nstinctively, raises his hands toward his crown,
and seems on the point of tossing it out the window. But with an
oath he replaces it and presses it firmly on his head._) How! Am I
afraid of a beggar!

THE BEGGAR (_continuing outside_). Bread. Bread. Give me some
bread.

THE KING (_with terrible anger_). Close that window!

(THE SERVANT _stands stupent, and the voice of THE BEGGAR grows
louder as the curtain falls._)

TIDES[1]

George Middleton

[Footnote 1: Reprinted by permission of the author and of Messrs.
Henry Holt and Company, the publishers, from the volume, _Masks
and Other One-Act Plays_ (1920).]

CHARACTERS

WILLIAM WHITE, a famous Internationalist
HILDA, his wife
WALLACE, their son

SCENE: _At the Whites'; spring, 1917. A simply furnished study.
The walls are lined with bookshelves, indicating, by their
improvised quality, that they have been increased as occasion
demanded. On these are stacked, in addition to the books
themselves, many files of papers, magazines, and "reports." The
large work-table, upon which rests a double student lamp and a
telephone, is conspicuous. A leather couch with pillows is
opposite, pointing toward a doorway which leads into the
living-room. There is also a doorway in back, which apparently
opens on the hallway beyond. The room is comfortable in spite of
its general disorder: it is essentially the workshop of a busy
man of public affairs. The strong sunlight of a spring day comes
in through the window, flooding the table._

WILLIAM WHITE _is standing by the window, smoking a pipe. He is
about fifty, of striking appearance: the visual incarnation of
the popular conception of a leader of men. There is authority and
strength in the lines of his face; his whole personality is
commanding; his voice has all the modulations of a well-trained
orator; his gestures are sweeping--for, even in private
conversation, he is habitually conscious of an audience.
Otherwise, he is simple and engaging, with some indication of his
humble origin._

_On the sofa opposite, with a letter in her hand,_ HILDA WHITE, _his
wife, is seated. She is somewhat younger in fact, though in
appearance she is as one who has been worn a bit by the struggle
of many years. Her manner contrasts with her husband's: her
inheritance of delicate refinement is ever present in her soft
voice and gentle gesture. Yet she, too, suggests strength--the
sort which will endure all for a fixed intention._