Semiramis and Other Plays Part 71

Bookseller. (Looking book over doubtfully) Forty cents.

Poe. (Loudly) Forty devils! (Helen turns and recognizes him. He does not see her) Look at that binding. You can't get a Sh.e.l.ley put up like that for less than ten dollars.

Hel. (Aside) My book!

Bookseller.

It's badly marked.

Poe. Marked! Of course it's marked. And every mark there worth its dollar. In ten years you'll wish the marks were as thick as the letters.

Bookseller.

Say fifty, and strike off. Not a cent more.

Poe. Take it.

Hel. To sell my book! (Moves slowly to door) How pale he is!

But he is neatly dressed. He can not need fifty cents. To sell my book! I'll speak to him and see if he is past shame. (Steps before Poe as he turns to go out)

Hel. Mr. Poe! Don't you remember me? 'Tis delightful to meet an old friend.

Poe. (Bowing low) Mrs....

Hel. Yes, I am Mrs. Bridgmore.

Poe. My dear Mrs. Bridgmore! The pleasure of years gathers in this happy moment. Are you making holiday purchases?

Hel. No ... just poking about. I love these old stores. I see you've made a sale. 'Tis a relief to get rid of old books when we've lost our love for them, isn't it? They take up good room on our shelves pretty much as people do in our lives long after we have ceased to care for their friendship. But what one is weary of another is ready to take up. (To bookseller) May I see the book the gentleman has just disposed of? (To Poe) Anything you have liked will be sure to please me.

Poe. O, you are mistaken! I am simply leaving the book to be duplicated if possible for a friend of mine who has taken a fancy to my copy. (Gesticulates to bookseller) One glance, Mrs. Bridgmore, will tell you that the book is not for sale.

Hel. Ah ... of course not. Pardon the mistake. It seems to be my fate to blunder where you are concerned. (Icily) Good morning, Mr. Poe.

(As she is going out she drops her purse. Poe hastens to pick it up and restores it to her with a bow. In doing so he forgets his shabby coat and throws back his cloak over his arm, exposing a badly worn sleeve. He becomes suddenly conscious of her observation, and straightens up in his most dignified fashion)

Hel. Thank you. (Goes out)

Poe. (Turning to bookseller) Here! Take your d.a.m.ned silver!

Give me my book!

Bookseller.

A bargain's a bargain, sir.

Poe. Bargain! bargain! Do you call that theft a bargain? You parasite! you bookgnat! You insect feeding on men's brains! You worm in the corpse of genius! My book, I say, or by Hector I'll tear your goose-liver from your body, you pocket-itching Jacob!

Bookseller.

Here! take it!

Poe. There's your Judas' blood! (Throws down money and starts out with the book. Enter Brackett)

Brackett. (Stopping Poe) Mr. Poe, I believe.

Poe. Right, sir. And Brackett, I think your name was when I knew you.

Bra. Quite right, Mr. Poe. I saw you coming in here, and though you have changed somewhat with the help of years I was sure it was you.

Poe. And how, Mr. Brackett, may that knowledge be of interest to you?

Bra. Well, perhaps it does concern you more than myself.

Poe. Kindly tell me in what way that I may regret it.

Bra. Your pen has been supplying matter for _The Comet_, I believe.

Poe. If you have any doubt of it a perusal of that magazine's issues for the past two years will satisfy you.

Bra. The returns therefrom have contributed somewhat to your comfort, I suppose.

Poe. Do you?

Bra. Ah, I am mistaken? Then I have less hesitation to tell you that the articles recently submitted are unavailable.

Poe. _You_ tell me! What have you to do with it? Who are you?

Bra. I am the present editor of _The Comet_.

Poe. You!

Bra. I! You see I am in a position to speak with authority,--and it is only just to tell you that your articles will meet with no further recognition in that quarter.

Poe. Brackett ... I have been very ill. I wrote those things on what I believed to be my death bed. My wife....

Bra. I should say then that you are in great need of money.

Poe. G.o.d help me, I am! You know I am not one to beg!

Bra. But it's beg or starve with you, eh? (Poe looks at him silently) Well, I should advise you to make application without loss of time to some one who does not know you quite so well as the new editor of _The Comet_. Good morning.

Poe. (Calling to him as he stands in door) I say, Brackett!

(Brackett turns) _I_ should advise _you_ to change the name of _The Comet_ as well as its editor. Suppose you call it _The Falling Star_? Ha! ha! (Exit Brackett) Curse me for a whining dog--but Virginia--

(Goes out)

Bookseller. (Arranging books) Queer chap. We public men get to know all sorts. That book will be mine yet. It's a good seller at ten dollars, and blest if I wouldn't like to help the wretch out with fifty cents. He'll be back.

(Enter Helen)

Hel. I wish to buy the book the gentleman has just left with you.

Bookseller.