Scene—Reverting to Act I. Dill and Gloria facing each other. (They are surrounded by two diminutive trunks and bags and bundles innumerable.)

Dill. Let us read the will again, dear.

Gloria (pompously). "Regretting my anger and the annulment of his marriage—to my second son, John Dillingham Kent, be he found to have married any woman, good, bad or indifferent, the same wife or any other—" (with a toss of her head)—You wouldn't have married any other woman, Dill?

Dill. No, no, my love.

Gloria. "To him I hereby bequeath my honorable title of baronet, conferred upon me by the crown as a reward for my stand against the nefarious practise of socialism, particularly that which has broken out and appeared on the point of flourishing in ye good and ancient city of Canterbury. Also to himself and wife, do they make known their identity within one year's time, I hereby release my rights, vested or otherwise, in all personal property, including three white-tailed cows"—You may milk the cows, Dill.

Dill. Charmed, my love.

Gloria. "Seventeen adults of the porcupine variety, commonly known as pigs, but derived from the German bigge, or big."

Dill. You may ride the pigs, my lady.

Gloria (with a severe look at Dill who subsides). "Forty-three geese, seven singing birds, nine parrots and two hens."

Dill. The estate has all the enchantment of a zoo, my love.

Gloria. "To my only other relation, the Rev. Peter Kent, who much to my displeasure has taken upon himself that right of interpreting the Lord's intentions on earth, I give nothing. He is an undutiful son, but should he still possess one spark of parental affection, let him go forth to America, that land of beautiful women, and by diligent search for his own beloved brother, prove himself worthy of no title at all, but the rank of a gentleman." (Hands Dill the will.)

Dill. Am I a gentleman? (Bows like a courtier.)

Gloria. Yes, Dill.

Dill. Is he a gentleman?

Gloria. No, Dill.

Dill (decisively). He shall have nothing.

Gloria. No, Dill.

Dill. Nor the chickens, nor the cows, nor even one of the—what was that derivation, my dear?

Gloria. Of the pigs?

Dill. Yes, love.

Gloria. Do not make fun of the Germans, Dill, I had an aunt born in Germany and I fear she is living yet.

Dill. Can they neither live nor die in Germany, my sweet?

Gloria. I think not, Dill.... But would you not even give him one teeney-weeney pig? (Dill stands in front of Gloria, seriously debating this all-important matter.)

Dill (at length). No, my love.

Gloria. Not one, Dill? Think of the sorrow we have already caused him! There are two misfortunes in life. One is to find one's relations quite, quite dead. The other is, as one generally does, to find them quite, quite, alive.

Dill (moodily). He said I was not a gentleman and shall get nothing.

Gloria (rising). Ah, Dill, you would not be vindictive? I could never believe my husband guilty of that. Moreover, I have a vast superabundance of money myself.

Dill (shocked and hurt). Oh, my love! You might have told me, even if you did not give me any.

Gloria. It was necessary that you, of all people, should know nothing of it. People would have thought you were marrying me for money.

Dill (not wholly reconciled). True, true.

Gloria. I have something to tell you.

Dill. Concerning me?

Gloria. No, it is a very sensitive subject. I don't think that either of us has mentioned it since the day that we were born; and Jane has aged so rapidly that it would seem absurd on the surface of things—but she and I are twins.

Dill. One soon becomes reconciled to realities, my dear. (Sighs and looks at his jacket.)

Gloria. It has taken me more than twenty years to become reconciled to you, Dill. But now for a surprise. (She goes R., Dill following solemnly behind her. He is like a big St. Bernard dog following his mistress. Gloria tramps back, Dill again several paces in the rear.) See! Here it is! (Opens a small bag of gold.) I was forty yesterday. Now all this is mine.

Dill (with a lump in his throat). Yes, my love.

Gloria. So you are not yet independent, Dill.

Dill (swallowing his unhappiness). No, my love.

Gloria. It was left me by my father.

Dill. Ah, I see. And Jane?

Gloria. No. (Whispering.) I think my sister got nothing. I was always my father's favorite daughter.

Dill (discarding his jacket). I am no longer a butler. No, I will not. My brother may be a butler if you like.

Gloria (sharply). Dill!

Dill (forgetting his good resolutions). Yes, my love.

Gloria. We have lived here very happily, Dill.

Dill. And now I will build you a castle among the clouds. We will be like the moon and the stars.

Gloria. Aeroplaning is out of fashion, Dill.

Dill. As you would have it, my love.

Gloria. For twenty years you have executed my orders.

Dill (with revived ardor). And now a hundred men shall do your bidding! We will go to the extreme ends of the earth—

Gloria. I do not approve of extremes of any kind, Dill. The most important thing in life is that whatever a young man once starts he should see to the end.

Dill. But I hold a title, my sweet.

Gloria. No matter. You were not born with it.

Dill. I never heard of a titled butler. (Shakes his head dubiously.) My brother has not got a title.

Gloria (sharply). Dill! Do you love me?

Dill. Ah, how could you doubt it?

Gloria. I have never doubted it. I was only testing you. (Hands him bag.) All this is yours, Dill.

Dill. My love, my love. (Kneels.)

Gloria. On condition that you continue to serve me as faithfully as you have in the past.

Dill (clasping her hands). Ah, my beloved one! Light of my life! Blessed of women! (His head sinks upon her lap. Enter Kathryn and Jack. Each has an arm about the other's waist. Their eyes are glued on each other's, and they proceed very, very slowly.)

Jack. My dear, you could hardly expect them both to belong to the same class. That is never the way. One is always rich, the other poor. One is always good, the other bad. Ask one of them and see! But if what I tell you is not convincing, consider the words of Shakespeare, England's great minor poet, who in a fit of melancholy once exclaimed—"Some are born with parents, others acquire them. But most of us just have the genus thrust upon us." (Gloria is unsuccessfully endeavoring to extricate herself from her embarrassing position.)

Kathryn. Jack, you really should not speak that way of England's poet. Your own father told me this morning that no man could hope to understand Shakespeare until he was forty. And that then he wouldn't understand him.

Jack. I don't doubt it. But you forget, Kathryn, that I never had a father, and that hereafter my responsibilities are numbered. (They wheel slowly upon them.)

Kathryn. Oh—father!

Jack. What an extraordinary posture, Dill! Are you aware of your menial, Miss Gibbs? (To Kathryn.) He must think it's a circus. He's trying to stand on his head.

Kathryn (looking away). Perhaps he's praying.

Jack. Arise, sir, in the presence of your superiors! (Dill gets up very guiltily.) And why these bags and bundles, pray? Is your man about to start a millinery establishment, Miss Gibbs?

Gloria (almost in tears). Mr. Hargrave! This gentleman is not my servant. This gentleman is soon to be my husband!

Jack. It's the same thing.

Kathryn (shocked). Oh! What would mother say! I don't think I can ever allow you to become a butler after all, Jack.

Jack (glibly). Dill, are you a polygamist, or what? Define yourself! (To Kathryn.) I have yet to hear of a menial Mormon.

Kathryn. I am sure that mother will discharge him now.

Gloria. Kathryn, I am your mother! If you referred to my sister, I can only say that she is your mother by adoption, that I suffered your adoption solely because my time was taken up with my husband and— (tearfully) Oh, you have no maternal instinct whatever! I am sorry I ever brought you into the world, you have saddened my life so completely.

Dill (comforting. Gloria who is in hysteria). There, there, my own—

Gloria. That you whom I have loved as my own child should object to your father, should be ashamed of him who has waited upon your every want—oh, it is terrible.

Kathryn. Mother, you don't understand. I have always liked Dill, and don't object to him at all. In fact, I think it would be rather nice to keep him always with us, and always, always ... (Dill turns pale) as a butler. (To Jack.) Men are wont to become oppressive when granted authority, and I feel sure that Dill could never succeed as well at anything else.

Jack. You are always right, my dear, but see to it at once. Contracts have ceased to be binding, and what you want is a verbal understanding with your mother.

Gloria (embracing them). My children, I forgive you! As for Dill—that is settled.

Dill (to Kathryn). My money! (Hands her bag.)

Kathryn. Beautiful, ideal money! (To Jack.) I think he shows signs of submission already.

Dill (to Jack). My will! (Hands him the will.)

Jack. I warned you about that, Dill. I said a will was a very unsafe thing to have.

Dill. My broken heart and soul! (Hands that to Gloria.) Oh, take everything! (Falls back into a chair and buries his head in his hands.)

Jack (to Kathryn). A man is at least your friend who gives you money. No other friends get along these days, or amount to anything.

Gloria. My dears, I agree with both of you. Your father has enough money as it is, and any more would surely spoil him. (To Jack.) I don't think husbands should be allowed titles. Mine I know would squander his. Moreover, in England the women have already gotten their rights or are about to get them, which is almost as bad. And when we women get the vote, if there are titles left, they shall certainly belong to us. You may keep the will, Jack, I assure you it is utterly worthless, and probably recorded all over the country. (He and Kathryn stroll off. Gloria turns upon Dill.) I don't mind about your heart, for if it's broken you couldn't use it, and I don't mind about the soul part either, for I don't think you have one. But I do seriously object to your wasting your money. (Turns her back to him.) You'll never amount to anything.

Dill. I have been always most saving, my dear.

Gloria. Less saving than spent, Dill.

Kathryn (tossing her latest gift into the air). Lovely, spiritual money. We can be married now, and you won't have to work as a stoker in the ship after all.

Jack. Positively, my dear, I never dreamed of such a thing!

Kathryn (pouting). Of course, I never could have allowed you to. You might have upset us all, and I'm not going to be drowned for love or any other nonsense.

Jack. But, my dear, if I upset the ship, it would be your duty to get drowned. Any old captain will tell you that. They know absolutely nothing. It's like any other walk of life. A man wears whiskers, or white hair, or something, and you fancy he's learned. But he's not, and never will be. Sea-captains dress as they do, and wear peculiar caps, not that they should look like sea-captains, but that young innocent persons like yourself should be deceived into thinking them philosophers, or good men, or bad men, or some kind of men at least. That explains the old and venerable expression of thinking through your cap. But it's all wrong. They never think at all.

Kathryn. I've often gone fishing, Jack, and I've never yet caught a fish. Do you think there are any fishes in the sea, or is it just a myth like mermaids and the millennium?

Jack. That is purely a piscatorial problem. My father is doubtless a proper authority. I know he drinks like a fish, and he eats like a race horse. (Dill has been left entirely to his own reflections.)

Gloria. What are you two over there saying about running away?

Jack (advancing solemnly). Miss Gibbs, I have something to tell you. (Sits down and with knees crossed nonchalantly lights cigarette.) I have no money, of course. Nobody has these days. The philanthropists have stolen it all.

Kathryn (handing him money bag). Of course not, Jack, how absurd! But this will surely pay off some of your debts.

Jack. Very few, my dear. You don't know what debts are. Debts are a man's constant reminder that even when he's very, very rich, one-half the money in his pocket, and all the money in his bank, belongs positively to somebody else.

Gloria. I seriously object to your morals, Jack.

Jack. Surely you would not blame me for that which I never had?

Dill. As the lady's father, I must at least inquire of your habits, sir.

Jack. I have no habits; even the good ones are bad enough, and the bad ones are so hard to follow out.

Kathryn. I quite approve so far, Jack.

Jack. I never vote.

Gloria. I have yet to know the man who did. That's why they don't want us to.

Jack. And I am proud to say that I have never done even a single stroke of work.

Kathryn. Oh! But you really must take up some useful occupation, Jack, and go downtown very early in the morning and come back very late every night. Married life would be impracticable otherwise. One could stand a husband in the morning and evening, but a whole day added to each night would be out of the question.

Jack. You don't understand. Business today is done under very bad principles. The proper way, in truth, the only way that a young man of my temperament could be induced to begin work, would be to start right up at the top and go right down to the bottom. It takes so much less time and trouble than the old way of beginning at the bottom and stealing one's way up to the top. Besides, one is just that much more likely to land somewhere.

Kathryn. I wish that I were a man. Here you stand wasting my time talking, when in a few weeks you might learn to be a messenger boy, and grow right up into a millionaire.

Jack. I'm not old enough for a messenger boy, Kathryn. Messenger boys are never successful until they become at least fifty and have long white hair. Mine is a very firm yellow. I inherited it from my mother.

Gloria. I thought you and Kathryn were having an innocent flirtation only. (To Dill.) Men are so deceiving.

Jack. There's no such thing as an innocent flirtation, Gloria. Naturally I shall have a great deal of trouble convincing you of my love for your daughter. I had expected that. When a man arrives at my age of indiscretion, love is no longer to be thought of.

Gloria. Mr. Kent and I are no longer young, sir, though we have been long in love.

Kathryn (to herself). Kathryn Kent! What a pretty name. (Strolls off.)

Gloria (sharply). I'm afraid you're thinking, Dill. I am often aware of a most unpleasant sensation whenever you indulge in that.

Dill. I am, my love, I usually am.

Kathryn. There's no use going further, Jack. It can't be done.

Jack (going to her). What can't be done, my dear? I think that rather a revolutionary sentiment, your saying a thing can't be done, especially before trying it.

Kathryn. The name, Jack, the name! There's no use in losing that.

Jack. What name, dear?

Kathryn. Why, Kent, of course! I never could marry a man named Hargrave.

Jack (taking her hand tenderly). Poor Kathryn! So busy exchanging relations, she's completely forgotten my name. I told you my name was really Kent. It's as really Kent as yours is.

Kathryn (still dazed). Ah, so you did! (Goes over to sofa. Dill follows—she plays with him with a piece of string.)

Jack. And I told you that I had a number too. (To Gloria.) Did I ever tell you, Gloria, that I had a number? Such a lovely number! Hereafter I must be known as John, plain John, Disciple No. 1, in Crapsey's School for Socialism.

Gloria. Crapsey's School for Socialism?

Jack. In Canterbury, England! And I hold the unique distinction of being the only pupil that Crapsey ever had.

Gloria. Jack, this is terrible!

Jack (romping about). So you refuse to give your consent! Oh, I am so glad. It has always been my ambition to marry someone whose parents absolutely disapproved of me, who thought me utterly unfitted for family life. (To Kathryn.) We shall have all the fun of an elopement now, and when you have finally divorced me, you can always recollect that your parents advised you not to, and that they—(pointing to Gloria) after all was said and done, knew absolutely nothing of what they were talking about. (Kathryn does not look up. Dill, like a lazy lion, is lolling about at her feet. Sometimes he paws for the string.)

Gloria. I have this much to say, Mr. Hargrave, and that is, that with or without my consent, you shall never marry any daughter of mine.

Jack (with provoking mirth). Kent, if you please! But why not? I am a socialist, of course, and I know that the world is not yet prepared for socialism. But we are only children as yet, and this is still the twentieth century. When we reach the twenty-first and become of age it will be time to talk about that.

Gloria. You are Kathryn's first cousin.

Jack. I would be if I weren't adopted, Gloria.

Gloria. Your mother! (Enter Jane.)

Jack. Gloria was asking of my mother, Jane. It is one of those impossible questions to answer, and possibly why she asked.

Jane. Have you ever thought of your mother, Jack?

Jack. Oh, I remember my mother. I was adopted almost before I was born and yet—

Jane. What was she like, dear?

Jack. Like no one else in the world, Jane. It's hard to be sure of course, but I think she must have been just the one woman who never could grow fat.

Jane. At least I am not fat, Jack.

Jack. Oh, Jane—my mother!

Jane. My son John! (Enter Hargrave. His hair is short and his costume more civilized. At sight of him Dill grows instantly shy and timid. He retreats to the shelter of Kathryn who, however, refuses to be taken for a tree, and by a series of short playful jumps takes him to the centre of the stage.)

Jack. Father! Where is your hair? Have you swallowed it?

Jane. Your father's hair and I have had a falling out, Jack. We are decided to cut it upon first sight hereafter.

Hargrave. Water!

Gloria. Come out of there, Dill. Where are your manners I should like to know? (Dill holds tray and hands a pitcher to Hargrave.)

Hargrave. Ah! (Drains a glass.) Ah! (Dill grows impatient and Hargrave grabs the pitcher.)

Jack. How degrading drink is! It's dangerous too. There are more germs in water than in anything else except whiskey, as scientists will tell you.

Gloria. I will break the news to you first, Jack. Jane is really your mother, and—I think that he is your father too.

Jack (to Kathryn). It is apparent that we never can be married now, dear.

Kathryn. You feel quite sure that we are safe?

Jack. My dear, cousins could hardly afford to marry, and though I don't believe a word that Gloria said— (Stops abruptly and goes over to Hargrave.)

Kathryn (with a deep sigh of satisfaction). Well, that's over. (Retreats to lounge.)

Jack (insolently). Sir! I have already found my mother. (Gloria looks ominously at Jane.) And ever since I can remember I have been told I resembled you.

Gloria (to Kathryn). You said that you recognized him at once, dear. (Kathryn makes a little face.)

Jack (earnestly). Are you my father?

Hargrave. I am not.

Jack. Who is my father?

Hargrave. I don't know.

Jack. Your answers are satisfactory. In the future I don't wish so distasteful a subject to be broached again. (Turns away impatiently.)

Hargrave. Did you say you had found your mother?

Jack. I did. (Looks at Jane who shakes her head.)

Hargrave (eyeing them all a little suspiciously). May I then ask who your mother is, sir?

Jack. Ah, my mother is an angel. (Looks up in the air.)

Hargrave. Do not stand there blinking at the stars. I am sorry your mother is dead, but I have known that for years.

Dill. Perhaps the will would put him in a better humor, sir.

Jack (handing it to him). I forgot to tell you, father, but I found it after all. (To Kathryn.) It's easy enough to find a thing if you're not looking for it.

Hargrave (to them all). I have just this much to say—that even if I was disinherited by my father I intend to take this matter to the courts. Fighting, especially fighting for the right, has always been a point of honor with me.

Gloria. One pig, Dill?

Dill. One pig, then.

Gloria (advancing). As we do not seem able to be married on land, Mr. Hargrave, Mr. Kent and I have decided to try the water. We are sailing this evening.

Jack. You are not sailing in those trunks, Gloria?

Gloria. Mr. Hargrave, I am a lady. Those are not trunks, those are my new hats.

Dill. My idea, sir. It's to pass the custom house.

Jack. Would you like a sail across the pond, dear? I know some capital fish stories, and can show you where they catch the most gigantic fish. Father caught a whale there or something of the sort.

Kathryn. A shark, Jack, a shark, I'm sure.

Jack. Well whatever it was we're quite safe. Whenever they strike a leak or the ship gets too heavy they push all the women off into the little boats.

Hargrave. What boat are you sailing on, may I ask?

Gloria. The Baltic, Mr. Hargrave.

Hargrave (to Jane). I feel a little lonely, my dear. Don't you think we might try a sail ourselves?

Jane. Yes, the rent's up.

Kathryn. What idiots we all are.

Gloria. Dill! Come here! Did you not tell my daughter in that letter that you were an idiot?

Dill. I did, my dearest, indeed.

Kathryn. Oh, the letter! And now I've lost it—what a shame. I always read letters backward and never did read more than the last paragraph anyway. But it's the only letter from my father that I ever had and I feel the loss of it already.

Dill. Never fear, Miss Kathryn. I will write you another. (He thinks long and earnestly, but fails to write.)

Jane. I have a present for you, Jack. (Gives him a bag similar to Gloria's.) It was left me by my father, but with disclosures of a nature which I could not countenance. (At R.) I could never own up to forty, Peter; never, never, never, if I were a hundred.

Jack. You must never own up to thirty, Jane; I shall feel so very old when you do so. (To Kathryn.) Don't you think we might get married after all, dear? It is terrible to have so much money and not know what to do with it.

Kathryn. Yes, love is very beautiful, isn't it?

Jack (pulling other bag from trunk). I knew I should succeed some day, Jane; and I cannot thank either you or your sister one-half enough.

Jane and Gloria (with one voice). I was always my father's favorite daughter! (Each snatches a bag, the two of which are carried off by Jack.)

Gloria. Whatever are you doing, Dill? Are you writing a letter to the Pope? (Bell rings.)

Jack. I distinctly heard a noise. (Bell rings more loudly.) I am seldom mistaken, Dill, and as you are still the butler (Bell peals again).

Gloria. Hurry, Dill. It may be some distinguished guest. (Exit Dill very slowly.)

Jane. I have never heard a bell ring that way before. I was sure ours had been broken for months.

Jack. Belles always are, I believe.

Kathryn. I have taken a dislike to this one already.

Jack. It sounds painfully reminiscent. You do not ring that way, Father?

Hargrave. Someday I shall wring your neck, sir.

Jane. You must learn to control your temper, Peter. I don't mind your trying it out on your relatives, but until it gets quite, quite perfect you must remember never to practise it on me. (Takes away his glasses and places them on table.) It was only his glasses, Jack.

Kathryn. This suspense is killing me. I know I look like a tableau.

Gloria. My dear, your dress is too low! You must not show your neck until late in the evening, or at least until the lights are turned on and everyone is looking.

Jane. I am glad we have chosen so large a boat. I feel as though I weighed a ton already.

Kathryn. I will not wait one moment longer. No! not for the Empress of Egypt, if there is such a thing. (Goes forward.) Dill can bring the bundles. (They follow her to the door, only to recoil in astonishment as Col. Christopher Crapsey appears. He is prodding Dill with his sword which he sheathes gallantly upon beholding Kathryn. The others he salutes sternly. In fact he salutes at every opportunity, his chief occupation being apparently this same salute, preceded each time by three mighty strides and heels together in approved military fashion. He has all the vulgar airs of a soldier, of even a retired soldier.)

Crapsey (after saluting everybody and everything in sight). Col. Christopher Crapsey—retired Army officer—Socialist—and—(delves into pocket for card).

Gloria. The tray, Dill—the tray! (The effect produced by the mention of the word Crapsey stuns everyone, with the exception of Kathryn and Dill, who have no knowledge of what a really interesting person the Colonel is. Jane, of course, was expecting him. But Hargrave was not, and, after adjusting his glasses and taking one furtive glance, he disappears up the chimney.)

Dill (bowing deeply). I must observe for the second time, sir, that your bearing is most soldierly.

Crapsey (drawing sword). Silence, sir. (Empties seven or eight cards on tray and again repeats the ominous words.) Col. Christopher Crapsey, retired Army officer!—Socialist—and—

Kathryn (to Jack). I am so surprised—I thought the men of war were all at sea, and fighting with their wives, or with themselves.

Jack (audibly). I think the man's a fool.

Kathryn. I'm sure of it.

Gloria (admonishingly). Little do either of you know how much the Colonel's visit portends. (Crapsey glares at all of them.)

Jack. This is my last broken ideal. And I so young! What a pity.

Crapsey (looking about him). Ah, I forgot. Jane Gibbs, I believe. (Goes up to Gloria.)

Jane. I am Jane Gibbs. You wanted to see me about my son, did you not?

Crapsey. I did.

Gloria. Pray proceed. We are all prepared for the worst.

Crapsey. Ah, it is for the very best.

Kathryn. How very too bad! Nothing thrills me like a disappointment, and now even you refuse to marry someone else, Jack.

Crapsey (annoyed at the interruption). For the very best! I have decided your son shall remain with me. (To Gloria.) It is hard to realize the effect that environment has on the young. It is much more vital than heredity, and John I feel bound to state is the exact image of me. He has my eyes, my commanding manner, my masterly stride.

John (from the other end of the room). Have you come here to insult me, sir?

Jane. But I thought John was a scholar, Colonel? You have written several letters about his French, and you said his Shakespeare was perfect.

Crapsey. He is more than a scholar, madam. Your son is a soldier. He has the soldier's finer feelings, and some day will surely join the ranks to become as famous as his guardian was before him.

Jack. I'd rather die than fight for anyone.

Crapsey (trying not to hear). Yes, for twenty years he has been mine. He has been a dutiful, affectionate son and a help to me in that institution which is destined some day to become known throughout the entire world. But come! (Consults his watch.) There's little time. I arrived yesterday on the Burgoyne and I sail tonight on the Baltic.

Jack. The Baltic?

Crapsey (violently). The Baltic! But it does not concern you in the least.

Jack (to Kathryn). I assure you, my dear, that all this has reference to me.

Crapsey (to Jane). Your decision, pray?

Jack. I will not go.

Crapsey. Madam?

Jack. I will not go.

Crapsey. Madam, your decision!

Jack. It is easily decided, Jane. I refuse to go.

Crapsey (marching up to him). I did not ask you to go, sir! Your conduct is an impertinence.

Jack (to Jane). I will not live with a lunatic. Surely the law must side with me there.

Crapsey (roaring with rage). Who is this offensive young person, may I ask, who insults me in this fashion?

Jack (stepping out). I am John, plain John, Disciple No. 1, in Crapsey's School for Socialism. And I hold the dubious distinction of being the only pupil you ever had. (Crapsey's feelings are hurt beyond expression. He wilts perceptibly. At length, with whatever dignity is still his, he turns his back upon the company and stalks for the door. There he hesitates for a moment and all draw back in doubt as to whether he is about to go or charge upon them.)

Hargrave (crawling out). Is he gone? (He presents a droll figure, sooted and covered with dust.)

Crapsey (returning with two or three wondrous strides). I am not gone, sir. And who are you?

Jack. This is my adopted father, the Rev. Peter Kent, alias Hargrave. (Crapsey stares icily, then adjusts an extraordinary pair of glasses to his nose.)

Crapsey. Aha! (Hargrave shivers.) So I have not tracked you twenty years in vain. (Draws sword.) You changed your name, but I am too clever to be mislead by a woman's guile. Defend yourself, sir! I remember—the truth is stronger than the sword! Come on, sir. (Hargrave retreats to fireplace.)

Jack. Fighting always was his forte, Crapsey, especially fighting for the right. If my life was as worthless as yours, father, I'd be fighting all the time.

Crapsey (turning fiercely on Jack). Shall I run you through and through, sir? (Hargrave glides behind the table.) This creature stole you from me years ago. But he is welcome to you—to all of you. I think it is a den of thieves.

Jane. Curb your emotions, Colonel. This man is soon to be my husband, and Jack was first of all my son. (Hargrave is fired to action by this apparent disclosure. Forgetting his fears he stamps jealously up to Crapsey who meets him half way. They stand face to face.)

Hargrave and Crapsey (together). Her son!

Gloria (to Kathryn). I told you, my dear, that it was really so.

Jane. Yes, my own adopted son. I found him in one of the fashionable parks of England's great city ... quite homeless, quite dirty, and without name or parents. I called him John.

Jack. Thank you, Jane. I knew Gloria could never speak the truth.

Jane. You have been a most extravagant young man, Jack. Every dollar which I have spent on your education has been squandered.

Crapsey. And every dollar has been used in running this man down. You must admit that I have been successful. (Smiles at the thought of his accomplishments and seats himself comfortably.)

Hargrave (well behind the table). I have no doubt that you will still land in jail, sir.

Crapsey (bounding to his feet). Aha! For you, sir, I have something in the nature of a surprise. (Fumbles in pockets.) After many failures I have at last obtained a hearing before the Archbishop; and he, like the honest, upright man that he is, has decreed that you be unfrocked. I have the order with me.

Jack. I said you'd be unfrocked, father.

Hargrave (discarding vest). I am glad of it. For twenty years these clothes weighed upon my soul, ruined my digestion, dyed my hair, and made me the man I am.

Jack. Your reformation is complete, Jane.

Dill. In that case, sir, insomuch as my father specifically stated in the will that he had disinherited you solely because you had entered the ministry, I turn over one-half the estate to you. (Gloria stares at him reproachfully.)

Hargrave (kneeling). My brother! forgive me!

Crapsey. The will! What will!

Hargrave (holding Dill's hand and the will in the air). The will of the late John Kent of Canterbury, whose elder son I am.

Crapsey. Pooh! (Tears it to pieces.) Absolutely worthless, revoked it before he died.

Chorus of Voices. Revoked it?

Crapsey.. Revoked it! And seeing at the last the error of his ways, by the merciful will of God left every cent he possessed to a School for Socialism, to be founded in ye good and ancient city of Canterbury, whose ruling spirit I am. The new will was discovered just previous to my departure for this country.

Discord of Voices. Oh! (Each seeks a chair, Dill alone being left in the scuffle.)

Dill (holding up bag). At any rate we do not need for money, sir. (Crapsey tosses the coins contemptuously into the air.)

Crapsey. Bah! American pennies, as worthless as the American dollar. (All are visibly annoyed.) But hurry! My time is nearly up. Do I go alone, or will some of the party accompany me?

Kathryn. We'll be the young married couple, Jack.

Jane. We'll be the sisters, Gloria.

Gloria. Yes, and Dill will be the butler. (All but Dill and Jane assent.)

Jane. I think, Peter, that as your brother has been the butler for twenty years it is only fair that you should now take his place.

Kathryn. No one can ever take my father's place. It may sound like affectation, but it's not. Dill will be the butler.

Crapsey. That is impossible! In my school the women work and do all the work. (All the men and Dill are jubilant.) One thing still requires our attention. After what person, or persons, shall the institution be called?

Jack, Hargrave and Dill (displaying their now reluctant better halves). After my—

Crapsey. One name at a time, please.

Voices Three. The Convolvulus.

Crapsey. Then that is settled. Company fall in. (Crapsey stands superbly at the head; next Jane and Gloria; next Hargrave and Dill. Kathryn tries to hold Jack in last place with her, but he breaks away and goes up to Hargrave.)

Jack. I told you, father, that I was going to complete my education; and perhaps some day I shall have the distinction of a number. (Crapsey hits him a vicious crack with his sword just as Jack takes Jane's chattels away from her. These he adds to Gloria's already prodigious pile and joins the ranks.)

Kathryn. I feel just as if I were boarding the Ark.

Crapsey. The Baltic! Forward march! (They describe a short circle, Jack whistling the "Marseillaise," "Onward Christian Soldiers," or some terrible tango tune. Any old tune will not do, however, and care should be taken in its selection and use.)

Jack (disappearing). Dear me! It's five-fifteen, and they're beating their wives in London now. (Exeunt all.)

Curtain.

LIST IN BELLES-LETTRES

Published by CLAIRE MARIE

Three East Fourteenth St., New York

SONNETS FROM THE PATAGONIAN: THE STREET OF LITTLE HOTELS. By Donald Evans, Author of "Discords." Jade boards. $1.25. (Second printing.)

LITTLE WAX CANDLE—A Farce in One Act by Louise Norton. Burnt orange boards. $1.25. (Second Printing.)

SALOON SONNETS: WITH SUNDAY FLUTINGS—A Volume of Poems by Allen Norton. Brescia blue boards. $1.25.

TENDER BUTTONS: OBJECTS, FOOD, ROOMS—Studies in Description by Gertrude Stein. Canary boards. $1.00.

SYRINX: PASTELS OF HELLAS. By Mitchell S. Buck. Grey boards. $1.25.

THE CONVOLVULUS—A Comedy in Three Acts by Allen Norton. Slate boards. $1.25.

Transcriber's Note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.

Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.