TIDES[C]
A simply furnished study. The walls are lined with bookshelves, indicating, by their improvised quality, that they have been increased as occasion demanded. On these are stacked, in addition to the books themselves, many files of papers, magazines and “reports.” The large work-table, upon which rests a double student lamp and a telephone, is conspicuous. A leather couch with pillows is opposite, pointing towards a doorway which leads into the living-room. There is also a doorway in back, which apparently opens on the hallway beyond. The room is comfortable in spite of its general disorder: it is essentially the work-shop of a busy man of public affairs. The strong sunlight of a spring day comes in through the window, flooding the table.
WILLIAM WHITE is standing by the window, smoking a pipe. He is about fifty, of striking appearance: the visual incarnation of the popular conception of a leader of men. There is authority and strength in the lines of his face; his whole personality is commanding; his voice has all the modulations of a well-trained orator; his gestures are sweeping—for, even in private conversation, he is habitually conscious of an audience. Otherwise, he is simple and engaging, with some indication of his humble origin.
On the sofa opposite, with a letter in her hand, HILDA WHITE, his wife, is seated. She is somewhat younger in fact, though in appearance she is as one who has been worn a bit by the struggle of many years. Her manner contrasts with her husband’s: her inheritance of delicate refinement is ever present in her soft voice and gentle gesture. Yet she, too, suggests strength—the sort which will endure all for a fixed intention.
It is obvious throughout that she and her husband have been happy comrades in their life together and that a deep fundamental bond has united them in spite of the different social spheres from which each has sprung.
WHITE
(Seeing she has paused)
Go on, dear; go on. Let’s hear all of it.
HILDA
Oh, what’s the use, Will? You know how differently he feels about the war.
WHITE
(With quiet sarcasm)
But it’s been so many years since your respectable brother has honored me even with the slightest allusion....
HILDA
If you care for what he says—(Continuing to read the letter)—“Remember, Hilda, you are an American. I don’t suppose your husband considers that an honor; but I do.”
WHITE
(Interrupting)
And what kind of an American has he been in times of peace? He’s wrung forty per cent profit out of his factory and fought every effort of the workers to organize. Ah, these smug hypocrites!
HILDA
(Reading)
“His violent opposition to America going in has been disgrace enough——”
WHITE
But his war profits were all right. Oh, yes.
HILDA
Let me finish, dear, since you want it. (Reading) “—been disgrace enough. But now that we’re in, I’m writing in the faint hope, if you are not too much under his influence, that you will persuade him to keep his mouth shut. This country will tolerate no difference of opinion now. You radicals had better get on board the band wagon. It’s prison or acceptance.” (She stops reading.) He’s right, dear. There will be nothing more intolerant than a so-called democracy at war.
WHITE
By God! It’s superb! Silence for twenty years and now he writes his poor misguided sister for fear she will be further disgraced by her radical husband.
HILDA
We mustn’t descend to his bitterness.
WHITE
No: I suppose I should resuscitate the forgotten doctrine of forgiving my enemies.
HILDA
He’s not your enemy; he merely looks at it all differently.
WHITE
I was thinking of his calm contempt for me these twenty years—ever since you married me—“out of your class,” as he called it.
HILDA
Oh, hush, Will. I’ve been so happy with you I can bear him no ill will. Besides, doesn’t his attitude seem natural? You mustn’t forget that no man in this country has fought his class more than you. That hurts—especially coming from an acquired relative.
WHITE
Yes; that aggravates the offense. And I’ll tell you something you may not know: (Bitterly) Whenever I’ve spoken against privilege and wealth it’s been his pudgy, comfortable face I’ve shaken my fist at. He’s been so damned comfortable all his life.
HILDA
(She looks at him in surprise)
Why, Will, you surely don’t envy him his comfort, do you? I can’t make you out. What’s come over you these last weeks? You’ve always been above such personal bitterness; even when you were most condemned and ridiculed. If it were anybody but you I’d think you had done something you were ashamed of.
WHITE
What do you mean?
HILDA
Haven’t you sometimes noticed that is what bitterness to another means: a failure within oneself? (He goes over to chair and sits without answering.) I can think of you beaten by outside things—that sort of failure we all meet; but somehow I can never think of you failing yourself. You’ve been so brave and self-reliant: you’ve fought so hard for the truth.
WHITE
(Tapping letter)
But he thinks he knows the truth, too.
HILDA
He’s also an intense nature.
WHITE
(Thoughtfully after a pause)
Yet there is some truth in what he says.
HILDA
(Smiling)
But you didn’t like it—coming from him?
WHITE
It will be different with you and me now that America’s gone in.
HILDA
Yes. It will be harder for us here; for hate is always furthest from the trenches. But you and I are not the sort who would compromise to escape the persecution which is the resource of the non-combatant.
(The phone rings: he looks at his watch.)
WHITE
That’s for me.
HILDA
Let me. (She goes.) It may be Wallace. (At phone.) Yes: this is 116 Chelsea. Long Distance? (He starts as she says to him) It must be our boy. (At phone.) Who? Oh—Mr. William White? Yes: he’ll be here. (She hangs up receiver.) She’ll ring when she gets the connection through.
WHITE
(Turning away)
It takes so long these days.
HILDA
Funny he didn’t ask for me.
WHITE
What made you think it was Wallace?
HILDA
I took it for granted. He must be having a hard time at college with all the boys full of war fever.
WHITE
And a father with my record.
HILDA
He should be proud of the example. He has more than other boys to cling to these days when everybody is losing his head as the band plays and the flag is waved. He won’t be carried away by it. He’ll remember all we taught him. Ah, Will, when I think we now have conscription—as they have in Germany—I thank God every night our boy is too young for the draft.
WHITE
But when his time comes what will he do?
HILDA
(Calmly)
He will do it with courage.
WHITE
(Referring to her brother’s letter)
Either prison or acceptance!
HILDA
I would rather have my son in prison than have him do what he felt was wrong. Wouldn’t you?
WHITE
(Evasively)
We won’t have to face that problem for two years.
HILDA
And when it comes—if he falters—I’ll give him these notes of that wonderful speech you made at the International Conference in 1910. (Picking it up.) I was looking through it only this morning.
WHITE
(Troubled)
Oh, that speech.
HILDA
(Glancing through it with enthusiasm)
“All wars are imperialistic in origin. Do away with overseas investments, trade routes, private control of ammunition factories, secret diplomacy....”
WHITE
Don’t you see that’s all dead wood?
HILDA
(Not heeding him)
This part gave me new strength when I thought of Wallace. (Reading with eloquence.) “War will stop when young men put Internationalism above Nationality, the law of God above the dictates of statesmen, the law of love above the law of hate, the law of self-sacrifice above the law of profit. There must be no boundaries in man’s thought. Let the young men of the world once throw down their arms, let them once refuse to point their guns at human hearts, and all the boundaries of the world will melt away and peace will find a resting-place in the hearts of men!”
WHITE
(Taking it from her)
And I made you believe it! What silly prophets we radicals were. (He tears it up.) Mere scraps of paper, dear; scraps of paper, now.
HILDA
But it was the truth; it still is the truth.
WHITE
Hilda, there’s something I want to talk over very very seriously with you. I’ve been putting it off.
HILDA
Yes, dear? (The outer door is heard to bang.) Listen: wasn’t that the front door?
WHITE
Perhaps it’s the maid?
HILDA
(A bit nervously)
No: she’s upstairs. No one rang. Please see.
WHITE
(Smiling)
Now don’t worry! It can’t possibly be the Secret Service.
HILDA
One never knows in war times what to expect. I sometimes feel I am in a foreign country.
(WHITE goes slowly to the door in back and opens it. WALLACE, their son, with valise in hand, is standing there, as though he had hesitated to enter.
He is a fine clean-cut young fellow, with his father’s physical endowment and his mother’s spiritual intensity. The essential note he strikes is that of honesty. It is apparent he is under the pressure of a momentous decision which has brought him unexpectedly home from college.)
WHITE
Wallace!
WALLACE
(Shaking hands)
Hello! Dad.
HILDA
Wallace! My boy!
(WALLACE drops valise and goes to his mother’s arms.)
WALLACE
(With deep feeling)
Mother!
WHITE
(After a pause)
Well, boy; this is unexpected. We were just talking of you.
WALLACE
Were you?
HILDA
I’m so glad to see you, so glad.
WALLACE
Yes ... yes ... but....
WHITE
There’s nothing the matter?
HILDA
You’ve had trouble at college?
WALLACE
Not exactly. But I couldn’t stand it there. I’ve left—for good.
WHITE
I was sure that would happen.
HILDA
Tell us. You know we’ll understand.
WALLACE
Dad, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk it over with mother first.
WHITE
Of course, old fellow, that’s right. She’ll stand by you just as she’s always stood by me—all these years. (He kisses her.) I ... I.…
(He smooths her hair gently, looking into her eyes as she smiles up at him.)
We mustn’t let this war hurt all we’ve had together—you and I——
HILDA
(Smiling and turning towards her son)
And Wallace.
WHITE
And Wallace. Yes. (WALLACE looks away guiltily.) Let me know when the phone comes.
(He goes out hastily. She closes the door after him and then comes to WALLACE, who has sat down, indicating he is troubled.)
HILDA
They made it hard for you at college?
WALLACE
I don’t know how to tell you.
HILDA
I understand. The flag waving, the patriotic speeches, the billboards advertising the glory of war, the call of adventure offered to youth, the pressure of your friends—all made it hard for you to be called a slacker.
WALLACE
No, mother. I wasn’t afraid of what they could call me. That was easy.
HILDA
(Proudly)
You are your father’s son!
WALLACE
Mother, I can’t stand the thought of killing, you know that. And I couldn’t forget all you’ve told me. That’s why I’ve had to think this out all these months alone; why I’ve hesitated longer than most fellows. The only thing I was really afraid of was being wrong. But now I know I’m right and I’m going clean through to the limit.
HILDA
As your father said I’ll stand by you—whatever it is—if only you feel it’s right.
WALLACE
Will you? Will you, mother? No matter what happens? (She nods.) I knew you would. (Taking her hand.) Then mother, listen. I’ve volunteered.
HILDA
(Shocked)
Volunteered!
WALLACE
Yes. I leave for training-camp to-night.
HILDA
To-night?
WALLACE
Yes, mother. Once I made up my mind I couldn’t wait to be drafted. I wanted to offer myself. I didn’t want to be made to go.
HILDA
(Hardly grasping it)
But you are too young.
WALLACE
I lied about my age. You and father can stop me if you tell the truth. That’s why I’ve come back. I want you to promise you won’t tell.
HILDA
You ask me to aid you in what I don’t believe?
WALLACE
But you said you’d stick by me if I thought it was right.
HILDA
But....
WALLACE
(With fervor)
And I tell you, mother, I do feel it was right for America to go in. I see now we ought to have declared war when they crushed Belgium. Yes; we ought to have gone in when the Lusitania was sunk. But we’ve been patient. The President tried to keep us out of it until we had to go in to save our self-respect. We had to go in to show we were men of honor, not pussy cats. We had to go in to show the world the Stars and Stripes wasn’t a dishrag on which the Germans could dry their bloody hands!
HILDA
(Gazing at him incredulously)
You hate them as much as that?
WALLACE
Hate? No, mother, no. (As though questioning himself.) I really haven’t any hate for the German people. People are just people everywhere, I suppose, and they’re tricked and fooled by their rotten government, as the President says.
HILDA
Then why fight them?
WALLACE
Because they’re standing back of their government, doing what it says. And they’ve got to be licked to show them what kind of a government they have.
HILDA
At least you have no hate in your heart—that’s something.
WALLACE
Oh, yes, I have, mother. But it isn’t for the poor devils I’ve got to shoot. It’s for the stay-at-home fellow here in America who sits in a comfortable armchair, who applauds patriotic sentiment, cheers the flag and does nothing for his country but hate and hate—while we fight for him. That’s the fellow I’ll hate all right when I sit in the trenches. And that’s why I couldn’t look myself in the face if I stayed out a day longer; why, I’ve got to go in; why, I’m going to die if I must, because everybody ought to be willing to die for what he believes.
HILDA
You are my son, too! For I would willingly have died if it could have kept us out of this war.
WALLACE
Yes. I am your son, too. And that’s why you wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t go through.
HILDA
No. I wouldn’t have respected you. But ... but.... (She breaks a bit, then controls herself.) You are quite sure you’re doing what’s right?
WALLACE
(Tenderly)
Would I have been willing to hurt you like this?
HILDA
(Holding him close to her)
My boy; my boy!
WALLACE
It’ll be all right, mother.
HILDA
Ah, yes. It will be all right. Nothing matters in time: it’s only the moments that hurt.
WALLACE
(After a pause)
Then you won’t tell my real age, or interfere?
HILDA
I respect your right to decide your own life.
WALLACE
(Joyed)
Mother!
HILDA
I respect your dedication; your willingness to sacrifice for your beliefs. Why, Wallace, it would be a crime for me to stand in your way—even with my mother’s love. (He kisses her.) Do it all as cleanly as you can. I’ll hope and pray that you’ll come back to me. (Half breaking down and taking him in her arms.) Oh, my boy; my boy. Let me hold you. You’ll never know how hard it is for a mother.
WALLACE
(Gently)
But other mothers send their boys.
HILDA
Most of them believe in what their sons are fighting for. Mothers have got to believe in it; or else how could they stand the thought of bayonets stuck into the bodies they brought forth in their own blood? (There is a pause till she controls herself.) I’ll help you get your things together.
WALLACE
And father?
HILDA
He will be angry.
WALLACE
But you will make him understand?
HILDA
I’ll try. Yet you must be patient with him if he doesn’t understand. Don’t ever forget his long fight against all kinds of Prussianism when you hear him reviled by those who have always hated his radicalism and who, now, under the guise of patriotism, are trying to render him useless for further attacks on them after the war. He’s been persecuted so by them—even back in the days when our press was praising Germany and our distinguished citizens were dining at the Emperor’s table. Don’t forget all this, my boy. These days are hard for him—and me—harder perhaps than for you who go out to die in glory and praise. There are no flags for us, no music that stirs, no applause; but we too suffer in silence for what we believe. And it is only the strongest who can survive.—Now call your father.
WALLACE
(Goes to door)
Dad! (He leaves door open and turns to his mother.) I’ll be getting my things together. (There is a pause. WHITE enters.) Dad, mother has something to ask you. (He looks from father to mother.) Thanks, little mother.
(He kisses her and goes out taking the valise. His father and mother stand facing each other.)
HILDA
Wallace has volunteered. (He looks at her keenly.) He has lied about his age. He wants us to let him go.
WHITE
Volunteered?
HILDA
Yes; he leaves to-night.
WHITE
(After a pause)
And what have you told him?
HILDA
That he must go.
WHITE
You can say that?
HILDA
It is the way he sees it.
WHITE
(Going to her sympathetically)
Hilda.
HILDA
(Looking up at him tenderly)
Oh, Will, do you remember when he was born? (He soothes her.) And all we nursed him through afterwards; and all we taught him; all we tried to show him about war. (With a shrug of her shoulders.) None of it has mattered.
WHITE
War is stronger than all that.
HILDA
So we mustn’t blame him. You won’t blame him?
WHITE
He fears I will?
HILDA
He has always feared you a little though he loves you deeply. You mustn’t oppose him, dear. You won’t?
WHITE
(Wearily)
Is there any use opposing anybody or anything these days?
HILDA
We must wait till the storm passes.
WHITE
That’s never been my way.
HILDA
No. You’ve fought all your life. But now we must sit silent together and wait; wait for our boy to come back. Will, think of it; we are going to have a boy “over there,” too.
WHITE
Hilda, hasn’t it ever struck you that we may have been all wrong? (She looks at him, as she holds his hand.) What could these frail hands do? How could we poor little King Canutes halt this tide that has swept over the world? Isn’t it better, after all, that men should fight themselves out; bring such desolation upon themselves that they will be forced to see the futility of war? May it not become so terrible that men—the workers, I mean—will throw down their worn-out weapons of their own accord? Won’t permanent peace come through bitter experience rather than talk—talk—talk?
HILDA
(Touching the torn pages of his speech and smiling)
Here is your answer to your own question.
WHITE
Oh, that was all theory. We’re in now. You say yourself we can’t oppose it. Isn’t it better if we try to direct the current to our own ends rather than sink by trying to swim against it?
HILDA
Oh, yes; it would be easier for one who could compromise.
WHITE
But haven’t we radicals been too intolerant of compromise?
HILDA
That has been your strength. And it is your strength I’m relying on now that Wallace.... Shall I call him?
WHITE
(Significantly)
No; wait.
HILDA
(Apprehensive at his turn)
Oh, yes. Before he came you said there was something...? (The phone rings. They both look at it.) That’s for you.
WHITE
(Not moving)
Yes.
HILDA
(Hardly believing his attitude)
Is—is it private?
WHITE
No. Perhaps it will be easier this way. (He hesitates, then goes to phone as she stands expectant.) Yes. Yes. Long Distance? Washington? (Her lips repeat the word.) Yes. This is William White. Hello. Yes. Is this the Secretary speaking? Oh, I appreciate the honor of having you confirm it personally. Senator Bough is chairman? At his request? Ah, yes; war makes strange bedfellows. Yes. The passport and credentials? Oh, I’ll be ready. Yes. Good-bye.
(He hangs up the receiver and looks at her.)
HILDA
You, too!
WHITE
I’ve been trying to tell you these last weeks; but I couldn’t somehow.
HILDA
You were ashamed?
WHITE
No, dear; only I knew it would hurt you.
HILDA
I’m not thinking of myself but of you. You are going to be part of this war?
WHITE
I’m going to do what I can to help finish it.
HILDA
By compromising with the beliefs of a lifetime?
WHITE
No, dear; not that. I’ve accepted the appointment on this commission because I’m going to accept facts.
HILDA
Have the facts of war changed or is it you?
WHITE
Neither has changed; but I’m going to act differently. I’m going to be part of it. Yes. I’m going to help direct the current.
HILDA
I can’t believe what I am hearing. Is it you, William White, speaking? You who, for twenty years, have stood against all war!
WHITE
Yes.
HILDA
And now when the test comes you are going to lend yourself to it! You of all men!
WHITE
Hilda, dear; I didn’t expect you to accept it easily; but I think I can make you see if you will let me.
HILDA
(Poignantly)
If I will let you! Why, Will, I must understand; I must.
WHITE
Perhaps it will be difficult at first—with your standards.
HILDA
But my standards were yours, Will. You gave them to me. You taught me. You took a young girl who loved you. You showed her the truth, and she followed you and has followed you gladly through hard years of struggle and poverty because of those ideals. And now you talk of my standards! Will, don’t you see, I must understand?
WHITE
Dear, standards are relative things; they differ with circumstance.
HILDA
Have your ideals only been old clothes you change to suit the weather?
WHITE
It’s the end we must keep in mind. I haven’t changed or compromised one bit in that. I’m working in changed conditions, that’s all; working with all my heart to do away with all war.
HILDA
By fighting one?
WHITE
(With eloquence)
Yes. Because it is necessary. I’ve come to see we can’t argue war out of the world with words. We’ve got to beat it out of the world. It can’t be done with our hands lifted up in prayer; it can only be done with iron hands crushing it down. War is the mood of the world. Well, I’m going to fight in my fashion. And when it is over I’m going to keep on fighting; for the next war will be greater than this. It will be economic revolution. It will be the war of capital and labor. And I mean to be ready.
HILDA
(Listening incredulously)
And to get ready you are willing to link arms now with Senator Bough—a man you once called the lackey of Wall Street—a man who has always opposed every democratic principle....
WHITE
Yes. Don’t you see the Government is beginning to realize they can’t do without us? Don’t you see my appointment is an acknowledgment of the rising tide of radicalism in the world? Don’t you see, with the prestige that will come to me from this appointment, I will have greater power after the war; power to bring about the realization of all our dreams; power to demand—even at the Peace table itself, perhaps—that all wars must end?
HILDA
Do you actually believe you will have any power with your own people when you have compromised them for a temporary expediency?
WHITE
(With a gesture)
The leader must be wiser than the people who follow.
HILDA
So, contempt for your people is the first thing your new power has brought you! (He makes a gesture of denial.) You feel you are above them—not of them. Do you believe for a moment that Senator Bough has anything but contempt for you, too?
WHITE
(Confidently)
He needs me.
HILDA
Needs you? Don’t you understand why he had you appointed on that committee? He wanted to get you out of the way.
WHITE
Isn’t that an acknowledgment of my power?
HILDA
Yes. You’re a great asset now. You’re a “reformed” radical. Why, Will, he’ll use you in the capitals of Europe to advertise his liberalism; just as the prohibitionist exhibits a reformed drunkard.
WHITE
And I tell you, Hilda, after the war I shall be stronger than he is, stronger than any of them.
HILDA
No man is strong unless he does what he feels is right. No, no, Will; you’ve convicted yourself with your own eloquence. You’ve wanted to do this for some reason. But it isn’t the one you’ve told me. No; no.
WHITE
(Angrily)
You doubt my sincerity?
HILDA
No; only the way you have read yourself.
WHITE
Well, if you think I’ve tried to make it easy for myself you are mistaken. Is it easy to pull out of the rut and habit of years? Easy to know my friends will jeer and say I’ve sold out? Easy to have you misunderstand? (Goes to her.) Hilda, I’m doing this for their good. I’m doing it—just as Wallace is—because I feel it’s right.
HILDA
No; you shouldn’t say that. You are not doing this for the same reason Wallace is. He believes in this war. He has accepted it all simply without a question. If you had seen the look in his eyes, you would have known he was a dedicated spirit; there was no shadow, no doubt; it was pure flame. But you! You believe differently! You can’t hush the mind that for twenty years has thought no war ever could henceforth be justified. You can’t give yourself to this war without tricking yourself with phrases. You see power in it and profit for yourself. (He protests.) That’s your own confession. You are only doing what is expedient—not what is right. Oh, Will, don’t compare your motives with those of our son. I sent him forth, without a word of protest, because he wishes to die for his own ideals: you are killing your own ideals for the ideals of others! (She turns away.) Oh, Will, that’s what hurts. If you were only like him, I—I could stand it.
WHITE
(Quietly, after a pause)
I can’t be angry at you—even when you say such things. You’ve been too much a part of my life, and work, and I love you, Hilda. You know that, don’t you, dear? (He sits beside her and takes her hand.) I knew it would be difficult to make you understand. Only once have I lacked courage and that was when I felt myself being drawn into this and they offered me the appointment. For then I saw I must tell you. You know I never have wanted to cause you pain. But when you asked me to let Wallace go, I thought you would understand my going, too.—Oh, perhaps our motives are different; he is young: war has caught his imagination; but, I, too, see a duty, a way to accomplish my ideals.
HILDA
Let’s leave ideals out of this now. It’s like bitter enemies praying to the same God as they kill each other.
WHITE
Yes. War is full of ironies. I see that: Wallace can’t. It’s so full of mixed motives, good and bad. Yes. I’ll grant all that. Only America has gone in. The whole tide was against us, dear. It is sweeping over the world: a brown tide of khaki sweeping everything before it. All my life I’ve fought against the current. (Wearily) And now that I’ve gone in, too, my arms seem less tired. Yes; and except for the pain I’ve caused you, I’ve never in all my life felt so—so happy.
(Then she understands. She slowly turns to him, with tenderness in her eyes.)
HILDA
Oh, now, Will, I do understand. Now I see the real reason for what you’ve done.
WHITE
(Defensively)
I’ve given the real reason.
HILDA
(Her heart going out to him)
You poor tired man. My dear one. Forgive me, if I made it difficult for you; if I said cruel words. I ought to have guessed; ought to have seen what life has done to you. (He looks up, not understanding her words.) Those hands of yours first dug a living out of the ground. Then they built houses and grew strong because you were a workman—a man of the people. You saw injustice and all your life you fought against those who had the power to inflict it: the press; the comfortable respectables, like my brother; and even those of your own group who opposed you—you fought them all. And they look at you as an outsider, an alien in your own country. Oh, Will, I know how hard it has been for you to be always on the defensive, against the majority. It is hard to live alone away from the herd. It does tire one to the bone and make one envious of the comfort and security they find by being together.
WHITE
Yes ... but....
HILDA
Now the war comes and with it a chance to get back; to be part of the majority; to be welcomed with open arms by those who have fought you; to go back with honor and praise. And, yes, to have the warmth and comfort of the crowd. That’s the real reason you’re going in. You’re tired and worn out with the fight. I know. I understand now.
WHITE
(Earnestly)
If I thought it was that, I’d kill myself.
HILDA
There’s been enough killing already. I have to understand it somehow to accept it at all.
(He stares at her, wondering at her words. She smiles. He goes to a chair and sits down, gazing before him. The music of “Over There” is now heard outside in the street, approaching nearer and nearer. It is a military band. WALLACE excitedly rushes in dressed in khaki.)
WALLACE
Mother, mother. The boys are coming down the street. (Sees father.) Dad! Mother has told you?
HILDA
(Calmly)
Yes; I’ve told him.
WALLACE
And you’re going to let me go, Dad?
HILDA
Yes.
WALLACE
Oh, thanks, Dad. (Grasping his hand.) I knew mother would make you see. (Music nearer.) Listen! Isn’t that a great tune? Lifts you up on your feet and carries you over there. Gee, it just gets into a fellow and makes him want to run for his gun and charge over the top. (He goes to balcony.) Look! They’re nearing here; all ready to sail with the morning tide. They’ve got their helmets on. You can’t see the end of them coming down the avenue. Oh, thank God, I’m going to be one of them soon. Thank God! I’m going to fight for Uncle Sam and the Stars and Stripes. (Calls off.) Hurrah! (To them.) Oh, I wish I had a flag. Why haven’t we got a flag here—Hurrah!!
(As he goes out on the balcony the music plays louder. HILDA has gone to WHITE during this, and stands behind him, with her arms down his arms, as he sits there, gazing before him.)
HILDA
(Fervently)
Oh, Will, if I could only feel it as he does!!
(The music begins to trail off as WHITE tenderly takes hold of her hands.)
[CURTAIN]