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KING ARTHUR’S SOCKS
A COMEDY

To MAX EASTMAN

“King Arthur’s Socks” was first produced by the Provincetown Players, New York City, in 1916, with the following cast:

Guenevere Robinson…Edna James
Vivien Smith………Jane Burr
Mary……………..Augusta Gary
Lancelot Jones…….Max Eastman

The living room of a summer cottage in Camelot, Maine. A pretty woman of between twenty-five and thirty-five is sitting in a big chair in the lamplight darning socks. She is Mrs. Arthur B. Robinson–or, to give her her own name, Guenevere. She is dressed in a light summer frock, and with her feet elevated on a settle there is revealed a glimpse of slender silk-clad ankles. It is a pleasant summer evening, and, one might wonder why so attractive a woman should be sitting at home darning her husband’s socks, there being so many other interesting things to do in this world. The girl standing in the doorway, smiling amusedly, seems to wonder at it too. The girl’s name is Vivien Smith.

VIVIEN.
Hello, Gwen!

GUENEVERE.
Hello, Vivien! Come in.

VIVIEN.
I’m just passing by.

GUENEVERE.
Come in and console me for a minute or two, anyway.
I’m a widow at present.

VIVIEN.
( enters and lounges against the mantelpiece )

Arthur gone to New York again?

GUENEVERE.
Yes, for over Sunday. And I’m lonely.

VIVIEN.
You don’t seem to mind.
Think of a woman being that happy darning her husband’s socks!

GUENEVERE.
Stay here and talk to me–unless you’ve something else on.
It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.

VIVIEN.
I’m afraid I have got something else on, Gwen–I’ll give you one guess.

GUENEVERE.
You can’t pretend to be art-ing at this hour of the night.

VIVIEN.
I could pretend, but I won’t. No, Gwen dear, it’s not the pursuit of art, it’s the pursuit of a man.

GUENEVERE.
Don’t try to talk like a woman in a Shaw play. I don’t like this rigmarole about “pursuit.” Say you’re in love, like a civilized human being. And take a cigarette, and tell me about it.

VIVIEN.
(lighting a cigarette)

I don’t know whether I’m so civilized, at that. You know me, Gwen. When I paint, do I paint like a lady?–or like a savage! ( She does, in fact, appear to be a very headstrong and reckless young woman.)

GUENEVERE.
( mildly )

Oh, be a savage all you want to, Gwen. But don’t tell me you’re going in for this modern free-love stuff, because I won’t believe it. You’re not that kind of fool, Vivien.

( She darns placidly away.)

VIVIEN.
No, I’m not. I’m not a fool at all, Gwen dear. I know exactly what I want–and it doesn’t include being disowned by my family and having my picture in the morning papers. Free-love? Not at all. I want to be married.

GUENEVERE.
Well, for heaven’s sake, who is it?

VIVIEN.
Is it possible that it’s not being gossiped about?
You really haven’t heard?

GUENEVERE.
Not a syllable.

VIVIEN.
Then I shan’t tell you.

GUENEVERE.
But–why?

VIVIEN.
Because you’ll think I’ve a nerve to want him.

GUENEVERE.
Nonsense.
I don’t know any male person in these parts who is good enough for you, Vivien.