IN MIZZOURA.
ACT I.
Music at rise of curtain. The old "Forty-nine" tune, "My name is Joe Bowers."
SCENE: Pike Co., dining-room, living-room and kitchen combined. A line of broken plaster and unmatched wall-papers marks the ceiling and back flat a little left of center. Doors right and left in 3. Door in right flat. Old-fashioned table. Dresser, low window with many panes, window-sash sliding horizontally—outside of door is pan of leaves burning to smoke off mosquitoes.
DISCOVERED: MRS. VERNON and LIZBETH. MRS. VERNON ironing; LIZBETH at pan of fire.
MRS. VERNON. Lizbeth!
LIZBETH. Ma—?
MRS. VERNON. Move that pan a little furder off. The smoke's a durnation sight worse'n the skeeters.
LIZBETH. [Rising and coming in.] Well, we couldn't sleep fur 'em last night, and it's just as well to smoke 'em good.
MRS. VERNON. But such an all fired smell—what're you burnin'?
LIZBETH. Dog fannel—
MRS. VERNON. I thought so. It's nearly turned my stomich—come, hurry with this ironin' now.
LIZBETH. [Coming down right of table.] Let's leave it till mornin', ma—
MRS. VERNON. Can't, Lizbeth, it's bin put off since Wednesday, an' the furst thing we know we'll be havin' it to do Sunday—get me another iron. [LIZBETH goes left.] I'm reg'lar tuckered out.
LIZBETH. Me too. [Sound of sledge hammer from door left. LIZBETH exits.
MRS. VERNON sits on rocker and fans herself with frayed-out palm leaf.
MRS. VERNON. Lor'—to think o' this weather in June. It's jis' terrible.
Enter KATE. She is neatly gowned and is of a superior clay.
KATE. Mother—
MRS. VERNON. Well, Kate?
KATE. Must we have this awful odour again to-night?
MRS. VERNON. Got to have somethin', Kate, to drive off the skeeters. [Enter LIZBETH.] I ain't slep' none for two nights.
KATE. They might be kept out some other way. [She sits in chair.
MRS. VERNON. [Taking the fresh iron and resuming work.] I ruined my best pillar-slips an' nearly smothered myself with coal oil last night. I'll try my own way now. It's all very well fur you, Kate, whose got the only muskeeter bar in the family—
LIZBETH. [In the rocker.] Yes, and won't let your sister sleep with you—
KATE. I'll gladly give you the mosquito bar, Lizbeth, but two grown-up people can't sleep in a narrow single bed.
LIZBETH. I hope you don't s'pose I'd take it.
KATE. I gave you one to make the window frames.
MRS. VERNON. Well, kin the poor girl help that, Kate? Didn't the dogs jump through 'em? [She indicates the ragged netting on the frame.
KATE. Why do you have the dogs about?
MRS. VERNON. Well, when you've lived as long as I have in Pike County, you'll know you got to have dogs if you leave your winders open. There—I've ironed another pearl button in two—yes, an' it's pulled a piece right out o' one o' yer pa's bosoms. That's 'cause I'm so tired, I can't see. Lizbeth, where's them prescriptions?
LIZBETH. In the yeast-powder box.
MRS. VERNON. Well, get one for me. [LIZBETH gets box from over the stove.] I can't go on with this ironin' without some beer.
LIZBETH. Who'll go for it?
MRS. VERNON. Ask Dave—
LIZBETH. [At door. Calls.] Dave!
DAVE. [Off.] Yes, Lizbeth.
LIZBETH. Ma wants you to—
MRS. VERNON. Now, don't yawp it out to the whole neighbourhood,
Lizbeth—tell Dave to come here.
LIZBETH. [In a lower tone.] Come here!
MRS. VERNON. Give me the prescription. [LIZBETH arranges the linen in the basket. Enter DAVE.] Dave, the ironin' an' the heat an' everything jes' about floored me—won't you go to the drug-store with this prescription, an' get me a quart bottle of St. Louis beer?
DAVE. [Taking the prescription.] Certainly.
MRS. VERNON. I can't send the girls after dark.
DAVE. Oh, that's all right. [Exits to street.
MRS. VERNON. [Ironing again.] If your pa ever does get into the Legislature, I hope he'll defeat this blamed local auction business. It's all well enough for those Salvation women who ain't got a thing to do but pound tambourines, but if they had the washin', and ironin', an' cookin' to do for a fambly of six—an' three dogs—they'd need something to keep body an' soul together.
KATE. [Going to street door.] How much longer shall you iron to-night?
MRS. VERNON. Why? Do you want the room?
KATE. Oh, no—but—
LIZBETH. Is Travers coming to-night, Kate? [Sits in rocker.
KATE. I don't know who may come.
MRS. VERNON. What difference does it make who does come?
KATE. None, except that the room is filled with smoke and—is hot.
MRS. VERNON. Well, to my mind, Travers may as well get himself used to places that are hot and filled with smoke—fur if he ain't one of Old Nick's own ones, I never see any—
KATE. Mother!! Mr. Travers is a gentleman!
MRS. VERNON. How do you know? Four years to a female seminary don't make you a better judge of gentlemen than us who stay to home here. Your pa's a gentleman if he is a wheelwright—so is Jim Radburn—
LIZBETH. And Dave—
MRS. VERNON. Yes, and Dave—
KATE. But none of them is like Mr. Travers.
MRS. VERNON. No, thank God they ain't. Travers, Kate—[Pause] Travers—[Pause] and, mind you, I've seen men before you was born—Travers is as much like a gambler as any I ever saw.
KATE. [Coming down.] Look here, mother—I've heard you say you had to run away from home with father because your people didn't like him—but that didn't make him any worse, did it?
MRS. VERNON. Well, it didn't make him any better, Kate, and I've regretted it from the bottom of my heart a hundred times—I want you to understand—[Looks uneasily at door.] I've told it to him often enough—[Lowering voice.] And if he was here I'd tell him again now—that I could ha' married a doctor.
LIZBETH. You're not calculatin' to run away with Travers, are you,
Kate?
KATE. You know I'm not, Lizbeth—but I think you and mother might be a little more considerate in what you say. I try to make the place tidy and nice for your evenings with Dave, don't I?
LIZBETH. Well, I didn't mean nothin', Kate.
KATE. And I do my share of the housework. [Goes to window. As her voice trembles, MRS. VERNON signals silence to LIZBETH.
MRS. VERNON. Of course you do, dear. Lizbeth, you oughtn't to be so thoughtless in what you say.
Enter DAVE with beer.
DAVE. Here you are, Mrs. Vernon.
MRS. VERNON. Thank you, Dave—ask that old man in there if he'll have a glass.
DAVE. Yes'm. [Exit to shop.
MRS. VERNON. We'll clear the place right up, Kate—don't feel bad about it.
KATE. You needn't, mother—if Mr. Travers calls, we can go walking. [Goes to door.
MRS. VERNON. No, Kate, and I say it only fur your sake—I wouldn't have the people of Bowling Green see you trapsing the streets at night with a man you ain't knowed but a month, fur nothin'.
Enter JOE VERNON. JOE is a six-footer, with full beard. He wears a leather apron and has his sleeves rolled up.
JOE. Dave says, ma, that—
MRS. VERNON. Yes, here it is. [Hands glass of beer.] Nearly dead,
Joe?
JOE. [Smiling.] Oh, no—but I kin stand this.
KATE. Is there any objection to our spending the evening at Mrs.
Woods?
MRS. VERNON. Now, what's the attraction there?
KATE. She has a piano.
MRS. VERNON. Yes, with two teeth broke out of it. Why don't you ever play on the melodeon? [Pointing to it.
JOE. Yes, after Jim givin' it to you.
MRS. VERNON. [Clearing up the ironing.] I wouldn't treat a dog the way you treat Jim Radburn, Kate.
KATE silent at doorway.
JOE. [At the wash-basin on the bench at back wall.] Ma, where's the soap?
MRS. VERNON. I must a-left it in the dish-pan.
JOE gets it and begins washing in tin basin.
JOE. [Calling through sputter.] Dave!
DAVE. [Off.] Yes, sir.
JOE. [At door of shop.] Might as well shut up.
DAVE. All right.
BOLLINGER. [Outside to the left.] Good-evening, Katie.
KATE. Good-evening, Colonel.
BOLLINGER. Rain seems to let up. Where's pa? [Appears window.
JOE. [Looking up from the basin.] Hello, Tom.
BOLLINGER. Evening, Joe—Mrs. Vernon—Hello, Lizbeth.
LIZBETH. [Again in the rocker.] Hello, Colonel.
BOLLINGER. Jis' through?
JOE. Been puttin' in a little overtime.
BOLLINGER. Reckon you'll have another job.
JOE. How's that?
BOLLINGER. Louisiana stage bust a tire on the near fore-wheel to-night.
JOE. That's so? Look out—jus' a minute. [BOLLINGER steps aside; JOE throws water out of the window.] There, ma—don't say I lost it now. [Throws soap back into dish-pan.] How'd she come to do that?
BOLLINGER. Too big a load, I guess—then the rain's cut up the road so, and she were stuck in a rut, an' all of 'em pryin' at her with fence-rails.
JOE. Somethin' had to come.
BOLLINGER. Ye-ep.
MRS. VERNON. [Sits at table and fans.] Won't you come in?
BOLLINGER. No, thank you. Too hot. Down to Louisiana on business—sweat clean through two paper collars. This'n's getting mealy. [He wipes his neck.
JOE. 'J-ever see such weather. [Punches LIZBETH to get out of rocker; sits in her place. LIZBETH goes to the melodeon stool.
BOLLINGER. Not since I was born. I hope the blamed rain's over. All passenger trains holdin' down to eight mile an hour 'tween St. Charles and Jonesburg on the Wabash on 'count of the wash-outs.
JOE. Why don't they ballast that air track?
BOLLINGER. Too stingy, I reckon. Say, Joe, if you git through the convention, and they send you up to Jeff City, you'll have to jump on the corporations.
JOE. Well, how do things look for the convention?
BOLLINGER. Well, down Louisiana way looks about six and half a dozen. You wouldn't have any trouble at all, if we could get Radburn out o' the race.
JOE. Well, I ain't got no right to ask him to do that.
KATE. [From the doorway.] Do you mean, Colonel, that Mr. Radburn's following will be a serious opposition to father's nomination?
BOLLINGER. Well, it looks that way, Kate.
KATE. Is there a chance of Mr. Radburn's getting the nomination?
BOLLINGER. Yes, I should say it was a stand-off atween him an' the
Guv'nor, but I'm a-rootin' for your pa.
MRS. VERNON. Well, I can't see what right Jim Radburn has got to be as strong with the Democracy as Joe Vernon. [Crosses to dish-pan.
JOE. You can't say nothin' against Jim, ma.
MRS. VERNON. I ain't. I'm just askin'.
BOLLINGER. Well, you see Jim's bein' sheriff four terms, an' never shootin' anybody—
MRS. VERNON. Why, he's shot fifty!
BOLLINGER. Well, I meant never killin' nobody, has naturally endeared him to the peaceable element in the community. Jim has always said, and stuck to it, that a sheriff who couldn't wing a prisoner without killin' him, was a nuisance—and you take his record, and go clean through it, you'll find out this one thing. If a man was runnin', Jim fetched him in the leg. If he pulled a gun on him, Jim smashed that hand. And he says, "You ain't got a right to kill another man, unless that man draws two guns at the same time."
JOE. Yes, I reckon Jim's the gamest we ever had.
BOLLINGER. He came up on the stage to-night from Louisiana.
JOE. Was he "'lectioneering" down there?
BOLLINGER. No, I ain't heerd of him makin' no canvass. He was helpin' me to collect testimony.
MRS. VERNON. Testimony? What fur?
BOLLINGER. Sam Fowler. You know that Express Co. is holdin' him prisoner yet?
JOE. Thought you was goin' to get a habus corpus?
BOLLINGER. Well, I was; only I went to St. Louis yesterday to see Sam. He's all right. They've got 'im in a comfortable room at the Southern Hotel, an' they are tryin' to make him confess that he stood in with the express robber. He's livin' on the fat of the land, so I told him to stick it out as long as the company did, 'cause the longer they hold him, the more damages we'll get for false imprisonment. So Jim Radburn an' me been fillin' in the time, gettin' witnesses to his good character.
MRS. VERNON. What's Radburn got to do with it?
BOLLINGER. Well, you know—on account o' Emily.
MRS. VERNON. Oh, yes! I reckon that'll put off their weddin', won't it?
BOLLINGER. I'm tryin' to fix it that way, so's to pile up the damages.
KATE. [Quickly.] Ma!
MRS. VERNON. What is it, Kate?
KATE. Why—
MRS. VERNON. Company?
KATE. Yes.
MRS. VERNON. Here, Lizbeth, take hold this basket They carry out basket.
KATE. Good-evening, Mr. Travers.
TRAVERS appears at door.
TRAVERS. Good-evening, Miss Vernon—good-evening, Colonel.
BOLLINGER. Evening.
TRAVERS. The rain seems to be over at last. [He fans himself with his hat.
BOLLINGER. I reckon we'll have some more of it with that ring around the moon.
TRAVERS. [Coming into doorway.] Anything new about the express robber?—Good-evening, Mr. Vernon.
JOE. [Up to stove; tries bottle.] How are you?
BOLLINGER. I ain't heard anything 'cept what's in the morning papers.
TRAVERS. What was that? I didn't see them.
BOLLINGER. Why, the blamed cuss has mailed one of the empty money-wrappers to the Globe-Democrat to show he's the real robber, and sent a letter sayin' Sam Fowler was innocent.
TRAVERS. Yes? Well, did that do any good?
BOLLINGER. On the contrary, sir, the express company says he wouldn't be so anxious about Sam—if Sam weren't a friend of his'n.
Re-enter MRS. VERNON and LIZBETH. LIZBETH to rocker.
MRS. VERNON. [Pleasantly.] Good-evening, Mr. Travers.
TRAVERS. Good-evening, Mrs. Vernon—Miss Elizabeth.
LIZBETH. Good-evening.
MRS. VERNON. Hasn't Kate had the politeness to ask you in?
TRAVERS. Well, it's a little cooler out here.
KATE. Won't you come in?
MRS. VERNON. Do come—the skeeters'll kill you out there.
TRAVERS enters.
JOE. Don't sit there. I just splashed some water there, an' it'ud spot them pants scandalous. [Down to melodeon.
MRS. VERNON. Lizbeth, give Mr. Travers the rocker.
LIZBETH to bench.
TRAVERS. Oh, no, I beg of you.
MRS. VERNON. Yes, it's the most comfortable. [Places the rocker for him.] Vernon there had to put his feet through it yesterday, fixin' the stove pipe, and they ain't been no furniture man along to mend it, though he ginerally comes Fridays.
TRAVERS. Thank you. [Sits; KATE to chair at table; MRS. VERNON to cupboard, busy.
JIM. [Off.] Hello, Bollinger, can't I shake you?
BOLLINGER. Well, looks like you was doin' the followin'—ha, ha!
JOE. Is that Jim?
BOLLINGER. Yes—comin' here—[Calls.] You ain't got that cripple with you yit?
JIM. Yes—where do you think I'd leave him?
Enter JIM RADBURN from right to door, with small yellow dog in his arms. One front paw is tied up.
JOE. Hello, Jim, what's that you got there?
JIM. Er—a—his leg's broke.
JOE. [Laughing.] Didn't pull a gun on you, did he?
JIM. The blamed fool dropped a fence-rail on him. Good-eve'n'g, Kate.
KATE. Good-evening, Jim.
MRS. VERNON. 'Tain't one o' Beauty's pups, is it?
JIM. No, 'tain't no dog o' mine. Jes' follered me—run after the stage—then, when she was stuck in the mud, Bill Sarber dropped a rail he was prying with, and—broke his poor little leg.
BOLLINGER. Sarber's the awkwardest cuss anyhow.
MRS. VERNON. Always was.
BOLLINGER. Then he laffed, and Jim made him 'pologize to everybody in the stage.
JIM. [Looking about.] What you been doin' to the room?
JOE. [Proudly.] Took out the partition.
JIM. I see. Makin' some improvements. Looks bully, don't it?
JOE. Makes the dinin'-room bigger, an' gives more space in the kitchen. Saves steps for ma.
MRS. VERNON. [Approaching dog.] What kind of a poultice's that?
Flaxseed?
JIM. Gumbo.
MRS. VERNON. Gumbo?
BOLLINGER. That's what they call that soft mud the river leaves down there when it rises—gumbo.
JIM. It's only a cushion so the joltin' wouldn't hurt him. I just been with him to Clark's drug-store. [To front.] Clark said he wasn't a dog doctor.
JOE. Wouldn't 'tend to him, eh?
JIM. No—but I'll square it with him. He's up for coroner.
[Starts for shop—stops.] I told him that a man what'd see a little dumb animal suffer ought to be drummed out of town. Is Dave there?
JOE. Yes.
JIM. Well, we'll splinter this leg ourselves. [Going.
TRAVERS. Why don't you kill him, and put him out of misery?
JIM. [Pause in door.] Kill this little dog that took a fancy to me, and followed the stage when I got in it!
TRAVERS. Yes—why not?
JIM. [After appealing look to the others; then back to TRAVERS.]
Why, I never killed a man. [Exit into shop; JOE, MRS. VERNON,
LIZBETH, follow laughing.
BOLLINGER exits
TRAVERS. [Going to table.] What did he say?
KATE. That he never killed a man.
TRAVERS. Well, neither have I. Is that an unusual reputation in Pike
County?
KATE. It is for one who, like Mr. Radburn, carries seven bullets in his own' body, fired there by men he was arresting.
TRAVERS. I've heard he was very fond of you.
KATE. [Turning away.] Don't talk of that.
TRAVERS. May I talk of my love for you?
KATE. [Turning.] Yes.
TRAVERS. You are not happy here.
KATE. I feel it is unworthy in me to say that I am not.
TRAVERS. Yet, you are not—
KATE. The narrowness of the life oppresses me. I do not live in their world of work and humble wishes—they made the mistake of sending me away to school. I have seen a bigger world than theirs. [Turns, elbows on table; impulsively.] I like you, Mr. Travers, because you are a part of that bigger world.
TRAVERS. You like me, Kate! Only like? No more?
KATE. I don't know.
TRAVERS. Will you go with me—away from here, into that bigger world?
KATE. Not until I am sure it is you for whom I go, and not merely for the liberty.
TRAVERS. How will you ever tell?
KATE. Some accident will teach me. It is a dreadful moment, isn't it, when we learn that kinship, the truest kinship, is not a thing of blood, but of ideas—my college mates, who thought as I did, were nearer to me than my family, who never can think as I do.
Enter MRS. VERNON.
MRS. VERNON. I never see such a hero as that little dog—he jis' seemed to know they was helpin' him when they pulled them poor bones together—jes' look how quiet he stands—whinnered a little, but didn't holler 'tall. [TRAVERS goes up to door.
KATE. [Aside.] That is enough to make the man despise me! [Goes back to table.
TRAVERS. [Going up.] Oh, yes—he knows he's among friends.
MRS. VERNON. [Looking into shop.] Now I say they's lots of folks of education what ain't got as much sense as that dog.
TRAVERS comes down.
KATE. Let us go walking. I can't breathe in here.
TRAVERS. With pleasure.
MRS. VERNON. Where you goin', Kate?
KATE. Only outside the door—[At door.] to the corner.
MRS. VERNON. [Doubtingly.] Well—[Going centre. Exeunt, TRAVERS and KATE—positively.] Well, I don't care who hears me—[Looks cautiously out.] I don't like his looks.
Enter JOE.
JOE. Ma!
MRS. VERNON. What?
JOE. Ain't you got some soup-meat or sompthin' you kin spare that little ki-yoodle?
MRS. VERNON. Well, if his leg's broke, he better not have no meat or stuff that'd feed a fever. If yew kin drink your second cup in the mornin' without milk, I kin spare him some o' that.
JOE. All right.
MRS. VERNON. [Scolding.] An' the milk's hangin' in the cistern. [Takes cup from back wall.] Plague take it! Woman's work's never done. [Exit.
JOE. [After a moment.] I s'pose I could a got it. [Calls.]
Lizbeth!
LIZBETH. [Off.] Yes. [Enters.
JOE. [Scolding.] Why don't you help your poor ma? She's had to go after the milk.
LIZBETH. [Angrily meeting JOE'S tone.] Well, I didn't know it. [Exit after MRS. VERNON.
JOE. [Getting alarm-clock. Calls into shop.] Dave!
DAVE. [Off.] Yes.
JOE. [At door.] You don't need him, Jim?
JIM. [Off.] No.
JOE. [Leaving door.] See here—[Enter DAVE.] Kin you run one o' these machines?
DAVE. I allow I kin.
JOE. [Hands clock to DAVE.] Then set her an hour earlier, and have things fired up in the mornin'. We've got to weld that Louisiana tire, I reckon, afore breakfast.
DAVE. All right.
Enter MRS. VERNON and LIZBETH.
MRS. VERNON. Here, Joe—[Hands cup.] Git to feedin' it. I'll git attached to it, an' we've got too many dogs now.
JOE. [Caressing her with rough push on the face.] I know you, ma—you're the motherin'est old hen in Pike—[Going.] If he don't drink this I'll drowned him.
MRS. VERNON. [To street door.] Now, Lizbeth, I don't see nothin' of Kate. She's out there with Travers—you an' Dave kind o' hang round like you was with 'em.
LIZBETH. Come, Dave. [To MRS. VERNON.] Jes' not let on?
MRS. VERNON. Yes—purtendin'.
Exit LIZBETH.
DAVE. All right. [Exit after LIZBETH.
JOE. [Entering door.] Jes' look at him, ma—he's got his eyebrows in it.
MRS. VERNON. [At door; leans on JOE'S shoulder.] The darlin'—jes' to think, Joe, if one of our children was sufferin'—
JOE. [With unction.] You bet.
MRS. VERNON. [Earnestly calls.] Don't let him splash it on you,
Jim—'t'll spot your clothes.
JOE. [Pauses admiringly.] Jim don't care a durn.
MRS. VERNON. There, I'll fix his bed. [Getting coats from peg, back wall.] What's a man know, anyhow? [Exit to shop.
JOE. [Gets tobacco from shelf.] She'll fix him all right—ha, ha!
JIM. [Entering, looking back.] Say, Joe, women are great, ain't they? [Stands admiringly in doorway.
JOE. [Slowly coming down, filling pipe.] Jim! [Pause. JIM doesn't answer, only looks at JOE.] You an' me—[Turns quickly and looks at JIM.] You an' me are goin' into the convention together? [JIM nods once, and chews slowly.] Agin each other. [JIM nods and chews. Pause.] Smoke? [Offers pipe.
JIM. [Takes cud from mouth; hesitates—returns it.] Chew.
JOE. Set down. [They sit. JIM left of table—JOE to the right in rocker.] There's somethin' I want to say to you jes' between ourselves.
Enter MRS. VERNON.
MRS. VERNON. [Comes back of table between the men.] I reckon he's comfortable.
JOE. Jim an' me's talkin' a minute, ma.
MRS. VERNON. [Reassuredly.] Well, I got my work. [Exit.
JOE. Jim—[JIM looks at him.] I been a figurin' an' I've calculated they's a difference of about $600 'tween you an' me.
JIM. [Placidly.] How?
JOE. [Rising, and closing door. Returns.] When my Kate got through the public school, you said she ought to go to college. [JIM nods.] I didn't think so—I admit now I was a durn fool. [JIM nods.] You said she had to go—an' she went—to Linenwood. [JIM chews.] When she come back she taught me everything I know—I don't think I could go afore this convention if it wasn't for what Kate's learned me—Jim, I'm ashamed to say so, but I let you pay her schoolin'—I've figured out it's a round six hundred dollars—an' I'm goin' to pay you every—
JIM. [Impressively points at him with his whole hand.] See here— [After a fateful pause, rises.] Don't you ever say that to me agen. [Turns away.
JOE. [Half-rising, anxiously.] Why, Jim?
JIM. [Turning. Threatens.] Never.
JOE. Tain't nothin' to make trouble 'tween us, Jim.
JIM. [Pauses—growls slowly.] Whatever I done—was done—have you ever said a word to her about it?
JOE. Nobody knows it, Jim, but you an' me.
JIM. Man to man?
JOE. Man to man.
JIM. [Slightly relieved.] Well, I done it fur her—an' whenever I hear her purty voice—soft an' low like verses out of a book—whenever I look at her face—purtier than them pictures they put in the cigar-boxes—and her hands soft and baby-like—I feel 'way down here that I helped do some of that. An' do you think, Joe Vernon, that I'd sell out? No, sir, not by a damned sight!
JOE. But look here, Jim, think of me. We're going in that convention together—agin each other—for the same office, and if you was to tell—
JIM. [Sharp turn.] Tell! Don't move—but jus' draw breath enough to take that back.
JOE. [Putting out his hand.] Jim!
JIM. [Pause.] Why, if anybody'd said you could a thought them things!
JOE. [Pleadingly.] Jim!
JIM. [Long pause.] Well, there—[Takes JOE'S hand.
Enter MRS. VERNON.
MRS. VERNON. [Nervously.] Joe, I've a notion to holler to Kate to run home. I don't like her walkin' with that man.
JOE. What man?
MRS. VERNON. Why, Travers. I don't know what Kate sees in him. [Returns to door.
JIM. [Comfortingly.] Well, he's a city chap, and Kate's so smart about them things. Joe, how old is Kate?
JOE. Twenty, ain't she, ma?
MRS. VERNON. [In street door.] Lor, no—we ain't been married but nineteen.
JOE. Seems longer'n that to me.
JIM looks at him, crossing to melodeon, shaking head.
JIM. How old is she, Mrs. Vernon?
MRS. VERNON. They's fourteen months difference 'tween her an' Lizbeth.
JIM looks at JOE again.
JIM. Well, I've knowed her so long, she always seems jes' a little child to me—but Kate's old enough to be thinkin' o' gettin' married, ain't she?
MRS. VERNON. I was mother of two young uns when I was as old as Kate.
JIM looks at JOE again. JOE is a mixture of pride and apology.
JIM. [Leans over back of chair.] You know, if I had my way, I'd like
Kate to see everything. Go to St. Louis, and Europe, an' travel.
I've often thought I'd like to be well enough off to take Kate an'
jes' do nothin' but travel for a whole summer.
MRS. VERNON. Oh, folks'd talk about it, Jim.
JIM. Why, I mean married—if Kate'd have me.
MRS. VERNON. Oh!
JOE. [Explainingly.] Of course—'fore they started.
JIM looks at JOE in amused disgust.
JIM. An' you know, Mrs. Vernon, I've had it on the tip of my tongue a dozen times to ask her.
MRS. VERNON. [Reflectively.] Well,—it might be the best thing that could happen to her. [Pause.] Kate's been awful restless lately.
JOE. [Heartily.] An' she likes you, Jim, better'n anybody.
JIM. Why, I used to think so, Joe, but since this feller's been in town—[Slowly crosses and sits on table.
MRS. VERNON. Pshaw—I'll bet that mustach of his'n is dyed.
JOE. Don't think about him, Jim, 'cause, if it comes to that, I'll put my foot down.
JIM. Not if Kate liked him.
JOE. Yes, no matter who liked him.
JIM. But I'd want her to like me.
JOE. Well, she does.
JIM. You think so.
JOE. Sure.
JIM. Dog gone it! I'd swap my poney for a trottin' horse, an' git one of them two-wheeled carts an' practice in it till I wasn't seasick, and me an' Kate of a Sunday—say—driving through Bowling Green!
MRS. VERNON. [Grinning in admiration.] Why, Jim!
JIM. [Growing with his vision.] An' I'd run that south pyazza all around the house,—and dog gone it—we'd have a hired girl.
MRS. VERNON. [Starting something.] That's the way to treat a woman,
Joe Vernon, an' if you hadn't been brought up in Galloway County—
JOE. [Completing.] Why, Jim, when we was fust married she was so jealous we couldn't keep a hired girl.
MRS. VERNON. [Waving a hand at him.] I've got bravely over it. You kin git one now.
JOE. Well—we don't need one now.
Enter KATE.
KATE. No, I'm not offended, Lizbeth, but it isn't kind.
JOE. What's the matter?
LIZBETH and DAVE appear outside of door and disappear slowly.
KATE. Nothing. [Crossing right of rocker.] Jim—
JIM. Katie.
KATE. You and father are trying for the Legislature? [JIM nods.] A nomination in this county is as good as an election, isn't it?
JOE. [Explaining.] On our ticket.
JIM nods.
KATE. You have been very kind to me—kinder than any man I know—you've stood up for me; and you've given me lots of handsome presents—
JIM. Well?—
KATE. You have been very kind—I like your sister Emily—as well as if she were my own sister—but Joe Vernon's my father—he's an older man than you are—
MRS. VERNON. [Butting in.] Well, if he wasn't—KATE. Wait, mother— [To JIM.] I shall work for him. [JIM nods.] In every possible way—I know a good many of these delegates—I know their wives—I shall see them.
JIM. [Pause.] Does politics make any difference to you, Kate?
KATE. His election does. It means a step out of this life, a breath away from the shop—it means a broader horizon for me—[Turns away, overcome by her feelings.
JIM. [Pause.] Well, Joe—I went in this thing to win—
JOE. Don't mind her, Jim.
JIM. I went in it to win—my friends kind a put it that way—an' it seems I ought to do my best for them—but—I wish you luck, old man,—I wouldn't take the nomination now—I didn't think Kate cared.