Augustus Thomas

“ KATE. How could Mr. Travers have written it?
JIM. Why, no use gettin' mad, Kate. It kin look like his writin', can't it?
KATE. [Going to anvil and leaning on back of it.] You don't like him, Jim, do you?
JIM. [Picks up old horse-shoe.] Well— [Mechanically pounds gumbo with horse-shoe.
KATE. [Pause.] Not much—
JIM. No—not a great deal, Kate.
KATE. [Displaying the letter.] Do you think he's a bad enough man to have done this?
JIM. Well, a fellow who takes a risk like that—to clear another man who's been arrested in his place, ain't so bad.
KATE. A train robber! ”

“ The American dramatist has not been given, as a general rule, to such self-examination; he has contented himself with supplying the fashions of the day in the theatre, and has left to the ubiquitous press-agent the special prerogative of whetting public curiosity as to what manner of man he is and as to the fabric from which his play has been cut. ”

“ Kate! Kate! Good-bye. [Impulsive turn and embrace.] Till to-night.
Enter DAVE, from breakfast.
DAVE. Huh! [Shortly; more a chuck than an exclamation. The lovers start.] Oh! Seminary!
TRAVERS exits.
DAVE. [Embarrassed—nodding off.] Breakfast.
KATE. Thank you. [Exits.
DAVE. [Going to bench and beginning work on shaft with draw knife.]
Well—Lizbeth don't know so blamed much about books— [Shakes head.]
But—huh— [Shakes head again.] I tell you— [Works hard—enter
LIZBETH with pan, which she puts on forge.
DAVE. [Commanding.] Come here, Lizbeth.
LIZBETH. [Crosses to DAVE. Pause.] What? ”

“ BOLLINGER. A butcher-knife's better than nothing.
LIZBETH. Here! [Hands knife to BOLLINGER.
DAVE. [As LIZBETH holds him.] You don't think I'm scared.
Exeunt BOLLINGER and JOE.
MRS. VERNON. I don't want you to shoot anybody, Joe; pint it in the air.
DAVE exits; when off calls "Good-bye!"
MRS. VERNON. [Impatient in doorway.] I can't see what business it is of Dave's when they's three policemen in town; uniforms—where's Em'ly?
LIZBETH. Jim took her home.
MRS. VERNON. Did somebody say Travers?
LIZBETH. Yes.
Enter Kate.
KATE. What is it?
LIZBETH. Travers shot a man.
KATE. What man—why? ”

“ Thomas was happiest in his humour, most unaffected in his inventions, most ingenious in his "tricks." The man on the street is his special metier, and his skill in knitting bones together gives one the impression of an organic whole, though, on closer examination, as in "As a Man Thinks," the skeleton is made up of three or four unrelated stories. Only skilful surgery on Thomas's part carries the play to success, for we are nearly always irritated by the degree to which he falls short of real meat in spite of all the beautiful architectonics. ”

“ BOLLINGER. I reckon.
JOE and HELPER carry wheel to tub and chill the tire.
SARBER. Think she'll stay now?
JOE. As soon as we get the bolts in her. [Two other NEGROES enter, completing the male quartette. Enter TRAVERS.] Look out.
They lift wheel to trusses and silently adjust bolts. As this takes time, the NEGROES fill in with songs.
TRAVERS. [Coming down with KELLY.] Well, what's up?
KELLY. I'm goin' to skip on this stage.
TRAVERS. Why?
KELLY. Too hot,—see papers?
TRAVERS. No.
KELLY. Well, young Sam Fowler will know you the minute he sees you—and he's comin' back to-day. ”

“ Is Dave there?
JOE. Yes.
JIM. Well, we'll splinter this leg ourselves. [Going.
TRAVERS. Why don't you kill him, and put him out of misery?
JIM. [Pause in door.] Kill this little dog that took a fancy to me, and followed the stage when I got in it!
TRAVERS. Yes—why not?
JIM. [After appealing look to the others; then back to TRAVERS.]
Why, I never killed a man. [Exit into shop; JOE, MRS. VERNON,
LIZBETH, follow laughing.
BOLLINGER exits
TRAVERS. [Going to table.] What did he say?
KATE. That he never killed a man. ”

“ I had travelled them with one-night theatrical companies; and also in newspaper assignments; and over restricted districts I had worked in the employment of a railroad company. I didn't care to write from books; so my Goodwin hero was to be perforce an American. It seemed best to make him an American of 1891. Other times and places were excluded and dismissed from mind.
Now, a blond hero five feet seven inches tall and weighing under one hundred and fifty-pounds—a Roman nose, and a steady, steel blue gaze! ”

“ Its form is controversial—and the playwright, by force of this controversy, is in turn each one of his characters, and not merely a witness of their doings. When they begin to take hold of him, their possession is more and more insistent—all interests in real life become more and more secondary and remote until the questions in dispute are not only decided, but there is also a written record of the debates and the decision. ”

“ He has, therefore, played the theatrical game with love for it, with thorough understanding of it—and though political preferment in the Democratic Party has been offered him many times, he has thus far not deserted the theatre. As the years advance, he does not seem to lose any of his dexterity; on the other hand, he does not show inclination to be stirred in his plays by the social problems of the day. When "The Witching Hour" showed a departure into realms of subtle psychology, we thought Thomas, as a playwright, had passed into the realm of wisdom ”

“ JIM. Gumbo.
MRS. VERNON. Gumbo?
BOLLINGER. That's what they call that soft mud the river leaves down there when it rises—gumbo.
JIM. It's only a cushion so the joltin' wouldn't hurt him. I just been with him to Clark's drug-store. [To front.] Clark said he wasn't a dog doctor.
JOE. Wouldn't 'tend to him, eh?
JIM. No—but I'll square it with him. He's up for coroner.
[Starts for shop—stops.] I told him that a man what'd see a little dumb animal suffer ought to be drummed out of town. ”

“ The personalia are dropped in casually, here and there, not so much for the purpose of specific biography, as to illustrate the incentives which shaped his thought and enriched his invention as a playwright. His purpose in writing these forewords is just a little didactic; he addresses the novice who may be befuddled after reading various "Techniques of the Drama," and who looks to the established and successful dramatist for the secrets of his workshop. These prefaces reveal Thomas as working more with chips than with whole planks from a virgin forest. ”

“ Thomas is as careful in observing the small psychologies of men as Fitch ever was of women. There is a neatness, a finish to his small scenes that hint at a depth and largeness which he has never given rein to in any play he has thus far written. ”

“ JOE. An' me support them?
JIM. [In disgust.] Hell!—
JOE. What's the matter?
JIM. Ain't he worth his wages?
JOE. I never said he wasn't.
JIM. [In superlative display.] And he's made nearly a whole set of furniture.
JOE. But if I went to Jefferson, I was goin' to leave this shop with
Dave.
LIZBETH. [With pride.] Dave!
JIM. Well, that's different. See here! You let 'em get married. I only want Dave to superintend this burnin'—it won't take two half-days a week to kind a-look it over—we kin get niggers to do the work, and Dave kin stay here.
LIZBETH. Dave!—
DAVE. [Hushing her.] ”

“ JOE. [Looking towards forge.] Won't be a minute, Tom.
BOLLINGER. Everybody waiting at the drug-store—we want to go 'fore it gets too hot,—folks says you're hanging back so Clark kin sell out his sody water.
SARBER. [Looking at watch.] Shake her up, Joe.
JOE. I guess we're ready. [Two NEGROES of a quartette enter and stand idly about. Takes tire with HELPER.] Get out of the way. [Drops tire on wheel and adjusts it. Drives pin through one hole. KELLY enters, looks at coach, and nervously about.
JOE. What's new, Tom, about Sam Fowler?
BOLLINGER. [Looking at work.] ”

“ He knew Champ Clark and Dave Ball—another Missouri statesman—and had the keenest interest in the coming convention for the legislative nomination. It was fine to hear him pronounce the state name, Mizzoura, as it was originally spelt on many territorial charts, and as we were permitted to call it in the public schools until we reached the grades where imported culture ruled. The blacksmith's helper, who was finishing a wagon shaft with a draw knife, was younger and less intelligent, and preferred to talk to Mrs. Thomas. It is distracting to listen at the same time to three persons ”

“ I s'pose every man in Bowlin' Green that owns a gun or a bowie knife's collectin' up there at the Court House—your own pa and Dave—they'll be back here after a while—and what then?—don't you see?
KATE. It's horrible—don't tell me it is duty makes them hunt a fellow-man like that. [Rises.
JIM. I don't pretend to know anything about that— [Pause. Picks up dipper; looks at KATE.] Poor chap—thirsty—oh, well—that's your business, Kate. [Puts dipper on the bench.
KATE. [At bay herself.] You're not a man, Jim Radburn, you're a bloodhound—you hunt men. ”

“ BOLLINGER. Well, I meant never killin' nobody, has naturally endeared him to the peaceable element in the community. Jim has always said, and stuck to it, that a sheriff who couldn't wing a prisoner without killin' him, was a nuisance—and you take his record, and go clean through it, you'll find out this one thing. If a man was runnin', Jim fetched him in the leg. If he pulled a gun on him, Jim smashed that hand. And he says, "You ain't got a right to kill another man, unless that man draws two guns at the same time."
JOE. Yes, I reckon Jim's the gamest we ever had. ”

“ KATE is silent.] You kin remember yourself when you was a little girl an' I used to take a horse-shoe an' tie it on the anvil an' make a side-saddle for you—an' I reckon I was the first fellow in Bowling Green that ever called you. Miss Kate when you come back from school.
KATE. [Rather tenderly.] I didn't want you to call me Miss Kate,
Jim.
JIM. Jes' fun, you know—an' now, Kate, when you're a woman, an' it's only nature for men to like you,—I've got to ask you myself. ”

“ You went in the car, like a blamed fool, without a thing on your face—
VILLAGERS at door.
TRAVERS. Be careful.
KELLY. Careful? I skip.
They turn up right. Enter JIM.
BOLLINGER. Hello, Jim—Louisiana?
JIM. No. [Kneels by dog-box.
SARBER. Hello, Jim?
JIM. Ain't you late?
SARBER. Joe's keeping me.
JIM. [Pointing to door.] Big load this mornin'?
SARBER. Yes, if they all go. [Returns to wheel. JIM goes in house.
KELLY. [Coming down with TRAVERS.] You'd risk your neck for that girl?
TRAVERS. I'm all right, Kelly. I'll get out to-night, but I've got to see her first.
They go up and exeunt. ”

“ KATE. None, except that the room is filled with smoke and—is hot.
MRS. VERNON. Well, to my mind, Travers may as well get himself used to places that are hot and filled with smoke—fur if he ain't one of Old Nick's own ones, I never see any—
KATE. Mother!! Mr. Travers is a gentleman!
MRS. VERNON. How do you know? Four years to a female seminary don't make you a better judge of gentlemen than us who stay to home here. Your pa's a gentleman if he is a wheelwright—so is Jim Radburn—
LIZBETH. And Dave—
MRS. VERNON. Yes, and Dave—
KATE. But none of them is like Mr. Travers. ”

“ JOE. [Calling.] Well, it's Dave an' his durned alarm-clock—if I'd let Kate set it—I guess she's all right now, Cal. [HELPER puts tire in fire—last heating. JOE goes to trusses and lays wheel square. Enter SARBER. SARBER wears linen duster and boots, and carries a whip.] Hello, Bill.
SARBER. [Down] Hello, Joe—mighty nigh time. [Looking at watch.
JOE. Won't be a minute longer—soon as we stretch her a little and drop her over this bunch of bones—
SARBER. [Examining wheel.] Hello, Cal? [HELPER nods.] Fellers ain't hurt?
JOE. Nothin' ain't hurt. [Enter ESROM with water.] ”

“ TRAVERS. Kate— [Starts toward her.
KATE. [Shrinking.] Oh—h!
TRAVERS. [Holds out hand.] Jim Radburn!
JIM. No—I give you my horse, but I'm damned if I shake hands with you—!!
Exit TRAVERS. KATE sinks in chair sobbing. JIM in doorway regards her tenderly.
CURTAIN. ACT IV. SCENE. Exterior of JIM RADBURN'S cabin-front, stoop and steps showing. Rail-fence partly broken down is across the stage at right and continues in painting on the panorama back-drop of rough country with stacks of cord wood. Many stumps showing. A mud road winds into the distance, a stile crosses fence. ”

“ EM'LY. Will the express company have to pay Sam?
JIM. Well, rather. And after they do, Sam ought to go down to their president's office and kick 'em all around the back-yard.
Exit KATE.
JOE. What's ailing Kate?
MRS. VERNON. Seems out o' sorts—mebbe she'll tell me alone. [Exit.
DAVE. [Protesting.] You can't move backwards.
LIZBETH. Well?
DAVE. That's cornered.
JOE. He's got you, Lizbeth.
JIM. Dave!
DAVE. Yes?
JIM. I saw the Wabash folks.
DAVE. Have a talk with them?
JIM. [Hands DAVE a paper.] Yes—there's a memorandum agreement—they'll take all I can give 'em at thirty dollars a car-load. ”

“ MRS. VERNON. What you sen' 'em away fur?
JOE. Oh, it's one o' them blamed "mother" songs. Nobody ever sings anything about father—except the "Old man's drunk again," or somethin' like that.
DAVE. Your move, Lizbeth.
LIZBETH. [Petulantly.] Don't I know it?
SAM. Move there.
DAVE. Hold on, I can't beat both of you.
LIZBETH. Don't tell me, Sam. I'd a moved there anyway. Come on, Dave.
KATE. [Solus.] A whole hour longer; I cannot wait.
MRS. VERNON. What's fretting you, Kate?
KATE. Everything.
MRS. VERNON. [Indicates the melodeon.] Play something.
KATE. I can't play on that melodeon, mother. ”

“ LIZBETH goes to the melodeon stool.
BOLLINGER. Not since I was born. I hope the blamed rain's over. All passenger trains holdin' down to eight mile an hour 'tween St. Charles and Jonesburg on the Wabash on 'count of the wash-outs.
JOE. Why don't they ballast that air track?
BOLLINGER. Too stingy, I reckon. Say, Joe, if you git through the convention, and they send you up to Jeff City, you'll have to jump on the corporations.
JOE. Well, how do things look for the convention?
BOLLINGER. Well, down Louisiana way looks about six and half a dozen. ”

“ JOE. And you done every bit of it—why, I took them blamed telegrams, and I told that convention everything I knew. Everything Kate told me—about your getting off the track 'cause you liked her. Tom, you told me yourself that Jim wasn't makin' no canvass fur the nomination. Do you know why? 'Cause he liked my Kate. Last night he gimme his resignation as sheriff. Do you know why?
BOLLINGER. Afore he give him the hoss?
JOE. Long before—and Jim Radburn, I believe you knowed then who that feller was, and I told the convention so. ”

“ Exit LIZBETH.
DAVE. All right. [Exit after LIZBETH.
JOE. [Entering door.] Jes' look at him, ma—he's got his eyebrows in it.
MRS. VERNON. [At door; leans on JOE'S shoulder.] The darlin'—jes' to think, Joe, if one of our children was sufferin'—
JOE. [With unction.] You bet.
MRS. VERNON. [Earnestly calls.] Don't let him splash it on you,
Jim—'t'll spot your clothes.
JOE. [Pauses admiringly.] Jim don't care a durn.
MRS. VERNON. There, I'll fix his bed. [Getting coats from peg, back wall.] What's a man know, anyhow? [Exit to shop.
JOE. [Gets tobacco from shelf.] She'll fix him all right—ha, ha! ”