Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays
Chapter 277 : THIEF. Ple-e-ase, don't screech! My head aches and your voice pierces so. Let

THIEF. Ple-e-ase, don't screech! My head aches and your voice pierces so. Let's sit down quietly and discuss the situation like well-bred people, and when we've come to some understanding, I'll go.

CLARA. Yes, after you've taken everything in the house and criticized everything else you can't take, our manners and our morals.

CHARLES. But he isn't taking anything now, is he? Let the poor chap criticize, can't you? I don't suppose he often meets his--er--customers socially. He's just dying for a good old visit. Lonesome profession, isn't it, old man?

CLARA. If you WON'T do anything, I'll call the neighbors.

THIEF. No neighbors to call. Nearest one a block away, and he isn't at home. That comes of living in a fas.h.i.+onable suburb. Don't believe you can afford it, either. WON'T you sit down, madame? I can't till you do.

Well, then I shall have to stand, and I've been on my feet all day. It's hardly considerate [_plaintively_]. I don't talk so well on my feet, either. It will take me much longer this way. [_Clara bounces into a chair, meaningfully._] Thank you, that's better [_sighs with relief as he sinks into the easy chair_]. I knew I could appeal to your better nature. Have a cigarette? [_Charles accepts one from his beautiful case._] And you, madame?

CLARA [_puts out her hand, but withdraws it quickly_]. Thank you, I don't care to smoke--with a thief.

THIEF. Right. Better not smoke, anyway. I'm so old-fas.h.i.+oned, I hate to see women smoke. None of the women in my family do it. Perhaps we're too conventional--

CLARA. I don't know that I care to be like the women of your family. I _will_ have one, if you please. No doubt you get them from a man of taste.

THIEF. Your next-door neighbor. This is--was--his case. Exquisite taste.

Seen this case often, I suppose? [_He eyes them closely._] Great friends? Or perhaps you don't move in the same circles. [_Clara glares at him._] Pardon me. Tactless of me, but how could I guess? Well, here's your chance to get acquainted with his cigarettes. Will you have one now?

CLARA. I don't receive stolen goods.

THIEF. That's a little hard on Charles, isn't it? He seems to be enjoying his.

CHARLES. Bully cigarette. Hempsted's a connoisseur. Truth is--we don't know the Hempsteds. They've never called.

THIEF. That's right, Charles. Tell the truth and shame [_with a jerk of his head toward Clara_]--you know who.

CLARA. Charles, there isn't any reason, I'm sure--

THIEF. Quietly, please. Remember my head. I'm sorry, but I must decline to discuss your social prospects with you, and also your neighbors'

shortcomings, much as we should all enjoy it. There isn't time for that.

Let's get down to business. The question we've got to decide and decide very quickly is, What would you like to have me take?

CLARA [_aghast_]. What would we--what would we like to have you take?

Why--why--you can't take anything now; we're here. Of all the nerve!

What would we like--

THIEF. It gains by repet.i.tion, doesn't it?

CHARLES. You've got me, old man. You'll have to come again. I may be slow, but I don't for the moment see the necessity for your taking anything.

THIEF. I was afraid of this. I'll have to begin farther back. Look here now, just suppose I go away and don't take anything [_with an air of triumph_]. How would you like that?

CHARLES. Suits me to a "T." How about you, my dear? Think you can be firm and bear up under it?

THIEF. Don't be sarcastic. You're too big. Only women and little men should be sarcastic. Besides, it isn't fair to me, when I'm trying to help you. Here am I, trying to get you out of a mighty ticklish situation, and you go and get funny. It isn't right.

CHARLES. Beg pardon, old man. Try us in words of one syllable. You see this is a new situation for us. But we're anxious to learn.

THIEF. Listen, then. See if you can follow this. Now there's nothing in your house that I want; nothing that I could for a moment contemplate keeping without a good deal of pain to myself.

CLARA. We're trying to spare you. But if you care to know, we had the advice of Elsie de Wolfe.

THIEF [_wonderingly_]. Elsie de Wolfe? Elsie, how could you! Now, if you had asked me to guess, I should have said--the Pullman Company. I shudder to think of owning any of this bric-a-brac myself. But it must be done. Here am I offering to burden myself with something I don't want, wouldn't keep for worlds, and couldn't sell. [_Growing a little oratorical._] Why do I do this?

CHARLES. Yes, why do you?

CLARA. Hush, Charles; it's a rhetorical question; he wants to answer it himself.

THIEF. I do it to accommodate you. Must I be even plainer? Imagine that I go away, refusing to take anything in spite of your protests. Imagine it's to-morrow. The police and the reporters have caught wind of the story. Something has been taken from every house in Sargent Road--except one. The nature of the articles shows that the thief is a man of rare discrimination. To be quite frank--a connoisseur.

CLARA. A connoisseur of what? Humph!

THIEF. And a connoisseur of such judgment that to have him pa.s.s your Rubens by is to cast doubt upon its authenticity. I do not exaggerate.

Let me tell you that from the Hempsteds--[_Clara leans forward, all interest._]--but that would take too long. [_She leans back._] The public immediately asks, Why did the thief take nothing from 2819 Sargent Road? The answer is too obvious: There is nothing worth taking at 2819 Sargent Road.

CHARLES [_comprehendingly_]. Um-hu-m!

THIEF. The public laughs. Worse still, the neighbors laugh. What becomes of social pretensions after that? It's a serious thing, laughter is. It puts anybody's case out of court. And it's a serious thing to have a thief pa.s.s you by. People have been socially marooned for less than that. Have I made myself clear? Are you ready for the question? What would you like to have me take?

CHARLES. Now, old man, I say that's neat. Sure you aren't a lawyer?

THIEF. I have studied the law--but not from that side.

CLARA. It's all bosh. Why couldn't we claim we'd lost something very valuable, something we'd never had?

THIEF [_solemnly_]. That's the most shameless proposal I've ever heard.

Yes, you could _lie_ about it. I can't conceal from you what I think of your moral standards.

CHARLES. I can't imagine you concealing anything unpleasant.

CLARA. It's no worse than--

THIEF. Your moral sense is blunted. But I can't attend to that now.

Think of this: Suppose, as I said, I should take nothing and you should publish that bare-faced lie, and then I should get caught. Would I s.h.i.+eld you? Never. Or suppose I shouldn't get caught. Has no one entered your house since you have been here? Doesn't your maid know what you have? Can you trust her not to talk? No, no, it isn't worth the risk. It isn't even common sense, to say nothing of the moral aspects of the case. Why do people never stop to think of the practical advantages of having things stolen! Endless possibilities! Why, a woman loses a $5 brooch and it's immediately worth $15. The longer it stays lost, the more diamonds it had in it, until she prays G.o.d every night that it won't be found. Look at the advertising she gets out of it. And does she learn anything from it? Never. Let a harmless thief appear in her room and she yells like a hyena instead of saying to him, like a sensible woman: "Hands up; I've got you right where I want you; you take those imitation pearls off my dresser and get to h.e.l.l out of here. If I ever see you or those pearls around here again, I'll hand you over to the police." That's what she ought to say. It's the chance of her life. But unless she's an actress, she misses it absolutely. A thief doesn't expect grat.i.tude, but it seems to me he might at least expect understanding and intelligent cooperation. Here are you facing disgrace, and here am I willing to save you. And what do I get? Sarcasm, cheap sarcasm!

CHARLES. I beg your pardon, old man. I'm truly sorry. You're just too advanced for us. Clara, there's an idea in it. What do you think?

CLARA. It has its possibilities. Now if he'll let me choose--Isn't there a joker in it somewhere? Let me think. We might let you have something.

What do you want?

THIEF [_indignantly_]. What do I want? I--don't want--anything. Can't you see that? The question is, What do you want me to have? And please be a little considerate. Don't ask me to take the pianola or the ice-box. Can't you make up your minds? Let me help you. Haven't you got some old wedding gifts? Everybody has. Regular white elephants, yet you don't dare get rid of them for fear the donors will come to see you and miss them. A discriminating thief is a G.o.dsend. All you have to do is write: "Dear Maude and Fred: Last night our house was broken into, and of course the first thing that was taken was that lovely Roycroft chair you gave us." Or choose what you like. Here's opportunity knocking at your door. Make it something ugly as you please, but something genuine.

I hate sham.

CLARA. Charles, it's our chance. There's that lovely, hand-carved--

THIEF. Stop! I saw it [_shuddering_]. It has the marks of the machine all over it. Not that. I can't take that.