Porter (has been watching the drama with excitement, now and then gesturing as if he were directing the actions of the players; he now advances, gazing upon the body): Stabbed him to the heart! A white man he was, and the old Negro slave killed him! But he leaves a clue—see, the Major has torn the one last button from the old Negro’s coat, and he holds that button in his dead hand! That’s where I come upon the scene—I’ll be the man from New York who brings the fifty dollars to Miss Azalea Adair. I discover how Major Caswell robbed his wife; I know that the Negro will take the money back to her; so I take that button out of the Major’s hand—(he stoops and takes the button) So when the police come and find the body, they don’t know what to make of it! (two policemen enter silently; they discover the body, make a swift investigation, and then pick up the body and carry it off, right) And so the old Negro escapes, and dies in his bed with the preacher praying over him, and the angels waiting for his soul. And something has happened—(exulting)—a drama! A real story—in Nashville, Tennessee! (a pause) Oh, they’ll have to take that story! That’s a masterpiece, and I know it! I’ll get money for that—and buy Margaret a real present. What’ll it be? A pony, perhaps! No, that would cost too much to keep. It’ll be a doll, the most beautiful doll in the very fanciest shop in New York. Margaret, dear, how would you like to have a doll—a big one in a pink crepe dress, with pink ribbons in her hair—and when you lay her down she closes her eyes, and when you squeeze her she says “Mamma!”
(Margaret enters, at left, moving softly, in dream fashion; a frail, sensitive, eager child, dressed in white muslin; she carries the big doll as described, and gazes at it with ecstasy. Music.)
Porter: Do you like it, dear?
Margaret: Oh, Papa, she’s so sweet! Just listen! (she squeezes the doll, which says “Mamma!”) She says “Mamma!” Oh, I wish Mamma could be here to hear her! (runs to Porter) But you’re here. Papa! You’ve come back to me. Have you come to stay?
Porter: Yes, sweetheart, never to go away.
Margaret: Oh, Papa, I’ve missed you so! Why did you stay so long?
Porter: That’s a sad story, dear.
Margaret: They wouldn’t tell me a thing about it—where you were or what you were doing.
Porter: Listen, dear, it’s hard for me to tell you, but I have to tell you some day. You’ll never doubt Papa, will you?
Margaret: Doubt you, Papa?