Part 6

_Jennings_: Gentlemen of the jury, the month of July found us in Salvador, where we, as good American patriots, issued a declaration of interference that the Fourth of July shall be celebrated with all kinds of salutes, explosions, honors of war, oratory, and liquids known to tradition. It so happened that there were Salvadoreans also panting for liberty and liquids; there was a revolution planned, led by General Mary Esperanza Dingo, who was some punkins both for politics and color; but we had never met the general, and knew nothing about these great events. We gathered the Americans of the town, with their Winchesters, Colts and Navy forty-fives; we bought up all the fireworks, and most of the fire-water, and early in the evening, as soon as the thermometer had come down to 110, we started in at the Saloon of the Immaculate Saints—the Cantina de los Santos Immaculatos—taking all the drinks that bore American labels, and informing the atmosphere as to the glory and preeminence of the United States, and its ability to subdue, outjump and eradicate the other nations of the earth. I had just thrown a bottle of ginger ale through a portrait of Queen Victoria—or rather at a reflection of it which I saw in a mirror over the counter of the cantina—when we heard yells outside, and the galloping of horses’ hoofs, and a rattle of musketry. (_the sounds are heard off-stage, as described; Jennings raises his voice_) I shouted: “The infantry has turned out to do honor to the Fourth of July! E pluribus unum! Viva la Libertad! The stars and stripes forever!” We pulled out our shooting irons! Hurrah for liberty! We opened fire on the lights of the cantina—

(_Jennings pulls a gun from under his coat and fires at the lights, which go out one by one at his shots, leaving the stage in complete darkness. Shouts, singing, trampling, and general uproar, during which a quick change is made. The wall which covers the kitchenette is closed, concealing it from sight. The postoffice pigeon-holes and grilled windows give outwards like double doors, leaving a large entrance to the street of Salvador. The stage becomes a cantina, or drinking place. Jennings assumes his costume of a battered silk hat and a dress-suit with only one tail to the coat. The others don the white costumes of Americans in the tropics. Red light gradually appears, revealing Espiritu de la Vina dancing and singing, Porter watching and the other five men, armed with rifles and revolvers, capering, shouting, and firing shots through the ceiling of the cantina. Joe is hiding in terror under the table._)

_Jennings_: Three cheers for the red, white and blue!

_Raidler_: Bully for you!

_All_: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

_Valentine_: Ray fer Yankee Doodle!

_Judge_: The stars and stripes fo’ever, suh!

_Porter_: God save the union!

_Raidler_: Up with the declaration of independence! (_boom of cannon outside_)

_Jennings_: Our celebration has caught on!

_Raidler_: Liberty comes to Salvador!

_Espiritu_ (_springs to the front, waving an American flag in one hand and a Salvador flag in the other_): It is ze great Salvador revolution! The day of liberty is arrive! Ze great emancipator, ze great Salvador hero, ze General Mary Esperanza Dingo! He come, he ride ze horseback! Hail!

_General Dingo_ (_rides in from street on prancing horse, waving a sword_): Americanos! Amigos! Friends of ze great Libertad!

_All_: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

_General_: Ze Libertad iss peril! Ze tyrant strike ze Salvador people! Assistance, amigos! Will ze Americanos defend?

_Jennings_: We will! You bet we will!

_Raidler_: Hooray for liberty!

_Valentine_: Down with the government!

_Jennings_: Death to the tyrant! Forward!

_General_: I lead, amigos! Forward! Charge ze battle!

(_he prances out to street, followed by Jennings, Raidler, Valentine, Delacour, and the Judge; a volley and shouts of battle, rapidly receding_)

_Espiritu_ (_stands in doorway, shouts in frenzy_): Ze enemy run! Los Americanos win! La libertad iss save! Viva el General Dingo! (_exit to street cheering_)

_Joe_ (_peering out from under table_): Misteh Porteh?

_Porter_ (_stands by the table, staring before him, with his hand to his forehead, as if dazed by the confusion_): Well?

_Joe_: You reckon Ah kin come out now? (_as Porter does not answer, he crawls out with burlesque terror. Silence; then faint strains of soft music, and the light changes to pale violet_)

_Margaret_ (_enters in dreamlike fashion at right, clad as in Act I, and carrying her dolly_): Oh, Papa, such a lovely dolly!

_Porter_ (_tenderly_): You got her in time for Christmas, sweetheart?

_Margaret_: Oh, yes, Papa! Oh, Papa, I’m having such a nice Christmas! So many lovely presents! But your dolly is the nicest of all! When you lay her down she shuts her eyes, like she was really asleep, and when you squeeze her she says “Mamma!” Try it, Papa. (_Porter takes dolly and squeezes her and the sound is heard_)

_Joe_ (_has been making pantomime of sympathy. Now he gives a warning cry_): Look, out, Misteh Porteh! (_the character of the music changes, the light changes to dark red, and three immense prison guards enter, armed with heavy paddles, and creep upon Porter_)

_Margaret_ (_as they seize Porter, screams in fright_): Papa! Papa!

(_One of the guards seizes Margaret and carries her off right, crying. The other two seize Porter and throw him down and bind him to the floor. Joe makes pantomime of impotent despair. The guards take the paddles and proceed to beat Porter. At the first blows the light begins to fade, and after two or three blows the scene is in total darkness. The sounds of the blows increase to heavy crashings, and Porter’s moans rise to a general wailing and shouting, which cover a quick change to the scene of the feast in the prison postoffice. When the change has been completed, the sounds die away, and white light breaks gradually upon the scene, revealing general disorder and wreck. Delacour is asleep in his chair, his head thrown back and his mouth open. The Judge has slid under the table. Jennings and Valentine sleep with their heads bowed on the table. Raidler has had his chair upset and is asleep on the floor. Joe lies on the floor at one side, flat on his back. Porter sits leaning on the table staring before him, brooding. It is Christmas morning, and off-stage there arises the sound of fresh young voices singing a Christmas carol_)

It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold; Peace on the earth, good-will to men, From heaven’s all-gracious King; The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come, With peaceful wings unfurled; And still their heavenly music floats O’er all the weary world; Above its sad and lonely plains They bend on hovering wing, And ever o’er its Babel sounds The blessed angels sing.

O ye, beneath life’s crushing load, Whose forms are bending low, Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow! Look now, for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing; Oh, rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing.

CURTAIN.

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ACT IV.

SCENE: _The drug-store, as in Acts I and II_.

AT RISE: _The line of convicts is filing past the counter, as at the opening of Act I, having their prescriptions put up by Porter. They are in a state of angry excitement, with difficulty repressed by the guards. Every man is moaning or snarling at every moment when the guards’ eyes are not upon him. The guards move here and there, threatening men with their clubs and commanding: “Silence! Shut up there! Hold your tongue!” But at some other place in the line men will shout, exclamations which are repeated again and again: “Jimmie Valentine is dead! You murdered Jimmie Valentine! Liars! Scoundrels! To hell with you! To hell with the state of Ohio! God damn this prison! You killed Jimmie Valentine! Murderers!” Porter fills the prescriptions, keeping tightly shut lips, but his hands are trembling, and it is evident that he also is deeply moved. Joe is making his usual pretense of cleaning up, but with difficulty, because of his excitement; he turns this way and that as he hears the cries, and his eyes are staring wide. Finally the last of the line is driven off, and the roaring dies away to a murmur._

_Joe_: Gawdamighty, Misteh Porteh, de men in his place is sho gone crazy! Dey is somethin goin to bust loose here tonight. (_Porter makes no reply, but puts away his boxes and bottles_) Oh, dat po feller, Jimmie Valentine! Didn’t even give him a chance to see his po ole mammy! Misteh Porteh, did you hear what dey say bout her? (_silence from Porter_) Dey say she’s stannin all day out by de gate in de snow. Dey won’t even let her in to see de body; dey ain’t tole her when dey gwine bury him. What you spose dey got agin dat po ole woman? (_No answer_) Ah knows how it is, Misteh Porteh, you doan trust yoself to open yo mouth bout his hyar business. Well, Ah seen times when I’d missed a lot o trouble if Ah’d kep my mouf shut. Maybe dis is one of em. Well, Ah go empty de trash-basket. (_takes the basket and goes off left. Porter sits at his desk, staring in front of him_)

_Dr. Walters_ (_enters right_): Well, Porter?

_Porter_: Good evening, doctor.

_Dr._: Having trouble here this evening?

_Porter_: A little noise.

_Dr._: Too bad! Too bad! A nasty situation. Looks as if it might be worse before it’s better. What do you think?

_Porter_: I am here as an inmate, doctor; I am not supposed to have opinions.

_Dr._: Humph! Discretion is the better part of valor. Well, have you anything to report to me?

_Porter_: I took the liberty of sewing up the head of a guard who had a spike thrown at him.

_Dr._: Seems a good job; thank you.

_Porter_: Here is the week’s report. (_hands him paper; he takes the paper and examines it. Joe appears at door, left, with empty trash-basket; seeing the doctor he stops, and thus overhears the conversation which follows_)

_Dr._: By the way, another matter—not a pleasant one. (_he goes to the shelf and takes bottle of alcohol_) This alcohol continues to disappear.

_Porter_: I don’t think so, sir.

_Dr._: You don’t? (_he holds it to the light critically_)

_Porter_: I have had occasion to use quite a little of it on my night’s rounds.

_Dr._: Indeed? (_a pause_) I think it will be advisable for me to go with you on your rounds, and see how that happens.

_Porter_: Certainly, doctor. (_a pause_) There is something I will say about that.

_Dr._: Well?

_Porter_: I hope you are not suspecting me of being a thief.

_Dr._: I have no right to do so; but it is my duty to try to make certain about the matter. We cannot have drinking going on in this institution, especially at such a ticklish time as this. I don’t like the job of playing detective, but somebody has to do it.

_Porter_: Doctor, I wish you to understand something that I have never before talked about in this place. I am here because I was accused of taking bank funds; but somebody else got that money—I did not. I am taking what fate handed out to me, but I wish you to know that I am not that sort of man.

_Dr._: I possess a normal amount of discernment, Porter, and I appreciate your services in this position; it is not always easy to find a registered pharmacist in a prison.

_Porter_: Thank you, doctor.

_Dr._: Nevertheless, it will be my duty to go the rounds with you this evening.

_Porter_: Very well. (_the doctor goes out, right, and Porter remains seated at his desk, staring gloomily before him_)

_Joe_ (_comes on, puts down the empty trash-basket, and begins feeble pretense at dusting the bottles and boxes_): Misteh Porteh, you didn’t see po Jimmie Valentine befo he died, did you? (_silence_) Ah spose you jes couldnt bear it. Lordy, but mah eyes is sore wid all dis cryin. (_silence_) Dat Docteh Walters is a stiff kindeh genleman, aint he, Misteh Porteh? (_silence_) He say he doan like to play detective, but he do it good, seem to me.

_Porter_ (_sternly_): What do you know about that?

_Joe_ (_scared_): Ah was comin, Misteh Porteh—Ah had to come in wid de trash-basket, Ah couldn’t hep hearin. Ah wasnt meanin to spy—de Lawd knows _Ah_ aint no detective, naw suh! (_silence_) But you know (_timidly_) Ah was goin be yo body-servant, and kindeh look out fo you; an Ah know dat Docteh Walters is a stiff kindeh genleman—he’s a Yankee genleman, not like dey is in de South.

_Porter_: Get out of here now and stop your chatter.

_Joe_ (_goes right, towards the door into hospital; as he reaches the door a low murmur comes from the next room, and rises to a clamor of moans and protest; Joe looks off, then turns to Porter_): Oh, Misteh Porteh, dey’s come to put dat po Jimmie Valentine in de wheel-barrow. An dey aint let his po ole Mammy see him! Oh, dat po feller! Oh, dat po feller! He’s daid an gone an dey goin to put him in de wheel-barrow! (_his voice rises to a wail as he goes off right_)

_Porter_ (_puts his hands to his ears to shut out the sounds; his manner indicating utter despair and breakdown_): Oh, God! Oh, God! (_as the clamor from the next room continues, he rises, looks about him cautiously, and then crosses to the shelf containing the bottle of alcohol. He takes a glass and starts to pour some out_)

_Joe_ (_reappears in doorway, right, and watches Porter, then runs quickly to him in distress_): Oh, Misteh Porteh, naw suh, you mussnt do dat, suh!

_Porter_ (_angrily_): What the devil have you to do with it?

_Joe_ (_in frenzy of fear_): Oh, Misteh Porteh, suh, dat Docteh Walters fin’ it out! Oh, suh, de Lawd hep us, suh, dey put you in de hole, dey take you down in de basement and paddle you, dey give you de water sho—you couldn’t stan it, Misteh Porteh, oh suh, please suh—doan let em ketch you takin it!

_Porter_ (_draws himself up with dignity_): Joe, you are making a presumptuous fool of yourself.

_Joe_: Listen, Misteh Porteh, suh, you aint quite yosef right now, Ah knows how it is, suh, you mos crazy oveh what happen to dat po Jimmie Valentine! But oh, suh, _please_ suh—doan take it out o dat bottle—

_Porter_: You black ape, how do you know what’s in this bottle?

_Joe_: Ah knows, Misteh Porteh, Ah _sho_ knows!

_Porter_: I thought you said you couldn’t read.

_Joe_: Hanwritin, Misteh Porteh, hanwritin. But Ah knows what’s in dat bottle, cause Ah done tuck it mahself—many’s a time—

_Porter_: Why, you infernal scoundrel!

_Joe_: Befo you come hyar, Misteh Porteh, Ah tuck it. Not since you come, boss. Ah wouldn’t do nothin to git you into trouble. Aint you tole me Ah was yo body-servant, jes like mah ole daddy in de Jedge Adair famly?

_Porter_: Was it the duty of the body-servant to run his master’s life?

_Joe_: Yes, Misteh Porteh, hones, it sho nuff was. (_he grins_) Misteh Porteh, lemme tell you story—a sho nuff true story, what you kin write—it’s what mah ole daddy tole me jes befo he died—he hadn’t never tole it befo, but he wanted me to know bout Jedge Adair an de famly troubles. De Jedge, he was president of de Traders’ Bank, and de bank was gittin into trouble. Mah ole daddy he know bout what was goin on, an he seen de Jedge was worried, he was drinkin too much whiskey. An one night mah ole daddy had to go to de bank, it was somethin what he had forgot to do, so he went at night—he had a key, cause de Jedge he trusted him wid everything. Well, mah ole daddy was in dah, and he heard someone a foolin wid de do’. He thought it was a burglar, so he hid hisself, and who should he see come into de bank but de Jedge hisself. De Jedge went to de vault, an he open it, an he take out a suit-case and start to go off wid it. Mah ole daddy he guess right quick what dat meant, de Jedge was in trouble an goin to run away wid de money of de bank. So mah ole daddy come out an speak to him an plead wid him fo de honor of de famly not to take dat suit-case; and de Jedge, first he was mad, den he choke a little, an he say, all right, an say no mo, an mah ole daddy drive him to de depot an he go away widout de suit-case.

_Porter_ (_puts the bottle back in its place and stands thinking about the story_): Where did he go, Joe?

_Joe_: He went fishin, Misteh Porteh.

_Porter_: Fishing!

_Joe_: Yessuh; he was a goin fishin wid Cunnel Gwathmey.

_Porter_: But what did he want with the bank’s money if he was going fishing?

_Joe_: Ah dunno dat, boss; maybe he meant to hide it.

_Porter_: Did the judge ever admit to your father what he had in that suit-case?

_Joe_: Naw, suh, he doan never speak of it again.

_Porter_: And your father never had a chance to look into it?

_Joe_: Naw, suh.

_Porter_: And you say the judge was drinking too much?

_Joe_: Yes, suh, dey was talk of it.

_Porter_: Well, you ebony jackass, you woolly baboon! (_a chuckle_) You wait, and I’ll write that story, and read it to you, and you’ll see what it was Judge Adair left behind him when he went fishing with Colonel Gwathmey!

_Joe_ (_puzzled, but pleased to have accomplished his purpose_): All right, boss, Ah sho be glad to hear dat story. Yes suh, Ah be glad to hear any story what you write, cause Ah sho been hearin a lot bout dis writin you’re doin—(_sounds of shrieks from under the stage; Joe starts_) Oh, Misteh Porteh, dey beatin some po felleh fo makin a noise! Dey be beatin a whole pile of em—all night long, fo helpin in dis ruction! Us gotta stay here all night an lissen to em, Misteh Porteh; you gotta stan it somehow!

_Porter_ (_distracted_): Yes, I’ve got to stand it!

_Joe_ (_a fresh roar from the hospital, off right_): Oh, dat po Jimmie Valentine! (_he goes to door and looks off_) Oh, dey got him in de wheel-barrow! Dat po Jimmie Valentine, dey takin him to de dead-house, an his po ole mammy aint seen him! (_the sound of the wheel-barrow off right, approaching_)

_Porter_ (_wildly_): Turn off that light, Joe. I can’t stand the sight of it! (_he staggers to the desk, and falls into the chair, his head buried in his arms_).

_Joe_ (_switches off the light. His voice rises to a shriek_): Dat po Jimmie Valentine! Dat po Jimmie Valentine!

(_The wheel-barrow crosses from right to left, as in Act I. The sounds of its bumping become thunderous; these sounds, with the clamor from the hospital, the cries from under the stage, and the wailing of Joe, cover a quick change to the bank scene as in Act II. Joe exit. When the change is complete, the noise dies away, and violet light appears upon the scene, disclosing Porter seated at the desk in the bank, staring before him in deep thought._)

_Jimmie Valentine_ (_enters, in his dapper business man aspect; he greets Porter with quiet friendliness_): Hello, Mr. Porter.

_Porter_ (_quietly, in half-dream fashion_): Hellow, Jimmie. (_pause_) Jimmie, I’m a damned coward.

_Jimmie_: Oh, no, Mr. Porter.

_Porter_: I didn’t come to see you before you died, Jimmie; I ducked on it.

_Jimmie_: Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Porter, I understood that.

_Porter_: I just couldn’t bear it; I knew I’d break down, and I ran away.

_Jimmie_: There wasn’t a thing you could do, Mr. Porter—it was better to have it over with.

_Porter_: And that poor old mother of yours, waiting outside at the gate in the snow—

_Jimmie_: It wouldn’t have done any good for me to see her, Mr. Porter. Nothing would really make her happy but to have me back as a kid.

_Porter_: Life doesn’t do us that favor, Jimmie.

_Jimmie_: I know it. But I’m all right now. I’m going to marry a sweet girl, and be vice-president of this bank before long. Would you like me to show you how I opened the vault?

_Porter_: No, Jimmie, no! That’s another way I was a coward; I wrote it differently—I had you use a kit of tools.

_Jimmie_: That’s all right, Mr. Porter—that’s the way I wanted it. People will see me like I wanted to be, and maybe that’ll help some poor kid to keep straight. Write your stories that way, and people will get some good out of them. Well, so long, Mr. Porter.

_Porter_: So long, Jimmie. (_he rises and goes left, to wave Jimmie off; after Jimmie has gone, he stands partly in the shadows; the light grows dimmer_)

(_Uncle Caesar enters right; he is Joe, made up as his old father, but wearing blue uniform and cap. He pays no attention to Porter, but takes some papers from cashier’s drawer and puts them in his pocket, and is about to leave, when there is a sound at the door off right; he steps back into the shadows and stands watching as the Judge enters, made up as Judge Adair, bank president, clad in long waterproof coat, waterproof fisherman’s hat, and carrying several fishing rods, disjointed and wrapped in little cloth covers. The Judge does not see Porter or Caesar, but sets his rods on the desk and goes to the vault and turns the combination and opens it; he goes in and comes out at once, carrying suit-case_)

_Caesar_ (_having watched this procedure with signs of intense concern, now comes forward, hesitating and trembling_): Marse Jedge.

_Judge_ (_starts_): Who’s that? Caesar? Why, you old blackguard, what the devil you doin’ here this time of night?

_Caesar_: Ah done tole Sisteh Adeline Hoskins to come to mah house at sebin o’clock tomorrer mawnin, fo to git de pass-book of de Sons and Daughters of de Burnin Bush, fo to kyar it to de meetin of de bo’d of rangements. Ah done fogit it, so Ah come to git it.

_Judge_: Humph! You better get home out of the night air. It’s damp. You’ll hardly be worth killing tomorrow on account of your rheumatism. Think it’ll be a clear day, Caesar?

_Caesar_ (_terribly embarrassed and frightened, but summoning his resolution and stammering_): Ah low it will, suh. De sun sot red las night Marse Jedge, you member de day dey-all rode de tunnament at Oak Lawn? De day, suh, dat you win in de ridin, and you crown Miss Lucy de queen?

_Judge_: Tournament? Yes, I remember very well—but what the deuce are you talking about tournaments here at midnight for? Go long home, Caesar. I believe you’re sleep-walking.