SCORN OF WOMEN

A Play In Three Acts

By Jack London

The Macmillan Company
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1906

ACT I Alaska Commercial Company's Store at Dawson

ACT II Anteroom of Pioneer Hall

ACT III Freda Moloof's Cabin

Time of play, 1897, Dawson, Northwest Territory. It occurs in thirteen hours.

Freda Moloof............A dancer.

Floyd Vanderlip.........An Eldorado king.

Loraine Lisznayi........A Hungarian.

Captain Eppingwell......United States government agent.

Mrs. Eppingwell.........His wife.

Flossie.................Engaged to marry Floyd Vanderlip

Sitka Charley...........An Indian dog-driver.

Dave Harney.............An Eldorado king.

Prince..................A mining engineer.

Mrs. McFee..............Whose business is morals.

Minnie..................Maid to Freda Moloof.

Dog-punchers, couriers, miners, Indians, mounted police, clerks, etc.

FREDA MOLOOF. A Greek girl and a dancer. Speaks perfect English, but withal has that slight, indefinable foreign touch of accent. Good figure, willowy, yet not too slender. Of indeterminate age, possibly no more than twenty-five. Her furs the most magnificent in all the Yukon country from Chilcoot to St. Michael's, her name common on the lips of men.

FLOYD VANDERLIP. An Eldorado king, worth a couple of millions. Simple, elemental, almost childish in his emotions. But a brave man, and masculine; a man who has done a man's work in the world. Has caressed more shovel-handles than women's hands. Big-muscled, big-bodied, ingenuous-faced; the sort of a man whom women of the right sort can tie into knots.

LORAINE LISZNAYI. A Hungarian, reputed to be wealthy, and to be travelling in the Klondike for pleasure and love of adventure. Past the flush of youth, and with fair success feigning youth. In the first stages of putting flesh upon her erstwhile plumpness. Dark-eyed, a flashing, dazzling brunette, with a cosmopolitan reputation earned in a day when she posed in the studios of artist-queens and received at her door the cards of cardinals and princes.

CAPTAIN EPPINGWELL. Special agent for the United States government.

MRS. EPPINGWELL. His wife. Twenty-five to twenty-eight years of age. Of the cold order of women, possessing sanity, and restraint, and control. Brown hair, demi-blond type, oval-faced, with cameo-like features. The kind of a woman who is not painfully good, but who acts upon principle and who knows always just what she is doing.

FLOSSIE. Eighteen or nineteen years of age. Of the soft and clinging kind, with pretty, pouting lips, blow-away hair, and eyes full of the merry shallows of life. Engaged to marry Floyd Vanderlip.

PRINCE. A young mining engineer. A good fellow, a man's man.

MRS. MCFEE. Near to forty, Scotch accent, sharp-featured, and unbeautiful, with an eager nose that leads her into the affairs of others. So painfully good that it hurts.

SITKA CHARLEY. An Indian dog-puncher, who has come into the warm and sat by the fires of the white man until he is somewhat as one of them. Should not be much shorter than Vanderlip and Captain Eppingwell.

DAVE HARNEY. An Eldorado king, also a Yankee, with a fondness for sugar and a faculty for sharp dealing. Is tall, lean, loose-jointed. Walks with a shambling gait. Speaks slowly, with a drawl.

MINNIE. (Maid to Freda.) A cool, impassive young woman.

POLICEMAN. A young fellow, with small blond mustache. An Englishman, brave, cool, but easily embarrassed. Though he says "Sorry" frequently, he is never for an instant afraid.

[ ACT I—ALASKA COMPANY'S STORE AT DAWSON ]

[ ACT II—ANTEROOM OF PIONEER HALL ]

[ ACT III—FREDA MOLOOF'S CABIN ]

ACT I—ALASKA COMPANY'S STORE AT DAWSON

Scene. Alaska Commercial Company's store at Dawson. It is eleven o'clock of a cold winter morning. In front, on the left, a very large wood-burning stove. Beside the stove is a woodbox filled with firewood. Farther back, on left, a door with sign on it, "Private." On right, door, a street entrance; alongside are wisp-brooms for brushing snow from moccasins. In the background a long counter running full length of room with just space at either end for ingress or egress. Large gold-scales rest upon counter. Behind counter equally long rows of shelves, broken in two places by ordinary small-paned house-windows. Windows are source of a dim, gray light. Doors, window-frames, and sashes are of rough, unstained pine boards. Shelves practically empty, with here and there upon them an article of hardware (such as pots, pans, and tea-kettles), or of dry-goods (such as pasteboard boxes and bolts of cloth). The walls of the store are of logs stuffed between with brown moss. On counter, furs, moccasins, mittens, and blankets, piled up or spread out for inspection. In front of counter many snow-shoes, picks, shovels, axes, gold-pans, axe-handles, and oblong sheet-iron Yukon stoves. The feature most notable is the absence of foodstuffs in any considerable quantity. On shelves a few tins of mushrooms, a few bottles of olives.

About the stove, backs to the stove and hands behind their backs, clad in mackinaw suits, mittens dangling from around their necks at ends of leather thongs, ear-flaps of fur caps raised, are several miners. Prince stands by stove An Indian is replenishing the fire with great chunks of wood. Mounted police pass in and out. Sitka Charley is examining snow-shoes, bending and testing them. Behind the counter are several clerks, one of whom is waiting upon a bearded miner near end of counter to right.

MINER

(Pathetically.) No flour?

CLERK

(Shakes head.)

MINER

(Increased pathos.)

No beans?

CLERK

(Shakes head as before.)

MINER

(Supreme pathos.)

No sugar?

CLERK

(Coming from behind counter and approaching stove, visibly irritated, shaking his head violently; midway he encounters Miner, who retreats backward before him.)

No! No! No! I tell you no! No flour, no beans, no sugar, nothing!

(Warms his hands over stove and glares ferociously at Miner.)

(Dave Harney enters from right, brushes snow from moccasins, and walks across to stove. He is tall and lean, has a loose-jointed, shambling gait, and listens interestedly to Clerk and Miner. He evinces a desire to speak, but his mustached mouth is so iced-up that he cannot open it. He bends over stove to thaw the ice.)

MINER

(To Clerk, with growing anger.)

It's all very well for your playing the high an' lofty, you sneakin' little counter-jumper. But we all know what your damned Company is up to. You're holdin' grub for a rise, that's what you're doin'. Famine prices is your game.

CLERK

Look at the shelves, man! Look at them!

MINER

How about the warehouses, eh? Stacked to the roof with grub!

CLERK

They're not.

MINER

I suppose you'll say they're empty.

CLERK

They're not. But what little grub's in them belongs to the sour-doughs who filed their orders last spring and summer before ever you thought of coming into the country. And even the sourdoughs are scaled down, cut clean in half. Now shut up. I don't want to hear any more from you. You newcomers needn't think you're going to run this country, because you ain't.

(Turning his hack on Miner.)

Damned cheechawker!

MINER

(Breaking down and showing fear, not of Clerk, but of famine.)

But good heavens, man, what am I to do? I haven't fifty pounds of flour for the whole winter.

I can pay for my grub if you'll sell it to me. You can't leave me starve!

DAVE HARNEY

(Tearing the last chunk oj ice from mustache and sending it rattling to the floor. He speaks with a drawl.)

Aw, you tenderfeet make me tired. I never seen the beat of you critters. Better men than you have starved in this country, an' they didn't make no bones about it neither—they was all bones I calkilate. What do you think this is? A Sunday picnic? Jes' come in, eh? An' you're clean scairt. Look at me—old-timer, sir, a sour-dough, an' proud of it! I come into this country before there was any blamed Company, fished for my breakfast, an' hunted my supper. An' when the fish didn't bite an' they wa'n't any game, jes' cinched my belt tighter an' hiked along, livin' on salmon-bellies and rabbit tracks an' eatin' my moccasins.

(Jubilantly.)

Oh, I tell you this is the country that'll take the saleratus out of you!

(Miner, awed by being face to face with an old-timer, withers up during harangue, and at finish shrinks behind other miners, and from there makes exit to right.)

(Drawing paper from pocket and presenting it.)

Now lookee here, Mister Clerk, what'd you call that?

CLERK

(Glancing perfunctorily at paper.)

Grub contract.

DAVE HARNEY

What's it stand for?

CLERK

(Wearily.)

One thousand pounds of grub.

DAVE HARNEY

An' how much sugar?

CLERK

One thousand pounds of grub.

DAVE HARNEY

Say it again.

CLERK

(Looking for item on paper and reading.) Seventy-five pounds.

DAVE HARNEY

(Triumphantly.)

That's the way I made it out. I thought my eyes was all right.

CLERK

(After a pause.)

Well?

DAVE HARNEY

Well, that mangy little cuss around at the warehouse said I could only get five hundred on that piece of paper, an' nary sugar. What's that mean?

CLERK

It means five hundred pounds and no sugar. Scale-down went into effect to-day. Orders.

DAVE HARNEY

(Wistfully.)

An' nary sugar?

CLERK

Nary sugar.

DAVE HARNEY

That grub's mine, an' that sugar. I paid for it last spring. Weighed my dust in on them scales there.

CLERK

Can't help it. Orders.

DAVE HARNEY

(Wistfully.)

An' nary sugar?

CLERK

Nary sugar.

DAVE HARNEY

(Meditatively, in low voice.)

Curious, ain't it? Mighty curious—me ownin' two five-hundred-foot Eldorado claims, with five million if I'm wuth a cent, an' no sweetenin' for my coffee or mush.

('Whirling upon Clerk in sudden wrath, Clerk retreating wearily to behind counter.)

Why, gosh dang it! this country kin go to blazes! I'll sell out! I'll quit it cold! I'll—I'll—go back to the States! I'll—I'll—see the management!

(Strides rapidly toward door to left.)

CLERK

Hold on!

(Dave Harney stops.)

The boss is busy. Vanderlip's with'm.

DAVE HARNEY

He's buckin' the sugar proposition, too, eh? Clerk

No, he ain't.

DAVE HARNEY

Then here goes. Dave Harney don't wait on Vanderlip or any other man.

(Jerks open door marked "Private.")

(Vanderlip appears in doorway, just entering.)

VANDERLIP

Hello, Dave. What's the rush?

DAVE HARNEY

Hello, Vanderlip. Got any sugar to sell?

VANDERLIP

No, but I want to buy—

DAVE HARNEY

(Interrupting.)

No sugar, you can't do business with me.

(Rushes through door, slamming it after him.)

(General laugh from miners about stove. Clerk throws up his arms despairingly.)

(Vanderlip looks backward through door, which he pulls open for a moment, and laughs at Dave Harney.)

(Loraine Lisznayi enters from right and pauses at door to brush snow from moccasins.)

VANDERLIP

(Sees Loraine Lisznayi, starts across to meet her, but stops midway to speak hurriedly to Sitka Charley.)

How about those dogs, Charley?

SITKA CHARLEY

I get um all right by and by.

VANDERLIP

I want them right away, to-day.

SITKA CHARLEY

Yesterday you tell me to-morrow.

VANDERLIP

To-day, I tell you to-day. Never mind the price. I must have them—good dogs. Tonight, twelve o'clock, have them down at the water-hole all ready, harnesses, grub, everything in shape. And you're to drive them down river for me. Sure?

SITKA CHARLEY

Sure.

VANDERLIP

(Over his shoulder as he continues to cross to right.)

Never mind the price. I must have them.

(Crosses on over to right to Loraine Lisznayi, an expression of joy on his face. Sweeps off his Fur cap and shakes her hand.)

LORAINE

You must do better than that. Had there been a woman here, your face would have given everything away.

VANDERLIP

I can't help the gladness getting into my face, Loraine.

LORAINE

Don't call me Loraine. Somebody might hear. And we can't be too careful. And you mustn't talk but for a moment, Floyd.

VANDERLIP

(Grinning broadly.)

There you go, calling me Floyd. Somebody might hear. But who's afraid? I'm not. Let 'em hear. I'm glad of it! Proud of it that you're mine. The dearest little woman in the world, and mine, all mine!

LORAINE

(Glancing furtively about and finding that nobody is paying any attention.)

Hush, dear. Wait until we are safely away, and then I shall be proud before all the world to have you proud of me. You are such a man! Such a man!

VANDERLIP

Just wait until I get you into that Mediterranean palace. We'll make 'em sit up with this Klondike gold of ours. People don't know how rich I am, Loraine. Nor do you. I've got pay-claims over on Dominion Creek nobody dreams of, and—

LORAINE

I don't care how much you've got, or how little. It's you, you big, big man, you, my hero, that I care for. You'll grace a palace like a prince, and I've known a few princes, too.

VANDERLIP

And queens, too, didn't you say?

LORAINE

Yes, and queens, too. And they will be proud and glad to know you. They don't have men like you over there—real men. You'll create a sensation.

VANDERLIP

(Anxiously.)

But this living in palaces—sort of softening and fattening, ain't it? I don't like fat.

(Looks her over critically.)

You don't incline that way, do you?

LORAINE

(Laughing.)

You foolish, dear man, of course not. Do I look it?

VANDERLIP

(Slowly.)

Well, you look round—and plump.

LORAINE

I've always been plump like this. I'm like my mother. She was that way. She never got stout, and neither shall I.

VANDERLIP

(Anxiety going out of face, being replaced by satisfaction.)

Oh, you're all right, Loraine, you bet.

LORAINE

But you must leave me now, Floyd. Somebody may come in at any moment. Besides, I've a few little things to buy for our journey.

VANDERLIP

And they're fixing my money for me in there.

(Nodding toward door at lejt. Loraine betrays keen and involuntary interest). Letters of credit, you know, and all that. Can't carry much dust. Too heavy. And by the way, keep the weight down. Don't buy too many little things. Dogs are dogs, and they can only haul so much.

LORAINE

Only enough for me to be comfortable.

VANDERLIP

A woman needs so almighty much to be comfortable. But it'll be all right. Two sleds'll carry us, no matter how comfortable you make yourself. Bring plenty of foot-gear, moccasins, and stockings, and such things. And be at the water-hole at midnight with your whole outfit. Be sure that Indian of yours has enough dog food. I'll get my dogs to-day some time.

LORAINE

Which water-hole?

VANDERLIP

The one by the hospital. Don't make a mistake and go to the other one. It's way out of the way.

LORAINE

And now you simply must leave me. And you mustn't see me again to-day—not till midnight, at the water-hole, by the hospital. You know I can scarcely bear to have you out of my sight. But these women—oh, they are such suspicious creatures!

VANDERLIP

Good-by, then, until to-night.

(Turns to go toward left.)

LORAINE

(Softly.)

Floyd!

(Vanderlip turns back.)

You must go to the ball to-night. I've begged off, but you must go. It will avert any possible suspicion.

VANDERLIP

I was going anyway, just to drop in for a while. I—that is, you see—I promised Mrs. Eppingwell I'd go.

LORAINE

(Jealously.) Mrs. Eppingwell!

VANDERLIP

Of course, but it's all right, Loraine. She don't count.

LORAINE

Of course not. But then, Floyd, I care so much for you that I can't help a little jealousy—but there, there, you must go. Good-by, dear.

VANDERLIP

Good-by dear, dear Loraine. (Turns to go toward left.)

LORAINE

(Softly.) Floyd!

VANDERLIP

(Turns back, waits, and after a pause.) Well?

LORAINE

(With sweet reproof.)

I've been hearing things about you, sir.

VANDERLIP

What's up now?

LORAINE

Oh, you seem to have—how shall I say!—a penchant for foreigners.

VANDERLIP

(Mystified.)

Darned if I know what you're talking about. Penchant—is that something to eat?

LORAINE

(Laughing.)

Well, then, there is a certain woman, supposed to be Greek, at any rate a foreigner like myself; but with the most adorable accent—or so the men say—

VANDERLIP

(Interrupting.)

Freda, you mean.

LORAINE

(Fastidious expression on face.)

Yes, I believe that is the woman's name.

Vanderlip (Laughing jovially.)

There ain't anything in it. I don't care a rap for her—not a rap.

LORAINE

Then there's that Mrs. Eppingwell. I can't help thinking you are a little devoted to her.

VANDERLIP

(Showing slight embarrassment.)

Oh, well, I've only seen her in a social way—that's all, in a social way.

LORAINE

And you do love only me?

(He nods.)

Then tell me that you do.

VANDERLIP

(With impulsive eagerness, half lifting his arms as if to embrace her and controlling himself with an effort.)

Oh, I do, Loraine. I do, I do.

LORAINE

It is sweet to hear you say it. And now you really must go. Good-by, dear, good-by.

(He crosses stage to left and goes out.)

(She starts to cross stage to rear, but is approached and stopped by Sitka Charley.)

SITKA CHARLEY

(Gruffly.) Good morning.

LORAINE

(Sweetly.)

Good morning, Charley.

SITKA CHARLEY

(Bluntly.)

You got my money?

LORAINE

Oh, let me see. How much is it?

SITKA CHARLEY

Two hundred dollar.

LORAINE

I'll tell you. You come to my cabin to-morrow morning, and I'll give it to you.