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Title: The Flutter Of The Goldleaf
Author: Olive Tilford Dargan [
More Titles by Dargan]
CHARACTERS
PHILO WARNER, a student
HIRAM WARNER, his father, the village grocer
MARY ANN WARNER, his mother
DR. BELLOWS, the village physician
DR. SEYMOUR, a city specialist
REBA SLOAN, a neighbor's daughter
SCENE: Laboratory in the attic of the Warner cottage. At right, toward rear, entrance from down-stairs. A rude partition, left, with door in centre. Window centre rear. Large kitchen table loaded with apparatus. Shelves, similarly loaded, against wall near table, right. Wires strung about. A rude couch, bench, and several wooden chairs.
Time, about 8 p.m. Lamp burns on table. MRS. WARNER comes up-stairs, puts her head inside the room nervously, then enters and looks about.
Mrs. W.
Such a mess! And the doctors will be here in half an hour!
(Tries to get busy but seems bothered.
Crosses to table and looks at a little
machine that stands upon it.)
That's what's driving my boy crazy!
If I only dared to smash it! The right sort
of a mother would do just that!
(Looks at machine with dire meditation.)
Warner.
(without, roaring up the stairs)
Mary Ann!
Mrs. W.
(jumps)
Yes, Hiram!
Warner.
(entering)
Where's Philo?
Mrs. W.
In the orchard. I watched my chance, and thought
I'd redd up a little. He won't let me touch anything
when he's here.
Warner.
Just about lives up here, don't he?
Mrs. W.
Day and night now, since he's been too sick to go
to the store. And I can't have Dr. Bellows bring
in that specialist from New York with things lookin'
as if a woman had never come up the stairs.
(Dusting and rattling.)
Warner.
Philo's not onto what the doctors are after, is he?
Mrs. W.
He thinks they're coming to look at his machine
mostly--and see what's keepin' him awake nights.
But maybe he knows. He's awful sharp.
Warner.
Sharp? Wish he knew enough to sell eggs and bacon. He's ruinin' my business. Weighs a pound of coffee as if he was asleep. I can see customers watchin' him out o' the tail o' their eye. They're gettin' afraid of him! Mary Ann, the boy's going to be a shame to us. He's crazy!
Mrs. W.
Don't you call my boy crazy.
I won't hear it, Hiram.
Warner.
No, you'll wait till the whole village tells
you! They're all talkin' now!
Mrs. W.
It's none o' their business!
Warner.
It'll be their business if he flies up and hurts somebody.
Mrs. W.
Philo wouldn't hurt anything alive.
He got mad at me once for killin' a spider.
Warner.
(scornfully)
Showed his sense there, didn't he?
Mrs. W.
If Philo's queer it's not from my side of the house.
You know what your mother was like--wanderin' round
nights starin' at the stars with that old spy-glass
Captain Barker gave her.
Warner.
She was a good mother, all the same.
Mrs. W.
Couldn't cook at all. Your father only kept alive
by eating at the neighbors occasionally--and as
for sewing and mending, you children went in rags
till your Aunt Sary came to live with you.
Warner.
Mother thought a heap of us, though. I remember how
she cried because I wouldn't go to school and went
into the grocery business. And she cried a lot more
when I married you. I couldn't understand her--then....
Mrs. W.
Humph! She'd been shut up fast enough if your f
ather hadn't been the softest-hearted man alive.
Warner.
Maybe the boy does take after her,
but he's worse'n she ever was.
Mrs. W.
She didn't have any books--or college
education--to turn her head.
Warner.
Nothing to read but the Weekly Mirror. It was a good paper, though, all about crops and stock, and what the country people were doing, and a love story on the inside page. Father subscribed on her account. She told him her mind had to have something to work on. But she didn't take to the paper, and he had to read it himself to get his money's worth.
Mrs. W.
A good thing she didn't have a library to get at like Philo. All those books he brought home didn't do him any good. He began to get queer about the time he was reading that set of Sir Humphry Davy's Complete Works, with so much about electrics and the stars, and that sort of stuff. If we could only get him to quit this studyin' and stay out-o'-doors....
Warner.
S'pose we clear out this hole--burn the books, and get rid of all these confounded wires and jars and fixings. I don't believe he saves a penny of the wages I give him for helpin' to ruin me. All he makes goes for this truck. We'll clear it out.
Mrs. W.
I've thought of that, but we oughtn't to go too far.
They're his anyhow, and I'm afraid----
Warner.
Well, I'm not afraid! And I'll begin with this devil!
(Pauses over machine. Starts suddenly.)
What's that? He's coming!
Mrs. W.
(listening)
It's only Alice going to her room.
Warner.
Perhaps we'd better see what the specialist says first.
Mrs. W.
I know Dr. Bellows wants us to send Philo away.
But I'm against that, first and last.
Warner.
You wouldn't be if you'd listen to Bellows awhile. You know what he told me when I met him this morning? "Why, Warner," he says, "I never go to see the boy without taking a pair of handcuffs in my pocket. It's the quiet ones that go the wildest when they do break out."
Mrs. W.
Oh, Hiram, it's not going to be so bad as that. Don't let him set you against your own flesh and blood. Just let me manage awhile. He needs to get stirred up about something--get his mind off this. I wish I hadn't stopped those letters he was getting from Reba Sloan when she went off to school two years ago.
Warner.
But you said you'd rather see him dead
than married to Sloan's girl.
Mrs. W.
I meant it, too! But seeing your child dead is
not so bad as seeing him crazy--and if Reba
can save him----
Warner.
How in thunder----
Mrs. W.
She's a taking girl, Hiram--since she got back. If Philo gets his mind fixed on her, she'll soon have him forgettin' this. Why,--you remember for three months before we were married you couldn't think o' nothing but me.
Warner.
Good Lord! Is that so, Mary Ann?
Mrs. W.
I had to hurry up the weddin' to save your business.
You were letting Jabe McKenny take all your trade
right under your nose.
Warner.
Sakes 'a' mighty! If I could come out of a spell
like that, there's some hope for our poor chap.
Mrs. W.
That's what I'm telling you!
Warner.
But Reba's father--you going to have old
fiddler Sloan in the family?
Mrs. W.
He's come into some money now, and any gentleman
can take an interest in music.
Warner.
And the mother was that foreign woman.
Mrs. W.
But she's dead.
It's just as well Philo won't have a mother-in-law.
Warner.
Reba'll have one, all right. If Philo stays queer
it'll be hard on the girl, won't it?
Mrs. W.
He'll not stay queer. If he gets that girl in his
head there won't be room for anything else--for a
while anyway. He'll be worse'n you ever was.
You let me manage it, Hiram.
(PHILO is heard coming up the stairs. They listen
in silence until he enters. He is talking, not
quite audibly, to himself, and doesn't see them.
Goes to table and stands by machine.)
Philo.
Here--at last--I have caught the word ...
the word of the stars.
Mrs. W.
Philo!
Philo.
(looking up)
Mother!... Father!...
(In alarm.)
You haven't touched anything here?
Mrs. W.
No, my son. I've just put the place to rights a bit.
Dr. Seymour is coming, you know.
Philo.
Yes.
(Walks the floor, meditating.)
Warner.
You must come out of this dream, Philo.
Philo.
It is not a dream!
I am the only being in the world who is awake!
Mrs. W.
My son!
Philo.
Man sleeps--like the rocks, trees, hills--while all around him, out of the unseen, beating on blind eyes, deaf ears, numbed brain, sweep the winds of eternity, the ether waves, the signals from the deeps of space!
Warner.
Hey, diddle, diddle!
Philo.
Sleep-walkers all--the people in the streets,
the shops--the mad people with their heaps of gold!
Mrs. W.
Now don't work yourself up, Philo, with the doctor
coming. You want to tell him about your machine.
Philo.
Yes. He is a great man. He has studied these
things. I will talk to him. He will not laugh.
Warner.
Mary Ann, don't you think we'd better bring
up some cider? It'll look more hospitable like.
Mrs. W.
That city doctor won't care anything about cider.
Warner.
My cider's good enough for anybody!
And Dr. Bellows'll be sure to ask for it.
Mrs. W.
Well, wait till he does.
(Looks uneasily about room.)
Don't you think, son, that if you're going to take to having visitors here I'd better move some furniture up? You could have the haircloth sofa--the springs are broke anyway--and Alice says she don't want the wax flowers in the parlor any more. They're turnin' yellow, but you wouldn't notice it up here.
Philo.
(clinching his hands)
Do what you like, mother, only don't take anything
out. If anything happened to my work I believe
I'd go crazy!
(The parents look at each other.)
Warner.
Thought your work was tendin' the store.
Philo.
Brother Will is more help there than I am, father.
Warner.
You're right about that. Will's got a head on.
Mrs. W.
You'd better go down, Hiram, and meet the doctors.
Warner.
Alice'll show them up.
Mrs. W.
Where's that strange smell comin' from?
Do you work in the other room, too, Philo?
(Goes in, left.)
Philo.
Father ... I'm sorry about the store ... I wish
I could tell you ... but what's the use?
You won't believe!
(Re-enter MRS. W.)
Mrs. W.
Gracious! I couldn't breathe in there!
Got to clear something out before
Reba comes up here. She'd have no respect
for my housekeeping.
Philo.
Reba?
Mrs. W.
Reba Sloan. She's been asking if she couldn't come.
She's just wild to see your machine.
Philo.
Don't you ever let her up here, mother!
Mrs. W.
But she asked me, Philo--and
a neighbor's daughter, you know----
Philo.
I thought she was away from home.
Mrs. W.
Been back a month--walks all about right under
your eyes. You ought to be civil, Philo.
Philo.
I want to see Dr. Seymour. I should like to have
him know what I'm doing. But if you're going to
turn the whole village in here, I'll bar the
door, that's all.
Mrs. W.
My son, if you'd only interest yourself a little----
Philo.
I'm not interested in anything nearer than
thirty-five million miles!
Warner.
What did I tell you, Mary Ann?
Mrs. W.
I hear the doctors! Now, Philo, if you can't talk
sense, don't say anything.
(Enter SEYMOUR and BELLOWS.)
Bellows.
Good evening, Warner. How d' do, Mrs. Warner!
My friend, Dr. Seymour.
Warner and Mrs. W.
How do you do, sir!
Bellows.
Philo, I've brought Dr. Seymour around to have
a talk with you. He's down from New York for a
day or two. Been sleeping any better?
Philo.
Too much. I need all my time.
I'm very glad to see you, Dr. Seymour.
(All take seats.)
Mrs. W.
I hope you'll excuse the looks of the room, doctor.
Seymour.
It looks very interesting indeed to me, Mrs. Warner.
The workshop of a student, and a busy one.
(To PHILO.)
You've been working too hard, I see.
Philo.
I'm tired, perhaps, but I am well. When a man
makes a momentous discovery he is apt to be
overwrought. He may not eat or sleep well for
a time. He may even appear to be strange or mad.
(MRS. W. coughs suddenly.)
Mrs. W.
I'm afraid that's not a comfortable chair, Dr. Seymour.
Seymour.
Quite comfortable, Mrs. Warner.
Mrs. W.
(rapidly)
Philo is my oldest boy, and I never could keep him away from books. Will, my second son, is as steady in the store as his father himself, and Johnny is just fine on the wagon. As for Alice, there's not a neater all-round girl to be found anywhere. They're healthy, sensible children, every one of 'em, and don't care what's inside any book in the world--but Philo was just bent on going to college----
Seymour.
A very natural bent for an ambitious boy.
Bellows.
Tell us about the discovery, Philo, my lad.
Philo.
(rising and walking slowly up and down the room)
I think I will. It will be another experiment. I know what the effect will be on Dr. Bellows. He is an old friend of mine--but you, sir, are a stranger. I should like to try your mind and see if you are awake or asleep.
(BELLOWS winks toward SEYMOUR, who
takes no notice, but gives PHILO careful
attention.)
Seymour.
I hope I shall not disappoint you.
Philo.
I believe we have some points of view in common, for your profession needs to take note of many problems connected with both evolution and electricity. I have been a reader of general science for many years. The fact that on the earth we have had a slow evolution from a monad to a man contains a promise of further development of man into--let us say an angel.
Bellows.
Not very soon, I guess.
Philo.
(sharply)
Hardly in your day, doctor. You needn't worry
about the fashion in wing-feathers.
Seymour.
Go on, Mr. Warner.
Philo.
In others of the many millions of globes about us
in space, a similar evolution is going on, and
in some the evolution is less advanced than in
ours, in others incomparably more advanced.
Seymour.
We may admit that.
(BELLOWS looks to WARNER for
sympathy, and shakes his head.)
Philo.
We have reached a stage when we have begun to peer out into the stellar depths and question them. We are beginning to master the light and the lightning, to measure the vastness of space, to weigh the suns, to determine the elements that comprise them, to talk and send messages thousands of miles without wires. Each year uncovers new wonders, infinitely minute, infinitely great.
Seymour.
True,--all true.
Philo.
(becoming more repressed and
tensely excited as he goes on)
The dreams of the alchemists are being realized.
That machine yonder detects the waves from a
millionth of a millionth of a milligramme of radium.
Seymour.
What!
Philo.
I have invented a tuned electroscope that would
be destroyed by such waves, so sensitive as
to react only to waves from an inconceivable
distance, beyond thirty-five million miles.
Seymour.
(trying to take it in)
Thirty-five million miles!
Philo.
(with great tension)
Three weeks ago I made this instrument, and ever since then, at regular intervals, there have been rhythmic flutterings of the goldleaf, regular repetitions, as if it were knocking at the door of earth from the eternal silences. I have watched it--the same measured fluttering--two beats--then three--then two--then four and a pause! It is a studied measure! It has meaning! When I first noticed it--the faint flutter of the goldleaf--and knew that any waves from a nearer point than thirty-five million miles would utterly destroy so delicate an instrument--my hair stood on end. I have watched it three weeks--alone--and you ask me why I do not sleep!... Look!
(The doctors spring up electrified,
and stare at the instrument.)
Philo.
There it is again! Two beats--then three--then
two--then four--now it is over!
(SEYMOUR continues to stare at the instrument.
BELLOWS subsides into a chair, looking foolish.)
Seymour.
(to himself)
Impossible!...
(To PHILO.)
What was it you were saying? What did you see?
Philo.
I saw what you saw--signals from a distance farther
than the distance of the nearest planet to our earth.
Seymour.
(shaken)
But I saw nothing. At least a slight movement in
anything so sensitive might be due to many causes....
Philo.
Yes! It is always the old story. Truths must be
hammered into humanity! Branded in with flame,
or driven in with sword and bullet!
Bellows.
(starting up alarmed)
Hadn't we better be going, doctor?
Philo.
Oh, no! Wait till you've talked me over. Decide whether I'm mad or not! If I'm a menace to the community! If I must be locked up! My father and mother are waiting to know. Don't go! Finish your work! (Rushes into room, left.)
Bellows.
(triumphantly to SEYMOUR)
Well?
(SEYMOUR hesitates, looks at the father and mother,
then at BELLOWS, and takes out his match-case.)
Bellows.
(making a conquest of the obvious)
Warner, a little of that fine cider of
yours would just finish off our chat.
Warner.
Nothing better!
(Starting out, whispers to MRS. W.)
Where's grandma's silver pitcher?
Mrs. W.
I'll get that.
(They go down-stairs.)
Bellows.
(laughing)
She never lets him go to the cellar by himself.
Seymour.
Not a drinker, is he?
Bellows.
Oh, no! The pattern of a deacon.
But she keeps her hand on.
(SEYMOUR lights a cigar thinkingly.)
Bellows.
No use to go over this case. It's clear enough.
We'll have our cider--it's worth waiting
for--then go to my office and fix up the
commitment papers.
Seymour.
(rubbing his hand slowly over his forehead)
To talk with such a patient sometimes bewilders
the brain. He seemed so clear in his
utterance--so rational----
Bellows.
Funny, wasn't he?
I almost believed it myself for a minute.
Seymour.
It might be true.
Bellows.
Hey?
Seymour.
Perhaps we are all somnambulists moving about in this dream-world we call practical life. Behind this tough matter that takes so many shapes and colors, what strange secrets are hidden, just beginning to reach our dull senses--X-rays, radium emanations, wireless waves.
Bellows.
Oh, they're natural enough now.
Common sense has adopted them.
Seymour.
Yes, we are easily satisfied. Give a mystery a name and that's enough for the most of us. But here and there are minds that must explore further; and if they discover something beyond the comprehension of us who stay behind, we call them mad.
Bellows.
Well, none of your mind-puzzles for me. Give me something clear cut, like typhoid, or measles, an amputation, or new babies, something I can fix my eyes on. You can take care of the madmen--except when they're in my own village. I'm not going to have a boy like Philo gibbering around ready to break out wild any time.
Seymour.
It's true he may be led into frenzy, or even
self-destruction, but it will be from overwork
and loneliness. I must have a talk with the parents----
Bellows.
What do you expect them to do?
They're asking us for help. And I'm
willing to give it to them.
(Re-enter WARNER and MRS. W.
He carries pitcher, she carries tray with
glasses.)
Seymour.
(to BELLOWS)
We'll see. As I say, the boy has been losing
sleep, and giving his mind no rest.
Mrs. W.
(holding tray while WARNER pours cider)
Just what I say, doctor. He's studied himself sick.
Seymour.
You must get him out of here, Mrs. Warner.
(Sipping cider.)
Excellent, indeed!
Mrs. W.
I'm doing my best.
Warner.
(to BELLOWS, who has drained his glass)
You're at home, doctor. Just help yourself.
(He does.)
Seymour.
What is his age?
Mrs. W.
Twenty. He went early to college.
Seymour.
(musingly)
The usual age. Twenty.
(Sighs.)
The age of visions and enchantments.
"The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
Bellows.
What are you saying, doctor?
Seymour.
Just thinking. It's a healthy family, isn't it?
Mrs. W.
I should say! Why, Will and Johnny and Alice----
Bellows.
Best sort. The thoroughbreds of the town.
Temperate, thriving, regular at church.
Warner here was once county supervisor.
(Clapping him on shoulder.)
Never had a better one.
Seymour.
(to WARNER)
And your parents?
Warner.
Father was a sound, practical man.
Stood flat-footed, I may say.
Seymour.
And your mother?
Mrs. W.
Law me, Hiram Warner thinks there was never
anybody in the world like his mother.
And there never was!
Seymour.
That's good to build on. It is clear that your boy is ill, and the burden of his knowledge, whether truth or delusion, is far too great for him to bear. If you could interest him for even a brief time in ordinary life--
(smiling)
miracles that are too common to be
disturbing--throw him with young people----
Bellows.
You don't mean you won't sign the commitment papers!
Seymour.
Just that. I shall not sign them.
Mrs. W.
(gratefully)
Oh, doctor!
Bellows.
After what you saw here with your own eyes?
He's completely gone off!
Seymour.
The boy may be right. Under this tiny consciousness
of ours lie vast fields of subconscious intelligence
as yet unexplored. Beyond our earth are still greater
mysteries, unimaginable, unthinkable.
Bellows.
(in disgust)
And I counted on your common sense!
Seymour.
Common sense is itself too frail and uncertain a
thing to be a criterion of sanity. The common
sense of yesterday is to-day's folly, and our
present common sense will be the madness
of to-morrow.
Bellows.
Well, I'll be--I'll wait for you down-stairs, doctor. (Exit.)
Seymour.
The lad ought not to be in there alone.
(Goes to door.)
Philo, my boy!
(PHILO comes out. He is extremely pale, his
black hair pushed from his forehead, and his
eyes burning, but his manner is calm.)
Philo.
Well, am I a free man?
Seymour.
You are free, Philo.
Philo.
(perfunctorily)
Thank you, doctor.
Seymour.
But you must have rest from this work. These subjects
are too overwhelming for a sane brain to carry without
harm. This attic is gloomy and the atmosphere unhealthy.
You must have a complete change.
Philo.
I see. That is your answer to my discovery.
(Turns suddenly to WARNER.)
And what do you think of it, father?
Warner.
I don't seem to get hold of it, somehow, Philo.
(Crosses to machine and stares at it.)
What's the good, anyhow? They're too far away.
'Twouldn't help business.
(PHILO gives a queer laugh. WARNER opens door.)
Warner.
I'll see you down-stairs, doctor. (Exit.)
Philo.
(turning to MRS. W.)
And you, mother?
Mrs. W.
(bustling up and gathering tray and glasses)
I've got to set my bread.
(Crosses to machine and stares at it, holding tray.)
What'll we come to if folks in the stars begin
pesterin'? We've got enough to 'tend to right here.
(Goes out muttering.)
Got to set my bread.
(SEYMOUR and PHILO look at each other and smile.)
Seymour.
Won't you come down, Philo?
Philo.
No. It's livelier for me up here. More to think about.
But don't worry about me, doctor. I know this is
the end. If I can't convince you, then all the
world must think it hallucination.
Seymour.
I'm not unconvinced. I simply don't know. And I'm deeply interested. But you can't stand it, Philo. Get out of this. Be young. This is for older heads. You'll have plenty of time. Get out--do anything. Fall in love--fall in love--that will give you mysteries enough for a while. Yes, I mean it--and don't forget, my dear boy, that you've interested me.
(Shakes hands with PHILO and goes down.
PHILO listens until he has reached the foot
of the stairs.)
Philo.
The heavens open--the suns speak--and he is--interested!
(Closes door.) Alone!... Fall in love!
Light the candle and put out the stars!...
(Returns to his instrument.)
... It is still.
(Steps are heard on the stairs, then a knock
at the door. He crosses softly to door and
shoots the bolt.)
Voice.
(without)
It's Reba, Philo! Won't you let me in?
(He is silent, and steps retreat.)
Philo.
(crossing to centre)
Reba! That folly's done with, thank God!... (Begins walking.) Seymour.... I didn't know how much I was hoping from him.... It is hard, hard to go on alone. But I must! I can't turn back from that call. When a child cries we turn, and listen, and help. And this--this is the voice of a world!
(A knock is heard at door.)
Voice of WARNER
Philo!
Philo.
Buzz, buzz, old bee!
Voice.
Come down, son!
Philo.
Please leave me alone, father. I can't bear anything more to-night.
(A pause, and WARNER goes down.)
Philo.
(coming to table)
I will work--work--work!
(Busies his hands.)
Not a voice to help me--not a smile of hope--not
a touch of sympathy.
(Sits still and despairing.)
... Perhaps the time is not ripe for larger knowledge. Nature and the Divinity that guides her must protect their new evolving creatures. A too sudden revelation and they might perish from sheer wonder.... Yes, truth must come softened, as a dream, to the man child's brain. Its naked light would sere and blind him forever.... But to me it has been given to see--to hear--and keep sane in the light. Oh, from what planet is the call? From what one of the hundred million spheres? How many centuries has it been sent outward to the deaf, the dumb, and the blind? And what is the word? Is it Hail? Help? Hope?... Or is it an answer? An answer to some signal of mine? How shall I know?... How shall I know?
(There is a noise outside the window. PHILO does not look up. REBA appears and leaps lightly through the windows. Advances centre. Her dress is of clinging black, relieved by a floating scarf of cloudy white. She has a mass of blonde hair, and all the charms properly belonging to her age, which is eighteen.)
Reba.
Philo!
Philo.
(turning)
Reba!
Reba.
Don't be angry.
Philo.
How did you get here?
Reba.
The window. Don't you remember--you showed me
how to climb up once--with a ladder--the tree--and
the shed roof? Oh, the things you've forgotten, Philo!
(He goes to door and unbolts it.)
Philo.
You must go down, Reba.
(She does not move.)
What will mother say?
Reba.
(laughing)
She held the ladder for me.
Philo.
Mother?
Reba.
You've frightened her so. You mustn't bolt the
door again. She's afraid you'll do something dreadful.
Philo.
You were not afraid to come.
Reba.
I like to take risks. Life's dull in this village.
Philo.
How you've changed, Reba!
Reba.
It's taken you long enough to find it out.
I've been back a month.
Philo.
You'd better go down. I'm very busy, and I've
had a long interruption this evening.
Reba.
I'm going to interrupt some more.
Dr. Seymour says it's good for you.
Philo.
(angrily)
Dr. Seymour knows you've come?
Reba.
Yes. He said you might like the surprise.
Don't you like it, Philo?
(Comes near him. PHILO turns away and busies
himself about the table and shelves as if he meant
to ignore her utterly. REBA watches him,
then goes to window and takes a large apple from
the ledge. Comes back.)
Reba.
I brought you an apple--such a love of an apple.
There's a whole summer of sunsets in it.
I climbed the tree myself.
Philo.
(not looking)
Thank you; I don't eat.
Reba.
Don't eat! Well, there it is!
(Throws it on the table.
He jumps to protect his instrument.)
You can lick it when you're hungry!
(He sits down and begins to work.
She walks to other side of table and
picks up a book.)
Reba.
Oh! Our old "Swiss Family Robinson"!
The very one we read together!
With our names in it! You've kept it all the time!
(Hugging it.)
Dear old book!
(Turns the leaves.)
Why--the leaves are half gone!
Philo.
They're handy for cleaning my wires.
(She throws the book down, and stands uncertain.)
Philo.
Going, Reba? Good night!
Reba.
No, I'm not going. This is my last chance.
You'll bar the window to-morrow.
Philo.
(determinedly)
Yes, I will.
(He bends closely over his work.
She lies across the table opposite,
watching his movements intently.
He fumbles for a tool.)
Reba.
The little one? Here it is!
(Hands him a small wire tool. He stares at her face so near his own, then takes the instrument and works confusedly. Jumps up and tries to reach a jar on one of the shelves. REBA leaps onto a chair, takes the jar and hands it down. He stares, and takes jar.)
Reba.
(as he returns to table)
Ugh! These jars are so dirty, Philo. May I wash them for you?
Philo.
Heavens, no!
Reba.
Oh, that makes you sit up!
(Hums a little, leaps down and begins to
move the things on the table.)
I'll make the table tidy for you, Philo.
Philo.
(grabbing her hands)
Stop!
Reba.
(sings, swinging his hands across the table)
"All around the mulberry bush----"
Philo.
Let go!
Reba.
Why, you're holding me!
(He drops her hands and goes to window, as if
intending flight. She becomes subtle.)
Reba.
Dr. Seymour says you've done something wonderful,
Philo. Won't you show me your machine?
Philo.
No.
Reba.
But I care! I care more than anybody!
I want you to be great. I could sit by
you all my life just watching you being great.
(PHILO smiles. She twirls over to him.)
And I don't like to be still, either.
Philo.
But suppose people began to laugh at you as they do at me?
Reba.
I wouldn't care. Show me the machine, Philo.
(Takes his arm and they move back to table.)
Philo.
There it is.
Reba.
(hovering over it)
This is it.
(Throwing her head back.)
Tell me about it.
Philo.
Reba--your throat is--so white.
Reba.
(bending suddenly over machine)
There's something moving.
Philo.
So white.
Reba.
Two--one--two, three----
(PHILO goes to door and flings it open.)
Philo.
Reba, go down!
(She crosses to door, shuts it,
and stands with her back against it.)
Reba.
Not till we've had a talk, Philo. I've a right to
it after what you said two years ago--when I went
away to school. Have you forgotten it?
Shall I tell you what you said?
Philo.
No!
Reba.
You said you loved me, Philo. And I believed it for two years. When I came back you were silent. I've tried to make you speak--I've got in your way--I've done everything nice girls don't do--because--I love you as much as you love that! (Waves her hand toward the machine.)
Philo.
Don't say it. It can't be true.
No woman could love so much as that.
(Goes back to table.)
Reba.
(following him)
I don't ask you to love me. But let me come here
and sit by you sometimes. I could be happy
then--though I don't like to be still.
I was going to a dance to-night.
Philo.
A dance!
Reba.
But I knew you were up here alone--and I had heard--oh, my dear!--that they were going to send you away. I couldn't bear it. I had to come. Oh, Philo, they shall not send you away! Dr. Seymour says all you need is a new interest.
Philo.
To dance, perhaps!
Reba.
Well--why not? It is fun. We were to be in fancy
dress, and I was going as Night. See--
(waving her scarf)
this is my cloud--and my hair is the moon!
I washed it to-day so it would be fluffy.
Just see how soft it is!
Philo.
(touching her hair)
How fine! Will you give me a lock, Reba?
Reba.
Oh, yes! Where are your scissors? Here!
(Takes scissors from table.)
You cut it, Philo.
(He takes scissors.)
Anywhere. It's curly at the neck and temples.
Philo.
(cutting lock)
I don't want a curl.
(Puts hair carefully in table drawer.)
I'm making a new machine and I need long
hairs for some of the parts.
Reba.
(raging)
You sha'n't have it! You sha'n't!
(Tries to open drawer. They struggle.
She gets her arms about his neck.)
Philo.
(pushing her off)
Your throat----
(Kisses it. She clings to him, and he
sits down, holding her on his knee.)
Reba.
I knew! I knew! Oh, Philo, you haven't forgotten!
You remember--everything!
Philo.
Everything!
Reba.
That day we went fishing and----
Philo.
(laughing)
Forgot the tackle!
Reba.
And that last evening in the orchard, when you said----
Philo.
I love you!
Reba.
Oh, you look just as you did then--so happy!
I nearly died when I came home and saw the
change in your face. It seemed to shut me out,
like a great iron door. Philo....
You won't forget again?
Philo.
Never!
Reba.
And I may come every day?
Philo.
Every day!
Reba.
I'll help you, Philo. I'll give you all my hair.
(Lays her head on his shoulder.)
And I'll let you work and not think of me at all.
You can live with your stars----
Philo.
(kissing her)
There are no stars!
Reba.
(laughing)
I'll never be jealous again!
(Gets up.)
Come! Let's see what the dinky thing is doing!
(Goes to table. PHILO watches her,
slowly repeating her name.)
Reba.
What a little thing it is! And--there
is something fluttering!
(PHILO crosses, still seeing nothing but the girl.)
Reba.
See--I'm trying to count--two--three----
(He looks down, and becomes transfixed.)
Philo.
Oh, my God! They've changed the signal!...
Look, Reba! Count the beats! Count for me! Count!
Reba.
(confused)
Two--three--no, four----
Philo.
Can't you count? Get away!
(Pushes her aside.)
Two--three--four--three-- They have changed it!
Oh, I must answer!
Reba.
Philo----
Philo.
Go down!
Reba.
(clinging to him)
I won't--I won't----
Philo.
(putting her in a chair)
Sit there, then. And for God's sake be still!
(Returns to machine and counts under his breath.)
It is true--it is true--and I am not ready!
I am dumb, like all the world!
I cannot let them know!
(Walks the floor, muttering)
But I will--I must.
(Crosses to window.)
I must do it!--think of nothing else--nothing!
I shall not sleep till it is done!... But they
will call me mad--lock me up before I have
finished, God, before I have finished!
Reba.
Philo, listen!
Philo.
It's the world's way ... to beat the spirit
down ... the eager spirit, superbly sane,
daring to pierce the barriers between heaven
and earth!
Reba.
I'll not sit here!
(She sits nevertheless.)
Philo.
Oh, Truth-driven martyrs, seers of visions,
prophets of the old world and the new, born
out of your time to suffer by fire, by sword,
and prison bars!
Reba.
(cooingly)
Dear Philo!
Philo.
I too shall join you!
Forerunners of the waking spirit of the world!
(REBA gets before him as he walks. Completely
absorbed, he puts her aside, absently but gently,
as if she were a kitten he did not wish to hurt.)
Philo.
I must finish it--I must--before they beat me down!
(Pauses by machine.)
There is no one but me to do it. If I fail they
may have to wait another million years--out
there--working, waiting.
(Resumes walk.)
I shall not fail. I have gone too far. God will
take my part now. Be it His own eternal sign,
I will answer it!
Reba.
I'll make you see me!
(Runs to table, leaps upon it and begins a
dance among the wires and bottles. He is stunned
for a moment, then rushes to her, seizes her waist
with both hands, lifts her up, and flings her
to a chair.)
Philo.
Sit there, you dragon-fly! Or I'll crush you!
(Goes to window, as if for
breath and air. Recovers poise.)
Let them think me mad. Up here I shall work
it out. And I shall not be alone. Earth will
not hear me, but the heavens will listen.
(Holds his hands toward the stars.)
My only friends!
Reba.
Crush me!
(She steals up to the table, seizes a large book,
and brings it down with utter destruction upon his
machine. PHILO turns and sees. They face
each other. She shrinks, terrified.)
Don't, Philo!
(Kneels, throwing back her head,
showing the long line of her throat.)
Forgive me! It was driving you mad!
I wanted to save you! Don't look like that!
Forgive me, Philo!
Philo.
Your throat--is--so white!
(Seizes and chokes her. As he seizes her she gives a cry of terror. WARNER, MRS. W., SEYMOUR, and BELLOWS rush up the stairs and enter. PHILO takes his hands from the girl's throat and stands apart. She lies motionless.)
Warner.
(roaring)
You've managed, Mary Ann!
Bellows.
(excitedly)
Who's right, now, Seymour?
(SEYMOUR bends over REBA, listening
for her heart-beat.)
Warner.
(choking)
A hanging in the family!
Mrs. W.
Is she--dead?
Seymour.
No. It is chiefly fear.
(Works over her body.)
Philo.
(to himself)
Poor little bird! Poor little bird!
Bellows.
(taking a pair of handcuffs from
his pocket and offering them to WARNER)
Better clap these on him. We're none of us safe.
Philo.
Handcuffs, doctor? I'll make no trouble.
(Holds out his hands and BELLOWS fastens handcuffs.)
Bellows.
It's for your own good, Philo.
Seymour.
Our mistake--our mistake! Poor boy!
Bellows.
Poor girl, I should say!
Seymour.
(lifting REBA)
I'll take her down-stairs.
(Carries her to door.)
I shall need you, Mrs. Warner.
(MRS. W. follows, weeping and looking back at PHILO.)
Philo.
I'm all right, mother.
Mrs. W.
All right. Oh, God help him! (Exit.)
Bellows.
Clean mad!
Philo.
(crosses, and looks down on
the wreck of his machine)
Silent ... but I have heard!
The divine whisper has reached me!
Bellows.
That's still on his mind, you see. Better leave
him up here till morning. Seymour and I will fix
up the papers and take him off to-morrow.
I'm sorry, Philo, but you know it's for the best.
Philo.
I'll make no trouble. Don't worry, doctor.
Bellows.
(to himself, going)
Lord, he's cool!
(Advising WARNER, in cautiously lowered tone.)
That's the way with the worst of them.
(Exit.)
Warner.
Want me to stay with you, Philo?
Philo.
No, father.
Warner.
(relieved)
Good night, son.
(At door.)
Mother'll send up some blankets.
(Exit.)
Philo.
Blankets!...
(CURTAIN)
[The end]
Olive Tilford Dargan's play: The Flutter Of The Goldleaf
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