Comrades

May. Roy. Roy, where? – I must have dreamed, when I threw myself upon the bed. Such a horrid dream. Where are they all? (Looks off L.) There’s a light in the billiard room, and Marcus and Bess are there. I’ll go to them (goes to I. E. L.). No, how happy they look; I should be in the way. Dear Bess; to-morrow takes her from me, and gives her to another. May she be happy! She will never know my foolish fears for her made so much mischief. (Goes slowly to chair at fireplace, stands with her hand on back of it, looking into fire.) And to-night I shall know all. Ah, Roy, my husband, you know not how those simple words comfort me. In their fulfilment I feel there is a power to lift a burden hard to bear. (Sits in chair, half turned to fire.) And to-night I dreamed of him – the outcast. (Soft music, Matt Winsor opens door C. softly, catches hold of side of doorway and steadies himself, appears drunk.) I thought he appeared before me in all his rags, as once he came (Matt staggers to ottoman near window, catches at top of it and steadies himself eyes on the fireplace), wretched as then, the same drunken look in his eyes. (Matt staggers to table in same way.) Oh, how I trembled as he fixed his eyes upon me and said:

Matt. Roy’s wife (hic), how are you?

May. Ah, ’tis he. (Sinks back into chair.)

Matt. ’Scuse me. You did (hic) n’t ’spect me.

May. Oh yes, yes, you are very welcome: we have sought you – Roy has. I longed for you to come to tell you how sorry I am for the wrong I did you.

Matt. No such thing (hic): you did me no wrong. I de (hic) ceived you, and you turned me out like a dog – a stray dog – just what I was. What right had I ’mong hones’ folks.

May. The right every man has to recognition when he attempts to shake off the shackles of habit, and be a man again.

Matt. Jes’ so; but you see it’s no use (hic). I fell again.

May. O Matt – Roy’s comrade – tell me you forgive me.

Matt. Well, you lis (hic) ’n to me. You told me to go to my wife – my deserted wife (hic). I went; she died in my arms. (Serious, forgetting himself.) Poor woman! she had fallen by the way. I couldn’t raise her, but I did the best I could; I made a pillow of the breast where beat a heart that once was all hers. She died there: died like a child sinking to rest. (Weeps.)

May (surprised). Why, Matt!

Matt (quickly assuming drunken manner). Well (hic), she died – she did. Poor Mary Randall!

May. Randall? (Rises.) No, no, that was my name before I married Roy.

Matt (hic). Was it? ’twas mine before I met Roy. That’s something you didn’t (hic) find out.

May. Oh, heavens! if it should be! Well, well, go on.

Matt. That’s all: she (hic) died.

May. But tell me of yourself. Who are you?

Matt. A tramp (hic) now; a soldier once; a happy husband and father (hic) long ago.

May. A father?

Matt. Yes, I went to war, left them in a happy home; came back in a year to find the mother flown, the child (hic) gone with strangers. Then I went – I went to battle again to sell my life cheap (hic); no use, I couldn’t die. I changed my name – the name she had disgraced – and met Roy. You know the rest (hic). It’s only a tramp’s story (hic). Who cares for him?

May. But the child?

Matt. Oh, I’ve found her (hic): she’s all right.

May. Thank heaven! my fears are groundless.

Matt. Yes, I found her, indeed, happy: a child to be proud of; but how could I face her (hic)? I, a drunkard and a tramp.

May. Oh, she would forgive everything: run into your arms, and weep with joy upon your breast.

Matt (rises.) Would you do that?

May. I?

Matt. Would you, surrounded by luxury and comfort, happy in the love of a kind husband, would you take that man to your heart, present him to your husband?

May (rises). I?

Matt. Yes, you: May Manning, – once May Randall – you who turned me from your doors – ponder well; for all the wretchedness and shame that clings to me, is part and parcel of – your father.

May. Ah! (Staggers to table and falls into chair R. of it, her face on her arm on table. Matt passes to back of chair at fireplace, and with hand upon it looks at her.) I have told you the truth. As I am, I have come to you, the father to his child. I go. If you, remembering what I am, what I have been, and what I may yet become, desire my presence, seek me. If you would escape the shame which must come with the exposure, forget me, and my lips are closed forever. (Looks at her tenderly, opens his arms, and is about to step towards her, stops, shakes his head, and steals out door R. 3d E.)

May (after a short pause raises her head, and falls back in chair). Oh, shame! misery! disgrace! I, that could not warmly greet my husband’s comrade when he came, because of pride; who turned him from these doors, jealous of the kindly heart that turned to him, have found my punishment at last. “If you would escape the shame,” he said, “forget me.” (Rises.) My father? no! no! Come shame, come disgrace, the wanderer shall find rest, the father find a champion in his daughter’s love. (Goes L. Enter Roy C.)

Roy. Ah, my darling. You see I’ve kept my word.

May (runs up and throws herself on his breast, C.). O Roy, Roy, never so welcome. O Roy, I am so happy. (Weeps.)

Roy. Well, well, little wife, tears are not signs of happiness. Let me get off my coat. (May turns and comes to table. Roy removes coat and throws hat and coat on ottoman, then comes down to chair at fireplace, and watches her, hand on back of it. May stands at table looking down.)

Roy (aside). She bears it bravely. (Aloud.) Well, May, now for my promise: to tell you the mighty secret. (Comes toward her.)

May. No, Roy, hear me first. (Falls on her knees.) Hear my confession. (Enter Bess and Marcus, L. I. E.)

Roy (quickly raising her). Hush, wife! listeners.

May (steps back in line with door, 3 E. R.). I care not: hear it all. (Roy goes to mantel.) One whom I thought dead, one whom my mother wronged, comes now in want and wretchedness, not to claim my duty as he has a right, but with a nobleness that puts to shame my pride, to seal his lips, that, with a word, could make me blush before the world. Do you hear me, Roy?

Roy. I am listening, May.

May. Then seek him. It may be in dens of vice, among the fallen and debased; but seek him, and when you find him say, I wait with loving heart to greet him home, – his home for evermore.

(Enter Matt, door 3. E. R.)

Matt. You need not seek him: he’s here.

May (throwing herself into his arms). My father!

Matt. My child! My dear, dear daughter!

May. Roy, you hear.

Roy. Yes: I’ve heard too much. The weighty secret is out at last. Matt, old fellow, you organized this campaign: after your treatment here, you have a right to revenge; but to me it has been a meaner battle than ever I hoped to engage in.

Matt. ’Twas but to test a daughter’s love, Roy. “All’s fair in love and war.”

May. Then you have been deceiving me. O Roy!

Roy. I couldn’t help it. ’Twas Matt’s work: we’ve all been engaged in it.

Marcus. Yes: all of us.

Bess. Well, I never; it’s the first I’ve heard of it.

Roy. It’s the first time, then, your ears have been off duty.

Bess. They’re not trained to secret service. (Runs up to Matt.) O Matt, I’m so glad to get you back. (Shakes hands with him.)

Simon (outside R.) Come along, Nancy, I’ll make it all right.

Roy. Ah, who have we here?

(Enter Simon and Nancy, arm in arm R. I. E.)

Simon. Mr. Manning, I came down here as a bearer of dispatches.

Roy. Ah, for me?

Simon. To you; but not for you. (Steps up to Matt.) Mr. Randall, I was guilty of a mean act towards you once.

Matt (gives hand). Never mind, Simon: you’ve been a good friend since.

Simon. Well, but I do mind: it weighed upon me. I don’t like to be shabby, and so, as I’m in the ring, I’m bound to wipe that out (gives packet). There, sir, is a commission as postmaster; it’s a good one. I’ve influence, you know. If you don’t like it, and want something better, just say so; I’ll fix it for you, for I’m in the ring – in the ring. (Struts down to Nancy, R.)

Nancy. You told me you’d have nothing more to do with rings.

Simon. Did I? Well, I’ll keep my word; but there’s one more ring we can’t do without. (Takes ring from his pocket and puts it on her finger.) This, for instance, is our engagement ring.

Nancy. Why, it’s a diamond, Simon.

Simon. It is, Nancy – a buster. This shall be followed by the wedding ring, and then the teething ring.

Nancy (claps hand over his mouth). Simon Stone!

Simon (takes her hand and draws it through his arm). You shall have them all, Nancy. There’s nothing shabby about me. (Roy goes up to L. of May.)

Roy. Well, little wife, are you satisfied?

May. Can you ask it, Roy? (Gives him L. hand.)

Matt. Ah, old fellow, the dear one was hardly pressed; she fought bravely, and won a peaceful victory. To her be all the glory.

May. She has stepped between the comrades of old days only, I trust, to be the link that binds them closer. (Gives R. hand to Matt.) Hereafter, in the battle of life, we three march in line, joy and sorrow, victory and defeat, to one, to all. Comrades in prosperity, comrades in adversity, ever true, sworn comrades.

(Exit Simon, Nancy, R. Matt, May, Roy, C. Marcus, Bess, L.)Curtain