Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 179

[_She comes down to meet him and the two are momentarily hidden from the audience. Lon continues to drink steadily, pouring down one gla.s.s after another. Hank reappears, treading with a certain gayety, and goes out rear, whistling the Tennessee "warble."_]

PADIE [_leaning out of the shadow of the stairway toward her husband_].

Ain't you comin' up soon, Lon?

LON [_ignoring the query_]. Scarcely no resemblance whatever.

PADIE [_with sudden fierceness_]. You lie!

[_She ascends to the top of the landing. Outside a pump cranks dismally._]

PADIE [_relenting a little_]. You'll be seein' things, Lon, if you keep it up.

LON [_rising, perfectly steady_]. Mind your business. Wish to h.e.l.l I had a newspaper.

[_He goes out through the door to the Bar, while Padie runs a comb reflectively through the exuberant tumult of her dark hair. Hank enters and stops a moment, half blinded by the light, then looks up, and shading his eyes, smiles._]

PADIE [_coyly_]. Is it the light in your eyes, mister?

HANK [_daringly_]. It's you, ma'am, are blinding them. [_He runs up the stairs with the pitcher._]

PADIE [_bending toward him as he comes near the top steps_]. You'd better reach it to me. Maybe the landing'll not hold the two of us.

HANK. It'll hold two that have such light hearts as we.

PADIE. Ah, you don't know mine, mister.

HANK [_reaching her the pitcher_]. There, the clumsy mut I am! Spillt the cold water on your pretty bare toes!

[_As she leans over to take the pitcher her hair falls suddenly about his head, almost covering his face._]

PADIE [_drawing it back, with a deft twirl_]. I've most smothered you!

HANK. I wouldn't want a sweeter death.

PADIE [_looking down into his eyes_]. Indeed, you're the picture of--an old lover of mine.

HANK. I'd rather be the picture of the new.

[_He makes as if to clasp her about the ankles, but she puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him gently back._]

PADIE. You've been very kind to a wanderer--from Arizony. Don't spoil it. Good-night!

HANK [_turning about, mutters_]. Good-night.

[_He clatters loudly down the stairs as Lon reenters, studying a newspaper. Lon seats himself, still absorbed. Hank favors him with a glare of positive hatred._]

HANK [_with a sneer_]. All fixed fer the night, eh?

LON [_grunting_]. G'night.

HANK. Well, I hope you like this country better'n Arizony.

LON [_starting out of the news_]. The h.e.l.l you say!

HANK. Your wife was wis.h.i.+ng herself back there.

LON [_settling back to his paper and bottle_]. Well, that's where she come from. I don't. Women allus want what they ain't got.

HANK [_retiring_].

When your heart was mine, true love, And your head lay on my breast,

[_He goes out, closing the door._]

You could make me believe by the falling of your arm That the sun rose in the west.

[_During the singing of this last stanza, the double doors swing wide as before, revealing a Figure standing motionless outside, bathed in moonlight. At the same time the flame in the gla.s.s lamp begins to flicker and wane. Lon holds the paper closer to his face, finally almost buries his nose in it, as if conscious of the Presence, but stubbornly resolved to ignore it. The Figure moves, and as it crosses the threshold the feeble light expires. Lon, however, still sits, as if absorbed in the newspaper, pretending to sip from the gla.s.s. The Figure in a thin mocking voice, echoes the song of the other, standing just behind Lon's chair._]

THE FIGURE [_a thin echo_].

You could make me believe by the falling of your arm That the sun rose up in the west.--

[_Lon picks up the soiled pack of cards from the table and begins to shuffle them mechanically, nor does he once turn toward the apparition._]

LON [_in a hoa.r.s.e whisper_]. And what'r _you_ doin' here?

[_The Figure sits down nonchalantly in a chair a little to one side of Lon's. He is dressed in the western style, that is, without style, corduroys, heavy boots, flannel s.h.i.+rt. In fact, he looks almost natural. But there is a curious dark mark in the center of his forehead--or is it a round, dark hole?_]

LON [_petulantly_]. Cain't you stay where you was put--with a heap o'

rocks on top o' ye?

THE FIGURE [_thinly ironical_]. Can't seem to give up the old habits, y'

know.

LON [_thickly, tossing the pack down_]. What's the h.e.l.l's a corpse got to do with habits?

GHOST [_unmoved_]. You pore fool, you'll _learn_ when you come over.

LON [_huskily_]. Come over--wh'ar?

GHOST [_significantly_]. Where I am. [_Sings in a quavering voice._]

There's many a girl can go all round about And hear the small birds sing--

LON [_snarling_]. Dry up on them corpse tunes o' yourn, Harvey Mace.

GHOST [_leering_]. Oh, you recognize me, eh? You recognize your old friend and pardner, do you, Lon Purdy?