before you was
born--Travers is as much like a gambler as any I ever saw.
KATE. [_Coming down._] Look here, mother--I've heard you say you had
to run away from home with father because your people didn't like
him--but that didn't make him any worse, did it?
MRS. VERNON. Well, it didn't make him any better, Kate, and I've
regretted it from the bottom of my heart a hundred times--I want you
to understand--[_Looks uneasily at door._] I've told it to him often
enough--[_Lowering voice._] And if he was here I'd tell him again
now--that I could ha' married a doctor.
LIZBETH. You're not calculatin' to run away with Travers, are you,
Kate?
KATE. You know I'm not, Lizbeth--but I think you and mother might be a
little more considerate in what you say. I try to make the place tidy
and nice for your evenings with Dave, don't I?
LIZBETH. Well, I didn't mean nothin', Kate.
KATE. And I do my share of the housework. [_Goes to window. As her
voice trembles,_ MRS. VERNON _signals silence to_ LIZBETH.
MRS. VERNON. Of course you do, dear. Lizbeth, you oughtn't to be so
thoughtless in what you say.
_Enter_ DAVE _with beer._
DAVE. Here you are, Mrs. Vernon.
MRS. VERNON. Thank you, Dave--ask that old man in there if he'll have
a glass.
DAVE. Yes'm. [_Exit to shop._
MRS. VERNON. We'll clear the place right up, Kate--don't feel bad
about it.
KATE. You needn't, mother--if Mr. Travers calls, we can go walking.
[_Goes to door._
MRS. VERNON. No, Kate, and I say it only fur your sake--I wouldn't
have the people of Bowling Green see you trapsing the streets at night
with a man you ain't knowed but a month, fur nothin'.
_Enter_ JOE VERNON. JOE _is a six-footer, with full beard. He wears a
leather apron and has his sleeves rolled up._
JOE. Dave says, ma, that--
MRS. VERNON. Yes, here it is. [_Hands glass of beer._] Nearly dead,
Joe?
JOE. [_Smiling._] Oh, no--but I kin stand this.
KATE. Is there any objection to our spending the evening at Mrs.
Woods?
MRS. VERNON. Now, what's the attraction there?
KATE. She has a piano.
MRS. VERNON. Yes, with two teeth broke out of it. Why don't you ever
play on the melodeon? [_Pointing to it._
JOE. Yes, after Jim givin' it to you.
MRS. VERNON. [_Clearing up the ironing._] I wouldn't treat a dog the
way you treat Jim Radburn, Kate.
KATE silent at doorway.
JOE. [_At the wash-basin on the bench at back wall._] Ma, where's the
soap?
MRS. VERNON. I must a-left it in the dish-pan.
JOE _gets it and begins washing in tin basin._
JOE. [_Calling through sputter._] Dave!
DAVE. [_Off._] Yes, sir.
JOE. [_At door of shop._] Might as well shut up.
DAVE. All right.
BOLLINGER. [_Outside to the left._] Good-evening, Katie.
KATE. Good-evening, Colonel.
BOLLINGER. Rain seems to let up. Where's pa? [_Appears window._
JOE. [_Looking up from the basin._] Hello, Tom.
BOLLINGER. Evening, Joe--Mrs. Vernon--Hello, Lizbeth.
LIZBETH. [_Again in the rocker._] Hello, Colonel.
BOLLINGER. Jis' through?
JOE. Been puttin' in a little overtime.
BOLLINGER. Reckon you'll have another job.
JOE. How's that?
BOLLINGER. Louisiana stage bust a tire on the near fore-wheel
to-night.
JOE. That's so? Look out--jus' a minute. [BOLLINGER _steps aside;_ JOE
_throws water out of the window._] There, ma--don't say I lost it now.
[_Throws soap back into dish-pan._] How'd she come to do that?
BOLLINGER. Too big a load, I guess--then the rain's cut up the road
so, and she were stuck in a rut, an' all of 'em pryin' at her with
fence-rails.
JOE. Somethin' had to come.
BOLLINGER. Ye-ep.
MRS. VERNON. [_Sits at table and fans._] Won't you come in?
BOLLINGER. No, thank you. Too hot. Down to Louisiana on
business--sweat clean through two paper collars. This'n's getting
mealy. [_He wipes his neck._
JOE. 'J-ever see such weather. [_Punches_ LIZBETH _to get out of
rocker; sits in her place._ LIZBETH _goes to the melodeon stool._
BOLLINGER. Not since I was born. I hope the blamed rain's over. All
passenger trains holdin' down to eight mile an hour 'tween St. Charles
and Jonesburg on the Wabash on 'count of the wash-outs.
JOE. Why don't they ballast that air track?
BOLLINGER. Too stingy, I reckon. Say, Joe, if you git through the
convention, and they send you up to Jeff City, you'll have to jump on
the corporations.
JOE. Well, how do things look for the convention?
BOLLINGER. Well, down Louisiana way looks about six and half a dozen.
You wouldn't have any trouble at all, if we could get Radburn out o'
the race.
JOE. Well, I ain't got no right to ask him to do that.
KATE. [_From the doorway._] Do you mean, Colonel, that Mr. Radburn's
following will be a serious opposition to father's nomination?
BOLLINGER. Well, it looks that way, Kate.
KATE. Is there a chance of Mr. Radburn's getting the nomination?
BOLLINGER. Yes, I should say it was a stand-off atween him an' the
Guv'nor, but I'm a-rootin' for your pa.
MRS. VERNON. Well, I can't see what right Jim Radburn has got to be as
strong with the Democracy as Joe Vernon. [_Crosses to dish-pan._
JOE. You can't say nothin' against Jim, ma.
MRS. VERNON. I ain't. I'm just askin'.
BOLLINGER. Well, you see Jim's bein' sheriff four terms, an' never
shootin' anybody--
MRS. VERNON. Why, he's shot fifty!
BOLLINGER. Well, I meant never killin' nobody, has naturally endeared
him to the peaceable element in the community. Jim has always said,
and stuck to it, that a sheriff who couldn't wing a prisoner without
killin' him, was a nuisance--and you take his record, and go clean
through it, you'll find out this one thing. If a man was runnin', Jim
fetched him in the leg. If he pulled a gun on him, Jim smashed that
hand. And he says, "You ain't got a right to kill another man, unless
that man draws two guns at the same time."
JOE. Yes, I reckon Jim's the gamest we ever had.
BOLLINGER. He came up on the stage to-night from Louisiana.
JOE. Was he "'lectioneering" down there?
BOLLINGER. No, I ain't heerd of him makin' no canvass. He was helpin'
me to collect testimony.
MRS. VERNON. Testimony? What fur?
BOLLINGER. Sam Fowler. You know that Express Co. is holdin' him
prisoner yet?
JOE. Thought you was goin' to get a habus corpus?
BOLLINGER. Well, I was; only I went to St. Louis yesterday to see Sam.
He's all right. They've got 'im in a comfortable room at the Southern
Hotel, an' they are tryin' to make him confess that he stood in with
the express robber. He's livin' on the fat of the land, so I told him
to stick it out as long as the company did, 'cause the longer they
hold him, the more damages we'll get for false imprisonment. So Jim
Radburn an' me been fillin' in the time, gettin' witnesses to his good
character.
MRS. VERNON. What's Radburn got to do with it?
BOLLINGER. Well, you know--on account o' Emily.
MRS. VERNON. Oh, yes! I reckon that'll put off their weddin', won't
it?
BOLLINGER. I'm tryin' to fix it that way, so's to pile up the damages.
KATE. [Quickly.] Ma!
MRS. VERNON. What is it, Kate?
KATE. Why--
MRS. VERNON. Company?
KATE. Yes.
MRS. VERNON. Here, Lizbeth, take hold this basket _They carry out
basket._
KATE. Good-evening, Mr. Travers.
TRAVERS _appears at door._
TRAVERS. Good-evening, Miss Vernon--good-evening, Colonel.
BOLLINGER. Evening.
TRAVERS. The rain seems to be over at last. [_He fans himself with his
hat._
BOLLINGER. I reckon we'll have some more of it with that ring around
the moon.
TRAVERS. [_Coming into doorway._] Anything new about the express
robber?--Good-evening, Mr. Vernon.
JOE. [_Up to stove; tries bottle._] How are you?
BOLLINGER. I ain't heard anything 'cept what's in the morning papers.
TRAVERS. What was that? I didn't see them.
BOLLINGER. Why, the blamed cuss has mailed one of the empty
money-wrappers to the _Globe-Democrat_ to show he's the real robber,
and sent a letter sayin' Sam Fowler was innocent.
TRAVERS. Yes? Well, did that do any good?
BOLLINGER. On the contrary, sir, the express company says he wouldn't
be so anxious about Sam--if Sam weren't a friend of his'n.
_Re-enter_ MRS. VERNON _and_ LIZBETH. LIZBETH _to rocker._
MRS. VERNON. [_Pleasantly._] Good-evening, Mr. Travers.
TRAVERS. Good-evening, Mrs. Vernon--Miss Elizabeth.
LIZBETH. Good-evening.
MRS. VERNON. Hasn't Kate had the politeness to ask you in?
TRAVERS. Well, it's a little cooler out here.
KATE. Won't you come in?
MRS. VERNON. Do come--the skeeters'll kill you out there.
TRAVERS _enters._
JOE. Don't sit there. I just splashed some water there, an' it'ud spot
them pants scandalous. [_Down to melodeon._
MRS. VERNON. Lizbeth, give Mr. Travers the rocker.
LIZBETH _to bench._
TRAVERS. Oh, no, I beg of you.
MRS. VERNON. Yes, it's the most comfortable. [_Places the rocker for
him._] Vernon there had to put his feet through it yesterday, fixin'
the stove pipe, and they ain't been no furniture man along to mend it,
though he ginerally comes Fridays.
TRAVERS. Thank you. [_Sits;_ KATE _to chair at table;_ MRS. VERNON _to
cupboard, busy._
JIM. [_Off._] Hello, Bollinger, can't I shake you?
BOLLINGER. Well, looks like you was doin' the followin'--ha, ha!
JOE. Is that Jim?
BOLLINGER. Yes--comin' here--[_Calls._] You ain't got that cripple
with you yit?
JIM. Yes--where do you think I'd leave him?
_Enter_ JIM RADBURN _from right to door, with small yellow dog in his
arms. One front paw is tied up._
JOE. Hello, Jim, what's that you got there?
JIM. Er--a--his leg's broke.
JOE. [_Laughing._] Didn't pull a gun on you, did he?
JIM. The blamed fool dropped a fence-rail on him. Good-eve'n'g, Kate.
KATE. Good-evening, Jim.
MRS. VERNON. 'Tain't one o' Beauty's pups, is it?
JIM. No, 'tain't no dog o' mine. Jes' follered me--run after the
stage--then, when she was stuck in the mud, Bill Sarber dropped a rail
he was prying with, and--broke his poor little leg.
BOLLINGER. Sarber's the awkwardest cuss anyhow.
MRS. VERNON. Always was.
BOLLINGER. Then he laffed, and Jim made him 'pologize to everybody in
the stage.
JIM. [_Looking about._] What you been doin' to the room?
JOE. [_Proudly._] Took out the partition.
JIM. I see. Makin' some improvements. Looks bully, don't it?
JOE. Makes the dinin'-room bigger, an' gives more space in the
kitchen. Saves steps for ma.
MRS. VERNON. [_Approaching dog._] What kind of a poultice's that?
Flaxseed?
JIM. Gumbo.
MRS. VERNON. Gumbo?
BOLLINGER. That's what they call that soft mud the river leaves down
there when it rises--gumbo.
JIM. It's only a cushion so the joltin' wouldn't hurt him. I just been
with him to Clark's drug-store. [_To front._] Clark said he wasn't a
dog doctor.
JOE. Wouldn't 'tend to him, eh?
JIM. No--but I'll square it with him. He's up for coroner.
[_Starts for shop--stops_.] I told him that a man what'd see a little
dumb animal suffer ought to be drummed out of town. Is Dave there?
JOE. Yes.
JIM. Well, we'll splinter this leg ourselves. [_Going_.
TRAVERS. Why don't you kill him, and put him out of misery?
JIM. [_Pause in door_.] Kill this little dog that took a fancy to me,
and followed the stage when I got in it!
TRAVERS. Yes--why not?
JIM. [_After appealing look to the others; then back to_ TRAVERS.]
Why, I never killed a man. [_Exit into shop_; JOE, MRS. VERNON,
LIZBETH, _follow laughing_.
BOLLINGER _exits_
TRAVERS. [_Going to table_.] What did he say?
KATE. That he never killed a man.
TRAVERS. Well, neither have I. Is that an unusual reputation in Pike
County?
KATE. It is for one who, like Mr. Radburn, carries seven bullets in
his own' body, fired there by men he was arresting.
TRAVERS. I've heard he was very fond of you.
KATE. [_Turning away_.] Don't talk of that.
TRAVERS. May I talk of _my_ love for you?
KATE. [_Turning_.] Yes.
TRAVERS. You are not happy here.
KATE. I feel it is unworthy in me to say that I am not.
TRAVERS. Yet, you are not--
KATE. The narrowness of the life oppresses me. I do not live in their
world of work and humble wishes--they made the mistake of sending
me away to school. I have seen a bigger world than theirs. [_Turns,
elbows on table; impulsively_.] I like you, Mr. Travers, because you
are a part of that bigger world.
TRAVERS. You like me, Kate! Only like? No more?
KATE. I don't know.
TRAVERS. Will you go with me--away from here, into that bigger world?
KATE. Not until I am sure it is you for whom I go, and not merely for
the liberty.
TRAVERS. How will you ever tell?
KATE. Some accident will teach me. It is a dreadful moment, isn't
it, when we learn that kinship, the truest kinship, is not a thing
of blood, but of ideas--my college mates, who thought as I did, were
nearer to me than my family, who never can think as I do.
_Enter_ MRS. VERNON.
MRS. VERNON. I never see such a hero as that little dog--he jis'
seemed to know they was helpin' him when they pulled them poor bones
together--jes' look how quiet he stands--whinnered a little, but
didn't holler 'tall. [TRAVERS _goes up to door_.
KATE. [_Aside_.] That is enough to make the man despise me! [_Goes
back to table_.
TRAVERS. [_Going up_.] Oh, yes--he knows he's among friends.
MRS. VERNON. [_Looking into shop_.] Now I say they's lots of folks of
education what ain't got as much sense as that dog.
TRAVERS _comes down._
KATE. Let us go walking. I can't breathe in here.