Two Men of Sandy Bar

Starbottle (examining pistol). Ah! (Lifts it, and discharges it.) It seems that I am mistaken. (Going.) The pistol WAS—er—loaded! [Exit.

SCENE 4.—Front scene. Room in villa. Enter MISS MARY and JOVITA.

Miss Mary. I tell you, you are wrong, you are not only misunderstanding your lover, which is a woman's privilege, but you are abusing my cousin, which, as his relative, I won't put up with.

Jovita (passionately). But hear me, Miss Mary. It is a year since we were betrothed; and such a betrothal! Why, I was signed, sealed, and delivered to him, on conditions, as if I were a part of the rancho; and the very night, too, I had engaged to run away with him! And during that year I have seen the gentleman twice,—yes, twice!

Miss Mary. But he has written?

Jovita. Mother of God! Yes,—letters delivered by my father, sent to HIS CARE, read by him first, of course; letters hoping that I was well, and obeying my father's commands; letters assuring me of his unaltered devotion; letters that, compared with the ones he used to hide in the confessional of the ruined mission church, were as ice to fire, were as that snow-flower you value so much, Mary, to this mariposa blossom I wear in my hair. And then to think that this man—this John Oakhurst, as I knew him; this man who used to ride twenty miles for a smile from me on the church porch; this Don Juan who leaped that garden wall (fifteen feet, Mary, if it is an inch), and made old Concho his stepping-stone; this man, who daily perilled death for my sake—is changed into this formal, methodical man of business—is—is—I tell you there's a WOMAN at the bottom of it! I know it sure!

Miss Mary (aside). How can I tell her about the Duchess? I won't! (Aloud.) But listen, my dear Jovita. You know he is under probation for you, Jovita. All this is for you. His father is cold, methodical, unsympathetic. HE looks only to his bond with this son,—this son that he treats, even in matters of the heart, as a BUSINESS partner. Remember, on his complete reformation, and subjection to his father's will, depends your hand. Remember the agreement!

Jovita. The agreement; yes! It is the agreement, always the agreement! May the Devil fly away with the agreement! Look you, Miss Mary, I, Dona Jovita, didn't fall in love with an agreement: it was with a man! Why, I might have married a dozen agreements—yes, of a shorter limitation than this! (Crossing.)

Miss Mary. Yes. But what if your lover had failed to keep those promises by which he was to gain your hand? what if he were a man incapable of self-control? what if he were—a—a drunkard?

Jovita (musing). A drunkard! (Aside.) There was Diego, he was a drunkard; but he was faithless. (Aloud.) You mean a weak, faithless drunkard?

Miss Mary. No! (Sadly.) Faithless only to himself, but devoted—yes, devoted to YOU.

Jovita. Miss Mary, I have found that one big vice in a man is apt to keep out a great many smaller ones.

Miss Mary. Yes; but if he were a slave to liquor?

Jovita. My dear, I should try to change his mistress. Oh, give me a man that is capable of a devotion to anything, rather than a cold, calculating average of all the virtues!

Miss Mary (aside). I, who aspire to be her teacher, am only her pupil. (Aloud.) But what if, in this very drunkenness, this recklessness, he had once loved and worshipped another woman? What if you discovered all this after—after—he had won your heart?

Jovita. I should adore him! Ah, Miss Mary! Love differs from all the other contagious diseases: the last time a man is exposed to it, he takes it most readily, and has it the worst! But you, YOU cannot sympathize with me. You have some lover, the ideal of the virtues; some man as correct, as well regulated, as calm as—yourself; some one who addresses you in the fixed morality and severe penmanship of the copy-books. He will never precipitate himself over a garden wall or through a window. Your Jacob will wait for you through seven years, and receive you from the hands of your cousin and guardian—as a reward of merit! No, you could not love a vagabond.

Miss Mary (very slowly and quietly). No?

Jovita. No! (Passionately.) No, it is impossible. Forgive me, Miss Mary: you are good; a better girl than I am. But think of me! A year ago my lover leaped a wall at midnight to fly with me: today, the day that gives me to him, he writes a few cold lines, saying that he has business, BUSINESS—you understand—business, and that he shall not see me until we meet in the presence of—of—of—our fathers.

Miss Mary. Yes; but you will see him at least, perhaps alone. Listen: it is no formal meeting, but one of festivity. My guardian has told me, in his quaint scriptural way, it is the killing of the fatted calf, over his long-lost prodigal. Have patience, little one. Ah! Jovita, we are of a different race, but we are of one sex; and as a woman I know how to accept another woman's abuse of her lover. Come, come! [Exeunt MISS MARY and JOVITA.

SCENE 5.—The drawing-room of MR. MORTON'S villa. Large open arch in centre, leading to veranda, looking on distant view of San Francisco; richly furnished,—sofas, arm-chairs, and tete-a-tetes. Enter COL. STARBOTTLE, C., carrying bouquet, preceded by SERVANT, bowing.

Starbottle. Take my kyard to Miss Morris. [Exit SERVANT.

Starbottle. Star! This is the momentous epoch of your life! It is a moment for which you—are—I may say alone responsible,—personally responsible! She will be naturally gratified by the—er—flowers. She will at once recognize this bouquet as a delicate souvenir of Red Gulch, and will appreciate your recollection. And the fact, the crushing fact, that you have overlooked the—er—ungentlemanly conduct of her OWN cousin Sandy, the real Alexander Morton, that you have—er—assisted to restore the ex-vaquero to his rights, will—er—er—at once open the door to—er—mutual confidence and—er—a continuance of that—er—prepossession I have already noticed. Ahem! here she is.

Enter MISS MARY in full dress.

Miss Mary. You are early, Col. Starbottle. This promptitude does honor to our poor occasion.

Col. Starbottle. Ged, Miss Mary, promptness with a lady and an adversary is the first duty of—er—gentleman. I wished that—er—the morning dew might still be—er—fresh in these flowers. I gathered them myself (presenting bouquet) at—er—er—flower-stand in the—er—California market.

Miss Mary (aside). Flowers! I needed no such reminder of poor Sandy. (Aloud.) I thank you, colonel.

Starbattle. Ged, ma'am, I am repaid doubly. Your conduct, Miss Mary, reminds me of little incident that occurred at Richmond, in '58. Dinner party—came early—but obliged to go—as now—on important business, before dessert—before dessert. Lady sat next to me—beautiful woman—excuse me if I don't mention names—said to me, "Star,"—always called me Star,—"Star, you remind me of the month of May."—"Ged, madam,"—I said, "delighted, proud; but why?"—"Because," she said, "you come in with the—er—oysters."—No! Ged, pardon me—ridiculous mistake! I mean—er—"you come in with the—er—flowers, and go before the—er—fruits."

Miss Mary. Ah, colonel! I appreciate her disappointment. Let us hope, however, that some day you may find that happy woman who will be able to keep you through the whole dinner and the whole season, until December and the ices!

Starbottle. Ged! excellent! Capital! (seriously.) Miss Mary! (Suddenly inflating his chest, striking attitude, and gazing on MISS MARY with languishing eyes.) There is—er such a woman!

Miss Mary (aside). What can he mean?

Starbottle (taking seat beside her). Allow me, Miss Mary, a few moments of confidential—er—confidential disclosure. To-day is, as you are aware—the day on which, according to—er—agreement between parties, my friend and client, Mr. Morton, sen.,—formally accepts his prodigal son. It is my—er—duty to state that—er—the gentleman who has for the past year occupied that position has behaved with great discretion, and—er—fulfilled his part of the—er—agreement. But it would—er—appear that there has been a—er—slight delusion regarding the identity of that prodigal,—a delusion shared by all the parties except, perhaps, myself. I have to prepare you for a shock. The gentleman whom you have recently known as Alexander Morton, jun., is not the prodigal son; is not your—er—cousin; is, in fact, no relation to you. Prepare yourself, Miss Mary, for a little disappointment,—for— er—degradation. The genuine son has been—er—discovered in the person of—er—low menial—or—vagabond,—"Sandy," the—er—outcast of Red Gulch!

Miss Mary (rising in astonishment). Sandy! Then he was right. (Aside.) The child is his! and that woman—

Starbottle. Compose yourself, Miss Mary. I know the—er—effect of—er—revelation like this upon—er—proud and aristocratic nature. Ged! My own, I assure you, beats in—er—responsive indignation. You can never consent to remain beneath this roof, and—er—receive a—er—vagabond and—er—menial on equal terms. The—er—necessities of my—er—profession may—er—compel me; but you—er—never! Holding myself—er—er—responsible for having introduced you here, it is my—er—duty to provide you with—another home! It is my—er—duty to protect—

Miss Mary (aside). Sandy here, and beneath this roof! Why has he not sought me? Ah, I know too well: he dare not face me with his child!

Starbottle (aside). She turns away! it is maiden coyness. (Aloud.) If, Miss Mary, the—er—devotion of a life-time; if the—er—chivalrous and respectful adoration of a man—er—whose record is—er—not unknown in the Court of Honor (dropping on one knee with excessive gallantry); if the—er—measure—

Miss Mary (oblivious of COL. STARBOTTLE). I WILL—I MUST see him! Ah! (looking L.) he is coming!

Enter SANDY.

Starbottle (rising with great readiness and tact). I have found it (presenting flower). It had fallen beneath the sofa.

Sandy (to MISS MARY, stopping short in embarrassment). I did not know you—I—I—thought there was no one here.

Miss Mary (to STARBOTTLE). May I ask you to excuse me for a moment? I have a few words to say to—to my COUSIN!

STARBOTTLE bows gallantly to MISS MARY, and stiffly to SANDY, and exit R. A long pause; MISS MARY remains seated pulling flowers, SANDY remains standing by wing, foolish and embarrassed. Business.

Miss Mary (impatiently). Well?

Sandy (slowly). I axes your pardon, miss; but you told THAT gentleman you had a few words—to say to me.

Miss Mary (passionately, aside). Fool! (Aloud.) I had; but I am waiting to first answer your inquiries about your—your—child. I have fulfilled my trust, sir.

Sandy. You have, Miss Mary, and I thank you.

Miss Mary. I might perhaps have expected that this revelation of our kinship would have come from other lips than a stranger's; but—no matter! I wish you joy, sir, of your heritage. (Going.) You have found a home, sir, at last, for yourself and—and—your child. Good-day, sir.

Sandy. Miss Mary!

Miss Mary. I must make ready to receive your father's guests. It is his orders: I am only his poor relation. Good-by, sir. [Exit L.

Sandy (watching her). She is gone!—gone! No! She has dropped on the sofa in the ante-room, and is crying. Crying! I promised Jack I wouldn't speak until the time came. I'll go back. (Hesitating, and looking toward L.) Poor girl! How she must hate me! I might just say a word, one word to thank her for her kindness to Johnny,—only one word, and then go away. I—I—can keep from liquor. I swore I would to Jack, that night I saw the old man—drunk,—and I have. But—I can't keep—from—her! No—damn it! (Going toward L.) No!—I'll go! [Exit L.

Enter hurriedly and excitedly JOVITA, R., followed by MANUELA.