Deborah! Child!

DEBORAH (prettily).

Yes! Yes! I'm coming!

[Hastens out the door with a friendly backward glance at Franklin. He stands for a moment where she has left him.

Crosses to secretary, takes book, seats himself, opens it slowly, looking after her. Then sits a-dream in the fading fireglow. Presently he looks at the book again, and reads the first line upon which his eye chances to fall.

FRANKLIN (reading).

"Count thyself rich when thou hast found a friend."

(The curtain slowly falls.)

COSTUMES

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. Travel-stained suit of dark-brown, guiltless of braid or ruffles, coat and knee-breeches being of the same color. The material either of corduroy or homespun (woolen). A white vest flowered with brown roses. A white neckcloth. Black stockings. Low black shoes.

A three-cornered black hat, which he carries under his arm. Hair worn long and unpowdered.

ROGER BURCHARD. Coat and knee-breeches of the same style as Franklin's, made of homespun, and Quaker-gray in color. A Quaker-gray vest. White neckcloth. Gray stockings. Low black shoes with silver buckles.

Unpowdered hair.

ELIZABETH BURCHARD. Dress of gray satin, simply made, with a crossed kerchief of snowy white lawn. Gray stockings. Gray slippers with silver buckles. Hair worn simply, and unpowdered. (Gray glazed cambric for her dress if satin cannot be had.)

DEBORAH READ. Quilted petticoat of pale-blue satin. Colonial overdress and bodice of white, brocaded with pale-blue roses. Fichu of white lawn. Black picture hat with black plume. Black cloth cloak lined in pale-blue. Black stockings. Low black shoes with gold buckles.

Unpowdered hair, worn pompadour. (If satin and brocade cannot be had, have blue glazed muslin and cretonne instead. Or flowered muslin worn over a white dress.) Black patches. Black velvet ribbon at neck. White lace mitts, or black gloves coming to the elbow.

WILLIAM. Maroon suit, of a heavy woolen material. Gold b.u.t.tons down the front and two in back. Cream-colored vest. Neither braiding nor ruffles. Black stockings. Low black shoes without buckles. A white neckcloth. Unpowdered hair worn in a cue.

GEORGE WASHINGTON'S FORTUNE

For this pageant episode see page 46 of the Outdoor Arrangement of the Pageant of Patriots.

THE BOSTON TEA PARTY

CHARACTERS RICHARD STOCKTON JOHN COREY NED PEABODY PHIL AMESBURY JEFFERSON WINWOOD FRANK WHARTON THOMAS RIGBY, a tavern-keeper Young British Lieutenants EGBERT PENROSE SIDNEY MARSH

SCENE: The tavern known as The Golden Pheasant. Place, Boston.

TIME: Six o'clock on a December evening, 1773.

The tavern-room is low-ceilinged and wainscoted with dark woodwork.

There is a door in middle background, and windows on each side of it.

At the right, towards foreground, a chimney-place, with smoldering fire. Above is a shelf on which are iron candlesticks and short bits of candles that show economy. Against the right wall a round mahogany table. On it another iron candlestick, which has been lighted. A punch- bowl. Cups. A ladle. Also a bra.s.s bowl beneath which a small charcoal flame burns, keeping hot the lemonade. Beyond this table a dark wooden chest with a heavy lock. Under the window in left background a similar chest.

By the hearth, facing audience, a long seat with a high back and pew- like ends. At the rise of the curtain, Thomas Rigby, the rubicund landlord, is lighting with a taper the candles that stand on the mantelshelf, the b.u.t.tons on his plum-colored waistcoat twinkling in the gleam. He has only lighted one when the door is pushed open, and there enter two young British lieutenants, mere lads, whose scarlet cloaks, exaggerated lace wrist ruffles, and brilliant gold braiding make a fine showing. But Thomas Rigby shows no look of welcome.

MARSH.

Hey, landlord! Brrrr! It's cold! Give us something to warm us.

PENROSE (foppishly).

Aye, and be brisk about it. I do not wish to be served in a loitering fashion.

[Rigby makes as if to speak; but restrains himself, and, with a look of quiet scorn, serves them hot lemon punch. Penrose is by the fire. Marsh by the window.

MARSH.

It promises to be a chilly eve after a cloudy morning.

PENROSE (with a shiver).

More snow and bitter weather!

MARSH (looking out the window).

Nay, not so bitter. The window-panes are clear and unfrosted. The twilight gathers quickly. The streets are gray, and there's scarce a gleam in the darkness of the harbor.

PENROSE (as Marsh leaves window for fire).

Not e'en a light in the rigging o' Francis Rotch's ships? The sailors must be supping at the taverns. They're weary now of staying harborbound. There'll be rejoicing when the tax is paid, and the stiff- necked Yankees bring the tea to land.

MARSH.

There be some who call themselves patriots, and swear they'll never pay it.

PENROSE (sipping).

Not pay it? They'll defy us? Pooh! We could bring them to time with a twist of the wrist did we but wish to! (Looking with approval at his own apparel.) A mere handful of men with scarcely any lace for their ruffles, and tarnished buckles for their shoes! _They_ defy _us_?

You're jesting! No, no, my dear Sidney! In spite of all their protests and town meetings they'll be glad enough to give in at the end, and to pay the tax right speedily. For, mark you, in spite of all the rumors of defiance that we've heard, the town to-night lies as quiet as a church.

MARSH.

Aye, so it does.

PENROSE (rising).

Too quiet for my spirits. Let's seek another tavern where there's more revelry than there is here.

MARSH (draining his gla.s.s).

We'll not find shrewder lemon punch at any. On my way back I'll have another gla.s.s.

[Tosses money at Rigby, who lets it lie where it falls. He shakes a clenched hand after the retreating figures of the two lieutenants, and then goes back to lighting his candles on the mantelshelf. Marsh and Penrose exeunt. After a moment there comes from without the sound of a halting step, the door is opened, and Richard Stockton enters, a lad with the eyes of a dreamer, and the bearing of a doer of deeds. Thomas Rigby, at sound of the entering step, turns, taper in hand.

RICHARD (coming forward).

'Tis only I. Go on with the candles, landlord.

RIGBY (joyfully).

Only you, d.i.c.k Stockton! Zounds! There's none whom I'd sooner see!

Quick! Tell me the news! These be stirring days, and here am I tied to this tavern-room, and afraid to leave it lest those brawling red-coats loot it while I'm gone. To leave a tavern-room empty is to invite disaster--and yet--what patriot should bide indoors on days like these!

'Faith! I'm torn 'twixt necessities! Come! Your news. Sit by the fire and out with it! What's to become of the tea we won't pay taxes on?

RICHARD.

Give me breath and I'll tell you! There's news to make your blood boil.