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THE HERO OF THE TRENCHES

ONE OF THE BELGIAN FAMILIES SCATTERED BY THE INVASION

It is that of Albert, the King, whom we see here in the company of the Bavarian princess who became his consort when he and she fell in love. The little boy is one of three children who, like Belgian boys and girls generally, see very little of their parents nowadays. The photograph was made a short time before the outbreak of war.

King Albert exemplifies to a writer in the Paris Matin that seriousness which seems to go with the mathematical and engineering mind. His gifts enable him to bring harmony, symmetry and order out of what seemed chaos. He is the born scientist who gets results instead of merely theorizing. His youth gave that promise and his manhood does not belie it. Before the war he ran a locomotive occasionally from Brussels to the frontier and he improvized a machine-shop near the royal palace for purposes of experiment. His aptitude for order and for method reveals itself at every stage of the campaign to-day, and to him must credit be given if the little army of Belgium remains a united and coherent fighting force. He reasons in the clear, straight fashion of a Leibnitz, and might, were he not a king, be enlarging the boundaries of human knowledge in some specialized pursuit like chemistry or engineering.

without the slightest departure from the code of a most polished civility. The Brussels manner expresses sarcasm, amusement at an inferior, a peculiar sense of humor unlike any of the kind before or since and an enviable self-control when confronted by superior force. King Albert sets an example of the manner in his cool, smiling attitude of deprecation in the face of the German tide. King Leopold had the manner. Burgomaster Max, now a prisoner in the Fatherland, exhibited the manner too. King Albert is fairly histrionic in the power with which he conveys the effect of it with a shrug of the shoulders, a faint smile, a word.

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A will-power well-nigh indomitable goes well with the great stature characterizing the King of the Belgians. He is so magnificently built, notes the London Standard, that he defies not only the fatigues of the trenches but the fact that he is nearing his fortieth That "Brussels manner" which so year. He can use his strong, even many admirers of it in England try so large hands, as deftly as if they were vainly to describe, is developed at its tools-which, in truth, they have befinest in King Albert. He can be exas- come. He repairs his own motor car peratingly polite to the enemies of his whenever it collapses from the hard country, explains the Manchester Guar- usage of the war. He has built many dian, while making no concealment of an aeroplane and alone among living his profound contempt for all that is sovereigns, with the exception of the German. He manifests the typical German Emperor, he has descended to Brussels coolness, deference even, in the presence of those who are most enraged by his obvious sense of superiority to them. This "Brussels manner" has infuriated the German bureaucrats in control of the city. It tells them how they are disliked and despised

the depths in a submarine. He has kept his figure trim with athletics, for his boxing has made him famous and his fencing is the finest in Europe. The muscles stand out on his forehead and the bones of the skeleton are quite large and prominent everywhere. Like

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his father, the late Count Philip of Flanders, he has a constitution of iron, but he gets his oval face and his seriousness from his mother, who was a princess with Hohenzollern blood in her veins. To her he is indebted for his humanitarian spirit and a tendency to Utopianism that makes him popular with some of his country's Socialists. His mechanical turn of mind is derived from his father, who long experimented with elevators, power looms and selfcocking rifles.

The present King of the Belgians resembles his predecessor, Leopold, of Congo memory, in one respect-a passion for going about in a strictly private capacity. The late Leopold was often seen while he lived walking up the Strand in London with no evidence of his rank about him. King Albert before the war ran over to London frequently. He and his consort would put up at a plain little hotel of an exclusive kind and visit the theater as ordinary members of the audience. Unlike the King of Spain, whose features were too familiar to escape recognition, King Albert was fortunate enough always to pass through the throngs unnoticed, except for his height. It is related of a dealer in motor cars in London that he dealt personally with King Albert for some years, selling him two automobiles and even going with him to lunch occasionally, without once suspecting that his customer was a European sovereign. Making a purchase in one of London's great establishments, the royal purchaser, in reply to the usual question, stated that his name was Albert. "Albert what?" queried the salesperson. "King," said his Majesty. In due time the purchase arrived, addressed to "Albert King, Esquire."

There is in King Albert a touch of the grimness of the late King Leopold. There is the same largeness of conception, the same indomitable will, much of the very manner and all the magnetism. But the qualities are in the present sovereign put to good uses. The courage of Leopold defied the public opinion of all Europe in Congo affairs, whereas the courage of Albert enables him to lead a forlorn hope to a high and splendid consummation. Albert, too, plays the grand monarch, observes the Paris Temps, but his grandeur has a moral quality. The tragedy in which Leopold played the conspicuous part was that of the Congo; but the tragedy of which Albert is the central figure glorifies him in the eyes of all mankind. His personality is a lesson since it teaches that men become great not through great qualities but through the use to which they put those qualities. In the words, again, of Maurice Maeterlinck, as put into English for the London Chronicle by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos:

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"Of all the heroes of this stupendous war, heroes who will live in the memory of man, one assuredly of the most unsullied, one of those whom we can never love enough, is the great young King of my little country.

"He was indeed at the critical hour the appointed man, the man for whom every heart was waiting. With sudden beauty

he embodied the mighty voice of his peo-
ple. He stood, upon the moment, for Bel-
gium, revealed unto herself and unto
others. He had the wonderful good for-
tune to realize and bestow a conscience
in one of those dread hours of tragedy
and perplexity when the best of con-
sciences waver.

"But what he has suffered, what he

suffers day by day only those can understand who have had the privilege of access to this hero: the most sensitive and the gentlest of men, silent and reserved; a man of controlled emotions, modest with a timidity that is at once baffling and delightful; loving his people less as a father loves his children, than as a son loves his adoring mother."

SIR EDWARD GREY: THE ENGLISH STATESMAN WHOM ALL GERMANY EXECRATES

T

HAT hatred of England to in the isolation of a hermit from the which Germany now gives masses of men. He realizes that did expression through song and they behold him as he is, even his scornful phrase is vented countrymen would shrink in horror with most fury upon the per- from the Satanic darkness of his deeds. sonality of Sir Edward Grey. The England has need of Sir Edward Grey foreign minister evolved by the radical because her work in the world necescoalition which has governed under sitates the employment of a man withAsquith for over eight years incarnates out scruple. He lacks the strength of to all Berlin dailies those qualities of purpose to make a bully. Hence we greed, of duplicity, of lust for world always catch him in low tricks, like dominion, which make Albion so per- those of the pickpocket, a vocation for fidious in German eyes. To the Kreuz- which his aptitudes would fit him adZeitung Sir Edward Grey seems subtle mirably. Thus runs the German indictand sly. He plotted for years the deso- ment as its items are scattered through lation of the world and this is the hour the comment appearing regularly in of his triumph, according to the Vos- the Berlin dailies of nearly every party. sische. He is a far more sinister figure in diplomacy than was Macchiavelli, if we may believe the Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung. His genius is for duplicity. He lives aloof from the. world, a cold and calculating instrument of that British policy which makes the destruction of Germany a cult. His personal traits-low cunning, tenacity of purpose in poisoning the mind of mankind against the object of his remorseless purpose, and a malignity unexampled - make him the typical English statesman to these organs of German opinion. His career is a flat negation of the English claim to stand for democracy, seeing that Sir Edward Grey is aristocratic to the marrow, out of touch with the masses of Englishmen. His instincts make the people as such loathsome to him. Then, too, he is inscrutable, plotting behind the scenes that isolation of Germany of which he boasts. His phrase-making is fresh evidence of the lack of good faith so apparent to the Germans in the diplomatic correspondence preceding the general war which he brought on deliberately.

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Few makers of history have been more sinister, affirms the agrarian organ of the fatherland, which we find applying to him the remark of Napoleon relative to Talleyrand: "He is a silk stocking filled with filth." One studies his character vainly, it is charged, for any evidence of principle. He is a liar. He professes a liberalism that secures his hold upon public office while cherishing ideals that would take Europe back to the despotism of the Tudors. Small wonder that he dwells

Sir Edward Grey finds his eulogists, however, and they are not confined to newspapers printed in London. As a "guardian angel of peace," we find the Milan Corriere della Sera, for instance, lauding him excessively. If the late Edward VII. made himself "the peacemaker," he could thank Sir Edward Grey for it. He is the world's most self-effacing diplomatist. To many a statesman, even great statesmen, the most bewitching music is made by their own eloquence. The British foreign minister has no such weakness. Few indeed are the members of the House of Commons who rise to speak to it so seldom. Political foes suspect him of a purpose to withdraw all control of foreign relations from the representatives of the nation in Parliament. In the radical camp hostile voices are raised against his peculiarly personal mode of conducting diplomatic affairs. It is affirmed that he is by temperament too aristocratic to make a cabinet minister in any democratic sense. The allegation is just, says the Italian daily, and fortunate is England for that very reason. Sir Edward Grey is far, very far, from being the ideal type of cabinet official dreamed of by the doctrinaires of radicalism. He is no irresponsible sentimentalist. He was never a dangerous visionary. Hence radicals generally contemplate his supremacy at the foreign office with dismay.

Criticism of Sir Edward Grey at home is referred to by the Italian daily scornfully. The radicals in London, it says, object to him because he is not preposterously romantic, because he never dramatizes a mood or sheds tears

for the Balkans. He will not spend his
time in retailing to members of the
Commons-especially young and inex-
perienced ones-
-the contents of ci-
phered despatches as they come in.
He declines to transform Parliament
into a Jacobin club for the betrayal
of the secrets of great nations. As
journalists get more and more into the
Commons they grow horrified at the
discretion of Sir Edward Grey, who
will not provide daily sensations for
newspapers. Neither will he assume
control of the affairs of the whole
world at the bidding of pacifists.
Hence he has his enemies at home as
well as abroad. Not that he cares!

Refusing to listen to extreme radicals, Sir Edward Grey finds them forever yelling at his heels. He smiles, observes the Italian daily, and ignores them. In truth, it is only by a sort of political accident that so great a man finds himself in such insignificant company. He is the most conservative of the combination of dreamers and social revolutionists who make up the ministry in London. Certainly he is the least democratic. He comes from the magnificent stock of the Whig nobility, which to-day is almost barren. He is one of the survivors of that splendid class of which he embodies the essential characteristics - the urbanity of manner, the clearness of vision, the poise, the moderation of tone and temper. It was a stroke of good fortune for the Liberal party as soon as it returned to power to be able to entrust the direction of foreign policy to this young member-he was then only forty-two-—who, during the South African war had separated himself from the party and avowed himself an imperialist. His liberalism is enlightened-tempered by a knowledge of life as it is lived and respect for the spirit of the British.

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Quietly, without imparting shocks, Sir Edward Grey took up the work of his famed predecessor Lord Landsdowne, when the advent of the Liberals to power had caused a dread of rupture of the continuity of British foreign policy. From the outset of his career Sir Edward naturally and with intuitive facility sought the right path. He reassured by his personal qualities all those within the diplomatic world who

THE FISHER IN TROUBLED WATERS

THE MAN WHO PLAYS THE HEAVY VILLAIN'S PART IN THE GERMAN DRAMA-
TIZATION OF "DIPLOMACY"

Sir Edward Grey, according to Berlin organs, blended the viles of Macchiavelli with the subtleties of Talleyrand and the duplicities of Themistocles-all of whom he resembles in character-only to declare war in the end upon the amazed government of Germany.

feared the effects upon international relations of the arrival in Downing street of the radical ragtag and bobtail. How tactfully he manages the loud and boisterous crew of laborites, suffragists

and social dreamers! His suave and smiling tenacity forces a reluctant approval of his polite diplomacy from men who loathe good manners as a sign of weakness, who suspect quietness as a mask for the spirit of intrigue. Now and again the dull discontent, the heavy ill humor of the radicals will find expression in some impatient request for explanations on the floor of the House. How deftly Sir Edward Grey exploits his better breeding and longer experience!

Naturally, explains the Italian daily further, Sir Edward Grey treats with severity those indiscreet and impossible persons who attempt to climb the bastions of his reserve, who vainly storm the citadel of his perfect discretion. He repels his radical assailants with tremendous loss to themselves, always smiling himself in the hour of diplomatic triumph. Negotiations are walled in from prying eyes by him. He distrusts the public. He will allow it no share in the details of his work until that work is completed. That is one reason why he speaks so rarely, why he refuses the invitations of the radicals to unbosom himself to them.

But when his tall, pale, refined figure is seen to rise in the Commons, and with clean-shaven, impassive countenance and calm voice devoid of impetuosity as of excitement, he begins a speech, the session is transformed. The House is crowded. Attention is riveted. One feels that one is truly assisting at a session of the mother of Parliaments, that the destinies of the empire upon which the sun never sets tremble in the balance, yet are safe. Sir Edward Grey is foreign minister!

Of all the orators in the House of Commons, Sir Edward Grey, therefore, speaks with the most authority, the most effect. He is without the fire of Lloyd George. He lacks the exquisite polish of Balfour. He never even attempts to charm, like Birrell. Neither is he furious and forcible, after the fashion of the laborites. Of the persuasiveness of Asquith he shows no trace, and to the rough and tumble humor of Winston Churchill he never stoops. When he speaks, Sir Edward Grey is no longer a minister defending aptly a political position. He becomes the solemn voice of Britain herself, addressing the word of warning without bluster. His words are as simple as they are few. His impassivity is electrifying, like the gesticulation of a seer, altho he dispenses with all waving of arms and pointing of fingers.

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Straightforwardness is the factor which more than any other explains the hold of Sir Edward Grey upon the confidence and respect of his countrymen.

His private life, somber as a result of the tragic taking off of his wife some years ago, is as simple as his political career. His one diversion seems to be fishing. He has all the angler's passion for solitude. Fishing is to him both a sport and an art. His mastery of rod and line is the result of long devotion to the streams in which lurk trout and fish more timid still. The Foreign Minister spends hours in solitary musing by the bank of some remote stream.

Simple as he seems to people in London, however, he incarnates to the Berlin press, as we have said, and especially to the Kreuz-Zeitung, those qualities of duplicity and chicane which inspire in Germany her hatred of all that goes by the name of England. This, it says, is Sir Edward Grey's war. Dailies in London fly to his defense, even if they belong to the opposite political camp. We quote the London Telegraph, as among the most conspicuous:

"The career of Sir Edward Grey, since he took the Foreign Office on his party's emergence from the wilderness in 1908, has not been entirely free from diplomatic miscalculation; but, regarded as a whole, it must be called a very memorable and honorable record. He has steered Great Britain through some very perilous waters before this; and throughout his tenure of office he has been trusted by his countrymen with a degree of confidence very rarely accorded to a Foreign Minister by any nation. Elsewhere he has long established his claim to respect; but it is he has risen in foreign eyes to the height only in the last few months, perhaps, that of reputation to which the writer in the Corriere bears witness. He has been something of an enigma to statesmen bred in national traditions other than our own, and less able than we are to recognize by instinct what lies behind the very English reserve and rigidity of a type of man more rare in our political life than it used it is still known in this country as soon as to be. But rare as it may be in that field, it appears.

"Such men are understood by all who come near them to be answerable to an inward standard of honor and of public duty that nothing would persuade them to talk about, still less make speeches about. Their habit of silence is felt to be a real affectation, or a mere result of mental incharacteristic of strength, not a dramatic capacity. They carefully eschew every art by which the favor of men is commonly sought; and men admire and respect them for it. Whatever they are seen to do is done with the maximum of capability and the minimum of flourish. They are known to be unswervingly true to ideals of their own, and not to trouble plant the conviction that there is no little

themselves about other people's. They im

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ness in them, and no crookedness possible to them. They embody, in short, our people's conception of a sane, balanced, powerful, and self-respecting character."

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WHICH THE ORPHAN

"DADDY LONG-LEGS”: A PLAY IN
A PLAY IN WHICH
ASYLUM IS MADE A TEMPLE OF LOVE

M

JUDY.

(Sweetly.) Do you want me

to help, Mrs. Lippett?

MRS. LIPPETT. (Turning quickly.) Well, Miss Jerusha Abbott! It's about time you turned up! You are the only lady of leisure in this institution to-day.

ISS JEAN WEBSTER'S has succeeded in cowing her. She stands, play of "Daddy Long-Legs," looking speculatively at Mrs. Lippett's dealing with the life of a back.) girl taken from an orphan asylum and placed in college by an unknown benefactor, delights the critics in New York with its dialog, its situation and its atmosphere. The piece is, for one thing, very wholesome, very proper, as the New York Herald observes. It is true to type-that is, it might very well have had its source in the lives of some of the seventeen hundred children who have been placed in free homes by the State Charities Aid Association in New York alone. "The play shows all too truly," declares Mr. Homer Folks, former Commissioner of Charities, "what orphan asylums at their worst may be like. There are just such orphan asylums in existence to-day, right here in this city, as. the John Grier Home portrayed in 'Daddy LongLegs."" He believes the play will accelerate the movement to improve conditions in these institutions, conditions which, in the home made familiar by the first act of the present play, suggest comparisons with Dotheboys Hall under Wackford Squeers.

Our first peep is into the dining-room of this John Grier Home on Trustees' Day, a bare, dreary room with plastered walls. Two, and subsequently more, orphans reveal themselves in the activities with plates and cups for which orphans are so famed. They explain themselves to the audience very characteristically.

MRS. LIPPETT. Oh, for the land's sake! (Picking up sugar-bowl, looks in; is about to set it down when she catches sight of the mark of grimy fingers.) Gladiola Murphy Aren't you ashamed? That's a pretty-looking sugar-bowl to send up to the trustees. You take it into the pantry and wash it. (She gives bowl to Gladiola, faces her toward the pantry, and starts her with a shove. Examines a flamboyant watch that is pinned to her waist.) Half past four! It's time to make the tea. (Goes up and turns on lamp.) Where is that Abbott girl? She's enough to try the patience of a saint. (Turns up lamp. Her back is turned as Judy enters. Judy is a vividly alive young girl of eighteen, dressed in the same blue gingham that the others wear, but made in a more becoming manner. There is a suggestion of challenge in her manner-an air of allconquering youth. Neither Mrs. Lippett's harshness nor the sordid air of the asylum

THIS ORPHAN'S LOT IS NOT A HAPPY ONE

But Daddy Long-Legs will take care of her.

JUDY. I'm sorry. The nurse has to look after the sick babies and we couldn't leave the others alone.

MRS. LIPPETT. You always have plenty of excuses.

JUDY. That new little red-headed child has licked all the green paint off.

MRS. LIPPETT. And what did you think

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JUDY. That red-headed child has swallowed some green paint.

MRS. LIPPETT. I don't care what that red-headed child has swallowed. I'm more interested in what the trustees are going to swallow.

JUDY. (Speaking very hurriedly.) That red-headed child has licked the green paint off the roof of the Noah's Ark and I think you'd better send for the doctor. MRS. LIPPETT. Will you stop talking and get to work?

JUDY. It was green and I'm afraid it will disagree with him.

MRS. LIPPETT. You get those tea things ready.

JUDY. Green paint's made of arsenic. It's poison. I learned that in chemistry. MRS. LIPPETT. You've learned altogether too much! You were a great deal more useful before you got that education! (Goes back to children.)

JUDY. (At pantry with a gleam of mischief.) Mrs. Lippett

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MRS. LIPPETT.

Well?

(Over her shoulder.)

JUDY. Did you put those two guineapigs into the babies' bath-tub?

MRS. LIPPETT. (Whirling about.) Guinea-pigs!

JUDY. I think they're guinea-pigs. Little brown and white animals

MRS. LIPPETT. Oh, good heavens! Ihose horrible boys! What did you do with the beasts?

JUDY. I didn't touch them. I thoughtMRS. LIPPETT. Quick! Get them away before the trustees find them.

JUDY. I thought maybe that generous new trustee you were telling us about brought them as a present for the babies.

MRS. LIPPETT. And you thought I was planning to keep them in the nursery bathtub?

JUDY. It's so seldom used!

MRS. LIPPETT. (Turns back muttering angrily.) Guinea-pigs! (Gladiola comes into the pantry with sugar-bowl she has cleaned and puts it on tray.) If I had my way the whole race of boys would be swept off the face of the earth. (Sadie Kate and Loretta titter, then hastily repress themselves.) Yes-and girls too! That's enough. Clean up this mess. They're likely to come in here. (Gladiola lingers near Mrs. Lippett, who slaps and drives her away. Loretta rises and takes pan and wash-material across and up into pantry.) I suppose they'll be snooping all over the place. (Sadie Kate brings spoons and places them on tea-tray in front of Mrs. Lippett, who slaps her. Loretta comes down from pantry and joins them.) These visiting days are enough to make a person sick. (The orphans stand wait

A PLAY WITH THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

25

ing for further orders. A buss of conversation and laughter is heard. Mrs. Lippett hastily unpins her skirt.) Here they are now! Gladiola, pull up your stockings. (Gladiola pulls up her stockings.) Loretta, wipe your nose. (Loretta stoops to use her petticoat.) No, no. Not on your skirt. (Sadie Kate gives Loretta handkerchief.) Sadie Kate, brush back your hair. (To all.) If any of the trustees or lady visitors speak to you, you say, "Yes, ma'am"-"No, ma'am"-and smile.

ORPHANS. Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am. (Miss Pritchard and Mr. Cyrus Wykoff enter. Miss Pritchard is a charming, oldfashioned gentlewoman between fifty and sixty, with an air of kindly sympathy for everyone. Mr. Wykoff, a short, chubby, bald-headed man, is pompous and dignified, with an exaggerated idea of his own importance. He wears a brown suit, which fits him quite snugly, a pair of tortoise-rimmed spectacles, and a gold watchchain.)

MISS PRITCHARD. Well, Mrs. Lippett! We're here again!

MRS. LIPPETT. Miss Pritchard! (They shake hands and Miss Pritchard turns to children. Each child in turn shakes its

head and says: "Yes, ma'am," "No, ma'am," as ordered by Mrs. Lippett.) Mr. Wykoff!

WYKOFF. Howdedo, ma'am. Thought we'd look about a little before refresh

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ments.

MRS. LIPPETT. It's a pleasure to welcome you. I always look forward to the first Wednesday of every month.

MISS PRITCHARD. (Turns to second child.) We have Mr. Jervis Pendelton with us to-day.

MRS. LIPPETT. I believe we are indebted to you, Miss Pritchard, for inducing him

to serve.

MISS PRITCHARD. Yes, he is an old family friend. (Turns to third child.) WYKOFF. Good thing to get some fancy philanthropists on the board of an institution like this. Their ideas aren't always practical, but their checks are.

MISS PRITCHARD. (To Wykoff.) Poor little dears! They're not like children. So little spirit.

HOW THE VISITING TRUSTEE LOOKS TO THE ORPHANS
Even Mrs. Lippett, the severe superintendent, cannot extinguish their sense of humor.

Mrs. Lippett and rushes off as Jervis
comes in. Wykoff passes up and between
the tables inspecting everything. Miss
Pritchard joins Jervis as he comes in and
they saunter down stage. Jervis Pendle-
ton is a man of affairs, quiet and self-
contained, but evidently used to having his
own way. He has a somewhat grim sense
of humor and an air of nonchalance which
in reality covers a keen penetration. His
manners are courteously deferential, but
with a suggestion of indifference under-
neath, which he just politely manages to
suppress.)

JERVIS. Ah, dear lady! So this is the dining-room! Charming apartment!

MRS. LIPPETT. I believe I have never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Pendle

ton.

MISS PRITCHARD. Our matron, Mrs.

WYKOFF. They are not a very classy Lippett.

lot.

MRS. LIPPETT. It is awful depressing to live with them.

MISS PRITCHARD. And how is my dear Judy Abbott?

Her

MRS. LIPPETT. A great trial. WYKOFF. She's the one we're educating. MISS PRITCHARD. (Nodding.) teachers said that she is very brilliant. MRS. LIPPETT. Oh, she's smart enough. I'm not denying that. But impertinent! MISS PRITCHARD. She's a spirited girl and needs tact.

MRS. LIPPETT. (Momentarily forgetting herself.) Tact! She needs a good thoro whipping. And I'm sorry she's grown too big to get it.

WYKOFF. That's the proper spirit, ma'am. Keep 'em in their places. (Jervis and Freddie are heard out in hall playing ball. Miss Pritchard goes around to join Jervis. Jervis laughs and chats as the ball passes between him and Freddie. At sound of Jervis voice Wykoff turns, sees him and turns back to Mrs. Lippett.) Mr. Pendleton! (Freddie catches sight of

JERVIS. (Shaking hands.) Very happy to meet you, madam. MRS. LIPPETT. The asylum has a great deal to thank you for. Your two dear boys are doing so well.

(The orphans begin to fuss and fidge. Loretta scratches her head, Gladiola stands on one foot, then on other, and Sadie Kate tries to keep both quiet.)

JERVIS. (Vaguely.) My two dear boys? MRS. LIPPETT. That you are sending to technical school!

JERVIS. Oh yes, yes! The young engineers! Doing well, are they? That's good.

MRS. LIPPETT. I trust their reports are sent every month, as you requested. JERVIS. Yes, I believe so. My secretary looks after them. (Sits on bench, studies children intently. To the nearest one.) Come here, little girl, and shake hands with me. (They back off.) Oh, don't be afraid! I won't bite.

MRS. LIPPETT. (Behind Jervis and over his shoulder cautioning children. Softly.) Oh, children, children, dear, this is the

kind gentleman who sent the candy and peanuts and tickets to the circus. Shake hands with him, darling. (Gladiola advances, watching Mrs. Lippett and offers Jervis a limp hand.)

JERVIS. And are you a good little girl? GLADIOLA. (Wilting with embarrassment.) Y-yes, ma'am. No, ma'am.

JERVIS. (Rising, his arm about Gladiola, over to Miss Pritchard.) Happy, bubbling, laughing childhood! (Mrs. Lippett shoves children into pantry and turns on lamp.) Nothing so beautiful in the world!

MRS. LIPPETT. It's great pleasure to live with them. I always say that it keeps me young and happy, and innocent myself. JERVIS. (Striking cup with his knuckle, to Miss Pritchard.) Durable!

WYKOFF. Can't indulge any artistic ideas in a place like this.

JERVIS. (Turns around and sees text on wall "The Lord Will Provide.") Of course! Of course! Ah! (Indicating text.) Very touching!

MRS. LIPPETT. You wouldn't want us to bring them up without religion? JERVIS. (Deprecating the idea.) No,

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