The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beyond the Horizon, by Eugene O'Neill This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: Beyond the Horizon Author: Eugene O'Neill Release Date: December 30, 2018 [EBook #58569] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEYOND THE HORIZON *** Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Dramatists Play Service, Inc. Established by members of the Dramatists’ Guild of the Authors’ League of America for the handling of the non-professional acting rights of members’ plays and the encouragement of the non-professional theatre. BARRETT H. CLARK _Executive Director_ _The_ DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC., leases plays, including Broadway successes, standard plays of the past, and new plays not yet professionally produced, for the use of college and university theatres, Little Theatres and other types of non-professionals in the United States, Canada, and other English-speaking countries. Please send for lists and other information. _Advisory Board_ SIDNEY HOWARD GEORGE S. KAUFMAN JOHN HOWARD LAWSON HOWARD LINDSAY ALBERT MALTZ KENYON NICHOLSON CLIFFORD ODETS EDWARD CHILDS CARPENTER EUGENE O’NEILL PHILIP BARRY ELMER RICE ROBERT E. SHERWOOD WALTER PRICHARD EATON JOHN WEXLEY GEORGE ABBOTT MAXWELL ANDERSON MARC CONNELLY RACHEL CROTHERS MARTIN FLAVIN SUSAN GLASPELL JOHN GOLDEN ARTHUR HOPKINS AUSTIN STRONG 6 EAST 39TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY BEYOND THE HORIZON By EUGENE O’NEILL PUBLISHED FOR THE DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE _by_ RANDOM HOUSE NEW YORK _Copyright, 1921, by Eugene O’Neill_ CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that _Beyond the Horizon_, being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, the British Empire, including the Dominion of Canada, and all other countries of the copyright union, is subject to a royalty. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, public reading, radio broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved. In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only. All inquiries regarding this play should be addressed to Richard J. Madden Play Company, at 1501 Broadway, New York, N. Y. The non-professional acting rights of _Beyond the Horizon_ are controlled exclusively by the Dramatists Play Service, Inc., 6 East 39th Street, New York, N. Y., without whose permission in writing no performance of it may be made. _Manufactured in the United States of America_ CHARACTERS JAMES MAYO, _a farmer_ KATE MAYO, _his wife_ CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT, _of the bark_ Sunda, _her brother_ ANDREW MAYO } ROBERT MAYO } _sons of_ JAMES MAYO RUTH ATKINS MRS. ATKINS, _her widowed mother_ MARY BEN, _a farm hand_ DOCTOR FAWCETT ACT I SCENE I: The Road. Sunset of a day in Spring. SCENE II: The Farm House. The same night. ACT II (_Three years later_) SCENE I: The Farm House. Noon of a Summer day. SCENE II: The top of a hill on the farm overlooking the sea. The following day. ACT III (_Five years later_) SCENE I: The Farm House. Dawn of a day in late Fall. SCENE II: The Road. Sunrise. BEYOND THE HORIZON ACT ONE SCENE ONE _A section of country highway. The road runs diagonally from the left, forward, to the right, rear, and can be seen in the distance winding toward the horizon like a pale ribbon between the low, rolling hills with their freshly plowed fields clearly divided from each other, checkerboard fashion, by the lines of stone walls and rough snake fences._ _The forward triangle cut off by the road is a section of a field from the dark earth of which myriad bright-green blades of fall-sown rye are sprouting. A straggling line of piled rocks, too low to be called a wall, separates this field from the road._ _To the rear of the road is a ditch with a sloping, grassy bank on the far side. From the center of this an old, gnarled apple tree, just budding into leaf, strains its twisted branches heavenwards, black against the pallor of distance. A snake-fence sidles from left to right along the top of the bank, passing beneath the apple tree._ _The hushed twilight of a day in May is just beginning. The horizon hills are still rimmed by a faint line of flame, and the sky above them glows with the crimson flush of the sunset. This fades gradually as the action of the scene progresses._ _At the rise of the curtain_, ROBERT MAYO _is discovered sitting on the fence. He is a tall, slender young man of twenty-three. There is a touch of the poet about him expressed in his high forehead and wide, dark eyes. His features are delicate and refined, leaning to weakness in the mouth and chin. He is dressed in gray corduroy trousers pushed into high laced boots, and a blue flannel shirt with a bright colored tie. He is reading a book by the fading sunset light. He shuts this, keeping a finger in to mark the place, and turns his head toward the horizon, gazing out over the fields and hills. His lips move as if he were reciting something to himself._ _His brother_ ANDREW _comes along the road from the right, returning from his work in the fields. He is twenty-seven years old, an opposite type to_ ROBERT--_husky, sun-bronzed, handsome in a large-featured, manly fashion--a son of the soil, intelligent in a shrewd way, but with nothing of the intellectual about him. He wears overalls, leather boots, a gray flannel shirt open at the neck, and a soft, mud-stained hat pushed back on his head. He stops to talk to_ ROBERT, _leaning on the hoe he carries_. ANDREW. (_seeing_ ROBERT _has not noticed his presence--in a loud shout_) Hey there! (ROBERT _turns with a start. Seeing who it is, he smiles_) Gosh, you do take the prize for daydreaming! And I see you’ve toted one of the old books along with you. (_He crosses the ditch and sits on the fence near his brother_) What is it this time--poetry, I’ll bet. (_He reaches for the book_) Let me see. ROBERT. (_handing it to him rather reluctantly_) Look out you don’t get it full of dirt. ANDREW. (_glancing at his hands_) That isn’t dirt--it’s good clean earth. (_He turns over the pages. His eyes read something and he gives an exclamation of disgust_) Hump! (_With a provoking grin at his brother he reads aloud in a doleful, sing-song voice_) “I have loved wind and light and the bright sea. But holy and most sacred night, not as I love and have loved thee.” (_He hands the book back_) Here! Take it and bury it. I suppose it’s that year in college gave you a liking for that kind of stuff. I’m darn glad I stopped at High School, or maybe I’d been crazy too. (_He grins and slaps_ ROBERT _on the back affectionately_) Imagine me reading poetry and plowing at the same time! The team’d run away, I’ll bet. ROBERT. (_laughing_) Or picture me plowing. ANDREW. You should have gone back to college last fall, like I know you wanted to. You’re fitted for that sort of thing--just as I ain’t. ROBERT. You know why I didn’t go back, Andy. Pa didn’t like the idea, even if he didn’t say so; and I know he wanted the money to use improving the farm. And besides, I’m not keen on being a student, just because you see me reading books all the time. What I want to do now is keep on moving so that I won’t take root in any one place. ANDREW. Well, the trip you’re leaving on tomorrow will keep you moving all right. (_At this mention of the trip they both fall silent. There is a pause. Finally_ ANDREW _goes on, awkwardly, attempting to speak casually_) Uncle says you’ll be gone three years. ROBERT. About that, he figures. ANDREW. (_moodily_) That’s a long time. ROBERT. Not so long when you come to consider it. You know the _Sunda_ sails around the Horn for Yokohama first, and that’s a long voyage on a sailing ship; and if we go to any of the other places Uncle Dick mentions--India, or Australia, or South Africa, or South America--they’ll be long voyages, too. ANDREW. You can have all those foreign parts for all of me. (_After a pause_) Ma’s going to miss you a lot, Rob. ROBERT. Yes--and I’ll miss her. ANDREW. And Pa ain’t feeling none too happy to have you go--though he’s been trying not to show it. ROBERT. I can see how he feels. ANDREW. And you can bet that I’m not giving any cheers about it. (_He puts one hand on the fence near_ ROBERT). ROBERT. (_putting one hand on top of_ ANDREW’S _with a gesture almost of shyness_) I know that, too, Andy. ANDREW. I’ll miss you as much as anybody, I guess. You see, you and I ain’t like most brothers--always fighting and separated a lot of the time, while we’ve always been together--just the two of us. It’s different with us. That’s why it hits so hard, I guess. ROBERT. (_with feeling_) It’s just as hard for me, Andy--believe that! I hate to leave you and the old folks--but--I feel I’ve got to. There’s something calling me---- (_He points to the horizon_) Oh, I can’t just explain it to you, Andy. ANDREW. No need to, Rob. (_Angry at himself_) Hell! You want to go--that’s all there is to it; and I wouldn’t have you miss this chance for the world. ROBERT. It’s fine of you to feel that way, Andy. ANDREW. Huh! I’d be a nice son-of-a-gun if I didn’t, wouldn’t I? When I know how you need this sea trip to make a new man of you--in the body, I mean--and give you your full health back. ROBERT. (_a trifle impatiently_) All of you seem to keep harping on my health. You were so used to seeing me lying around the house in the old days that you never will get over the notion that I’m a chronic invalid. You don’t realize how I’ve bucked up in the past few years. If I had no other excuse for going on Uncle Dick’s ship but just my health, I’d stay right here and start in plowing. ANDREW. Can’t be done. Farming ain’t your nature. There’s all the difference shown in just the way us two feel about the farm. You--well, you like the home part of it, I expect; but as a place to work and grow things, you hate it. Ain’t that right? ROBERT. Yes, I suppose it is. For you it’s different. You’re a Mayo through and through. You’re wedded to the soil. You’re as much a product of it as an ear of corn is, or a tree. Father is the same. This farm is his life-work, and he’s happy in knowing that another Mayo, inspired by the same love, will take up the work where he leaves off. I can understand your attitude, and Pa’s; and I think it’s wonderful and sincere. But I--well, I’m not made that way. ANDREW. No, you ain’t; but when it comes to understanding, I guess I realize that you’ve got your own angle of looking at things. ROBERT. (_musingly_) I wonder if you do, really. ANDREW. (_confidently_) Sure I do. You’ve seen a bit of the world, enough to make the farm seem small, and you’ve got the itch to see it all. ROBERT. It’s more than that, Andy. ANDREW. Oh, of course. I know you’re going to learn navigation, and all about a ship, so’s you can be an officer. That’s natural, too. There’s fair pay in it, I expect, when you consider that you’ve always got a home and grub thrown in; and if you’re set on traveling, you can go anywhere you’re a mind to without paying fare. ROBERT. (_with a smile that is half sad_) It’s more than that, Andy. ANDREW. Sure it is. There’s always a chance of a good thing coming your way in some of those foreign ports or other. I’ve heard there are great opportunities for a young fellow with his eyes open in some of those new countries that are just being opened up. (_Jovially_) I’ll bet that’s what you’ve been turning over in your mind under all your quietness! (_He slaps his brother on the back with a laugh_) Well, if you get to be a millionaire all of a sudden, call ’round once in a while and I’ll pass the plate to you. We could use a lot of money right here on the farm without hurting it any. ROBERT. (_forced to laugh_) I’ve never considered that practical side of it for a minute, Andy. ANDREW. Well, you ought to. ROBERT. No, I oughtn’t. (_Pointing to the horizon--dreamily_) Supposing I was to tell you that it’s just Beauty that’s calling me, the beauty of the far off and unknown, the mystery and spell of the East which lures me in the books I’ve read, the need of the freedom of great wide spaces, the joy of wandering on and on--in quest of the secret which is hidden over there, beyond the horizon? Suppose I told you that was the one and only reason for my going? ANDREW. I should say you were nutty. ROBERT. (_frowning_) Don’t, Andy. I’m serious. ANDREW. Then you might as well stay here, because we’ve got all you’re looking for right on this farm. There’s wide space enough, Lord knows; and you can have all the sea you want by walking a mile down to the beach; and there’s plenty of horizon to look at, and beauty enough for anyone, except in the winter. (_He grins_) As for the mystery and spell, I haven’t met ’em yet, but they’re probably lying around somewheres. I’ll have you understand this is a first class farm with all the fixings. (_He laughs_) ROBERT. (_joining in the laughter in spite of himself_) It’s no use talking to you, you chump! ANDREW. You’d better not say anything to Uncle Dick about spells and things when you’re on the ship. He’ll likely chuck you overboard for a Jonah. (_He jumps down from fence_) I’d better run along. I’ve got to wash up some as long as Ruth’s Ma is coming over for supper. ROBERT. (_pointedly--almost bitterly_) And Ruth. ANDREW. (_confused--looking everywhere except at_ ROBERT--_trying to appear unconcerned_) Yes, Ruth’ll be staying too. Well, I better hustle, I guess, and---- (_He steps over the ditch to the road while he is talking_). ROBERT. (_who appears to be fighting some strong inward emotion--impulsively_) Wait a minute, Andy! (_He jumps down from the fence_) There is something I want to---- (_He stops abruptly, biting his lips, his face coloring_). ANDREW. (_facing him; half-defiantly_) Yes? ROBERT. (_confusedly_) No---- never mind---- it doesn’t matter, it was nothing. ANDREW. (_after a pause, during which he stares fixedly at_ ROBERT’S _averted face_) Maybe I can guess---- what you were going to say---- but I guess you’re right not to talk about it. (_He pulls_ ROBERT’S _hand from his side and grips it tensely; the two brothers stand looking into each other’s eyes for a minute_) We can’t help those things, Rob. (_He turns away, suddenly releasing_ ROBERT’S _hand_) You’ll be coming along shortly, won’t you? ROBERT. (_dully_) Yes. ANDREW. See you later, then. (_He walks of down the road to the left._ ROBERT _stares after him for a moment; then climbs to the fence rail again, and looks out over the hills, an expression of deep grief on his face. After a moment or so_, RUTH _enters hurriedly from the left. She is a healthy, blonde, out-of-door girl of twenty, with a graceful, slender figure. Her face, though inclined to roundness, is undeniably pretty, its large eyes of a deep blue set off strikingly by the sun-bronzed complexion. Her small, regular features are marked by a certain strength--an underlying, stubborn fixity of purpose hidden in the frankly-appealing charm of her fresh youthfulness. She wears a simple white dress but no hat_). RUTH. (_seeing him_) Hello, Rob! ROBERT. (_startled_) Hello, Ruth! RUTH. (_jumps the ditch and perches on the fence beside him_) I was looking for you. ROBERT. (_pointedly_) Andy just left here. RUTH. I know. I met him on the road a second ago. He told me you were here. (_Tenderly playful_) I wasn’t looking for Andy, Smarty, if that’s what you mean. I was looking for _you_. ROBERT. Because I’m going away tomorrow? RUTH. Because your mother was anxious to have you come home and asked me to look for you. I just wheeled Ma over to your house. ROBERT. (_perfunctorily_) How is your mother? RUTH. (_a shadow coming over her face_) She’s about the same. She never seems to get any better or any worse. Oh, Rob, I do wish she’d try to make the best of things that can’t be helped. ROBERT. Has she been nagging at you again? RUTH. (_nods her head, and then breaks forth rebelliously_) She never stops nagging. No matter what I do for her she finds fault. If only Pa was still living---- (_She stops as if ashamed of her outburst_) I suppose I shouldn’t complain this way. (_She sighs_) Poor Ma, Lord knows it’s hard enough for her. I suppose it’s natural to be cross when you’re not able ever to walk a step. Oh, I’d like to be going away some place--like you! ROBERT. It’s hard to stay--and equally hard to go, sometimes. RUTH. There! If I’m not the stupid body! I swore I wasn’t going to speak about your trip--until after you’d gone; and there I go, first thing! ROBERT. Why didn’t you want to speak of it? RUTH. Because I didn’t want to spoil this last night you’re here. Oh, Rob, I’m going to--we’re all going to miss you so awfully. Your mother is going around looking as if she’d burst out crying any minute. You ought to know how I feel. Andy and you and I--why it seems as if we’d always been together. ROBERT. (_with a wry attempt at a smile_) You and Andy will still have each other. It’ll be harder for me without anyone. RUTH. But you’ll have new sights and new people to take your mind off; while we’ll be here with the old, familiar place to remind us every minute of the day. It’s a shame you’re going--just at this time, in spring, when everything is getting so nice. (_With a sigh_) I oughtn’t to talk that way when I know going’s the best thing for you. You’re bound to find all sorts of opportunities to get on, your father says. ROBERT. (_heatedly_) I don’t give a damn about that! I wouldn’t take a voyage across the road for the best opportunity in the world of the kind Pa thinks of. (_He smiles at his own irritation_) Excuse me, Ruth, for getting worked up over it; but Andy gave me an overdose of the practical considerations. RUTH. (_slowly, puzzled_) Well, then, if it isn’t---- (_With sudden intensity_) Oh, Rob, why _do_ you want to go? ROBERT. (_turning to her quickly, in surprise--slowly_) Why do you ask that, Ruth? RUTH. (_dropping her eyes before his searching glance_) Because---- (_Lamely_) It seems such a shame. ROBERT. (_insistently_) Why? RUTH. Oh, because--everything. ROBERT. I could hardly back out now, even if I wanted to. And I’ll be forgotten before you know it. RUTH. (_indignantly_) You won’t! I’ll never forget---- (_She stops and turns away to hide her confusion_). ROBERT. (_softly_) Will you promise me that? RUTH. (_evasively_) Of course. It’s mean of you to think that any of us would forget so easily. ROBERT. (_disappointedly_) Oh! RUTH. (_with an attempt at lightness_) But you haven’t told me your reason for leaving yet? ROBERT. (_moodily_) I doubt if you’ll understand. It’s difficult to explain, even to myself. Either you feel it, or you don’t. I can remember being conscious of it first when I was only a kid--you haven’t forgotten what a sickly specimen I was then, in those days, have you? RUTH. (_with a shudder_) Let’s not think about them. ROBERT. You’ll have to, to understand. Well, in those days, when Ma was fixing meals, she used to get me out of the way by pushing my chair to the west window and telling me to look out and be quiet. That wasn’t hard. I guess I was always quiet. RUTH. (_compassionately_) Yes, you always were--and you suffering so much, too! ROBERT. (_musingly_) So I used to stare out over the fields to the hills, out there--(_He points to the horizon_) and somehow after a time I’d forget any pain I was in, and start dreaming. I knew the sea was over beyond those hills,--the folks had told me--and I used to wonder what the sea was like, and try to form a picture of it in my mind. (_With a smile_) There was all the mystery in the world to me then about that--far-off sea--and there still is! It called to me then just as it does now. (_After a slight pause_) And other times my eyes would follow this road, winding off into the distance, toward the hills, as if it, too, was searching for the sea. And I’d promise myself that when I grew up and was strong, I’d follow that road, and it and I would find the sea together. (_With a smile_) You see, my making this trip is only keeping that promise of long ago. RUTH. (_charmed by his low, musical voice telling the dreams of his childhood_) Yes, I see. ROBERT. Those were the only happy moments of my life then, dreaming there at the window. I liked to be all alone--those times. I got to know all the different kinds of sunsets by heart. And all those sunsets took place over there--(_He points_) beyond the horizon. So gradually I came to believe that all the wonders of the world happened on the other side of those hills. There was the home of the good fairies who performed beautiful miracles. I believed in fairies then. (_With a smile_) Perhaps I still do believe in them. Anyway, in those days they were real enough, and sometimes I could actually hear them calling to me to come out and play with them, dance with them down the road in the dusk in a game of hide-and-seek to find out where the sun was hiding himself. They sang their little songs to me, songs that told of all the wonderful things they had in their home on the other side of the hills; and they promised to show me all of them, if I’d only come, come! But I couldn’t come then, and I used to cry sometimes and Ma would think I was in pain. (_He breaks off suddenly with a laugh_) That’s why I’m going now, I suppose. For I can still hear them calling. But the horizon is as far away and as luring as ever. (_He turns to her--softly_) Do you understand now, Ruth? RUTH. (_spellbound, in a whisper_) Yes. ROBERT. You feel it then? RUTH. Yes, yes, I do! (_Unconsciously she snuggles close against his side. His arm steals about her as if he were not aware of the action_) Oh, Rob, how could I help feeling it? You tell things so beautifully! ROBERT. (_suddenly realizing that his arm is around her, and that her head is resting on his shoulder, gently takes his arm away._ RUTH, _brought back to herself, is overcome with confusion_) So now you know why I’m going. It’s for that reason--that and one other. RUTH. You’ve another? Then you must tell me that, too. ROBERT. (_looking at her searchingly. She drops her eyes before his gaze_) I wonder if I ought to! You’ll promise not to be angry--whatever it is? RUTH. (_softly, her face still averted_) Yes, I promise. ROBERT. (_simply_) I love you. That’s the other reason. RUTH. (_hiding her face in her hands_) Oh, Rob! ROBERT. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I feel I have to. It can’t matter now that I’m going so far away, and for so long--perhaps forever. I’ve loved you all these years, but the realization never came ’til I agreed to go away with Uncle Dick. Then I thought of leaving you, and the pain of that thought revealed to me in a flash--that I loved you, had loved you as long as I could remember. (_He gently pulls one of_ RUTH’S _hands away from her face_) You mustn’t mind my telling you this, Ruth. I realize how impossible it all is--and I understand; for the revelation of my own love seemed to open my eyes to the love of others. I saw Andy’s love for you--and I knew that you must love him. RUTH. (_breaking out storming_) I don’t! I don’t love Andy! I don’t! (ROBERT _stares at her in stupid astonishment_. RUTH _weeps hysterically_) Whatever--put such a fool notion into--into your head? (_She suddenly throws her arms about his neck and hides her head on his shoulder_) Oh, Rob! Don’t go away! Please! You mustn’t, now! You can’t! I won’t let you! It’d break my--my heart! ROBERT. (_The expression of stupid bewilderment giving way to one of overwhelming joy. He presses her close to him--slowly and tenderly_) Do you mean that--that you love me? RUTH. (_sobbing_) Yes, yes--of course I do--what d’you s’pose? (_She lifts up her head and looks into his eyes with a tremulous smile_) You stupid thing! (_He kisses her_) I’ve loved you right along. ROBERT. (_mystified_) But you and Andy were always together! RUTH. Because you never seemed to want to go any place with me. You were always reading an old book, and not paying any attention to me. I was too proud to let you see I cared because I thought the year you had away to college had made you stuck-up, and you thought yourself too educated to waste any time on me. ROBERT. (_kissing her_) And I was thinking---- (_With a laugh_) What fools we’ve both been! RUTH. (_overcome by a sudden fear_) You won’t go away on the trip, will you, Rob? You’ll tell them you can’t go on account of me, won’t you? You can’t go now! You can’t! ROBERT. (_bewildered_) Perhaps--you can come too. RUTH. Oh, Rob, don’t be so foolish. You know I can’t. Who’d take care of ma? Don’t you see I couldn’t go--on her account? (_She clings to him imploringly_) Please don’t go--not now. Tell them you’ve decided not to. They won’t mind. I know your mother and father’ll be glad. They’ll all be. They don’t want you to go so far away from them. Please, Rob! We’ll be so happy here together where it’s natural and we know things. Please tell me you won’t go! ROBERT. (_face to face with a definite, final decision, betrays the conflict going on within him_) But--Ruth--I--Uncle Dick---- RUTH. He won’t mind when he knows it’s for your happiness to stay. How could he? (_As_ ROBERT _remains silent she bursts into sobs again_) Oh, Rob! And you said--you loved me! ROBERT. (_conquered by this appeal--an irrevocable decision in his voice_) I won’t go, Ruth. I promise you. There! Don’t cry! (_He presses her to him, stroking her hair tenderly. After a pause he speaks with happy hopefulness_) Perhaps after all Andy was right--righter than he knew--when he said I could find all the things I was seeking for here, at home on the farm. I think love must have been the secret--the secret that called to me from over the world’s rim--the secret beyond every horizon; and when I did not come, it came to me. (_He clasps_ RUTH _to him fiercely_) Oh, Ruth, our love is sweeter than any distant dream! (_He kisses her passionately and steps to the ground, lifting_ RUTH _in his arms and carrying her to the road where he puts her down_). RUTH. (_with a happy laugh_) My, but you’re strong! ROBERT. Come! We’ll go and tell them at once. RUTH. (_dismayed_) Oh, no, don’t, Rob, not ’til after I’ve gone. There’d be bound to be such a scene with them all together. ROBERT. (_kissing her--gayly_) As you like--Little Miss Common Sense! RUTH. Let’s go, then. (_She takes his hand, and they start to go off left._ ROBERT _suddenly stops and turns as though for a last look at the hills and the dying sunset flush_). ROBERT. (_looking upward and pointing_) See! The first star. (_He bends down and kisses her tenderly_) _Our_ star! RUTH. (_in a soft murmur_) Yes. Our very own star. (_They stand for a moment looking up at it, their arms around each other. Then_ RUTH _takes his hand again and starts to lead him away_) Come, Rob, let’s go. (_His eyes are fixed again on the horizon as he half turns to follow her._ RUTH _urges_) We’ll be late for supper, Rob. ROBERT. (_shakes his head impatiently, as though he were throwing off some disturbing thought--with a laugh_) All right. We’ll run then. Come on! (_They run of laughing as_ (_The Curtain Falls_) ACT ONE SCENE TWO _The sitting room of the Mayo farm house about nine o’clock the same night. On the left, two windows looking out on the fields. Against the wall between the windows, an old-fashioned walnut desk. In the left corner, rear, a sideboard with a mirror. In the rear wall to the right of the sideboard, a window looking out on the road. Neat to the window a door leading out into the yard. Farther right, a black horse-hair sofa, and another door opening on a bedroom. In the corner, a straight-backed chair. In the right wall, near the middle, an open doorway leading to the kitchen. Farther forward a double-heater stove with coal scuttle, etc. In the center of the newly carpeted floor, an oak dining-room table with a red cover. In the center of the table, a large oil reading lamp. Four chairs, three rockers with crocheted tidies on their backs, and one straight-backed, are placed about the table. The walls are papered a dark red with a scrolly-figured pattern._ _Everything in the room is clean, well-kept, and in its exact place, yet there is no suggestion of primness about the whole. Rather the atmosphere is one of the orderly comfort of a simple, hard-earned prosperity, enjoyed and maintained by the family as a unit._ JAMES MAYO, _his wife, her brother_, CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT, _and_ ANDREW _are discovered_. MAYO _is his son_ ANDREW _over again in body and face--an_ ANDREW _sixty-five years old with a short, square, white beard_. MRS. MAYO _is a slight, round-faced, rather prim-looking woman of fifty-five who had once been a school teacher. The labors of a farmer’s wife have bent but not broken her, and she retains a certain refinement of movement and expression foreign to the_ MAYO _part of the family. Whatever of resemblance_ ROBERT _has to his parents may be traced to her. Her brother, the_ CAPTAIN, _is short and stocky, with a weather-beaten, jovial face and a white mustache--a typical old salt, loud of voice and given to gesture. He is fifty-eight years old._ JAMES MAYO _sits in front of the table. He wears spectacles, and a farm journal which he has been reading lies in his lap._ THE CAPTAIN _leans forward from a chair in the rear, his hands on the table in front of him_. ANDREW _is tilted back on the straight-backed chair to the left, his chin sank forward on his chest, staring at the carpet, preoccupied and frowning_. _As the Curtain rises the_ CAPTAIN _is just finishing the relation of some sea episode. The others are pretending an interest which is belied by the absent-minded expressions on their faces._ THE CAPTAIN. (_chuckling_) And that mission woman, she hails me on the dock as I was acomin’ ashore, and she says--with her silly face all screwed up serious as judgment--“Captain,” she says, “would you be so kind as to tell me where the sea-gulls sleeps at nights?” Blow me if them warn’t her exact words! (_He slaps the table with the palm of his hands and laughs loudly. The others force smiles_) Ain’t that just like a fool woman’s question? And I looks at her serious as I could, “Ma’m,” says I, “I couldn’t rightly answer that question. I ain’t never seed a sea-gull in his bunk yet. The next time I hears one snorin’,” I says, “I’ll make a note of where he’s turned in, and write you a letter ’bout it.” And then she calls me a fool real spiteful and tacks away from me quick. (_He laughs again uproariously_) So I got rid of her that way. (_The others smile but immediately relapse into expressions of gloom again_). MRS. MAYO. (_absent-mindedly--feeling that she has to say something_) But when it comes to that, where _do_ sea-gulls sleep, Dick? SCOTT. (_slapping the table_) Ho! Ho! Listen to her, James. ’Nother one! Well, if that don’t beat all hell--’scuse me for cussin’, Kate. MAYO. (_with a twinkle in his eyes_) They unhitch their wings, Katey, and spreads ’em out on a wave for a bed. SCOTT. And then they tells the fish to whistle to ’em when it’s time to turn out. Ho! Ho! MRS. MAYO. (_with a forced smile_) You men folks are too smart to live, aren’t you? (_She resumes her knitting_. MAYO _pretends to read his paper_; ANDREW _stares at the floor_). SCOTT. (_looks from one to the other of them with a puzzled air. Finally he is unable to bear the thick silence a minute longer, and blurts out_): You folks look as if you was settin’ up with a corpse. (_With exaggerated concern_) God A’mighty, there ain’t anyone dead, be there? MAYO. (_sharply_) Don’t play the dunce, Dick! You know as well as we do there ain’t no great cause to be feelin’ chipper. SCOTT. (_argumentatively_) And there ain’t no cause to be wearin’ mourning, either, I can make out. MRS. MAYO. (_indignantly_) How can you talk that way, Dick Scott, when you’re taking our Robbie away from us, in the middle of the night, you might say, just to get on that old boat of yours on time! I think you might wait until morning when he’s had his breakfast. SCOTT. (_appealing to the others hopelessly_) Ain’t that a woman’s way o’ seein’ things for you? God A’mighty, Kate, I can’t give orders to the tide that it’s got to be high just when it suits me to have it. I ain’t gettin’ no fun out o’ missin’ sleep and leavin’ here at six bells myself. (_Protestingly_) And the _Sunda_ ain’t an old ship--leastways, not very old--and she’s good’s she ever was. MRS. MAYO. (_her lips trembling_) I wish Robbie weren’t going. MAYO. (_looking at her over his glasses--consolingly_) There, Katey! MRS. MAYO. (_rebelliously_) Well, I do wish he wasn’t! SCOTT. You shouldn’t be taking it so hard, ’s far as I kin see. This vige’ll make a man of him. I’ll see to it he learns how to navigate, ’n’ study for a mate’s c’tificate right off--and it’ll give him a trade for the rest of his life, if he wants to travel. MRS. MAYO. But I don’t want him to travel all his life. You’ve got to see he comes home when this trip is over. Then he’ll be all well, and he’ll want to--to marry--(ANDREW _sits forward in his chair with an abrupt movement_)--and settle down right here. (_She stares down at the knitting in her lap--after a pause_) I never realized how hard it was going to be for me to have Robbie go--or I wouldn’t have considered it a minute. SCOTT. It ain’t no good goin’ on that way, Kate, now it’s all settled. MRS. MAYO. (_on the verge of tears_) It’s all right for _you_ to talk. You’ve never had any children. You don’t know what it means to be parted from them--and Robbie my youngest, too. (ANDREW _frowns and fidgets in his chair_). ANDREW. (_suddenly turning to them_) There’s one thing none of you seem to take into consideration--that Rob wants to go. He’s dead set on it. He’s been dreaming over this trip ever since it was first talked about. It wouldn’t be fair to him not to have him go. (_A sudden uneasiness seems to strike him_) At least, not if he still feels the same way about it he did when he was talking to me this evening. MAYO. (_with an air of decision_) Andy’s right, Katey. That ends all argyment, you can see that. (_Looking at his big silver watch_) Wonder what’s happened to Robert? He’s been gone long enough to wheel the widder to home, certain. He can’t be out dreamin’ at the stars his last night. MRS. MAYO. (_a bit reproachfully_) Why didn’t you wheel Mrs. Atkins back tonight, Andy? You usually do when she and Ruth come over. ANDREW. (_avoiding her eyes_) I thought maybe Robert wanted to tonight. He offered to go right away when they were leaving. MRS. MAYO. He only wanted to be polite. ANDREW. (_gets to his feet_) Well, he’ll be right back, I guess. (_He turns to his father_) Guess I’ll go take a look at the black cow, Pa--see if she’s ailing any. MAYO. Yes--better had, son. (ANDREW _goes into the kitchen on the right_). SCOTT. (_as he goes out--in a low tone_) There’s the boy that would make a good, strong sea-farin’ man--if he’d a mind to. MAYO. (_sharply_) Don’t you put no such fool notions in Andy’s head, Dick--or you ’n’ me’s goin’ to fall out. (_Then he smiles_) You couldn’t tempt him, no ways. Andy’s a Mayo bred in the bone, and he’s a born farmer, and a damn good one, too. He’ll live and die right here on this farm, like I expect to. (_With proud confidence_) And he’ll make this one of the slickest, best-payin’ farms in the state, too, afore he gits through! SCOTT. Seems to me it’s a pretty slick place right now. MAYO. (_shaking his head_) It’s too small. We need more land to make it amount to much, and we ain’t got the capital to buy it. (ANDREW _enters from the kitchen. His hat is on, and he carries a lighted lantern in his hand. He goes to the door in the rear leading out_). ANDREW. (_opens the door and pauses_) Anything else you can think of to be done, Pa? MAYO. No, nothin’ I know of. (ANDREW _goes out, shutting the door_). MRS. MAYO. (_after a pause_) What’s come over Andy tonight, I wonder? He acts so strange. MAYO. He does seem sort o’ glum and out of sorts. It’s ’count o’ Robert leavin’, I s’pose. (_To_ SCOTT) Dick, you wouldn’t believe how them boys o’ mine sticks together. They ain’t like most brothers. They’ve been thick as thieves all their lives, with nary a quarrel I kin remember. SCOTT. No need to tell me that. I can see how they take to each other. MRS. MAYO. (_pursuing her train of thought_) Did you notice, James, how queer everyone was at supper? Robert seemed stirred up about something; and Ruth was so flustered and giggly; and Andy sat there dumb, looking as if he’d lost his best friend; and all of them only nibbled at their food. MAYO. Guess they was all thinkin’ about tomorrow, same as us. MRS. MAYO. (_shaking her head_) No. I’m afraid somethin’s happened--somethin’ else. MAYO. You mean--’bout Ruth? MRS. MAYO. Yes. MAYO. (_after a pause--frowning_) I hope her and Andy ain’t had a serious fallin’-out. I always sorter hoped they’d hitch up together sooner or later. What d’you say, Dick? Don’t you think them two’d pair up well? SCOTT. (_nodding his head approvingly_) A sweet, wholesome couple they’d make. MAYO. It’d be a good thing for Andy in more ways than one. I ain’t what you’d call calculatin’ generally, and I b’lieve in lettin’ young folks run their affairs to suit themselves; but there’s advantages for both o’ them in this match you can’t overlook in reason. The Atkins farm is right next to ourn. Jined together they’d make a jim-dandy of a place, with plenty o’ room to work in. And bein’ a widder with only a daughter, and laid up all the time to boot, Mrs. Atkins can’t do nothin’ with the place as it ought to be done. She needs a man, a first-class farmer, to take hold o’ things; and Andy’s just the one. MRS. MAYO. (_abruptly_) I don’t think Ruth loves Andy. MAYO. You don’t? Well, maybe a woman’s eyes is sharper in such things, but--they’re always together. And if she don’t love him now, she’ll likely come around to it in time. (_As_ MRS. MAYO _shakes her head_) You seem mighty fixed in your opinion, Katey. How d’you know? MRS. MAYO. It’s just--what I feel. MAYO. (_a light breaking over him_) You don’t mean to say--(MRS. MAYO _nods_. MAYO _chuckles scornfully_) Shucks! I’m losin’ my respect for your eyesight, Katey. Why, Robert ain’t got no time for Ruth, ’cept as a friend! MRS. MAYO. (_warningly_) Sss-h-h! (_The door from the yard opens, and_ ROBERT _enters. He is smiling happily, and humming a song to himself, but as he comes into the room an undercurrent of nervous uneasiness manifests itself in his bearing_). MAYO. So here you be at last! (ROBERT _comes forward and sits on_ ANDY’S _chair_. MAYO _smiles slyly at his wife_) What have you been doin’ all this time--countin’ the stars to see if they all come out right and proper? ROBERT. There’s only one I’ll ever look for any more, Pa. MAYO. (_reproachfully_) You might’ve even not wasted time lookin’ for that one--your last night. MRS. MAYO. (_as if she were speaking to a child_) You ought to have worn your coat a sharp night like this, Robbie. SCOTT. (_disgustedly_) God A’mighty, Kate, you treat Robert as if he was one year old! MRS. MAYO. (_notices_ ROBERT’S _nervous uneasiness_) You look all worked up over something, Robbie. What is it? ROBERT. (_swallowing hard, looks quickly from one to the other of them--then begins determinedly_) Yes, there _is_ something--something I must tell you--all of you. (_As he begins to talk_ ANDREW _enters quietly from the rear, closing the door behind him, and setting the lighted lantern on the floor. He remains standing by the door, his arms folded, listening to_ ROBERT _with a repressed expression of pain on his face_. ROBERT _is so much taken up with what he is going to say that he does not notice_ ANDREW’S _presence_.) Something I discovered only this evening--very beautiful and wonderful--something I did not take into consideration previously because I hadn’t dared to hope that such happiness could ever come to me. (_Appealingly_) You must all remember that fact, won’t you? MAYO. (_frowning_) Let’s get to the point, son. ROBERT. (_with a trace of defiance_) Well, the point is this, Pa: I’m not going--I mean--I can’t go tomorrow with Uncle Dick--or at any future time, either. MRS. MAYO. (_with a sharp sigh of joyful relief_) Oh, Robbie, I’m so glad! MAYO. (_astounded_) You ain’t serious, be you, Robert? (_Severely_) Seems to me it’s a pretty late hour in the day for you to be upsettin’ all your plans so sudden! ROBERT. I asked you to remember that until this evening I didn’t know myself. I had never dared to dream---- MAYO. (_irritably_) What is this foolishness you’re talkin’ of? ROBERT. (_flushing_) Ruth told me this evening that--she loved me. It was after I’d confessed I loved her. I told her I hadn’t been conscious of my love until after the trip had been arranged, and I realized it would mean--leaving her. That was the truth. I _didn’t_ know until then. (_As if justifying himself to the others_) I hadn’t intended telling her anything but--suddenly--I felt I must. I didn’t think it would matter, because I was going away. And I thought she loved--someone else. (_Slowly--his eyes shining_) And then she cried and said it was I she’d loved all the time, but I hadn’t seen it. MRS. MAYO. (_rushes over and throws her arms about him_) I knew it! I was just telling your father when you came in--and, Oh, Robbie, I’m so happy you’re not going! ROBERT. (_kissing her_) I knew you’d be glad, Ma. MAYO. (_bewilderedly_) Well, I’ll be damned! You do beat all for gettin’ folks’ minds all tangled up, Robert. And Ruth too! Whatever got into her of a sudden? Why, I was thinkin’---- MRS. MAYO. (_hurriedly--in a tone of warning_) Never mind what you were thinking, James. It wouldn’t be any use telling us that now. (_Meaningly_) And what you were hoping for turns out just the same almost, doesn’t it? MAYO. (_thoughtfully--beginning to see this side of the argument_) Yes; I suppose you’re right, Katey. (_Scratching his head in puzzlement_) But how it ever come about! It do beat anything ever I heard. (_Finally he gets up with a sheepish grin and walks over to_ ROBERT) We’re glad you ain’t goin’, your Ma and I, for we’d have missed you terrible, that’s certain and sure; and we’re glad you’ve found happiness. Ruth’s a fine girl and’ll make a good wife to you. ROBERT. (_much moved_) Thank you, Pa. (_He grips his father’s hand in his_). ANDREW. (_his face tense and drawn comes forward and holds out his hand, forcing a smile_) I guess it’s my turn to offer congratulations, isn’t it? ROBERT. (_with a startled cry when his brother appears before him so suddenly_) Andy! (_Confused_) Why--I--I didn’t see you. Were you here when---- ANDREW. I heard everything you said; and here’s wishing you every happiness, you and Ruth. You both deserve the best there is. ROBERT. (_taking his hand_) Thanks, Andy, it’s fine of you to---- (_His voice dies away as he sees the pain in_ ANDREW’S _eyes_). ANDREW. (_giving his brother’s hand a final grip_) Good luck to you both! (_He turns away and goes back to the rear where he bends over the lantern, fumbling with it to hide his emotion from the others_). MRS. MAYO. (_to the_ CAPTAIN, _who has been too flabbergasted by_ ROBERT’S _decision to say a word_) What’s the matter, Dick? Aren’t you going to congratulate Robbie? SCOTT. (_embarrassed_) Of course I be! (_He gets to his feet and shakes_ ROBERT’S _hand, muttering a vague_) Luck to you, boy. (_He stands beside_ ROBERT _as if he wanted to say something more but doesn’t know how to go about it_). ROBERT. Thanks, Uncle Dick. SCOTT. So you’re not acomin’ on the _Sunda_ with me? (_His voice indicates disbelief_). ROBERT. I can’t, Uncle--not now. I wouldn’t miss it for anything else in the world under any other circumstances. (_He sighs unconsciously_) But you see I’ve found--a bigger dream. (_Then with joyous high spirits_) I want you all to understand one thing--I’m not going to be a loafer on your hands any longer. This means the beginning of a new life for me in every way. I’m going to settle right down and take a real interest in the farm, and do my share. I’ll prove to you, Pa, that I’m as good a Mayo as you are--or Andy, when I want to be. MAYO. (_kindly but skeptically_) That’s the right spirit, Robert. Ain’t none of us doubts your willin’ness, but you ain’t never learned---- ROBERT. Then I’m going to start learning right away, and you’ll teach me, won’t you? MAYO. (_mollifyingly_) Of course I will, boy, and be glad to, only you’d best go easy at first. SCOTT. (_who has listened to this conversation in mingled consternation and amazement_) You don’t mean to tell me you’re goin’ to let him stay, do you, James? MAYO. Why, things bein’ as they be, Robert’s free to do as he’s a mind to. MRS. MAYO. _Let him!_ The very idea! SCOTT. (_more and more ruffled_) Then all I got to say is, you’re a soft, weak-willed critter to be permittin’ a boy--and women, too--to be layin’ your course for you wherever they damn pleases. MAYO. (_slyly amused_) It’s just the same with me as ’twas with you, Dick. You can’t order the tides on the seas to suit you, and I ain’t pretendin’ I can reg’late love for young folks. SCOTT. (_scornfully_) Love! They ain’t old enough to know love when they sight it! Love! I’m ashamed of you, Robert, to go lettin’ a little huggin’ and kissin’ in the dark spile your chances to make a man out o’ yourself. It ain’t common sense--no siree, it ain’t--not by a hell of a sight! (_He pounds the table with his fists in exasperation_). MRS. MAYO. (_laughing provokingly at her brother_) A fine one you are to be talking about love, Dick--an old cranky bachelor like you. Goodness sakes! SCOTT. (_exasperated by their joking_) I’ve never been a damn fool like most, if that’s what you’re steerin’ at. MRS. MAYO. (_tauntingly_) Sour grapes, aren’t they, Dick? (_She laughs._ ROBERT _and his father chuckle_. SCOTT _sputters with annoyance_) Good gracious, Dick, you do act silly, flying into a temper over nothing. SCOTT. (_indignantly_) Nothin’! You talk as if I wasn’t concerned nohow in this here business. Seems to me I’ve got a right to have my say. Ain’t I made all arrangements with the owners and stocked up with some special grub all on Robert’s account? ROBERT. You’ve been fine, Uncle Dick; and I appreciate it. Truly. MAYO. ’Course; we all does, Dick. SCOTT. (_unplacated_) I’ve been countin’ sure on havin’ Robert for company on this vige--to sorta talk to and show things to, and teach, kinda, and I got my mind so set on havin’ him I’m goin’ to be double lonesome this vige. (_He pounds on the table, attempting to cover up this confession of weakness_) Darn all this silly lovin’ business, anyway. (_Irritably_) But all this talk ain’t tellin’ me what I’m to do with that sta’b’d cabin I fixed up. It’s all painted white, an’ a bran new mattress on the bunk, ’n’ new sheets ’n’ blankets ’n’ things. And Chips built in a book-case so’s Robert could take his books along--with a slidin’ bar fixed across’t it, mind, so’s they couldn’t fall out no matter how she rolled. (_With excited consternation_) What d’you suppose my officers is goin’ to think when there’s no one comes aboard to occupy that sta’b’d cabin? And the men what did the work on it--what’ll _they_ think? (_He shakes his finger indignantly_) They’re liable as not to suspicion it was a woman I’d planned to ship along, and that she gave me the go-by at the last moment! (_He wipes his perspiring brow in anguish at this thought_). Gawd A’mighty! They’re only lookin’ to have the laugh on me for something like that. They’re liable to b’lieve anything, those fellers is! MAYO. (_with a wink)_ Then there’s nothing to it but for you to get right out and hunt up a wife somewheres for that spick ’n’ span cabin. She’ll have to be a pretty one, too, to match it. (_He looks at his watch with exaggerated concern_) You ain’t got much time to find her, Dick. SCOTT. (_as the others smile--sulkily_) You kin go to thunder, Jim Mayo! ANDREW. (_comes forward from where he has been standing by the door, rear, brooding. His face is set in a look of grim determination_) You needn’t worry about that spare cabin, Uncle Dick, if you’ve a mind to take me in Robert’s place. ROBERT. (_turning to him quickly_) Andy! (_He sees at once the fixed resolve in his brother’s eyes, and realizes immediately the reason for it--in consternation_) Andy, you mustn’t! ANDREW. You’ve made your decision, Rob, and now I’ve made mine. You’re out of this, remember. ROBERT. (_hurt by his brother’s tone_) But Andy---- ANDREW. Don’t interfere, Rob--that’s all I ask. (_Turning to his uncle_) You haven’t answered my question, Uncle Dick. SCOTT. (_clearing his throat, with an uneasy side glance at_ JAMES MAYO _who is staring at his elder son as if he thought he had suddenly gone mad_) O’ course, I’d be glad to have you, Andy. ANDREW. It’s settled then. I can pack the little I want to take in a few minutes. MRS. MAYO. Don’t be a fool, Dick. Andy’s only joking you. SCOTT. (_disgruntedly_) It’s hard to tell who’s jokin’ and who’s not in this house. ANDREW. (_firmly_) I’m not joking, Uncle Dick. (_As_ SCOTT _looks at him uncertainly_) You needn’t be afraid I’ll go back on my word. ROBERT. (_hurt by the insinuation he feels in_ ANDREW’S _tone_) Andy! That isn’t fair! MAYO. (_frowning_) Seems to me this ain’t no subject to joke over--not for Andy. ANDREW. (_facing his father_) I agree with you, Pa, and I tell you again, once and for all, that I’ve made up my mind to go. MAYO. (_dumbfounded--unable to doubt the determination in_ ANDREW’S _voice--helplessly_) But why, son? Why? ANDREW. (_evasively_) I’ve always wanted to go. ROBERT. Andy! ANDREW. (_half angrily_) You shut up, Rob! (_Turning to his father again_) I didn’t ever mention it because as long as Rob was going I knew it was no use; but now Rob’s staying on here, there isn’t any reason for me not to go. MAYO. (_breathing hard_) No reason? Can you stand there and say that to me, Andrew? MRS. MAYO. (_hastily--seeing the gathering storm_) He doesn’t mean a word of it, James. MAYO. (_making a gesture to her to keep silence_) Let me talk, Katey. (_In a more kindly tone_) What’s come over you so sudden, Andy? You know’s well as I do that it wouldn’t be fair o’ you to run off at a moment’s notice right now when we’re up to our necks in hard work. ANDREW. (_avoiding his eyes_) Rob’ll hold his end up as soon as he learns. MAYO. Robert was never cut out for a farmer, and you was. ANDREW. You can easily get a man to do my work. MAYO. (_restraining his anger with an effort_) It sounds strange to hear you, Andy, that I always thought had good sense, talkin’ crazy like that. (_Scornfully_) Get a man to take your place! You ain’t been workin’ here for no hire, Andy, that you kin give me your notice to quit like you’ve done. The farm is your’n as well as mine. You’ve always worked on it with that understanding; and what you’re sayin’ you intend doin’ is just skulkin’ out o’ your rightful responsibility. ANDREW. (_looking at the floor--simply_) I’m sorry, Pa. (_After a slight pause_) It’s no use talking any more about it. MRS. MAYO. (_in relief_) There! I knew Andy’d come to his senses! ANDREW. Don’t get the wrong idea, Ma. I’m not backing out. MAYO. You mean you’re goin’ in spite of--everythin’? ANDREW. Yes. I’m going. I’ve got to. (_He looks at his father defiantly_) I feel I oughn’t to miss this chance to go out into the world and see things, and--I want to go. MAYO. (_with bitter scorn_) So--you want to go out into the world and see thin’s! (_His voice raised and quivering with anger_) I never thought I’d live to see the day when a son o’ mine ’d look me in the face and tell a bare-faced lie! (_Bursting out_) You’re a liar, Andy Mayo, and a mean one to boot! MRS. MAYO. James! ROBERT. Pa! SCOTT. Steady there, Jim! MAYO. (_waving their protests aside_) He is and he knows it. ANDREW. (_his face flushed_) I won’t argue with you, Pa. You can think as badly of me as you like. MAYO. (_shaking his finger at_ ANDY, _in a cold rage_) You know I’m speakin’ truth--that’s why you’re afraid to argy! You lie when you say you want to go ’way--and see thin’s! You ain’t got no likin’ in the world to go. I’ve watched you grow up, and I know your ways, and they’re my ways. You’re runnin’ against your own nature, and you’re goin’ to be a’mighty sorry for it if you do. ’S if I didn’t know your real reason for runnin’ away! And runnin’ away’s the only words to fit it. You’re runnin’ away ’cause you’re put out and riled ’cause your own brother’s got Ruth ’stead o’ you, and---- ANDREW. (_his face crimson--tensely_) Stop, Pa! I won’t stand hearing that--not even from you! MRS. MAYO. (_rushing to_ ANDY _and putting her arms about him protectingly_) Don’t mind him, Andy dear. He don’t mean a word he’s saying! (ROBERT _stands rigidly, his hands clenched, his face contracted by pain_. SCOTT _sits dumbfounded and open-mouthed_. ANDREW _soothes his mother who is on the verge of tears_). MAYO. (_in angry triumph_) It’s the truth, Andy Mayo! And you ought to be bowed in shame to think of it! ROBERT. (_protestingly_) Pa! MRS. MAYO. (_coming from_ ANDREW _to his father; puts her hands on his shoulders as though to try and push him back in the chair from which he has risen_) Won’t you be still, James? Please won’t you? MAYO. (_looking at_ ANDREW _over his wife’s shoulder--stubbornly_) The truth--God’s truth! MRS. MAYO. Sh-h-h! (_She tries to put a finger across his lips, but he twists his head away_). ANDREW. (_who has regained control over himself_) You’re wrong, Pa, it isn’t truth. (_With defiant assertiveness_) I don’t love Ruth. I never loved her, and the thought of such a thing never entered my head. MAYO. (_with an angry snort of disbelief_) Hump! You’re pilin’ lie on lie! ANDREW. (_losing his temper--bitterly_) I suppose it’d be hard for you to explain anyone’s wanting to leave this blessed farm except for some outside reason like that. But I’m sick and tired of it--whether you want to believe me or not--and that’s why I’m glad to get a chance to move on. ROBERT. Andy! Don’t! You’re only making it worse. ANDREW. (_sulkily_) I don’t care. I’ve done my share of work here. I’ve earned my right to quit when I want to. (_Suddenly overcome with anger and grief; with rising intensity_) I’m sick and tired of the whole damn business. I hate the farm and every inch of ground in it. I’m sick of digging in the dirt and sweating in the sun like a slave without getting a word of thanks for it. (_Tears of rage starting to his eyes--hoarsely_) I’m through, through for good and all; and if Uncle Dick won’t take me on his ship, I’ll find another. I’ll get away somewhere, somehow. MRS. MAYO. (_in a frightened voice_) Don’t you answer him, James. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Don’t say a word to him ’til he’s in his right senses again. Please James, don’t---- MAYO. (_pushes her away from him; his face is drawn and pale with the violence of his passion. He glares at_ ANDREW _as if he hated him_) You dare to--you dare to speak like that to me? You talk like that ’bout this farm--the Mayo farm--where you was born--you--you---- (_He clenches his fist above his head and advances threateningly on_ ANDREW) You damned whelp! MRS. MAYO. (_with a shriek_) James! (_She covers her face with her hands and sinks weakly into_ MAYO’S _chair_. ANDREW _remains standing motionless, his face pale and set_). SCOTT. (_starting to his feet and stretching his arms across the table toward_ MAYO) Easy there, Jim! ROBERT. (_throwing himself between father and brother_) Stop! Are you mad? MAYO. (_grabs_ ROBERT’S _arm and pushes him aside--then stands for a moment gasping for breath before_ ANDREW. _He points to the door with a shaking finger_) Yes--go!--go!--You’re no son o’ mine--no son o’ mine! You can go to hell if you want to! Don’t let me find you here--in the mornin’--or--or--I’ll _throw_ you out! ROBERT. Pa! For God’s sake! (MRS. MAYO _bursts into noisy sobbing_). MAYO. (_he gulps convulsively and glares at_ ANDREW) You go--tomorrow mornin’--and by God--don’t come back--don’t dare come back--by God, not while I’m livin’--or I’ll--I’ll---- (_He shakes over his muttered threat and strides toward the door rear, right_). MRS. MAYO. (_rising and throwing her arms around him--hysterically_) James! James! Where are you going? MAYO. (_incoherently_) I’m goin’--to bed, Katey. It’s late, Katey--it’s late. (_He goes out_). MRS. MAYO. (_following him, pleading hysterically_) James! Take back what you’ve said to Andy. James! (_She follows him out._ ROBERT _and the_ CAPTAIN _stare after them with horrified eyes_. ANDREW _stands rigidly looking straight in front of him, his fists clenched at his sides_). SCOTT. (_the first to find his voice--with an explosive sigh_) Well, if he ain’t the devil himself when he’s roused! You oughtn’t to have talked to him that way, Andy ’bout the damn farm, knowin’ how touchy he is about it. (_With another sigh_) Well, you won’t mind what he’s said in anger. He’ll be sorry for it when he’s calmed down a bit. ANDREW. (_in a dead voice_) You don’t know him. (_Defiantly_) What’s said is said and can’t be unsaid; and I’ve chosen. ROBERT. (_with violent protest_) Andy! You can’t go! This is all so stupid--and terrible! ANDREW. (_coldly_) I’ll talk to you in a minute, Rob. (_Crushed by his brother’s attitude_ ROBERT _sinks down into a chair, holding his head in his hands_). SCOTT. (_comes and slaps_ ANDREW _on the back_) I’m damned glad you’re shippin’ on, Andy. I like your spirit, and the way you spoke up to him. (_Lowering his voice to a cautious whisper_) The sea’s the place for a young feller like you that isn’t half dead ’n’ alive. (_He gives_ ANDY _a final approving slap_) You ’n’ me’ll get along like twins, see if we don’t. I’m goin’ aloft to turn in. Don’t forget to pack your dunnage. And git some sleep, if you kin. We’ll want to sneak out extra early b’fore they’re up. It’ll do away with more argyments. Robert can drive us down to the town, and bring back the team. (_He goes to the door in the rear, left_) Well, good night. ANDREW. Good night. (SCOTT _goes out. The two brothers remain silent for a moment. Then_ ANDREW _comes over to his brother and puts a hand on his back. He speaks in a low voice, full of feeling_) Buck up, Rob. It ain’t any use crying over spilt milk; and it’ll all turn out for the best--let’s hope. It couldn’t be helped--what’s happened. ROBERT. (_wildly_) But it’s a lie, Andy, a lie! ANDREW. Of course it’s a lie. You know it and I know it,--but that’s all ought to know it. ROBERT. Pa’ll never forgive you. Oh, the whole affair is so senseless--and tragic. Why did you think you must go away? ANDREW. You know better than to ask that. You know why. (_Fiercely_) I can wish you and Ruth all the good luck in the world, and I do, and I mean it; but you can’t expect me to stay around here and watch you two together, day after day--and me alone. I couldn’t stand it--not after all the plans I’d made to happen on this place thinking---- (_his voice breaks_) thinking she cared for me. ROBERT. (_putting a hand on his brother’s arm_) God! It’s horrible! I feel so guilty--to think that I should be the cause of your suffering, after we’ve been such pals all our lives. If I could have foreseen what’d happen, I swear to you I’d have never said a word to Ruth. I swear I wouldn’t have, Andy! ANDREW. I know you wouldn’t; and that would’ve been worse, for Ruth would’ve suffered then. (_He pats his brother’s shoulder_) It’s best as it is. It had to be, and I’ve got to stand the gaff, that’s all. Pa’ll see how I felt--after a time. (_As_ ROBERT _shakes his head_)--and if he don’t--well, it can’t be helped. ROBERT. But think of Ma! God, Andy, you can’t go! You can’t! ANDREW. (_fiercely_) I’ve got to go--to get away! I’ve got to, I tell you. I’d go crazy here, bein’ reminded every second of the day what a fool I’d made of myself. I’ve got to get away and try and forget, if I can. And I’d hate the farm if I stayed, hate it for bringin’ things back. I couldn’t take interest in the work any more, work with no purpose in sight. Can’t you see what a hell it’d be? You love her too, Rob. Put yourself in my place, and remember I haven’t stopped loving her, and couldn’t if I was to stay. Would that be fair to you or to her? Put yourself in my place. (_He shakes his brother fiercely by the shoulder_) What’d you do then? Tell me the truth! You love her. What’d you do? ROBERT. (_chokingly_) I’d--I’d go, Andy! (_He buries his face in his hands with a shuddering sob_) God! ANDREW. (_seeming to relax suddenly all over his body--in a low, steady voice_) Then you know why I got to go; and there’s nothing more to be said. ROBERT. (_in a frenzy of rebellion_) Why did this have to happen to us? It’s damnable! (_He looks about him wildly, as if his vengeance were seeking the responsible fate_). ANDREW. (_soothingly--again putting his hands on his brother’s shoulder_) It’s no use fussing any more, Rob. It’s done. (_Forcing a smile_) I guess Ruth’s got a right to have who she likes. She made a good choice--and God bless her for it! ROBERT. Andy! Oh, I wish I could tell you half I feel of how fine you are! ANDREW. (_interrupting him quickly_) Shut up! Let’s go to bed. I’ve got to be up long before sun-up. You, too, if you’re going to drive us down. ROBERT. Yes. Yes. ANDREW. (_turning down the lamp_) And I’ve got to pack yet. (_He yawns with utter weariness_) I’m as tired as if I’d been plowing twenty-four hours at a stretch. (_Dully_) I feel--dead. (ROBERT _covers his face again with his hands_. ANDREW _shakes his head as if to get rid of his thoughts, and continues with a poor attempt at cheery briskness_) I’m going to douse the light. Come on. (_He slaps his brother on the back._ ROBERT _does not move_. ANDREW _bends over and blows out the lamp. His voice comes from the darkness_) Don’t sit there mourning, Rob. It’ll all come out in the wash. Come on and get some sleep. Everything’ll turn out all right in the end. (ROBERT _can be heard stumbling to his feet, and the dark figures of the two brothers can be seen groping their way toward the doorway in the rear as_ (_The Curtain Falls_) BEYOND THE HORIZON ACT TWO SCENE ONE _Same as Act One, Scene Two. Sitting room of the farm house about half past twelve in the afternoon of a hot, sun-baked day in mid-summer, three years later. All the windows are open, but no breeze stirs the soiled white curtains. A patched screen door is in the rear. Through it the yard can be seen, its small stretch of lawn divided by the dirt path leading to the door from the gate in the white picket fence which borders the road._ _The room has changed, not so much in its outward appearance as in its general atmosphere. Little significant details give evidence of carelessness, of inefficiency, of an industry gone to seed. The chairs appear shabby from lack of paint; the table cover is spotted and askew; holes show in the curtains; a child’s doll, with one arm gone, lies under the table; a hoe stands in a corner; a man’s coat is flung on the couch in the rear; the desk is cluttered up with odds and ends; a number of books are piled carelessly on the sideboard. The noon enervation of the sultry, scorching day seems to have penetrated indoors, causing even inanimate objects to wear an aspect of despondent exhaustion._ _A place is set at the end of the table, left, for someone’s dinner. Through the open door to the kitchen comes the clatter of dishes being washed, interrupted at intervals by a woman’s irritated voice and the peevish whining of a child._ _At the rise of the curtain_ MRS. MAYO _and_ MRS. ATKINS _are discovered sitting facing each other_, MRS. MAYO _to the rear_ MRS. ATKINS _to the right of the table_. MRS. MAYO’S _face has lost all character, disintegrated, become a weak mask wearing a helpless, doleful expression of being constantly on the verge of comfortless tears. She speaks in an uncertain voice, without assertiveness, as if all power of willing had deserted her._ MRS. ATKINS _is in her wheel chair. She is a thin, pale-faced, unintelligent looking woman of about forty-eight, with hard, bright eyes. A victim of partial paralysis for many years, condemned to be pushed from day to day of her life in a wheel chair, she has developed the selfish, irritable nature of the chronic invalid. Both women are dressed in black._ MRS. ATKINS _knits nervously as she talks. A ball of unused yarn, with needles stuck through it, lies on the table before_ MRS. MAYO. MRS. ATKINS. (_with a disapproving glance at the place set on the table_) Robert’s late for his dinner again, as usual. I don’t see why Ruth puts up with it, and I’ve told her so. Many’s the time I’ve said to her “It’s about time you put a stop to his nonsense. Does he suppose you’re runnin’ a hotel--with no one to help with things?” But she don’t pay no attention. She’s as bad as he is, a’most--thinks she knows better than an old, sick body like me. MRS. MAYO. (_dully_) Robbie’s always late for things. He can’t help it, Sarah. MRS. ATKINS. (_with a snort_) Can’t help it! How you do go on, Kate, findin’ excuses for him! Anybody can help anything they’ve a mind to--as long as they’ve got health, and ain’t rendered helpless like me--(_She adds as a pious afterthought_)--through the will of God. MRS. MAYO. Robbie can’t. MRS. ATKINS. Can’t! It do make me mad, Kate Mayo, to see folks that God gave all the use of their limbs to potterin’ round and wastin’ time doin’ everything the wrong way--and me powerless to help and at their mercy, you might say. And it ain’t that I haven’t pointed the right way to ’em. I’ve talked to Robert thousands of times and told him how things ought to be done. You know that, Kate Mayo. But d’you s’pose he takes any notice of what I say? Or Ruth, either--my own daughter? No, they think I’m a crazy, cranky old woman, half dead a’ready, and the sooner I’m in the grave and out o’ their way the better it’d suit them. MRS. MAYO. You mustn’t talk that way, Sarah. They’re not as wicked as that. And you’ve got years and years before you. MRS. ATKINS. You’re like the rest, Kate. You don’t know how near the end I am. Well, at least I can go to my eternal rest with a clear conscience. I’ve done all a body could do to avert ruin from this house. On their heads be it! MRS. MAYO. (_with hopeless indifference_) Things might be worse. Robert never had any experience in farming. You can’t expect him to learn in a day. MRS. ATKINS. (_snappily_) He’s had three years to learn, and he’s gettin’ worse ’stead of better. Not on’y your place but mine too is driftin’ to rack and ruin, and I can’t do nothin’ to prevent. MRS. MAYO. (_with a spark of assertiveness_) You can’t say but Robbie works hard, Sarah. MRS. ATKINS. What good’s workin’ hard if it don’t accomplish anythin’, I’d like to know? MRS. MAYO. Robbie’s had bad luck against him. MRS. ATKINS. Say what you’ve a mind to, Kate, the proof of the puddin’s in the eatin’; and you can’t deny that things have been goin’ from bad to worse ever since your husband died two years back. MRS. MAYO. (_wiping tears from her eyes with her handkerchief_) It was God’s will that he should be taken. MRS. ATKINS. (_triumphantly_) It was God’s punishment on James Mayo for the blasphemin’ and denyin’ of God he done all his sinful life! (MRS. MAYO _begins to weep softly_) There, Kate, I shouldn’t be remindin’ you, I know. He’s at peace, poor man, and forgiven, let’s pray. MRS. MAYO. (_wiping her eyes--simply_) James was a good man. MRS. ATKINS. (_ignoring this remark_) What I was sayin’ was that since Robert’s been in charge things’ve been goin’ down hill steady. You don’t know _how_ bad they are. Robert don’t let on to you what’s happenin’; and you’d never see it yourself if ’twas under your nose. But, thank the Lord, Ruth still comes to me once in a while for advice when she’s worried near out of her senses by his goin’s-on. Do you know what she told me last night? But I forgot, she said not to tell you--still I think you’ve got a right to know, and it’s my duty not to let such things go on behind your back. MRS. MAYO. (_wearily_) You can tell me if you want to. MRS. ATKINS. (_bending over toward her--in a low voice_) Ruth was almost crazy about it. Robert told her he’d have to mortgage the farm--said he didn’t know how he’d pull through ’til harvest without it, and he can’t get money any other way. (_She straightens up--indignantly_) Now what do you think of your Robert? MRS. MAYO. (_resignedly_) If it has to be---- MRS. ATKINS. You don’t mean to say you’re goin’ to sign away your farm, Kate Mayo--after me warnin’ you? MRS. MAYO.--I’ll do what Robbie says is needful. MRS. ATKINS. (_holding up her hands_) Well, of all the foolishness!---- well, it’s your farm, not mine, and I’ve nothin’ more to say. MRS. MAYO. Maybe Robbie’ll manage till Andy gets back and sees to things. It can’t be long now. MRS. ATKINS. (_with keen interest_) Ruth says Andy ought to turn up any day. When does Robert figger he’ll get here? MRS. MAYO. He says he can’t calculate exactly on account o’ the _Sunda_ being a sail boat. Last letter he got was from England, the day they were sailing for home. That was over a month ago, and Robbie thinks they’re overdue now. MRS. ATKINS. We can give praise to God then that he’ll be back in the nick o’ time. He ought to be tired of travelin’ and anxious to get home and settle down to work again. MRS. MAYO. Andy _has_ been working. He’s head officer on Dick’s boat, he wrote Robbie. You know that. MRS. ATKINS. That foolin’ on ships is all right for a spell, but he must be right sick of it by this. MRS. MAYO. (_musingly_) I wonder if he’s changed much. He used to be so fine-looking and strong. (_With a sigh_) Three years! It seems more like three hundred. (_Her eyes filling--piteously_) Oh, if James could only have lived ’til he came back--and forgiven him! MRS. ATKINS. He never would have--not James Mayo! Didn’t he keep his heart hardened against him till the last in spite of all you and Robert did to soften him? MRS. MAYO. (_with a feeble flash of anger_) Don’t you dare say that! (_Brokenly_) Oh, I know deep down in his heart he forgave Andy, though he was too stubborn ever to own up to it. It was that brought on his death--breaking his heart just on account of his stubborn pride. (_She wipes her eyes with her handkerchief and sobs_). MRS. ATKINS. (_piously_) It was the will of God. (_The whining crying of the child sounds from the kitchen._ MRS. ATKINS _frowns irritably_) Drat that young one! Seems as if she cries all the time on purpose to set a body’s nerves on edge. MRS. MAYO. (_wiping her eyes_) It’s the heat upsets her. Mary doesn’t feel any too well these days, poor little child! MRS. ATKINS. She gets it right from her Pa--bein’ sickly all the time. You can’t deny Robert was always ailin’ as a child. (_She sighs heavily_) It was a crazy mistake for them two to get married. I argyed against it at the time, but Ruth was so spelled with Robert’s wild poetry notions she wouldn’t listen to sense. Andy was the one would have been the match for her. MRS. MAYO. I’ve often thought since it might have been better the other way. But Ruth and Robbie seem happy enough together. MRS. ATKINS. At any rate it was God’s work--and His will be done. (_The two women sit in silence for a moment._ RUTH _enters from the kitchen, carrying in her arms her two year old daughter_, MARY, _a pretty but sickly and ænemic looking child with a tear-stained face_. RUTH _has aged appreciably. Her face has lost its youth and freshness. There is a trace in her expression of something hard and spiteful. She sits in the rocker in front of the table and sighs wearily. She wears a gingham dress with a soiled apron tied around her waist_). RUTH. Land sakes, if this isn’t a scorcher! That kitchen’s like a furnace. Phew! (_She pushes the damp hair back from her forehead_). MRS. MAYO. Why didn’t you call me to help with the dishes? RUTH. (_shortly_) No. The heat in there’d kill you. MARY. (_sees the doll under the table and struggles on her mother’s lap_) Dolly, Mama! Dolly! RUTH. (_pulling her back_) It’s time for your nap. You can’t play with Dolly now. MARY. (_commencing to cry whiningly_) Dolly! MRS. ATKINS. (_irritably_) Can’t you keep that child still? Her racket’s enough to split a body’s ears. Put her down and let her play with the doll if it’ll quiet her. RUTH. (_lifting_ MARY _to the floor_) There! I hope you’ll be satisfied and keep still. (MARY _sits down on the floor before the table and plays with the doll in silence_. RUTH _glances at the place set on the table_) It’s a wonder Rob wouldn’t try to get to meals on time once in a while. MRS. MAYO. (_dully_) Something must have gone wrong again. RUTH. (_wearily_) I s’pose so. Something’s always going wrong these days, it looks like. MRS. ATKINS. (_snappily_) It wouldn’t if you possessed a bit of spunk. The idea of you permittin’ him to come in to meals at all hours--and you doin’ the work! I never heard of such a thin’. You’re too easy goin’, that’s the trouble. RUTH. Do stop your nagging at me, Ma! I’m sick of hearing you. I’ll do as I please about it; and thank you for not interfering. (_She wipes her moist forehead--wearily_) Phew! It’s too hot to argue. Let’s talk of something pleasant. (_Curiously_) Didn’t I hear you speaking about Andy a while ago? MRS. MAYO. We were wondering when he’d get home. RUTH. (_brightening_) Rob says any day now he’s liable to drop in and surprise us--him and the Captain. It’ll certainly look natural to see him around the farm again. MRS. ATKINS. Let’s hope the farm’ll look more natural, too, when he’s had a hand at it. The way thin’s are now! RUTH. (_irritably_) Will you stop harping on that, Ma? We all know things aren’t as they might be. What’s the good of your complaining all the time? MRS. ATKINS. There, Kate Mayo! Ain’t that just what I told you? I can’t say a word of advice to my own daughter even, she’s that stubborn and self-willed. RUTH. (_putting her hands over her ears--in exasperation_) For goodness sakes, Ma! MRS. MAYO. (_dully_) Never mind. Andy’ll fix everything when he comes. RUTH. (_hopefully_) Oh, yes, I know he will. He always did know just the right thing ought to be done. (_With weary vexation_) It’s a shame for him to come home and have to start in with things in such a topsy-turvy. MRS. MAYO. Andy’ll manage. RUTH. (_sighing_) I s’pose it isn’t Rob’s fault things go wrong with him. MRS. ATKINS. (_scornfully_) Hump! (_She fans herself nervously_) Land o’ Goshen, but it’s bakin’ in here! Let’s go out in under the trees in back where there’s a breath of fresh air. Come, Kate. (MRS. MAYO _gets up obediently and starts to wheel the invalid’s chair toward the screen door_) You better come too, Ruth. It’ll do you good. Learn him a lesson and let him get his own dinner. Don’t be such a fool. RUTH. (_going and holding the screen door open for them--listlessly_) He wouldn’t mind. He doesn’t eat much. But I can’t go anyway. I’ve got to put baby to bed. MRS. ATKINS. Let’s go, Kate. I’m boilin’ in here. (MRS. MAYO _wheels her out and off left_. RUTH _comes back and sits down in her chair_). RUTH. (_mechanically_) Come and let me take off your shoes and stockings, Mary, that’s a good girl. You’ve got to take your nap now. (_The child continues to play as if she hadn’t heard, absorbed in her doll. An eager expression comes over_ RUTH’S _tired face. She glances toward the door furtively--then gets up and goes to the desk. Her movements indicate a guilty fear of discovery. She takes a letter from a pigeon-hole and retreats swiftly to her chair with it. She opens the envelope and reads the letter with great interest, a flush of excitement coming to her cheeks._ ROBERT _walks up the path and opens the screen door quietly and comes into the room. He, too, has aged. His shoulders are stooped as if under too great a burden. His eyes are dull and lifeless, his face burned by the sun and unshaven for days. Streaks of sweat have smudged the layer of dust on his cheeks. His lips drawn down at the corners, give him a hopeless, resigned expression. The three years have accentuated the weakness of his mouth and chin. He is dressed in overalls, laced boots, and a flannel shirt open at the neck_). ROBERT. (_throwing his hat over an the sofa--with a great sigh of exhaustion_) Phew! The sun’s hot today! (RUTH _is startled. At first she makes an instinctive motion as if to hide the letter in her bosom. She immediately thinks better of this and sits with the letter in her hands looking at him with defiant eyes. He bends down and kisses her_). RUTH. (_feeling of her cheek--irritably_) Why don’t you shave? You look awful. ROBERT. (_indifferently_) I forgot--and it’s too much trouble this weather. MARY. (_throwing aside her doll, runs to him with a happy cry_) Dada! Dada! ROBERT. (_swinging her up above his head--lovingly_) And how’s this little girl of mine this hot day, eh? MARY. (_screeching happily_) Dada! Dada! RUTH. (_in annoyance_) Don’t do that to her! You know it’s time for her nap and you’ll get her all waked up; then I’ll be the one that’ll have to sit beside her till she falls asleep. ROBERT. (_sitting down in the chair on the left of table and cuddling_ MARY _on his lap_) You needn’t bother. I’ll put her to bed. RUTH. (_shortly_) You’ve got to get back to your work, I s’pose. ROBERT. (_with a sigh_) Yes, I was forgetting. (_He glances at the open letter on_ RUTH’S _lap_) Reading Andy’s letter again? I should think you’d know it by heart by this time. RUTH. (_coloring as if she’d been accused of something--defiantly_) I’ve got a right to read it, haven’t I? He says it’s meant for all of us. ROBERT. (_with a trace of irritation_) Right? Don’t be so silly. There’s no question of right. I was only saying that you must know all that’s in it after so many readings. RUTH. Well, I don’t. (_She puts the letter on the table and gets wearily to her feet_) I s’pose you’ll be wanting your dinner now. ROBERT. (_listlessly_) I don’t care. I’m not hungry. RUTH. And here I been keeping it hot for you! ROBERT. (_irritably_) Oh, all right then. Bring it in and I’ll try to eat. RUTH. I’ve got to get her to bed first. (_She goes to lift_ MARY _off his lap_) Come, dear. It’s after time and you can hardly keep your eyes open now. MARY. (_crying_) No, no! (_Appealing to her father_) Dada! No! RUTH. (_accusingly to_ ROBERT) There! Now see what you’ve done! I told you not to---- ROBERT. (_shortly_) Let her alone, then. She’s all right where she is. She’ll fall asleep on my lap in a minute if you’ll stop bothering her. RUTH. (_hotly_) She’ll not do any such thing! She’s got to learn to mind me! (_Shaking her finger at_ MARY) You naughty child! Will you come with Mama when she tells you for your own good? MARY. (_clinging to her father_) No, Dada! RUTH. (_losing her temper_) A good spanking’s what you need, my young lady--and you’ll get one from me if you don’t mind better, d’you hear? (MARY _starts to whimper frightenedly_). ROBERT. (_with sudden anger_) Leave her alone! How often have I told you not to threaten her with whipping? I won’t have it. (_Soothing the wailing_ MARY) There! There, little girl! Baby mustn’t cry. Dada won’t like you if you do. Dada’ll hold you and you must promise to go to sleep like a good little girl. Will you when Dada asks you? MARY. (_cuddling up to him_) Yes, Dada. RUTH. (_looking at them, her pale face set and drawn_) A fine one you are to be telling folks how to do things! (_She bites her lips. Husband and wife look into each other’s eyes with something akin to hatred in their expressions; then_ RUTH _turns away with a shrug of affected indifference_) All right, take care of her then, if you think it’s so easy. (_She walks away into the kitchen_). ROBERT. (_smoothing_ MARY’S _hair--tenderly_) We’ll show Mama you’re a good little girl, won’t we? MARY. (_crooning drowsily_) Dada, Dada. ROBERT. Let’s see: Does your mother take off your shoes and stockings before your nap? MARY. (_nodding with half-shut eyes_) Yes, Dada. ROBERT. (_taking of her shoes and stockings_) We’ll show Mama we know how to do those things, won’t we? There’s one old shoe off--and there’s the other old shoe--and here’s one old stocking--and there’s the other old stocking. There we are, all nice and cool and comfy. (_He bends down and kisses her_) And now will you promise to go right to sleep if Dada takes you to bed? (MARY _nods sleepily_) That’s the good little girl. (_He gathers her up in his arms carefully and carries her into the bedroom. His voice can be heard faintly as he lulls the child to sleep._ RUTH _comes out of the kitchen and gets the plate from the table. She hears the voice from the room and tiptoes to the door to look in. Then she starts for the kitchen but stands for a moment thinking, a look of ill-concealed jealousy on her face. At a noise from inside she hurriedly disappears into the kitchen. A moment later_ ROBERT _re-enters. He comes forward and picks up the shoes and stockings which he shoves carelessly under the table. Then, seeing no one about, he goes to the sideboard and selects a book. Coming back to his chair, he sits down and immediately becomes absorbed in reading._ RUTH _returns from the kitchen bringing his plate heaped with food, and a cup of tea. She sets those before him and sits down in her former place._ ROBERT _continues to read, oblivious to the food on the table_). RUTH. (_after watching him irritably for a moment_) For heaven’s sakes, put down that old book! Don’t you see your dinner’s getting cold? ROBERT. (_closing his book_) Excuse me, Ruth. I didn’t notice. (_He picks up his knife and fork and begins to eat gingerly, without appetite_). RUTH. I should think you might have some feeling for me, Rob, and not always be late for meals. If you think it’s fun sweltering in that oven of a kitchen to keep things warm for you, you’re mistaken. ROBERT. I’m sorry, Ruth, really I am. Something crops up every day to delay me. I mean to be here on time. RUTH. (_with a sigh_) Mean-tos don’t count. ROBERT. (_with a conciliating smile_) Then punish me, Ruth. Let the food get cold and don’t bother about me. RUTH. I’d have to wait just the same to wash up after you. ROBERT. But I can wash up. RUTH. A nice mess there’d be then! ROBERT. (_with an attempt at lightness_) The food is lucky to be able to get cold this weather. (_As_ RUTH _doesn’t answer or smile he opens his book and resumes his reading, forcing himself to take a mouthful of food every now and then_. RUTH _stares at him in annoyance_). RUTH. And besides, you’ve got your own work that’s got to be done. ROBERT. (_absent-mindedly, without taking his eyes from the book_) Yes, of course. RUTH. (_spitefully_) Work you’ll never get done by reading books all the time. ROBERT. (_shutting the book with a snap_) Why do you persist in nagging at me for getting pleasure out of reading? Is it because---- (_He checks himself abruptly_). RUTH. (_coloring_) Because I’m too stupid to understand them, I s’pose you were going to say. ROBERT. (_shame-facedly_) No--no. (_In exasperation_) Why do you goad me into saying things I don’t mean? Haven’t I got my share of troubles trying to work this cursed farm without your adding to them? You know how hard I’ve tried to keep things going in spite of bad luck---- RUTH. (_scornfully_) Bad luck! ROBERT. And my own very apparent unfitness for the job, I was going to add; but you can’t deny there’s been bad luck to it, too. Why don’t you take things into consideration? Why can’t we pull together? We used to. I know it’s hard on you also. Then why can’t we help each other instead of hindering? RUTH. (_sullenly_) I do the best I know how. ROBERT. (_gets up and puts his hand on her shoulder_) I know you do. But let’s both of us try to do better. We can both improve. Say a word of encouragement once in a while when things go wrong, even if it is my fault. You know the odds I’ve been up against since Pa died. I’m not a farmer. I’ve never claimed to be one. But there’s nothing else I can do under the circumstances, and I’ve got to pull things through somehow. With your help, I can do it. With you against me---- (_He shrugs his shoulders. There is a pause. Then he bends down and kisses her hair--with an attempt at cheerfulness_) So you promise that; and I’ll promise to be here when the clock strikes--and anything else you tell me to. Is it a bargain? RUTH. (_dully_) I s’pose so. (_They are interrupted by the sound of a loud knock at the kitchen door_) There’s someone at the kitchen door. (_She hurries out. A moment later she reappears_) It’s Ben. ROBERT. (_frowning_) What’s the trouble now, I wonder? (In a loud voice) Come on in here, Ben. (BEN _slouches in from the kitchen. He is a hulking, awkward young fellow with a heavy, stupid face and shifty, cunning eyes. He is dressed in overalls, boots, etc., and wears a broad-brimmed hat of coarse straw pushed back on his head_) Well, Ben, what’s the matter? BEN. (_drawlingly_) The mowin’ machine’s bust. ROBERT. Why, that can’t be. The man fixed it only last week. BEN. It’s bust just the same. ROBERT. And can’t you fix it? BEN. No. Don’t know what’s the matter with the goll-darned thing. ’Twon’t work, anyhow. ROBERT. (_getting up and going for his hat_) Wait a minute and I’ll go look it over. There can’t be much the matter with it. BEN. (_impudently_) Don’t make no diff’rence t’ me whether there be or not. I’m quittin’. ROBERT. (_anxiously_) You don’t mean you’re throwing up your job here? BEN. That’s what! My month’s up today and I want what’s owin’ t’ me. ROBERT. But why are you quitting now, Ben, when you know I’ve so much work on hand? I’ll have a hard time getting another man at such short notice. BEN. That’s for you to figger. I’m quittin’. ROBERT. But what’s your reason? You haven’t any complaint to make about the way you’ve been treated, have you? BEN. No. ’Tain’t that. (_Shaking his finger_) Look-a-here. I’m sick o’ being made fun at, that’s what; an’ I got a job up to Timms’ place; an’ I’m quittin’ here. ROBERT. Being made fun of? I don’t understand you. Who’s making fun of you? BEN. They all do. When I drive down with the milk in the mornin’ they all laughs and jokes at me--that boy up to Harris’ and the new feller up to Slocum’s, and Bill Evans down to Meade’s, and all the rest on ’em. ROBERT. That’s a queer reason for leaving me flat. Won’t they laugh at you just the same when you’re working for Timms? BEN. They wouldn’t dare to. Timms is the best farm hereabouts. They was laughin’ at me for workin’ for _you_, that’s what! “How’re things up to the Mayo place?” they hollers every mornin’. “What’s Robert doin’ now--pasturin’ the cattle in the cornlot? Is he seasonin’ his hay with rain this year, same as last?” they shouts. “Or is he inventin’ some ’lectrical milkin’ engine to fool them dry cows o’ his into givin’ hard cider?” (_Very much ruffled_) That’s like they talks; and I ain’t goin’ to put up with it no longer. Everyone’s always knowed me as a first-class hand hereabouts, and I ain’t wantin’ ’em to get no different notion. So I’m quittin’ you. And I wants what’s comin’ to me. ROBERT. (_coldly_) Oh, if that’s the case, you can go to the devil. You’ll get your money tomorrow when I get back from town--not before! BEN. (_turning to doorway to kitchen_) That suits me. (_As he goes out he speaks back over his shoulder_) And see that I do get it, or there’ll be trouble. (_He disappears and the slamming of the kitchen door is heard_). ROBERT. (_as_ RUTH _comes from where she has been standing by the doorway and sits down dejectedly in her old place_) The stupid damn fool! And now what about the haying? That’s an example of what I’m up against. No one can say I’m responsible for that. RUTH. He wouldn’t dare act that way with anyone else! (_Spitefully, with a glance at_ ANDREW’S _letter on the table_) It’s lucky Andy’s coming back. ROBERT. (_without resentment_) Yes, Andy’ll see the right thing to do in a jiffy. (_With an affectionate smile_) I wonder if the old chump’s changed much? He doesn’t seem to from his letters, does he? (_Shaking his head_) But just the same I doubt if he’ll want to settle down to a hum-drum farm life, after all he’s been through. RUTH. (_resentfully_) Andy’s not like you. He likes the farm. ROBERT. (_immersed in his own thoughts--enthusiastically_) Gad, the things he’s seen and experienced! Think of the places he’s been! All the wonderful far places I used to dream about! God, how I envy him! What a trip! (_He springs to his feet and instinctively goes to the window and stares out at the horizon_). RUTH. (_bitterly_) I s’pose you’re sorry now you didn’t go? ROBERT. (_too occupied with his own thoughts to hear her--vindictively_) Oh, those cursed hills out there that I used to think promised me so much! How I’ve grown to hate the sight of them! They’re like the walls of a narrow prison yard shutting me in from all the freedom and wonder of life! (_He turns back to the room with a gesture of loathing_) Sometimes I think if it wasn’t for you, Ruth, and--(_his voice softening_)--little Mary, I’d chuck everything up and walk down the road with just one desire in my heart--to put the whole rim of the world between me and those hills, and be able to breathe freely once more! (_He sinks down into his chair and smiles with bitter self-scorn_) There I go dreaming again--- my old fool dreams. RUTH. (_in a low, repressed voice--her eyes smoldering_) You’re not the only one! ROBERT. (_buried in his own thoughts--bitterly_) And Andy, who’s had the chance--what has he got out of it? His letters read like the diary of a--of a farmer! “We’re in Singapore now. It’s a dirty hole of a place and hotter than hell. Two of the crew are down with fever and we’re short-handed on the work. I’ll be damn glad when we sail again, although tacking back and forth in these blistering seas is a rotten job too!” (_Scornfully_) That’s about the way he summed up his impressions of the East. RUTH. (_her repressed voice trembling_) You needn’t make fun of Andy. ROBERT. When I think--but what’s the use? You know I wasn’t making fun of Andy personally, but his attitude toward things is---- RUTH. (_her eyes flashing--bursting into uncontrollable rage_) You was too making fun of him! And I ain’t going to stand for it! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! (ROBERT _stares at her in amazement. She continues furiously_) A fine one to talk about anyone else--after the way you’ve ruined everything with your lazy loafing!--and the stupid way you do things! ROBERT. (_angrily_) Stop that kind of talk, do you hear? RUTH. You findin’ fault--with your own brother who’s ten times the man you ever was or ever will be! You’re jealous, that’s what! Jealous because he’s made a man of himself, while you’re nothing but a--but a---- (_She stutters incoherently, overcome by rage_). ROBERT. Ruth! Ruth! You’ll be sorry for talking like that. RUTH. I won’t! I won’t never be sorry! I’m only saying what I’ve been thinking for years. ROBERT. (_aghast_) Ruth! You can’t mean that! RUTH. What do you think--living with a man like you--having to suffer all the time because you’ve never been man enough to work and do things like other people. But no! You never own up to that. You think you’re so much better than other folks, with your college education, where you never learned a thing, and always reading your stupid books instead of working. I s’pose you think I ought to be _proud_ to be your wife--a poor, ignorant thing like me! (_Fiercely_) But I’m not. I hate it! I hate the sight of you. Oh, if I’d only known! If I hadn’t been such a fool to listen to your cheap, silly, poetry talk that you learned out of books! If I could have seen how you were in your true self--like you are now--I’d have killed myself before I’d have married you! I was sorry for it before we’d been together a month. I knew what you were really like--when it was too late. ROBERT. (_his voice raised loudly_) And now--I’m finding out what you’re really like--what a--a creature I’ve been living with. (_With a harsh laugh_) God! It wasn’t that I haven’t guessed how mean and small you are--but I’ve kept on telling myself that I must be wrong--like a fool!--like a damned fool! RUTH. You were saying you’d go out on the road if it wasn’t for me. Well, you can go, and the sooner the better! I don’t care! I’ll be glad to get rid of you! The farm’ll be better off too. There’s been a curse on it ever since you took hold. So go! Go and be a tramp like you’ve always wanted. It’s all you’re good for. I can get along without you, don’t you worry. (_Exulting fiercely_) Andy’s coming back, don’t forget that! He’ll attend to things like they should be. He’ll show what a man can do! I don’t need you. Andy’s coming! ROBERT. (_they are both standing_. ROBERT _grabs her by the shoulders and glares into her eyes_) What do you mean? (_He shakes her violently_) What are you thinking of? What’s in your evil mind, you--you---- (_His voice is a harsh shout_). RUTH. (_in a defiant scream_) Yes I do mean it! I’d say it if you was to kill me! I do love Andy. I do! I do! I always loved him. (_Exultantly_) And he loves me! He loves me! I know he does. He always did! And you know he did, too! So go! Go if you want to! ROBERT. (_throwing her away from him. She staggers back against the table--thickly_) You--you slut! (_He stands glaring at her as she leans back, supporting herself by the table, gasping for breath. A loud frightened whimper sounds from the awakened child in the bedroom. It continues. The man and woman stand looking at one another in horror, the extent of their terrible quarrel suddenly brought home to them. A pause. The noise of a horse and carriage comes from the road before the house. The two, suddenly struck by the same premonition, listen to it breathlessly, as to a sound heard in a dream. It stops. They hear_ ANDY’S _voice from the road shouting a long hail_--“_Ahoy there!_”) RUTH. (_with a strangled cry of joy_) Andy! Andy! (_She rushes and grabs the knob of the screen door, about to fling it open_). ROBERT. (_in a voice of command that forces obedience_) Stop! (_He goes to the door and gently pushes the trembling_ RUTH _away from it. The child’s crying rises to a louder pitch_) I’ll meet Andy. You better go in to Mary, Ruth. (_She looks at him defiantly for a moment, but there is something in his eyes that makes her turn and walk slowly into the bedroom_). ANDY’S VOICE. (_in a louder shout_) Ahoy there, Rob! ROBERT. (_in an answering shout of forced cheeriness_) Hello, Andy! (_He opens the door and walks out as_ (_The Curtain Falls_) ACT TWO SCENE TWO _The top of a hill on the farm. It is about eleven o’clock the next morning. The day is hot and cloudless. In the distance the sea can be seen._ _The top of the hill slopes downward slightly toward the left. A big boulder stands in the center toward the rear. Further right, a large oak tree. The faint trace of a path leading upward to it from the left foreground can be detected through the bleached, sun-scorched grass._ ROBERT _is discovered sitting on the boulder, his chin resting on his hands, staring out toward the horizon seaward. His face is pale and haggard, his expression one of utter despondency._ MARY _is sitting on the grass near him in the shade, playing with her doll, singing happily to herself. Presently she casts a curious glance at her father, and, propping her doll up against the tree, comes over and clambers to his side._ MARY. (_pulling at his hand--solicitously_) Dada sick? ROBERT. (_looking at her with a forced smile_) No, dear. Why? MARY. Play wif Mary. ROBERT. (_gently_) No, dear, not today. Dada doesn’t feel like playing today. MARY. (_protestingly_) Yes, Dada! ROBERT. No, dear. Dada does feel sick--a little. He’s got a bad headache. MARY. Mary see. (_He bends his head. She pats his hair_) Bad head. ROBERT. (_kissing her--with a smile_) There! It’s better now, dear, thank you. (_She cuddles up close against him. There is a pause during which each of them looks out seaward_) (_Finally_ ROBERT _turns to her tenderly_) Would you like Dada to go away?--far, far away? MARY. (_tearfully_) No! No! No, Dada, no! ROBERT. Don’t you like Uncle Andy--the man that came yesterday--not the old man with the white mustache--the other? MARY. Mary loves Dada. ROBERT. (_with fierce determination_) He won’t go away, baby. He was only joking. He couldn’t leave his little Mary. (_He presses the child in his arms_). MARY. (_with an exclamation of pain_) Oh! Hurt! ROBERT. I’m sorry, little girl. (_He lifts her down to the grass_) Go play with Dolly, that’s a good girl; and be careful to keep in the shade. (_She reluctantly leaves him and takes up her doll again. A moment later she points down the hill to the left_). MARY. Mans, Dada. ROBERT. (_looking that way_) It’s your Uncle Andy. (_A moment later_ ANDREW _comes up from the left, whistling cheerfully. He has changed but little in appearance, except for the fact that his face has been deeply bronzed by his years in the tropics; but there is a decided change in his manner. The old easy-going good-nature seems to have been partly lost in a breezy, business-like briskness of voice and gesture. There is an authoritative note in his speech as though he were accustomed to give orders and have them obeyed as a matter of course. He is dressed in the simple blue uniform and cap of a merchant ship’s officer_). ANDREW. Here you are, eh? ROBERT. Hello, Andy. ANDREW. (_going over to_ MARY) And who’s this young lady I find you all alone with, eh? Who’s this pretty young lady? (_He tickles the laughing, squirming_ MARY, _then lifts her up at arm’s length over his head_) Upsy--daisy! (_He sets her down on the ground again_) And there you are! (_He walks over and sits down on the boulder beside_ ROBERT _who moves to one side to make room for him_) Ruth told me I’d probably find you up top-side here; but I’d have guessed it, anyway. (_He digs his brother in the ribs affectionately_) Still up to your old tricks, you old beggar! I can remember how you used to come up here to mope and dream in the old days. ROBERT. (_with a smile_) I come up here now because it’s the coolest place on the farm. I’ve given up dreaming. ANDREW. (_grinning_) I don’t believe it. You can’t have changed that much. (_After a pause--with boyish enthusiasm_) Say, it sure brings back old times to be up here with you having a chin all by our lonesomes again. I feel great being back home. ROBERT. It’s great for us to have you back. ANDREW. (_after a pause--meaningly_) I’ve been looking over the old place with Ruth. Things don’t seem to be---- ROBERT. (_his face flushing--interrupts his brother shortly_) Never mind the damn farm! Let’s talk about something interesting. This is the first chance I’ve had to have a word with you alone. Tell me about your trip. ANDREW. Why, I thought I told you everything in my letters. ROBERT. (_smiling_) Your letters were--sketchy, to say the least. ANDREW. Oh, I know I’m no author. You needn’t be afraid of hurting my feelings. I’d rather go through a typhoon again than write a letter. ROBERT. (_with eager interest_) Then you were through a typhoon? ANDREW. Yes--in the China sea. Had to run before it under bare poles for two days. I thought we were bound down for Davy Jones, sure. Never dreamed waves could get so big or the wind blow so hard. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Dick being such a good skipper we’d have gone to the sharks, all of us. As it was we came out minus a main top-mast and had to beat back to Hong-Kong for repairs. But I must have written you all this. ROBERT. You never mentioned it. ANDREW. Well, there was so much dirty work getting things ship-shape again I must have forgotten about it. ROBERT. (_looking at_ ANDREW--_marveling_) Forget a typhoon? (_with a trace of scorn_) You’re a strange combination, Andy. And is what you’ve told me all you remember about it? ANDREW. Oh, I could give you your bellyful of details if I wanted to turn loose on you. It was all-wool-and-a-yard-wide-Hell, I’ll tell you. You ought to have been there. I remember thinking about you at the worst of it, and saying to myself: “This’d cure Rob of them ideas of his about the beautiful sea, if he could see it.” And it would have too, you bet! (_He nods emphatically_). ROBERT. (_dryly_) The sea doesn’t seem to have impressed you very favorably. ANDREW. I should say it didn’t! I’ll never set foot on a ship again if I can help it--except to carry me some place I can’t get to by train. ROBERT. But you studied to become an officer! ANDREW. Had to do something or I’d gone mad. The days were like years. (_He laughs_) And as for the East you used to rave about--well, you ought to see it, and _smell_ it! One walk down one of their filthy narrow streets with the tropic sun beating on it would sicken you for life with the “wonder and mystery” you used to dream of. ROBERT. (_shrinking from his brother with a glance of aversion_) So all you found in the East was a stench? ANDREW. _A_ stench! Ten thousand of them! ROBERT. But you did like some of the places, judging from your letters--Sydney, Buenos Aires---- ANDREW. Yes, Sydney’s a good town. (_Enthusiastically_) But Buenos Aires--there’s the place for you. Argentine’s a country where a fellow has a chance to make good. You’re right I like it. And I’ll tell you, Rob, that’s right where I’m going just as soon as I’ve seen you folks a while and can get a ship. I can get a berth as second officer, and I’ll jump the ship when I get there. I’ll need every cent of the wages Uncle’s paid me to get a start at something in B. A. ROBERT. (_staring at his brother--slowly_) So you’re not going to stay on the farm? ANDREW. Why sure not! Did you think I was? There wouldn’t be any sense. One of us is enough to run this little place. ROBERT. I suppose it does seem small to you now. ANDREW. (_not noticing the sarcasm in_ ROBERT’S _voice_) You’ve no idea, Rob, what a splendid place Argentine is. I had a letter from a marine insurance chap that I’d made friends with in Hong-Kong to his brother, who’s in the grain business in Buenos Aires. He took quite a fancy to me, and what’s more important, he offered me a job if I’d come back there. I’d have taken it on the spot, only I couldn’t leave Uncle Dick in the lurch, and I’d promised you folks to come home. But I’m going back there, you bet, and then you watch me get on! (_He slaps_ ROBERT _on the back_) But don’t you think it’s a big chance, Rob? ROBERT. It’s fine--for you, Andy. ANDREW. We call this a farm--but you ought to hear about the farms down there--ten square miles where we’ve got an acre. It’s a new country where big things are opening up--and I want to get in on something big before I die. I’m no fool when it comes to farming, and I know something about grain. I’ve been reading up a lot on it, too, lately. (_He notices_ ROBERT’S _absent-minded expression and laughs_) Wake up, you old poetry book worm, you! I know my talking about business makes you want to choke me, doesn’t it? ROBERT. (_with an embarrassed smile_) No, Andy, I--I just happened to think of something else. (_Frowning_) There’ve been lots of times lately that I’ve wished I had some of your faculty for business. ANDREW. (_soberly_) There’s something I want to talk about, Rob,--the farm. You don’t mind, do you? ROBERT. No. ANDREW. I walked over it this morning with Ruth--and she told me about things---- (_Evasively_) I could see the place had run down; but you mustn’t blame yourself. When luck’s against anyone---- ROBERT. Don’t, Andy! It _is_ my fault. You know it as well as I do. The best I’ve ever done was to make ends meet. ANDREW. (_after a pause_) I’ve got over a thousand saved, and you can have that. ROBERT. (_firmly_) No. You need that for your start in Buenos Aires. ANDREW. I don’t. I can---- ROBERT. (_determinedly_) No, Andy! Once and for all, no! I won’t hear of it! ANDREW. (_protestingly_) You obstinate old son of a gun! ROBERT. Oh, everything’ll be on a sound footing after harvest. Don’t worry about it. ANDREW. (_doubtfully_) Maybe. (_After a pause_) It’s too bad Pa couldn’t have lived to see things through. (_With feeling_) It cut me up a lot--hearing he was dead. He never--softened up, did he--about me, I mean? ROBERT. He never understood, that’s a kinder way of putting it. He does now. ANDREW. (_after a pause_) You’ve forgotten all about what--caused me to go, haven’t you, Rob? (ROBERT _nods but keeps his face averted_) I was a slushier damn fool in those days than you were. But it was an act of Providence I did go. It opened my eyes to how I’d been fooling myself. Why, I’d forgotten all about--that--before I’d been at sea six months. ROBERT. (_turns and looks into_ ANDREW’S _eyes searchingly_) You’re speaking of--Ruth? ANDREW. (_confused_) Yes. I didn’t want you to get false notions in your head, or I wouldn’t say anything. (_Looking_ ROBERT _squarely in the eyes_) I’m telling you the truth when I say I’d forgotten long ago. It don’t sound well for me, getting over things so easy, but I guess it never really amounted to more than a kid idea I was letting rule me. I’m certain now I never was in love--I was getting fun out of thinking I was--and being a hero to myself. (_He heaves a great sigh of relief_) There! Gosh, I’m glad that’s off my chest. I’ve been feeling sort of awkward ever since I’ve been home, thinking of what you two might think. (_A trace of appeal in his voice_) You’ve got it all straight now, haven’t you, Rob? ROBERT. (_in a low voice_) Yes, Andy. ANDREW. And I’ll tell Ruth, too, if I can get up the nerve. She must feel kind of funny having me round--after what used to be--and not knowing how I feel about it. ROBERT. (_slowly_) Perhaps--for her sake--you’d better not tell her. ANDREW. For her sake? Oh, you mean she wouldn’t want to be reminded of my foolishness? Still, I think it’d be worse if---- ROBERT. (_breaking out--in an agonized voice_) Do as you please, Andy; but for God’s sake, let’s not talk about it! (_There is a pause._ ANDREW _stares at_ ROBERT _in hurt stupefaction._ ROBERT _continues after a moment in a voice which he vainly attempts to keep calm_) Excuse me, Andy. This rotten headache has my nerves shot to pieces. ANDREW. (_mumbling_) It’s all right, Rob--long as you’re not sore at me. ROBERT. Where did Uncle Dick disappear to this morning? ANDREW. He went down to the port to see to things on the _Sunda_. He said he didn’t know exactly when he’d be back. I’ll have to go down and tend to the ship when he comes. That’s why I dressed up in these togs. MARY. (_pointing down the hill to the left_) See! Mama! Mama! (_She struggles to her feet._ RUTH _appears at left. She is dressed in white, shows she has been fixing up. She looks pretty, flushed and full of life_). MARY. (_running to her mother_) Mama! RUTH. (_kissing her_) Hello, dear! (_She walks toward the rock and addresses_ ROBERT _coldly_) Jake wants to see you about something. He finished working where he was. He’s waiting for you at the road. ROBERT. (_getting up--wearily_) I’ll go down right away. (_As he looks at_ RUTH, _noting her changed appearance, his face darkens with pain_). RUTH. And take Mary with you, please. (_To_ MARY) Go with Dada, that’s a good girl. Grandma has your dinner most ready for you. ROBERT. (_shortly_) Come, Mary! MARY. (_taking his hand and dancing happily beside him_) Dada! Dada! (_They go down the hill to the left._ RUTH _looks after them for a moment, frowning--then turns to_ ANDY _with a smile_) I’m going to sit down. Come on, Andy. It’ll be like old times. (_She jumps lightly to the top of the rock and sits down_) It’s so fine and cool up here after the house. ANDREW. (_half-sitting on the side of the boulder_) Yes. It’s great. RUTH. I’ve taken a holiday in honor of your arrival. (_Laughing excitedly_) I feel so free I’d like to have wings and fly over the sea. You’re a man. You can’t know how awful and stupid it is--cooking and washing dishes all the time. ANDREW. (_making a wry face_) I can guess. RUTH. Besides, your mother just insisted on getting your first dinner to home, she’s that happy at having you back. You’d think I was planning to poison you the flurried way she shooed me out of the kitchen. ANDREW. That’s just like Ma, bless her! RUTH. She’s missed you terrible. We all have. And you can’t deny the farm has, after what I showed you and told you when we was looking over the place this morning. ANDREW. (_with a frown_) Things are run down, that’s a fact! It’s too darn hard on poor old Rob. RUTH. (_scornfully_) It’s his own fault. He never takes any interest in things. ANDREW. (_reprovingly_) You can’t blame him. He wasn’t born for it; but I know he’s done his best for your sake and the old folks and the little girl. RUTH. (_indifferently_) Yes, I suppose he has. (_Gayly_) But thank the Lord, all those days are over now. The “hard luck” Rob’s always blaming won’t last long when you take hold, Andy. All the farm’s ever needed was someone with the knack of looking ahead and preparing for what’s going to happen. ANDREW. Yes, Rob hasn’t got that. He’s frank to own up to that himself. I’m going to try and hire a good man for him--an experienced farmer--to work the place on a salary and percentage. That’ll take it off of Rob’s hands, and he needn’t be worrying himself to death any more. He looks all worn out, Ruth. He ought to be careful. RUTH. (_absent-mindedly_) Yes, I s’pose. (_Her mind is filled with premonitions by the first part of his statement_) Why do you want to hire a man to oversee things? Seems as if now that you’re back it wouldn’t be needful. ANDREW. Oh, of course I’ll attend to everything while I’m here. I mean after I’m gone. RUTH. (_as if she couldn’t believe her ears_) Gone! ANDREW. Yes. When I leave for the Argentine again. RUTH. (_aghast_) You’re going away to sea! ANDREW. Not to sea, no; I’m through with the sea for good as a job. I’m going down to Buenos Aires to get in the grain business. RUTH. But--that’s far off--isn’t it? ANDREW. (_easily_) Six thousand miles more or less. It’s quite a trip. (_With enthusiasm_) I’ve got a peach of a chance down there, Ruth. Ask Rob if I haven’t. I’ve just been telling him all about it. RUTH. (_a flush of anger coming over her face_) And didn’t he try to stop you from going? ANDREW. (_in surprise_) No, of course not. Why? RUTH. (_slowly and vindictively_) That’s just like him--not to. ANDREW. (_resentfully_) Rob’s too good a chum to try and stop me when he knows I’m set on a thing. And he could see just as soon’s I told him what a good chance it was. RUTH. (_dazedly_) And you’re bound on going? ANDREW. Sure thing. Oh, I don’t mean right off. I’ll have to wait for a ship sailing there for quite a while, likely. Anyway, I want to stay to home and visit with you folks a spell before I go. RUTH. (_dumbly_) I s’pose. (_With sudden anguish_) Oh, Andy, you can’t go! You can’t. Why we’ve all thought--we’ve all been hoping and praying you was coming home to stay, to settle down on the farm and see to things. You mustn’t go! Think of how your Ma’ll take on if you go--and how the farm’ll be ruined if you leave it to Rob to look after. You can see that. ANDREW. (_frowning_) Rob hasn’t done so bad. When I get a man to direct things the farm’ll be safe enough. RUTH. (_insistently_) But your Ma--think of her. ANDREW. She’s used to me being away. She won’t object when she knows it’s best for her and all of us for me to go. You ask Rob. In a couple of years down there I’ll make my pile, see if I don’t; and then I’ll come back and settle down and turn this farm into the crackiest place in the whole state. In the meantime, I can help you both from down there. (_Earnestly_) I tell you, Ruth, I’m going to make good right from the minute I land, if working hard and a determination to get on can do it; and I _know_ they can! (_Excitedly--in a rather boastful tone_) I tell you, I feel ripe for bigger things than settling down here. The trip did that for me, anyway. It showed me the world is a larger proposition than ever I thought it was in the old days. I couldn’t be content any more stuck here like a fly in molasses. It all seems trifling, somehow. You ought to be able to understand what I feel. RUTH. (_dully_) Yes--I s’pose I ought. (_After a pause--a sudden suspicion forming in her mind_) What did Rob tell you--about me? ANDREW. Tell? About you? Why, nothing. RUTH. (_staring at him intensely_) Are you telling me the truth, Andy Mayo? Didn’t he say--I---- (_She stops confusedly_). ANDREW. (_surprised_) No, he didn’t mention you, I can remember. Why? What made you think he did? RUTH. (_wringing her hands_) Oh, I wish I could tell if you’re lying or not! ANDREW. (_indignantly_) What’re you talking about? I didn’t used to lie to you, did I? And what in the name of God is there to lie for? RUTH. (_still unconvinced_) Are you sure--will you swear--it isn’t the reason---- (_She lowers her eyes and half turns away from him_) The same reason that made you go last time that’s driving you away again? ’Cause if it is--I was going to say--you mustn’t go--on that account. (_Her voice sinks to a tremulous, tender whisper as she finishes_). ANDREW. (_confused--forces a laugh_) Oh, is that what you’re driving at? Well, you needn’t worry about that no more---- (_Soberly_) I don’t blame you, Ruth, feeling embarrassed having me around again, after the way I played the dumb fool about going away last time. RUTH. (_her hope crushed--with a gasp of pain_) Oh, Andy! ANDREW. (_misunderstanding_) I know I oughtn’t to talk about such foolishness to you. Still I figure it’s better to get it out of my system so’s we three can be together same’s years ago, and not be worried thinking one of us might have the wrong notion. RUTH. Andy! Please! Don’t! ANDREW. Let me finish now that I’ve started. It’ll help clear things up. I don’t want you to think once a fool always a fool, and be upset all the time I’m here on my fool account. I want you to believe I put all that silly nonsense back of me a long time ago--and now--it seems--well--as if you’d always been my sister, that’s what, Ruth. RUTH. (_at the end of her endurance--laughing hysterically_) For God’s sake, Andy--won’t you please stop talking! (_She again hides her face in her hands, her bowed shoulders trembling_). ANDREW. (_ruefully_) Seem’s if I put my foot in it whenever I open my mouth today. Rob shut me up with almost the same words when I tried speaking to him about it. RUTH. (_fiercely_) You told him--what you’ve told me? ANDREW. (_astounded_) Why sure! Why not? RUTH. (_shuddering_) Oh, my God! ANDREW. (_alarmed_) Why? Shouldn’t I have? RUTH. (_hysterically_) Oh, I don’t care what you do! I don’t care! Leave me alone! (ANDREW _gets up and walks down the hill to the left, embarrassed, hurt, and greatly puzzled by her behavior_). ANDREW. (_after a pause--pointing down the hill_) Hello! Here they come back--and the Captain’s with them. How’d he come to get back so soon, I wonder? That means I’ve got to hustle down to the port and get on board. Rob’s got the baby with him. (_He comes back to the boulder._ RUTH _keeps her face averted from him_) Gosh, I never saw a father so tied up in a kid as Rob is! He just watches every move she makes. And I don’t blame him. You both got a right to feel proud of her. She’s surely a little winner. (_He glances at_ RUTH _to see if this very obvious attempt to get back in her good graces is having any effect_) I can see the likeness to Rob standing out all over her, can’t you? But there’s no denying she’s your young one, either. There’s something about her eyes---- RUTH. (_piteously_) Oh, Andy, I’ve a headache! I don’t want to talk! Leave me alone, won’t you please? ANDREW. (_stands staring at her for a moment--then walks away saying in a hurt tone_): Everybody hereabouts seems to be on edge today. I begin to feel as if I’m not wanted around. (_He stands near the path, left, kicking at the grass with the toe of his shoe. A moment later_ CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT _enters, followed by_ ROBERT _carrying_ MARY. _The_ CAPTAIN _seems scarcely to have changed at all from the jovial, booming person he was three years before. He wears a uniform similar to_ ANDREW’S. _He is puffing and breathless from his climb and mops wildly at his perspiring countenance._ ROBERT _casts a quick glance at_ ANDREW, _noticing the latter’s discomfited look, and then turns his eyes on_ RUTH _who, at their approach, has moved so her back is toward them, her chin resting on her hands as she stares out seaward_). MARY. Mama! Mama! (ROBERT _puts her down and she runs to her mother._ RUTH _turns and grabs her up in her arms with a sudden fierce tenderness, quickly turning away again from the others. During the following scene she keeps_ MARY _in her arms_). SCOTT. (_wheezily_) Phew! I got great news for you, Andy. Let me get my wind first. Phew! God A’mighty, mountin’ this damned hill is worser’n goin’ aloft to the skys’l yard in a blow. I got to lay to a while. (_He sits down on the grass, mopping his face_). ANDREW. I didn’t look for you this soon, Uncle. SCOTT. I didn’t figger it, neither; but I run across a bit o’ news down to the Seamen’s Home made me ’bout ship and set all sail back here to find you. ANDREW. (_eagerly_) What is it, Uncle? SCOTT. Passin’ by the Home I thought I’d drop in an’ let ’em know I’d be lackin’ a mate next trip count o’ your leavin’. Their man in charge o’ the shippin’ asked after you ’special curious. “Do you think he’d consider a berth as Second on a steamer, Captain?” he asks. I was goin’ to say no when I thinks o’ you wantin’ to get back down south to the Plate agen; so I asks him: “What is she and where’s she bound?” “She’s the _El Paso_, a brand new tramp,” he says, “and she’s bound for Buenos Aires.” ANDREW. (_his eyes lighting up--excitedly_) Gosh, that is luck! When does she sail? SCOTT. Tomorrow mornin’. I didn’t know if you’d want to ship away agen so quick an’ I told him so. “Tell him I’ll hold the berth open for him until late this afternoon,” he says. So there you be, an’ you can make your own choice. ANDREW. I’d like to take it. There may not be another ship for Buenos Aires with a vacancy in months. (_His eyes roving from_ ROBERT _to_ RUTH _and back again--uncertainly_) Still--damn it all--tomorrow morning is soon. I wish she wasn’t leaving for a week or so. That’d give me a chance--it seems hard to go right away again when I’ve just got home. And yet it’s a chance in a thousand---- (_Appealing to_ ROBERT) What do you think, Rob? What would you do? ROBERT. (_forcing a smile_) He who hesitates, you know. (_Frowning_) It’s a piece of good luck thrown in your way--and--I think you owe it to yourself to jump at it. But don’t ask me to decide for you. RUTH. (_turning to look at_ ANDREW--_in a tone of fierce resentment_) Yes, go, Andy! (_She turns quickly away again. There is a moment of embarrassed silence_). ANDREW. (_thoughtfully_) Yes, I guess I will. It’ll be the best thing for all of us in the end, don’t you think so, Rob? (ROBERT _nods but remains silent_). SCOTT. (_getting to his feet_) Then, that’s settled. ANDREW. (_now that he has definitely made a decision his voice rings with hopeful strength and energy_) Yes, I’ll take the berth. The sooner I go the sooner I’ll be back, that’s a certainty; and I won’t come back with empty hands next time. You bet I won’t! SCOTT. You ain’t got so much time, Andy. To make sure you’d best leave here soon’s you kin. I got to get right back aboard. You’d best come with me. ANDREW. I’ll go to the house and repack my bag right away. ROBERT. (_quietly_) You’ll both be here for dinner, won’t you? ANDREW. (_worriedly_) I don’t know. Will there be time? What time is it now, I wonder? ROBERT. (_reproachfully_) Ma’s been getting dinner especially for you, Andy. ANDREW. (_flushing--shame-facedly_) Hell! And I was forgetting! Of course I’ll stay for dinner if I missed every damned ship in the world. (_He turns to the_ CAPTAIN--_briskly_) Come on, Uncle. Walk down with me to the house and you can tell me more about this berth on the way. I’ve got to pack before dinner. (_He and the_ CAPTAIN _start down to the left_. ANDREW _calls back over his shoulder_) You’re coming soon, aren’t you, Rob? ROBERT. Yes. I’ll be right down. (ANDREW _and the_ CAPTAIN _leave_. RUTH _puts_ MARY _on the ground and hides her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake as if she were sobbing._ ROBERT _stares at her with a grim, somber expression_. MARY _walks backward toward_ ROBERT, _her wondering eyes fixed on her mother_). MARY. (_her voice vaguely frightened, taking her father’s hand_) Dada, Mama’s cryin’, Dada. ROBERT. (_bending down and stroking her hair--in a voice he endeavors to keep from being harsh_) No, she isn’t, little girl. The sun hurts her eyes, that’s all. Aren’t you beginning to feel hungry, Mary? MARY. (_decidedly_) Yes, Dada. ROBERT. (_meaningly_) It must be your dinner time now. RUTH. (_in a muffled voice_) I’m coming, Mary. (_She wipes her eyes quickly and, without looking at_ ROBERT, _comes and takes_ MARY’S _hand--in a dead voice_) Come on and I’ll get your dinner for you. (_She walks out left, her eyes fixed on the ground, the skipping_ MARY _tugging at her hand_. ROBERT _waits a moment for them to get ahead and then slowly follows as_ (_The Curtain Falls_) BEYOND THE HORIZON ACT THREE ACT THREE SCENE ONE _Same as Act Two, Scene One--The sitting room of the farm house about six o’clock in the morning of a day toward the end of October five years later. It is not yet dawn, but as the action progresses the darkness outside the windows gradually fades to gray._ _The room, seen by the light of the shadeless oil lamp with a smoky chimney which stands on the table, presents an appearance of decay, of dissolution. The curtains at the windows are torn and dirty and one of them is missing. The closed desk is gray with accumulated dust as if it had not been used in years. Blotches of dampness disfigure the wall paper. Threadbare trails, leading to the kitchen and outer doors, show in the faded carpet. The top of the coverless table is stained with the imprints of hot dishes and spilt food. The rung of one rocker has been clumsily mended with a piece of plain board. A brown coating of rust covers the unblacked stove. A pile of wood is stacked up carelessly against the wall by the stove._ _The whole atmosphere of the room, contrasted with that of former years, is one of an habitual poverty too hopelessly resigned to be any longer ashamed or even conscious of itself._ _At the rise of the curtain_ RUTH _is discovered sitting by the stove, with hands outstretched to the warmth as if the air in the room were damp and cold. A heavy shawl is wrapped about her shoulders, half-concealing her dress of deep mourning. She has aged horribly. Her pale, deeply lined face has the stony lack of expression of one to whom nothing more can ever happen, whose capacity for emotion has been exhausted. When she speaks her voice is without timbre, low and monotonous. The negligent disorder of her dress, the slovenly arrangement of her hair, now streaked with gray, her muddied shoes run down at the heel, give full evidence of the apathy in which she lives._ _Her mother is asleep in her wheel chair beside the stove toward the rear, wrapped up in a blanket._ _There is a sound from the open bedroom door in the rear as if someone were getting out of bed._ RUTH _turns in that direction, with a look of dull annoyance. A moment later_ ROBERT _appears in the doorway, leaning weakly against it for support. His hair is long and unkempt, his face and body emaciated. There are bright patches of crimson over his check bones and his eyes are burning with fever. He is dressed in corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and wears worn carpet slippers on his bare feet._ RUTH. (_dully_) S-s-s-h-! Ma’s asleep. ROBERT. (_speaking with an effort_) I won’t wake her. (_He walks weakly to a rocker by the side of the table and sinks down in it exhausted_). RUTH. (_staring at the stove_) You better come near the fire where it’s warm. ROBERT. No. I’m burning up now. RUTH. That’s the fever. You know the doctor told you not to get up and move round. ROBERT. (_irritably_) That old fossil! He doesn’t know anything. Go to bed and stay there--that’s his only prescription. RUTH. (_indifferently_) How are you feeling now? ROBERT. (_buoyantly_) Better! Much better than I’ve felt in ages. Really I’m fine now--only very weak. It’s the turning point, I guess. From now on I’ll pick up so quick I’ll surprise you--and no thanks to that old fool of a country quack, either. RUTH. He’s always tended to us. ROBERT. Always helped us to die, you mean! He “tended” to Pa and Ma and--(_his voice breaks_)--and to--Mary. RUTH. (_dully_) He did the best he knew, I s’pose. (_After a pause_) Well, Andy’s bringing a specialist with him when he comes. That ought to suit you. ROBERT. (_bitterly_) Is that why you’re waiting up all night? RUTH. Yes. ROBERT. For Andy? RUTH. (_without a trace of feeling_) Somebody had got to. It’s only right for someone to meet him after he’s been gone five years. ROBERT. (_with bitter mockery_) Five years! It’s a long time. RUTH. Yes. ROBERT. (_meaningly_) To _wait_! RUTH. (_indifferently_) It’s past now. ROBERT. Yes, it’s past. (_After a pause_) Have you got his two telegrams with you? (RUTH _nods_) Let me see them, will you? My head was so full of fever when they came I couldn’t make head or tail to them. (_Hastily_) But I’m feeling fine now. Let me read them again. (RUTH _takes them from the bosom of her dress and hands them to him_). RUTH. Here. The first one’s on top. ROBERT. (_opening it_) New York. “Just landed from steamer. Have important business to wind up here. Will be home as soon as deal is completed.” (_He smiles bitterly_) Business first was always Andy’s motto (_He reads_) “Hope you are all well. Andy.” (_He repeats ironically_) “Hope you are all well!” RUTH. (_dully_) He couldn’t know you’d been took sick till I answered that and told him. ROBERT. (_contritely_) Of course he couldn’t. I’m a fool. I’m touchy about nothing lately. Just what did you say in your reply? RUTH. (_inconsequentially_) I had to send it collect. ROBERT. (_irritably_) What did you say was the matter with me? RUTH. I wrote you had lung trouble. ROBERT. (_flying into a petty temper_) You _are_ a fool! How often have I explained to you that it’s _pleurisy_ is the matter with me. You can’t seem to get it in your head that the pleura is outside the lungs, not in them! RUTH. (_callously_) I only wrote what Doctor Smith told me. ROBERT. (_angrily_) He’s a damned ignoramus! RUTH. (_dully_) Makes no difference. I had to tell Andy something, didn’t I? ROBERT. (_after a pause, opening the other telegram_) He sent this last evening. Let’s see. (_He reads_) “Leave for home on midnight train. Just received your wire. Am bringing specialist to see Rob. Will motor to farm from Port.” (_He calculates_) What time is it now? RUTH. Round six, must be. ROBERT. He ought to be here soon. I’m glad he’s bringing a doctor who knows something. A specialist will tell you in a second that there’s nothing the matter with my lungs. RUTH. (_stolidly_) You’ve been coughing an awful lot lately. ROBERT. (_irritably_) What nonsense! For God’s sake, haven’t you ever had a bad cold yourself? (RUTH _stares at the stove in silence_. ROBERT _fidgets in his chair. There is a pause. Finally_ ROBERT’S _eyes are fixed on the sleeping_ MRS. ATKINS) Your mother is lucky to be able to sleep so soundly. RUTH. Ma’s tired. She’s been sitting up with me most of the night. ROBERT. (_mockingly_) Is she waiting for Andy, too? (_There is a pause._ ROBERT _sighs_) I couldn’t get to sleep to save my soul. I counted ten million sheep if I counted one. No use! I gave up trying finally and just laid there in the dark thinking. (_He pauses, then continues in a tone of tender sympathy_) I was thinking about you, Ruth--of how hard these last years must have been for you. (_Appealingly_) I’m sorry, Ruth. RUTH. (_in a dead voice_) I don’t know. They’re past now. They were hard on all of us. ROBERT. Yes; on all of us but Andy. (_With a flash of sick jealousy_) Andy’s made a big success of himself--the kind he wanted. (_Mockingly_) And now he’s coming home to let us admire his greatness. (_Frowning--irritably_) What am I talking about? My brain must be sick, too. (_After a pause_) Yes, these years have been terrible for both of us. (_His voice is lowered to a trembling whisper_) Especially the last eight months since Mary--died. (_He forces back a sob with a convulsive shudder--then breaks out in a passionate agony_) Our last hope of happiness! I could curse God from the bottom of my soul--if there was a God! (_He is racked by a violent fit of coughing and hurriedly puts his handkerchief to his lips_). RUTH. (_without looking at him_) Mary’s better off--being dead. ROBERT. (_gloomily_) We’d all be better off for that matter. (_With a sudden exasperation_) You tell that mother of yours she’s got to stop saying that Mary’s death was due to a weak constitution inherited from me. (_On the verge of tears of weakness_) It’s got to stop, I tell you! RUTH. (_sharply_) S-h-h! You’ll wake her; and then she’ll nag at me--not you. ROBERT. (_coughs and lies back in his chair weakly--a pause_) It’s all because your mother’s down on me for not begging Andy for help. RUTH. (_resentfully_) You might have. He’s got plenty. ROBERT. How can _you_ of all people think of taking money from _him_? RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t see the harm. He’s your own brother. ROBERT. (_shrugging his shoulders_) What’s the use of talking to you? Well, _I_ couldn’t. (_Proudly_) And I’ve managed to keep things going, thank God. You can’t deny that without help I’ve succeeded in---- (_He breaks off with a bitter laugh_) My God, what am I boasting of? Debts to this one and that, taxes, interest unpaid! I’m a fool! (_He lies back in his chair closing his eyes for a moment, then speaks in a low voice_) I’ll be frank, Ruth. I’ve been an utter failure, and I’ve dragged you with me. I couldn’t blame you in all justice--for hating me. RUTH. (_without feeling_) I don’t hate you. It’s been my fault too, I s’pose. ROBERT. No. You couldn’t help loving--Andy. RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t love anyone. ROBERT. (_waving her remark aside_) You needn’t deny it. It doesn’t matter. (_After a pause--with a tender smile_) Do you know Ruth, what I’ve been dreaming back there in the dark? (_With a short laugh_) I was planning our future when I get well. (_He looks at her with appealing eyes as if afraid she will sneer at him. Her expression does not change. She stares at the stove. His voice takes on a note of eagerness_) After all, why shouldn’t we have a future? We’re young yet. If we can only shake off the curse of this farm! It’s the farm that’s ruined our lives, damn it! And now that Andy’s coming back--I’m going to sink my foolish pride, Ruth! I’ll borrow the money from him to give us a good start in the city. We’ll go where people live instead of stagnating, and start all over again. (_Confidently_) I won’t be the failure there that I’ve been here, Ruth. You won’t need to be ashamed of me there. I’ll prove to you the reading I’ve done can be put to some use. (_Vaguely_) I’ll write, or something of that sort. I’ve always wanted to write. (_Pleadingly_) You’ll want to do that, won’t you, Ruth? RUTH. (_dully_) There’s Ma. ROBERT. She can come with us. RUTH. She wouldn’t. ROBERT. (_angrily_) So that’s your answer! (_He trembles with violent passion. His voice is so strange that_ RUTH _turns to look at him in alarm_) You’re lying, Ruth! Your mother’s just an excuse. You want to stay here. You think that because Andy’s coming back that---- (_He chokes and has an attack of coughing_). RUTH. (_getting up--in a frightened voice_) What’s the matter? (_She goes to him_) I’ll go with you, Rob. Stop that coughing for goodness’ sake! It’s awful bad for you. (_She soothes him in dull tones_) I’ll go with you to the city--soon’s you’re well again. Honest I will, Rob, I promise! (ROB _lies back and closes his eyes. She stands looking down at him anxiously_) Do you feel better now? ROBERT. Yes. (RUTH _goes back to her chair. After a pause he opens his eyes and sits up in his chair. His face is flushed and happy_) Then you _will_ go, Ruth? RUTH. Yes. ROBERT. (_excitedly_) We’ll make a new start, Ruth--just you and I. Life owes us some happiness after what we’ve been through. (_Vehemently_) It must! Otherwise our suffering would be meaningless--and that is unthinkable. RUTH. (_worried by his excitement_) Yes, yes, of course, Rob, but you mustn’t---- ROBERT. Oh, don’t be afraid. I feel completely well, really I do--now that I can hope again. Oh if you knew how glorious it feels to have something to look forward to! Can’t you feel the thrill of it, too--the vision of a new life opening up after all the horrible years? RUTH. Yes, yes, but do be---- ROBERT. Nonsense! I won’t be careful. I’m getting back all my strength. (_He gets lightly to his feet_) See! I feel light as a feather. (_He walks to her chair and bends down to kiss her smilingly_) One kiss--the first in years, isn’t it?--to greet the dawn of a new life together. RUTH. (_submitting to his kiss--worriedly_) Sit down, Rob, for goodness’ sake! ROBERT. (_with tender obstinacy--stroking her hair_) I won’t sit down. You’re silly to worry. (_He rests one hand on the back of her chair_) Listen. All our suffering has been a test through which we had to pass to prove ourselves worthy of a finer realization. (_Exultingly_) And we did pass through it! It hasn’t broken us! And now the dream is to come true! Don’t you see? RUTH. (_looking at him with frightened eyes as if she thought he had gone mad_) Yes, Rob, I see; but won’t you go back to bed now and rest? ROBERT. No. I’m going to see the sun rise. It’s an augury of good fortune. (_He goes quickly to the window in the rear left, and pushing the curtains aside, stands looking out._ RUTH _springs to her feet and comes quickly to the table, left, where she remains watching_ ROBERT _in a tense, expectant attitude. As he peers out his body seems gradually to sag, to grow limp and tired. His voice is mournful as he speaks_) No sun yet. It isn’t time. All I can see is the black rim of the damned hills outlined against a creeping grayness. (_He turns around; letting the curtains fall back, stretching a hand out to the wall to support himself. His false strength of a moment has evaporated, leaving his face drawn and hollow-eyed. He makes a pitiful attempt to smile_) That’s not a very happy augury, is it? But the sun’ll come--soon. (_He sways weakly_). RUTH. (_hurrying to his side and supporting him_) Please go to bed, won’t you, Rob? You don’t want to be all wore out when the specialist comes, do you? ROBERT. (_quickly_) No. That’s right. He mustn’t think I’m sicker than I am. And I feel as if I could sleep now--(_Cheerfully_)--a good, sound, restful sleep. RUTH. (_helping him to the bedroom door_) That’s what you need most. (_They go inside. A moment later she reappears calling back_) I’ll shut this door so’s you’ll be quiet. (_She closes the door and goes quickly to her mother and shakes her by the shoulder_) Ma! Ma! Wake up! MRS. ATKINS. (_coming out of her sleep with a start_) Glory be! What’s the matter with you? RUTH. It was Rob. He’s just been talking to me out here. I put him back to bed. (_Now that she is sure her mother is awake her fear passes and she relapses into dull indifference. She sits down in her chair and stares at the stove--dully_) He acted--funny; and his eyes looked so--so wild like. MRS. ATKINS. (_with asperity_) And is that all you woke me out of a sound sleep for, and scared me near out of my wits? RUTH. I was afraid. He talked so crazy. I couldn’t quiet him. I didn’t want to be alone with him that way. Lord knows what he might do. MRS. ATKINS. (_scornfully_) Humph! A help I’d be to you and me not able to move a step! Why didn’t you run and get Jake? RUTH. (_dully_) Jake isn’t here. He quit last night. He hasn’t been paid in three months. MRS. ATKINS. (_indignantly_) I can’t blame him. What decent person’d want to work on a place like this? (_With sudden exasperation_) Oh, I wish you’d never married that man! RUTH. (_wearily_) You oughtn’t to talk about him now when he’s sick in his bed. MRS. ATKINS. (_working herself into a fit of rage_) You know very well, Ruth Mayo, if it wasn’t for me helpin’ you on the sly out of my savin’s, you’d both been in the poor house--and all ’count of his pigheaded pride in not lettin’ Andy know the state thin’s were in. A nice thin’ for me to have to support him out of what I’d saved for my last days--and me an invalid with no one to look to! RUTH. Andy’ll pay you back, Ma. I can tell him so’s Rob’ll never know. MRS. ATKINS. (_with a snort_) What’d Rob think you and him was livin’ on, _I_’d like to know? RUTH. (_dully_) He didn’t think about it, I s’pose. (_After a slight pause_) He said he’d made up his mind to ask Andy for help when he comes. (_As a clock in the kitchen strikes six_) Six o’clock. Andy ought to get here directly. MRS. ATKINS. D’you think this special doctor’ll do Rob any good? RUTH. (_hopelessly_) I don’t know. (_The two women remain silent for a time staring dejectedly at the stove_). MRS. ATKINS. (_shivering irritably_) For goodness’ sake put some wood on that fire. I’m most freezin’! RUTH. (_pointing to the door in the rear_) Don’t talk so loud. Let him sleep if he can. (_She gets wearily from the chair and puts a few pieces of wood in the stove_) This is the last of the wood. I don’t know who’ll cut more now that Jake’s left. (_She sighs and walks to the window in the rear, left, pulls the curtains aside, and looks out_) It’s getting gray out. (_She comes back to the stove_) Looks like it’d be a nice day. (_She stretches out her hands to warm them_) Must’ve been a heavy frost last night. We’re paying for the spell of warm weather we’ve been having. (_The throbbing whine of a motor sounds from the distance outside_). MRS. ATKINS. (_sharply_) S-h-h! Listen! Ain’t that an auto I hear? RUTH. (_without interest_) Yes. It’s Andy, I s’pose. MRS. ATKINS. (_with nervous irritation_) Don’t sit there like a silly goose. Look at the state of this room! What’ll this strange doctor think of us? Look at that lamp chimney all smoke! Gracious sakes, Ruth---- RUTH. (_indifferently_) I’ve got a lamp all cleaned up in the kitchen. MRS. ATKINS. (_peremptorily_) Wheel me in there this minute. I don’t want him to see me looking a sight. I’ll lay down in the room the other side. You don’t need me now and I’m dead for sleep. (RUTH _wheels her mother off right. The noise of the motor grows louder and finally ceases as the car stops on the road before the farmhouse._ RUTH _returns from the kitchen with a lighted lamp in her hand which she sets on the table beside the other. The sound of footsteps on the path is heard--then a sharp rap on the door._ RUTH _goes and opens it._ ANDREW _enters, followed by_ DOCTOR FAWCETT _carrying a small black bag._ ANDREW _has changed greatly. His face seems to have grown highstrung, hardened by the look of decisiveness which comes from being constantly under a strain where judgments on the spur of the moment are compelled to be accurate. His eyes are keener and more alert. There is even a suggestion of ruthless cunning about them. At present, however, his expression is one of tense anxiety._ DOCTOR FAWCETT _is a short, dark, middle-aged man with a Vandyke beard. He wears glasses_). RUTH. Hello, Andy! I’ve been waiting---- ANDREW. (_kissing her hastily_) I got here as soon as I could. (_He throws of his cap and heavy overcoat on the table, introducing_ RUTH _and the_ DOCTOR _as he does so. He is dressed in an expensive business suit and appears stouter_) My sister-in-law, Mrs. Mayo--Doctor Fawcett. (_They bow to each other silently._ ANDREW _casts a quick glance about the room_) Where’s Rob? RUTH. (_pointing_) In there. ANDREW. I’ll take your coat and hat, Doctor. (_As he helps the_ DOCTOR _with his things_) Is he very bad, Ruth? RUTH. (_dully_) He’s been getting weaker. ANDREW. Damn! This way, Doctor. Bring the lamp, Ruth. (_He goes into the bedroom, followed by the_ DOCTOR _and_ RUTH _carrying the clean lamp_. RUTH _reappears almost immediately closing the door behind her, and goes slowly to the outside door, which she opens, and stands in the doorway looking out. The sound of_ ANDREW’S _and_ ROBERT’S _voices comes from the bedroom. A moment later_ ANDREW _re-enters, closing the door softly. He comes forward and sinks down in the rocker on the right of table, leaning his head on his hand. His face is drawn in a shocked expression of great grief. He sighs heavily, staring mournfully in front of him._ RUTH _turns and stands watching him. Then she shuts the door and returns to her chair by the stove, turning it so she can face him_). ANDREW. (_glancing up quickly--in a harsh voice_) How long has this been going on? RUTH. You mean--how long has he been sick? ANDREW. (_shortly_) Of course! What else? RUTH. It was last summer he had a bad spell first, but he’s been ailin’ ever since Mary died--eight months ago. ANDREW. (_harshly_) Why didn’t you let me know--cable me? Do you want him to die, all of you? I’m damned if it doesn’t look that way! (_His voice breaking_) Poor old chap! To be sick in this out-of-the-way hole without anyone to attend to him but a country quack! It’s a damned shame! RUTH. (_dully_) I wanted to send you word once, but he only got mad when I told him. He was too proud to ask anything, he said. ANDREW. Proud? To ask _me_? (_He jumps to his feet and paces nervously back and forth_) I can’t understand the way you’ve acted. Didn’t you see how sick he was getting? Couldn’t you realize--why, I nearly dropped in my tracks when I saw him! He looks--(_He shudders_)--terrible! (_With fierce scorn_) I suppose you’re so used to the idea of his being delicate that you took his sickness as a matter of course. God, if I’d only known! RUTH. (_without emotion_) A letter takes so long to get where you were--and we couldn’t afford to telegraph. We owed everyone already, and I couldn’t ask Ma. She’d been giving me money out of her savings till she hadn’t much left. Don’t say anything to Rob about it. I never told him. He’d only be mad at me if he knew. But I had to, because--God knows how we’d have got on if I hadn’t. ANDREW. You mean to say---- (_His eyes seem to take in the poverty-stricken appearance of the room for the first time_) You sent that telegram to me collect. Was it because---- (RUTH _nods silently._ ANDREW _pounds on the table with his fist_) Good God! And all this time I’ve been--why I’ve had everything! (_He sits down in his chair and pulls it close to_ RUTH’S--_impulsively_) But--I can’t get it through my head. Why? Why? What has happened? How did it ever come about? Tell me! RUTH. (_dully_) There’s nothing much to tell. Things kept getting worse, that’s all--and Rob didn’t seem to care. He never took any interest since way back when your Ma died. After that he got men to take charge, and they nearly all cheated him--he couldn’t tell--and left one after another. Then after Mary died he didn’t pay no heed to anything any more--just stayed indoors and took to reading books again. So I had to ask Ma if she wouldn’t help us some. ANDREW. (_surprised and horrified_) Why, damn it, this is frightful! Rob must be mad not to have let me know. Too proud to ask help of _me_! What’s the matter with him in God’s name? (_A sudden, horrible suspicion entering his mind_) Ruth! Tell me the truth. His mind hasn’t gone back on him, has it? RUTH. (_dully_) I don’t know. Mary’s dying broke him up terrible--but he’s used to her being gone by this, I s’pose. ANDREW. (_looking at her queerly_) Do you mean to say _you’re_ used to it? RUTH. (_in a dead tone_) There’s a time comes--when you don’t mind any more--anything. ANDREW. (_looks at her fixedly for a moment--with great pity_) I’m sorry, Ruth--if I seemed to blame you. I didn’t realize---- The sight of Rob lying in bed there, so gone to pieces--it made me furious at everyone. Forgive me, Ruth. RUTH. There’s nothing to forgive. It doesn’t matter. ANDREW. (_springing to his feet again and pacing up and down_) Thank God I came back before it was too late. This doctor will know exactly what to do. That’s the first thing to think of. When Rob’s on his feet again we can get the farm working on a sound basis once more. I’ll see to that--before I leave. RUTH. You’re going away again? ANDREW. I’ve got to. RUTH. You wrote Rob you was coming back to stay this time. ANDREW. I expected to--until I got to New York. Then I learned certain facts that make it necessary. (_With a short laugh_) To be candid, Ruth, I’m not the rich man you’ve probably been led to believe by my letters--not now. I was when I wrote them. I made money hand over fist as long as I stuck to legitimate trading; but I wasn’t content with that. I wanted it to come easier, so like all the rest of the idiots, I tried speculation. Oh, I won all right! Several times I’ve been almost a millionaire--on paper--and then come down to earth again with a bump. Finally the strain was too much. I got disgusted with myself and made up my mind to get out and come home and forget it and really live again. (_He gives a harsh laugh_) And now comes the funny part. The day before the steamer sailed I saw what I thought was a chance to become a millionaire again. (_He snaps his fingers_) That easy! I plunged. Then, before things broke, I left--I was so confident I couldn’t be wrong. But when I landed in New York--I wired you I had business to wind up, didn’t I? Well, it was the business that wound me up! (_He smiles grimly, pacing up and down, his hands in his pockets_). RUTH. (_dully_) You found--you’d lost everything? ANDREW. (_sitting down again_) Practically. (_He takes a cigar from his pocket, bites the end off, and lights it_) Oh, I don’t mean I’m dead broke. I’ve saved ten thousand from the wreckage, maybe twenty. But that’s a poor showing for five years’ hard work. That’s why I’ll have to go back. (_Confidently_) I can make it up in a year or so down there--and I don’t need but a shoestring to start with. (_A weary expression comes over his face and he sighs heavily_) I wish I didn’t have to. I’m sick of it all. RUTH. It’s too bad--things seem to go wrong so. ANDREW. (_shaking off his depression--briskly_) They might be much worse. There’s enough left to fix the farm O. K. before I go. I won’t leave ’til Rob’s on his feet again. In the meantime I’ll make things fly around here. (_With satisfaction_) I need a rest, and the kind of rest I need is hard work in the open--just like I used to do in the old days. (_Stopping abruptly and lowering his voice cautiously_) Not a word to Rob about my losing money! Remember that, Ruth! You can see why. If he’s grown so touchy he’d never accept a cent if he thought I was hard up; see? RUTH. Yes, Andy. (_After a pause, during which_ ANDREW _puffs at his cigar abstractedly, his mind evidently busy with plans for the future, the bedroom door is opened and_ DOCTOR FAWCETT _enters, carrying a bag. He closes the door quietly behind him and comes forward, a grave expression on his face._ ANDREW _springs out of his chair_). ANDREW. Ah, Doctor! (_He pushes a chair between his own and_ RUTH’S) Won’t you have a chair? FAWCETT. (_glancing at his watch_) I must catch the nine o’clock back to the city. It’s imperative. I have only a moment. (_Sitting down and clearing his throat--in a perfunctory, impersonal voice_) The case of your brother, Mr. Mayo, is---- (_He stops and glances at_ RUTH _and says meaningly to_ ANDREW) Perhaps it would be better if you and I---- RUTH. (_with dogged resentment_) I know what you mean, Doctor. (_Dully_) Don’t be afraid I can’t stand it. I’m used to bearing trouble by this; and I can guess what you’ve found out. (_She hesitates for a moment--then continues in a monotonous voice_) Rob’s going to die. ANDREW. (_angrily_) Ruth! FAWCETT. (_raising his hand as if to command silence_) I am afraid my diagnosis of your brother’s condition forces me to the same conclusion as Mrs. Mayo’s. ANDREW. (_groaning_) But, Doctor, surely---- FAWCETT. (_calmly_) Your brother hasn’t long to live--perhaps a few days, perhaps only a few hours. It’s a marvel that he’s alive at this moment. My examination revealed that both of his lungs are terribly affected. ANDREW. (_brokenly_) Good God! (RUTH _keeps her eyes fixed on her lap in a trance-like stare_). FAWCETT. I am sorry I have to tell you this. If there was anything that could be done---- ANDREW. There isn’t anything? FAWCETT. (_shaking his head_) It’s too late. Six months ago there might have---- ANDREW. (_in anguish_) But if we were to take him to the mountains--or to Arizona--or---- FAWCETT. That might have prolonged his life six months ago. (ANDREW _groans_) But now---- (_He shrugs his shoulders significantly_). ANDREW. (_appalled by a sudden thought_) Good heavens, you haven’t told him this, have you, Doctor? FAWCETT. No. I lied to him. I said a change of climate---- (_He looks at his watch again nervously_) I must leave you. (_He gets up_). ANDREW. (_getting to his feet--insistently_) But there must still be some chance---- FAWCETT. (_as if he were reassuring a child_) There is always that last chance--the miracle. (_He puts on his hat and coat--bowing to_ RUTH) Good-by, Mrs. Mayo. RUTH. (_without raising her eyes--dully_) Good-by. ANDREW. (_mechanically_) I’ll walk to the car with you, Doctor. (_They go out of the door._ RUTH _sits motionlessly. The motor is heard starting and the noise gradually recedes into the distance._ ANDREW _re-enters and sits down in his chair, holding his head in his hands_) Ruth! (_She lifts her eyes to his_) Hadn’t we better go in and see him? God! I’m afraid to! I know he’ll read it in my face. (_The bedroom door is noiselessly opened and_ ROBERT _appears in the doorway. His cheeks are flushed with fever, and his eyes appear unusually large and brilliant._ ANDREW _continues with a groan_) It can’t be, Ruth. It can’t be as hopeless as he said. There’s always a fighting chance. We’ll take Rob to Arizona. He’s _got_ to get well. There _must_ be a chance! ROBERT. (_in a gentle tone_) Why must there, Andy? (RUTH _turns and stares at him with terrified eyes_). ANDREW. (_whirling around_) Rob! (_Scoldingly_) What are you doing out of bed? (_He gets up and goes to him_) Get right back now and obey the Doc, or you’re going to get a licking from me! ROBERT. (_ignoring these remarks_) Help me over to the chair, please, Andy. ANDREW. Like hell I will! You’re going right back to bed, that’s where you’re going, and stay there! (_He takes hold of_ ROBERT’S _arm_). ROBERT. (_mockingly_) Stay there ’til I die, eh, Andy? (_Coldly_) Don’t behave like a child. I’m sick of lying down. I’ll be more rested sitting up. (_As_ ANDREW _hesitates--violently_) I swear I’ll get out of bed every time you put me there. You’ll have to sit on my chest, and that wouldn’t help my health any. Come on, Andy. Don’t play the fool. I want to talk to you, and I’m going to. (_With a grim smile_) A dying man has some rights, hasn’t he? ANDREW. (_with a shudder_) Don’t talk that way, for God’s sake! I’ll only let you sit down if you’ll promise that. Remember. (_He helps_ ROBERT _to the chair between his own and_ RUTH’S) Easy now! There you are! Wait, and I’ll get a pillow for you. (_He goes into the bedroom._ ROBERT _looks at_ RUTH _who shrinks away from him in terror_. ROBERT _smiles bitterly_. ANDREW _comes back with the pillow which he places behind_ ROBERT’S _back_) How’s that? ROBERT. (_with an affectionate smile_) Fine! Thank you! (_As_ ANDREW _sits down_) Listen, Andy. You’ve asked me not to talk--and I won’t after I’ve made my position clear. (_Slowly_) In the first place I know I’m dying. (RUTH _bows her head and covers her face with her hands. She remains like this all during the scene between the two brothers_). ANDREW. Rob! That isn’t so! ROBERT. (_wearily_) It _is_ so! Don’t lie to me. After Ruth put me to bed before you came, I saw it clearly for the first time. (_Bitterly_) I’d been making plans for our future--Ruth’s and mine--so it came hard at first--the realization. Then when the doctor examined me, I knew--although he tried to lie about it. And then to make sure I listened at the door to what he told you. So don’t mock me with fairy tales about Arizona, or any such rot as that. Because I’m dying is no reason you should treat me as an imbecile or a coward. Now that I’m sure what’s happening I can say Kismet to it with all my heart. It was only the silly uncertainty that hurt. (_There is a pause._ ANDREW _looks around in impotent anguish, not knowing what to say_. ROBERT _regards him with an affectionate smile_). ANDREW. (_finally blurts out_) It isn’t foolish. You _have_ got a chance. If you heard all the Doctor said that ought to prove it to you. ROBERT. Oh, you mean when he spoke of the miracle? (_Dryly_) I don’t believe in miracles--in my case. Besides, I know more than any doctor on earth _could_ know--because I _feel_ what’s coming. (_Dismissing the subject_) But we’ve agreed not to talk of it. Tell me about yourself, Andy. That’s what I’m interested in. Your letters were too brief and far apart to be illuminating. ANDREW. I meant to write oftener. ROBERT. (_with a faint trace of irony_) I judge from them you’ve accomplished all you set out to do five years ago? ANDREW. That isn’t much to boast of. ROBERT. (_surprised_) Have you really, honestly reached that conclusion? ANDREW. Well, it doesn’t seem to amount to much now. ROBERT. But you’re rich, aren’t you? ANDREW. (_with a quick glance at_ RUTH) Yes, I s’pose so. ROBERT. I’m glad. You can do to the farm all I’ve undone. But what did you do down there? Tell me. You went in the grain business with that friend of yours? ANDREW. Yes. After two years I had a share in it. I sold out last year. (_He is answering_ ROBERT’S _questions with great reluctance_). ROBERT. And then? ANDREW. I went in on my own. ROBERT. Still in grain? ANDREW. Yes. ROBERT. What’s the matter? You look as if I were accusing you of something. ANDREW. I’m proud enough of the first four years. It’s after that I’m not boasting of. I took to speculating. ROBERT. In wheat? ANDREW. Yes. ROBERT. And you made money--gambling? ANDREW. Yes. ROBERT. (_thoughtfully_) I’ve been wondering what the great change was in you. (_After a pause_) You--a farmer--to gamble in a wheat pit with scraps of paper. There’s a spiritual significance in that picture, Andy. (_He smiles bitterly_) I’m a failure, and Ruth’s another--but we can both justly lay some of the blame for our stumbling on God. But you’re the deepest-dyed failure of the three, Andy. You’ve spent eight years running away from yourself. Do you see what I mean? You used to be a creator when you loved the farm. You and life were in harmonious partnership. And now---- (_He stops as if seeking vainly for words_) My brain is muddled. But part of what I mean is that your gambling with the thing you used to love to create proves how far astray---- So you’ll be punished. You’ll have to suffer to win back---- (_His voice grows weaker and he sighs wearily_) It’s no use. I can’t say it. (_He lies back and closes his eyes, breathing pantingly_). ANDREW. (_slowly_) I think I know what you’re driving at, Rob--and it’s true, I guess. (ROBERT _smiles gratefully and stretches out his hand, which_ ANDREW _takes in his_). ROBERT. I want you to promise me to do one thing, Andy, after---- ANDREW. I’ll promise anything, as God is my Judge! ROBERT. Remember, Andy, Ruth has suffered double her share. (_His voice faltering with weakness_) Only through contact with suffering, Andy, will you--awaken. Listen. You must marry Ruth--afterwards. RUTH. (_with a cry_) Rob! (ROBERT _lies back, his eyes closed, gasping heavily for breath_). ANDREW. (_making signs to her to humor him--gently_) You’re tired out, Rob. You better lie down and rest a while, don’t you think? We can talk later on. ROBERT. (_with a mocking smile_) Later on! You always were an optimist, Andy! (_He sighs with exhaustion_) Yes, I’ll go and rest a while. (_As_ ANDREW _comes to help him_) It must be near sunrise, isn’t it? ANDREW. It’s after six. ROBERT. (_As_ ANDREW _helps him into the bedroom_) Shut the door, Andy. I want to be alone. (ANDREW _reappears and shuts the door softly. He comes and sits down on his chair again, supporting his head on his hands. His face is drawn with the intensity of his dry-eyed anguish_). RUTH. (_glancing at him--fearfully_) He’s out of his mind now, isn’t he? ANDREW. He may be a little delirious. The fever would do that. (_With impotent rage_) God, what a shame! And there’s nothing we can do but sit and--wait! (_He springs from his chair and walks to the stove_). RUTH. (_dully_) He was talking--wild--like he used to--only this time it sounded--unnatural, don’t you think? ANDREW. I don’t know. The things he said to me had truth in them--even if he did talk them way up in the air, like he always sees things. Still---- (_He glances down at_ RUTH _keenly_) Why do you suppose he wanted us to promise we’d---- (_Confusedly_) You know what he said. RUTH. (_dully_) His mind was wandering, I s’pose. ANDREW. (_with conviction_) No--there was something back of it. RUTH. He wanted to make sure I’d be all right--after he’d gone, I expect. ANDREW. No, it wasn’t that. He knows very well I’d naturally look after you without--anything like that. RUTH. He might be thinking of--something happened five years back, the time you came home from the trip. ANDREW. What happened? What do you mean? RUTH. (_dully_) We had a fight. ANDREW. A fight? What has that to do with me? RUTH. It was about you--in a way. ANDREW. (_amazed_) About _me_? RUTH. Yes, mostly. You see I’d found out I’d made a mistake about Rob soon after we were married--when it was too late. ANDREW. Mistake? (_Slowly_) You mean--you found out you didn’t love Rob? RUTH. Yes. ANDREW. Good God! RUTH. And then I thought that when Mary came it’d be different, and I’d love him; but it didn’t happen that way. And I couldn’t bear with his blundering and book-reading--and I grew to hate him, almost. ANDREW. Ruth! RUTH. I couldn’t help it. No woman could. It had to be because I loved someone else, I’d found out. (_She sighs wearily_) It can’t do no harm to tell you now--when it’s all past and gone--and dead. _You_ were the one I really loved--only I didn’t come to the knowledge of it ’til too late. ANDREW. (_stunned_) Ruth! Do you know what you’re saying? RUTH. It was true--then. (_With sudden fierceness_) How could I help it? No woman could. ANDREW. Then--you loved me--that time I came home? RUTH. (_doggedly_) I’d known your real reason for leaving home the first time--everybody knew it--and for three years I’d been thinking---- ANDREW. That I loved you? RUTH. Yes. Then that day on the hill you laughed about what a fool you’d been for loving me once--and I knew it was all over. ANDREW. Good God, but I never thought---- (_He stops, shuddering at his remembrance_) And did Rob---- RUTH. That was what I’d started to tell. We’d had a fight just before you came and I got crazy mad--and I told him all I’ve told you. ANDREW. (_gaping at her speechlessly for a moment_) You told Rob--you loved me? RUTH. Yes. ANDREW. (_shrinking away from her in horror_) You--you--you mad fool, you! How could you do such a thing? RUTH. I couldn’t help it. I’d got to the end of bearing things--without talking. ANDREW. Then Rob must have known every moment I stayed here! And yet he never said or showed--God, how he must have suffered! Didn’t you know how much he loved you? RUTH. (_dully_) Yes. I knew he liked me. ANDREW. Liked you! What kind of a woman are you? Couldn’t you have kept silent? Did you have to torture him? No wonder he’s dying! And you’ve lived together for five years with this between you? RUTH. We’ve lived in the same house. ANDREW. Does he still think---- RUTH. I don’t know. We’ve never spoke a word about it since that day. Maybe, from the way he went on, he s’poses I care for you yet. ANDREW. But you don’t. It’s outrageous. It’s stupid! You don’t love me! RUTH. (_slowly_) I wouldn’t know how to feel love, even if I tried, any more. ANDREW. (_brutally_) And I don’t love you, that’s sure! (_He sinks into his chair, his head between his hands_) It’s damnable such a thing should be between Rob and me. Why, I love Rob better’n anybody in the world and always did. There isn’t a thing on God’s green earth I wouldn’t have done to keep trouble away from him. And I have to be the very one--it’s damnable! How am I going to face him again? What can I say to him now? (_He groans with anguished rage. After a pause_) He asked me to promise--what am I going to do? RUTH. You can promise--so’s it’ll ease his mind--and not mean anything. ANDREW. What? Lie to him now--when he’s dying? (_Determinedly_) No! It’s _you_ who’ll have to do the lying, since it must be done. You’ve got a chance now to undo some of all the suffering you’ve brought on Rob. Go in to him! Tell him you never loved me--it was all a mistake. Tell him you only said so because you were mad and didn’t know what you were saying! Tell him something, anything, that’ll bring him peace! RUTH. (_dully_) He wouldn’t believe me. ANDREW. (_furiously_) You’ve got to make him believe you, do you hear? You’ve got to--now--hurry--you never know when it may be too late. (_As she hesitates--imploringly_) For God’s sake, Ruth! Don’t you see you owe it to him? You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. RUTH. (_dully_) I’ll go. (_She gets wearily to her feet and walks slowly toward the bedroom_) But it won’t do any good. (ANDREW’S _eyes are fixed on her anxiously. She opens the door and steps inside the room. She remains standing there for a minute. Then she calls in a frightened voice_) Rob! Where are you? (_Then she hurries back, trembling with fright_) Andy! Andy! He’s gone! ANDREW. (_misunderstanding her--his face pale with dread_) He’s not---- RUTH. (_interrupting him--hysterically_) He’s gone! The bed’s empty. The window’s wide open. He must have crawled out into the yard! ANDREW. (_springing to his feet. He rushes into the bedroom and returns immediately with an expression of alarmed amazement on his face_) Come! He can’t have gone far! (_Grabbing his hat he takes_ RUTH’S _arm and shoves her toward the door_) Come on! (_Opening the door_) Let’s hope to God---- (_The door closes behind them, cutting off his words as_ (_The Curtain Falls_) ACT THREE SCENE TWO _Same as Act One, Scene One--A section of country highway. The sky to the east is already alight with bright color and a thin, quivering line of flame is spreading slowly along the horizon rim of the dark hills. The roadside, however, is still steeped in the grayness of the dawn, shadowy and vague. The field in the foreground has a wild uncultivated appearance as if it had been allowed to remain fallow the preceding summer. Parts of the snake-fence in the rear have been broken down. The apple tree is leafless and seems dead._ ROBERT _staggers weakly in from the left. He stumbles into the ditch and lies there for a moment; then crawls with a great effort to the top of the bank where he can see the sun rise, and collapses weakly._ RUTH _and_ ANDREW _come hurriedly along the road from the left._ ANDREW. (_stopping and looking about him_) There he is! I knew it! I knew we’d find him here. ROBERT. (_trying to raise himself to a sitting position as they hasten to his side--with a wan smile_) I thought I’d given you the slip. ANDREW. (_with kindly bullying_) Well you didn’t, you old scoundrel, and we’re going to take you right back where you belong--in bed. (_He makes a motion to lift_ ROBERT). ROBERT. Don’t, Andy. Don’t, I tell you! ANDREW. You’re in pain? ROBERT. (_simply_) No. I’m dying. (_He falls back weakly._ RUTH _sinks down beside him with a sob and pillows his head on her lap._ ANDREW _stands looking down at him helplessly. ROBERT moves his head restlessly on_ RUTH’S _lap_) I couldn’t stand it back there in the room. It seemed as if all my life--I’d been cooped in a room. So I thought I’d try to end as I might have--if I’d had the courage--alone--in a ditch by the open road--watching the sun rise. ANDREW. Rob! Don’t talk. You’re wasting your strength. Rest a while and then we’ll carry you---- ROBERT. Still hoping, Andy? Don’t. I know. (_There is a pause during which he breathes heavily, straining his eyes toward the horizon_) The sun comes so slowly. (_With an ironical smile_) The doctor told me to go to the far-off places--and I’d be cured. He was right. That was always the cure for me. It’s too late--for this life--but---- (_He has a fit of coughing which racks his body_). ANDREW. (_with a hoarse sob_) Rob! (_He clenches his fist in an impotent rage against Fate_) God! God! (RUTH _sobs brokenly and wipes_ ROBERT’S _lips with her handkerchief_). ROBERT. (_in a voice which is suddenly ringing with the happiness of hope_) You mustn’t feel sorry for me. Don’t you see I’m happy at last--free--free!--freed from the farm--free to wander on and on--eternally! (_He raises himself on his elbow, his face radiant, and points to the horizon_) Look! Isn’t it beautiful beyond the hills? I can hear the old voices calling me to come---- (_Exultantly_) And this time I’m going! It isn’t the end. It’s a free beginning--the start of my voyage! I’ve won to my trip--the right of release--beyond the horizon! Oh, you ought to be glad--glad--for my sake! (_He collapses weakly_) Andy! (ANDREW _bends down to him_) Remember Ruth---- ANDREW. I’ll take care of her, I swear to you, Rob! ROBERT. Ruth has suffered--remember, Andy--only through sacrifice--the secret beyond there---- (_He suddenly raises himself with his last remaining strength and points to the horizon where the edge of the sun’s disc is rising from the rim of the hills_) The sun! (_He remains with his eyes fixed on it for a moment. A rattling noise throbs from his throat. He mumbles_) Remember! (_And falls back and is still._ RUTH _gives a cry of horror and springs to her feet, shuddering, her hands over her eyes._ ANDREW _bends on one knee beside the body, placing a hand over_ ROBERT’S _heart, then he kisses his brother reverentially on the forehead and stands up_). ANDREW. (_facing_ RUTH, _the body between them--in a dead voice_) He’s dead. (_With a sudden burst of fury_) God damn you, you never told him! RUTH. (_piteously_) He was so happy without my lying to him. ANDREW. (_pointing to the body--trembling with the violence of his rage_) This is your doing, you damn woman, you coward, you murderess! RUTH. (_sobbing_) Don’t, Andy! I couldn’t help it--and he knew how I’d suffered, too. He told you--to remember. ANDREW. (_stares at her for a moment, his rage ebbing away, an expression of deep pity gradually coming over his face. Then he glances down at his brother and speaks brokenly in a compassionate voice_) Forgive me, Ruth--for his sake--and I’ll remember---- (RUTH _lets her hands fall from her face and looks at him uncomprehendingly. He lifts his eyes to hers and forces out falteringly_) I--you--we’ve both made a mess of things! We must try to help each other--and--in time--we’ll come to know what’s right---- (_Desperately_) And perhaps we---- (_But_ RUTH, _if she is aware of his words, gives no sign. She remains silent, gazing at him dully with the sad humility of exhaustion, her mind already sinking back into that spent calm beyond the further troubling of any hope_). (_The Curtain Falls_) * * * * * _The Plays by_ EUGENE O’NEILL _in this series are_: THE EMPEROR JONES 75c. BEYOND THE HORIZON 75c. WHERE THE CROSS IS MADE 55c. IN THE ZONE 35c. ILE 35c. [Illustration] The Dramatists Play Service issues a booklet, describing for non-professionals each of the O’Neill plays which it leases. 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