Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald UK (Illustrated)
Page 374
HULDA: Oh what a draft! (She sneezes. Will’s door begins to open.
She goes out. Will and Josephus come slowly to center and then see each other.)
BOTH: Well, what the devil!
WILL: What are you doing here?
JO.: What are you doing here?
WILL: It’s a long story.
JO.: So’s mine.
WILL: Well, I know how you feel. Does your color run?
JO.: Like a race horse. (Aside.) I wonder where those clothes are?
WILL: Where can that coat be? Sh! there’s someone coming.
JO.: I’m not going back to that closet.
WILL: Let’s try the table.
(They get under table. Hulda shows in Second Story Salle. Enter Mr. Wetherby.)
MR. W.: Who the deuce left this hat and coat in my room? It isn’t mine.
S. S. S.: Pardon me, sir, but I ‘ave a line of books h’I’d like to get you h’interested h’in.
MR. W.: Books? I don’t want books.
S. S. S.: I have “Innocent As A Flower” by Margureta Du Chene and “Delia the Double-died” by Madame Caruse. I also have a small encyclopedia and sets of Richard ‘arding Davis and Rudyard Kipling. If ee take that ee get the Oswego Medical Review for six months or else you can have “Fireside Hours.” for three months —
MR. W.: Oh get out, get out! Haven’t I got trouble enough. Hulda show her the door. (Exit Mr. W.)
S. S. S.: Well, there’s the deuce to pay. I ‘arvn’t got the money. Some chap dressed up like the devil frighted me so I dropped it and later when I searched him he denied that ‘e ‘ad hit.
HULDA: Sh! I got the money, up in my room. I picked it up where you dropped it. Wait here and I’ll get it for you. (Exit.)
S. S. S.: I carn’t wait here. I’ll step out into the ‘allway. Blarst the bloomin’ Swede. I ‘ope she’ll ‘urry. (Exit.)
(Enter Hulda with money.)
HULDA: Salle, oh Salle! (Snores.) What’s that? It’s somebody coming. Where shall I put this money? I’ll put it in here. (Slips money into coat pocket. Exit.)
(Enter Cecile with clothes. She goes to window and opens it. No result. She tries again. Enter Clara with clothes, opposite door.
She sees Cecile.)
CEC.: Oh, good morning.
CLARA: Good morning.
CEC.: What’s that?
CLARA: It’s one of my-guardian’s suits; I’m taking it to the cleaners.
What’s that?
CEC.: Oh, this is one of father’s suits-. I’m taking it to the pressers.
CLARA: Where I come from the cleaners and pressers are the same.
CEC.: HOW odd! It’s different here. The — ah — cleaners clean and the — ah — pressers press. Ah! ha. Yes.
CLARA: YOU surprise me.
CEC.: Can’t I take your suit with mine?
CLARA: Oh no, thank you.
(They go to different sides of stage and eye each other. Cecile starts for window.)
CEC: Where are you going?
CLARA: It’s hot in here. I’m going to open the window.
CEC: Oh don’t, don’t! For heaven’s sake don’t open the window.
CLARA: Why not?
CEC.: Because I have a cold. (Coughs.) I’m going to sneeze. K —
CLARA: Don’t sneeze, don’t, don’t. (Puts hand over her mouth.)
CEC.: Why not?
CLARA: The germs — the bubonic plague germs are spread like that.
CEC.: (Indignantly.) Do you mean to say I have the bubonic plague?
CLARA: NO, but one must be careful. Well, I think I shall be going.
Goodbye. (Exit.)
CEC.: Thank heavens! (Goes to closet and opens it.) Gone! gone!
(Exit hurriedly.)
(Enter Clara and Dickie.)
CLARA: Oh heavens, can I never be alone!
DICK: Clara, Clara, I’ve been hunting for you for ten minutes.
CLARA: Leave me, please.
DICK: I shall never leave you until you say you’ll bury me. Will you bury me?
CLARA: Yes, I’ll bury you with the greatest of pleasure, but get out. (Exit Dickie.) (looking in closet.) Why he’s gone. How odd! (Exit.)
(Will comes out from under table.)
WILL: He’s asleep, thank the Lord. Oh, my own coat and hat at last. Now to get out of here. (Exit.)
JO.: (Coming out from under table.) I must have fallen asleep.
I wonder where that other fellow is.
(Enter Dickie.)
DICK: Hello, who’s this? Why it’s a man! I say, you cad’t be seen id those clothes — we’ve got to sell this house.
JO.: But I say, let me —
DICK: Not a word. Mr. Hendrix mustn’t see you and I’b in a killing bood today.
JO.: But I am —
DICK: I don’t care who you are. Here, lie down there until I return. Remember, if you make a sound you’re dead.
JO.: Pardon me, if I make a sound I am alive.
DICK: Dead.
JO.: Alive.
DICK: Dead — so lie down — I’ll be back in a minute. (Exit.)
(Enter Mr. W. and Mme. Zada.)
MR. W.: Good heavens, Amelia, haven’t I got troubles enough?
MME.: I dropped in to see how your guests were this morning.
MR. W.: Guests — Lord, this morning they’ve taken to stealing things! There’s ten thousand missing. I’d like to lay my hands on that ghost — I’d throttle him — I’d — Oh — Oh —
(Josephus trembles under rug.)
MME.: Ten thousand dollars.
MR. W.: Oh Lord, here’s someone coming. You’ll have to hide somewhere. Here, get under there. (Puts her under table. Enter Dickie.)
DICK: Ah good borning.
MR. W.: I think I saw you before this morning.
DICK: Ah yes. — How do I get him away? Ah, I have it. (Produces pipe.) I hope you don’t mind my pipe.
MR. W.: NO, I rather like it. (Makes grimace. Jo starts to rise.
Dickie beats him back.)
(Enter Will and Policeman.)
1ST POL.: I found this fellow standing on the front steps. What’ll I do with him?
WILL: Oh, how do you do, Mr. Wetherby? Hello, Dickie.
DICK: Ah, how delighted to see you I’m sure.
MR. W.: Charmed.
DICK: Officer, this fellow is all right. — Keep down. —
WILL: Why, what’s the matter.
DICK: I was talking to my temper. I’m trying to keep my temper down. Keep down temper!
WILL: Why have you got all the policemen around the house?
That business last night?
BOTH: How did you hear about it?
WILL: Why — er — her — ha — er, it was in the paper.
BOTH: Oh Lord!
(Enter policeman with Second Story Salle. He is followed by Hulda, Miss Spigot, Clara and Cecile.)
2D POL.: I caught this woman trying to sneak out the back way. It looks a lot like the woman called Second Story Salle.
MR. W.: It’s the book agent!
DICK: YOU better hold her and search her.
2D POL.: She ‘asn’t got nothing suspicious on her but I’m taking no chances. She goes down to jail with me to be identified.
MR. W.: That’s right, officer; do your duty.
S. S. S.: If you want to know who the guilty party is look there.
(Points to Will.) Search him.
(They search Will and find bank notes.)
DICK: The ten thousand, thank heavens!
MISS S.: My nephew!
HULDA: I told you he’d land in penitentiary, like Ole.
WILL: Officer, this is ridiculous. I never saw this overcoat until five minutes ago — that is since last night.
S. S. S.: Don’t ye believe him.
WILL: Why, Mr. Wetherby can testify to my character.
MR. W.: I’m doing no testifying.
2D POL.: I guess you both better go down with me.
S. S. S.: The deu
ce you say! (Produces pistol.) Don’t move or I’ll put a bullet through you. I’ll need plenty of time so I guess you had all better sit down on the floor. Now where is that ten thousand dollars? Turn out your pockets! Ah, but my taxi bill is amounting up outside so I’ll not have time to search — Ta ta!
(Exit Second Story Salle in haste.) Ta-ta — (She goes out, policeman after her.) (They start after her and discover Jo.)
ALL: Who’s this — It’s another one — (etc.)
MR. W.: It must be the pal she spoke of.
JO.: Pardon me —
CEC.: Another devil!
JO.: No, I am —
CLARA: It’s guardian!
DICK: (Tears off mustache.)
MR. W.: Cousin Josephus!
ALL: Mr. Hendrix!
POLICEMAN: Shall I arrest him?
MR. W.: What are you doing in that costume?
JO.: I’m — I’m —
MR. W.: I see your plot. So it was you all the time?
ALL: For shame!
JO.: I’ll not be insulted — I’ll leave the house. Give me my money and I’ll go.
POLICEMAN: Why it’s gone!
DICK: Hasn’t anybody got it?
ALL: It was on the table. No!
JO.: Find me my money quick, all of you. I’ll sue the police department. Oh Lord! (Sinks into chair. All go out. Mme. Z. crawls out from under the table.)
MME.: Josephus! My Josephus!
JO.: A voice from the dead! Amelia, what are you doing here?
MME.: My husband, oh my husband!
JO.: What do you want?
MME.: You, I want you!
JO.: You can’t have me.
MME.: You loved me once!
JO.: Five years ago. When I married you I was a clerk and you a manicure girl. When I rose in life I had to leave you. Your station was too humble.
MME.: IS there not a touch of sentiment left in you? Have you forgotten the moonlight nights when we set on the terrace and I (sob) polished your finger nails?
JO.: Don’t weep on me; you’ll get me damp and I take cold easily.
MME.: Yes I remember when you proposed to me you had a cold. Oh, Josephus, won’t you take me back?
JO.: Oh I suppose I’ll have to.
MME.: Well, in that case here’s your ten thousand dollars.
JO.: Where did you get it?
MME.: I purloined it in the excitement. Come, we’ll face the world together. (Exit.)
(Enter Mr. W. and Will.)
WILL: Mr. W., as contracting engineer for the Red Wing, Hastings and Minneapolis Railroad I am authorized to offer you fifteen thousand dollars for your house.
MR. W.: Fifteen thousand? Thank heavens, that saves us! Yes, I’ll take it. Yes and thank you, Will, you’re not as bad as the rest of them.
(Enter Cecile.)
CEC.: Oh Father, I’ve been looking for you. Cousin Josephus says he has got his money. He’s walking off with a strange woman.
MR. W.: Thank the Lord! Thank the Lord! (Exit.)
CEC.: Oh I’m so tired I feel as if I could sleep for weeks.
WILL: SO am I. That night in that little hole. After this I’m going to be careful what I wear. Oh, Cecile!
CEC.: Yes.
WILL: Sleepy?
CEC.: Yes, are you?
WILL: Yes, but before I go to sleep I want to ask you something —
will you marry me?
CEC.: Yes, I suppose so. Do you love me?
WILL: Yes, I always have.
CEC.: So’ve I.
CEC.: — st — st — ! (They are both asleep.)
WILL: — st — st — ! )
(Curtain.)
SHADOW LAURELS
This one act play was written in 1915.
SHADOW LAURELS
(The scene is the interior of a wine shop in Paris. The walls are lined on all sides by kegs, piled like logs. The ceiling is low and covered with cobwebs. The midafternoon sun filters dejectedly through the one-barred window at the back. Doors are on both sides; one, heavy and powerful, opens outside; the other, on the left, leads to some inner chamber. A large table stands in the middle of the room backed by smaller ones set around the walls. A ship’s lamp hangs above the main table.
As the curtain rises there is knocking at the outside door — rather impatient knocking — and almost immediately Pitou, the wine dealer, enters from the other room and shuffles toward the door. He is an old man with unkempt beard and dirty corduroys.)
Pitou — Coming, coming — Hold tight! (The knocking stops. Pitou unlatches the door and it swings open. A man in a top hat and opera cloak enters. Jaques Chandelle is perhaps thirty-seven, tall and well groomed. His eyes are clear and penetrating, his chin, clean shaven, is sharp and decisive. His manner is that of a man accustomed only to success but ready and willing to work hard in any emergency. He speaks French with an odd accent as of one who knew the language well in early years but whose accent had grown toneless through long years away from France.)
Pitou — Good afternoon, Monsieur.
Chandelle — (looking about him curiously) Are you perhaps Monsieur Pitou?
Pitou — Yes, Monsieur.
Chandelle — Ah! I was told that one would always find you in at this hour. (He takes off his overcoat and lays it carefully on a chair) I was told also that you could help me.
Pitou — (puzzled) I could help you?
Chandelle — (Sitting down wearily on a wooden chair near the table) Yes, I’m a — a stranger in the city — now. I’m trying to trace someone — someone who has been dead many years. I’ve been informed that you’re the oldest inhabitant (he smiles faintly)
Pitou — (rather pleased) Perhaps — and yet there are older than I, ah yes, older than I. (He sits down across the table from Chandelle.)
Chandelle — And so I came for you. (He bends earnestly over the table toward Pitou.) Monsieur Pitou, I am trying to trace my father.
Pitou — Yes.
Chandelle — He died in this district about twenty years ago.
Pitou — Monsieur’s father was murdered?
Chandelle — Good God, no! What makes you think that?
Pitou — I thought perhaps in this district twenty years ago, an aristocrat —
Chandelle — My father was no aristocrat. As I remember, his last position was that of waiter in some forgotten cafe. (Pitou glances at Chandelle’s clothes and looks mystified. ) Here I’ll explain. I left France twenty-eight years ago to go to the states with my uncle. We went over in an immigrant ship, if you know what that is.
Pitou — Yes: I know.
Chandelle — My parents remained in France. The last I remember of my father was that he was a little man with a black beard, terribly lazy — the only good I ever remember his doing was to teach me to read and write. Where he picked up that accomplishment I don’t know. Five years after we reached America we ran across some newly landed French from this part of the city, who said that both my parents were dead. Soon after that my uncle died and I was far too busy to worry over parents whom I had half forgotten anyway. (He pauses.) Well to cut it short I prospered and —
Pitou — (deferentially) Monsieur is rich — ‘tis strange — ‘tis very strange.
Chandelle — Pitou, it probably appears strange to you that I should burst in on you now at this time of life, looking for traces of a father who went completely out of my life over twenty years ago.
Pitou — Oh — I understood you to say he was dead.
Chandelle — Yes he’s dead, but (hesitates) Pitou, I wonder if you can understand if I tell you why I am here.
Pitou — Yes, perhaps.
Chandelle — (very earnestly) Monsieur Pitou, in America the men I see now, the women I know all had fathers, fathers to be ashamed of, fathers to be proud of, fathers in gilt frames, and fathers in the family closet, Civil War fathers, and Ellis Island fathers. Some even had grandfathers.