Two Men of Sandy Bar

Oakhurst. No, nor smoke. The fact is, Harry, I've taken a year's pledge. I've six days still to run; after that (gloomily), why (with a reckless laugh), I shall be Jack Oakhurst again.

York. Lord! to think of your turning out to be anybody's son, Jack!—least of all, HIS! (Pointing to chair.)

Oakhurst (laughing recklessly). Not more strange than that I should find Harry York, the spendthrift of Poker Flat, the rich and respected Mr. York, produce merchant of San Francisco.

York. Yes; but, my boy, you see I didn't strike it—in a rich father. I gave up gambling, married, and settled down, saved my money, invested a little here and there, and—worked for it, Jack, damn me,—worked for it like a damned horse!

Oakhurst (aside). True, this is not work.

York. But that ain't my business with ye now, old boy: it's this. You've had some trials and troubles in the bank lately,—a defalcation of agents one day, a robbery next. It's luck, my boy, luck! but ye know people will talk. You don't mind my sayin' that there's rumors 'round. The old man's mighty unpopular because he's a saint; and folks don't entirely fancy you because you used to be the reverse. Well, Jack, it amounts to 'bout this: I've withdrawn my account from Parkinson's, in Sacramento, and I've got a pretty heavy balance on hand—nigh on two hundred thousand—in bonds and certificates here; and if it will help you over the rough places, old boy, as a deposit, yer it is (drawing pocket-book.)

Oakhurst (greatly affected, but endeavoring to conceal it). Thank you, Harry, old fellow—but—

York (quickly). I know: I'll take the risk, a business risk. You'll stand by me all you can, old boy; you'll make it pay all you can; and if you lose it—why—all right!

Oakhurst (embarrassed). As a deposit with Morton & Son, drawing two per cent monthly interest—

York. Damn Morton & Son! I'll back it with Jack Oakhurst, the man I know.

Oakhurst (advancing slowly). I'll take it, Harry.

York (extending his hand). It's a square game, Jack!

Oakhurst (seizing his hand with repressed emotion). It's a square game, Harry York, if I live.

York. Then I'll travel. Good-night, old boy. I'll send my clerk around in the morning to put things right. Good-night (going).

Oakhurst (grasping YORK'S hand). One moment—no—nothing! Good-night. [Exit YORK.

OAKHURST follows him to door, and then returns to desk, throwing himself in chair, and burying his face in his hands.

Oakhurst (with deep feeling). It needed but this to fill the measure of my degradation. I have borne the suspicions of the old man's enemies, the half-pitying, half-contemptuous sympathy of his friends, even his own cold, heartless, fanatical fulfilment of his sense of duty; but THIS—this confidence from one who had most reason to scorn me, this trust from one who knew me as I WAS,—this is the hardest burden. And he, too, in time will know me to be an impostor. He too—a reformed man; but he has honorably retraced his steps, and won the position I hold by a trick, an imposture. And what is all my labor beside his honest sincerity? I have fought against the chances that might discover my deception, against the enemies who would overthrow me, against the fate that put me here; and I have been successful—yes, a successful impostor! I have even fought against the human instinct that told this fierce, foolish old man that I was an alien to his house, to his blood; I have even felt him scan my face eagerly for some reflection of his long-lost boy, for some realization of his dream; and I have seen him turn away, cold, heartsick, and despairing. What matters that I have been to him devoted, untiring, submissive, ay, a better son to him than his own weak flesh and blood would have been? He would to-morrow cast me forth to welcome the outcast, Sandy Morton. Well, what matters? (Recklessly.) Nothing. In six days it will be over; in six days the year of my probation will have passed; in six days I will disclose to him the deceit I have practised, and will face the world again as John Oakhurst, the gambler, who staked and lost ALL on a single cast. And Jovita! Well, well!—the game is made: it is too late to draw out now. (Rings bell. Enter JACKSON.) Who has been here?

Jackson. Only Don Jose, and Mr. Capper, the detective.

Oakhurst. The detective? What for?

Jackson. To work up the robbery, sir.

Oakhurst. True! Capper, Capper, yes! A man of wild and ridiculous theories, but well-meaning, brave, and honest. (Aside.) This is the old man's idea. He does not know that I was on the trail of the thieves an hour before the police were notified. (Aloud.) Well, sir?

Jackson. He told your father he thought the recovery of the money hopeless, but he came to caution us against a second attempt.

Oakhurst (aside, starting). True! I had not thought of that. (Excitedly.) The success of their first attempt will incite them to another; the money they have stolen is gone by this time. (Aloud.) Jackson, I will stay here to-night and to-morrow night, and relieve your regular watchman. You will, of course, say nothing of my intention.

Jackson. Yes, sir. (Lingering.)

Oakhurst (after a pause). That is all, Mr. Jackson.

Jackson. Beg your pardon, Mr. Morton; but Col. Starbottle, with two ladies, was here half an hour ago, and said they would come again when you were alone.

Oakhurst. Very well: admit them.

Jackson. Beg pardon, sir; but they seemed to avoid seeing your father until they had seen you. It looked mysterious, and I thought I would tell you first.

Oakhurst (laughing). Admit them, Mr. Jackson. (Exit JACKSON.) This poor fellow's devotion is increasing. He, too, believes that his old associate in dissipation, John Oakhurst, IS the son of Alexander Morton. He, too, will have to share in the disgrace of the impostor. Ladies! umph! (Looking down at his clothes.) I'm afraid the reform of Alexander Morton hasn't improved the usual neatness of John Oakhurst. I haven't slept, nor changed my clothes, for three days. (Goes to door of MORTON, sen.'s, room.) Locked, and the key on the inside! That's strange. Nonsense! the old man has locked his door and gone out through the private entrance. Well, I'll find means of making my toilet here. [Exit into private room L.

Enter JACKSON, leading in COL. STARBOTTLE, MISS MARY, the DUCHESS, and child of three years.

Jackson. Mr. Alexander Morton, jun., is in his private room. He will be here in a moment. [Exit JACKSON.

Starbottle. One moment, a single moment, Miss Mary. Permit me to—er—if I may so express myself, to—er—group the party, to—er—place the—er—present company into position. I have—er—observed as part of my—er—legal experience, that in cases of moral illustration a great, I may say—er—tremendous, effect on the—er—jury, I mean the—er—guilty party, has been produced by the attitude of the—er—victim and martyr. You, madam, as the—er—injured wife (placing her), shall stand here, firm yet expectant, protecting your child, yet looking hopefully for assistance toward its natural protector. You, Miss Mary, shall stand here (placing her), as Moral Retribution, leaning toward and slightly appealing to me, the image of—er—er—Inflexible Justice! (Inflates his chest, puts his hand in his bosom, and strikes an attitude.)

Door of young Morton's room opens, and discloses MR. OAKHURST gazing at the group. He starts slightly on observing the DUCHESS, but instantly recovers himself, and faces the company coldly. The DUCHESS starts on observing OAKHURST, and struggles in confusion towards the door, dragging with her the child and MISS MARY, who endeavors to re-assure her. COL. STARBOTTLE looks in astonishment from one to the other, and advances to front.

Col. Starbottle (aside). The—er—tableau, although striking in moral force, is apparently—er—deficient in moral stamina.

Miss Mary (angrily to the DUCHESS). I'm ashamed of you! (To OAKHURST, advancing.) I don't ask pardon for my intrusion. If you are Alexander Morton, you are my kinsman, and you will know that I cannot introduce myself better than as the protector of an injured woman. Come here! (To the DUCHESS, dragging her towards OAKHURST. To OAKHURST.) Look upon this woman: she claims to be—

Starbottle (stepping between MISS MARY and the DUCHESS). A moment, Miss Mary, a single moment! Permit me to—er—explain. The whole thing, the—er—situation reminds me, demn me, of most amusing incident at Sacramento in '52. Large party at Hank Suedecois: know Hank? Confirmed old bach of sixty. Dinner for forty. Everything in style, first families, Ged,—Judge Beeswinger, Mat Boompointer, and Maje Blodgett of Ahlabam: know old Maje Blodgett? Well, Maje was there. Ged, sir, delay,—everybody waiting. I went to Hank. "Hank," I says, "what's matter? why delay?"—"Star," he says,—always called me Star,—"Star,—it's cook!"—"Demn cook," I says: "discharge cook,—only a black mulatto anyway!"—"Can't, Star," he says: "impossible!"—"Can't?" says I.—"No," says he. "Listen, Star," he says, "family secret! Honor! Can't discharge cook, because cook—demn it—'s MY wife!" Fact, sir, fact—showed marriage certificate—married privately seven years! Fact, sir—

The Duchess (to MISS MARY). Some other time, miss, let us go now. There's a mistake, miss, I can't explain. Some other time, miss! See, miss, how cold and stern he looks! another time, miss! (Struggling.) For God's sake, miss, let me go!

Miss Mary. No! This mystery must be cleared up now, before I enter HIS house,—before I accept the charge of this—

Starbottle (interrupting, and crossing before MISS MARY). A moment—a single moment, miss. (To OAKHURST.) Mr. Morton, you will pardon the exuberance, and perhaps, under the circumstances, somewhat natural impulsiveness, of the—er—sex, for which I am perhaps responsible; I may say—er—personally, sir,—personally responsible—

Oakhurst (coldly). Go on, sir.

Starbottle. The lady on my right is—er—the niece of your father,—your cousin. The lady on my left, engaged in soothing the—er—bashful timidity of infancy, is—er—that is—er—claims to be, the mother of the child of Alexander Morton.

Oakhurst (calmly). She is right.

Miss Mary (rushing forward). Then you are—

Oakhurst (gently restraining her). You have another question to ask: you hesitate: let me ask it. (Crossing to the DUCHESS.) You have heard my answer. Madam, are you the legal wife of Alexander Morton?

The Duchess (sinking upon her knees, and dropping her face in her hands). No!

Oakhurst. Enough: I will take the child. Pardon me, Miss Morris, but you have heard enough to know that your mission is accomplished, but what else passes between this woman and myself becomes no stranger to hear. (Motions toward room L.)

Miss Mary (aside). It is HIS son. I am satisfied (going). Come, colonel.

[Exeunt into room L., STARBOTTLE and MISS MARY.

The Duchess (crossing to OAKHURST, and falling at his feet). Forgive me, Jack, forgive me! It was no fault of mine. I did not know that you were here. I did not know that you had taken his name!

Oakhurst. Hush—on your life!