BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: JOURNEYMAN

CHARACTERS

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, a young printer ROGER BURCHARD, a Quaker ELIZABETH BURCHARD, his wife DEBORAH READ WILLIAM, an inn boy

SCENE: A room in a tavern. Place: Philadelphia. Time, October, 1723.

The room is a private one in the tavern known as The Crooked Billet. It has a neat, cheerful, welcoming aspect. At left a small fire glimmers on the brass andirons of a well-kept hearth. A brass kettle rests on a hob. On the shelf above the hearth candles are alight.

All across the background are a series of small windows curtained in chintz. By these windows a table set for supper, with a white linen cloth and delicately sprigged china. Quaint chairs with spindle legs.

Against the right wall a secretary with a shelf full of handsomely-bound books. Near this two chairs with high backs that would screen from view any one sitting in them.

There is a door at right background opening into the hall.

Another door at left near background, opening into another room.

At the rise of the curtain Roger Burchard is discovered seated at the table, on which a generous supper lies spread; while Elizabeth, his wife, is bending at the hearth.

ELIZABETH.

The kettle hath not yet boiled for thy second cup, Roger. 'Tis slow, yet I do not worry, for 'tis only twilight, and there is a good hour yet ere we are due at the special meeting of the Friends, and Deborah Read is to come with us. Does thee know, Roger, I sometimes think that for all her saucy ways Mistress Deborah Read is half a Friend at heart. When I do speak she listens to me most attentively.

ROGER.

Thee should not force belief upon another, Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH (demurely).

I did not force: I did but talk to her, Roger. Thee knows I sun not over eloquent. How should a worldly maid of Philadelphia give ear to me?

[Crosses to Roger: the kettle lies forgotten.

ROGER.

How, indeed! Does thee know, Elizabeth, that in so quiet a room as this I can scarce believe that a great city lies about us? 'Tis so still that I can hear the ticking of the clock.

ELIZABETH.

For myself, I am glad of a little rest after our journey up from Brookfield to the city. I find myself scarce used to city ways.

ROGER.

No more do I, Elizabeth, no more do I. I cannot think this lavish life is seemly. This table, now! Does thee note its profusion? More bread and honey and cheese and chicken pie than we can eat. Sheer waste—unless we can share it. If there was but some poor traveler in this inn whom we might bid to supper, and——

[A knock on the door leading to hall.

ELIZABETH.

'Tis William, the inn boy, with tea cakes.

[Elizabeth opens the door. William enters with tea cakes on tray. He deposits the plate of cakes on table.

ROGER.

As I was saying—if there was but some traveler in this inn to share our evening meal—some one with pockets that were well-nigh empty——

ELIZABETH.

Perhaps the inn boy knows of such a one. (To William.) Does thee not, William? Some one whose purse is not too over-burdened?

WILLIAM (sturdily).

Aye, that I do. A lad came here this noon from Boston. A journeyman printer so he says he is, and I'll warrant he has not above four shillings with him. (To Roger.) He's come to search for work in Philadelphia, and says he was directed to this tavern by a—by a Quaker, sir.

ELIZABETH.

Directed here by a Quaker—! (To Roger.) Then, Roger, all the more reason why we should bid him in. What is his name?

WILLIAM.

He says his name is Franklin.

ROGER.

Then ask friend Franklin if he'll sup with us. Tell him we, too, would hear the news from Boston—that he'll confer a favor if he'll come. And mind, no hint about an empty purse! I fear at first I put the matter clumsily. Give him my later message. That is all.

WILLIAM.

I will, sir.

[Exit, with a flourish, right background

ROGER.

I hope he comes.

ELIZABETH (fondly).

'Tis ever like thee, Roger, to have a care for the friendless and forlorn.

WILLIAM (knocking, opening door from hall, and announcing).

Benjamin Franklin, Journeyman!

[Enter Franklin, shabby, travel-stained, and boyishly appealing. Exit William.

ROGER (stepping hospitably forward).

I bid thee welcome, friend Franklin. I hear thee is from Boston, and come to search for work in Philadelphia. Will thee not sup here? We are ever anxious for news such as travelers may bring. This is my wife, Elizabeth Burchard, and she will make thee welcome. I mind me of the time when I was once a stranger. Will thee not do us the pleasure to sup with us?

FRANKLIN.

I scarcely, sir, know how to thank you for such kindness. All Quakers must be kind, I think, for it was a Quaker who directed me hither.

[Franklin crosses to fire, Roger taking his hat from him. In brief pantomime behind Franklin's back Roger has indicated that Franklin is to take his place at table, and that he himself will sup no further. During the conversation that follows Elizabeth is taking fresh silver out of a quaint basket that is on the table, Franklin stands at fire, and Roger is seated at right.

ELIZABETH.

Perhaps my husband can advise thee further where best to look for work upon the morrow.

FRANKLIN.

I thank you. I will hear him gladly. He that cannot be counseled cannot be helped [Footnote: From Franklin's "Poor Richard's Almanac".]

ROGER.

Thee means to seek for work at once, I see.

FRANKLIN.

Lost time is never found again, and since time is of all things the most precious, I am loth to lose it [Footnote: From Franklin's "Poor Richard's Almanac".]

ROGER.

There is a wise head upon thy shoulders, friend. (Indicates table, and rises.) Sit thee down, lad. Sit thee down.

ELIZABETH (hurrying to hearth where kettle stands).

Alas! I have forgotten the kettle! The tea is not yet ready. (To Roger.) Do thee and Benjamin Franklin talk while I prepare it. Show him the volumes lately come from London. Thee knows the print and paper is most pleasing.

[Roger Burchard and Benjamin Franklin sit at right in the high-backed chairs, the volumes upon their knees. That they are true book-lovers is instantly apparent. They are lost to everything that goes on about them. They sit with their backs towards the door at left, quite screened from the view of any one entering there. There is a pause. Then Deborah Read taps softly at the door at left. Elizabeth turns and opens the door.

DEBORAH (finger on lip).

S-ssh! Not a word! (Glances towards the back of Roger's chair.) I've crept up the stairs on tip-toe!

ELIZABETH.

Sweet rogue! Thee startled me to the point of dropping the kettle! Yonder is my husband so deep in a book that the crack o' doom would scarce rouse him. And with him is a young printer whom we have bid to be our guest. Roger and I have finished our evening meal, so perhaps thee will keep our young guest company while I prepare for meeting.

DEBORAH (holding up warning finger).

Primp not too much for meeting, fair friend Elizabeth! A grave demeanor goes with Quaker bonnets! (Laughs.) Yes, yes, I'll serve your printer, play hostess, or aught else that will please you, and you can call me when 'tis time to leave him. (Throws off her cloak, and sits by hearth on footstool.) La! such a day! This very morn I saw the strangest sight! I went to the door to get a breath of air, and as I stood there what should I see approaching down the street but a lad with dusty clothes and bulging pockets—nay, wait, Elizabeth! The drollest part is yet to come! I vow he had stuffed one pocket full of stockings, and from the other protruded a loaf of bread! And in his hand was a great fat roll, and he was eating it! Gnawing it off, an you please, as if there were no one to see him! Then he looked up, and——

ELIZABETH (shocked).

Deborah! Thee did not laugh at him! Thee did not mock at him!

DEBORAH (wiping tears of mirth from her eyes).

Mock at him? Oh, lud! I laughed till my sides ached! (Rises, as she happens to see that Roger Burchard and his guest are rising, yet continues gaily.) And when he caught sight of my face——

[Just as Deborah utters these words she and Franklin perceive each other. Deborah is utterly taken aback and quite speechless.

ROGER (seeing nothing amiss).

Welcome, Deborah Read. I present to thee Benjamin Franklin.

[Franklin bows. Deborah drops a fluttering courtesy, and then clings to Elizabeth Burchard.

DEBORAH (quaveringly).

I—I feel somewhat faint, Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH (seeing nothing amiss).

Then sit at the table, dear Deborah, and a cup of tea will revive thee.

DEBORAH (protesting).

No—! No—! I—I will help you to dress.

ELIZABETH.

Then who will serve Benjamin Franklin? Thee promised that thee would be hostess, so unless aught is amiss——

DEBORAH (recovering herself, and suddenly displaying a haughty self-possession).

Naught is amiss, Elizabeth. I will serve tea if you bid me.

[Deborah sits at one end of the table, Franklin at the other.

ELIZABETH.

Thee knows the Friends' special meeting to-night is at the same hour as that of the other churches, so when thee hears the church-bells ringing 'twill be time to prepare, sweet Deborah.

DEBORAH (with a gleam).

I'll not forget the time. I promise you that, Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH.

Come, Roger. Thee must wear a fresh neck-cloth.

[Roger and Elizabeth exeunt left. There is a very long pause.

DEBORAH.

Will you have tea, Master Franklin?

FRANKLIN.

If it pleases you, Mistress Read.

DEBORAH.

Cream? Sugar?

FRANKLIN.

I thank you.

[She passes him his cup. There is another long pause.

FRANKLIN (with a great sigh).

'Tis a silent place, Philadelphia!

[Another pause.

FRANKLIN.

Will you have some bread, Mistress?

DEBORAH (coldly).

I thank you, no.

FRANKLIN (bluntly).

Have you ever pondered, Mistress, that pride that dines on vanity sups on contempt? [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]

DEBORAH (outraged).

Master Franklin!

FRANKLIN.

I know right well that my poor coat offends you; yet in truth, Mistress Deborah, why should I dress in finer cloth when silks and satins put out the kitchen fire. [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]

DEBORAH.

'Tis not your coat offends me, 'tis——

FRANKLIN.

'Tis that I am neither the son of a gold-laced governor nor a wealthy merchant but only a poor journeyman printer. Then, Mistress, you have yet to learn that he who hath a trade hath an estate, and he who hath a calling hath an office of profit and honor. [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]

DEBORAH (with spirit).

There you read me wrong, Master Franklin. I have supped with printers before this.

FRANKLIN.

Then 'twas the printer's loaf you mocked this morning, Mistress Deborah; and not the printer. Yet in truth, why should eating in the street displease you, since 'twas a matter of necessity. Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse, and my purse was not over full. But—diligence is the mother of luck, and heaven gives all things to industry [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]

DEBORAH (with a toss).

You speak as if you and Industry were boon companions.

FRANKLIN.

And what better companion could I have? Heaven helps them that help themselves.

DEBORAH (witheringly).

'Tis a fine thing to have high hopes, I doubt not.

FRANKLIN (blithely).

Oh, I have more than hopes, Mistress Deborah; for he that lives upon hope will die fasting. To apply one's self right heartily is to do more than hope. Sloth makes all things difficult; but industry all things easy. You are not eating, Mistress Deborah. (She rises.) Have my blunt ways offended you? Have I again displeased you? [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]

DEBORAH (with chilling dignity).

You could not an you tried, Master Franklin. I was but going to fetch the tea-kettle.

FRANKLIN (starting up).

If I can help you—

DEBORAH (still frostily).

I thank you, I am in no need of help. A-ah!

[With a cry she drops the kettle.

FRANKLIN.

You have burned yourself, Mistress Deborah! The poor little hand! (He tears up his handkerchief.) Let me bandage it for you! It is sorely blistered!

DEBORAH (tears in her voice the while she submits her hand to him).

I can tolerate blisters, Master Franklin. They are far less irksome than—than——

FRANKLIN (gravely bandaging her hand).

Than journeymen printers who eat their bread in the street. Perhaps you are right, Mistress Deborah. I trust that the blisters will soon heal; and that the memory of the journeyman printer will not trouble you further.

DEBORAH (as the church-bells begin to ring without).

The memory of a chance traveler is easily forgot, Master Franklin.

ELIZABETH (outside door, left).

Come, Deborah, we shall be late! Come quickly, child! (Deborah snatches up her cloak.) Bid Benjamin Franklin to wait my husband's return. He would talk to him further concerning books. Come, Deborah!

[Exit Deborah, left, without a glance at Franklin.

FRANKLIN (dropping into chair by secretary, right).

Do blisters burn as keen as words, I wonder? "Chance travelers...easily forgot!" (Sits with bowed head.)

[Deborah stands again in doorway at left, sees him, comes to him swiftly and remorsefully.

FRANKLIN (raises his head; sees her).

Is it—

DEBORAH.

'Tis naught—naught but Deborah Read come to say to you—to say to you—that she should have remembered that you were a stranger in a city full of strangers. (Pleadingly.) Indeed, indeed I did not mean to hurt you! I do not mind your rusty clothes; I do not mock your—your faded hat. I—I have been full of foolish pride. Will you forgive me?

FRANKLIN (rising; amazed).

Deborah!

DEBORAH (hurrying on).

I had not meant to laugh at you this morning. Will you forgive that, too?

FRANKLIN (moved).

Deborah!

DEBORAH.

I know I sometimes judge by foolish standards. Will you forgive?

FRANKLIN.

With all my heart, my friend. (They clasp hands on it.) And will you, Deborah, forgive me my blunt speeches? I knew not how to please you. I meant no harm.

DEBORAH (earnestly).

I forgive all.

FRANKLIN.

And we are friends for life—for all our lives, Deborah.

ELIZABETH (speaking somewhat impatiently from beyond the door at left).

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 buttons 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.