Part 1

_TO BE PUBLISHED SHORTLY_

Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays

_Edited by Frank Shay and Pierre Loving_

This volume contains FIFTY REPRESENTATIVE ONE-ACT PLAYS of the MODERN THEATRE, chosen from the dramatic works of contemporary writers all over the world.

THE CONTENTS ARE

AUSTRIA: Schnitzler (Arthur)--

BELGIUM: Maeterlinck (Maurice)--The Intruder

BOLIVIA: More (Federico)--Interlude

FRANCE: Ancey (George)--M. Lamblin Porto-Riche (Georges)--Francoise’s Luck

GERMANY: Ettlinger (Karl)--Altruism von Hofmansthal (Hugo)--Madonna Dianora Wedekind (Frank)--The Tenor

GREAT BRITAIN: Bennett (Arnold)--A Good Woman Calderon (George)--The Little Stone House Cannan (Gilbert)--Mary’s Wedding Dowson (Ernest)--The Pierrot of the Minute Ellis (Mrs. Havelock)--The Subjection of Kezia Hankin (St. John)--The Constant Lover

INDIA: Mukerji (Dhan Gopal)--The Judgment of Indra

IRELAND: Gregory (Lady)--The Workhouse Ward

HOLLAND: Speenhoff (J. H.)--Louise

HUNGARY: Biro (Lajos)--The Grandmother

ITALY: Giacosa (Giuseppe)--The Rights of the Soul

RUSSIA: Andreyev (Leonid)--Love of One’s Neighbor Tchekoff (Anton)--The Boor

SPAIN: Benevente (Jacinto)--His Widow’s Husband Quinteros (Serafina and Joaquin Alvarez)--A Sunny Morning

SWEDEN: Strindberg (August)--The Creditor Wied (Gustave)--Autumn Fires

UNITED STATES: Beach (Lewis)--Brothers Cowan (Sada)--In the Morgue Crocker (Bosworth)--The Baby Carriage Cronyn (George W.)--A Death in Fever Flat Davies (Mary Carolyn)--The Slave with Two Faces Day (Frederic L.)--The Slump Flanner (Hildegarde)--Mansions Glaspell (Susan)--Trifles Gerstenberg (Alice)--The Pot Boiler Helburn (Theresa)--Enter the Hero Hudson (Holland)--The Shepherd in the Distance Kemp (Harry)--Boccaccio’s Untold Tale Langner (Lawrence)--Another Way Out Millay (Edna St. Vincent)--Aro da Capo Moeller (Philip)--Helena’s Husband MacMillan (Mary)--The Shadowed Star O’Neill (Eugene)--Ile Stevens (Thomas Wood)--The Nursery Maid of Heaven Stevens (Wallace)--Three Travelers Watch a Sunrise Tompkins (Frank G.)--Sham Walker (Stuart)--The Medicine Show Wellman (Rita)--For All Time Wilde (Percival)--The Finger of God

YIDDISH: Ash (Sholom)--Night Pinski (David)--Forgotten Souls

_Large 8vo. Cloth. Gilt top._ =NET $5.00= _¾ Turkey Morocco_ =NET $12.00=

STEWART & KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS :-: CINCINNATI, U.S.A.

STEWART KIDD MODERN PLAYS Edited by Frank Shay

HEARTS TO MEND

Stewart Kidd Modern Plays

Edited by Frank Shay

To meet the immensely increased demands of the play-reading public and those interested in the modern drama, Stewart & Kidd Company are issuing under the general editorship of Frank Shay a series of plays from the pens of the world’s best contemporary writers. No effort is being spared to secure the best work available, and the plays are issued in a form that is at once attractive to readers and suited to the needs of the performer and producer.

From time to time special announcements will be printed giving complete lists of the Plays. Those announced thus far are:

SHAM, a Social Satire in One Act.

By Frank G. Tompkins.

Originally produced by Sam Hume, at the Arts and Crafts Theatre, Detroit.

THE SHEPHERD IN THE DISTANCE, a Pantomime in One Act. By Holland Hudson.

Originally produced by the Washington Square Players.

MANSIONS, a Play in One Act.

By Hildegarde Flanner.

Originally produced by the Indiana Little Theatre Society.

HEARTS TO MEND, a Fantasy in One Act.

By H. A. Overstreet.

Originally produced by the Fireside Players, White Plains, N. Y.

_Others to follow._ _Bound in Art Paper. Each net 50 cents._

HEARTS TO MEND

A FANTASY IN ONE ACT

By HARRY A. OVERSTREET

HEARTS TO MEND was first produced by the FIRESIDE PLAYERS, White Plains, N. Y., in April, 1919, with the following cast:

PIERROT, _James H. Wallace_ PIERRETTE, _Millicent Ives_ TINS-TO-MEND MAN, _G. W. Michelbacker_

CINCINNATI STEWART & KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1920

STEWART & KIDD COMPANY

_All Rights Reserved_

COPYRIGHTED IN ENGLAND

This play is fully protected by the copyright law, all requirements of which have been complied with. No performance, either professional or amateur, may be given without the written permission of the author or his representative, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.

HEARTS TO MEND

_The Scene is the living room, dining room and kitchen--all in one--of Pierrot and Pierrette. It has the diminutive look of a toy house, and the immaculate spick-and-spanness. There are copper kettles and pots on shelves and blue and white plates and cups and saucers. There is a crib in the corner, left, with a screen that can be drawn about it. A table is at the right, front, by the side of which sits Pierrot, head in hands, elbows on knees, very gloomy. A door, left, leads to an inner room; a door, right, to the street._

HEARTS TO MEND

(_Pierrette is heard singing a lullaby in the next room._)

Old Mister Moon is sinking to rest-- Sleep, kittikins, sleep! The whispery winds have died in the west-- Sleep--kittikins--sleep!

(_She comes in, holding a babe in her arms; sings--very softly._)

Up in the sky are the firefly stars-- Sleep, kittikins, sleep! Father will catch them in crystal jars-- Sleep--kittikins--sleep!

(_She lays the babe in its crib, the while softly humming the tune. Then she draws the screen about the bed. Meantime she casts anxious glances at the moody Pierrot. The babe asleep, she runs to Pierrot, kneeling at his side._)

PIERRETTE

Tired, sweetheart?

PIERROT (_indifferently_)

Oh--I guess so.

PIERRETTE

And famished, isn’t that it?

Kettle not boiling, And table unset; And hungry man waiting For slow Pierrette!

It’ll all be on the table, dear, in just the littlest minute.

PIERROT

Oh, it’s not supper.

PIERRETTE

Not supper?

PIERROT

No.

PIERRETTE (_solicitously_)

You haven’t caught cold, Pierrot? You know I told you to wear your woolen muffler and put on your rain shoes. For a man of your superior intelligence, you are _so_ careless!

PIERROT

(_getting up with irritation and walking away_)

Oh, let me alone, Pierrette! You wouldn’t understand. Get some supper for yourself. I don’t want any.

(_She looks at him troubled for a moment. Then she runs to him, puts her hands on his breast._)

PIERRETTE

Pierrot.

PIERROT

Well?

PIERRETTE

(_pointing an accusing finger at him slowly_)

You--haven’t--been--to--see--your--bank--account--again?

(_Pierrot shakes his head gloomily._)

PIERRETTE

Oh yes you have! Don’t deny it! And worrying yourself to death about expenses. But Pierrot--things aren’t nearly as bad as you think they are. I’m doing all my own work--even the washing and the ironing--and Pierrot!--I’ve got a scheme! We’ll take a boarder!

PIERROT (_disgusted_)

Boarder! Ugh!

PIERRETTE

Why not, sweetheart? Of course, we’d have to talk to him at mealtimes, I suppose. And you couldn’t kiss me across the table as you used to.... (_Suddenly, with a catch_) Do you know, Pierrot, you haven’t kissed me across the table for--oh--ever so long!

PIERROT (_struggling with himself_)

Pierrette....

PIERRETTE

Yes, dear.

PIERROT (_trying to get it out--then in despair_)

Oh, what’s the use. I can’t tell it to you.

PIERRETTE (_troubled_)

Why, what is it, Pierrot? You’ve lost something?

PIERROT (_quickly_)

Yes--that’s it. I’ve lost something--the only thing I had, Pierrette--my song!

PIERRETTE

Ah, the silly people didn’t laugh to-day--that’s it?

Silly, silly people, Staring at a steeple;--

And you’re all in the dumps, Pierrot? Isn’t that the trouble?

PIERROT

They didn’t laugh to-day, Pierrette; and they didn’t laugh yesterday. They haven’t laughed for a long time--not as they used to. (_Most gloomily_) And three of my songs have come back from the editors!

PIERRETTE (_defending him_)

But who cares for editors, Pierrot? They’re such stupid creatures! Some day you’ll write a great song that everybody’ll love; and then you’ll see all the foolish little editors bringing you velvets and gold.

PIERROT (_in gloom_)

No. The editors are right. The people are right. Something’s gone out of me. I’m not the same as I was before--before--How long have we been married, Pierrette?

PIERRETTE

Just three tiny years!

PIERROT (_sighing_)

Only three years! (_Then bitterly--to Pierrette_) Here!--I’ll give you a sign. Look! (_He walks with flat, listless feet up and down the room; then speaks, with a hopeless sob in his voice_) I no longer walk on my toes! See! Flat--like that! No songs ever walked that way! Songs? No--here’s the way--

(_He rises momentarily to his toes and sings._)

Oh, a merry, merry fellow, And a sweet, fair maid, Danced on the meadow in the gypsy time-- Said the merry, merry fellow To the sweet, fair maid--

(_He breaks off._)

PIERROT (_hopeless_)

No--I can’t do it. It’s gone out of me. (_Desperately_) Pierrette--I’ve come to a conclusion. I ought never to have married!

PIERRETTE (_suddenly stabbed_)

Oh, Pierrot, it’s been the most beautiful thing in all the world!

PIERROT

That’s because you’re a woman, Pierrette, and not an artist.

PIERRETTE

But _you_ said it was the most beautiful thing in all the world, Pierrot.

PIERROT (_vaguely_)

Did I? That was long ago. You don’t understand, Pierrette. Women never do. Life to them is a little cage in which they sit all day long and sing tiny songs about tea and muffins. Men are different. Put them in a cage and they sing for a day. Then they begin to droop.

PIERRETTE (_hurt_)

So you want to go away, Pierrot?

PIERROT (_passionately_)

I want to capture it again--the power, the thrill, the fire of song!

PIERRETTE

And you would capture it if--if I--(_looking toward the screen which hides the crib_) if we--were not here?

PIERROT (_flinging out his arms in despair_)

Oh, I’m a brute, Pierrette! I don’t know. I’m gone stale--that’s the trouble. I’m done for--all these worries and things. I’ll sit at home, I guess, and darn socks!

(_He flings himself into his chair. Pierrette moves quietly about, putting his tea on the table. She sets tea only for one._)

PIERRETTE (_handing him his cup_)

There, sweetheart. Your tea.

PIERROT (_stirring himself_)

Aren’t you going to have some, too?

PIERRETTE (_controlling her voice and with her back half turned to him as she goes to the other room_)

Oh no, dear; I’ve had lots of tea this afternoon. I’m not hungry. Besides, I’m late with the cleaning up. I’ll be gone only a minute.

(_She goes out quickly. Pierrot makes to rise and follow her; then, with a hopeless wave of the hand, sinks back into the chair. He drinks his tea moodily. There is a voice outside_)--

“Tins to mend! Tins to mend!”

(_A knock at the door and the Tins-to-mend man enters._)

MAN (_taking off his cap, half humorously, half apologetically_)

Any tins to mend, sir?

PIERROT (_grimly_)

Nothing as easy as that in this house. It’s hearts to mend here!

MAN (_slinging off his pack_)

Hearts to mend?--oho--I do that, too! Truth is (_confidentially_), it’s come to be my main business. For if you’d believe it, there’s more hearts to mend and souls to mend than pots and kettles to mend in this old world of ours. Fact, my dear sir, fact! (_Sits down_) And you can’t throw hearts away when they begin to show wear--now can you?--like you throw away an old pot? No siree! (_Impressively_) You got to mend ’em. And there’s tricks about mendin’ them, sir--tricks in all trades, say I. You can mend ’em so’s they’s worse’n they was in the beginning. And you can mend ’em so careful and so clever, you can’t tell they was ever mended at all. In fact, I’ve mended some of them so they was better that way than they was in the beginning. Seems curious, but it’s true. If there was a kettle now you wanted me to work on while I was talkin’, it’d keep me busy.

(_Pierrot looks about; gets up and tosses him a kettle._)

PIERROT

There! Bang away at that!

(_He sits down again. The Tins-to-mend man hammers away for awhile, Pierrot watching him gloomily._)

MAN

You see--pots and kettles is curious things. Y’ can’t just let ’em set there and be. They rust. That’s what they do. Y’ got t’ keep shinin’ ’em--keep polishin’ ’em up. And they like it, sir--oh, they do! They kinda get a hold on life. And when they hang in your kitchen all bright and happy like, they just seem to sing away like birds. Now you’re a singer, sir--why don’t you make a song about that?

PIERROT

I can’t sing any more.

MAN

Lost your voice, sir?

PIERROT

No--worse than that--I’m married!

MAN (_solicitously_)

That’s bad, sir; that’s bad--if you’re not married right. They take it out of a man, them wicked ones!

PIERROT (_firing up_)

Who said she was a wicked one?

MAN

But if she’s good--

PIERROT (_hopelessly_)

Ah, that’s the trouble. She’s good. A man can’t live on goodness alone. It gets on his nerves.

MAN

And what else should he live on?

PIERROT (_passionately_)

Thrills--passions--longings! The kisses that make dreams--the touches of hands that make the songs come tumbling out of you--

MAN (_laughing_)

Oho, but it ought to be easy enough for a handsome young master like you to get those things!

PIERROT

It’d break her heart.

MAN (_lifting his eyes_)

Then you’re fond of her, sir?

PIERROT (_roughly_)

Of course I’m fond of her. That’s just the trouble! (_pause_) But I’m tired to death of her--and that’s the trouble, too. First, when I loved her, just a peep of her out of a window would set my heart dancing. Now, when I see her--it’s just like seeing--the butcher boy--or the bakeshop woman. (_Rises excitedly_) I tell you when things are like that, something’s got to be done. An artist can’t live that way. Ordinary men can. All they want of their wives is to be cushions--soft--so’s they can go to sleep. Artists are different. They want the sky and all the quivering stars in the sky. When they marry (_he makes a grimace_)--it’s good-bye to the stars!

MAN (_looking at him quizzically_)

Did you ever think, sir, why the night was made--with them stars you talk of?

PIERROT

Why was the night made?

MAN

Or why there’s settin’ o’ the sun and risin’ o’ the sun?

PIERROT

Why is there setting of the sun and rising of the sun?

MAN

Well--I don’t exactly know myself. But I seem to figger it out this way. Think of what it’d be, I says to myself, if there was all just one long day. Always day and day and day. Always the same glary light starin’ y’ in the eye--borin’ into your brain--so’s y’ couldn’t shut it out from y’; so’s y’ couldn’t get away from it; so’s y’ couldn’t watch the shadders come stealin’ along, the sun a-settin’ and the twinklin’ stars a-comin’ out--and so’s y’ couldn’t stretch yourself out and sleep--and so’s y’ couldn’t all of a sudden wake and hear the birds chirpin’ and a new day come! Ah, it’s that, sir--it’s the comin’ of the new day that makes life the grand thing it is--the comin’ of the new day _every_ day!

PIERROT (_wonderingly_)

The coming of the new day every day?

MAN

Just that. It’s a grand plan, sir! Keeps the world young. You try it.

PIERROT

Try it? What do you mean? I’m not the sun.

MAN

Ah, but you can be--and starlight and moonlight! How long was it--now tell me--since the thought came to you in the morning--I’ll bring her--I’ll bring her a vi’let? Oho--I know--(_sings_)

Sweet was the honeymoon, Swift it passed away-- Now we’re steady married folk-- Day after day.

It’s only for a short time--in the beginning--that every day’s a new day. After that it’s just always the same--always the same--and no risin’ o’ the sun in the mornin’--no chirp of birds--and no singin’ in the heart.

PIERROT

You mean--

MAN (_roguishly, bending to his task_)

I mean there’s a good way to mend kettles and a bad way, sir; and when the kettles are singin’ and the fires are burnin’ under them--Oho--but there’s more hearts than kettles!

(_Pierrot stands thinking._)

PIERROT (_to himself_)

I used to bring her things--a little red cloak I once brought her. Oh, she was happy! I remember that day. I made a song about it.

MAN (_hammering away--sings_)

Tins to mend, And hearts to tend; Hearts and tins Have outs and ins!

PIERROT (_continuing--to himself_)

It was one of my very best songs. And she was so happy! (_Suddenly_) Why--I’ve forgotten all about her lately! Even her birthday! She had to remind me of it! Poor Pierrette!

MAN (_sings_)

Outs and ins; Outs and ins; That’s where the trouble Of life begins!

(_Pierrot looks up. His eyes suddenly grow bright with an idea._)

PIERROT (_rising to his toes--running to the Tins-to-Mend Man_)

I have it, old fellow--I have it! There’s a shop--just a step away. I know something she wants there. I’m going to get it for her!

My purse it is lean; My purse it is lank; But who cares a flip For the state of my bank!

(_He dances delighted._)

Come--are you finished? I’ve got to hurry. She’s gone off into that room to clear up. She’ll be coming back any minute.

MAN (_looking up smiling--handing him the kettle_)

It’s mended. Better than it ever was!

(_Pierrot takes the kettle--runs to the shelf and puts it away. To the Man--_

PIERROT

Come now, come!

MAN (_gathering up pack_)

I’m coming. (_Sings_)--

Life’s a joy When turned about; In to in And out to out.

PIERROT (_putting on cloak_)

If I hurry now, I’ll have it here before she’s through with her work; it’s a beauty--it’s a beauty (_dances exultant_).

My pockets are slimpsy as pockets can be; And short is the space twixt the poorhouse and me; But while there’s a copper that hasn’t been spent, I’ll mortgage my shoes for the price of the rent!

(_They both make their exit as Pierrot sings._)

_After a moment, Pierrette opens the inner door softly, and seeing that no one is there, steps in. She has on a cloak and a hood over her head. She is very sad._

_She first takes the tea things from the table. Then, hesitating, she goes to the screen, pulling it softly aside. She leans over the crib for a merest moment. Then she pulls the screen to again, whispering:_

Up in the sky are the firefly stars; Sleep, Kittikins, sleep! Father will catch them in crystal jars--

PIERRETTE

Yes, Kittikins, we must let father. Father can make such beautiful songs. We must not stand in his way, Kittikins--we love him so.

(_She goes to the shelf and gets down a sheet of paper, the ink horn and a quill pen--takes them to the table, sits and writes._)

PIERRETTE

We’ll just write this: “Mother Merle--will--take--Kittikins.--She-- loves--her.--Good-bye--Sweetheart.” We’ll leave it here.

(_She folds it and lays it on the table. She half goes once more to the crib; but she controls herself. Then, as she goes to the door, she half turns, looks at Pierrot’s chair, and sings softly_)--

Love comes in, a-tip-toe, laughing; Love trails out with leaden feet-- Love that’s here to-day may leave us, Banished in a windy street.

I shall love you always, always-- Sweetheart, through the endless years; I shall love you with my heartaches; I shall love you with my tears.

(_She goes out into the night._)

(_After a time Pierrot comes hurrying in. His eyes are dancing. His toes are dancing. He peeks about to see if she is there. Then he makes to hide his package under the stool, but thinks better of it. He runs to the screen, but again decides against the place. He looks about and considers. An idea strikes him and he takes off his peaked hat and drops the package into that. But again he decides against it. At last, with a sudden inspiration, he runs to the pewter pot._)

PIERROT (_gleeful_)

She’ll use that to-night when she warms Kittikins’ milk. A great idea! Oh, she’ll be surprised! And I’ll just pretend I know nothing about it! I’ll be reading in my book--or writing--making faces at my paper--and I’ll see her out of the corner of my eye--

Hi, hi-- Pierrette, hot!-- Peep behind The pewter pot!

She’ll take the pot away. She’ll find the package! She’ll open it! Then she’ll just go all red and white--I can see her in my mind’s eye--and she’ll run over to me--

(_He sees the paper on the table; reads it._)

PIERROT

Pierrette! (_He runs to the door of the inner room_) Pierrette! (_He runs to the street door_) Pierrette! (_Then he runs back for his hat; but just as he makes to follow her, the meaning of it comes over him. He drops his hat. He goes slowly to the table, dropping into his chair_) It’s right. It’s what ought to be. She was a wisp of sunlight--a night of stars--she was birds singing and summer winds. She was Pierrette!--(_With a sob_) And I drove her away!

(_He sinks into the chair, his head on his arms. There is a pause. The door opens softly. Pierrette peeps in. Seeing Pierrot all crumpled up, she tiptoes toward him a few steps, stretching out her arms yearningly. But she controls herself, tiptoes a few steps towards the crib, blows a kiss to the baby and turns to go out again. Pierrot lifts his head suddenly, sees her and jumps up. Pierrette tries to escape him._)

PIERROT (_catching her in his arms_)

Pierrette!

PIERRETTE

Oh, Pierrot, I just came back for the littlest look. I couldn’t help it. I’ll go now.

PIERROT

But Pierrette, look! _(He dances about)_ It’s all come back again! I’ve got a new song singing in me, Pierrette! It’s the best song yet. It’ll make me famous!

The editors will flock to me, Exactly as you said-- A-bringing gold and velvets And a-swelling of my head!

(_He tries to take her cloak off._)

PIERROT (_coaxingly_)

Pierrette, please stay!

PIERRETTE

No, no--it was _because_ I went away, don’t you see? That’s how you found your song. You’re right, Pierrot--wives _ought_ to go away.

PIERROT

But they ought to come back again, too, Pierrette!

PIERRETTE

Only for a tiny look, Pierrot. They’d like--oh yes, they’d like to stay. But if they’re wise--ah no--Good-bye!

(_She starts to go. Pierrot runs after her._)

PIERROT

Pierrette--if you _must_ go--wait--(_mysteriously_)--there’s something here for you.

PIERRETTE

Something for me?

PIERROT

Something for you.

PIERRETTE

Where is it?

PIERROT (_teasingly_)

Perhaps it’s on the ceiling, Perhaps it’s on the floor; Perhaps it’s gone to visit the moon, And won’t be back till four!

PIERRETTE

Oh, Pierrot, don’t tease! Where is it?

PIERROT (_more teasingly_)

Guess!

PIERRETTE

Is it--is it--behind the screen?

PIERROT

Guess again.

PIERRETTE

Is it--is it--under the clock?

PIERROT

Guess again.

PIERRETTE

Is it--is it--under your hat?

PIERROT

Guess again.

PIERRETTE

Is it--is it--ah--I know where it is. It’s behind the pewter pot!

PIERROT

Right!

(_She runs up and gets the package, opens it and discovers a necklace of gay, red beads._)

PIERRETTE

Why--Pierrot--for me?

PIERROT (_making believe to consider_)

Well, that depends. I thought it was for you. But if you’re going away--

PIERRETTE

But why did you get it for me?

PIERROT

Do you want to know, sweetheart?

PIERRETTE

Yes.

Pierrot (_dances_)

Old Mister Pierrot Went to a shop; Then he came back again-- Hop--skip--hop!

PIERRETTE

But that isn’t the _reason_, Pierrot. Be sensible.

PIERROT (_continues_)

Old Mister Pierrot Was blue, blue, blue-- Along came a tinker-man And showed him what to do!

PIERROT

Pierrette, I’ve come to a conclusion!

PIERRETTE (_apprehensively_)

Not another conclusion, Pierrot?

PIERROT

Yes. I’m great on conclusions. It’s this: that most husbands, with adorable wives, are donkeys!

PIERRETTE

Oh, but I knew that long ago--ever since I married you.

PIERROT

You knew it all that time?

PIERRETTE

Of course.

PIERROT

Then how were you able to put up with me?

PIERRETTE