Reprinted from "Plays" by Susan Glaspell, published by Small, Maynard & Company, by permission of Miss Susan Glaspell and Messrs. Small, Maynard & Company. The professional and amateur stage rights on this play are strictly reserved by the author. Applications for permission to produce this play must be made to Miss Susan Glaspell, care of Small, Maynard & Company, 41 Mt. Vernon Street, Boston, Mass.
TRIFLES
A Play
By Susan Glaspell
[Scene: The kitchen in the now abandoned farm-house of John Wright, a gloomy kitchen, and left without having been put in order—unwashed pans under the sink, a loaf of bread outside the bread-box, a dish-towel on the table—other signs of incompleted work. At the rear the outer door opens and the Sheriff comes in followed by the County Attorney and Hale. The Sheriff and Hale are men in middle life, the County Attorney is a young man; all are much bundled up and go at once to the stove. They are followed by the two women—the Sheriff's wife first; she is a slight wiry woman, a thin nervous face. Mrs. Hale is larger and would ordinarily be called more comfortable looking, but she is disturbed now and looks fearfully about as she enters. The women have come in slowly, and stand close together near the door.]
County Attorney [rubbing his hands]. This feels good. Come up to the fire, ladies.
Mrs. Peters [after taking a step forward]. I'm not—cold.
Sheriff [unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from the stove as if to mark the beginning of official business]. Now, Mr. Hale, before we move things about, you explain to Mr. Henderson just what you saw when you came here yesterday morning.
County Attorney. By the way, has anything been moved? Are things just as you left them yesterday?