THE TRYSTING PLACE

The Trysting Place
A Farce in One Act

By
BOOTH TARKINGTON

COPYRIGHT, 1923 BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
All rights reserved

The professional stage rights of this play are reserved by the Author. The amateur stage rights are held by the Ladies Home Journal. For permission to produce the play application should be made by professional producers to Mr. Booth Tarkington, Indianapolis, Indiana, and by amateur producers to the Editor of the Ladies Home Journal.

Printed in the United States of America

THE PEOPLE AS THEY COME
INTO THE PLAY

Mrs. Curtis, The Young Woman, twenty-five or perhaps even a little older.

Lancelot Briggs, The Boy, slim and obviously under twenty.

Mrs. Briggs, his mother, a handsome woman of forty-five or fifty.

Jessie, his sister, a pretty girl of about twenty.

Rupert Smith, The Young Man, about twenty-five.

Mr. Ingoldsby, a man of fifty-five or, possibly, sixty.

The Mysterious Voice, male and adult.

THE TRYSTING PLACE

The scene is a room just off the “lounge” of a hotel in the country. However, this is not a “country hotel;” but, on the contrary, one of those vast and elaborate houses of entertainment that affect an expensive simplicity in what is called the colonial manner, and ask to be visited—by those financially able to do so—in the general interest of health and the outdoor life. The wall at the back of the stage is broken only by symmetrically spaced pilasters of an ivory color; each of the side walls is broken in the same manner; but here the pilasters help to frame two rather broad entrances, one at the right and one at the left, and beyond these entrances, on both sides, we have glimpses of the two corridors that lead to them. There are a few old prints—or new prints from old plates—upon the walls; and there are flowering plants on stands in the corners. The furniture consists of some chintz-covered easy-chairs, a light wicker settee with a chintz cushion and a valance that reaches the floor; and there are two wicker tables with a vase of jonquils upon each of them. In the rear right-hand corner of the room, near the stand of plants, there is a tropical-looking chair, wicker, with a back of monstrous size—a Philippine Island chair—and in the opposite corner is its mate.

Dance music is heard from a distant orchestra. Just after the rise of the curtain two people come in together from the left—a young woman of twenty-five, or perhaps she is even a little older, and a slim boy obviously under twenty. She is rather elaborate in her afternoon indoor dress, but none the less effectively pretty; he is of a scrubbed and sleeked youthfulness, in white trousers, a short black coat and dancing shoes; and from the moment of his first appearance he is seen to be in an extremity of love. He leans as near the young woman as he can; his eyes search her face yearningly and without intermission; he caroms into her slightly as they come in, and repeats the carom unwittingly. They have evidently just come from the dancing floor and are a little flushed; she fans herself with her handkerchief and he fans her with his. They are heard talking before they enter: “Oh, let’s do find some place to sit down!” she is saying; and he, simultaneously: “Oh, wasn’t that divine! You dance just simply divinely!” These speeches “bring them on.”

THE YOUNG WOMAN

Here’s a place we can sit down! (She immediately drops into a chair.)

THE BOY

Yes, this is a lovely place, where nobody is at all. It’s the only quiet place in the hotel: you never see more than two people here at a time, because it’s kind of off, like this. That’s why I wanted to walk this way. (Sitting on a lounge and leaning toward her.) Isn’t it divine to be in a place where nobody is at all?

THE YOUNG WOMAN (still fanning herself)

Why, you and I are here.

THE BOY

Yes; but I mean nobody else at all. We’re practically all alone, practically.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (laughing as she waves her hand to indicate the spacious corridors to the right and left)

Alone? Why, there are at least three hundred people in this hotel.

THE BOY

Yes, but they’re all either outdoors, or dancin’, or havin’ tea, right now. It’s practically the same as being alone. It is—practically, I mean.

THE YOUNG WOMAN

Yes, I’ve noticed that it was a rather secluded spot myself. (She glances about the room thoughtfully, then turns to him, smiling.) Don’t you want to run and dance with some of those pretty young girls your own age?

THE BOY (with pained earnestness)

Them? My goodness, no!

THE YOUNG WOMAN

Oh, but that isn’t normal, is it?

THE BOY

I’m not normal. I don’t want to be normal.

THE YOUNG WOMAN

Well, but it would only be natural for you to like those pretty young things, so— Well, do run and dance with one of ’em. Won’t you, please?

THE BOY (interrupting)

No. They haven’t got any experience of life. What I like is a woman that’s had some experience of life, like you.

THE YOUNG WOMAN

But at your age—

THE BOY

Age hasn’t got anything to do with it. The thing that brings a man and a woman together, it’s when they have about the same amount of experience of life.

THE YOUNG WOMAN (absently)

You think that’s it, Mr. Briggs? (She looks about the room thoughtfully as she speaks.)

MR. BRIGGS (with intense seriousness)

I know it is. I had that feeling the minute I was introduced to you, night before last in the lobby—right by the third column beyond the office news stand, at a quarter after nine o’clock in the evening.

THE YOUNG WOMAN

You did?

MR. BRIGGS

It came over me, and I felt kind of— (he swallows) kind of drawn to you, Missuz—Missuz—Missuz— (He seems to hesitate somewhat emotionally.)

THE YOUNG WOMAN

My name is Mrs. Curtis. You seem to have forgotten it.

MR. BRIGGS (swallowing again)

I haven’t. I know it’s Curtis. The trouble is, it kind of upsets me to call you Missuz Curtis. I thought it was Miss Curtis when I was introduced to you. I didn’t know your name was Missuz—Missuz—Missuz Curtis till the clerk told me, early the next morning.

MRS. CURTIS (frowning a little)

The clerk told you?

MR. BRIGGS

Yes. I asked him if he’d noticed whether you’d gone in to breakfast yet. He said, “You mean Missuz—Missuz Curtis?” Then I knew you must be married. (He shakes his head ruefully.)

MRS. CURTIS (smiling)

Well?

MR. BRIGGS (thoughtfully)

Well, it can’t be helped.

MRS. CURTIS

I suppose not.

MR. BRIGGS (brightening a little)

Well, anyhow, I had that—that sort of drawn feeling toward you, the way I would get toward a woman that’s had some experience of life; but a hotel like this is no place to explain feelings like that. You can’t when you’re dancing—not the way you want to—and all the rest of the time you had some o’ those old men hangin’ around, or else my mother and sister wanted me for something; because a hotel like this—why, it’s terrible the way a young man’s mother and sister want him to do somep’n for ’em all the time; so this is the first chance I’ve had.

MRS. CURTIS (rather urgently)

Don’t you really think you’d better be dancing with some of those young things yonder?

MR. BRIGGS (puzzled)

Think I’d better be?

MRS. CURTIS

Yes; I do really wish you would. Wouldn’t it be a lot more fun than explaining something, as you said, to me?

MR. BRIGGS (hurriedly)

No. No, it wouldn’t. I want to explain how I feel about you.

MRS. CURTIS

Please go and dance, Mr. Briggs. I think it would be much better if you—

MR. BRIGGS (rapidly)

No, it wouldn’t. I want to explain how I feel about you, so you’ll understand. It’s like this, Missuz (swallowing again) Missuz Curtis. I never used to think I’d ever get to feeling this way about—about somebody that was married, but it—it came over me before I knew you were married. I already was feeling this way before he said, “You mean—you mean Missuz Curtis?” It’d already—(he swallows) happened to me before I knew you were a—a married woman. (Shaking his head.) I certainly never did think I’d feel this way about a married woman.

MRS. CURTIS

But I’m not—not as you mean it. I’m a widow, Mr. Briggs.

MR. BRIGGS (as in a dim perplexity)

A wid— You’re a widow? (He jumps up suddenly, greatly amazed.) Oh, my!

MRS. CURTIS

What’s the matter?

MR. BRIGGS

Oh, my!

MRS. CURTIS

What is it?

MR. BRIGGS

I guess I’ve got to get used to the idea of it. First I thought you weren’t married, and then I was just gettin’ used to the idea that you were, and now—well, I s’pose it’s a good deal better, your bein’ a widow, though, except—except for—

MRS. CURTIS

Except for?

MR. BRIGGS (hurriedly)

Oh, I didn’t mean except for your husband! I didn’t mean your bein’ a widow was better for— (He checks himself and swallows.)

MRS. CURTIS

Oh!

MR. BRIGGS (frowning with thought)

No. I meant more on account of the way my family treats me. My mother and sister—well, to tell the truth, they always seem to think I’m about four years old. They can’t seem to realize; and when I go and tell ’em you’re a widow—

MRS. CURTIS

You think they’ll be interested in hearing it? I haven’t even met them.

MR. BRIGGS

No, but—but of course they’ve been talkin’ about you quite a good deal.

MRS. CURTIS

They have?

MR. BRIGGS

You know how people are in a hotel like this: wondering who everybody else is, and whether some woman’s some old man’s wife or his daughter or just a trained nurse, and all so on. Of course my family noticed you right away and then after I met you of course then they said a lot more about you. Golly! (He shakes his head, indicating that the comment has been unfavorable.)

MRS. CURTIS

Oh, indeed!

MR. BRIGGS (ruefully)

They watch me like a hawk, and I know what they’ll say now! When I tell ’em you’re a widow, I mean.

MRS. CURTIS

Do you?

MR. BRIGGS (shaking his head)

I certainly never thought myself I would ever get to feeling this way about a widow either!

MRS. CURTIS

Don’t you really think you’d better run and dance with one of those—

MR. BRIGGS (absently)

No. (Turning to her suddenly.) I was goin’ to ask you—well, of course, in a—a technical way, so to speak, I mean in a strickly technical way, so to speak, I’m not exactly of age yet, and I suppose I’d have to get my mother’s consent, because she’s a widow, too, and got herself appointed my guardian besides; and the truth is, she’s a pretty cold-hearted, bossy kind of a woman, and it’s goin’ to be a big difficulty gettin’ her to see this thing right.

MRS. CURTIS

To see what right?

MR. BRIGGS

The way I feel about you. I know it’s goin’ to be difficult, because I started to talk a little about it last night to my mother and my sister—her name’s Jessie—and they behaved—well, they behaved a good deal like two fiends.

MRS. CURTIS

They did?

MR. BRIGGS

I told ’em they didn’t know you, and they haven’t even met you, but they treated me like a—like a mere jest; and then they got so critical, the way they talked about you, it might be better if they didn’t see me with you again for a few days. I can’t stand the way they talk after they see me with you.

MRS. CURTIS

Indeed!

MR. BRIGGS

Well, what I was saying: I can’t touch my principal till I’m twenty-one on account of the way my father went and tied up his will; but of course my mother and sister think a good many’ll be after me on account of it; but, anyhow, I have got to feeling this way, and I know I’ll never get over it, so what I wanted to ask you—well, it’s—it’s—(he swallows) it’s just this: I know you are a widow and everything like that, but would you be willing to—(he swallows) well, of course I don’t know how long since you lost your first husband—

MRS. CURTIS (incredulously)

What! (She rises.)

MR. BRIGGS

I mean I—I don’t know how you would feel about gettin’ married again yet, even if I didn’t have my own difficulties about it, but—but—

MRS. CURTIS (with increased incredulity)

Are you proposing to me, Mr. Briggs?

MR. BRIGGS

Well—uh—yes. (Then, looking beyond her down the corridor on the right.) Oh, goodness. They watch me like a hawk! Here comes my mother! (Dismayed, he turns to the left.)

MRS. CURTIS (as he turns)

Perhaps it was time!

MR. BRIGGS (dismally)

There’s my sister Jessie!

MRS. CURTIS

What of it?

MR. BRIGGS (hastily)

I told you they behave like two fiends when they see me with you. (Glancing right and left nervously.) Well, excuse me. (With perfect gravity he kneels at one end of the settee, which is in the rear, a little left of “center.”) It’ll be a good deal better if they don’t see me, I expect. (He promptly crawls under the settee, and the valance conceals him entirely. From this invisibility he appeals with pathetic urgency in a hoarse whisper): They’ll prob’ly go right on. Please wait! Or—if you haf to go, come back!

(Mrs. Curtis stands dumbfounded for a moment; and then, controlling a tendency to laugh immoderately, she turns to examine a print on the left wall as Mr. Briggs’s mother enters from the right. Mrs. Briggs is a handsome woman of forty-five or fifty, not now in a gracious mood. She comes in decisively, halts, and stares at Mrs. Curtis’ back. Then she looks over the room in an annoyed and puzzled manner. Mr. Briggs’s sister Jessie comes in from the left. She is a pretty girl of about twenty, but her expression is now rather cross. Her dress and equipment show that she has just come in from the golf course.)

JESSIE (calling as she comes in)

Lancelot! (She halts, puzzled, and looks inquiringly at her mother.) Mamma, where’s Lancelot? I was sure I saw him in here just a second ago.

MRS. BRIGGS (grimly)

So was I. (After looking at each other, they turn their heads simultaneously and stare at Mrs. Curtis, who appears to be interested in the print.) It’s very odd!

JESSIE

Yes, very.

(The two again look at each other, and at a little distance appear to consult telepathically, without any change of expression; then they turn once more to look at Mrs. Curtis.)

MRS. BRIGGS

I beg your pardon, but I’m under the impression that you have met my son.

MRS. CURTIS (turning)

Yes?

JESSIE

Wasn’t he here just now?

MRS. CURTIS

Yes, he was.

MRS. BRIGGS

Would you be good enough to tell me, did he leave here to go to his room?

MRS. CURTIS (casually)

I don’t think so; he didn’t say so. (She gives them a little nod, smiling politely, and goes out at the left. They stare after her.)

JESSIE (still staring after Mrs. Curtis)

She’s a very bold type.

MRS. BRIGGS (seating herself on the settee)

Very.

JESSIE (turning to her)

I don’t see how that little goose got away. You were coming from that direction and I from just yonder. I suppose he thought we’d say something that would embarrass him before her.

MRS. BRIGGS

I suppose she’s thirty-five. I’ve heard of such people, but I never saw one before.

JESSIE

I regard her as distinctly the dangerous type of adventuress.

MRS. BRIGGS

Certainly. In the first place, her not having told the child frankly that she’s a widow. One of the clerks told me she was.

JESSIE

Oh, she did that to flatter him into believing he’s a real grown-up “man of the world” having an “affair”!

MRS. BRIGGS

So that when he’s sufficiently entangled she can tell him she’s a widow—and by that time we don’t know what he’d do! A country justice of the peace probably!

JESSIE

Last night, when we were trying to teach him a little common sense about strange people in hotels, what was it he said she was? “An angel!”—oh, yes!—“One of heaven’s highest angels.”

MRS. BRIGGS (grimly)

He said he wouldn’t “listen to one of heaven’s highest angels gettin’ talked against by a lot o’ women!” I’m sure they heard him in the next suite. (She rises.) I suppose you’d better go and see where he slipped out to, Jessie. Of course, he’ll try to find her again as soon as he can.

JESSIE (dropping into a chair)

I played three times round the course. Do you mind if I just sit here a while and rest?

MRS. BRIGGS

Then why don’t you go to your room?

JESSIE (laughing feebly)

I’m just too tired. I will in a minute. (With a gesture toward the left entrance.) Hadn’t you better—

MRS. BRIGGS

Keep her in sight? Yes. That’s easier than trying to keep him in sight. You’re going up to your room right away, aren’t you?

JESSIE

Yes, in only a minute. I really think you’d better go, Mamma. He might—

MRS. BRIGGS

No, I’ll see to that! (She goes out.)

(Jessie stares after her for a moment, glances at a wrist watch, then rises and looks down the corridor beyond the entrance at the right. She appears to derive some satisfaction from what she sees there, returns to her chair and sits in a carefully graceful attitude, her expression demure. A moment later a young man—he is about twenty-five—comes in rather nervously from the right. He pauses near the entrance.)

THE YOUNG MAN

You!

JESSIE (softly)

You!

THE YOUNG MAN

Is your mother—

JESSIE

She’s gone.

THE YOUNG MAN (nervously advancing)

I—I—

JESSIE

I was afraid maybe we couldn’t have this nook to ourselves, after all. My absurd little brother was in here, hanging about that dreadful Mrs. Curtis, and I was afraid they wouldn’t go away; but Mamma scared ’em both off providentially.

THE YOUNG MAN (moving a chair close to hers and sitting)

And so we’re alone! (He speaks with a sentimental hushedness.) All alone!

JESSIE

All alone, Rupert! This is the only place in the hotel where you can be by yourself a while. That’s why I said to meet here.

RUPERT (nervously)

You don’t think your mother’ll be back for a while?

JESSIE

No; she won’t.

RUPERT

She hasn’t found out I’ve come, has she?

JESSIE

She hasn’t the remotest idea, thank heaven! Nobody dreams you’re within hundreds of miles of here. That’s one advantage of a big hotel.

RUPERT

Darling—

JESSIE

Yes, darling?

(The settee moves slightly at this, but it is behind them and they do not see it.)

RUPERT

I can’t understand why your mother dislikes me so.

JESSIE (gravely)

Well, I suppose her feeling about you is—well, she says it’s because you’re rather poor and I’m—not.

RUPERT

But what makes her think I care about you because you’re not?

JESSIE

Well—

RUPERT (leaning toward her and lowering his voice)

Darling, there’s something I want to ask you—

JESSIE (leaning toward him and almost whispering)

Yes, dearest, what is it?

(The settee slowly moves nearer them as their voices become more indistinct.)

RUPERT

I want to ask you—

JESSIE

Yes?

RUPERT (with hushed tenderness)

Do you really love me, dearest?

JESSIE (gazing upward, tranced)

Oh, dearest, I do!

(The settee goes back to where it came from.)

RUPERT

But you don’t think your mother’ll ever change her mind about me?

JESSIE

She never does change her mind.

RUPERT

Then what can we do?

JESSIE (in a low voice)

Darling, there’s something I wouldn’t say for anything in the world to anybody but you.

(The settee again approaches slightly.)

RUPERT

Yes?

JESSIE

I think Mamma really knows you’re not mercenary, but the real reason for her opposition to you is pretty selfish. I think it’s because she doesn’t want me to marry and go away and leave her alone in the world.

RUPERT

But she wouldn’t be. She’d still have the companionship of your young brother.

JESSIE (shaking her head)

That’d be the same as none. Lancelot seems to have scarcely any sense, you see.

(The settee once more retires.)

RUPERT

Then I don’t see what possible hope—

JESSIE (warning him as she sees someone approaching in the corridor to the right)

Sh-h-h!

RUPERT (following her gaze)

Who is that old chap?

JESSIE

It’s old Mr. Ingoldsby. He’s some old friend of mamma’s that happened to turn up here.

RUPERT (moving as if to withdraw)

I’d better—

JESSIE (quickly)