Helping the rich; a play in four acts

Front matter

ELPING THE RICH

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ACT I Scene. — Peter Storm's library

Time. — A "Tuesday morning, shortly before the United States entered into the war.

A rather large room with a studious atmosphere, which is furnished simply but in good taste. To the left of the centre of the room is a large table desk littered with manuscripts, letters, etc. The desk chair is placed so that the occupant faces the right of the room, where there is a door leading to the entrance hall. Behind the desk in the left wall are double doors which lead to the sitting room beyond. At the back of the room, in the centre, there is a broad window through which the morning light is shining. To the right of this and in the corner of the room is an open fireplace, before which are several chairs. To the left of the window, the wall is covered with a large book-case, before which is a small step-ladder and a secretary's desk and chair. Mrs. Foster, Peter Storm's housekeeper, a motherly old woman, rather wrinkled and bent, but still full of energy, is dusting and straightening things, as Peter Storm comes into the room. He is a well-built man, about thirty-five. There is that about the clean-cut features which though distinctive is difficult to define.

His eyes have an unusual holding character, and about them there is something which suggests that the amusing side of any situation is seldom lost.

Mrs. Foster. She's out there [pointing to the halt} — the young woman — waitin' to see you, Mr. Peter.

Peter. Waiting to see me? What young woman ?

Mrs. Foster. Said she was answerin' your advertisement.

Peter. Oh! yes, of course. Pd forgotten it was this morning.

Mrs. Foster. She's young and strong lookin\

Peter [sitting down at his desk and commencing to look over his mail, suppressing a smile}. That's good.

Mrs. Foster [with a little tremble in her voice}. I guess she'll do very well for you, Mr. Peter.

Peter [apparently not noticing her anxiety, laughs with amused surprise as he cuts open the letters}. You think she will, eh ?

Mrs. Foster. I suppose I'm not so useful as I once was.

Peter [looking up with assumed concern}. Not so useful, not so useful? What in the world are you going on about, Fossie ?

Mrs. Foster [looking off in the distance}. I 'tended you when you were a baby, and after — when you were a little fellow — after your father and mother — God rest 'em — were taken.

Peter. Yes, I know you did. I remember how you used to wash my face and hands for me.

Mrs. Foster. But if you are getting somebody else [pointing to the half} you'll not be needing me any longer, I suppose.

Peter [going on with his maif]. Certainly not to wash my face and hands for me.

Mrs. Foster. I'm not complainin', Master Peter.

Peter [laughing']* Bless your soul, Fossie! that young woman out there is applying for a position as secretary — somebody to lick postage stamps — to throw advertisements in the wastepaper basket — ■ and do that sort of work.

Mrs. Foster [questioningly and with something very like tears in her wrinkled old eyes]. Not to 'tend you, then — Not to look out for keepin' house ?

Peter [quietly going over to her and putting his arm tenderly around her stooping shoulders]. Why, Fossie, my dear old Fossie, never you get any such ideas into your head again. Why, I couldn't get along at all, unless I had you to boss me around at home, and you very well know it — so go along with you, now, and ask her to come in. [After she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and they both have a little laugh, she goes out as Peter again sits down at his desk and is soon lost in the interest of his letters, which he continues to open and read. Mrs. Foster returns, bringing the young woman, who is dressed in a street costume and is carrying in her hand a newspaper which she consults as she enters. She is about twenty-four or twenty-five, with a lovely warm coloring and rather loose, wavy hair, all of which is heightened in effect by the simplicity of her dress.]

The Young Woman [with a diffident smile to Mrs. Foster]. This is "Mr. P. S." who advertised for a secretary ?

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Mrs. Foster. Yes, that's Mr. Peter Storm — he's sitting at his desk over there, Miss.

[The young woman gives a visible start on hearing the name — looks up — then hesitates, as though undecided whether to flee or advance.]

Mrs. Foster. Oh, you may go right up to him, Miss! He's expectin' you.

The Young Woman [advancing with some hesitation, as Mrs. Foster withdraws]. You — you advertised for a secretary, I believe.

Peter [looking up, then rising and placing a chair beside his desk]. Yes, will you sit down, please?

The Young Woman [sitting]. Thank you.

Peter [looks at her for a moment]. You have come to apply for that position ?

The Young Woman [rather weakly]. Yes.

Peter [picking up a pencil and drawing a piece of paper toward him]. May I ask your name?

The Young Woman. Miss — Miss Miller.

Peter [about to write, sits looking at his pencil]. Your other name, please.

The Young Woman [starts violently — hesitates a moment]. Oh! Oh, yes! Judith Miller.

Peter [writes]. Judith — ah — ah — Miller [looking up]. What experience in this work have you had, Miss Miller?

Judith. None as yet — but but — I can

manage the typewriter, and I've studied shorthand.

Peter [writes]. Typewriter — shorthand.

Judith [with more courage]. And I know French and a little Italian.

Peter. That's very good.

[The bell rings. Mrs. Foster comes in.]

Mrs. Foster. There's another young lady.

Peter. Ask her to sit down, please. [Then, to Judith] I'm finishing a book and I need some one to help me get it ready for the publishers.

Judith. Oh, how interesting!

Peter. It may be rather shocking.

Judith. I didn't know society could be shocked in these days.

Peter [with a hearty laugh']. Oh, my, yes!

Judith. How?

Peter. By publishing the actual birth rate of its good deeds.

[The bell rings, just as Judith, looking up in surprise, is about to speak.]

Mrs. Foster [coming into the room]. Another young lady.

Peter [as if repeating a formula]. Have her sit down, please. [To Judith]. Here is the manuscript [drawing a stack of loose sheets toward him]. It really didn't take very long to get all the facts and figures together of our present society's virtues.

Judith. May I see it?

Peter [handing it over]. Oh, certainly.

Judith [taking it and reading]. What a wonderful title! [Then, looking inside and reading at the head of the chapter] "The Parallel Growth of Private Charity and Pauperism." Is it really possible that our Charities actually make paupers? Why — why, that's a dreadful thought.

Peter [smiling]. It might be, of course, if the poor themselves found it out.

Judith. But there are so many charities?

Peter. So much the more interesting when they finally uncover our game.

Judith. But if Charity was well organized?

Peter [laughing]. It is well organized, well advertised, and does away with any unpleasant contact between one class and another.

Mrs. Foster [entering]. Well, I just come in to tell you there's seven or eight more of those secretary ladies out in the hall.

Peter [indifferently]. Have them sit down.

Mrs. Foster. Can't — there's no room. Besides, I told them there was no use o' their waitin'.

Peter. You told them that, did you?

Mrs. Foster. Yes, certainly. I told them you'd keep the young lady that was in here with you.

Peter. You did, did you [laughing]. Then you'd better go and send the others away.

Mrs. Foster. What'll I say to 'em?

Peter. Tell them I'm suited — I mean, that you're suited and then come back and show Miss Miller where she can hang her things.

Judith [leaning forward]. Then I may have the position — may really go to work?

Peter. It's all settled. Didn't you hear Fossie engage you?

Judith. Oh, I'm so glad ! But

Peter. But what?

Judith. It's so awful!

Peter. What's so awful?

Judith. Is there really no such thing as Christian charity any more?

Peter [with a laugh]. Certainly not. It's efficiency now. Can't you see Christianity and brotherly love are no longer suited to our large cities?

Mrs. Foster [who has just come in, addresses Judith]. If you will come with me, I'll show you where you can put your things.

[She leads her off through the doors into the sitting room. Peter wanders to the mantelpiece, and taking a photograph of an ocean steamer in his hand, becomes lost in thought.']

Judith [presently returning, hesitates for a moment to disturb his thoughts]. Shall I begin my work?

Peter [putting the picture back, rather hurriedly]. Yes, certainly — of course — We will begin right away. This will be your special province — Miss Miller — this desk, here [leading her to the small desk beside his own].

Judith. Oh, think of it!

Peter [in a business like way]. You may start right in by sorting the sheets of this manuscript and getting them in order, before we make a final copy.

Judith [taking the papers to the desk and sitting down]. Shall I number the pages a little more plainly? You can hardly read some of them.

Peter. Yes, if you will please. Now I shall have to run out for a little while. My publishers wish to see me, but I shall be back shortly. If any one should call, and the matter seems important, keep him.

Judith. I shall remember.

Peter [his hand on the door and looking back]. It is just possible that a Dr. Talbert of St. Stephen's Hospital may call.

Judith [as the door closes, exclaims]. Oh, I hope not!

Peter [opening the door again and putting his head in]. Or an old gentleman by the name of Monroe may drop in.

Judith [as he closes the door again, exclaims in fear}. Oh! Oh! [then with a tragic little laugh"}. How awful!

Mrs. Foster [coming in from sitting room}. Where's Mr. Peter? [as she goes over to the fireplace and makes ready to polish the brass"}.

Judith [looking very glum}. Gone out for a short time.

Mrs. Foster [looking over to Judith]. You don't like this work of bein' secretary, Miss?

Judith [with a comical smile}. Oh, yes, I do, very much.

Mrs. Foster [as she goes on with her work}. Well, you've certainly made a great hit with Mr. Peter to start with.

Judith [with interest}. Do you think so, I thought he said you engaged me?

Mrs. Foster. Don't I know him, Miss? Why, I've been takin' care of him 'most his whole life.

Judith. You have?

Mrs. Foster. Except, of course, when he goes away for studyin', so as to write somethin'.

Judith. Does he go often?

Mrs. Foster. Often enough. Once he was gone 'most three years.

Judith. That's a long time. When was that?

Mrs. Foster. Near nine years now. There's the steamer he went off on [pointing to a picture on the mantelpiece}. The Ionia is the name of her.

Judith. Yes, I know her. She's a big ship.

Mrs. Foster. Tou know her? You must tell Mr. Peter that. He's most interested in that picture there.

Judith. I could tell you about a girl who crossed on her once [a starry look comes into her eyes as she speaks]. It was years ago, now. She was sixteen then — going over to a school in Switzerland.

Mrs. Foster [looking up with interest]. Now, you don't say?

Judith. Just this girl and her governess.

Mrs. Foster. Well, well!

Judith. Such interesting people she met. ,

Mrs. Foster [polishing]. Do tell!

Judith [dreamily]. But there was one, in particular.

Mrs. Foster [leading her on]. Was there now?

Judith. One day he played shuffle board ^ith her.

Mrs. Foster. In the dinin' saloon, I s'pose.

Judith. No! On deck, of course.

Mrs. Foster. Just fancy that, now.

Judith. Then after that, he asked her to promenade.

Mrs. Foster [puzzled]. To what.

Judith. Walk with him — just him — every day.

Mrs. Foster. My! My!

Judith. Sometimes he was very lively, and at other times so serious.

Mrs. Foster [knowingly nodding her head]. The motion of the vessel, I s'pose.

Judith [oblivious]. She liked him best, though, when he was serious, — and such talks as they did have.

Mrs. Foster. Talks?

Judith. About everything — Oh, so interesting!

Mrs. Foster. Think of that!

Judith. Sometimes they would sit for hours in

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the sun and let it dry the salt spray on them while she listened — and sometimes — [the door bell rings bringing them both suddenly back to the reality of the moment].

Mrs. Foster [jumping up]. Oh! dear! Now, who can that be?

Judith [starting to her feet also as Mrs. Foster goes to the door}. Perhaps I had better take my work to the other? [looking toward the room beyond],

Mrs. Foster. Not a bit of it, Miss, not a bit of it, — don't disturb yourself. [As she goes in response to the bell Judith bends her head over her work to hide herself as much as possible , and is apparently very busy when the door opens and Mrs. Foster leads a gentleman into the room. He is in the uniform of a medical officer of the army, — a young man, twenty-seven or -eight, — tall, dark complexion, manly, straightforward; yet in his sensitive features there is a strange mingling of purpose and futility."]

Mrs. Foster [as she withdraws, and Judith with bent head, keeps on working]. Will you wait here, sir, please.

He [looking in Judith's direction]. How soon do you think Mr. Storm will return? My name is Dr. Brent, and I should like very much to see him.

Judith [relieved at hearing a strange voice, looks up]. Mr. Storm said he would be out only a short time. Won't you be seated ? [goes to work again].

Dr. Brent [in a matter of fact tone]. Thank you, Miss Monroe.

Judith [looks up in utter amazement]. How do you know my name?

Dr. Brent. Seen you often enough in your father's car, when he's been coming to the hospital — St. Stephen's, where he's President of the Board.

Judith. You have! [then looking at him more intently\ Oh! I think I recognize you too, now. You used to work in the dispensary there. Didn't you?

Dr. Brent. I still work there.

Judith. But the uniform.

Dr. Brent. Oh, I'm on my way to a drill some of us doctors are having.

Judith. Do you really think this country is going to get in the war at last?

Dr. Brent. Nobody knows for certain; so we're just drilling up a bit, you see.

Judith [after a short pause\ Excuse me, but are you a friend of Mr. Storm's?

Dr. Brent [warmly^ I should say so. He and I were at school together. Why he was the hero of the school and the best friend of all the younger boys, and I was the youngest.

Judith [with a laugh~\ Oh, I'm so glad to hear that you and he are friends.

Dr. Brent [concerned^. He isn't in any trouble, is he?

Judith. No, it is for myself. I'm in a terrible mess and I want you to help me, if you will.

Dr. Brent [politely^. I shall be most glad if I can be of any help.

Judith [with a funny little smile~\. Well, you see my father and mother don't know that I'm a working girl now, and I mean to get a good start before they do. I got this place through an "ad" in the paper.

Dr. Brent. You may depend upon me, I sha'n't mention it, Miss Monroe.

Judith [excitedly]. Oh! Oh! Oh! but you mustn't call me Miss Monroe. !d

Dr. Brent. Oh, Pm sorry, but I don't think I know you well enough to — to — [a bell is heard to ring which brings Judith to her feet],

Judith [peering across the room as if in contemplated flight]. Who can that be?

Dr. Brent. Sounded like a telephone bell.

Judith [as she sinks into the seat again], I'm all on edge.

Mrs. Foster [entering and addressing Judith J. There's some one on the telephone for Mr. Peter. Can you tell me where he can be gotten ?

Judith. He is probably on his way here by now.

Mrs. Foster [as she withdraws]. Thank you, Miss Miller, I'll tell 'em.

Dr. Brent [raising his eyebrows]. Miss Miller?

Judith. Yes, if you please — Judith Miller Monroe is my name — so Miss Miller, if you please. If Mr. Storm knew that I was the rich Miss Monroe he — [with the rippling laugh which was one of her greatest charms] he might not want to pay my wages.

Dr. Brent. He — He —

Judith [quickly], I know what you are thinking. That he might not think that I was worth any. I know that most people believe that when a girl's rich, she can't really be in earnest about anything that counts.

Dr. Brent [smiling]. Well, I guess most of 'em are only educated for the parlor floor, and that's not much use when the cook leaves; but it's not generally the girl's fault, I'll say that.

Judith. Thank you for that last, Dr. Brent.

Dr. Brent. And so you are going to try it on your own now?

Judith [laughing again]. If not captured, I am. But I must go to work. There are some books over there.

Dr. Brent [taking the hint, sits down with a book']. Thank you.

Judith [after a moment's pause, continuing her work]. You'll not say anything?

Dr. Brent. Certainly not, Miss Mon — Miss Miller.

[Peter bursts into the room catching sight of his visitor as he enters."]

Peter. Hello, Bobby Brent — My dear boy, and reading one of my own books, upside down too. You probably thought it was written that way — that's what most people think — well any way, I'm mighty glad to see you.

[Judith takes her work and quietly withdraws to the sitting room.]

Dr. Brent [as he jumps up to meet Peter coming across to him with hands outstretched]. Peter, — my old friend Peter, how are you after all these years?

Peter. Never better. Come, let's sit down.

Dr. Brent [as they sit]. You know, Peter, I had an awful shock not long ago. I thought you were dead.

Peter. The deuce you did. That was a cheery thought.

Dr. Brent. Saw your name in the papers. "Peter Storm dead" it said in big print. And then I saw it wasn't you after all, but that old Storm who had such a wad of wealth and lived in that old castle like house on Fifth Avenue. He wasn't any relative of yours, was he Peter?

Peter. Uncle, that's all.

Dr. Brent. You don't say so?

Peter. My father's oldest brother.

Dr. Brent. So you've come in for some of the big estate?

Peter. I happen to be the only heir.

Dr. Brent. You don't mean to say so? Why the papers said he was worth millions.

Peter. In a way, the papers were right, as they sometimes are.

Dr. Brent. What do you mean?

Peter. He was worth millions at one time, I believe.

Dr. Brent. But not at his death?

Peter. Nor for some years, but this was not generally known. The fact is, it was a conceit of the old gentleman's that it should not be known, — - so he kept the show up until the cash went. Then he went.

Dr. Brent. And he left you nothing?

Peter [laughing}. Maybe enough to buy cigars with. I don't smoke much.

Dr. Brent. I say, that is hard luck.

Peter. On the contrary, it's becoming very amusing. In fact it's providing me with more fun than I ever thought a legacy capable of.

Dr. Brent [looking blank}. Amusing? Fun?

Peter. Exactly. I have now become — it seems — the centre — I may say, the very bull's eye for all the high class philanthropic archery in the city. My popularity as a possible incubator for the indigent has become positively enormous.

Dr. Brent. Why, Peter, how can you make so light of charity?

Peter. Light of charity ? Don't think it. Why, as a matter of fact, I'm very much interested in the subject of charity, and all our great philanthropists too! I have reason to be.

Dr. Brent. Reason to be?

Peter. I think so! One of 'em finished ofF my father before I was ten! That started me thinking on the ways of our philanthropy.

Dr. Brent. I don't understand.

Peter. Naturally, most doctors are on the profitable side of alms giving, and don't want to understand.

Dr. Brent. You think that I — ?

Peter. No, Bobby, not for a moment, if you're in"the net, it's because you don't see its meshes.

Dr. Brent. But your father — ■ How did it happen ?

Peter. Well, if I put the story in a nut shell, maybe you'll see the worm. Here it is. My father had built up a business in the Middle West, and was doing well. Out of a clear sky 'long came one of those big trusts which feed on small enterprises, came along with its offer to absorb his business — or smash it. He put up a fight, but they crashed him.

Dr. Brent [_slowly~]. Ruined him?

Peter. Yes, but that's an old story. It's not the worm. The thing broke his faith and broke his health. An infection that was going the rounds got him, and he became seriously ill. To save his life, they said he should be taken to the hospital. There was only the one hospital there, and when he discovered that it was the man who had crumpled up his life and happiness, who was supporting the hospital — offering aid in the name of Christianity, to the poor, because it was considered good business policy, he refused to be taken there.

Dr. Brent [intently'}. And so ?

Peter. Yes, and so he died. My mother followed shortly after, leaving me with the faithful old nurse, who opened the door for you today.

Dr. Brent [visibly stirred}. Is he alive still — that man — the head of the big trust?

Peter [slowly}. I don't know. [Silence in which his eyes wander off in thought. Then turning suddenly.} It was the system, Bobby, that this man represented, which brought out this personal story; the vicious system which helps to numb the character and suck the blood of self-respect, and to break down the spirit of self-support of the poor devils who are led to believe that they are actually getting something for nothing in these free for all hospitals. That's the worm which lies in the nut, Bobby!

Dr. Brent. But, Peter, if we are not going to have these hospitals, what in the world is to take their place?

Peter. Give the people hospitals which are supported on the merits of medicine and surgery, and make them accessible to all people of all classes. If such institutions can't support themselves, then the doctoring art isn't worth a damn.

Dr. Brent [questioning}. You would make no provision for those who cannot pay?

Peter. Look here, Bobby, don't you know that poverty is a crime? It's society's crime! That's no longer a secret; and that in it we breed the anarchists, the Bolshevists, the idle and the ill! \ Dr. Brent [persisting}. Mustn't we have hospitals for them ?

Peter. Isn't it up to the state to provide all of these so-called free institutions; and isn't it up to the citizens, the tax payers, to see that they elect the kind of officials who will take good and humane care of the poor we produce, or import from Russia, and also to work toward the prevention of this class?

Dr. Brent [with enthusiasm]. By Jove, Peter, that would not only reduce the sick list, but cut out most of the dependents and trouble makers as well. Now I wonder that some doctor hasn't thought of that.

Peter [laughing]. It is funny that some doctor hasn't thought of it.

Dr. Brent [nettled]. What the deuce are you laughing at any way?

Peter. Why, Bobby, my boy, I was only joking. Didn't you know that supporting a hospital and spearing paupers for it is considered our most reputable national sport ? Don't it show our big American heart? Can you find me an elderly man of wealth who will not tell you that next to his game of golf it's his most refreshing pastime ?

Dr. Brent [after a moment 9 s reflection], I guess perhaps we doctors haven't given much thought to that side of the subject. You see the important thing for us, is to have hospitals and clinics provided for us.

Peter. The important thing for the doctors, you say? I'm afraid that's so. Yes, I'm very much afraid that's so.

Dr. Brent [innocent of the thrust}. You'll say that things — I mean conditions, are pretty bad then?

Peter [soberly}. It's the clutching after the wage slaves with one hand, and flinging out alms with the other, — these things bring unrest, discontent, strikes, extravagant demands; whether we have war or not, Bobby, you will see the laboring class plotting and striking — and — and — maybe worse.

Dr. Brent. But after this war there may be changes.

Peter. For this country it is hard to say; but for Europe yes, there will be changes. Great changes. There, there will be a new society. It will be a society made of men and women whose power will be drawn from courage and accomplishment and not from check books.

Dr. Brent. You mean to say they will be ahead of us?

Peter [sadly}. More than ever.

Judith [appearing at the door with manuscript papers in her hand}. Oh! I'm sorry Mr. Storm, I thought you were alone.

Peter. That's all right. Come in, Miss Miller.

Dr. Brent [looking at his watch}. And I must be off too, Peter, or I'll be late for a little drill some of us medicos are pulling off this morning.

Peter. Well, I am glad to see you're going to be an army surgeon, for if we do have war, I may have personal need for your services — over there.

Dr. Brent [soberly and bowing to Judith as he moves toward the door}. I think they've picked me out to do the post-mortem work, when we get there, Peter.

Peter [looking at Brent with a smile}. Aheml Thanks, thanks very much Bobby.

Dr. Brent [with a smile'}- Well, good-bye, Peter. Hope to see you soon.

Peter [as he shakes hands at the door}. The * sooner, the better, Bobby. Good bye —

Judith [as Peter returns to desk}. I have all the pages in order, I think.

Peter [as Judith hands him the MS. and sits}. Was it quite a job ?

Judith. Oh, no! I finished it long ago. I've been reading some of it — I hope you don't mind.

Peter. Well, what do you make of it?

Judith [with expression of wonder}. I never could have believed it possible — that the poor people were really being injured instead of assisted by all the charity they receive.

Peter. Well, — No, I suppose not.

Judith. Do you think that the people who give money to these charities are really heartless?

Peter. By no means — most of them are merely thoughtless.

Judith. But not all of them, I should hope.

Peter. No, no! Not by any means. Some of them are very clever.

Judith. Oh, I hate to think of it.

Peter. Nobody does.

Judith. Do you know if some one could only write a play about it. Even if it were only a Shaw dialogue, it would be better than nothing.

Peter. No, no! That would never do. People go to the theatre to be amused, not to be exposed.

Judith. But think of all the people who come here to the city after the truth, — how interested they would be.

Peter. People don't come to this city after the truth. They come so as to get away from it, and be comfortable.

Judith. But supposing poor people were told of the effect of this charity upon them?

Peter [with a laugh~\. Society wouldn't thank you for that effort. Why, it's about the best bait there is for holding them in our big cities to do certain kinds of disagreeable, but highly profitable, labor; such as working under ground or in dangerous trades, where their lungs are poisoned or their legs cut off.

Judith [horrified^]. How ghastly!

Peter [continuing]. No, we couldn't run these big overcrowded cities with their low breeding places of crime and disease, if it wasn't for our charity [then with a smile], but then, you know, it justifies our luxury.

Judith [after a moment, anxiously"]. But, — but if we stopped our support of the poor people, they'd die.

Peter. Don't you believe it. They'd dig. Yes, and they'd go where they could dig, and plant and grow food, and pick health and strength from the soil; — and likewise honesty. Phew! But this modern world is an amusing muddle. Come, Miss Secretary, let's go to work.