ETHEL
[outraged]
And you say you understand — you who couple the name of a tippling yokel with that of a St. Aubyn — a gentleman of distinction.
PIKE
Distinction? I didn’t know he was distinguished.
ETHEL
[in a ringing voice]
His ancestors have fought with glory on every field of battle from Crecy and Agincourt to the Crimea.
PIKE
But you won’t see much of his ancestors.
ETHEL
He bears their name.
PIKE
[with authority and dignity]
Yes — and it’s the name you want. Nobody could look at you and not know it wasn’t him. It’s the name! And I’d let you buy it if it would make you happy — if you didn’t have to take the people with it.
[A deepening of color in the light shows that it has grown to be late afternoon, near sunset.]
ETHEL
[angrily]
The “people”?
PIKE
Yes; the whole gang. Can’t you see how they’re counting on it? It’s in their faces, in their ways! This Earl — don’t you see he’s counting on living on you? Do you think the son would get that settlement? Why, a Terre Hut pickpocket could get it away from him — let alone his old man! What do you think would become of the “settlement”?
ETHEL
Part of it would go to the restoration of Hawcastle Hall and part to Glenwood Priory.
PIKE
Glenwood Priory?
ETHEL
That is part of the estate where Almeric and I will live until Lord Hawcastle’s death.
PIKE
Then mighty little settlement would come around “Glenwood Priory”!
[Speaks the name as though grimly amused, and continues.]
And this old lady — this Mrs. Creech you been travelling with —
ETHEL
[sharply]
Lady Creech!
PIKE
All right! Don’t you think she’s counting on it? And this French lady that’s with them; isn’t she trying to land your brother? The whole crowd is on the track of John Simpson’s money.
ETHEL
Silence! You have no right to traduce them. Do you place no value upon heredity, upon high birth?
PIKE
Why, I think so much of it that I know John Simpson’s daughter doesn’t need anybody else’s to help her out.
[He comes toward her, looking at her with honest admiration.]
She’s fine enough and I think she’s sweet enough — and I know from the way she goes for me that she’s brave enough — to stand on her own feet!
ETHEL
This is beside the point; I know exactly what I want in life —
[she has been somewhat moved by his last speech, is agitated, and a little breathless]
— and I could not change now if it were otherwise. I gave Almeric my promise, it was forever, and I shall keep it.
PIKE
But you can’t; I’m not going to let you.
ETHEL
I throw your interference to the winds. I shall absolutely disregard it. I shall marry without your consent.
PIKE
[looking at her steadily]
Do you think they’d let you?
ETHEL
[in same tone]
I think you’ll let me,
[laughing]
especially after this terrible letter.
PIKE
By-the-way, did you finish it?
[ETHEL looks at the letter, which she has continued to hold in her hand.]
ETHEL
I think so.
[Turns the page.]
No — it says “over.”
[She turns the sheet — looks at it attentively for a moment — looks up, casts a quick glance of astonishment at PIKE.]
PIKE
Well, read it, please!
ETHEL
It appears to concern a matter quite personal to yourself.
[Embarrassed, assuming carelessness. Turns toward left as if to leave, replacing the letter in the envelope.]
PIKE
[advancing to her, smiling]
I don’t think I’ve got any secrets.
ETHEL
[coldly]
Please remember, I have not read anything on the last page.
PIKE
Well, neither have I.
[Reaching his hand for the letter.]
ETHEL
[more embarrassed]
Oh!
[She drops the letter on the bench.]
[PIKE picks it up and walks slowly toward right, taking it from envelope. She stands looking after him with breathless amazement, far from hostile, yet half turned as if to go at once. PIKE, taking the letter out of the envelope, suddenly looks back at her. At this she is flustered and starts, but halts at sound of the “Fishermen’s Song” in the distance. The sunset is deepening to golden red; the “Fishermen’s Song” begins with mandolins and guitars, and then a number of voices are heard together.]
ETHEL
Listen: those are the fishermen coming home.
[PIKE stands in arrested attitude, not having looked at the letter. The song, beginning faintly, grows louder, then slowly dies away in the distance. The two stand listening in deepening twilight.]
PIKE
[as the voices cease to be heard]
It’s mighty pretty, but it’s kind of foreign and lonesome, too.
[With a sad half-chuckle.]
I’d rather hear something that sounded more like home.
[A growing tremulousness in his voice.]
I expect you’ve about forgot everything like that, haven’t you?
ETHEL
[gently]
Yes.
PIKE
Seems funny, now; but out on the ocean, coming here, I kept kind of looking forward to hearing you sing. I knew how high your pa had you educated in music, and, like the old fool I was, I kept thinking you’d sing for me some evening— “Sweet Genevieve” mebbe. You know it — don’t you?
ETHEL
[slowly]
“Sweet Genevieve?” I used to — but it’s rather old-fashioned and common, isn’t it?
PIKE
I expect so; I reckon mebbe that’s the reason I like it so much.
[With an apologetic and pathetic laugh.]
Yes’m, it’s my favorite. I couldn’t — I couldn’t get you to sing it for me before I go back home — could I?
ETHEL
I — I think not.
[She looks at him thoughtfully, then goes slowly into the hotel.]
[PIKE sighs, and begins to read the last page of the letter.]
PIKE
[reading]
“I am sorry old man Simpson’s daughter thinks of buying a title. Somehow I have a notion that that may hit you, Dan.
[Poignant dismay and awe are expressed in his voice as he continues.]
“I haven’t forgotten how you always kept that picture of her on your desk. The old man thought so much of you I had an idea he hoped she’d come back some day and marry a man from home.”
I don’t wonder she said she hadn’t read it!
[His face begins to light with radiant amazement.]
But she had — and she didn’t go away — that is, not right away!
[LORD HAWCASTLE and HORACE enter from the hotel.]
HORACE
[speaking as they enter]
But, Lord Hawcastle, Ethel says Mr. Pike positively refuses.
HAWCASTLE
Leave him to me. Within ten minutes he will be as meek as a nun.
[HORACE goes into the hotel.]
My dear Pike, there is a certain question —
PIKE
[in his mildest tone]
I don’t want to seem rough with you, but I meant what I said.
HAWCASTLE
Imagining I did not mean that question —
Then it’s all right.
HAWCASTLE
Late this afternoon I developed a great anxiety concerning the penalty prescribed by Italian law for those unfortunate and impulsive individuals who connive at the escape or concealment —
[he speaks with significant emphasis and a glance at the hotel, where lights begin to appear in the windows]
— of certain other unfortunates who may be, to speak vulgarly, wanted — by the police.
PIKE
[coolly]
You’re anxious about that, are you?
HAWCASTLE
So deeply that I ascertained the penalty for it. You may confirm my information by appealing to the nearest carabiniere — strange to say, many of them are very near. The minimum penalty for one whose kind heart has thus betrayed him —
[he turns up sharply toward the lighted windows of hotel, then sharply again to PIKE, his voice lifting]
— is two years’ imprisonment, and Italian prisons, I am credibly informed, are quite ferociously unpleasant.
PIKE
[gently]
Well, being in jail any place ain’t much like an Elks’ carnival.
HAWCASTLE
There would be no escape, even for a citizen of your admirable country, if his complicity were established, especially if he happened to be — as it were — caught in the act!
PIKE
[grimly]
Talk plain; talk plain.
HAWCASTLE
My dear young friend, imagine that a badly wanted man appears upon the pergola here and makes an appeal of I know not what nature to one of your fellow-countrymen, who — for the purposes of argument — is at work upon this car. Say that the too-amiable American conceals the fugitive under the automobile, and afterward, with the connivance of a friend, deceives the officers of the law and shelters the criminal, say in a room of that lower suite yonder.
[His voice shows growing excitement as a man’s shadow appears on the shade of the window nearest the door.]
Imagine, for instance, that the shadow which at this moment appears on the curtain were that of the wanted man — then, would you not agree that a moderate and reasonable request of your fellow-countryman might be acceded to?
PIKE
[swallowing painfully]
What would be the nature of that request?
HAWCASTLE
It would concern a certain alliance; might concern a certain settlement.
PIKE
If the request were refused, what would the consequences be?
HAWCASTLE
Two years, at least, for the American, and the friend who had been his accessory. Altogether I should consider it a disastrous situation.
PIKE
[thoughtfully]
Yes; looks like it.
HAWCASTLE
[with sharp significance]
If this fellow-countryman of yours were assured that the law would be made to take its course if a favorable answer were not received — say, by ten o’clock to-night — what, in your opinion, would his answer be?
PIKE
[plaintively]
Well, it would all depend upon which of my countrymen you caught. If it depended on the one I know best, he’d tell you he’d see you in hell first!
[The two remain staring fixedly at each other as the curtain slowly descends.]
THE THIRD ACT
SCENE: A handsome private salon in the hotel the same evening. There are cabinets against the walls, buhl tables, luxurious tapestried chairs, etc. At back, double doors, wide open, disclose a brilliantly lit conservatory and hall with palms and oleanders in bloom. On the left a heavily curtained window looks out upon the garden; on the right is a closed door. Unseen, an orchestra is playing an aria from “Pagliacci.”
The rise of the curtain discloses PIKE sitting in a dejected attitude in an arm-chair. He wears a black tie, collar and linen as before, black trousers, a white waistcoat, cut rather low, and a black frock-coat— “Western statesman” style — not fashionably cut, but well-fitting and graceful.
MARIANO passes through the conservatory at back bearing a coffee-tray. LADY CREECH, in an evening gown of black velvet and lace, follows with stately tread. HORACE, in evening clothes, follows, with MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY on his arm; she is in a handsome, very Parisian, décolleté dress. They are deep in tender conversation.
ETHEL follows, on the arm of ALMERIC. She wears a pretty evening gown, ALMERIC in evening clothes; her head is bent, her eyes cast down.
A valet de chambre enters the salon from the hall. He touches an electric button on wall near door. RIBIERE comes quickly and noiselessly from the room to the right. They stand bowing as VASILI enters through the conservatory. Valet immediately closes the doors. VASILI wears an overcoat trimmed with sables, a silk hat, evening clothes, and white gloves; order ribbon in his button-hole.
PIKE
[as VASILI enters]
I’m mighty glad you’ve come — I’ve been waiting.
VASILI
[to RIBIERE, and speaking in undertone]
You have telegraphed for the information?
RIBIERE
Yes, sir.
[Valet, with coat, hat, etc., goes out, followed by RIBIERE.]
VASILI
I have dined with an old tutor of mine. Once every year I come here to do that.
[Valet returns with vodka and cigarettes, which he places on a table, immediately withdrawing.]
VASILI
[with a keen glance at PIKE]
And you; I suppose you dined with the charming young lady, your ward, and her brother, as you expected?
PIKE
[turning away sadly]
Oh no, they’ve got friends of their own here.
VASILI
So I have observed.
[Sips vodka.]
PIKE
Oh, I don’t mind their not asking me.
[With an assumption of cheerfulness.]
Fact is, these friends of hers are trying to get me to do something I can’t do —
VASILI
You need not tell me that, my friend. I have both eyes and ears; I understand.
PIKE
[troubled, coming near him]
I wish you understood the rest, because it ain’t easy for me to tell you. Doc, I’m afraid I’ve got you into a pretty bad hole.
VASILI
[smiling]
Ah, that I fear I do not understand.
PIKE
[remorsefully]
I’m afraid I have. You and Ivanoff and me — all three of us. This Hawcastle knows, and he knows it as well as I know you’re sittin’ in that chair, that we’ve got that poor fellow in yonder.
[Pointing to the door on the right.]
VASILI
Surely you can trust Lord Hawcastle not to mention it. He must know that the consequences for you, as well as for me, would be, to say the least, disastrous. Surely you made that clear to him.
PIKE
[grimly]
No; he made it clear to me. Two years in jail is the minimum, and if I don’t make up my mind by ten o’clock
[VASILI looks at his watch]
to do what he wants me to do —
VASILI
What does he want you to do?
PIKE
The young lady’s father trusted me to look after her, and if I won’t promise to let her pay seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for that — well, you’ve seen it around here, haven’t you —
VASILI
I have observed it — that is, if you refer to the son of Lord Hawcastle.
PIKE
Well, if I don’t consent to do that, I reckon Ivanoff has to go back to Siberia and you and I to jail.
VASILI
He threatens that?
PIKE
He’ll do that!
VASILI
[looking at him sharply]
What do you mean to do?
PIKE
There wouldn’t be any trouble about it if it was only me. That would make it easy. They could land me for two years
[swallowing painfully]
or twenty. What makes it so hard is that I can’t do what they want, even to let you and Ivanoff out. It ain’t my money. All I can do is to ask you to forgive me, and warn you to get away before they come down on me. This feller’s got me, Doc. Don’t you see how it stands? Ivanoff can’t get away —
VASILI
No; I think he can’t.
PIKE
They’ve got this militia all around the place.
VASILI
I passed through the cordon of carabiniere as I came in.
PIKE
[urgently]
But you could get away, Doc. Up to ten o’clock you can come and go as you choose.
VASILI
[rising]
So can you. You have not thought of that?
PIKE
No; and I won’t think of it. But as for you —
VASILI
As for me
[rings bell near door]
— I shall go!
PIKE
That’s part of the load off my mind. I can’t bear to think of the rest of it. I haven’t known how to tell that poor fellow in there.
[Valet enters.]
VASILI
[to valet, indicating the door on the right]
Appellez le Monsieur la.
[Valet goes to the door, opens it, bowing slightly to IVANOFF, who appears. Valet withdraws.]
[IVANOFF is very pale and haggard looking, but his clothes have been mended and neatly brushed. He comes in slowly and quietly.]
VASILI
[in the tone of a superior]
You may come in, Ivanoff. Some unexpected difficulties have arisen. Your presence here has been discovered by persons who wish evil to this gentleman who has protected you. He can do nothing further to save you unless he betrays a trust which has been left to him.
Collected Works of Booth Tarkington Page 527