Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 19

ANDREW. [_Moving from her, with a hoa.r.s.e laugh._] _Dare?_ Dare I be d.a.m.ned by G.o.d and all his angels? Ha! Come, we're slow.

JOEL. Time enough.

ELLEN. [_Sinking upon_ JOEL'S _knapsack as a seat, leans her head on her hands, and looks strangely at_ ANDREW.] I'd better have written, I'm afraid.

ANDREW. [_Controlling his emotion._] Now, don't take it that way. I've considered it all.

ELLEN. [_With deep quiet._] Blasphemously?

ANDREW. Reasonably, my brave wife. When I enlisted, I did so in a dream.

I dreamed I was called to love and serve our country. But that dream is shattered. This sordid war, this political murder, has not one single principle of humanity to excuse its b.l.o.o.d.y sacrilege. It doesn't deserve my loyalty--our loyalty.

ELLEN. Are you saying this--for my sake? What of "G.o.d and his angels"?

ANDREW. [_Not looking at her._] If we had a just cause--a cause of liberty like that in Seventy-six; if to serve one's country meant to serve G.o.d and his angels--then, yes; a man might put away wife and child. He might say: "I will not be a husband, a father; I will be a patriot." But now--like this--tangled in a web of spiders--caught in a grab-net of politicians--and you, you and our baby-boy, like this--h.e.l.l let in on our home--no, Country be cursed!

ELLEN. [_Slowly._] So, then, when little Andy grows up----

ANDREW. [_Groaning._] I say that the only thing----

ELLEN. I am to tell him----

ANDREW. [_Defiantly._] Tell him his father deserted his country, and thanked G.o.d for the chance. [_Looking about him pa.s.sionately._] Here!

[_He tears a part of the flag from its standard, and reaches it toward her._] You're cold; put this round you.

[_As he is putting the strip of colored silk about her shoulders, there rises, faint yet close by, a sound of fifes and flutes, playing the merry march-strains of "Yankee Doodle."_

[_At the same time there enters along the embankment, dimly, enveloped in a great cloak, a tall_ FIGURE, _which pauses beside the standard of the torn flag, silhouetted against the first pale streaks of the dawn_.

ELLEN. [_Gazing at_ ANDREW.] What's the matter?

ANDREW. [_Listening._] Who are they? Where is it?

JOEL. [_Starts, alertly._] He hears something.

ANDREW. Why should they play before daybreak?

ELLEN. Andy----

JOEL. [_Whispers._] Ssh! Look out! We're spied on!

[_He points to the embankment._ ANDREW _and_ ELLEN _draw back_.

THE FIGURE. [_Straightening the flag-standard, and leaning on it._]

Desartin'?

ANDREW. [_Puts_ ELLEN _behind him_.] Who's there? The watchword!

THE FIGURE. G.o.d save the smart folks!

JOEL. [_To_ ANDREW.] He's on to us. Pickle him quiet, or it's court martial! [_Showing a long knife._] Shall I give him this?

ANDREW. [_Taking it from him._] No. _I_ will.

ELLEN. [_Seizing his arm._] Andrew!

ANDREW. Let go.

[THE FIGURE, _descending into the intrenchment, approaches with face m.u.f.fled_. JOEL _draws_ ELLEN _away_. ANDREW _moves toward_ THE FIGURE _slowly_. _They meet and pause._

ANDREW. You're a spy!

[_With a quick flash,_ ANDREW _raises the knife to strike, but pauses, staring_. THE FIGURE, _throwing up one arm to ward the blow, reveals--through the parted cloak--a glint of stars in the firelight_.[E]

THE FIGURE. Steady, boys; I'm one of ye. The sergeant told me to drop round.

JOEL. Oh, the sergeant! That's all right, then.

ANDREW. [_Dropping the knife._] Who are you?

THE FIGURE. Who be _I_? My name, ye mean? My name's Average--Sam Average. Univarsal Sam, some o' my prophetic friends calls me.

ANDREW. What are you doing here--now?

THE FIGURE. Oh, tendin' to business.

JOEL. Tendin' to _other_ folks' business, eh?

THE FIGURE. [_With a touch of weariness._] Ye-es; reckon that _is_ my business. Some other folks is me.

JOEL. [_Grimacing to_ ELLEN.] Cracked!

THE FIGURE. [_To_ ANDREW.] You're a mite back'ard in wages, ain't ye?

ANDREW. Nine months. What of that?

THE FIGURE. That's what I dropped round for. Seems like when a man's endoored and fit, like you have, for his country, and calc'lates he'll quit, he ought to be takin' a little suthin' hom' for Thanksgivin'. So I fetched round your pay.

ANDREW. My pay! You?

THE FIGURE. Yes; I'm the paymaster.

ELLEN. [_Coming forward, eagerly._] Andy! The money, is it?

THE FIGURE. [_Bows with a grave, old-fashioned stateliness._] Your sarvent, ma'am!

ANDREW. [_Speaking low._] Keep back, Nell. [_To_ THE FIGURE.] You--you were saying----