| THE PEOPLE | |
| George Ollivant | Mr. George W. Wilson |
| Emily, his wife | Miss Alice Leigh |
| Mary, his daughter, an actress | Miss Fola La Follette |
TRADITION[B]
SCENE: The sitting-room at the Ollivants' in a small town up-State. It is an evening late in the spring.
A simple room is disclosed, bearing the traces of another generation. Old-fashioned window-doors at the right, overlooking the garden, open on a porch; another door in back opening on the hall-way. A large fire-place at the left, now concealed by an embroidered screen; the horsehair furniture, several terra-cotta statuettes, and a woodcut or two on the walls create the subtle atmosphere of the past. There is a lamp on the table, and another on a bracket by the door in back. Moonlight filters through the window-doors.
The Ollivants are discovered together. Mary, a rather plain woman of about twenty-five, with a suggestion of quick sensibilities, is standing, lost in thought, looking out into the garden. Her mother, Emily, nearing fifty, quiet and subdued in manner, is seated at the table trimming a hat. Occasionally she looks at Mary, stops her work, glances at her husband, closes her eyes as though tired, and then resumes. The silence continues for some time, broken only by the rattle of the town paper which George Ollivant is reading. He is well on in middle life, with a strong, determined face not entirely without elements of kindness and deep feeling. When he finishes, he folds the paper, puts it on the table, knocks the ashes carefully from his pipe into his hand, and throws them behind the screen; takes off his spectacles and wipes them as he, too, looks over toward his daughter, still gazing absently into the garden. Finally, after a slight hesitation, he goes to her and puts his arm about her; she is startled but smiles sweetly.
OLLIVANT. [Affectionately.] Glad to be home again, Mary?
MARY. [Evasively.] The garden is so pretty.
OLLIVANT. Hasn't changed much, eh?
MARY. It seems different; perhaps it's the night.