The sympathy of the people, a drama of today

Preface

The plot of "The Sympathy of the People" was suggested and inspired by the now historic policeman's strike in Boston on September 9, 1919.

Like all plays and works of fiction there is no attempt to adhere to facts either in the course of events or in the characters portrayed. In the Boston police strike there was no important love affair, no Lucy Knowles, no Dennis Wiggs, no Grimes, and no banks were broken into.

In Boston today there are many, who like Samuel Gompers, believe the disastrous strike was "framed" in order to allow labor to ride to a fall, as it apparently did.

No event could have been staged — if it were staged — with greater genius and with results more far-reaching in the struggle between capital and labor. From coast to coast there set in a reaction against labor which did much to carry a conservative president into office, with the illustrious governor of Massachusetts for second place.

Of course, a considerable portion of substantial Boston denies vehemently any preconceived plot to injure the labor unions and the labor movement generally.

Who is right or who is wrong in the controversy the author does not pretend to say.

He saw a possible plot; he took advantage of a great drama enacted in real life; and he shaped a dramatic story in a faraway town which would make a thrilling and absorbing play.

Here is an attempt to give amusement; to depict real human characters; to provide wholesome fun; and to mirror deep and absorbing love in artistic and dramatic form — for, after all, "THE PLAY'S THE THING!"

A Drama of Today — In Four Acts

Cast of Characters:

LIZZIE Woman of All Work

SAMMIE .Village Newsboy

LUCY KNOWLES Niece of Banker Knowles, Employed in Bank

IRA HATHAWAY Special Bank Officer — Guardian of People's Money

ROBERT P. KNOWLES President and Director of Mapleton Bank

DENNIS W. WIGGS. . Farm Hand, Timid in the Dark

MRS. DENNIS WIGGS Wife of Dennis, and Head of the Family

JASON Mill Hand,

TONY PATRONI • Mill Hand

TOM WALSH Head of Metal Trades Union

PRESTON MORTON Manufacturer, and Head of Munition Factory

JUDGE DAVID HILTON President of Red Lands Oil Company

BILL KRAMER. Editor and Owner of Loganville Courier

SPIKE Confederate, Crook

DUMPY Confederate, Crook

DESPERADO Nameless, and a Bad One

PAL • Devil 's Assistant

BANK CASHIER

MAGGIE The Crook

BILLINGS, ANNA SWARTZ, HENNESSY, WIDOW SMITH, ABE MORRIS,

Mill Hands

JOE MILLER Sheriff

CITIZENS, BANK CUSTOMERS, ETC.

Scene — The Interior of the Mapleton Bank.

Extending across rear is the grill with two cashiers' windows. Through the decorative iron work may be seen the outer bank, two large plate glass windows framing a pleasant landscape. At the right of the grUl is the large safe. At the left end of grill is a gate connecting the inner with the outer bank. Off left, not in view, is front door to which is attached a bell. The sound of the opening of door is important. A banker's desk with swivel chair and other chairs are left. On opposite side of room is a desk and typewriter; a tall desk holding the bank ledgers, and by it is a high stool.

There is a door down left, and two doors right leading to offices.

It is early morning, the window curtains are still down, and a night light burns. The door is heard to open, and Grimes, the veteran bookkeeper, appears and enters inner bank.

He is a man of fifty, iron gray, stooping shoulders, prematurely wrinkled, thin, and apologetic. His dress and entire make-up are scrupulously neat. He has a tired appearance. His hat and coat he hangs on a rack, and he then goes to his ledger to work after turning on the electric light above his head.

Lizzie, the scrub woman and general cleaner, enters. She has a coal hod in one hand and duster in the other. She is a middle-aged woman, not foreign in appearance, a village personage who has had a common school education, and is the mother of a healthy family of children. She is sympathetic and motherly, and is surprised to see Grimes at his desk so early.

LIZZIE — You are at your hooks ear'y, Mr. Grimes?

GRIMES— (He is rather deaf)— Eh?

LIZZIE — (Louder) — You are in early, Mr. Grimes.

GRIMES — My hooks wouldn't balance last night, and I worked till twelve.

LIZZIE— (Puzzled)— Balance is it? They are sure heavy enough to balance anything of their size. What do you mean by balance?

GRIMES — The books have to show where the money is. If they don't they can't balance. There has to be as much on the books as there is in the safe. There is thirty cents out somewhere.

LIZZIE — Is that all it is? and you working night and day to find it. Why don't you stop looking in those old musty books for it and search the floor and under the rugs?

GRIMES— What's that?

LIZZIE — (Loudly, while she gets out her pocketbook.) If it's thirty cents will balance your books, here it is and welcome you are. (Hauds Grimes change.)

GRIMES— (Eefusing.) You don't understand, Lizzie; the books show that there is tliirty cents more in the bank than these figures account for. You see —

LIZZIE — Oh, if it would make it any easier, I'll take that extra thirty pennies and say nothin' about it, and you can go home an finish your sleep.

GRIMES — You can't help in that way. (With a gesture of impatience hands Lizzie a paper upon which many columns of figures have been seribbled.) Lizzie, if you can find where I have missed tliirty cents you might become a bank auditor.

LIZZIE — When I was in school they called me the champion adder.

GRIMES — (Does not liear what Lizzie has said.) Mr. Knowles is always out of patience when he can't begin the day with the books straight; he gets very angry. It isn't pleasant, Lizzie, not pleasant at all. (Forgets Lizzie, and burie'* liead in books, hears nothing.)

LIZZIE— (Sitting in chair left.) Shows by face and fingers she' is trying to add. Aloud.) Four and eight, and six, and two, and — ^My soul, what a lot of money — oh, I'm aU mixed up — and I the grand adder that I was. (Counts on fingers.) It's no use; it's too much to keep in one person's head.

There is no balance in these figers, Mr. Grimes. Balance, balance — how can anything balance in this bank anyway?

How does your salary balance wit' that of Mr. Knowles? And how does my daily wages balance with all the money in that safe? You say, Mr. Knowles wiU be angry to learn that thirty cents is gone; he hasn't any balance, that's sure.

Ten and three is thirteen — there are too many thirteens in these figers; thirteens don't go with me. Eight and six is — there's another thirteen.

There's a combination in this bank that don't balance — two and two is four; I like figers when they come like that — There is Miss Lucy, Banker Knowles' own niece, workin' here like a slave. I'll begin at the top and run down — eight and nine is seventeen, and six is (counts slowly) twenty-three — another hoodoo. Miss Lucy is one fine young lady, and she's got two grand young men both trjrin' to balance with her at the same time. That's a three combination that work's bad for one — I wonder which will be the one — twenty-three and seven are thirty — (Takes pencil from Knowles' desk and copies figures on another page of paper).

Ned Errickson looks to me as though he was tipping the scales and holdin' Miss Lucy's heart over there in France; there is more glory in killin' folks on the other side of the world than protectin' the bank at home like Ira Hathaway does. Them that stay at home have precious little chance to show whether they are brave or not.

If Ira could only brace up and show what's in him he might have a show, bein' he's right here on the ground — these fresh figers are better, I can see 'em plainer — five and five and three. This looks bad, Mr. Grimes (Looks towards Grimes, who has not heard anything. She goes over to him and speaks loudly.) Do they balance yet, Mr. Grimes?

GRIMES— Not yet.

LIZZIE — I'm sorry for you, Mr.

Grimes; and Mr. Knowles comin' any moment. Why don't you go where they wouldn't drive you so hard over thirty cents?

GRIMES — I have been twenty years in this bank, Lizzie, and Mr. Knowles is a just and honest man even if he is hard at times.

It is because he is fair that I stay and work for him. I had rather starve than work for a man who isn't square. If Mr. Knowles should ever do anything like that I would send in my — what am I talking about, he never would. Bell rings. Enter Sammie, Newsboy.)

SAMMIE — Mr. Knowles' paper. Shall I leave it on his desk?

LIZZIE — (Taking up figures again.) I reckon, but don't bother. Mr. Grimes and I are balancing the books, before the boss comes in and gets mad. Eight and four is twelve, and one — (counting on fingers).

SAMMIE — If it's addin' iigures, I am the man you are looking for. I'm a star mathematician, second year High.

You say it's got to be done before Mr. Knowles comes in or he'll be peeved. All right, give me one of them — those papers. (Takes paper.) Gee, is aU this money in the bank? (In loud voice.) Tliirty-two and fifteen is — are — forty-seven, and eleven are fiftyeight, and sixty -five is — (scratches head). (Outside door is heard to open.)

LIZZIE — Oh, there he comes. Now we'll catch it for not havin' the books balanced. Six and six are thirteen, and two more is two more, and nine is nine more, and, oh dear, I'm aU mixed up and don't know which are dollars and what is sense.

SAMMIE — Twenty and thirty-two are fifty-two and eighteen are — is —

LIZZIE — Twenty-two and two is twenty-four, and — (counts on fingers).

LUCY— (Enter Lucy Knowles. She stands smiling and amazed. She is a comely girl with a charming manner, a girl of culture and education, combined with quick sympathies and executive ability. Her first appearance shows her a friend worth having.) I declare, what is all the figgerin"? Is this a regular arithmetic lesson?

SAMMIE — We thought you was — were — Mr. Knowles, and the books wasn't balanced, and —

LIZZIE — It was like this, Miss Lucy.

Mr. Grimes worked here till twelve last night, and his books wouldn't balance, and he came early to see if he couldn't make 'em come out right, and we was helpin' him. He don't know what has become of thirty cents.

LUCY— Oh, that's it, is it? (Goes to Grimes, who has not noticed what has been taking place.) Lizzie tells me you are shy thirty cents; can I help you?

GRIMES — (Looking up with gratitude.) I should be most grateful. My books show too much, and I can't put my finger on the trouble.

LUCY — (Runs over figures.) These add aU right. Have you yesterday's checks? (Grimes brings package of checks.) (She runs over them.) Here's your mistake. Grimes, and it's really my fault; I meant to warn you yesterday of this check. That is a one, but someone started to make a four, and you copied it as four. Are you sure that your difference is thirty cents?

GRIMES— (Relieved.) Thank you, Miss Lucy. You seem to be the one who always pulls me out of a hole. Your uncle never allows excuses.

SAMMIE — Hurrah! We've balanced the books. Come, Mrs. Mack, I guess you and I can go now.

LUCY — Hold on, Sammie, I want a paper. (Gives five cents. Boy starts to make change.) Never mind the change, Sam; your work on the books is surely worth three cents.

LIZZIE — Not much more I guess.

SAMMIE — WeU, your figerin' didn't get you very far.

LIZZIE — (Nettled.) I was considered the best at figgererin' in school where I went. (Following Sam out, both disputing about their respective merits in arithmetic. Lucy opens her typewriter desk and dusts machine. Ira Hathaway enters from left. Tall, pleasant appearing man wearing the uniform of a special officer. He limps slightly. He is guardian of the bank and has charge of all details of the building. A responsible position re- Cjuiring intelligence and even courage.)

IRA — Good morning. Miss Lucy; morning Grimes. (Goes to large windows and pulls shades letting in a flood of morning sunshine. He puts out hall light, and then takes his tools and begins to fix catch on door into grill. He whistles softly.)

LUCY — You are in good spirits. Has the simshine got into your tongue?

IRA — Did you ever hear of anyone whistling to keep up his spirits?

LUCY — You are a fine actor then, and should join our dramatic club. Our play comes off next week, "The Lion and the Mouse. ' ' What kind of a mouse do you think I'll make?

IRA — (Stopping work and coming a few steps toward Lucy.) I don't exactly think of you as a mouse, and I've seen you talking to your uncle in a way quite different from a mouse. No; you are not my idea of a mouse, and I ought to know.

LUCY — (Looks about with apprehension.) I abominate the little wretches. Do you mean there are mice in this bank?

IRA — No, I don't remember that I ever saw a mouse here, but in my palace-de-royal over the shed there are plenty. I think some fond mother has set up a nest in my corn husk mattress, by the soiuid.

LUCY — That sounds pleasant, but really I am in earnest about our dramatic club. Since all the boys went to camp and overseas we have the hardest time to get any men to do the male parts. Couldn't you come to the hall next Thursday evening?

IRA — Are you joking. Miss Lucy? AVhat time do you think an officer like me has to join in good times? My job is here every night in the week, and your uncle has told me more than once that I am to trust to no substitute.

LUCY — How many hours do you work ansrway?

IRA — I am on duty from seventy to eighty hours each week, and I hardly know a holiday unless someone reminds me.

LUCY — That isn't right; you ought to have at least one night a week to go to a dance, or to a social where you can forget everything but a good time.

IRA — That sounds fine when you talk about it like that, but I have my bread and butter to earn, and then there is mother, so here I am tied to my post with some quiet time to read. The books you have lent me, Lucy, are just like friends.

LUCY— Have you finished "Co-operative Banking"? I want to read it again.

IRA — Yes, I'll go and get it right now. (Runs out door left.) (Lucy reads her paper.)

LUCY — Mr, Grimes. (Louder.)

Grimes, come here a minute. (Grimes comes to Lucy.) Here is something that might interest you. (Shows Grimes advertisement in paper of audi-phone. He shakes his liead skeptically. Reads.) ' ' The audiphone guarantees a distinct sound, and will bring hearing back to nine out of ten. If given a thorough try it will gather up the minutest sounds and transmit them to the auditory nerves. Give it a fair try, and if it fails, return the instrument at our expense. ' '

GRIMES — I haven't any faith in such a contrivance.

LUCY — I'll order that for you on trial if you will promise to follow my directions for at least two weeks.

GRIMES — If you really want the satisfaction of seeing it fail, I'll do the best I can to show you it's no use. I'll go through with it I suppose.

LUCY — It isn't a question whether you will go through it, but whether SOUND will go through it, and that is worth trying. It's a bargain. Grimes? (Grimes shakes hands and goes back to books.) (Lucy starts to write order on typewriter.) Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could get your hearing. Grimes? (Grimes does not hear.) (Ira returns with book. Gives it to Lucy.) That's my idea of business, everybody having a share and responsibility.

IRA — It is a wonderful idea. What do you say? Let's start a co-operative bank. You be the banker, and I drum up trade.

LUCY — We'll make a specialty of financing co-operative movements. We might get an entire village into one big co-operative company and then —

IRA — And then what?

LUCY — Be told by the wise bankers like my uncle that we are foolish dreamers.

IRA — Suppose he shoiUd, what difference would it make, if an entire village shared in the good things instead of one or two families?

LUCY — I shaU lend you no more books, young man, depend on that. No such idealism has a ghost of a chance of realization. Socialism may be an ideal, but (imitating uncle) men are far too selfish to live on any such theory; as my uncle would say.

IRA — I certainly don't see any opportunity of carrying anything out in this bank like co-operation. The salaries we get show how much your xmcle wants to share his profits with us.

LUCY — Don't try to get me into an economic controversy. I hear uncle rave so often over what he calls rohhery by employes, confiscation of legitimate profits by labor delegates, holdups, he calls them, that I refuse to take sides.

lEA — But they bring more to the bank.

LUCY — That is just it; as a banker who takes those savings and loans out money for rates from 5 to 100 per cent, he is not half so angry as he is as part owner in the factory.

lEA — How does it make you feel, Lucy, when those factory girls, hardly able to speak English, bring in their wages?

LUCY — Many of them are getting more than I do. Uncle says my job is respectable and worth something because of the position it gives me in Mapleton. I had rather be less respectable and have more money.

IRA — That is exactly what I told your uncle, and he grew angry. We bank employes have to take our pay in respectability; about four dollars worth of respectability with every three dollars in wages. I have hinted to your uncle, and I have frankly asked him a dozen times to raise ray salary, but he won't do a thing.

LUCY — (Turning; and facing Ira.) The trouble with you, Ira, is that you are altogether too meek with uncle. I've heard you speaking about the condition of the room he gives you, and I have also heard you putting the matter of wages up to Mm. You don't know how to talk to such a man. What he needs occasionally a good bowling out. Such men do not appreciate meekness. I advise you to go at him like you meant business.

IRA — Talk as though I woiild strike if he didn't pay attention to my requests?

LUCY — Certainly, why not?

IRA — That's all well enough, but you know perfectly well the reason I'm not in the factory or in the hay field is because I am not physically able to do the work.. What job could I get if I left here? If it were not for mother I might take a chance, but as things are I ha,ve to stick and make the best of it.

LUCY — You are too timid, Ira Hathaway, and if you keep on in this mouse fashion you'll never get a raise or a better room. I know that men are the rarest articles in the market just now, and there isn't anyone who could or v/ould take your place. Of course, if uncle wanted to pay mill wages he might get someone, but even then there are few who would work so many hours. You have the whip hand if you only knev/ it and had the courage to face the music.

IRA — You have no right to say that I am not brave and lack courage. I'd be in the trenches with Ned Errickson and all the rest of them if they would have accepted me. You know that, Lucy.

LUCY — It isn't only in the trenches courage is required. If Ned were here at home he would be finding some way to show the red blood that is in liim. It isn't only fighting at the front a girl admires. The fact is. I can't bear to think of our village boys killing anyone. I wish war would leave the killing out, and I hope Ned wont have to kill any of those poor deluded (shudders) enemy.

Just now the world needs courage at home as much as abroad, and it is a scarce article, Ira.

MAIL CARRIER— (Outside). Mail.

LUCY — There is the mail, bring it in, please, there may be word from Ned. (Ira brings in mail. Lucy looks it over and is disappointed as she finds nothing from Ned. Knowles, the banker, enters and is seen for a moment in the rear of the bank. Ira works industriously on his lock, while Lucy examines mail. Knowles enters inner bank and proceeds to take off wraps. Talks to Ira without looking at him.)

(Knowles is a typical appearing country banker wearing a gray suit. He is gray about the temples and is clean shaven. He is rather thick set, and his every move, look and gesture betrays him to be a money maker and a worshipper of the dollar. When inside the grill he speaks with irritation, imperiously, as an autocrat in his own domain.)

KNOWLES— What is the matter

With the sidewalk, Ira? It's indecent, absolutely indecent with old papers and leaves right up to the doorway. I should be ashamed to have a customer see that filth. I suppose you know the sidewalk is one of your lookouts?

IRA — Yes, sir; I was intending to get right at it.

KNOWLES— WeU, do it at once; and hereafter make it one of your first chores — (looking significantly at Lucy) — and postpone your social calls. (Ira starts to make reply, but thinks better of it and goes out front.) (Knowles sits at his desk.) Come, Lucy, let's have the mail. I ought to be hearing from those oil shares. They tell me the Red Lands are beginning to spurt.

LUCY — Here are your letters and papers, uncle, and there is one from the Red Lands Oil Company.

KNOWLES — (Tearing letter open hastily and reading.) No, Higgins says the big day has not yet arrived, but a strike is looked for any moment. There's millions out there, Lucy, and Judge Hilton is one of the shrewdest financial organizers in the world. I told him once he would carry the earth in his vest pocket some day, and he knows how to handle labor better than any man living. (Discovers postal sticking to another envelope.) (Reads.) "We are in the thick of it now, Lucy,

I can tell you " HeUo, what kind

of business is this? It strikes me as queer banking. It's from Ned Errickson; so, ho, and it is addressed to Miss Lucy Knowles. (Lucy takes postal eagerly.) I think it would be better, young lady, if your gentlemen friends and soldiers doing duty in France would address you at home.

LUCY — Oh, uncle, Ned has been in a big engagement, and has come through without a scratch and with honors. How wonderful! He must own a charmed life.

KNOWLES— (Looking with kindly interest at Lucy.) I am inclined to believe he does own a charmed life, but that particular life may be right here in Mapleton instead of in the trenches.

LUCY — I don't know what you mean. Ned and I have never been intimate, but I do admire him for his spirit and courage. Somehow, I like to believe he wouldn't be rough and cruel like some soldiers I have read about. (Ira has entered and stands silently in the rear, while Lucy is speaking of Ned and bravery. He is evidently much moved. When she finishes speaking he comes down to the banker with determination written on his face, and indicated by his bearing.)

KNOWLES— (Taking no notice of Ira.) You needn't hesitate, Lucy. He is one of the finest young men in this town, and with a great future before him. If it's pluck and bravery you like, he's got his fuU share of both. You can take it from me, if he finds himself in a nest of Hvms it will be one sad day for his enemies, or they will find him dead at his post. There isn't a man with his courage in these parts.

IRA — May I have a word with you, sir, on business?

KNOWLES— (Nettled at interruption, but seeing that Ira is determined, motions Lucy to her desk.) Must we be alone? Would you prefer the young lady retire?

IRA — I should like to be alone with you, sir.

KNOWLES — (Looks curiously at Ira, and then motions for Lucy to retire.) (She takes her papers and goes out, but gives Ira an understanding look as she does so.)

LUCY — Very well, uncle, I shall be in the next room if you want me.

KNOWLES — (Sorting papers a moment, then looking keenly at the young man in front of him.) Well, what is it? This is a busy morning, as you know, and the mill people will be here with their pay envelopes before long. Be brief.

IRA — I want to speak about that room of mine again.

KNOWLES— (With rising anger.) So that's it, is it. What's the matter with that room anyway? I'm getting sick and tired of your complaints. That room over the shed is better than most of the people in this town enjoy, to say nothing of the mill hands. I suppose you want quarters in a parlor of the Ritz Carlton or some other New York hotel.

IRA — No, I do not. I want justice and fair treatment. I make it my business to guard tliis bank faithfully, and you trust me, and you know I would not leave my post in the face of danger — you know that.

KNOWLES — Well, that is what you are paid for aren't you?

IRA — Look here, Mr. Knowles, I've been special officer and general superintendent of this bank for six years, and in all that time you haven't given me a decent room to live in, and you know it. I'm tired of playing meek. I've asked you to give that room a good papering, to put new matting on the floor, and to replace that corn husk mattress with something more comfortable. There are lots of mice in that shed and worse in the walls.

KNOWLES — Someone has been putting notions in your head, and you better get rid of ideas which wUl make you continually discontented. You have got along pretty well in that room and I guess you can continue without much inconvenience as you are; however, I'll go so far as to send Martha down some day to look the place over and report what she thinks should be done.

IRA — (Exasperated.) Mr. Knowles, you have said that to me at least a half-dozen times, but Martha never comes. I won't be contented with being put off any longer.

KNOWLES— (Whistles.) You won't, eh?

IRA — No, sir, I won't; and now we are talking, I might as well relieve my mind on the matter of salary, too.

KNOWLES — You are coming it strong. What's the big idea now? A palace to live in and a hundred dollars a week?

IRA — I want a living wage, that's what I want, sir.

KNOWLES— A living wage. Oh, I know where you got that phrase. Front some of those waps who aren't worth fifteen dollars a week, but who are pulling down thirty-five a week in the factory. So, the walking delegates have been talking a living wage to you, have they?

IRA — I haven't talked to any of them. I don't need to. I tell you I am getting too little from this bank to support myself and my mother properly and in good health. Eighteen dollars a week don't buy what it did three years ago, and you know that, sir. My hours are half again as long as the factory hours, and my pay i less. Is that just or right?

KNOWLES— Yes, it's both just and right. Wages, my dear young man, depend upon supply and demand, and it would be poor business for me to give a man incapacitated to do a full man's work a full man's pay. If you could go into the factory and work alongside the others, you could command their pay, but as you can't, I'm doing you a favor by keeping you in a position that is respectable — a gentleman's position.