The Hallway

Characters.

The time is a morning in July, 1913.

The scene is a narrow, dark hallway. The only light comes from the end of the hall, where a door swings dejectedly out on a rear porch. The doors along the hall are closed. Near the front of the hall, at the left, open the stairs leading to the floor below.

At these stairs appear two heads, those of Mary Burke and Mrs. Stephens. The owners climb cautiously to the hall level. Their white shirtwaists blur incongruously in the dirty half light.

Mary—Whew! I should hope no one had to live in this torrid hole.

Mrs. Stephens—Probably thickly settled.

(She raps at the first door on the left. The two wait.)

Mary—No one there. (She steps across to the door at right and knocks. There is no sound but the dull creak of the door at the far end of the hall.)

Mrs. Stephens—Well, there are more doors.

(Mary goes on to the end of the hall, knocking vigorously at each door. She peers out on the porch and calls to a child.)

Mary—Little boy! Is no one at home up here?

(A faint voice answers)—Which door?

Mary (coming back up the hall)—He says the middle door. That might be here.

Mrs. Stephens (joining her)—Let’s knock on both at once. Good and loud!

(They beat a loud summons on the doors. After a disappointing moment the door at the left is hurled open and a bulky woman heaves over the threshold. As she permits little light to pass her the hall is still dark.)

Mrs. Stephens (cordially)—Good morning, good morning! We are making out the list of women in this ward. (She unfolds a long sheet. The hall grows so perceptibly lighter that she and Mary turn, to discover that the door opposite has opened, and a woman in a wispy wrapper is peering up at them suspiciously. Several children thrust frowzled heads around her skirts.)

Mary Burke—Oh, good morning! We thought no one was at home.

Mrs. Stephens (rapidly stepping back to address both women)—We are making a census of the women in this ward who are eligible to vote. Will you give us your names, please?

Large woman on left—Vote is it? Put me down.

Mrs. Rose O’Moore—For the women every time.

Mrs. Stephens (writing)—Mrs. Rose—what was it?

Mrs. O’Moore—O’Moore—I said.

Mrs. Stephens—Thank you. This is 5459 1-2 River avenue, isn’t it?

Mrs. O’Moore—It is that.

Mary B. (to other woman)—And your name?

Woman on right—Is it for votin’? I ain’t given my name for that.

Mary B.—Don’t you believe in woman’s rights?

Woman—What rights? Women ain’t no time for rights. Get back there. (She cuffs at a child that is tugging at her skirts.)

Mrs. O’Moore—We got to get ’em. Down with the men, I say!

Mrs. Stephens (soothingly)—You can give us your name anyway. That doesn’t mean you must vote. We just wish to know every woman in the city.

Woman—I’d have to ask my man. He’d be sore for me to go givin’ his name to votes for women.

Mrs. O’Moore—Her name is ’Ump. Mrs. Bill ’Ump. Tell it to ’em. He don’t need to know.

Woman (shortly)—H’ump. Not ’Ump. But he’d find out soon enough. Trust ’im.

Mrs. Stephens—Can’t you talk it over with your husband, and let me come tomorrow?

Mrs. Hump—I ain’t to home much.

Mrs. O’Moore—Tell ’em why you’re home today. Show ’em yer hand as ever was! I’d talk it over, I would.

Mrs. Hump (attempting to conceal her hand, which is a bundle of dirty rags)—He didn’t go for to scald me.

Mrs. O’Moore—I’d talk it over, I would. (To Mary.) She scrubs every day. Nights, too.

Mrs. Hump—He works pretty regular.

Mrs. Stephens—Doesn’t he believe in women’s voting?

Mrs. O’Moore (scornfully)—Him!

Mrs. Hump—Men doesn’t want their women wasting time on such.

Mary B. (passionately, as though she had held her peace beyond her endurance)—But, Mrs. Hump, have you a daughter, a little girl? Do you want her to grow up and live as you do, working, asking a man what she may do? Don’t you care to help make her life better?

Mrs. O’Moore—Three girls she’s got.

Mrs. Hump—I didn’t want none.

Mary—Why not do what you can to help all women?

Mrs. O’Moore—That’s what I say. Down with the men!

Mrs. Stephens (gently)—Up with the women, we say.

Mrs. Hump—How can women be up?

Mary (with idealistic fervor)—By standing together and working together. By making better laws, better people, a better world! Give us your name. Come and help us!

Mrs. O’Moore—Hoorar!

Mrs. Hump (doubtfully)—Well, I could give you my name, but he wouldn’t let me vote, nor me with ever a minute to do it.

Mrs. Stephens—Oh, thank you. (Writes on list.) Mrs.—What is the first name?

Mrs. O’Moore—Bill.

Mrs. Hump (with heat)—William! Mrs. William Hump.

Mary—And I’ll come back some day to talk with you. May I?

Mrs. Hump—I’d be out to work, like as not.

Mrs. O’Moore—I’m in. I take in washing.

Mary—I’ll try. I want to talk about things.

Mrs. Stephens (briskly)—You’ll be sent notices later. We must be on. Good morning.

Mary—Good morning.

(She extends her hand impetuously to Mrs. O’Moore, who pumps it with gusto, then to Mrs. Hump, who touches it awkwardly with her unharmed left hand.)

(Mary and Mrs. Stephens come down the hall, leaving the two women silhouetted against the pale light. One of the children runs after them, stumbles and goes down with a wail. As they pass the closed doors, Mary turns.)

Mary—Is anyone living here?

Mrs. O’Moore—You’d have to come at night. She works out by the day. Some of these is her kids.

(Mary looks in distress at Mrs. Stephens, who smiles at her. As they turn down the stairs, they wave a good-bye to the women, who are still watching them.)