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THE ANGEL INTRUDES

A COMEDY

To GEORGE CRAM COOK

“The Angel Intrudes” was first produced by the
Provincetown Players, New York City, in 1917, with the following cast:

The Policeman…… Abram Gillette
The Angel………. James Light
Jimmy Pendleton…. Justus Sheffield
Annabelle………. Edna St. Vincent Millay

Washington Square by moonlight. A stream of Greenwich Villagers hurrying across to the Brevoort before the doors are locked. In their wake a sleepy policeman.

The policeman stops suddenly on seeing an Angel with shining garments and great white wings, who has just appeared out of nowhere
.

THE POLICEMAN.
Hey, you!

THE ANGEL.
( haughtily, turning )
Sir! Are you addressing me?

THE POLICEMAN.
( severely )

Yes, an’ I’ve a good mind to lock you up.

THE ANGEL.
( surprised and indignant )

How very inhospitable! Is that the way you treat strangers?

THE POLICEMAN.
Don’t you know it’s agen the law of New York to parade the streets in a masquerade costume?

THE ANGEL.
No. I didn’t know. You see, I’ve just arrived this minute from Heaven.

THE POLICEMAN.
Ye look it.

( Taking his arm kindly )
See here, me lad, you’ve been drinkin’ too many
of them stingers. Ye’d better take a taxi and go home.

THE ANGEL.
What! So soon?

THE POLICEMAN.
I know how ye feel. I’ve been that way meself.
But I can’t leave ye go traipsin’ about in skirts.

THE ANGEL.
( drawing away )

Sir, I’m not traipsing about.
I am attending to important business, and I must ask you not to detain me.

THE POLICEMAN.
( suspiciously )

Not so fast, me laddie-buck.
What business have you at this hour of the night? Tell me that.

THE ANGEL.
I don’t mind telling you. It concerns a mortal called James Pendleton.

THE POLICEMAN.
( genial again )

Aha! So you’re a friend of Jimmy Pendleton’s, are you?

THE ANGEL.
Not exactly. I am his Guardian Angel.

THE POLICEMAN.
Well, faith, he needs one! Come, me b’y, I’ll see ye safe to his door.

THE ANGEL.
Thank you. But, if you don’t mind, I prefer to go alone.

He turns away.

THE POLICEMAN.
Good night to you, then.

He idly watches the angelic figure walk away, and then stares with amazement as it spreads its wings and soars to the top of Washington Arch. Pausing there a moment, it soars again in the air, and is seen wafting its way over the neighbouring housetops to the northeast. The policeman shakes his head in disapproval.

Jimmy Pendleton is dozing in an easy chair before the grate-fire in Ms studio in Washington Mews. A yellow-backed French novel has fallen from his knee to the floor. It is Anatole France’s “La Revolte des Anges”. A suitcase stands beside the chair. Jimmy is evidently about to go on some journey.

A clock begins to strike somewhere. Jimmy Pendleton awakes
.

JIMMY.
What a queer dream!

( He looks at his watch.)
Twelve o’clock. The taxi ought to be here.

( He takes two tickets from his pocket,

looks at them, and puts them back. Then he

commences to pace nervously up and down the room,

muttering to himself )