Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 201

MRS. PETERS. We think she was going to--knot it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Well, that's interesting, I'm sure. [_Seeing the bird-cage._] Has the bird flown?

MRS. HALE [_putting more quilt pieces over the box_]. We think the--cat got it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_preoccupied_]. Is there a cat?

[_Mrs. Hale glances in a quick covert way at Mrs. Peters._]

MRS. PETERS. Well, not now. They're superst.i.tious, you know. They leave.

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_to Sheriff Peters, continuing an interrupted conversation_]. No sign at all of any one having come from the outside.

Their own rope. Now let's go up again and go over it piece by piece.

[_They start upstairs._] It would have to have been some one who knew just the----

[_Mrs. Peters sits down. The two women sit there not looking at one another, but as if peering into something and at the same time holding back. When they talk now it is in the manner of feeling their way over strange ground, as if afraid of what they are saying, but as if they can not help saying it._]

MRS. HALE. She liked the bird. She was going to bury it in that pretty box.

MRS. PETERS [_in a whisper_]. When I was a girl--my kitten--there was a boy took a hatchet, and before my eyes--and before I could get there----[_Covers her face an instant._] If they hadn't held me back I would have--[_Catches herself, looks upstairs where steps are heard, falters weakly_]--hurt him.

MRS. HALE [_with a slow look around her_]. I wonder how it would seem never to have had any children around. [_Pause._] No, Wright wouldn't like the bird--a thing that sang. She used to sing. He killed that, too.

MRS. PETERS [_moving uneasily_]. We don't know who killed the bird.

MRS. HALE. I knew John Wright.

MRS. PETERS. It was an awful thing was done in this house that night, Mrs. Hale. Killing a man while he slept, slipping a rope around his neck that choked the life out of him.

MRS. HALE. His neck. Choked the life out of him.

[_Her hand goes out and rests on the bird-cage._]

MRS. PETERS [_with rising voice_]. We don't know who killed him. We don't _know_.

MRS. HALE [_her own feeling not interrupted_]. If there'd been years and years of nothing, then a bird to sing to you, it would be awful--still, after the bird was still.

MRS. PETERS [_something within her speaking_]. I know what stillness is.

When we homesteaded in Dakota, and my first baby died--after he was two years old, and me with no other then----

MRS. HALE [_moving_]. How soon do you suppose they'll be through, looking for the evidence?

MRS. PETERS. I know what stillness is. [_Pulling herself back._] The law has got to punish crime, Mrs. Hale.

MRS. HALE [_not as if answering that_]. I wish you'd seen Minnie Foster when she wore a white dress with blue ribbons and stood up there in the choir and sang. [_A look around the room._] Oh, I _wish_ I'd come over here once in a while? That was a crime! That was a crime! Who's going to punish that?

MRS. PETERS [_looking upstairs_]. We mustn't--take on.

MRS. HALE. I might have known she needed help! I know how things can be--for women. I tell you, it's queer, Mrs. Peters. We live close together and we live far apart. We all go through the same things--it's all just a different kind of the same thing. [_Brushes her eyes, noticing the bottle of fruit, reaches out for it._] If I was you I wouldn't tell her her fruit was gone. Tell her it _ain't_. Tell her it's all right. Take this in to prove it to her. She--she may never know whether it was broke or not.

MRS. PETERS [_takes the bottle, looks about for something to wrap it in; takes petticoat from the clothes brought from the other room, very nervously begins winding this around the bottle. In a false voice_]. My, it's a good thing the men couldn't hear us. Wouldn't they just laugh!

Getting all stirred up over a little thing like a--dead canary. As if that could have anything to do with--with--wouldn't they _laugh_!

[_The men are heard coming down stairs._]

MRS. HALE [_under her breath_]. Maybe they would--maybe they wouldn't.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. No, Peters, it's all perfectly clear except a reason for doing it. But you know juries when it comes to women. If there was some definite thing. Something to show--something to make a story about--a thing that would connect up with this strange way of doing it.

[_The women's eyes meet for an instant. Enter Hale from outer door._]

HALE. Well, I've got the team around. Pretty cold out there.

COUNTY ATTORNEY. I'm going to stay here a while by myself. [_To the Sheriff._] You can send Frank out for me, can't you? I want to go over everything. I'm not satisfied that we can't do better.

SHERIFF. Do you want to see what Mrs. Peters is going to take in?

[_The Lawyer goes to the table, picks up the ap.r.o.n, laughs._]

COUNTY ATTORNEY. Oh, I guess they're not very dangerous things the ladies have picked out. [_Moves a few things about, disturbing the quilt pieces which cover the box. Steps back._] No, Mrs. Peters doesn't need supervising. For that matter, a sheriff's wife is married to the law.

Ever think of it that way, Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS. Not--just that way.

SHERIFF [_chuckling_]. Married to the law. [_Moves toward the other room._] I just want you to come in here a minute, George. We ought to take a look at these windows.

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_scoffingly_]. Oh, windows!

SHERIFF. We'll be right out, Mr. Hale.

[_Hale goes outside. The Sheriff follows the County Attorney into the other room. Then Mrs. Hale rises, hands tight together, looking intensely at Mrs. Peters, whose eyes make a slow turn, finally meeting Mrs. Hale's. A moment Mrs. Hale holds her, then her own eyes point the way to where the box is concealed. Suddenly Mrs. Peters throws back quilt pieces and tries to put the box in the bag she is wearing. It is too big. She opens box, starts to take bird out, cannot touch it, goes to pieces, stands there helpless. Sound of a k.n.o.b turning in the other room. Mrs. Hale s.n.a.t.c.hes the box and puts it in the pocket of her big coat. Enter County Attorney and Sheriff._

COUNTY ATTORNEY [_facetiously_]. Well, Henry, at least we found out that she was not going to quilt it. She was going to--what is it you call it, ladies?

MRS. HALE [_her hand against her pocket_]. We call it--knot it, Mr.

Henderson.

[_Curtain._]

THE POT BOILER

A SATIRE

BY ALICE GERSTENBERG