ur's talk to convince me that I had met two of the most intellectual
artists in the dramatic profession, and also to learn how great were
the obstacles which lay in the way of producing a real play, each year
adding to the insuperableness of the barriers. Mr. Herne was at that
time (two years ago) working upon a new play, in some respects,
notably in its theme, finer than _Drifting Apart_. It was the result
of several summers spent on the coast of Maine, and is called
_Shore-Acres_. The story is mainly that of two brothers, Nathaniel and
Martin Berry, who own a fine "shore-acre" tract near a booming summer
resort. An enterprising grocer in the little village gets Martin
interested in booms and suggests that they form a company and cut the
shore-acre tract up into lots and sell to summer residents.

Martin comes with the scheme to Nathaniel.

_Martin._ I'd like t' talk to yeh, an' I d' know's I'll hev a
better chance.

_Uncle Nat._ I d' know's yeh will.

_Martin._ (_Hesitates, picks up a stick and whittles._) Mr.
Blake's ben here.

_Uncle Nat._ (_Picks up a straw and chews it._) Hez 'e?

[Illustration: Mrs. Herne as Dorothy Foxglove in "The Minute Men." See
page 544.]

_Martin._ Yes. He 'lows thet we'd ought to cut the farm up inter
buildin' lots.

_Uncle Nat._ Dooze 'e?

_Martin._ Yes. He says there's a boom a-comin' here, an' thet the
lan's too valu'ble to work.

_Uncle Nat._ I want t' know 'f he dooze. Where d's he talk o'
beginnin'?

_Martin._ Out there at the nothe eend o' the shore pint?

_Uncle Nat._ Yeh don't mean up yander? (_Pointing with his thumb
over his shoulder._)

_Martin._ (_Slowly._) Y-e-s.

_Uncle Nat._ Dooze 'e calkalate t' take in the knoll thet looks
out t' Al'gator Reef?

_Martin._ I reck'n he dooze.

_Uncle Nat._ Did yeh tell him thet mother's berried there?

_Martin._ He knows thet 's well 's you do. (_Sulkily._)

_Uncle Nat._ What's he calkalate t' do with mother?

_Martin._ He advises puttin' her in a cimitry up to Bangor.

_Uncle Nat._ She'd never sleep comfort'ble in no cimitry, mother
wouldn't.

_Martin._ He says thet's the choice lot o' the hull pass'll.

_Uncle Nat._ Then who's got so good a right to it as mother hez?
It was all her'n once. Thet's the only piece she ast t' keep. Yeh
don't begrutch it to her, do ye