Dealing in Futures.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue VIII, 25 August 1894, Page 172

Dealing in Futures.

By

ALICE W. ROLLINS.

SCENE.— A luxuriously furnished drawingroom; the only essentials: a fire in the grate, a piano, a small table with decanter and glasses, a volume of Henley’s Verses, a long mirror and a screen. DR AMA TIS PERSO N. E. Harry, a young gentleman of thirty, Harry’s Great-Grandfather. Harry’s Future Son. Harry’s Future Daughter. Philip, j TOMMY, , Harry’s future grandchildren. Ethel, ) Mabel' * two y° UD R ladies of the present. Miss St. Clair, a doll. ARRY (after remaining a few moments in a big -'jpLA'jls arm-chair, reflecting, rises slowly and leans against the mantel): ‘ Well, after all, it concerns no one but myself, and I am my own master. I can do as I please. The only trouble is to know exactly what I do please. I’ve half a mind to leave it to chance.’

Voice (from room on the right) : ‘ Wait a minute, Harry.’ Harry : ‘ Why, what is that ? I thought everyone went to bed an hour ago ; and I don’t recognize the voice.’ He steps in the direction of the voice. Enter, towards him, a fine looking old gentleman.

Old Gentleman: ‘Ah, good evening, Harry, my boy. You don’t know me, I see ?’

Harry :‘ I didn’t recognize your voice, sir. Have you just arrived ?’ Old Gentleman: ‘ Just arrived. Not by the late train, however. It is Hallow e’en, you remember ; the one night in the year when we ghosts ’ Harry : ‘ Ghosts ?’ Old Gentleman : • Yes, my boy, ghosts. I am the ghost of your great-grandfather.’ Harry: ‘ A very delightful ghost, I am sure. And you come from ’ Old Gentleman : • From heaven, Harry, from heaven.’ Harry : ■ I was certain of that. This is very interesting. Will you sit down, sir’ lam particularly anxious to night to know what heaven is like. Is it having everything you want ?’ I lid Gentleman : •No ; it is knowing what you do want, in addition to liking what you happen to have. It isn’t that everything is interesting, but that you are alwavs interested.’ Harry : ‘ Knowing what you do want! I can understand that. It would be heaven on earth for me to night to know exactly what I want. You see, I cannot decide which of two lovely girls to marry.’ Old Gentleman : • You love one of them, I suppose, and the other is rich ?’ Harry : ‘Oh no ! You mustn’t think so meanly of me as that. You must not suppose I would marry a girl I did not love, merely because she was rich. The trouble is, I’m in love with them both.’ Old Gentleman : ‘ Oh I with both ?’ Harry : • Yes, sir, with both.’

Old Gentleman : ‘ And you could have either of them ?’ Harry (simply) : ‘ Why, of course.’ Old Gentleman : ‘ Well, I wouldn’t be too sure of that, if I were you. Sometimes they surprise you. However, I wish to warn you that you are not really in love with either, and if I were you, I would wait to be really in love.’

Harry : ‘ But I assure you, sir, I am very much in love.’ Old Gentleman : ‘ Oh, no, Harry ; no man ever loved two women—at a time. But, if you think so, why not marry the rich one? Riches ought not to count too much in a girl’s favour, but then, again, they ought not to weigh against her. Why are you troubled about the wealth, if you love both the girls ?’ Harry (slowly): ‘ Why, you see—’ Old Gentleman (smiling) : ‘ Yes, I see more than you think I do. I believe you are a little in love, after all. Well, let the love grow, and wait a bit; then, in the course of time—’

Harry (impatiently) : ‘Well, sir’’ Old Gentleman : 'She will decide for you.’ Harry : ‘ But which she ?’ Old Gentleman : ‘ The one you love. I went through the same experience, at your age—’ Harry (eagerly) : ■ And what did you decide, sir’’ Old Gentleman (quizzically : ‘ Didn’t I tell you that I had decided to go to heaven, young man ?’ Harry : ‘ Yes, of course ; and lam ready to make any sacrifice to go to heaven myself ; only I can’t decide what

would be heaven. Of course, it wouldn’t be heaven to marry a girl I didn’t love; but then to marry a girl I did love, and not be able to take her to the theatre once a week, wouldn’t be heaven, either. And then, again, I might be loving the wrong woman, and by and-bye, after I had married her, find I didn’t love her ; then I shouldn’t have either the girl I loved or the things I liked. After al), sir, the things of this world make up a good deal of our enjoyment of it. You can’t be sure that you will always love the woman you think you love ; but you can be absolutely certain that you will always like the things that you like.’ Old Gentleman : ‘ But you must be very careful not to throw yourself away, Harry. You see, I feel, in a measure, responsible for you. It’s a hard thing to feel that, perhaps, you have handed down all your worst traits to some fine young fellow in the next generation—by the way, Harry, yon are a fine young fellow, I hope ?’ Harry (smiling): ‘ I come of good stock, sir.’ Old Gentleman: ‘Yes, that is true; your great-grand-mamma was an Eliot, as they say in Boston ; a young fellow with such a great-grandmamma ought to be something of a man. But for fear you might have inherited some of my less fortunate traits, I gave up going to the theatre to night.’

Harry : ‘ But I beg of you, sir, not to feel the weight of my deeds on your conscience. After all, you know, a man must be his own master. I assure you, I shall never think of laying the blame for my decision upon you.’ Old Gentleman : • Not for your decision, of course. I don’t expect to be responsible for your decision ; I was only afraid I might be responsible for your indecision. Lots of people, Harry, will advise you never to do anything that will make you ashamed of yourself; but I have come

quite frankly to ask you a favour : I wish very much yo u would be so good as never to do anything that will make me ashamed of myself. Now, yonr great-grandmamma— ’ Harry (smiling) : • What a pity a man cannot marry a great grandmamma !’

Old Gentleman : ‘ But you see, he does marry the greatgrandmamma of his futuregreat grandchildren. The trouble is, he never thinks about them ; it is only some hundred years later, when he himself is in the grave, that he begins to wonder whether he treated them quite fairly in his choice of a great-grandmother for them. And then, when you think that perhaps you have sent some fine young fellow into the world handicapped with a few of your own worst traits, you begin to feel then, Harry, as if you wished you could begin all over again. I should choose the same greatgrandmamma for you that I did before ; but as for myself—l might—’ (slowly) ‘ yes, I might—’ Harry (smiling) : ‘ And then again you might not. Don’t have me on your conscience, I beg of you, sir. I assure you, I’m a very good sort of a fellow on the whole, and in a world where most of the people are sinners I should be ashamed not to take my share of a few human foibles. If one is a human being, he ought not to be ashamed of being human. I assure you, I should quite hate to be a saint ; I don’t mind the few bad qualities you may have given me, a bit, sir ; I rather enjoy them. One wants to know the world as it is.’

Old Gentleman : • Yes, of course, of course. One wants to know the world ; but then there is another point of view about that. We like to know the world ; but did it ever occur to you that we have the honour of making the world that our great-grandchildren will want to know ? Now, if you stop to think about it, it really is quite as interesting to make history as to read it. We ought to enjoy making a world as well as knowing one. ’ Harry : ‘ Quite true, sir. But doesn’t it seem a little egotistic to assume that to be an editorial “we”? One man can’t make a world or change one very mncb. I think every man wants his fling once in his life. It’s a very good kind of a world, on the whole, that you have handed down to me ; and I’m afraid if you bad left out a few of the things than weigh on your conscience, I shouldn’t have liked it half so well.’

Old Gentleman : ‘ Well, I’m glad you like it, Harry—l’m glad you like it, and I think I can trust you.’ (Rising and going towards the young man ) ‘ You have your grandmother’s eyes. Those are eyes that can be trusted. I must be going now. Good-bye, good-bye ! and take good care of yourself. Don’t make any mistakes—for my sake.’ Harry : ‘ But don’t you think, sir, that if ghosts return to beg you not to make a mistake, they ought to bring with them at least the ghost of an idea as to what would be a mistake ?’

Old Gentleman : • O well, as you observed just now, you want to be your own master in some things. Good bye, good-bye, my boy !’ [Exit.] Voice, from inner room on the left : ‘Are you in here, sir ?’

Harry : ‘ What ! another ghost of the past ?’ Voice: ‘No; this time it’s a ghost of the future.’ (A bright young fellow of eighteen comes forward eagerly with frank smile and candid eyes) ‘ They told me I should find my father in here, sir, I’m very glad to meet you. You see Hallowe’en is my only chance of seeing you before I am born ; and to tell you the truth, I wanted very much to ask you for something.’ Harry : ‘ Anything, anything, my boy. So you are my future son ? I’m very glad to see you, very glad to see you, indeed ; for you seem like a fine fellow. You are a fine fellow, I hope ?’ Son : ‘ I hope so, sir. I come—that is, I hope I’m going to come—from fine stock.’

Harry : ‘You shall, my boy, you shall. And now what can Ido for you ? I always said I meant to be very good to my son from the day he was born.’

Son : ‘ Ah I but you see, the time to be very good to us is before we are born. Of course, sir, you will want me to

have ambitions and aspirations and all that sort of thing ?’ Harry : ‘ Of course, my boy, of course, and what is your ambition?’ Son : ‘I want to break the record for the high jump. And you see I can’t do that unless I inherit a good constitution. All I want of you, sir, is a good constitution I’ Harry (sadly): •Is that all ? Don’t you want a few of my good traits of character banded down to you ?’ Son : ‘ Oh, yes ; I should rather like a few good traits as a background, perhaps.’ Harry : • And how about my bad ones !’ Son (merrily): • Oh, don’t give me any of those, please ! I shall have bad ones enough of my own ; trust me for that !’

Harry (severely): ‘No. vou won’t, sir; I shall whip them all out of you before you’re ten years old.’ Son : * But wouldn’t it be saving yourself trouble, sir, if you didn’t give me any bad traits, instead of having to whip them out of me after they were there ? I don’t want to be hard on you, but don’t you think, father, you are keeping rather late hours for a man who wants his son to break the record ?’

Harry : * Well, you see, to night is Hallowe’en, and the ghosts only appear after midnight. If I hadn’t sat up tonight, I shouldn't have had the pleasure of meeting you.’ (Aside.) * This having to apologise to your own son is rather hard on a man it seems to me.’

Son : ‘Well, I’ll forgive you if it’s only tor to-night. But I’m very much afraid, papa, it isn’t only for to night. However, I’ll excuse it, if you'll only keep down the average. And about those few bad traits, I don’t think I should mind having a few. I don’t believe I should like being a saint. It seems to me if you are human, you want to be human. There's just as much snobbishness in trying to be better than other fellows as in trying to be richer or stronger. After all, you want to know the world, and you want to know the world as it is.’

Harry : * But do you realize all you are asking of me in demanding an heredity that neither you nor I can regret ? If yon dread being handicapped by my mistakes, think of the ancestors behind me ! Think how I have been handicapped myself. Generation after generation—ah, if they had all been just a little braver—if only once they bad ever thought of ns ! bnt now it is too late !’ Son : *ls life so hard, father ? Then I believe I had rather not be born at all.*

* Harry : * Oh, no ! no ! Shame on the man who dares to be disconraging ! Indeed, my boy, half the charm of life is in the battle. And even if you fail, there is a splendour of grim courage for enduring that is worth keeping on for. Hear this poem of Henley’s : (Taking up the volume from the table.)

‘ Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced or cried aloud; Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the Shade ; And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate. How charged with punishments the scroll; I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.'

Son : * Ah, yes, father, if I am the captain ! I don’t mind fighting if I can be captain ; and I don’t mind my own mistakes, and being defeated, if I have to be defeated—if I can only start fair. But, you see, it is bard, just as you begin, to have the traits of some confounded ancestor or other—’ Harry (with dignity) : ‘ Excuse me ; yen forget that one of your ancestors is pi esent.’ Son :* I beg your pardon. I really did not mean to be rude. It was probably the rudeness of some of those ancestors that overcame me and made me forget myself.’ Harry (smiling) : * Ab, well ! I always said I meant to be friends with my son, when I had one. Will you take something with me?’ Son : * Thank you, sir, I don’t mind if I do. What is it?’ Harry : ‘ It’s whisky. Do you happen to like whisky ?’ Son : ‘ How can I tell when I’ve never had any yet? But I imagine I shall like whatever you like, sir.’ Harry : ‘ Well, Ido like whisky.’ (Starting to pour a glass, then interrupting.) ‘But I must warn you that it isn't good for people who want to break records. Now, sir,’

(putting the bottle down and straightening himself with his bands behind bis back), ‘let me see how much power to resist temptation you have inherited from your—your great-great-grandfather.’ (Music : Air from ‘ Auld Lang Syne.) The boy hesitates and looks longingly at the bottle, finally reaching out bis band towards it. Harry quietly putsit up on the mantel. Harry : * After all, whisky is hardly worth so much struggle about. This isn’t so good as I should like to give a son of mine the first night I made his acquaintance. We’ll have some apollinaris later. But about the inherited traits ; don’t you think your mother will have to be responsible for some of them ?’

Son (rising): I’m very sorry, sir, but I shall have to go. They only gave me fifteen minutes to see life in.’

Harry (sighing): ‘Sometimes that’s enough ; sometimes that’s quite enough ; but—stretching out his hand—don’t go yet ?’ Son : * Very sorry, sir, but I must. This is positively my first appearance, but it isn’t my last. I can’t plead that I have any engagement with you yet, sir, but I’ll see you later!’ [Exit.] (Music.) Harry (watches him disappear, thoughtfully): * He’ll see me later ! I hope I shan’t be afraid to meet him again. But really he scares me worse than my great grandfather. Of course, I want him to break the record, but that leaves me with the responsibility of making a record for him worth breaking.’ (Music.) He sinks into his chair, and buries his face in his hands, then suddenly starts up and calls : Harry: ‘Harry! Harry!’ (There is no answer. He calls again.) ‘Harry! Harry, my son!’ (Son appears in the doorway.) Son : ‘ Did you call me, sir ? You must excuse me for not recognizing my own name ; but, you see, I didn't know what my own name is to be.’ Harry (severely) : * You will be named for me, sir, whatever happens. And see to it that you never disgrace the name. 1 won’t detain you ; I only wanted to ask—have you any brothers and sisters ?’ Son : ‘l’ve a lovely sister, sir. Would you like to see her? I’ll call her.’ (Calls) ‘Mabel!’ (Exit, calling.) Harry (starts): ‘Mabel!’ (Enter a lovely young girl in white.)

Daughter: ‘ Good evening, papa ! Harry said yon wanted to see me ?’

Harry : ‘Good-evening, my—dear. 1 suppose a man may say “ my dear ” to bis own daughter, even if it is the first time he ever saw her !’

Daughter (smiling) : ‘ Oh, yes, of course ! That is, if he is a dear.’

Harry : ‘ And may I ask you just one thing ? It’s not out of curiosity, I assure yon ; but would you mind telling me whether yon were named for your mamma?’ Daughter (merrily): ‘ How can I tell ? I haven’t seen my mamma yet?’ Harry (eagerly): ‘ Then why not send for her ? Ask her to come in, too. I should like very much to see her myself.’ Daughter (shaking her bead) : ‘ No, we can only see one ghost at a time to night.’ Harry (starting) : • Ghost ? I hope you don’t take me for a ghost ?’ Daughter: ‘You’re a very nice ghost, I am sure, and I should like to answer your question, but I really don’t know. Perhaps I am named for mamma ; but, then, perhaps I am named for one of mamma’s friends,’ Harry : * But don’t you think that if Harry takes all his qualities from me, you ought to depend upon your mamma for yours ?’ Daughter : ‘ Yes, I suppose mamma will give me most of my things ; but then I thought you might have a good deal of influence with her ?’

Harry : ‘ Things ? Things ? And what sort of things do you want to have, my—dear ?’ Daughter: * Well, I want mamma to leave me all her Worth dresses—’

Harry : * But they will be all out of fashion by the time you want them. Better have new ones. You’ll have to come to me for them, after all; mamma may order them, but papa has to pay the bills ; so it’s papa you must ask, and I shall be delighted to give you everything you want; or, no!’ (Stopping suddenly.) ‘I believe fathers always have to be teased for things. When daughters want things, they’re very affectionate, and talk agood while very prettily, and kiss their papa’s forehead, and rumple up his hair, don’t they ?’

Daughter : ‘ I dare say ; I don’t know, because I haven’t been a daughter yet. But I dare say I shall tease you when the time comes, and perhaps I shall rumple up your hair ; only you don’t seem to have much hair to rumple.’ Harry : ‘ True, I haven't much, have I ? I’m growing old. I’m growing old ; but then I might rumple up yours, if mine gave out.’ Daughter: ‘ Well, perhaps so, when the time comes. But you’ll have to excuse me now, papa. I’m very busy to day. I’m learning a new song ; would you like to hear it?’ (Sits down to the piano and sings‘The Song of the Rose.’)

Harry : ‘Ah, that is charming ! Now isn’t there anything I can do for you ?’ Daughter (eagerly): ‘Why, yes! now I think of it, Harry said you were busy making history for us to learn. But I hate history, and when I go to school I shall have to study it, I suppose. So please, papa, if you’re writing a history, make it a nice one and easy for us to learn !’ Harry (gently) : ‘I will try, dear. But you won’t be hard on me if it isn’t always easy ?’

Daughter : ‘ No, I won’t be hard on you.’ (She walks toward him, takes a rose from her breast and fastens it in his buttonhole, singing over ‘ The Song of the Rose,’ and gradually stepping back as she finishes the last verse) : ‘The sweetest flower that grows I give you as we part: To you it is a rose. To me it is my heart. The fragrance it exhales Is of my life a part; To you. alas ! a rose. To me it is my heart.' He watches her disappear ; then turns slowly with tears in his eyes, and exclaims softly and solemnly : ‘ So it seems we make women’s hearts as well as win them.’ (Music : Air of • Annie Laurie.’) As it ceases, Harry exclaims : * But she’ll be somebody else’s Annie Laurie. Somebody else will have the pleasure of dying for her. I, it seems, must brace up and live for her. And there is one thing about it ; she will want an awful lot of money. Perhaps, for her sake, if not for my own, I must ’ He sinks into a chair and buties his face in his hands. Then a call from inner room at the back : * Grandpapa ! Grandpapa ! Piease may we come in ?' He starts from his chair. * Another generation ? Really, this is almost too much. Being taken down by your ancestors and brought up by your posterity, all in one evening, is exhausting, very'' (Answers): * That depends on you, children ! Are you very nice children ?’

Voice: * That depends upon you, grandpapa I Are you a very nice grandpapa ?'

Harry : • Oh, very nice ! Capital fellow, I am ! Come in, my dears!’ He suddenly remembers the bottle of whisky. Takes it from the mantel, puts it back on the table, and then carefully places the screen round the table. (Enter three children.) Harrv : ‘ Good evening, children, I suppose it’s sweetmeats ?’ (Fumbling in his pockets.) Ethel (gravely) : • No, grandpapa, we didn’t come for sweetmeats.’

Harry : •No sweetmeats ? I’m afraid then you’ve come for some more of my good qualities, and, to tell the truth, they’ve almost given out, too. But tell me one thing : are there any more of you ? Is there another generation back of you ? I mean, ahead of you ? Have you any children ?' Ethel (eagerly) : ‘ Yes, indeed !’ (She rushes back to the inner room and returns with six dolls in her arms).

Ethel : • These are my children !' He takes one of them gravely in his hand, holds her aloof and exclaims :—

Harry : * Thank heaven ! At last I have reached a generation for whose frailties I shall not be responsible ! After all, however, a wooden doll may be virtuous, but she is not at all interesting. 1 believe I’d rather play on a human instrument, even if it gives out a false note once in a while ’ (He throws the doll on the floor.) Ethel (darting forward indignantly and stamping her foot) : ‘ Grandpapa, that is very, very unkind of you ; I would never have believed it.’

Harry : ‘ Hoity toity ! but you mustn’t do that, my dear. I don’t like little girls that stamp their feet.’ Ethel : ‘And I don’t like grandpapas that hurt people’s feelings.’ Harry : ‘ Did I hurt your feelings, my dear ? I’m very sorry.’ He picks up the doll, hands her very respectfully to Ebel, and bowing low—• I beg your pardon!’ (Aside.) ‘ This being educated by your grand daughter is worse than being reprimanded by your grandfather.’

Ethel refuses to take the doll. Ethel : ‘ You must apologize to her, not to me. It wasn’t

my feelings that you hurt ; it was Eleanor’s.’ Harry : ‘So I must apologise to her?’ (He props the doll up gravely on a chair, and then, tending his knee, says, slowly) : • Mary Anne—’ Ethel (indignantly) : ‘ Her name isn’t Mary Anne ! It’s Eleanor Louise Rose Cecilia Beatrice Geraldine St. Clair.’

Harry : ‘ Beatrice Geraldine St. Clair, —I humbly beg your pardon. Will that do?’ Ethel (mollified, and patting the doll) : * Yes, that will do ’

Harry :’ Now, my dear, what can 1 do for you—and for Miss St. Clair ?’

Ethel: ‘l’d like—l’d like very much —that is, if you’re very rich, grandpapa ; arc you very rich ?’ Harry : ‘ Alas ! no, dear. lam only rich in good qualities, and I've had to give most of those away to-night. Bnt if there’s anything left that you would like ’ Ethel : ‘ Well, I’d like, very much, if you can afford it, a new dress for Eleanor, and a doll-house, and a set of china dishes, and a music-box, and a doll’s carriage, and a pony, and a pair of roller skates, and a purse with live shillings in it, and a gold chain, and a box of lollies.’

Harry (sinking into a chair) : ‘ You shall have them, my dear, if it takes my last penny.’ (Aside): * That settles it; I shall have to marry wealth !’ (Music.) Covers his face with his hands. The children go softly out on tiptoe. After a pau«e, enter softly on tiptoe, Helen, richly dressed, and Mabel simply dressed. Harry is sitting between the screen and the mirror eo that as he sits still he cannot be seen.

Helen : ‘ You’re sure auntie is asleep ? She wanted to know why I dragged that great cheval glass to night into the drawing room, but I knew if I told them we were going to try our Hallowe’en fate, somebody would play us a joke. See, Mabel ; there is the mirror ; yon go first.’ Mabel (shrinking back) : ‘ Oh, no ! You go first.' (Music : Refrain from ‘ Swan Song of Lohengrin.') Helen steps forward and looks eagerly into the glass, then drops back again. Helen (sorrowfully) : ‘ No, there isn’t any face at all in it !’

Mabel : ‘ Then it’s no use for me to try.’ Helen : ‘Oh yes, it is ! There may be a miracle, you know !’

Harry, hearing voices, has started from his chair. He is still behind the screen, but as he rises, his face is reflected in the mirror, without his being visible himself. Mabel gives a little shriek and darts away. Helen : ‘ Why, did you see anything in the mirror?’ Mabel : 'Oh no, no! there wasn’t anything, of course ; there couldn't be anything, you know. But do come I I’m so frightened !’

Helen : * Frightened at nothing?' (She half steps back in curiosity, bnt Mabel implores her.)

Mabel: • Oh, do come, Helen ! please come I please come I shall die of fright 1’ (Exit.) (Music : Air of * Annie Laurie.') Harry slowly comes forward from behind the screen. Harry : * Those girls must have come down to try their fate in the mirror. And ode of them evidently saw me. But which one ? Alas ! I am, indeed, the plaything of fate. The past, the present, and the future all betray me. They give me plenty of advice, they entreat me not to do the wrong thing, as if, good heavens, I wanted to do the wrong thing ! But not a soul tells me which the wrong thing is. I suppose they call deciding that little matter my own individuality, and every one of them will hold me responsible for the results, whatever they are 1 Ab, well 1 I remember Mabel quoted something yesterday about “ To the sentinel That hour is regal when he mounts on guard." I am not a Napoleon, to change the face of the world as my great-grandfather would like to have me ; but I am on guard, and the entire world, past, present and future, seem to ba hanging on my decision. After all, as it is so momentous.’ (His] face softens and fills with light ) ‘ I must not leave it to chance--! dare not trust myself ; tomorrow, to-morrow, to morrow ’ (Music : Refrain from • Annie Laurie.’) He repeats the word lingeringly and lovingly : ‘ I will ask—Mabel—to decide for me !’ [Curtain.] Music : Strain from Mendelssohn's ‘ Wedding March,’ with refrain of Fate.