Brood house; a play in four acts

Front matter

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Aia

Act First

Time, the present, the month being March. The home of James Brood is one of the old-fashioned houses in lower New York. It is nine o'clock. The curtain rises on a richly-furnished room of a purely oriental type, rather closely boxed. There is a subdued red light from the Indian and Burmese lamps and fireplace at right. The walls are draped with rich oriental hangings, weapons, shields, rugs, etc. A large ''Buddha'' stands on a pedestal near center of stage, pretty well down, facing a richly carved table of ebony and teakwood. A large white elephant stands on the upper end of the table which is covered with writing materials and books. An oriental tea-table stands at lower left, with an ottoman behind it, in a sort of nook above first entrance, forming a corner which extends into the room for perhaps six feet, running up at an angle. A window into a jade room in this wall is visible. There are oriental chairs I3l about the room. This room is Mr. Brood's own and is immediately beneath the roof. In fact^ the rear wall is but eight feet high, the ceiling sloping forward and upward with the roof of this particular gable. In the middle of the rear wall there is a large window looking out over the housetops, the shades being down at present and of a rich oriental color. There is a broad seat in this window, the windows open on hinges, inward. When the shades are up, lights in the upper parts of distant buildings may he seen, with the roofs and chimney pots. The windows form a niche in the wall, apparently a gable. A curtained door opens off R. U. E., while another leads off L. 2 E. into a hall. An Indian buffet stands at the extreme right. On the center table there is a large Burmese gong, by which the servant is called. The door at R. U. E. leads to a stairway, off stage, up which every one has to climb in reaching this room under the roof. One has the effect of seeing all entrants coming up from below.

The stage is empty when the curtain rises.

Enter from R., puffing, two old men, both in

clad in every respect, and not in evening clothes.

They are smoking meerschaum pipes. Mr. Joseph

Riggs is sixty-five^ and Mr. Danhury Dawes is a year or two older. They are gossipy, querulous old chaps, lazy and utterly shiftless, worse than two old women. Dawes wears thin gray whiskers and Riggs is close-shaven. A piano in a distant room is playing ^^ La Paloma."

Riggs. [Comes down to the table and angrily pushes the papers about, looking at his watch. Both appear to be annoyed, Dawes listening at the door.] Well, it 's nine o'clock. I wonder if he thinks I 'm going to sit up all night and wait till he gets through fooling with those ninnies he 's got downstairs. I 'm getting tired of this sort of thing. I won't stand it. We might just as well be a couple of — er — a couple of — What.f*

Dawes. [Coming down, dismally.] I did n't say what.

Riggs. You did n't.^* Well, a couple of what-youcall-'ems. See what I mean?

Dawes. [Positively.] Certainly. We might just as well, I agree with you. It 's most annoying. But, I — I sometimes wonder if he can help it.

Riggs. Help it.^ He did n't have to get married, did h.e'i Answer me that.

Dawes. Now, see here, Joe, don't blame me for l5]

that. You put everything upon me. You blamed me because it rained yesterday. I —

RiGGS. Forgive me, old man. It 's because I 'm irritated. Jim treats us like dogs. And dogs sometimes turn, you know. [Lays his hand on the other^s shoulder.]

Dawes. I thought it was worms, old man, but — but never mind. Will you have a highball.'' [Going to the buffet and trying the door. To his surprise it is locked.]

RiGGS. Well — if you insist. What 's that.? Locked .f* Well, I'm damned! Now, that's a deliberate, intentional insult. It 's an affront that I can't overlook, Danbury. Can't you find the key anywhere.''

Dawes. [Searching the top.] It is n't here. I say, Joe, would you mind looking through your pockets.'' It —

RiGGS. [Starts to search and then desists, indignantly.] What do you mean, sir.''

Dawes. [Hastily.] I meant to say, ring the bell for Ranjab. [Riggs glares at him for a moment and then pounds the gong viciously.] Jim 's got no right to lock the whiskey up like this. He 's never done it before.

RiGGS. Nice way to treat his guests. [Half cry- [6]

ing.] And old friends like we are, too. He forgets that we shared our whiskey with him in the old days — and he needed it, too. I call it most ungrateful.

Dawes. [Dazed.] It 's that damned wife of his. Joe, we made a terrible mistake in permitting him to get married again. I '11 never forgive myself for that. Never!

RiGGS. Danbury, don't blame yourself for that, old pal. I 'm as much to blame as you. Besides, confound him, he went off and did it without saying a word to us. I — I don't suppose there 's anything we can do about it now.

Dawes. No. They 've been married nearly a year. But the idea of him bringing a wife in here without saying anything about it. It was sickening. Ring that bell again!

RiGGS. Oh, he did telegraph to Lydia. [Rings gong.]

Dawes. But Lydia is n't us. fFe were his friends. Who's Lydia.? Nobody. He's charitable enough to give her a home here because she 's the daughter of dear old Jack. By thunder, he 'd never have done this if Jack Desmond were alive. No, sir — ee! As long as Jack was here, there was some order in the house. Poor old Jack!

RiGGS. [Almost weeping on the other's shoulder.] [7]

When Jack died he — he spoiled everything. And, hang it all, he was n't an old man.

Dawes. Well, he 'd been married a long time.

RiGGs, Pooh ! He was a widower for ten or twelve years. You forget that.

[Enter Ranjab, a Lascar, leisurely from door at L, Ranjab is a brown-skinned, straight-haired, smooth-faced fellow of fifty, dressed as the ordinary butler. He has small rings in his ears; a set, stern visage.]

Dawes. Who the devil locked this door, Ranjab.''

Ranjab. [Pausing up stage, stoically.] I did, Mis' Dawe.

Dawes. Well, unlock it.

Ranjab. I have not the key.

RiGGS. Where is it?

Ranjab. It is in the left han' pocket of the master's trousers.

RiGGS. Has he got 'em on?

Ranjab. I have not seen the master since he went down to dinner. [As an afterthought.] But there are ladies present.

Riggs. Ranjab, are you just a dam' fool, or do you think I am?

Ranjab. I came from the East, Mis' Rigg.

RiGGS. [Reflectively — to Dazves.] That means he's a wise man.

Dawes. [Sputtering bravely, hut at the same time a trifle nervously as he advances to Ranjab.] That 's neither here nor there. Ranjab, do you expect us to kick in that cupboard door in order to get a drink.? Open it at once, sir! Remember, we are guests in this house and we —

Ranjab. [Staring straight ahead.] It is not to be opened.

RiGGS. What! You mean —

Ranjab. The master has given orders, sir. That's all.

Dawes. [Melting.] Well, of all the humiliating — oh, oh! Why, that has been an open cupboard ever since we came here to visit Jim Brood, eleven years ago. You know it has! We 've had the freedom of that cupboard —

RiGGs. It's dastardly! By gad, sir, I shall leave this house at once. I shall not submit to this indignity. A gentleman is a gentleman, sir! What 's that.'' [Fiercely to Dazves.]

Dawes. Confound you, sir, I did n't say he was n't. What the devil are you looking at me for.? Ranjab, I '11 give you two seconds to open that cupboard, or I '11 complain to Mr. Brood.

Ranjab. [Merely nods his head and stands passive. The two look at him expectantly for a moment and then bristle.]

Dawes. Perhaps you did n't hear me.

Ranjab. The master gave strict orders, sir. He has guests for dinner and he is to have them up here afterwards for the magic. He says he will not have his guests find you here drunk as night before last. The ladies thought you were dead. One of them fainted. [Exit quietly at L.]

[They watch him depart^ petrified. Then turn to look at one another^ trying to speak^ hut powerless to do so.\

RiGGS. [Gulping.] What do you suppose is the matter with Jim Brood.? Is he crazy.'' Why, I have n't been drunk in ten years.

Dawes. I don't remember seeing any ladies up here night before last. I sat right there in that chair all evening and I '11 swear I did n't see anybody.

RiGGS. All evening? I sat over there on that couch until morning and did n't see anybody. It 's a dam' lie, that 's what it is.

Dawes. His wife 's at the bottom of it. She 's a cat!

RiGGS. And after all we 've done for him, too. [lo]

[Sniffiing.] I Ve stuck by him like a brother for eighteen years. He has no right to forget those days in Turkestan and Thibet. We were good enough for him then.

[Enter Lydia Desmond, L., sauntering slowly, her hands behind her hack, as if in deep thought. She is quietly attired in black, high neck, etc. Hatless. She is young and very pretty, with a thoughtful, sensitive expression. Seeing the two old men, who have turned to stare dejectedly at the buffet, she stops near the table.]

Lydia. Oh, good-evening.

RiGGS. [Turning fiercely.] Lydia Desmond, your poor, dead father has been insulted in this house to-night. Basely insulted!

Dawes. I should n't be surprised if he were turning over in his grave this very minute.

Lydia. [Quietly.] Dear me, and now what has Mrs. Brood done-f*

RiGGS. Please don't interrupt! Go on, Danbury.

Dawes. Goon.'' I can't say any more than that, can l^ He could n't stand on his head!

Lydia. Mr. Dawes! Please, please remember.

Dawes. I beg your pardon, Lydia — a thousand [II]

times, dear child, and so does Joseph Riggs. [Crosses to her.]

Riggs. What have I to apologize for? But [quietly] I do, just the same, dear girl. [Jlso crosses.]

Lydia. Something has tried you dreadfully, you dear, silly old children. What is it?

Riggs. Brood has practically ordered us out of his house — after all these years.

Lydia. I don't believe it. [She sits in the easychair at the desk.]

Dawes. He never locked anything up when your father was alive.

Riggs. Lydia, my child, you showed extreme good sense in leaving this house when you did. You have escaped ignomy such as — such as — Oh, by the way, you don't happen to have the key to that cupboard do you?

Lydia. Oh, that's it, is it? He has at last come to realize that he must keep it under lock and key. Well, you dear old ninnies, it was the only way. Come now, cheer up! He'll unlock it to-morrow. [She toys absently with a paper-knife.] Frederic says that you were perfectly disgusting night before last. Mr. Brood was never so mortified. [She glances at Dawes^ who fidgets.]

Riggs. [Glaring at Dawes.] Yes, and they say that one of the women fainted when she saw you. If a man can't drink without making a hog of himself he 'd better —

Dawes. If you were not so confounded old, I 'd punch your head, Joe Riggs.

Lydia. Sh! They '11 hear you downstairs. There's a dinner party, don't forget.

Riggs. Yes, and we 're left out of it. That 's just it. We 're chucked off to bed, so to speak. We never get anywhere any more. Is that the way it used to be? No! Oh, it brings tears to my eyes when I think of the jolly times we had here before she came. And, say, Lydia, Frederic used to treat us differently before his new step-mother came, let me tell you that. He treats us — his father's best friends and protectors — as if we were dogs.

Dawes. No, no , Joseph. Permit me to differ. He treats his dogs beautifully.

Riggs. Right! That woman has turned him against us, his father's oldest friends, Lydia — and she 's turned him against you, too — John Desmond's daughter. I notice you did n't stay in the house long after she came. Huh! You were smart enough to get out. You, John P. Desmond's daughter, too. [Sadly.] Ah, it was different when we were all living here together. But see what she 's

M done! Dawes and I driven out of our own bedrooms and made to sleep in the fourth floor back — the damnedest little room I ever saw — and not allowed to see company when it comes. We 're shooed off like lepers. Are we invited down to their fine dinners.'' No, sir — ee! Not wel We eat in the butler's pantry. Just where you 'd be eating if you had n't gone to live with old Mrs. Davis across the street. Just a common boarder, and your father saved Jim Brood's life three times in the Himalayas, and once in Borneo. It 's a fine way he keeps his compact. We four old comrades were to stick together until we died — he swore we should. He has the money — he 's always had it — and we have n't a penny, just because we believed in him and did n't think it necessary — er — to save anything. He 's got a fine home and he said we 'd always have his roof over our heads. And your head, too. Now what —

Lydia. [Who has been toying with the knife, while Dawes dozes in a chair near by.\ Now, Mr. Riggs, speak for yourself — not for me. I am contented, remember that. Mr. Brood is good to me — he always has been — and he is more than good to you. His wife has a right to conduct her own household as she chooses. She is the mistress; if she chooses to have you sleep in the back room, it is her affair, not yours. You can always leave, you know.

RiGGS. You forget, my dear, that we swore on our sacred word to live — intact — under this roof with James Brood. Do you suppose that we can lightly break a promise we made twelve years ago?

Dawes. [Correcting.] Eleven — eleven years.

RiGGS. And yet, I am tempted to do it, 'pon my soul. I 'm tired of being put upon. She has spoiled everything, coming into the family like this. Why, hang it all, she has the best bedroom in the house — the one I used to have. See — you can see it from here. Going up and pointing off L. through the big windows, downward, as if to the second floor.] It faces the garden and has the only balcony about the place. It makes me mad every time I see her standing out there, looking at the moon, surrounded by vines and honeysuckles — and — all that sort of thing. She knows when I 'm looking, too; she poses.

Dawes. Hang me, if I 'd look at her.

RiGGS. You! Yo*u've got the opera glasses all the time. [To Lydia.] We can see quite plainly from our room, my dear.

Lydia. For shame. To peep.

Dawes. Well, she 's good-looking, in a way. And, hang it all, we 're not much older than Jim Brood.

He 's fifty if he 's a day. The idea of him marrying a woman of thirty. I 'II bet my hat, she serves him just as rotten as the other one did.

Lydia. Remember, you are not to talk scandal.

RiGGS. Well, his first wife did run away with her music master, didn't she? That's not idle gossip. Even her husband knew that — and her son ought to know it by this time.

Lydia. But that was more than twenty years ago. Why bring it up now.? Mr. Brood is happy. He has forgotten her.

Dawes. Took him a long time to do it, my dear. That 's how he happened to be roaming all over the world like a lost soul for years and years, leaving this comfortable house that his granddad built for all the little Broods to come. He was nearly all in when we met him in Calcutta. That was twenty years ago, and we 've never been separated since that day. Your father and Joe Riggs and I, we three, came upon him in a den of iniquity in Calcutta. We took him up, and if I do say it, we saved him, stranger though he was. Your father has told you how the four of us roamed in all parts of the world for nearly ten years. Jim Brood has a fortune, but he did n't object to helping us look for three more. We — we never found 'em, as you know.

Lydia. Poor old dad! It wasn't a fortune he sought.

RiGGs. He was after knowledge. I never knew such a man for exploring. Danbury, do you remember that trip into Central Africa in search of the mysterious pygmy people.? 'Gad, that was an expedition. We lived for months on —

Lydia. I know, Mr. Riggs. I 've heard of it a thousand times. My mother kept his letters, and I still have them. I know his letters by heart. Mr. Brood wants to put them into the new book. He has offered to pay me for them, but I — of course, I can't accept anything for them. They really are a part of the book, don't you think.''

Dawes. The best part of it, I 'd say. T say, Lydia, how far along are we in the work.''

Lydia. Mr. Brood expects to finish your expedition into Thibet next week. I have brought back the last batch of manuscript and notes, which I finished copying to-day. He wants to read the last chapter aloud to his friends to-night. It 's a particularly thrilling adventure.

RiGGs. If your father only could have lived until we finished the work. Ah, he could write!

Lydia. Mr. Brood is splendid. There could be no improvement.

RiGGS. I 'd like to see how he 'd get along if he did n't have Danbury and me to help him. Why, we really suggest nearly everything.

Dawes. And I '11 bet my hat we don't get a word of credit when the thing is published. It will be all Brood. His wife will see to that. We won't even be paid for our part of the work. You get something out of it as his secretary.

RiGGS. Twenty-five dollars a week! No girl on earth ever was worth that much.

Lydia. Oh, boys, boys! Be quiet! Don't nag so. I am so tired I scarcely can hold up my head. [She drops forward^ whereupon both men are instantly solicitous — faniiing her and patting her shoulders.]

Dawes. Don't, don't, Lydia! Don't cry. Joseph, do you see what I mean when I say it is criminal to keep that cupboard locked.^ Kick in the door, Joseph. I '11 stand by anything you do.

[Enter Frederic Brood, L., stopping just inside the door with a movement of annoyance at seeing the others there. He is a tall youth of twenty-one or twenty-two, dark-skinned and eagereyed. His face has an insolent, overhearing expression; his voice is sharp and imperative. After a quick glance of indecision down the stairway, he [i8]

comes forward, stopping near the table to look in wonder at the bent head of the girl.]

Frederic. {Turning savagely to the two old men, who fall back timorously.] What have you been saying to her? [Lydia rises instantly and pulls herself together].

Lydia. [Hastily.] Nothing, Frederic, — nothing! I was just complaining of a — of a headache.

RiGGS. She 's got a perfect right to have a headache, Frederic.

Frederic. [Crossly, to both men.] Get out!

Dawes. But your father asked us to wait for him here.

Frederic. He thinks you 're in bed.

RiGGS. I never expected to live to hear the son of James Brood speak like this to me. Your father's life-long friend —

Frederic. Get out, I say. Don't go, Lydia.

Lydia. You should n't speak like that to the poor boys, Frederic.

Dawes. I '11 stay right here until your father tells me to go. I don't recognize your authority, young man. [He goes over with great dignity and sits upon the divan in the corner.]

RiGGS. I don't believe that even your father's wife [19]

can turn him completely against us. She 'd like to see us in the gutter or the poorhouse —

Frederic. That will do, Mr. Riggs. You talk too much!

Riggs. I won't stand any more of — [looks quickly about and sees that Dawes has left him. His nerve fails. Then, bracing up, he walks stiffly over and sits down beside his friend.]

Dawes. [Angrily.] You do talk too much.

Lydia. [Smiling sadly, as they look at the stiff old men.] Frederic, you are too harsh with them. You once were so kind and patient. They — they can't understand the change.

Frederic. Oh, they get on my nerves.

Lydia. [After a moment's look at his sullen face.] Mrs. Brood's nerves are affected by them, too.

Frederic. [Roughly.] Well, what 's that got to do with it.^

Lydia. And you 've never spoken to me in just that tone before. Good-night! Will you tell your father I could n't wait.''

Frederic. Wait a minute, Lydia. I 'm sorry. I did n't mean to be rough. I 'm — I 'm not well. 'Gad, I believe I 've got a fever. Don't go — I — I have n't treated you as nicely as I should of late. I 'm worried about business. I say, Lydia, wait for me

f20l in the picture gallery. I '11 be there in a minute or so. [Points of L.]

Lydia. Don't be hard on the poor old boys. [Going, with a smile of happiness in her eyes, lighting up a face that had been somber and hurt.]

Frederic. I '11 promise. They don't deserve kindness, though. They 're the worst old meddlers and busybodies in the universe, Lydia. They 're regular cats. Why, they've gone to father with complaints against Mrs. Brood. Who are they.? Pensioners, that 's all. He 's keeping 'em for the rest 0[ their useless old lives — out of pure sentiment.

Lydia. Please, please, Frederic. You must not forget that I am a charity patient.

Frederic. Oh, nonsense! It isn't the same. Your father was a big man. He was a real help to Dad. These old guys are bluffs. Look at them!

[They smile at the picture of the old men pouting.]

[Enter Mrs. Brood quickly, R., stopping just inside the door. She is attired in evening gown of black, covered with spangles. Dark, Hungarian type. A huge ruby sunburst hangs from her neck, gleaming against the white skin, the only bit of color about her. The others turn at once, Frederic stepping forward, with a nervous, apologetic air.]

Mrs. Brood. [Coming down, smiling graciously upon Lydia.] Why, good-evening, Miss Desmond. So good to see you. Are — are you stopping over night? [Drawling, with a perceptible sneer.]

Lydia. [Palpably embarrassed and wounded.] No, Mrs. Brood. Mr. Brood asked me to come over with the last bit of manuscript. I was to wait for him — for you all up here. [Suddenly cold and dignified.] No, I 'm not stopping over night. [To Frederic, who is fidgeting nervously.] I '11 wait in the picture gallery, Frederic.

[Exit Lydia, L.]

Mrs. Brood. [Looking after her with a smile of derision, then turning to Frederic, softly, reprovingly.] You should n't have secrets from your mother. I thought that was all over.

Frederic. [Biting his lips.] Oh, she 's all right, Yvonne. I did n't know she was here. Dad 's very fond of her.

Mrs. Brood. [Eying him mockingly.] You 've always told me that. She 's not fond of me.

Frederic. [Wryly.] Well, you 're not especially fond of her. She is a fine girl.

Mrs. Brood. I daresay. You 've known her so much longer than I. You see, she chose to move out when I moved in.

Frederic. Oh, I say, now — that sounds rather — [He suddenly remembers the two old men, and, after a quick glance, leans over and whispers an injunction in her ear, which causes her to look upon the old men for the first time. She sees Riggs with his hand to his ear in effort to hear their remarks from across the room. Both old men still are sitting stiffly, hut trying to see the others out of the corners of their eyes.]

Mrs. Brood. [Coldly.] You said there would be no one up here.

Frederic. Well, I told them to get out.

[Mrs. Brood crosses slowly towards Riggs and Dawes, a hard smile on her lips. As she approaches, they nervously begin to adjust their ties and ^^ pretty up'^ generally, arising with some celerity.]

Riggs and Dawes. Good-evening, Mrs. Brood. Mrs. Brood. [Still smiling, and after a deliberate pause.] Good-night!

{They stare irresolutely for a moment and then bow meekly.]

Riggs and Dawes. Good-night, Mrs. Brood, a 23 ]

[They cross hastily toward the door at L., very stiff-backed. Frederic has walked up and is standing near the window, his hand to his mouth.]

■RiGGS. [To Dawes in a sharp undertone.] And just to think of it, Danbury, we used to stand up and fight tigers in India.

[Exit Riggs and Dawes hastily L.]

Frederic. [Coming down, ruefully.] Poor old boys !

Mrs. Brood. [Coolly, sitting on the divan.] Is this an inebriates' asylum.'' Or a home for sentimental paupers.'' Please, Frederic, remember that I am of quite another world. Your father told me of you, but he did n't tell me of the "old boys." He told me of this great old-fashioned house, and of this den on the top floor, and the jade room there, and the picture room down the hall, and — and of Buddha to whom he tells his secrets when the rest of us are asleep. I expected all of these things, but not the "poor old boys." They spoil the fairy story, Frederic.

Frederic. [Sitting behind her.] But they were his pals and he loves them. Of course, I can see how they might not have appealed to you.

Mrs. Brood. They don't like me. Why should I like them.''

Frederic. They 're jealous. [24]

Mrs. Brood. Of me.'' Pooh! Your milk and white young lady does n't like me, either. Is she also jealous.?

Frederic. She is not in love with father.

Mrs. Brood. But she is in love with my step-son.

Frederic. Step-son! You have no idea how funny it sounds to hear you call me step-son. Why, you seem no older than I. [Eafi^erly.]

Mrs. Brood. Nonsense! I 'm ages older than you. [Impressively.] And a Hungarian woman at twenty-nine is ten years older than an American man at thirty-nine.

Frederic. 'Gad, I believe you — in everything but looks.

Mrs. Brood. You like me a little — now, don't you.'' A little better every day.'' You don't hate your step-mother, as most boys do.^*

Frederic. [Feverishly, held by her eyes.] Why, you 're the most wonderful creature in the world. You 've made me care for you. I hated you when you first came here as my father's wife. You understand. That was natural. I could n't help it. No more could I help changing when I found how lovely, how perfect you are.

Mrs. Brood. [Derisively.] I shall try to be a good mother to you.

Frederic. Oh, that's rubbish! I don't think of you as a step-mother. You 're not that, really. You 're a pal — a pal, that 's all. Yvonne, do you know that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.^ You are —

Mrs. Brood. [Languidly.] But you are very young. You will see a great many other women.

Frederic. It won't make any diflFerence. They won't be like you. I don't care if you are Dad's wife — I lie aWake all night sometimes, thinking of you. I can't help it. Good Lord, to think of you married to a man as old as Dad! Why it's — it's like a dream.

Mrs. Brood. A bad dream. f* [She sits at the left of the table.]

Frederic. Yes! Hang it all, a bad dream.

Mrs. Brood. But think of what you might have got for a step -mother.

Frederic. I suppose that was Dad's lookout. [Stares at the floor.]

Mrs. Brood. [After looking at him for some time, calculatingly.] It hurt me very much when you first refused to see me, Frederic. I am very proud, you know. I did not dream that my coming would drive you out of your home. If I had known — ah, well, I might not have come at all.