efficiency. He was efficient at the law; he was efficient at
college; he was efficient as a sailor; he was efficient in the
matter of pride, when that pride was no more than the pride of a
forecastle hand, at twelve dollars a month, in his seaman’s task
well done, in the smart sailing of his captain, in the clearness
and trimness of his ship.
There is no sailor whose cockles of the heart will not warm to
Dana’s description of the first time he sent down a royal yard.
Once or twice he had seen it done. He got an old hand in the crew
to coach him. And then, the first anchorage at Monterey, being
pretty THICK with the second mate, he got him to ask the mate to
be sent up the first time the royal yards were struck.
“Fortunately,” as Dana describes it, “I got through without any
word from the officer; and heard the ‘well done’ of the mate, when
the yard reached the deck, with as much satisfaction as I ever
felt at Cambridge on seeing a ‘bene’ at the foot of a Latin
exercise.”
“This was the first time I had taken a weather ear-ring, and I
felt not a little proud to sit astride of the weather yard-arm,
past the ear-ring, and sing out ‘Haul out to leeward!'” He had
been over a year at sea before he essayed this able seaman’s task,
but he did it, and he did it with pride. And with pride, he went
down a four-hundred foot cliff, on a pair of top-gallant studding-
sail halyards bent together, to dislodge several dollars worth of
stranded bullock hides, though all the acclaim he got from his
mates was: “What a d-d fool you were to risk your life for half a
dozen hides!”
In brief, it was just this efficiency in pride, as well as work,
that enabled Dana to set down, not merely the photograph detail of
life before the mast and hide-droghing on the coast of California,
but of the untarnished simple psychology and ethics of the
forecastle hands who droghed the hides, stood at the wheel, made
and took in sail, tarred down the rigging, holystoned the decks,
turned in all-standing, grumbled as they cut about the kid,
criticised the seamanship of their officers, and estimated the
duration of their exile from the cubic space of the hide-house.
JACK LONDON
Glen Ellen, California,
A Collection of Stories
48
August 13, 1911.
A WICKED WOMAN
(Curtain Raiser)
BY JACK LONDON
Scene–California.
Time–Afternoon of a summer day.
CHARACTERS
LORETTA, A sweet, young thing. Frightfully innocent. About
nineteen years old. Slender, delicate, a fragile flower.
Ingenuous.
NED BASHFORD, A jaded young man of the world, who has
philosophised his experiences and who is without faith in the
veracity or purity of women.
BILLY MARSH, A boy from a country town who is just about as
innocent as Loretta. Awkward. Positive. Raw and callow youth.
ALICE HEMINGWAY, A society woman, good-hearted, and a match-maker.
JACK HEMINGWAY, Her husband.
MAID.
A WICKED WOMAN
[Curtain rises on a conventional living room of a country house in
California. It is the Hemingway house at Santa Clara. The room
is remarkable for magnificent stone fireplace at rear centre. On
either side of fireplace are generous, diamond-paned windows.
Wide, curtained doorways to right and left. To left, front,
table, with vase of flowers and chairs. To right, front, grand
piano.]
[Curtain discovers LORETTA seated at piano, not playing, her back
to it, facing NED BASHFORD, who is standing.]
LORETTA. [Petulantly, fanning herself with sheet of music.] No,
I won’t go fishing. It’s too warm. Besides, the fish won’t bite
so early in the afternoon.
NED. Oh, come on. It’s not warm at all. And anyway, we won’t
really fish. I want to tell you something.
A Collection of Stories
49
LORETTA. [Still petulantly.] You are always wanting to tell me
something.
NED. Yes, but only in fun. This is different. This is serious.
Our . . . my happiness depends upon it.
LORETTA. [Speaking eagerly, no longer petulant, looking, serious
and delighted, divining a proposal.] Then don’t wait. Tell me
right here.
NED. [Almost threateningly.] Shall I?
LORETTA. [Challenging.] Yes.
[He looks around apprehensively as though fearing interruption,
clears his throat, takes resolution, also takes LORETTA’s hand.]
[LORETTA is startled, timid, yet willing to hear, naively unable
to conceal her love for him.]
NED. [Speaking softly.] Loretta . . . I, . . . ever since I met
you I have –
[JACK HEMINGWAY appears in the doorway to the left, just
entering.]
[NED suddenly drops LORETTA’s hand. He shows exasperation.]
[LORETTA shows disappointment at interruption.]
NED. Confound it
LORETTA. [Shocked.] Ned! Why will you swear so?
NED. [Testily.] That isn’t swearing.
LORETTA. What is it, pray?
NED. Displeasuring.
JACK HEMINGWAY. [Who is crossing over to right.] Squabbling
again?
LORETTA. [Indignantly and with dignity.] No, we’re not.
NED. [Gruffly.] What do you want now?
JACK HEMINGWAY. [Enthusiastically.] Come on fishing.
NED. [Snappily.] No. It’s too warm.
JACK HEMINGWAY. [Resignedly, going out right.] You needn’t take
A Collection of Stories
50
a fellow’s head off.
LORETTA. I thought you wanted to go fishing.
NED. Not with Jack.
LORETTA. [Accusingly, fanning herself vigorously.] And you told
me it wasn’t warm at all.
NED. [Speaking softly.] That isn’t what I wanted to tell you,
Loretta. [He takes her hand.] Dear Loretta –
[Enter abruptly ALICE HEMINGWAY from right.]
[LORETTA sharply jerks her hand away, and looks put out.]
[NED tries not to look awkward.]
ALICE HEMINGWAY. Goodness! I thought you’d both gone fishing!
LORETTA. [Sweetly.] Is there anything you want, Alice?
NED. [Trying to be courteous.] Anything I can do?
ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Speaking quickly, and trying to withdraw.] No,
no. I only came to see if the mail had arrived.
LORETTA AND NED
[Speaking together.] No, it hasn’t arrived.
LORETTA. [Suddenly moving toward door to right.] I am going to
see.
[NED looks at her reproachfully.]
[LORETTA looks back tantalisingly from doorway and disappears.]
[NED flings himself disgustedly into Morris chair.]
ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Moving over and standing in front of him.
Speaks accusingly.] What have you been saying to her?
NED. [Disgruntled.] Nothing.
ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Threateningly.] Now listen to me, Ned.
NED. [Earnestly.] On my word, Alice, I’ve been saying nothing to
her.
ALICE HEMINGWAY. [With sudden change of front.] Then you ought
to have been saying something to her.
A Collection of Stories
51
NED. [Irritably. Getting chair for her, seating her, and seating
himself again.] Look here, Alice, I know your game. You invited
me down here to make a fool of me.
ALICE HEMINGWAY. Nothing of the sort, sir. I asked you down to
meet a sweet and unsullied girl–the sweetest, most innocent and
ingenuous girl in the world.
NED. [Dryly.] That’s what you said in your letter.
ALICE HEMINGWAY. And that’s why you came. Jack had been trying
for a year to get you to come. He did not know what kind of a
letter to write.
NED. If you think I came because of a line in a letter about a
girl I’d never seen –
ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Mockingly.] The poor, jaded, world-worn man,
who is no longer interested in women . . . and girls! The poor,
tired pessimist who has lost all faith in the goodness of women –
NED. For which you are responsible.
ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Incredulously.] I?
NED. You are responsible. Why did you throw me over and marry
Jack?
ALICE HEMINGWAY. Do you want to know?
NED. Yes.
ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Judiciously.] First, because I did not love
you. Second, because you did not love me. [She smiles at his
protesting hand and at the protesting expression on his face.]
And third, because there were just about twenty-seven other women
at that time that you loved, or thought you loved. That is why I
married Jack. And that is why you lost faith in the goodness of
women. You have only yourself to blame.
NED. [Admiringly.] You talk so convincingly. I almost believe
you as I listen to you. And yet I know all the time that you are
like all the rest of your sex–faithless, unveracious, and . . .
[He glares at her, but does not proceed.]
ALICE HEMINGWAY. Go on. I’m not afraid.
NED. [With finality.] And immoral.
ALICE HEMINGWAY. Oh! You wretch!
NED. [Gloatingly.] That’s right. Get angry. You may break the
A Collection of Stories
52
furniture if you wish. I don’t mind.
ALICE HEMINGWAY. [With sudden change of front, softly.] And how
about Loretta?
[NED gasps and remains silent.]
ALICE HEMINGWAY. The depths of duplicity that must lurk under
that sweet and innocent exterior . . . according to your
philosophy!
NED. [Earnestly.] Loretta is an exception, I confess. She is
all that you said in your letter. She is a little fairy, an
angel. I never dreamed of anything like her. It is remarkable to
find such a woman in this age.