 Lux presents Hollywood. The Lux Radio Theatre brings you Barclay Square starring Ronald Coleman and Marino Sullivan. Ladies and gentlemen, your producer, Mr. Cecil B. DeMille. Greetings from Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. If any of you are thinking of writing a novel, I commend to your attention a little-known volume by one of America's best-known novelists, Henry James. It's called The Sense of the Past. It contains not only this novel, but also the author's notes, which he jotted down while working. And it contains one of the most fascinating ideas ever put on paper. The idea behind tonight's play, Barclay Square, in which a young man, through his love of the past, breaks through the barrier of time and finds the girl he loved in the 18th century. Before reaching the screen, the play suggested by Henry James' novel was one of the great successes of our generation. It was filmed by 20th Century Fox and it comes to you tonight on the Lux Radio Theatre with two favorite stars, Ronald Coleman and Marino Sullivan. I suppose all of us have at some time toyed with the idea of visiting the past and reliving some romantic period that appeals to us. And certainly 18th Century England is one of the most picturesque with its colorful, elaborate costumes. You can imagine how helpful Lux Flakes would have been in taking care of those voluminous, expensive garments. In fact, Lord Chesterfield, the arbiter of fashion of that era, described that not only should one's clothes be well made and one's wig well powdered, but one's linen should at all times be extremely clean. If Lord Chesterfield could pierce the barrier of time like the hero in tonight's play and visit the 20th Century in America, I'm sure he would add a hearty recommendation for Lux Flakes. Now the clock points to curtain time. And here's the first act of Barclay Square, starring Ronald Coleman as Peter Sandish and Marino Sullivan as Helen Pettigrew. How many of us have longed to escape from the narrow limits of reality into the romance and excitement of another time and another century? But if we could journey back into the mystery of the past, what would we find? Contentment or unhappiness? This is the narrative of a man who made such a journey. A man who went from today into yesterday. London, 1939. A week ago, a member of the staff of the American Embassy resigned his post to assume a commission as military observer with the British Expeditionary Force. His name is Peter Sandish. This is his last night in England. And now in a large and venerable home in Barclay Square, he sits alone, writing feverishly. I am leaving England tomorrow. My orders read that I'm going to France. A lot of bother in expense to the War Department, for I do not think I shall return. My hand is steady as I write. My mind is clearer than it has been all my life, and I am happy. But I can't help wondering what purpose I serve by writing down the events I have experienced since coming to Barclay Square two months ago. Perhaps it is with the same hope that poor Marjorie someday shall find this, and reading it will understand. Or perhaps in writing, I can live it all again. It began with the day I found the crux and chatter. It also was on that day that Marjorie came to see me. Marjorie. Hello, Hugh. Aren't you going to kiss me? Again and again, if I may. Well, that's better. Peter, do you realize you haven't seen me, not even called me for two days? Is anything wrong? Oh, no. No, of course not. Well then, finish up whatever it is you're doing, and we'll... Why, Peter, I believe you've forgotten all about it. You've forgotten? What? Well, darling, tea, of course. Four o'clock with Mr. Little from the embassy. Oh, my dear. Well, I can be ready in a moment. A wee time. Oh, Peter, what's that there on your desk? I just found it in the attic. It's the crux and chatter. Crux and chatter? I was looking at it when you came in. The and-satter crux. Yes, I'm sure that's what it is. The symbol of eternal life. And that's not all I found, look. A diary? Yes. Peter Standish's diary. It says here, his trip from New York to England took 27 days. Revolutionary war was just over. He fought under Washington's... Look, look, here it is. He says here that Sir Joshua Reynolds refused to finish his portrait. But he did finish it. There it is on the wall. Look, it's obviously all Reynolds' work. Peter, that portrait... You know, I've always said you might have sat for it yourself. And his name was Peter Standish, too. It's very odd. Yes, he married Kate Pettigrew, the eldest sister. They lived right here in this house. Then there was a younger sister, Helen. And look, here. Here in the diary. Here's something about a shawl. The cashmere shawl that Helen's aunt gave her just before Peter's arrival here. You see? Look, my new details. Peter, I don't understand it. You don't understand what, dear? For this place, it's like a museum. Why would they leave things here for 155 years? Oh, the house has always been in the Pettigrew family. And for some wonderful reason, each new generation kept things just as they found them. Just as they found them through all these years. But this fascination it holds for you, it isn't... It's not natural. Oh, it's the most natural thing in the world, my dear. After all, it was the Standish ancestor of mine who built the place. Well, I still don't understand why old Mr. Pettigrew left it to you and his will. Because he knew I didn't. I'd take care of it. What? Well, old Pettigrew is rather fond of me, I suppose. And after all, we were distantly related. But I've told you all this before, my dear. Yes, I know. And look, Marjorie, look, Jeff. Jeff, look at these letters. Dozens of letters from Peter Standish to Kate Pettigrew, courting her from across the Atlantic Ocean. And this one. The very letter he wrote Kate's mother the day he arrived in England. Read it. The Blue Boar Inn, German Street, September 3, 1784. Lady Anne Pettigrew, honored madam, having arrived within the hour, I shall do myself the honor to wait upon you at house past five o'clock in Barkley Square. Peter Standish. House past five. September the third were that. Today September the third. The paper's yellow. The ink all but faded. But I imagine Lady Anne is reading that letter now. A hundred and fifty-five years ago today, past five, September the third, 1784, he walked through that very door. Peter. Hmm? It's not very flattering, you know, playing second fiddle to a house. No, Marjorie, my dear, how can I... You know, I'm almost glad we decided not to be married until Christmas. Oh darling, I'm sorry. I'm afraid my feelings have been hurt, Peter. I'm ashamed of myself, Marjorie, but I can't see you for the next week or two. I mean, I must have two weeks to myself here alone. Please, trust me. Oh, I will trust you, I will. If you only tell me what this is all about. No, I can't. Please, what's that? What? It sounded like a coach. A coach rattling over the cobblestone. Seems to stop here. No, it's nothing. But Peter, a coach? Cobblestone? Well, should we go and pick up Johnny a little? Oh yes, and let's walk. A little faster will do you good. But I have to be back here at 5.30. Someone coming? No, but I must be here. Mystery upon mystery. Very well, darling, you shall be here. I'm behaving very badly, Marjorie. I know it. I know it, too. Why do you put up with me? Possibly because I love you. Thank you, Marjorie. But what in the world happened to Marjorie? I thought the three of us were going to have Peter. Yes, so did I. I thought it out to meet you, Johnny, and then she... Well, then she said she better run on home. I'm afraid I've hurt her badly. Yes, you have, Peter. She telephoned me after she left you. She thought perhaps if I spoke with you alone that... What about? Peter, I've known you for a long time. There's something wrong with you. I'd like to know what it is. If I can, I want to help you. Help? Do I look as if I need help? Where have you been keeping yourself? Well, I haven't seen you in a month. Oh, it's the house. Been taking up most of my time. The house? People can get more, but then must be shutting themselves up in old houses. Marjorie is really quite disturbed about you. Yes, I wish she weren't. Look here, why don't you get away for a while? Yes, it would be great to get away, wouldn't it? Really away? There's still a lot of adventures, John. Inconceivable adventures. Adventures? What adventures? Oh, I shouldn't I tell you. John, I believe that when I go back to my house in Berkeley Square, I shall walk straight into the 18th century and meet the people living there. All right, I told you now. I'll go and call up a psychiatrist. Oh, there's time for that, I think. Well, I never met anyone before who believed in ghosts. Who said anything about ghosts? I believe they're alive, John. That Peter Sandish, my ancestor, is alive, and just as I'm living here, he's living there back in his own time. Old time? The 18th century. Yes. Oh, hold on. Oh, I know what you're thinking, but maybe this will tell you what I mean. Now, suppose you're in a boat, John. A boat that's sailing down a winding stream. You watch the banks as you pass by. A few minutes ago, back stream, you passed a grove of maple trees. You can't see them now, can you? You saw them in the past. Of course. Good, now. Now you're watching something else. Before your eyes, now is the field of clover. Now, in the present. And you don't know yet what's waiting for you when you round that bend in the river just ahead. There may be wonderful things there, but you can't see them till you pass that bend. It's in the future, isn't it? Really? Yes, it's in the future. All right. Now, remember, you're in the boat. But supposing I'm in a plane, high above you, I'm looking down, and in one glance, I can see it all. What is past and present and future to the man in the boat are all one to the man in the plane. Proving what? Well, don't you see? Proving that all the time, time, real time, is nothing but an idea in the mind of God. John, how would you like to walk down the quiet streets of London? Breathe the clean fresh air instead of gasoline fumes. Ride in sedan chairs. Meet Samuel Johnson and John Adams, our ambassador. And how far would you get? You'd make mistakes. They'd find you out. No. No, John, no, I have a passport. Passport? This is a diary. The diary of a man who came to London from America. I know everything he did from the moment he arrived. Naturally, I'd have to do everything he did. I mean, I couldn't change anything in the 18th century that had really happened in the 18th century. Peter, for heaven's sake, it's five o'clock done. Thanks for tea, Peter. And I'll call you, I'll call you in a few days. Perhaps. Block the square, you said, sir. Which house? Just a little further on. No, no, never mind. I'll get out here. But it's poor, isn't it? Well, that's all right. Here. Thank you, sir. By the way, what time is it? Time? About twenty-five minutes after five. Twenty-five minutes after five. Thank you. Dummy. Letter from our customer Peter Stanley. He's arrived in London. A letter? Where did he dispatch it? From where? It came but now from the Blue Boar in German Street. By messenger. Here. We'll wait upon you at half past five. Well, I say, ma'am, it's almost that now. Four more no-store now. Yankee wastes no time. Kate, you will welcome him downstairs. Oh, ma'am, ma'am, ma'am. Surely you'll present him to me. You will do as I tell you. I'd love the girl goes timid. Now, look at Kate. Hooked at Yankee's tennis. There need be no more talk of poverty in this family. Money. I know what you remind for him, dear brother. Think in cards. A companion who obeys your entertainment and your losses. You'll sort out his future husband. We'll find you sharp as tongue, my lad. Odd for the wife. It only will take you. Mr. Frustle and the lady. We shall receive him, Mary. Frustle, that disgusting little mess. Hush. You well know Mr. Frustle is to enter our family too. And what of my poor sister's feelings, ma'am? What's wrong with Frustle? She's none too good, perhaps. But fifteen hundred pounds a year, Thomas. Mr. Frustle and the lady. Lady Anne, Miss Pettigrew and Sir, your servant. Come in, Mr. Frustle. We have great news. I am aware of it. I met, but now, Major Clinton. He's journeyed from America with your cousin, my lady. America, Thomas. Remember, you are not to say colonial. Yankee puppy, then. My lady, Miss Helen. You'll sign Miss Helen in the music room, dear Mr. Frustle. Oh, yes. Lovely, Miss Helen. Love. Oh, thank you. Miss Helen, you are aware that I have your mother's permission to pay my visit. Surely you know my feelings, Mr. Frustle. At least if your affections aren't disposed elsewhere, I may continue to hope. I shall never marry. Yes, dear. And our cousin, Peter Standish, is in London. Of course. And of course, present himself. And Mr. Frustle, Mr. Standish has written that he would buy a townhouse at country estate. And of what? Thomas. Mother, I hear a call. A coach? Quickly kick down the stairs. Good luck with your servant's taste. Dear Mr. Frustle. Helen? Helen, why must Mother do this to you? Only be yourself, Kate, dear. Our cousin will not infuse you. Kate, what is he? What happened to him? I don't know. But it must be him. We saw the coach from upstairs. Well, I thought he must have let himself in. Mary said you had no knock on the door. No, she didn't hear it for the rain. Go and let the Yankee in. No, he's not there. I just looked. Well, someone must have let him in. Oh, of course. He's gone to the servant's quarters. He knows his place. I'll bring him back, sister. Yes. I'll wait. Who are you? Oh, you are. You're pretty, sir. Kate, thank you. We'll bring you back to a bossy square in a moment. Meanwhile, here's Libby. With a bedtime story. That sounds interesting. For ladies' own likes. Once upon a time, there were three pairs of rayon stockings. One, two, three. They were really lovely, but at last, they were brought by a very careless girl. First, she wore tear number one. And that night, she wore them. But oh, what she did. She used hot water and rubbed them with a cake of soap. And in just a few days, they were gone. So then she wore pair number two. And washed them. The next morning, when she went to put them on, they weren't quite dry, but the careless girl put them on anyway. And that was the end of number two. She was furious. She was so mad, she went right down to the store where she bought the stockings to tell them about it. But the sales girl said, what a shame. But these are lovers. With the right care, they'll really wear. Did you use luck? And dry them thoroughly, at least 24 hours. So that night, when the careless girl took off pair number three, she did just what the girl in the store said. She made lukewarm suds with mild luck flakes and squeezed them gently through the stockings. Then she rinsed them and hung them to dry. All that night and all the next day, too. And the last we heard, she was still wearing pair number three, which lived happily thereafter. Using lucks is the way to make you live happily with your stockings. There are all sorts of scientific tests that show stockings washed with lucks last twice as long as those washed with a strong soap or rubbed with a cake of soap. Yes, actual strain tests. Hundreds of them prove this. So better stick to lucks flakes for stockings. Now, Mr. DeMille returns to the microphone. Act two of Barkley Square, starring Ronald Coleman as Peter Standish and Marina Sullivan as Helen Pettigrew. Barkley Square, September 1939. And at his desk, Peter Standish continues to write of the bewildering events, which have carried him out of the present and into the year 1784. To the 3rd of September 1784, when at 5.30 o'clock on a rain-sweat evening, the door of this very room should long open and Peter Standish stood before Miss Kate Pettigrew. Have you had a tiring journey, couldn't you? I just come over from America. Indeed. We had not thought you came from Poland. In the general wolf. We had not thought it took 27 dreary days. Oh, shit. You did not swim across? No, cousin, I'm being a bore. Inexcusable for one who has just met his betrothed. Betrothed? Oh, come, Kate. It was all arranged in our letters. Or don't... Don't you want me to kiss you? No, not that. I vow you are the audacious fellow I've told Helen. We must go. We must go. I vow you are the audacious fellow I've told Helen. We must expect. Helen? Oh, yes, your sister. Of course, if you want a formal declaration of my sentiments, I know exactly how it was done. Yeah, how it is done. Miss Pettigrew, fair cousin, will you be my wife? Oh, you go much too fast, sir. Oh. Tell me, Mr. Standish, in America do visitors just walk into houses? Walk in, but I press the bell. Oh, the buzzer. The buzzer? I knucked, knucked. But who let you in? The door was ajar. I walked in, raining cats and dogs, you know. That's your clothes. Your shoes. They're dry. Yes, it's the pears. And blood, the Yankees. Oh, uh... My brother Tom, Mr. Peter Standish. Oh, something, sir. Mom is here. In here. Tom, I present our cousin, Mr. Peter Standish. 10,000 welcomes, dear, dear cousin, and allow me, sir, our dear friend, Mr. Profer, and my other daughter, Helen. Mr. Standish. Miss Pettigrew. Now, then, sir, I'm ready to show you the town. Yes. My own name. Of course I shall put you up in Brooks Club. You'll meet every gentleman in London at Brooks Club. And when you wish, sir, I'd be glad to present you to the president of the Royal Academy. Sir Joshua. Reynolds? Sir Joshua Reynolds, the painter? Whom else, sir? Ah, do you think he paint my portrait? I ought to hand out Guinness. A monster? Some cousin. But he's a fashion. To our prospective brother-in-law, Mr. Profer, we may persuade him to paint you for less. Brother-in-law. Ah, Tom, he's a... Helen, dear, what good fortune. Our cousin is here for your birthday reception. Your birthday, Miss Helen? Yes. Why, of course, your aunt's gift is for your birthday. The cashmere show. Oh, is it a show? She sent a parcel for my birthday, but I wasn't worth it until then. I'll go and open it now. Oh, strike me. How do you know about Helen's present? Oh, I really don't know. It's just a hunch, a shot in the dark. A hunch, sir? A shot in the dark? No. I'm an American jet. It's yours. Is it? If I... A hunch, sir? How did you know? Well, here's a rival for you, Helen. Looky, cousin. Can you read ports like my sister Helen? Helen reads ports? Oh, fine, but I seem to see things, but others do not. What things? Why, I believe you're trying to change the subject, Mr. Standish. Mom, I... I fear our cousin is not well. Oh, it's just a headache. Rather tiresome headache. Then you must rest till dinner. Tom? Come, sir. Use your room and ice in the blue ball for your boxes. This is rather stupid of me to have mentioned that short. And strange that Helen should be so quick to sense my confusion. Helen. The diary mentions so little of her and nothing at all of her second sight. Tom left me alone in the room and suddenly, before a mirror, I saw an incredible sight. Myself, faultlessly groomed in knee-bridges and silver buckles. A wig on my head and lace at my neck. I went to a window and flung it open. Yes, it was all true. I saw other men in the square, men dressed as I was dressed and coaches and sedan chairs and a watchman bawling the hour of the day. I, Peter Standish, had in the year 1939 swept time away and walked into another century. I was alive in 1784 in Barkley Square. And then, and then I heard music, a spinet. I followed the sound and in a moment I stood again before Helen could hear. You play very well, Helen. Oh, no, please, please, don't stop. Your headache is cured already, cousin? Completely. You really did not have a headache? No. How did you know about my shawl? No, please, no more questions. Helen, I feel you're the only one here I can talk to. You'll help me, won't you? How can I help you, cousin? Well, it's, it's also strange, all this. This? London? Barkley Square? And I didn't think it would be. It makes me uncomfortable. You can see that, can't you? Kate will soon put you at your ease. And you, Helen, are you really engaged to Mr. Trussell? Tom had no right to say that. Mother would like me to be. I thought so. Look, we'll make a bargain. You help me out and I'll back you up. Will you? I want... Oh, I keep forgetting. I can't interfere with things that really did happen. I mean, you see, my position here, so awkward. Awkward, sir? You're reported to have 10,000 pounds a year, but that, you may do anything you wish. Perhaps. Perhaps you do marry Trussell after all. Never. Helen, look at me. Is there anything strange about me? Strange? Well, I'm an American, you know, and just come into this, this new world. That's why I may seem nervous. The family's inside. Perhaps we'd better join them. No, no, no, please, don't go. Kate is waiting for you, Peter. Oh, yes. And my brother. He and Mr. Trussell spoke of taking you to Brooks Club. Brooks Club, yes. Yes, I think I shall like that. Would you look at him, Major? Just look at him. Well, perhaps he's never before viewed a gentleman's gaming club. That's can't excuse to ogle like a country lout. When he came here an hour ago, he turned his back on the Prince of Wales. Why so, Mr. Trussell? Because his highness blew his nose with his fingers. Oh, come now, come. I sailed across the Atlantic with him. That doesn't sound like my Yankee at all. Hi, Standish. Have I had the honor, sir? Well, Standish, you haven't forgotten Clinton. Major Clinton. Why, of course, but, um, a dress like a peacock? Well, your own mother wouldn't know you. You don't seem the same man, are you? You are not the same man at all. Well, we must push off now, mustn't we, Mr. Trussell? Push off? Well, you offered to take me to Sir Joshua. He's going to do my portrait, Clinton. But you haven't met him yet. He'll do it, he's got to. Well, Trussell, let's get a taxi. I mean, let's be on our way, shall we? A good day, gentlemen. A few minutes later, I was talking with the greatest portrait painter England has ever known, Sir Joshua Reynolds. In the days that followed, I made frequent visits to his studio. And one morning, Helen and Kate came with me. Jesus, Standish, the prose, the prose. Oh, I, I'm sorry. Tell me, sir, now that you've broken away from England, you're determined to do great things in the, uh, in the United States, are you not? Oh, I suppose we shall. You see, Sir Joshua, our forefathers, that is, we, we have brought forth upon that continent information, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. All men created equal? Well, sir, that proposition is absurd. Absurd? Oh, well, yes, dear. I suppose it does seem a little cock-eyed. Cock-eyed? Uh, in American term, Kate, we've, um, we've invented a new language over there. Step down, Mr. Standish. I, I can paint no more today. Sir Joshua, what's wrong? His face. Something in his face. It completely eludes me. Your very ordinary face, Sir Joshua. It is anything but that, Mr. Standish. It holds something I've never encountered before. Oh, now, what expression in any face could elude an artist who painted Mrs. Sidden the mistress of all expressions as the tragic mule? What? What did you say? The tragic mule. Sir, you make sport of me. You have talked with Mrs. Sidden? Peter. Peter. You haven't met Mrs. Sidden. I only say what everyone else knows. Surely... Surely the tragic mule is painted. Come here. Look, behind the drape. You see, the canvas has scarcely been started. One sitting, Mr. Standish. That is all. Not even Mrs. Sidden knows the name I have in mind for this. The tragic mule. I'm sorry I mentioned it before. It happened, Sir Joshua. Uh, when may I come again? If you wish, next Wednesday. By then I shall know if I can continue your portrait or not. Oh, thank you. Thank you. Helen Bertie was the next day. Late in the afternoon, I saw her alone in the garden. I had to talk with her. As I passed the drawing room on my way out, I overheard Kate and Lady Anne. I don't know if I've ever seen him, but he's with Helen. Kate, this is unlike you. You think they jealous? Is that it, jealous? You're a girl, my dear, and he is handsome and rich. Yes. But no, I am not. Mother, when I am with him, I'm... I'm afraid. Afraid? Afraid of what? I do not know. But I love my sister. And when she is with him, I am afraid for her. Rubbish child. Not your room and get dressed. Have you forgotten the best table? May I sit with you, Helen? Oh, my, what a sober face, Peter. Helen, are you afraid of me? How could I be afraid of one for whom I feel sorry? You're unhappy with it. You feel strange among us. Yes. Everything's so different. They all liked me at first, but now... I can see it in their eyes. Fear. That's because you look through it, Peter. You seem to know what we think. Even what we're going to do next. I wish I could help you. Oh, but you do just by your sympathy. Even though you can't possibly know how much I need it. All the days are all right. I go about your old London. That's the most marvelous experience that ever came to a living man. But at night, as I lay awake, it all seems like a nightmare. Until I remember you, Helen. Helen. You are not like the others. You... You're real, real. And I want to take... I'm Helen, Peter. And my sister is Kate. Whom you're going to marry. Helen. Helen, where are you going? I'm going to dress for the party. Our guests will be arriving soon. There he is, Clinton. See? My God, you think there was no other man in London. The most amazing rebel gentleman. By every morning, the servants must fetch buckets of hot water so Master Colonial may wash himself. Wash himself? All over? Every morning, Mr. Throttle. All over every morning? Well, we shall see about that. Uh, Standish. Yes, Major? What's this talk of baths? You took but one bath aboard ship and you talked about that for a week. I, uh... Well, I cannot stand salt water, sir. But all over, Mr. Standish? Well, you admire the Romans, Mr. Throttle? The Romans' base? Excessively so. In their degeneration, the Romans were doubtlessly as dirty as you. Yes, that's why I suppose you're right. Pray forgive me, gentlemen. Lady Anne. Peter, she's here. She's asking for you. She, my lady? The Duchess, Peter. Oh. The Duchess of Devonshire. You'll find her enchanting, Standish. Providing you do not keep her waiting. The music room, Peter. The music room. Mr. Standish, we would have yielded the tea tax. Why did you Americans insist on rebellion? Why? I suppose, Duchess, to, uh... to make the world safe for democracy. Democracy, sir? Uh, but surely you don't begrudge us, our poor stretches of wilderness. You, upon whose empire the sun never sets. The sun never sets? Sir, England has seldom received so magnificent a compliment. Yes, it is rather a good phrase, isn't it? Now about Miss Pettigrew. She will make you a devoted wife. And I'm sure, Mr. Standish, you are her very first love. Uh, men always want to be a woman's first love, Duchess. Women have a more subtle instinct about things. What they like is to be a man's last romance. Oh, now, I swear there's no nimble tongue than this in all London. And are you certain, as I am, that Miss Pettigrew is all you would want? All I want? Uh, I have found that are in this world only two tragedies. One is not getting what you want and the other is getting it. Oh, a charming apparatus of Mr. Standish. Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. Now, what makes you mention my name? Oh, I didn't mean to. This is the honor. I'm overcome. You roll it out as if you were announcing me at court. All the grace of the period seems to center in that name. In English history, it is the finest flower of an age of elegance. We know your face from Gains... Gainsborough has painted you, hasn't he? Yes. Ah. All the legend and beauty of this time cling about you. What can the 18th century offer that can even compare with... Wait! You speak of me so strangely. I find your compliments becoming a little disturbing. Disturbing? You were talking of me as one might talk of, uh, the late Mr. Voltaire in the past tense. Oh, I made no use of past tenses, Duchess. You were thinking of me in the past tense. Yes. You've spoken of me as though... as though I were already dead. Oh, dear me, and I tried so hard to make an impression. Sir, you have made an indescribable impression. You may leave me now, Mr. Standish. Yes, Duchess. Standish? Perhaps now, Miss Kate will dance with you. Dance with me? Yes. It's been observed that Miss Kate has danced not once with you all evening. Oh. Can it be, sir, that she is almost of a mind to break with you? Kate, break with me? Now, listen, throttle. We're going to be married and have three children. One of them dies at the age of seven of smallpox and is buried in St. Mark's Churchyard. Now, that's absurd, isn't it? But you believe it, don't you? Well, uh, since you can read Kate's future, uh, perhaps you'll inform me also of Helen's. Helen's future? No. No, I don't know that. I don't know. The departed, Lady Anne. Truthfully, I have never attended such a ball in all my life. Oh, but it was horrible, horrible. Horrible? My Helen. The Duchess, Peter. She repeated the things you said. Things that don't sound like you at all. Oh, I, I just dazzled her with a couple of epigrams borrowed from a fellow named Oscar Wilde. A friend of yours, Peter? No, he won't be around for a couple of gen... Well, never mind. This is just a little bit complicated. Complicated? Oh, dear, dear. The Duchess is afraid of you, Peter. And Helen, you are not even commonly civil to promise a struggle. Oh, I'm, I'm distracted. Uh, yes? We've been speaking with Sir Joshua. Kate and I, before he left. He would destroy your portrait, sir. Ah, he would, but he won't. He'll complete it. Painters have good eyes, cousin. What is it that Sir Joshua sees and we do not? How did you ever get into this house? You walked in here, but no one saw you. You remember the rain, Tom? His shoes were dry. Stuff it at once. Uh, madam, if I could, if I could have a moment alone with Kate? Indeed, yes. Come, Helen, Tom. Kate, you mustn't talk like this. We're going to be married. Never. I fear you as I fear the devil. I'm leaving her in the morning for butlery. We are going to be married, Kate, and have children and live here. That, that happens. Look at me. Look at me and tell me that you love me. Oh, I, I can't. I can't say that. Kate, wait. Wait. Go to Budley, but you'll return. And when you see me again, I may be changed. I may not be the same man. I may feel differently then about, about Helen and Throttle. And if I do, promise me that you'll stand by Helen. She'll be alone. She'll need your help. Why, Helen, I thought you'd all gone to bed long ago. Please tell me, Peter. Try to forgive her. She's simply discovered that I don't love her. But you wanted her to marry you. I had to play a part. That was all. Peter, how can you know those things that haven't happened yet? Now, first it was my shawl. Oh, since so many things. Tomorrow seems as real to me as yesterday. Oh, I want to see her head, too. I want to know all the wonderful things that are coming after we are dead. Yes, you're in love with the future just as I was in love with the... Why? Why do you want to know? So that I can make Kate understand and be happy with you. And because I love the world and being alive, I want to see her head because I love it so. Kate would never understand, Helen. Peter, please. The things you have seen. The things I've seen. Yes. Now, where shall I begin? That candle there. Helen, long after us, this room, Barclay Square, all of London will be flooded with light brilliant beyond any candle. All by the movement of one man's hand. By magic. But what would it be like, Peter? It's no use. There aren't words to tell you. I could see them, Peter, through your eyes. That isn't possible. Peter. Helen. Helen, your eyes. They... they burn. This room. Yes. It glazes with your magic light. Are there on the wall your portrait? It's finished. So Joshua finished it as you said he would. The veil is thin for you. A man and a girl. I can see them too. Oh, they're dressed so clearly. Helen, he's like you, Peter. Oh, don't, Helen. Yes, I will. I will see. And outside in the sky, great birds bigger than a hundred eagles. Machines with men in them. And water. There's water, the ocean. That great floating mountain there. A ship. No sails. No masts. And beyond a great cluster of towers reaching into the clouds. Only a city across the sea. Men who fly like birds. They cross the ocean. Their houses pierce the sky. They're conquer evil. Oh, Peter, they'll be like angels. Not men. Close your eyes, Helen. Close them. I will see. I will see. Oh, devils there are. Demons. Close them. With masts on their faces. A yellow mist is around them. They fall, they twist in the mud. Lights flare everywhere in a great flame. It opens like a flower. A flower that blows fifty men to bits. Curving streams of fire. Pumped out of hoses to shrivel men like insects. Oh. 1917. And it'll happen again in another generation. You want to see more of the future. It isn't true. God would never have put us here to suffer for a race of themes like that. There must be beauty there too. And love. There must be. Yes, there is. Helen, try and understand. And if you can't understand, then believe what I tell you now. I have come to you from that other world. The world you must forget. Just as you must forget me. Forget you. You know I can't do that, Peter. I love you, Helen. God help us both. I love you. I loved you before I ever saw you. In my first dream of you. Coming from somewhere far away. To meet me. Oh, this is no part I'm playing now. I'm myself. Myself. Oh, take me with you, Peter. Oh, I can't. I can't. That isn't possible. It isn't my life or yours. It isn't my world or yours. Don't leave me. Don't go and leave me. No, I'll never leave you, Helen. Never. There's never been a kiss like this since the world began. We pause now for station identification. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. We'll return with Act 3 of Barclay Square in a moment. Meanwhile, over at the Allen's house, they're doing their Christmas wrapping early. There's bright paper and Christmas ribbon all over the living room floor. Oh, honestly, the ribbon slipped again. Honey, come put your finger on this knot, will you? I never knew a woman yet who could tie a square knot by herself. No, no remarks. This is your present to dad I'm doing. Now, just hold your finger still a minute. There. Hmm. There's pretty paper. Where'd you get it? It looks nice. It's cute. Someone gave it to us on a package last year, so I saved it and ironed it smooth. Oh, what a thrifty wife you turned out to be. But you don't have to pinch the pennies that hard, honey. Matter of fact, I was just thinking, maybe we ought to get someone to help you with the housework and the dishes and things. Oh, Bill, you darling. As if there were such a thing as a maid these days. Now, whatever maid you think of that. Oh, say, before you sit down, turn on the radio. Sure. Thrifty, too. Luck does up to twice as many dishes, ounce for ounce, as any of ten other leading soaps tested. So if strong soaps have left your hands rough and red, change the gentle thrifty luck flake. Remember, you can change dishpan hands to soft, smooth luck hands for less than a penny a day. And now, Mr. DeMille returns to the microphone. Three of Barclay Square, starring Ronald Coleman as Peter Standish and Marino Sullivan as Helen. Once again, it's the present time. In Barclay Square, the rain beats against the black windows. The clock ticks on. And Peter Standish continues the account of his incredible journey into the world of yesterday. I have gone back to live for as long as it pleased me the life of another man. The life of the Peter Standish who was my ancestor. But I could play the part no longer. The man in love with Helen Pettigrew was not my ancestor, but myself. And now I knew I never could leave her. Never. My attentions to Helen became obvious to the household. They talked about it constantly. Then, suddenly, Kate returned from the country. Here, now, neither me nor Helen. I've come back from Budley to save my sister and save her, I shall. You will return to Budley this very day. First she throws away 10,000 for herself, and now she'd keep Helen from bringing it to the family. If Throssel here understands these altered circumstances, surely you can and will. I understand the difference between his 10,000 pounds and my 1,500 pounds. My affections still rest with Miss Helen. If Miss Helen loves Mr. Standish, sir, they must marry at once. Are they not seen together constantly? Where are they now but riding in the countryside again? Milady. Mr. Standish is no fit mate for any mortal woman. Then you know. You know. Yes, he cast his spell on me, but God took pity. He saved me. We must pray that he save Helen too. Quiet every time. A cousin, yes? We'd have a word with you, sir. You have a moment, Mr. Standish. Oh, a century, madam, if you wish it. Where is my sister? Gone to her room, I believe. Mr. Standish, before I came home, I stopped at the American Legation. You did what? Yes. I had made a list of ten of his phrases, expressions of speech. Should not the American ambassador, Mr. Adams, know what words are used in New York? He's a Massachusetts man. Wow. He had heard not even one of them. These words are not used in America, nor in this world. Mr. Standish came from New York on the general wolf. His body stands there. But what have you done with his soul? His soul goes marching on. Now, listen all, if you're in your silly way, you're trying to help Helen and I love you for that. But I've seen your civilization. Your fine city. And I tell you what's needed here is a new fire of London. A new plague. Death, disease, cruelty, smells. Lord, how the 18th century stinks. Sir. Madam, madam I've seen you in Sheridan's play. Regent Jane Norton's novel. Plowing straight ahead over everything like a tank lumbering through the mud. You hear that, Kate? Like a tank. There's your 11th strange word from the lexicon of bales above. Peter Standish came from New York aboard the general wolf city. Well, Peter Standish came from New York in five days aboard the Queen Mary. So I make a few more blunders. So I drive you back to Budley, Kate, at 50 miles an hour. No, not in a broomstick, in an automobile. Ah, you're all over and done with. You're dead in your grave. Ghost. Stand aside from the door. Stand aside. Help her. She'll tell Heller. Clear out. Get back to your grave. Ghost? Greed? Mr. Thrussle, you're a dead and buried little pipsqueak. Look they're loose. No. No. No. Exorcism. Thrussle casts out the devil. Banned by bear, book and candle. Did you smell the brimstone, Thrussle? Shall I show you my cloven hoof? Am I to vanish in a tap of thunder? I'll set ten little devils on you. Imprisonment. Imprisonment for life. For life. In this filthy little pigsty of a world. They've told me, Peter. Told me how you feel. As one alive among the very dead. Helen, we'll leave here. You and I will go to America. People would hate and fear you anywhere. I can face them all. For you belong to me, Helen. Not to them. Each night I've said, he must go back. But each morning when we be together again, I think, oh, only let me have one more day. Helen, I couldn't live my own life without you. What life is this for you? Stay brave, Peter. We too alone have been chosen for this wonder out of the millions of lovers since time began. Our love is more real than if you'd been born in my world, or I am yours, because it is a miracle that we've come together at all. Doesn't that prove we weren't meant to lose each other? Yes, and we shall be together. Always, Peter. Not in my time, or in yours, but in God's. Helen, you love me. You can't want me to go back. You love me. But all my soul. Then I stay here. My world's a nightmare to you, Peter. A living death. Because you love me, you condemn us both to death. No. No, leave me while our love is still beautiful. I ask it for my sake. Oh, Helen. You have your own life to live out in the future. Don't be too sad there about a girl who's been dead so long. As I grow old, your youth will seem to me eternal youth. For you will come, won't you? Young, as I see you now, to my grave and to Mark's churchyard, to you that will be tomorrow, and yet it will be generations after I am dead. Oh, Helen. I'll ask for a stone, but the letters cut deep. So they won't wear away before you come to me. Helen, I love you only, now and in my own time, and in whatever time may come. If only you could take back with you. Just one thing that was mine. Oh. Wait. There is something. Father found it in Egypt, and the police was there. In some strange way, it meant so much to me. The Anzata cross, symbol of life of eternity. Helen, that was mine. This little thing has crossed the great darkness between us. Mine while I lived, and yours in a world that I shall never see. Go, Peter. Go now. Please. Oh, Helen. No. This was our parting. Was our parting. No more. No more, dear Shadow. I had made my journey across the bridge of time, connecting today and yesterday, and I had returned. Behind me remained the Peter Standish of the 18th century, the man who sailed from America on the general wolf, who did marry Kate Pettigrew, whose portrait Sir Joshua Reynolds did finish. In his diary, he mentions a sudden happy change in their attitude toward him. He couldn't understand it. He must have had a fever, they said, but they didn't question him. A man with 10,000 pounds a year could afford to be eccentric. The calendar on my desk says September 1939. Next to it is a simple wooden carving. The Anne-Santa Cross. I shall take it with me when I leave for France tomorrow. Earlier tonight, Marjorie was here. They just told me you're leaving for France? Yes, tomorrow. But you'll come back, and perhaps when the war is over, things are different for us. Oh, I know, Marjorie. I know, we were going to be married. It seems so long ago. Peter, that portrait on the wall, surely you don't think any longer that you are he? No, but something has happened. Something which you could never believe. So, well, now it's goodbye, Marjorie. Never mind, Peter. I can't break an old habit. I shall go on looking after you, even if it's in the long way off. Oh, forgive me, Marjorie. You're fine and honest as always, Peter. It's all right. There's very little more to write about. This morning I went to St. Mark's churchyard. There I found a tombstone with these words. Cut deep. Dear lies in confident hope of the blessed resurrection and life eternal. Helen Pettigrew. Beloved younger daughter of Sir William Pettigrew K.B., Vice Admiral of the Blue, and the Lady Anne Pettigrew, who departed this life December the 10th, 1784. Age 21 years. Our stars will be back for their certain calls in just a moment. Did you ever think of three as a very important number? Plays usually have three acts. A yard of material is three times as long as a foot. Or if you're baking a cake, a tablespoon of shortening is three times as much as a teaspoon full. Here's another three rule. When it comes to washing pretty under things, lux care keeps them lovely three times longer. Strong soap, hot water, and rough handling leave delicate lingerie faded and old-looking in no time. And seams often pull. Shoulder straps fray, lace gets holes in it. Exactly the same kinds of slips washed the gentle lux way come out lovely-looking time after time. In actual tests, the lux slips look nicer after 30 washings than the wash day ones did after only 10. So if you want to keep those pretty undies of yours, dainty and new-looking longer, stick to gentle lux care. They'll stay pretty extra long. Three times longer. Now, back to Mr. DeMille and our stars. And now our thanks to Ronald Coleman and Moreno Sullivan for their very able and sincere performances in Barkley Square. You gave us a fascinating play to do, Mr. DeMille. Did you read, Maureen, where one columnist reports that Barkley Square is going to be made into a musical at the 18th Century Fox? 18th Century Fox. I mean 20th Century Fox. I've been rather moved by tonight's play. You certainly were moved about two centuries. I think Barkley Square might make an excellent musical, Mr. DeMille. Think of the chances of song titles. This is a lovely way to spend an eon. Or not get in your eyes. As for costumes, think what you could do with buckles. And think what you could do with Alston. Well, for a musical, we'd have to have a smash finale. That ought to take place in the 22nd Century. But how do you know what the 22nd Century will be like, Ronald? Well, I look into my crystal ball and I see... Well, that's funny. Why, what do you say? This thing must be inside out. I'm looking back to 15th Century Paris and there's Francois Dion. Oh, you're saying this stage next Monday night. Lux Radio Theatre? Christmas night? Yes. We've chosen for Christmas that delightful and staring operetta, The Vagabond King, with Dennis Morgan, Katherine Grayson, and J. Carol Nash. It's the story of a lovable romantic rogue, a poet who ruled for a day and who loved for a lifetime. And with it goes the enchanting music of Rudolph Frimmel and the singing of two of the screen's most lovely voices. Well, that sounds like a very happy Christmas, Phoebe. Good night. Good night. Good night. Good night. And glad we met on Bosley Square. Our sponsors, the makers of Lux Flakes, join me in inviting you to be with us again next Monday night when the Lux Radio Theatre presents Dennis Morgan, Katherine Grayson, and J. Carol Nash in The Vagabond King. This will be the mayor saying good night to you from Hollywood. Now, an important reminder to Housewives. There is still a critical shortage of waste fats and greasers needed to help win this war more quickly. Save every drop of waste fat from your kitchen. Strain them into a clean can and rush them to your butcher. He'll give you four cents and two red ration points for each pound. Ronald Coleman may currently be seen in the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Technicolor picture Tizmet. Heard in tonight's play were Dorothy Lovett, Charles Seal, Gloria Gordon, Leslie Dennison, Claire Verdera, Jacqueline DeWitt, Colin Campbell, Eric Snowden, Norman Fields, Gwen Delano. Our music was directed by Louis Silver. This program is broadcast to our fighting forces overseas through cooperation with the Armed Forces Radio Service. And this is your announcer, John M. Kennedy, reminding you to tune in again next Monday night to hear The Vagabond King with Dennis Morgan, Katherine Grayson, and J. Carol Nash. Jango bells for Christmas cake. Try Kate Smith and Aunt Jenny's Holliwreath nut cake made with new, easy-make spry. It's super delicious with the flavor of orange, and almond, and nuts. Day is fresh so long you can enjoy it all through the utilize. Look for the recipe. See the spry ad in newspapers and December women's magazines. They should have listened in next Monday night to the Lux Radio Theatre presentation of The Vagabond King with Dennis Morgan, Katherine Grayson, and J. Carol Nash. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.