declared war!

HARRADAN

[_Turning._

Who has?

OFFICER

Congress!

TANEY

Senator, you're left.

HARRADAN

[_With a sob._

God! You buzzard! You buzzard!

[_A band in the distance strikes up the national anthem._ GROSVENOR,
CONROY, POLLEN, TANEY _and_ MAYNARD _stand._
HARRADAN _sinks into a chair._

MAYNARD

Senator, it's the national anthem. Haven't you got _any_ patriotism?

[GROSVENOR _opens the windows. The notes of the anthem are
drowned out by shouts and cries and the calls of newsboys._

VOICES OF THE CROWD

War! War!

[_The anthem sounds loud and clear, but_ HARRADAN _buries his
face in his hands. The stage is gradually darkened. The music grows
fainter as if the band were marching away; and now and then the shouts
of the crowd make themselves heard above it. These subside, too, into a
low, muffled roar, sullen and ominous._

SCENE III

[_The stage grows light again. In the foreground, a black group of trees
may be dimly discerned; beyond are indistinct hills and the last glow of
a bloody sunset. Smoke and dust blacken the scene. Even before the cloud
breaks to reveal the valley for a moment, the low roar is suddenly
broken by the rattle of musketry, followed by the booming of artillery
and the drumming sound of the machine guns. A trumpet sounds the charge.
The dust cloud breaks. A thickly crowded mass of men is vaguely seen
through the twilight charging with cries and curses. The rear ranks
press over the fallen, waver, shout and fall back. The rattle of
musketry continues. The men return to the charge, are repulsed once more
with awful slaughter and again return. The dust cloud passes over the
scene. It is night now. The wounded are tossing on the field, shrieking.
Ghouls prowl about. A flock of buzzards flies across the moon. In the
distance is heard a shout of victory, then the national anthem once
more, played by a trumpeter. A thousand voices seem to rise out of the
ground, moaning, drowning out the music. Then a woman's voice, clear and
distinct._

VOICE

How long, O Lord? How long?

[_Cries and wailings answer the cry. Silence. Again the bugle, drowned
out by cries, cries, cries._

CURTAIN

The following pages contain advertisements of books by the same author,
and other poetry

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Faces in the Dawn
By HERMANN HAGEDORN
_Cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net_

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