Miss Lulu Bett

MISS LULU BETT
----------------
Z O N A G A L E

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Play

By Zona Gale

was awarded by Columbia University in June, 1921, the prize of $1,000 established by Joseph Pulitzer for “The American original play, performed in New York, which shall best represent the educational value and power of the stage in raising the standard of good morals, good taste and good manners.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

MISS LULU BETT

AN AMERICAN COMEDY
OF MANNERS

ZONA GALE

D. A. & Co
·INTER·FOLIA·FRUCTUS·

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK : LONDON : MCMXXI

------------------------------------------------------------------------

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TO
BROCK PEMBERTON
IN DEEP APPRECIATION
OF HIS CREATIVE WORK
IN PRODUCING AND STAGING
THIS PLAY

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE AUTHOR WISHES TO
MAKE ACKNOWLEDGMENT TO
MR. LYTTON W. KERNAN
FOR ASSISTANCE TO HER
IN MATTERS OF TECHNIQUE

------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN OPEN LETTER

from

THOMAS H. DICKINSON

August 5, 1921

DEAR MISS GALE:

Any foreword that I can write to your play, Miss Lulu Bett, must be addressed to you, and others must read it, if at all, over your shoulder. As an artist you are, of course, not interested in definitions, being absorbed rather in always nearer and nearer approximations; but I shall not, on that account, forbear to remark how much your novel, and the play that followed it, have widened the practice of the arts that they represent.

As a matter of fact, if one would understand your novel, one must think of it in terms of dramatic art. It is a commonplace to say that this novel marks a turning point in your art. But perhaps it is not a commonplace to say that if we look back over the road you have traveled we shall find a theater at the crossroads.

Are we then to consider the play in the light of the technique of fiction? By no means! Rather one is filled with wonder that you, an artist heretofore of the more discursive type, should have out-theatred the theater when you come to practice on its narrow stage. If the theater is an art of condensation here is condensation distilled; if of form, here is form refined and simplified; if of discourse, here is discourse summarized to shorthand. We are told that a true play is like a score for an orchestra; that it is a series of expert notes directed to the conductor and his players. Of no play of recent years is this so truly the case as of Miss Lulu Bett. Not here are the spacious character analyses, the circumstantial prescriptions of movements from right to left. And yet in what recent play are characters so silhouette-clear, or are actions so genuinely of the fabric of the fable? Let him who thinks your play a “comedy of words” skip a page or even a speech and see where he finds himself.

As for your two endings,--that is for you to say. Frankly the matter doesn’t interest me greatly, for it goes back to the consideration of the drama as a social art, while I, forgetting its dependent state, would prefer to think of it as the product of the free spirit of the writer. I know that I may not so think of a play any more than that you may so write one. But I will not admit that the matter has anything to do with happy versus drab endings, or with the variations in inclination of the curve of Lulu Bett’s career. Nor has it anything to do with the relative excellence of this or that. It is concerned entirely with the fact that while as practiced to-day the art of fiction permits to the artist more or less independence in the use of his imagination, in writing a play he can rarely forget that he is working with a collaborator who at the best perplexes him and at the worst strikes terror to his heart.

Granting, as I do, that you may have two endings I see no reason why you should not have half a dozen if you wish and if circumstances require them. All I ask is that one of these be the ending of your choice. If one of these endings be the artist’s own I care not what ending he writes in collaboration. The best thing you have done in offering to the reader your two endings is to show him the documents in the case. To this extent you have taken another step toward that declaration of the independence of dramatic authorship that is sorely needed.

For the craftmanship of your play, for the combined burden and opportunity you give to your producer and to the actors (admirably carried in every respect), for the courage of its refusals, not less than of its manifest innovations, I, with thousands of others, well-wishers for the American theater, am profoundly grateful to you.

THOMAS H. DICKINSON

MILTON, CONN.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FOREWORD

For centuries people in plays have been abnormally distinguished. Theirs has been a peculiar facility for cleverness, virility, or personal charm, which has raised them above the individuals in the audience and made of the theater a place where one goes to experience vicariously the warm glow of uttering an epigram through the mouth of “Lord Goring,” the deep satisfaction of romantic relations with a beautiful lady (“Prince Rudolpho” acting as our agent), or the inexpressible relief of having a mortgage lifted through the efforts of young “Tom Cartwright.”

If Art is to be held down to one of the many indefinite definitions given to it throughout the ages--that of reflecting life--then the theater has contained but little of Art, for it has been peopled by unnaturally brilliant characters living preposterous lives in a manner so totally removed from life as it is known by the honored members of the public that they have been willing to pay money to witness it as a curiosity.

Especially in its dialogue has the stage clung to an artificiality which even the best of playwrights seem unable to shake off once the blood mounts to their temples and they feel the resiliency of the second act beneath their feet. Statistics could be brought out to prove that, in an average gathering, the proportion of clever conversationalists to dull though voluble talkers is one to three hundred and twenty-four thousand. And yet almost every play contains at least three in a cast of ten whose repartee is unquestionably intended to be classed as “entertaining.”

Even the “old-home” talk of our rural dramas, the line, “Land sakes, ain’t them pies done yet?” with which the first act opens, has become, in spite of its affectation of naturalness, so theatrical that whenever we hear a genuine housewife say it in a real kitchen we suspect her of trying to talk like an actress.

Into this babel of artificial dialogue came Miss Lulu Bett bearing the revolutionary banner of banality. And under this banner march ninety-nine one-hundredths of American conversationalists. First in her book, and then in her play, Zona Gale discarded the ideal held by writers since Plutarch that their characters must say something unusual, and gave us “Dwight Herbert Deacon” to say the gorgeously conventional thing with epoch-making dullness.

“The baked potato contains more nourishment than potatoes prepared any other way. Roasting retains it,” he asserts in the first act.

To which his wife replies: “That’s what I always think.”

And the white light of truth which bursts forth from this conversational sally discovers Oscar Wilde to be a shining collection of tinsel.

Zona Gale is the first author, to my knowledge, who has dared to write genuinely dull dialogue. Many writers have achieved dull dialogue under a misapprehension on their parts, and still others have started out with the honest intention of making their characters dull in the interests of veracity. But these latter have sooner or later succumbed to the temptation either of enlarging upon the dullness until it became burlesque or of capitulating entirely and throwing in a clever line simply to keep up the tone of the play.

But Miss Gale saw the truth and has kept it whole. She was depicting uninspired American family life (almost for the first time in our literature) and she held fast to the ideals of American family conversation. In the opening scene of the first act of Miss Lulu Bett there is not a single redeeming feature in the remarks made by the Deacon family across the creamed salmon. It is nothing short of magnificent.

“Dwight Herbert” is, of course, the high priest of this elaborate banality, and in his creation Miss Gale has given to America a man made in its own image, something rarely done on our native stage. And, as if this were not enough, she has also brought, whining and scuffling before the footlights, our first normal stage-child, in the unpleasing person of the recalcitrant “Monona.” For years we have seen no small children on the stage who did not spend their time coming downstairs in their nighties to reunite uncongenial parents or bringing tears to the hard eyes of adventuresses by telling them that they looked “des like muvver.” It was with the full force of an original dramatic creation therefore that “Monona Deacon,” the world’s most disagreeable stage-child, came swimming petulantly into our ken. She and her disillusioned “Grandma Bett” (a character somewhat more generic as acted but no less vivid), with their joint and articulate hatred of the rest of the family, constitute a refreshing rearrangement of the hitherto idyllic characters of Childhood and Old Age.

In the interests of truth, then, Miss Gale has violated many sacred dramatic rules. She has given us characters who talk as people really talk and who therefore are dull. She has given us an old lady who is not sweet, and a child who is not cute. And, on the technical side, she has begun two successive scenes with practically the same dialogue, so that for several minutes one is scarcely distinct from the other. And in this last deviation from established custom she has at one stroke succeeded in creating an atmosphere of monotony and domestic routine in home life which stands unique among theatrical effects.

The result of such adherence to uninspiring reality might well have been expected to be a failure in its appeal to an uninspiring nation of theater-goers. But Miss Gale took the chance. She wrote the play, as she had written the book, without compromise, and was rewarded by an enthusiastic public.

ROBERT C. BENCHLEY

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE CAST

As produced and staged by Mr. Brock Pemberton beginning December 27, 1920, at the Belmont Theatre, New York.

MONONA DEACON Lois Shore DWIGHT HERBERT DEACON William Holden INA DEACON Catherine Calhoun Doucet LULU BETT Carroll McComas BOBBY LARKIN Jack Bohn MRS. BETT Louise Closser Hale DIANA DEACON Beth Varden NEIL CORNISH Willard Robertson NINIAN DEACON Brigham Royce

TIME: The Present PLACE: The Middle Class

ACT I.-- Scene 1.--The Deacon’s dining-room.
Scene 2.--The same; ten days later.
ACT II.-- Scene 1.--The Deacon’s front porch; a
month later.
_Scene 2._The same; the following evening.
_Scene 3._The same; a fortnight later.
ACT III.-- (2d version)--The Deacon’s front porch.
A morning later.
(1st version)--Cornish’s music store; the
following morning.

Between the scenes in Acts I and II the curtain will be lowered a half a minute to indicate the lapse of time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

MISS LULU BETT

ACT I

SCENE I

THE DEACON DINING ROOM: _Plain rose paper, oak sideboard, straight chairs, a soft old brown divan, table laid for supper. Large pictures of, say, “Paul and Virginia” and Abbott Thayer’s “Motherhood.” A door left leads to kitchen; a door right front leads to the passage and the “other” room. Back are two windows with lace curtains, revealing shrubbery or blossoming plants; and a shelf with a clock and a photograph of Ninian Deacon. Over the table is a gas burner in a glass globe. In the center of the table is a pink tulip in a pot. The stage is empty._

[Enter MONONA. She tiptoes to the table, tastes a dish or two, hides a cooky in her frock; begins a terrible little chant on miscellaneous notes.]

[Enter DWIGHT DEACON.]

DWIGHT

What! You don’t mean you’re in time for supper, baby?

MONONA

I ain’t a baby.

DWIGHT

Ain’t. Ain’t. Ain’t.

MONONA

Well, I ain’t.

DWIGHT

We shall have to take you in hand, mama and I. We shall-have-to-take-you in hand.

MONONA

I ain’t such a bad girl.

DWIGHT

Ain’t. Ain’t. Ain’t.

[Enter INA, Door R. E.]

INA

Dwightie! Have I kept you waiting?

DWIGHT

It’s all right, my pet. Bear and forbear. Bear and forbear.

INA

Everything’s on the table. I didn’t hear Lulu call us, though. She’s fearfully careless. And Dwight, she looks so bad--when there’s company I hate to have her around.

[They seat themselves.]

DWIGHT

My dear Ina, your sister is very different from you.

INA

Well, Lulu certainly is a trial. Come Monona.

DWIGHT

Live and let live, my dear. We have to overlook, you know. What have we on the festive board to-night?

INA

We have creamed salmon. On toast.

MONONA

I don’t want any.

DWIGHT

What’s this? No salmon?

MONONA

No.

INA

Oh now, pet! You liked it before.

MONONA

I don’t want any.

DWIGHT

Just a little? A very little? What is this? Progeny will not eat?

INA

She can eat if she will eat. The trouble is, she will not take the time.

DWIGHT

She don’t put her mind on her meals.

INA

Now, pettie, you must eat or you’ll get sick.

MONONA

I don’t want any.

INA

Well, pettie--then how would you like a nice egg?

MONONA

No.

INA

Some bread and milk?

MONONA

No.

[Enter LULU BETT. She carries a plate of muffins.]

INA

Lulu, Monona won’t eat a thing. I should think you might think of something to fix for her.

LULU

Can’t I make her a little milk toast?

MONONA

Yes!

INA

Well now, sister. Don’t toast it too much. That last was too--and it’s no use, she will not eat it if it’s burned.

LULU

I won’t burn it on purpose.

INA

Well, see that you don’t ... Lulu! Which milk are you going to take?

LULU

The bottle that sets in front, won’t I?

INA

But that’s yesterday’s milk. No, take the fresh bottle from over back. Monona must be nourished.

LULU

But then the yesterday’s’ll sour and I can’t make a custard pie----

DWIGHT

Kindly settle these domestic matters without bringing them to my attention at meal time.

[Observes the tulip.]

Flowers! Who’s been having flowers sent in?

INA

Ask Lulu.

DWIGHT

Suitors?

LULU

It was a quarter. There’ll be five flowers.

DWIGHT

You bought it?

LULU

Yes. Five flowers. That’s a nickel apiece.

DWIGHT

Yet we give you a home on the supposition that you have no money to spend, even for the necessities.

INA

Well, but Dwightie. Lulu isn’t strong enough to work. What’s the use----

DWIGHT

The justice business and the dental profession do not warrant the purchase of spring flowers in my home.

INA

Well, but Dwightie----

DWIGHT

No more. Lulu meant no harm.

INA

The back bottle, Lulu. And be as quick as you can. Remember, the back bottle. She has a terrible will, hangs on to her own ideas, and hangs on----

[Exit LULU.]

DWIGHT

Forbearance my pet, forbearance. Baked potatoes. That’s good--that’s good. The baked potato contains more nourishment than potatoes prepared in any other way. Roasting retains it.

INA

That’s what I always think.

DWIGHT

Where’s your mother? Isn’t she coming to supper?

INA

No. Tantrim.

DWIGHT

Oh ho, mama has a tantrim, eh? My dear Ina, your mother is getting old. She don’t have as many clear-headed days as she did.

INA

Mama’s mind is just as good as it ever was, sometimes.

DWIGHT

Hadn’t I better call her up?

INA

You know how mama is.

[Enter LULU. She takes flowerpot from table and throws it out the window. Exit LULU.]

DWIGHT

I’d better see.

[Goes to door and opens it.]

Mother Bett!... Come and have some supper.... Looks to me Lulu’s muffins’d go down pretty easy! Come on--I had something funny to tell you and Ina....

[Returns.]

No use. She’s got a tall one on to-night, evidently. What’s the matter with her?

INA

Well, I told Lulu to put the creamed salmon on the new blue platter, and mama thought I ought to use the old deep dish.

DWIGHT

You reminded her that you are mistress here in your own home? But gently, I hope?

INA

Well--I reminded her. She said if I kept on using the best dishes I wouldn’t have a cup left for my own wake.

DWIGHT

And my little puss insisted?

INA

Why of course. I wanted to have the table look nice for you, didn’t I?

DWIGHT

My precious pussy.

INA

So then she walked off to her room.

[MONONA sings her terrible little chant.]

Quiet, pettie, quiet!

DWIGHT

Softly, softly, softly, SOFTLY!... Well, here we are, aren’t we? I tell you people don’t know what living is if they don’t belong in a little family circle.

INA

That’s what I always think.

DWIGHT

Just coming home here and sort of settling down--it’s worth more than a tonic at a dollar the bottle. Look at this room. See this table. Could anything be pleasanter?

INA

Monona! Now, it’s all over both ruffles. And mama does try so hard....

DWIGHT

My dear. Can’t you put your mind on the occasion?

INA

Well, but Monona is so messy.

DWIGHT

Women can_not_ generalize.

[Clock strikes half hour.]

Curious how that clock loses. It must be fully quarter to. It is quarter to! I’m pretty good at guessing time.

INA

I’ve often noticed that.

DWIGHT

That clock is a terrible trial. Last night it was only twenty-three after when the half hour struck.

INA

Twenty-one I thought.

DWIGHT

Twenty-three. My dear Ina, didn’t I particularly notice. It was twenty-three.

MONONA

[Like lightning.]

I want my milk toast, I want my milk toast, I want my milk toast.

INA

Do hurry, sister. She’s going to get nervous.

[MONONA chants her chant. Enter LULU.]

LULU

I’ve got the toast here.

INA

Did you burn it?

LULU

Not black.

DWIGHT

There we are. Milk toast like a ku-ween. Where is our young lady daughter to-night?

INA

She’s at Jenny Plows, at a teaparty.

DWIGHT

Oh ho, teaparty. Is it?

LULU

We told you that this noon.

DWIGHT

[Frowning at LULU.]

How much is salmon the can now, Ina?

INA

How much is it, Lulu?

LULU

The large ones are forty, that used to be twenty-five. And the small ones that were ten, they’re twenty-five. The butter’s about all gone. Shall I wait for the butter woman or get some creamery?

DWIGHT

Not at meal time, if you please, Lulu. The conversation at my table must not deal with domestic matters.

LULU

I suppose salmon made me think of butter.

DWIGHT

There is not the remotest connection. Salmon comes from a river. Butter comes from a cow. A cow bears no relation to a river. A cow may drink from a river, she may do that, but I doubt if that was in your mind when you spoke--you’re not that subtle.

LULU

No, that wasn’t in my mind.

[Enter MOTHER BETT.]

DWIGHT

Well, Mama Bett, hungry now?

MRS. BETT

No, I’m not hungry.

INA

We put a potato in the oven for you, mama.

MRS. BETT

No, I thank you.

DWIGHT

And a muffin, Mama Bett.

MRS. BETT

No, I thank you.

LULU

Mama, can’t I fix you some fresh tea?

MRS. BETT

That’s right, Lulie. You’re a good girl. And see that you put in enough tea so as a body can taste tea part of the way down.

INA

Sit here with us, mama.

MRS. BETT

No, I thank you. I’ll stand and keep my figger.

DWIGHT

You know you look like a queen when you stand up, straight back, high head, a regular wonder for your years, you are.

MRS. BETT

Sometimes I think you try to flatter me.

[Sits.]

[Doorbell.]

MONONA

I’ll go. I’ll go. Let me go.

DWIGHT

Now what can anybody be thinking of to call just at meal time. Can’t I even have a quiet supper with my family without the outside world clamoring?

LULU

Maybe that’s the butter woman.

DWIGHT

Lulu, no more about the butter, please.

MONONA

Come on in. Here’s Bobby to see you, papa, let’s feed him.

DWIGHT

Oh ho! So I’m the favored one. Then draw up to the festive board, Robert. A baked potato?

BOBBY

No, sir. I--I wanted something else.

DWIGHT

What’s this? Came to see the justice about getting married, did you? Or the dentist to have your tooth pulled--eh? Same thing--eh, Ina? Ha! ha! ha!

BOBBY

I--I wondered whether--I thought if you would give me a job....

DWIGHT

So that’s it.

BOBBY

I thought maybe I might cut the grass or cut--cut something.

DWIGHT

My boy, every man should cut his own grass. Every man should come home at night, throw off his coat and, in his vigor, cut his own grass.

BOBBY

Yes, sir.

DWIGHT

Exercise, exercise is next to bread--next to gluten. Hold on, though--hold on. After dental hours I want to begin presently to work my garden. I have two lots. Property is a burden. Suppose you cut the grass on the one lot through the spring.

BOBBY

Good enough, sir. Can I start right in now? It isn’t dark yet.

DWIGHT

That’s right, that’s right. Energy--it’s the driving power of the nation.

[They rise, DWIGHT goes toward the door with BOBBY.]

Start right in, by all means. You’ll find the mower in the shed, oiled and ready. Tools always ready--that’s my motto, my boy.

[Enter DI and CORNISH. CORNISH carries many favors.]

Ah ha!

Where is everybody? Oh, hullo, Bobby! You came to see me?

BOBBY

Oh, hullo! No. I came to see your father.

Did you? Well, there he is. Look at him.

BOBBY

You don’t need to tell me where to look or what to do. Good-by. I’ll find the mower, Mr. Deacon.

[Exit.]

DWIGHT

Mama! What do you s’pose? Di thought she had a beau--How are you, Cornish?

Oh, papa! Why, I just hate Bobby Larkin, and the whole school knows it. Mama, wasn’t Mr. Cornish nice to help carry my favors?

INA

Ah, Mr. Cornish! You see what a popular little girl we have.

CORNISH

Yes, I suppose so. That is--isn’t that remarkable, Mrs. Deacon?

[He tries to greet LULU, who is clearing the table.]

Oh, papa, the sweetest party--and the dearest supper and the darlingest decorations and the georgeousest---- Monona, let go of me!

DWIGHT

Children, children, can’t we have peace in this house?

MONONA

Ah, you’ll catch it for talking so smarty.

Oh, will I?

INA

Monona, don’t stand listening to older people. Run around and play.

[MONONA runs a swift circle and returns to her attitude of listener.]

CORNISH

Pardon me--this is Miss Bett, isn’t it?

LULU

I--Lulu Bett, yes.

CORNISH

I had the pleasure of meeting you the night I was here for supper.

LULU

I didn’t think you’d remember.

CORNISH

Don’t you think I’d remember that meat pie?

LULU

Oh, yes. The meat pie. You might remember the meat pie.

[Exit, carrying plates.]

CORNISH

What in the dickens did I say that for?

INA

Oh, Lulu likes it. She’s a wonderful cook. I don’t know what we should do without her.

DWIGHT

A most exemplary woman is Lulu.

INA

That’s eggsemplary, Dwightie.

DWIGHT

My darling little dictionary.

Mama, Mr. Cornish and I have promised to go back to help Jenny.

INA

How nice! And Mr. Cornish, do let us see you oftener.

DWIGHT

Yes, yes, Cornish. Drop in. Any time, you know.

CORNISH

I’ll be glad to come. I do get pretty lonesome evenings.

[Enter LULU, clearing table.]

I eat out around. I guess that’s why your cooking made such an impression on me, Miss Lulu.

LULU

Yes. Yes. I s’pose it would take something like that....

CORNISH

Oh, no, no! I didn’t mean--you mustn’t think I meant--What’d I say that for?

LULU

Don’t mind. They always say that to me.

[Exit with dishes.]

Come on, Mr. Cornish. Jenny’ll be waiting. Monona, let go of me!

MONONA

I don’t want you!

DWIGHT

Early, darling, early! Get her back here early, Mr. Cornish.

CORNISH

Oh, I’ll have her back here as soon as ever she’ll come--well, ah--I mean....

Good-by Dwight and Ina!

[Exit DI and CORNISH.]

DWIGHT

Nice fellow, nice fellow. Don’t know whether he’ll make a go of his piano store, but he’s studying law evenings.

INA

But we don’t know anything about him, Dwight. A stranger so.

DWIGHT

On the contrary I know a great deal about him. I know that he has a little inheritance coming to him.

INA

An inheritance--really? I thought he was from a good family.

DWIGHT

My mercenary little pussy.

INA

Well, if he comes here so very much you know what we may expect.

DWIGHT

What may we expect?

INA

He’ll fall in love with Di. And a young girl is awfully flattered when a good-looking older man pays her attention. Haven’t you noticed that?

DWIGHT

How women generalize! My dear Ina, I have other matters to notice.

INA

Monona. Stop listening! Run about and play.

[MONONA runs her circle and returns.]

Well, look at that clock. It’s almost your bedtime, anyway.

[Enter LULU.]

MONONA

No.

INA

It certainly is.

MONONA

That clock’s wrong. Papa said so.

INA

Mama says bedtime. In ten minutes.

MONONA

I won’t go all night.

DWIGHT

Daughter, daughter, daughter....

MONONA

I won’t go for a week.

[DWIGHT sees on clock shelf a letter.]

INA

Oh, Dwight! It came this morning. I forgot.

LULU

I forgot too. And I laid it up there.

DWIGHT

Isn’t it understood that my mail can’t wait like this?

LULU

I know. I’m sorry. But you hardly ever get a letter.

DWIGHT

Of course pressing matters go to my office. Still my mail should have more careful----

[He reads.]

Now! What do you think I have to tell you?

INA

Oh, Dwightie! Something nice?

DWIGHT

That depends. I’ll like it. So’ll Lulu. It’s company.

MONONA

I hope they bring me something decent.

INA

Oh, Dwight, who?

DWIGHT

My brother, from Oregon.

INA

Ninian coming here?

DWIGHT

Some day next week. He don’t know what a charmer Lulu is or he’d come quicker.

INA

Dwight, it’s been years since you’ve seen him.

DWIGHT

Nineteen--twenty. Must be twenty.

INA

And he’s never seen me.

DWIGHT

Nor Lulu.

INA

And think where he’s been. South America--Mexico--Panama and all. We must put it in the paper.

MRS. BETT

Who’s coming? Why don’t you say who’s coming? You all act so dumb.

LULU

It’s Dwight’s brother, mother. His brother from Oregon.

MRS. BETT

Never heard of him.

LULU

[Taking photograph from shelf.]

That one, mother. You’ve dusted his picture lots of times.

MRS. BETT

That? Got to have him around long?

DWIGHT

I don’t know. Wait till he sees Lulu. I expect when he sees Lulu you can’t drive him away. He’s going to take one look at Lulu and settle down here for life. He’s going to think Lulu is----

LULU

I--think the tea must be steeped now.

[Exit.]

DWIGHT

He’s going to think Lulu is a stunner--a stunner....

[The clock strikes. MONONA shrieks.]

Is the progeny hurt?

INA

Bedtime. Now, Monona, be mama’s nice little lady.... Monona, quiet, pettie, quiet....

[LULU enters with tea and toast.]

Lulu, won’t you take her to bed? You know Dwight and I are going to Study Club.

LULU

There, mother. Yes. I’ll take her to bed. Come, Monona. And stop that noise instantly.

[MONONA stops. As they cross DWIGHT spies the tulip on LULU’S gown.]

DWIGHT

Lulu. One moment. You picked the flower on the plant?

LULU

Yes. I--picked it.

DWIGHT

She buys a hothouse plant and then ruins it!

LULU

I--I----

[She draws MONONA swiftly left; exeunt; the door slams.]

DWIGHT

What a pity Lulu hasn’t your manners, pettie.

MRS. BETT

What do you care? She’s got yours.

DWIGHT

Mother Bett! Fare thee well.

MRS. BETT

How do you stand him? The lump!

INA

Mama dear, now drink your tea. Good-night, sweetie.

MRS. BETT

You needn’t think I forgot about the platter, because I ain’t. Of all the extravagant doin’s, courtin’ the poorhouse----

[Exeunt DWIGHT and INA. MRS. BETT continues to look after them, her lips moving. At door appears BOBBY.]

BOBBY

Where’s Mr. Deacon?

MRS. BETT

Gone, thank the Lord!

BOBBY

I’ve got the grass cut.

MRS. BETT

You act like it was a trick.

BOBBY

Is--is everybody gone?

MRS. BETT

Who’s this you’re talkin’ to?

BOBBY

Yes, well, I meant--I guess I’ll go now.

[Enter DI.]

Well, Bobby Larkin. Are you cutting grass in the dining room?

BOBBY

No, ma’am, I was not cutting grass in the dining room.

[Enter LULU, collects her mother’s dishes, folds cloth and watches.]

I used to think you were pretty nice, but I don’t like you any more.

BOBBY

Yes you used to! Is that why you made fun of me all the time?

I had to. They all were teasing me about you.

BOBBY

They were? Teasing you about me?

I had to make them stop so I teased you. I never wanted to.

BOBBY

Well, I never thought it was anything like that.

Of course you didn’t. I--wanted to tell you.

BOBBY

You wanted----

Of course I did. You must go now--they’re hearing us.

BOBBY

Say----

Good-night. Go the back way, Bobby--you nice thing.

[Exit BOBBY.]

Aunt Lulu, give me the cookies, please, and the apples. Mr. Cornish is on the front porch ... mama and papa won’t be home till late, will they?

LULU

I don’t think so.

Well, I’ll see to the hall light. Don’t you bother. Good-night.

LULU

Good-night, Di.

[Exit DI.]

MRS. BETT

My land! How she wiggles and chitters.

LULU

Mother, could you hear them? Di and Bobby Larkin?

MRS. BETT

Mother hears a-plenty.

LULU

How easy she done it ... got him right over ... how did she do that?

MRS. BETT

Di wiggles and chitters.

LULU

It was just the other day I taught her to sew ... I wonder if Ina knows.

MRS. BETT

What’s the use of you findin’ fault with Inie? Where’d you been if she hadn’t married I’d like to know?... What say? ... eh? ... I’m goin’ to bed.... You always was jealous of Inie.

[Exit MRS. BETT.]

[LULU crosses to shelf, takes down photograph of NINIAN DEACON, holds it, looks at it.]

CURTAIN

------------------------------------------------------------------------

SCENE II

SAME SET. Late afternoon. A week later. The table is cleared of dishes, and has an oilcloth cover. BOBBY is discovered outside the window, on whose sill DI is sitting.

BOBBY

So you despise me for cutting grass?

No, I don’t. But if you’re going to be a great man why don’t you get started at it?

BOBBY

I am started at it--inside. But it don’t earn me a cent yet.

Bobby, Bobby! I know you’re great now, don’t you ever think I don’t, but I want everybody else to know.

BOBBY

Di, when you said that it sounded just like a--a you know.

Like what?

BOBBY

Like a wife. Gee, what a word that is!

Isn’t it? It’s ever so much more exciting word than husband.

[Enter LULU, followed by MONONA. LULU carries bowl, pan of apples, paring knife. MONONA carries basket of apples and a towel. As LULU rattles dishes, DI turns, sees LULU. BOBBY disappears from window.]

There’s never any privacy in this house.

[Exit DI.]

LULU

Hurry, Monona, I must make the pies before I get dinner. Now wipe every one.

MONONA

What for?

LULU

To make the pies.

MONONA

What do you want to make pies for?

LULU

To eat.

MONONA

What do you want to eat for?

LULU

To grow strong--and even sensible.

MONONA

It’s no fun asking you a string of questions. You never get mad. Mama gets good and mad. So does papa.

LULU

Then why do you ask them questions?

MONONA

Oh, I like to get them going.

LULU

Monona!

MONONA

I told mama I didn’t pass, just so I could hear her.

LULU

Why, Monona!

MONONA

Then when I told her I did pass, she did it again. When she’s mad she makes awful funny faces.

LULU

You love her, don’t you, Monona?

MONONA

I love her best when there’s company. If there was always company, I’d always love her. Isn’t she sweet before Uncle Ninian though?

LULU

I--I don’t know. Monona, you mustn’t talk so.

MONONA

He’s been here a week and mama hasn’t been cross once. Want to know what he said about you?

LULU

I--did he--did he say anything about me?

MONONA

He told papa you were the best cook he’d ever ate. Said he’d et a good many.

LULU

The cooking. It’s always the cooking.

MONONA

He said some more, but I can’t remember.

LULU

Monona, what else did he say?

MONONA

I don’t know.

LULU

Try....

MONONA

Here he is now. Ask him to his face. Hullo, Uncle Ninian! Good-by.

[Exit MONONA. Enter NINIAN.]

NINIAN

Hello, kitten! Ask him what? What do you want to ask him?

LULU

I--I think I was wondering what kind of pies you like best.

NINIAN

That’s easy. I like your kind of pies best. The best ever. Every day since I’ve been here I’ve seen you baking, Mrs. Bett.

LULU

Yes, I--bake. What did you call me then?

NINIAN

Mrs. Bett--isn’t it? Every one says just Lulu, but I took it for granted.... Well, now--is it Mrs.? or Miss Lulu Bett?

LULU

It’s Miss.... From choice.

NINIAN

You bet! Oh, you bet! Never doubted that.

LULU

What kind of a Mr. are you?

NINIAN

Never give myself away. Say, by George, I never thought of that before. There’s no telling whether a man’s married or not, by his name.

LULU

It doesn’t matter.

NINIAN

Why?

LULU

Not so many people want to know.

NINIAN

Say, you’re pretty good, aren’t you?

LULU

If I am it never took me very far.

NINIAN

Where you been mostly?

LULU

Here. I’ve always been here. Fifteen years with Ina. Before that we lived in the country.

NINIAN

Never been anywhere much?

LULU

Never been anywhere at all.

NINIAN

H ... m. Well, I want to tell you something about yourself.

LULU

About me?

NINIAN

Something that I’ll bet you don’t even know. It’s this: I think you have it pretty hard around here.

LULU

Oh, no!

NINIAN

See here. Do you have to work like this all the time? I guess you won’t mind my asking.

LULU

But I ought to work. I have a home with them. Mother too.

NINIAN

But glory! You ought to have some kind of a life of your own.

LULU

How could I do that?

NINIAN

A man don’t even know what he’s like till he’s roamed around on his own.... Roamed around on his own. Course a woman don’t understand that.

LULU

Why don’t she? Why don’t she?

NINIAN

Do you?

[LULU nods.]

I’ve had twenty-five years of galloping about--Brazil, Mexico, Panama.

LULU

My!

NINIAN

It’s the life.

LULU

Must be. I----

NINIAN

Yes, you. Why, you’ve never had a thing! I guess you don’t know how it seems to me, coming along--a stranger so. I don’t like it.

LULU

They’re very good to me.

NINIAN

Do you know why you think that? Because you’ve never had anybody really good to you. That’s why.

LULU

But they treat me good.

NINIAN

They make a slavey of you. Regular slavey. Damned shame I call it.

LULU

But we have our whole living----

NINIAN

And you earn it. I been watching you ever since I’ve been here. Don’t you ever go anywhere?

LULU

Oh, no, I don’t go anywhere. I----

NINIAN

Lord! Don’t you want to? Of course you do.

LULU

Of course I’d like to get clear away--or I used to want to.

NINIAN

Say--you’ve been a blamed fine-looking woman.

LULU

You must have been a good-looking man once yourself.

NINIAN

You’re pretty good. I don’t see how you do it--darned if I do.

LULU

How I do what?

NINIAN

Why come back, quick like that, with what you say. You don’t look it.

LULU

It must be my grand education.

NINIAN

Education: I ain’t never had it and I ain’t never missed it.

LULU

Most folks are happy without an education.

NINIAN

You’re not very happy, though.

LULU

Oh, no.

NINIAN

Well you ought to get up and get out of here--find--find some work you like to do.

LULU

But, you see, I can’t do any other work--that’s the trouble--women like me can’t do any other work.

NINIAN

But you make this whole house go round.

LULU

If I do, nobody knows it.

NINIAN

I know it. I hadn’t been in the house twenty-four hours till I knew it.

LULU

You did? You thought that.... Yes, well if I do I hate making it go round.

NINIAN

See here--couldn’t you tell me a little bit about--what you’d like to do? If you had your own way?

LULU

I don’t know--now.

NINIAN

What did you ever think you’d like to do?

LULU

Take care of folks that needed me. I--I mean sick folks or old folks or--like that. Take care of them. Have them--have them want me.

NINIAN

By George! You’re a wonder.

LULU

Am I? Ask Dwight.

NINIAN

Dwight. I could knock the top of his head off the way he speaks to you. I’d like to see you get out of this, I certainly would.

LULU

I can’t get out. I’ll never get out--now.

NINIAN

Don’t keep saying “now” like that. You--you put me out of business, darned if you don’t.

LULU

Oh, I don’t mean to feel sorry for myself--you stop making me feel sorry for myself!

NINIAN

I know one thing--I’m going to give Dwight Deacon a chunk of my mind.

LULU

Oh, no! no! no! I wouldn’t want you to do that. Thank you.

NINIAN

Well, somebody ought to do something. See here--while I’m staying around you know you’ve got a friend in me, don’t you?

LULU

Do I?

NINIAN

You bet you do.

LULU

Not just my cooking?

NINIAN

Oh, come now--why, I liked you the first moment I saw you.

LULU

Honest?

NINIAN

Go on--go on. Did you like me?

LULU

Now you’re just being polite.

NINIAN

Say, I wish there was some way----

LULU

Don’t you bother about me.

NINIAN

I wish there was some way----

[MONONA’S voice chants.]

[Enter MONONA.]

MONONA

You’ve had him long enough, Aunt Lulu----Can’t you pay me some ’tention?

NINIAN

Come here. Give us a kiss. My stars, what a great big tall girl! Have to put a board on her head to stop this growing.

MONONA

[Seeing diamond.]

What’s that?

NINIAN

That diamond came from Santa Claus. He has a jewelry shop in heaven. I have twenty others like this one. I keep the others to wear on the Sundays when the sun comes up in the west.

MONONA

Does the sun ever come up in the west?

NINIAN

Sure--on my honor. Some day I’m going to melt a diamond and eat it. Then you sparkle all over in the dark, ever after. I’m going to plant one too, some day. Then you can grow a diamond vine. Yes, on my honor.

LULU

Don’t do that--don’t do that.

NINIAN

What?

LULU

To her. That’s lying.

NINIAN

Oh, no. That’s not lying. That’s just drama. Drama. Do you like going to a good show?

LULU

I’ve never been to any--only those that come here.

NINIAN

Think of that now. Don’t you ever go to the city?

LULU

I haven’t been in six years and over.

NINIAN

Well, sir, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with you. While I’m here I’m going to take you and Ina and Dwight up to the city, to see a show.

LULU

Oh, you don’t want me to go.

NINIAN

Yes, sir, I’ll give you one good time. Dinner and a show.

LULU

Ina and Dwight do that sometimes. I can’t imagine me.

NINIAN

Well, you’re coming with me. I’ll look up something good. And you tell me just what you like to eat and we’ll order it----

LULU

It’s been years since I’ve eaten anything that I haven’t cooked myself.

NINIAN

It has. Say, by George! why shouldn’t we go to the city to-night.

LULU

To-night?

NINIAN

Yes. If Dwight and Ina will. It’s early yet. What do you say?

LULU

You sure you want me to go? Why--I don’t know whether I’ve got anything I could wear.

NINIAN

Sure you have.

LULU

I--yes, I have. I could wear the waist I always thought they’d use--if I died.

NINIAN

Sure you could wear that. Just the thing. And throw some things in a bag--it’ll be too late to come back to-night. Now don’t you back out....

LULU

Oh, the pies----

NINIAN

Forget the pies--well, no, I wouldn’t say that. But hustle them up.

LULU

Oh, maybe Ina won’t go....

NINIAN

Leave Ina to me.

[Exit NINIAN.]

LULU

Mother, mother! Monona, put the rest of those apples back in the basket and carry them out.

MONONA

Yes, Aunt Lulu.

LULU

I can’t get ready. They’ll leave me behind. Mother! Hurry, Monona. We mustn’t leave such a looking house. Mother! Monona, don’t you drop those apples.

[MONONA drops them all.]

My heavens, my pies aren’t in the oven yet.

[Enter MRS. BETT.]

MRS. BETT

Who wants their mother?

LULU

Mother, please pick up these things for me--quick.

MRS. BETT

[Leisurely]

What is the rush, Lulie?

LULU

Mother, Mr. Deacon--Ninian, you know--wants Ina and Dwight and me to go to the theater to-night in the city.

MRS. BETT

Does, does he? Well, you mind me, Lulie, and go on. It’ll do you good.

LULU

Yes, mother. I will.

[Exit with pies.]

MRS. BETT

No need breaking everybody’s neck off, though, as I know of. Monona, get out from under my feet.

MONONA

Grandma, compared between what I am, you are nothing.

MRS. BETT

What do you mean--little ape?

MONONA

It’s no fun to get you going. You’re too easy, grandma dear!

[Exit. Enter NINIAN.]

NINIAN

All right--Dwight and Ina are game. Oh, Mrs. Bett! Won’t you come to the theater with us to-night?

MRS. BETT

No. I’m fooled enough without fooling myself on purpose. But Lulie can go.

NINIAN

You don’t let her go too much, do you, Mrs. Bett?

MRS. BETT

Well, I ain’t never let her go to the altar if that’s what you mean.

NINIAN

Don’t you think she’d be better off?

MRS. BETT

Wouldn’t make much difference. Why look at me. A husband, six children, four of ’em under the sod with him. And sometimes I feel as though nothin’ more had happened to me than has happened to Lulie. It’s all gone. For me just the same as for her. Only she ain’t had the pain.

[Yawns.]

What was I talkin’ about just then?

NINIAN

Why--why--er, we were talking about going to the theater.

MRS. BETT

Going to the theater, are you?

[Enter LULU.]

NINIAN

It’s all right, Miss Lulu. They’ll go--both of them. Dwight is telephoning for the seats.

LULU

I was wondering why you should be so kind to me.

NINIAN

Kind? Why, this is for my own pleasure, Miss Lulu. That’s what I think of mostly.

LULU

But just see. It’s so wonderful. Half an hour ago I never thought I’d be going to the city now--with you all....

NINIAN

I’m an impulsive cuss you’ll find, Miss Lulu.

LULU

But this is so wonderful....

[Enter INA.]

Ina, isn’t it beautiful that we’re going?

INA

Oh, are you going?

NINIAN

Of course she’s going. Great snakes, why not?

INA

Only that Lulu never goes anywhere.

NINIAN

Whose fault is that?

LULU

Just habit. Pure habit.