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KEN. [Unconvincingly.] He's crazy. He's—crazy.
[Silence, LAURA leans against the table, as though she had difficulty in breathing, TIPPY enters, apron on, egg beater in hand.]
TIPPY. Hello. You back? [Takes groceries.] What's up? [No answer.] Where's Ted? [No answer.]
KEN. [To LAURA.] What are you whimpering about? [Seizes her by the arms.] It's true. What he said was true, wasn't it? [She tries to speak, but cannot.] Who got my job for me? Who is paying my salary? Answer me!
LAURA. Your father.
KEN. My father! How could he do such a thing?
LAURA. It was my idea. I—I told him to do it.
KEN. You. You did that to me.
LAURA. I wanted to help you.
KEN. It takes a woman to do a thing like that.
LAURA. I loved you.
KEN. It takes love.—That's what love is. [He goes to door.] That's what it does to a man. [Pause. The room is deathly quiet.] And when I was a boy I used to wonder why some of the world's wisest men hung out with whores.
CURTAIN
ACT III
Same. Several hours later, about 10 P. M. TED is sitting in a corner with a book, but unable to concentrate. He is wretchedly unhappy and jumpy.
LAURA paces back and forth.
MARTIN sits at a table with a pencil, sketching, evidently using TED, whose face is exposed to him in profile, as a model.
There is an air of tense, long waiting. Little is said, and then spoken in quick and jerky tempo, with long pauses.
LAURA. If I only knew where he was.
MARTIN. He's best alone, wherever he is—until he gets ready to come home.
[Silence.]
LAURA. If I knew he was all right!
MARTIN. He's all right.
[Silence, LAURA sits down apart from the others, TED rises and crosses to her. She does not look at him. He speaks haltingly.]
TED. Laura. Is there anything I can do? I am very sorry, very sorry it happened.
LAURA. [Without looking up.] What good does that do now? You did it.
TED. Yes, I did it. To say that he provoked me till I was crazed with shame and anger does not undo it. That is true.
LAURA. All right, it's true. What he told you about yourself you already knew. Everybody knew it. It was nothing but words and made no real difference in your life. But you told him something about himself that makes all the difference in the world—and has ruined his life and mine. [She rises.]
TED. I admit all that.
LAURA. [Near hysteria.] Well, then, shut up! [To escape from him she goes into kitchen.]
MARTIN. [Dryly, as he shades drawing.] The lady, it seems, would have been quite satisfied if you had merely called her husband a traitor to his country, a robber of blind widows, a bombastic egotist, a thieving son-of-a-'bitch and a cock-eyed liar.
TED. [Humorlessly.] It wasn't what I called him. It was what I told him.
MARTIN. Precisely. The greater the truth the greater the libel. Ken Holden, you see, wanted to be an adult lion among the little monkeys, and you informed him that he was still an infant drawing sustenance from parental sources.
TED. [Sensing MARTIN'S friendliness approaches him like a friendless dog.] You understand, don't you, how he provoked me?
MARTIN. Perfectly.
TED. [Sees sketch.] Why, that's me you're drawing!
MARTIN. Glad you recognized it. Some people don't recognize themselves in profile.
TED. It's a good profile. The face is good.—But why the uniform?
MARTIN. Clothes make the man. I wanted to see if a uniform would make a soldier.
TED. I never wore a uniform. I detest them. I'd rather be shot than wear one.
MARTIN. That's an old Spanish custom.
TED. Spanish?
MARTIN. Custom. To shoot men who do not like to wear uniforms.
TED. But why do you draw me as a soldier? What did I do to suggest that? What made you do it?
MARTIN. Something in Kate's eyes, while you were posing for her, suggested it. She seemed to think your outfit lacked something. Well, what it lacked I have seen on parade grounds at West Point. There it is. [Holds up drawing.]
TED. [Backs away.] Why do you torment me?
MARTIN. I'm sorry. [He rips cardboard across and throws the halves into wastebasket.] It had no significance to you personally, Ted.—It's all of us. All of us who are in the army.
TED. In the army? What are you talking about? We aren't in any army. We wouldn't go in. Why, half the men you meet say that in a war they'd be conscientious objectors. The jails wouldn't hold them.
MARTIN. But the ditches will.
TED. But I tell you ...
MARTIN. They jailed conscientious objectors in the last war. This time they will shoot them.
TED. Why are you Communists so afraid of war?
MARTIN. We know what starts it.—It's the army, Ted, that makes war.
TED. But this country hasn't a big standing army.
MARTIN. There are ten millions in it.
TED. You mean the unemployed?
MARTIN. That's the army that makes war these days.
TED. You radicals always say that. I don't agree with you—except about war. I think you are right about that.
MARTIN. Which is why the American Legion wants to exterminate us.
TED. They want war. But you want revolution. You are against war and for revolution. That's silly. Just a different kind of war. You're both wrong. There's no sense in any of you.
MARTIN. That's right. The business men have all the sense. They know that an army in rags is more dangerous to them than an army in uniform. So we will wear uniforms. I just tried yours on to see how it would fit you.
TED. [Picks up the two halves out of basket and puts them together and stares at it.] No.—No. I'll never wear one. Never! [He crumples drawing and throws it back into basket, LAURA comes in from the kitchen. TED, looking for escape, goes into bedroom.]
LAURA. Tippy hasn't telephoned. That means he hasn't found Ken.
MARTIN. Maybe he wants to march the grand monarch in on us.
LAURA. Oh, I hope so.—He ought to be back.... Martin, do you think Ken will ever forgive me?
MARTIN. Well, you know what Solomon said about the way of a man with a maid.
LAURA. Don't wise-crack.
MARTIN. I'm only hiding my ignorance behind Solomon's.
LAURA. Do you think Ken should forgive me?
MARTIN. I think he ought to spank you till you'd have to eat off the mantel for a week, and then take you back to his bed and board and forget it.
LAURA. If he only would.
TIPPY. [Enters, looking gloomy.] He hasn't been at the apartment, Laura.—He hasn't been there and he hasn't 'phoned there.
MARTIN. So that's that.
TIPPY. There were some messages for him. The girl at the switchboard said a man's voice asked for Ken and then asked for you. Called a couple of times. Left no name.
LAURA. Maybe I ought to go home?
TIPPY. Would you be any more miserable alone?
LAURA. I couldn't be.
TIPPY. You stay here a while. I gave the girl this address and number and told her to give it to anyone who called. I also made her promise that if Ken came in she'd call you here at once.
LAURA. She'll die of curiosity.
TIPPY. Telephone operators develop immunity.
LAURA. You're a dear. Thanks.—But—what shall we do?
TIPPY. There is nothing more we can do until you're ready to notify the Missing Persons Bureau.
LAURA. Do you think we ought to?
TIPPY. No.—I hate to seem callous to your distress, dear, but involving the police department at this moment would be a little premature.
LAURA. But I'm so worried. He might do anything, Tippy.
TIPPY. The chances are he'll do nothing but take a walk.
LAURA. If I only knew ...
TIPPY. And what could you tell the police? Man quarrelled with wife, left house, has been gone four hours....
LAURA. It seems dreadful, dreadful—just to sit here and not know anything.
MARTIN. I think I have a hunch.
LAURA. Oh, Martin! Why didn't you say so before?
MARTIN. I only just got the hunch.
LAURA. What? Where?
MARTIN. Now wait a minute. It's only a hunch, and my hunches aren't so hot. I don't believe in them, you see.
LAURA. But you'll go, won't you? You'll go?
MARTIN. Oh, sure. [Gets hat.] You stay here with Tippy.
LAURA. [Grabbing her things.] No. I want to go with you.
MARTIN. Please don't, Laura. I don't know where Ken is. It's just a mere possibility; an old dump I used to take him to. You stay here. [He goes. Just as he closes door TED walks into room.]
TED. Hello, Tippy. You back? [LAURA gives one look at TED, grasps wrap and runs out.] She hates me.
TIPPY. Well, there's nothing to do about it, except keep out of her way.
TED. I shouldn't have come back.
TIPPY. Why not? You live here.
TED. Then why does she stay?
TIPPY. Because she doesn't want to be alone with her thoughts.
TED. You think she feels guilty, too?
TIPPY. Well, what do you think? She tricked Ken into continuing the thing he'd come to hate most in the world; financial dependence on his father. She took a big chance, and lost.
TED. It was my fault. I told. I never would have told if he hadn't ...
TIPPY. Never mind. We know what Ken did to you. It was in his nature to do just that.—His nature was part of the thing Laura took a chance on too,—and lost.
TED. [After slight pause.] I suppose it's always hard to understand the other fellow's troubles. They seem so small compared with your own.
TIPPY. Circumstances do not excuse crimes, but they do explain them. [Pause.] We've all taken plenty. But I'll say this, old man. If I'm the first member of the Class of '29 to check in at the big Court House I'll look up the judge and I'll say to him, "See here, God, when Ted Brooks arrives, don't judge him till you've looked up his full record. The cards were stacked against that guy from the start! The rest of us merely needed jobs, but he needed ..." [Pauses, not knowing how to finish.]
TED. Thanks, Tippy.
TIPPY. I'll be damned if I know what you do need!
TED. Guts. Guts is what I need.—My health's good enough for physical labor, but nobody wants me to dig ditches.
TIPPY. Did you ever see a steam shovel at work? I don't say you're any use to the world or have any right to live in it. But making a hundred men like you substitute for a steam shovel is plain damn silly. It's an insult to the steam shovel.
TED. [With deep, quiet desperation which grows more and more intense through the following scenes.] What should I do? What was it intended for me to do?
TIPPY. Live like an aristocrat.
TED. As Martin would say—on the backs of the workers.
TIPPY. The workers don't seem to mind. They didn't throw you off.
TED. No, but who did?
TIPPY. The other guys on the backs of the workers.
TED. No one in particular threw me off.
TIPPY. Then maybe you just fell off. The worker's back is broad, but it's not broad enough to accommodate all of us.
TED. But you're not a revolutionist?
TIPPY. Hell, no. I'm a dog washer.
[KATE enters, excited, out of breath.]
KATE. Ted—guess what! I've got a job for you!
TED. [Not believing.] A job? For me?
TIPPY. You mean that?
KATE. I do. It's nothing to brag about, but it's a job.
TIPPY. Private industry or relief?
KATE. [Indignantly.] Relief? Certainly not. It's real work.
TIPPY. With real money—that's great.
KATE. Oh, it's nothing fancy; but it'll pay enough for Ted to live better than he has been living.
[TED doesn't grow enthusiastic, and KATE becomes resentful. Sensing this, TIPPY keeps up the badinage.]
TIPPY. How many questions will you give me to name the job?
KATE. Oh, you'd never guess it.
TIPPY. Come on, Ted, we'll alternate and spot it in ten questions. I'm first. Is it indoors or out?
KATE. In.
[They wait for TED's question.]
TED. [Dully.] Is it working on commission?
KATE. [Triumphantly.] No. Regular wages.
TIPPY. Is the wage above or below $25.00 a week?
KATE. It's a little below.
TED. Is it in an office?
KATE. No.
TIPPY. Would he wear a white collar at work?
KATE. Yes.
TIPPY. Hey, Ted, use your head. That's five questions gone.
TED. Do I have to sell anything?
KATE. No.
TIPPY. Indoors. No office. Low wages. White collar. No selling. [Thinking.] Does he work with his hands or his head—or his mouth?
KATE. His hands and his mouth.
TIPPY. But not his head. That's illuminating.
TED. How did you get this job?
KATE. I got it the only way you can get jobs for anybody these days—by asking it as a favor from someone who had it to give.
TED. I see.
KATE. [Resentful.] You don't seem very appreciative.
TIPPY. Wait a minute, Kate. He doesn't know yet what the job is.
KATE. He doesn't act as if he wanted to know.
TIPPY. Don't get sensitive.—And I haven't played my game out.
KATE. All right. Go on.
TIPPY. [Thinks a moment, then brilliantly.] Will he wear a uniform?
KATE. Yes.—You guessed it. [TED grows dismayed.] The job is elevator operator in the Graybar Building. It's a cinch. You don't even have to stop the car. You just push buttons.
TIPPY. Automatic. All but the phonograph. And you're it.
TED. In uniform!
KATE. [Impatiently.] Well, what of it?
TED. And push buttons.... Floor, please. Two please. Five please. Right please. [Laughs harshly.]
KATE. Oh, so it isn't good enough for you!
TED. Fifteen please. Twenty-six please.
KATE. Well, what do you want? Vice-president in a bank? Wake up! This isn't 1929. This is 1935. You take what you get and are grateful.
TED. Like a bellboy!—
KATE. It's a job. You said you wanted a job.
TED. Oh God, Kate ...
KATE. It pays more than I got for years. And I supported myself on it and you, too.
TED. Listen, Kate ... [Has some difficulty going on.] If it were an old freight elevator in a warehouse, and I could wear overalls, and pull on a rope that blistered my hands ...
KATE. It's the uniform that stalls you, is it?—Now I see why they make soldiers wear them.
TIPPY. [Wishing to save the situation.] The British started that with their Red Coats, to make them better targets so we could win the Revolutionary War.—I learned that in school.
KATE. [Bitter.] You got it wrong, brother. It's to take the conceit out of a coward by making him realize he's no better than anybody else. That's what it's for!
TED. Kate ...
KATE. You said you wanted a job. I believed you. I asked for a job; any kind of a job that a man who had never worked could do. And I got one. [To TIPPY.] But he doesn't want it. It's not because of the uniform. It's because it's a job! [She has turned her back on TED. He quietly takes his new hat and coat and sneaks out. She turns as she hears the door.] He's gone. [Pause.] I never talked like that to him before. [With sudden fright.] Where's he going?—Ted! Ted! [She runs out after him.]
[TIPPY follows to the door which she leaves open. An elderly, richly-dressed spinster, whom KATE has nearly knocked down as she fled, stalks into the room. She glowers at TIPPY.]
MISS DONOVAN. So that's the kind of a place this is! [She stalks about and glares at everything.]
TIPPY. [Closing door.] Good evening, Miss Donovan.
MISS DONOVAN. Irresponsible people! Wild and irresponsible people! To think that I trusted Itzy to wild, irresponsible people.
TIPPY. My dear Miss Donovan, the distresses of my personal guests have nothing to do with my professional work.
MISS DONOVAN. Guests! Was it your guests who brought Itzy home?
TIPPY. Surely there is nothing wrong with Itzy?
MISS DONOVAN. Nothing wrong! [Portentously.] Itzy is sneezing! He has a cold!
TIPPY. He was all right when he left here.
MISS DONOVAN. Dr. Sayre, I told you never to let any person but yourself touch that dog when he was out of my apartment.
TIPPY. But it's a very short distance and the man who took him home ...
MISS DONOVAN. The man you say! My maid said it was a silly boy and a giggling, irresponsible girl. How do I know what they did to Itzy? How do I know where they took him? Or in what company they had him? They might have let him get into a fight and get killed.
TIPPY. But they didn't.
MISS DONOVAN. They, or you, exposed Itzy to a chill. Itzy is sneezing. Itzy has a cold. Itzy may develop pneumonia and die. [During this speech there is a knock and TIPPY goes to door and lets in the BISHOP while MISS DONOVAN continues.] I shall hold you responsible. If anything happens to Itzy, you alone are to blame. I shall hold you responsible for Itzy's death. [She addresses the BISHOP.] If you are a customer of this man, let me warn you. He is not to be trusted. He is not responsible.
BISHOP. There must be some misunderstanding.
MISS DONOVAN. There is no misunderstanding. I brought Itzy here on a friend's recommendation. She said it was a responsible place. It is not. It is full of wild, irresponsible people.
BISHOP. Madam, I am sure ...
MISS DONOVAN. You look like a man who loves animals. If you do, do not bring them here. This man deliberately exposed my poor Itzy to a cold. He may die.
BISHOP. Itzy is your dog, I presume?
MISS DONOVAN. And such a darling. Everybody loves him. I shall tell everyone—all my friends. He suffers so—I shall warn them. His nose is running.... I shall destroy this irresponsible man's business!—If you could look into his eyes you'd understand! ... If you love dogs, never trust them to irresponsible people. [She goes to the door and out.]
BISHOP. That woman is a fool.
TIPPY. Some of my best customers are, Bishop.
MISS DONOVAN. [Opens door and sticks her head in.] I shall ruin your business! [Closes door with a slam.]
TIPPY. Jesus! [Takes the BISHOP'S hat and coat.] Won't you be seated, sir?
BISHOP. I trust that lady is not as influential as she feels.
TIPPY. Dog lovers are gossips. But I get business by gossip as well as lose it. By gossip, sir, and perfumed soap. The art of perfuming dogs has a great future. It's an undeveloped field. I'm just beginning to explore it.
BISHOP. You are a marvelous young man, Timothy.
TIPPY. It's the Irish in me—also the Scotch.
BISHOP. I wish—I wish my son were more like you.—Have you seen him, Timothy?
TIPPY. [Evasively.] Why, yes sir—earlier this evening.
BISHOP. I called at his apartment and was told to come here.
TIPPY. Well, yes—he was here. So was Laura. [BISHOP sighs heavily.]
BISHOP. You have a nice place here.—And your business?
TIPPY. I don't complain. Only the customers do, as you heard, sir.
BISHOP. I could see that woman was a fool.
TIPPY. I would not dispute you.
BISHOP. But surely not all people who own dogs are fools.
TIPPY. There are exceptions.
BISHOP. At least you are busy. You are occupied and happy. You have found congenial work. Why cannot all young men do as you have done?
TIPPY. Not enough dogs, sir.
BISHOP. It need not have been dogs. It might have been—other things.
TIPPY. True, sir. I considered the hanging of clothes lines for women whose husbands are mechanical morons.
BISHOP. That's an ingenious idea.
TIPPY. But I found there weren't enough morons. Automobiles, sir, have taught even the gentry to use screw drivers.
BISHOP. I like your humor. You have enterprise and perspective. You renew my faith in youth. I wish my son had such morale. I wish ... Where is he, Timothy? Where is Kenneth? And Laura? Do you know where they went?
TIPPY. I'm afraid not.
BISHOP. I must find them. [Rises to go.]
TIPPY. The best chance is they'll be back here.
BISHOP. [Sitting again, speaks slowly.] I am guilty of a great wrong against my son.
TIPPY. I'm sure it wasn't a wilful wrong.
BISHOP. No. I love my son. I meant to help him. Sometimes it is hard to know what is right and what is wrong. Timothy, I arranged for my son to have a job. [Pause.] I conspired to let him think he had secured the job in the usual manner. I fear I made a great mistake.
TIPPY. I understand the spirit that prompted you.
BISHOP. Thank you. [Pause.] He called me up on the telephone and said I had ruined his life with my meddling. He said I was an unworthy example of a man of God. He said I had betrayed him ... [He is too moved to go on,] He said harsh things—very harsh things.
TIPPY. I am very sorry, sir. [He feels helpless to comfort the old man. In the ensuing, uncomfortable silence, KEN, MARTIN and LAURA come in. KEN is drunk and boisterous, MARTIN is trying to hold him back, KEN backs into the room, dragging MARTIN with him. LAURA follows.]
KEN. I got to go in. Got to find Ted. I got to 'pologize to Ted. [MARTIN, seeing BISHOP, lets go of KEN who nearly falls, KEN does not see his father.] I got to shake hands with him and say, Ted, ol' boy, you're right. We're in the same boat. We're brothers under the skin. We are both kept men.
BISHOP. My son!
KEN. [Turns slowly and sees his father.] Hi, dad! [Gestures to LAURA.] Meet the wife. She got the job. You paid for it. [Silence. Gestures to MARTIN.] Meet Martin. He's a god-damned Communist. But I like him.
BISHOP. My son, you have been drinking.
KEN. Drinking? [Laughs—to MARTIN.] He thinks I have been drinking. [To TIPPY.] Hi! Good old Tippy. Washes dogs.—Kept dogs. Kept women. Kept men.
TIPPY. [Taking him by the arm.] Come on, Ken. Come out in the kitchen and have some coffee.
KEN. I don't want coffee. Makes you 'member what you got drunk to forget.
TIPPY. All right, then. I'll give you some more whiskey.
BISHOP. [In horror.] I forbid. Please, no more liquor.
KEN. That's right. No more liquor. Might forget too much.
TIPPY. Then come in and go to sleep and forget everything.
KEN. [Shaking him off.] I don't want to forget. I want to explain. [Looking around at each.] Dad—Laura—-Tippy—Martin. Whole god-damn Class of '29. Class of '29.... Six years. Hi, Martin, member the speeches? 'Member the Bac-ca-laurit address? [Struts and gestures.] Young men of the Class of '29. [Gestures left.] This is your god-damn old alma mater. [Gestures right.] And out there's the goddamn old world. [Gestures left.] In there you studied four years like sons-o'-guns, stuffing your empty heads full of useless knowledge. [Gestures right.] So you could go out there and get a job. And make money. And get a house. And a car. And a woman to sleep with. And have a baby, and vote the Republican ticket.... And so what happens? Depressions and Democrats. And Hoover—'member Hoover?—Hoover had to go back to Leland Stanford libr'y to read a book to tell him why there's jobs for everybody in Russia. [He stops, looks at his father.'] 'Scuse me. Hoover's all wet. [To MARTIN, belligerently.'] My father's a bishop, see? Russia's hell on bishops. This is the country for bishops. You are out of luck, Martin. Your father made a mistake being a farmer. He should have been a bishop. Nice jobs, lots of money. Buys a job for his son so he can get married and have a wife and a home and a baby and not be a Red. You think I'm a Red? Hell, no. I'm a hundred per cent American. I'm an individualist. Americans are individualists. Each man got his own wife 'n' his own bed. A Russian's a collectivist. Got everybody's wife in bed.
BISHOP. Kenneth, my son!
KEN. See? My dad doesn't like Russians. Russians shot all the churches and made the priests go to work. He doesn't like you.—You read the wrong books. My dad reads Mark and Luke and John—makes him a Christian. You read Marx and Lenin and Stalin—makes you a revolutionist. Why don't you read Hearst and Hoover and make yourself an American?
TIPPY. Never mind, Ken. The revolution's all over.
KEN. That was no revolution. That was only a depression. But it's all over now. My father bought me a job because my wife told him to. I've got a smart wife. She understands business methods. We are individualists, and must have initiative. So my wife, she has initiative. She says—Ken's got to have a job so we can get married. So she explains to my father how capitalism works. Lots of competition; too many lousy architects. So got to fabricate houses and put 'em all out of a job.
MARTIN. You talk more sense drunk than sober.
KEN. Too many architects—so what? Give 'em relief work, that's what. Make lots of little houses, with lots of little yards, with lots of little trees, so there'll be lots of little leaves to rake. [Faces LAURA.] That's why a man needs a smart wife with lots of initiative—to get him a job.
TIPPY. O. K., Ken.
LAURA. [Fiercely.] Do something with him, Martin.
MARTIN. [Going to KEN.] All right, old man. Let's go in there and see whether we can figure this thing out.
KEN. I got it all figured out. Lots of little houses, 'n' lots of ...
TIPPY. But we've got to figure out what to do about Ted.
KEN. Ted. That's right ... Ted. [The three go out to kitchen.]
BISHOP. [Wringing his hands.] Radicalism and liquor. Liquor and radicalism, [LAURA is unresponsive; sits stony-eyed and heart-sick.] My poor child. My poor child.
LAURA. Poor Ken!
BISHOP. We must be strong. And patient. [Silence.] How did he learn of this?
LAURA. He quarrelled with Ted and Ted lost his temper and told.
BISHOP. Ted? But how came he to know of it?
LAURA. Oh, I don't know.
BISHOP. Such a nice young man, I always thought. He seemed so ...
LAURA. [In despair.] What are we to do about Ken?
BISHOP. He blamed me. He said I had betrayed him.
LAURA. [Impatiently.] How are we to give him back his self-confidence?
BISHOP. He said I was dishonest.
LAURA. If in some way I could return to him his lovely vanity. When he had no job, he had no thought of me—none—none....
BISHOP. What is there left for him to believe in, when even I, his father ...
LAURA. Oh don't! It was my fault. Don't blame yourself. And anyway, the only thing that matters is Ken. Don't you see?
BISHOP. You're right, my child.
LAURA. He's so crushed! And that despair that shuts me out! Why is it? Why is it that a woman loves a man most when he has nothing—and he wants her only when he has everything else? What's going to happen to us?
BISHOP. Everything will be all right, my child. Kenneth has suffered a bitter blow to his pride. But he'll sober up and resign himself to the situation.
LAURA. Resign himself?
BISHOP. We must make him see that that is the only thing to do.
LAURA. But is it? Is there no hope of a real position?
BISHOP. Prescott gave me his word when I—when we made the arrangement—that he would make a real place for Kenneth as soon as he could.
LAURA. So far he hasn't.
BISHOP. It's a matter of time. Business is greatly improved. Building must revive by the spring. Therefore, don't you see, if our boy is patient until then ... [LAURA shakes her head.] We must make him go on. If he gives it up now he may lose a real opportunity. That is what you and I must make him see! The opportunity ahead.
LAURA. He couldn't go on.
BISHOP. He must.
LAURA. No. Why must he?
BISHOP. [Tenderly.] A family, my dear, is a very conclusive argument.
LAURA. Family? What do you mean?
BISHOP. [Still with his tender sentimentality.] I take it, since Kenneth spoke of a wife and baby ...
LAURA. [Half-laughing.] Oh!—Thank God, no!
BISHOP. But he said ...
LAURA. That was just rhetoric.—I am not having any babies until I see some security for them.
BISHOP. Many of the unemployed do have children.
LAURA. I'll have them only when I can see safety for them.
BISHOP. Yes, yes. Well, I only thought that ...
LAURA. That if a child were coming, Ken would have to knuckle under.
BISHOP. Such responsibility has always been the most powerful force to make man go along the path of duty, even though the way seemed hard.
LAURA. At least I have spared Ken that! He can do as he pleases. I am still working, and can take care of myself.
BISHOP. Yes, quite right. That is the way we must present it to him. That he need consider only himself.
LAURA. Poor Ken. What can he ...
BISHOP. Sh!
[KEN enters, followed by MARTIN and TIPPY.]
KEN. Who said I had no manners! [To BISHOP and LAURA, with absurd, ironic dignity.] The boys say I wasn't a gentleman. I apologize.
LAURA. Never mind, Ken.
KEN. A man ought to be a gentleman, even to his wife. [She turns away. To his father.] A man ought to respect his father. I apologize.
BISHOP. I accept your apology, son.
KEN. [To boys.] There you are! I apologized to my father. He accepted my apology. [To LAURA.] I apologize.
LAURA. All right, Ken. I accept your apology. [At the end of her self-control.] And now that's enough.
KEN. No. I got one more apology to make.
TIPPY. All right, Ken. I'll take the next one.
KEN. I didn't insult you.
TIPPY. No. Well, whom did you insult?
KEN. I insulted Mr. Prescott.
BISHOP. Prescott?
LAURA. You haven't anything to apologize to him for, Ken!
KEN. I called him a lousy heel. If that's all right with you, I won't apologize.
TIPPY. You did what?
KEN. I called up Mr. Prescott on the telephone and told him ...
LAURA. When did you call him on the telephone?
KEN. Before.
BISHOP. You were drunk!
KEN. I wasn't drunk then.
LAURA. What did you tell him?
KEN. Specifically?—Specifically I told him—Martin'll like this.... [Looks about blankly, doesn't see MARTIN.] I told him that as a multimillionaire, as a captain of industry, as a pillar of capitalistic society, he ought to be ashamed of himself for robbing the widows and the orphans and taking the money out of the collection baskets of the House of God to pay an architect to draw plans for a wastebasket.
TIPPY. Good Lord!
KEN. [To LAURA.] You think I ought to apologize to him for that?
BISHOP. If you really did say anything like that to Prescott, of course you will have to apologize.
KEN. [To LAURA.] Dad is a gentleman. And he thinks I ought to apologize. Well, what do you think?
LAURA. Oh, leave me alone, leave me alone!
BISHOP. But surely that is all a figment of your imagination.—When a man has been under the influence of liquor and then—then recovers from its influence, how much does he remember?
TIPPY. That depends.
KEN. Let me explain. I know all about it. A man gets drunk in order to forget what he had on his mind when he was sober. And then he gets sober in order to forget what he said when he was drunk.
BISHOP. [Almost pathetically.] Then surely you are mistaken, son. You did not say these things to Mr. Prescott. You do not remember what you did say—or even if you spoke to him at all.
KEN. Oh, yes, I do remember. Because I was not drunk when I spoke to Prescott. And I am not drunk now.
BISHOP. My boy ...
KEN. I was drunk. That's how come I was disrespectful. A quart of whiskey makes any man disrespectful; but a cup of coffee makes a man respect his father, and two cups of coffee makes a man respect his wife.
MARTIN. Give him another cup and he'll respect Prescott.
KEN. Hello. Where'd you come from?
MARTIN. I've been here all the time.
KEN. That's fine. That's fine. Having a good time?
MARTIN. Punk!
KEN. That's too bad. All right. Tell us what you think.
MARTIN. I think you ought to go home and sleep it off and then go back on the job.
KEN. Ain't got no job.
MARTIN. Well, I mean go back to Prescott.
KEN. Didn't you hear? There is no Prescott. There is no job.
MARTIN. Yes, but there's work. And work is more important than the matter of who pays for it.
KEN. Work for the wastebasket?
MARTIN. No. Not for the wastebasket. For whatever use it may be to the world. Your work is important because you are creating something. The pay system has stalled on you, so what? If your father is able to help to keep you at work, the best you can do is to accept it.
KEN. Have you gone screwy? [To TIPPY.] IS that Communism?
MARTIN. I believe in revolutions, not in futile personal rebellions.
KEN. [To TIPPY.] Do you get him?
TIPPY. I think so.
KEN. For God's sake, do you agree with him?
TIPPY. Listen, old man, you believe in those plans of yours ...
KEN. No. I don't believe in anything, in anything, do you hear? Not in the love of a father for his son, or in the love of a wife for her husband, or in the loyalty of friends—or in the integrity of one's purposes, or in the sincerity of one's hopes, or in the greatness of one's ambitions.
TIPPY. That's how you feel now, Ken
MARTIN. You know doggone well you believe in your work. You love it. You live it.
KEN. [Quietly.] So you think I ought to call up Prescott and apologize. Is that it?
MARTIN. Why not? A son of a bitch like Prescott? [A moment's silence.]
KEN. [To TIPPY.] And you! [To his father.] And you, of course ... [To LAURA.] And you ...
LAURA. [Breathlessly.] You must do whatever you like.
KEN. All right, I won't hold you responsible.
LAURA. I only meant ... I can take care of myself and ...
KEN. And of me, too.
LAURA. No, Ken ... I ... [The BISHOP stops her.]
KEN. So you all think I ought to apologize to Mr. Prescott. That's great. [Into telephone.] Circle 7-6799 ... That's great ... [Into telephone.] Mr. Kenneth Holden would like to speak with his employer, Mr. Stanley Prescott. [Plainly.] The name is Holden. That's right.—What do I want? I want to apologize. Tell him I want to apologize. [Pause.] Hello, Mr. Prescott? This is Kenneth Holden. I called up to apologize. [His voice is still high.] I called you up earlier in the evening, Mr. Prescott, and criticized our working arrangement. Well, sir, I have become convinced that the work is more important than the arrangement, so with your kind permission ... [Listens, as to an interruption. His confident manner slowly disappears. He listens with growing humiliation.] I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to use that tone. Yes—I mean it.—Yes, sir.... [Almost in a whisper.] Thank you. [Slowly, with an air of absolute defeat, he hangs up the receiver.]
BISHOP. My son, that was a brave thing. It's wisest for you to keep the arrangement for the present, until ... it won't be long ... [Clears his throat; looks at his watch.] My train. I've just time to catch it. [To KEN.] You'll feel better about it in the morning, son.
TIPPY. I'll call you a cab, sir.
KEN. Good-bye, dad.
[BISHOP and TIPPY go.]
MARTIN. [To no one at all.] Damn it all!
LAURA. If you'd kept still he wouldn't have done it.
KEN. [Roughly.] Are you ashamed? Trying to apologize for my apologizing?
LAURA. No, Ken, no.
KEN. You're right to be ashamed of me....
MARTIN. Damn if anybody makes sense around here!
KEN. Didn't you hear my father? He said I'd feel better about it in the morning. [Sinks into apathy.] In the morning!
TIPPY. [Returning.] Well ...
MARTIN. It's been a fine day!
TIPPY. Yes—great!
MARTIN. That was a good idea you had, reunion of the Class of '29.
TIPPY. I meant well.
LAURA. Of course you did!
TIPPY. We'll have one yet, I tell you.
LAURA. And soon.
TIPPY. And we'll all have jobs.
LAURA. Real jobs—important jobs!
[They try to make KEN pay attention, but he doesn't.]
TIPPY. Mr. Prescott will discover that Ken is really a genius and...
MARTIN. And he'll fabricate the houses; millions of houses, all according to Ken's plans—millions and millions and millions of 'em—and all for individualists.
TIPPY. Hi, Laura, you'll have advance models!
LAURA. Like a Paris frock.
TIPPY. You'll be the envy of all women.
LAURA. I know it—because Ken will be so famous; and I'll be proud. [There is a rapping at the door, TIPPY opens and POLICEMAN enters, bringing KATE, who is in state of collapse, KEN continues to sit staring bitterly into space. Repeats out loud: Feel better about it in the morning, LAURA rushes to KATE.] Kate! What happened?
POLICEMAN. Friend of yours?
TIPPY. Yes, that's right.
[KATE stares wildly, shivers, LAURA attends her. POLICEMAN draws TIPPY and MARTIN aside.]
POLICEMAN. Theodore Brooks—you knew him?
TIPPY. Yes. What happened?
POLICEMAN. Now take it calm.
MARTIN. All right. Go on.
POLICEMAN. Train. Subway train.
TIPPY. Good God!
MARTIN. Is he dead?
POLICEMAN. Killed outright. It was suicide. Plenty of witnesses. He was standing with her, waiting for the train. He jerked away and jumped just as the train came in. She'd have gone over with him if somebody hadn't grabbed her.
TIPPY. God, how awful!
POLICEMAN. It was pretty messy.
LAURA. She needs a doctor.
POLICEMAN. Tried to get her to go to Bellevue ...
MARTIN. There's a doctor three doors down. I'll get him.
POLICEMAN. I guess there's nothing more I can do. I'll wait outside and see if the doc's coming. [To TIPPY.] Your man's at the morgue if you want him.
TIPPY. Yes—yes—thanks ... [POLICEMAN goes.]
KEN. [Who has become aware, looks bewilderedly from one to the other.] What's up, Tippy? What's the matter?
TIPPY. [Quietly.] Ted's dead, Ken.
KEN. Dead?—Dead?
TIPPY. He killed himself. He ... [His voice breaks.]
KEN. Dead! [Pause.] The lucky bastard!
CURTAIN
CLASS of '29
PROPERTY PLOT—ACT I, SCENE I
OFF STAGE U. R.
ENVELOPE with note GROCERY BAG with oranges and cans BOX OF TEA SMALL BAG OF SUGAR 2 SOVIET POSTERS SEVERAL DIFFERENT RELIEF BLANKS 2 SHOPPING BAGS
OFF STAGE U. L.
TRAY with teapot, cups, saucers, spoons, sandwiches, sugar EMPTY WASHTUB TIN CANS LARGE TOWEL KITCHEN TABLE, against backing off U. L., dressed with plates, eggbeater, cups and saucers, etc.
ON STAGE
GROUND CLOTH OBLONG TABLE c. dressed with: 1. Ironing board 2. Pencil 3. Iron 4. Piece of Muslin for pressing 5. One newspaper 6. Cigarettes and matches 7. Ash trays 8. Russian dictionary 9. Russian book 10. Table throw EASEL AND STOOL (at window, L.) dressed with: 1. Drawing board 2. 2 plans of houses 3. T square 4. Drawing paper WINDOW SEAT L. dressed with: 1. Glass of brushes and drawing pencils 2. Brass pitcher with drawing pencils 3. Water colors 4. Magazines 5. Blue prints BOOKCASE (U. C.) dressed with: 1. Book 2. Large rolls of blueprints 3. Magazines (on top) 4. Bottles of red ink 5. Box of thumb tacks 6. Russian Primer (special book) STUDIO COUCH R.(head down stage) dressed with: 1. Sofa cushions 2. Brush 3. Newspaper (on foot) 4. Ties EASY CHAIR (D. L.) 4 STRAIGHT BACK CHAIRS (1 D. R.; 1 U. L. C.; 1 L. and 1 R. of table C.) DRAWING PORTFOLIO (at jog U. L.) WASTEBASKET (behind easel) PLANS AND PICTURES OF HOUSES (on walls) OLD GREEN WINDOW SHADES OLD LACE CURTAINS (on window, doors U. B,. and D. L.) BROOM at bureau (U. L.) TRIANGLE AND ODD SKETCHES (on jog at window L.) GREEN EYESHADE (on bridge lamp L.)
OFF STAGE D. R.
CHEST OF SHELVES, covered with cretonne (against backing)
PERSONAL PROPS
TIPPY: Hat off D. R., cigarettes, stained handkerchief, pants (on ironing board) BISHOP: Fountain pen, watch, check, checkbook TED: Coat and hat (off D. R.), book "Sun Also Rises" (on couch R.) KEN: Hat (on bookcase U. C.) KATE: One five dollar bill; three one dollar bills MARTIN: Eight one dollar bills
PROPERTY PLOT—ACT 1 SCENE 2
RUG (on floor) BROWN REP DRAPES (on window) OFFICE DESK
ON THIS DESK
DESK SET—Consisting of: blotter, pen holder, fountain pens 2 FRENCH PHONES DESK LAMP WOODEN PAPER TRAY with documents DOCUMENTS AND LETTERS (C. of desk) PUSH BUTTON (on desk) GOOD ASH TRAY SWIVEL CHAIR (behind desk) VISITOR'S ARMCHAIR (L. of desk)
OFF D. L.
LEATHER OFFICE CHAIR SHORTHAND PAD PENCIL
PERSONAL PROPS
BRIEF CASE (Prescott)
PROPERTY PLOT—ACT II
OFF STAGE U. R.
RELIEF BLANKS with rubber band 2 SHOPPING BAGS
OFF STAGE U. L.
KITCHEN TABLE from Act I against backing redressed TIN CANS added EMPTY WASHTUB
ON STAGE
GREEN TABLE C. dressed with: Stack of towels, 1 towel spread C. of table Cup of water and absorbent cotton SHOWCASE against wall U. C. filled with dog supplies: Harness, collars, testimonials, dog basket Ash tray (on showcase)
CHEST OF SHELVES against R. wall dressed with: Dog brushes, dog collars, sponges, harness, dog blankets Telephone and ash tray (on top of shelves) SMALL SHELF TABLE against jog U. L. dressed with: Loose books from bookcase in Act I 4 Books stacked (on top) 1 Newspaper (on top) Book ends 2 Newspapers (on shelf) 2 Magazines (on shelf) Ash tray (on top) DRAWING TABLE (at window E.) dressed with: Drawing paper, drawings of Ted (in profile) WINDOW SEAT L. with dressing rearranged and blueprints struck MAPLE CHAIR (behind drawing table) WASTEBASKET R. of drawing table CONSOLE TABLE up R. dressed with: Newspapers, magazines, ash trays PADDED EASY CHAIR from Act I with slip cover (at console table) WINDSOR CHAIR L. of table C. 3 GREEN CHAIRS, 1 D. R., 1 behind table, 1 R. of table 1 MAPLE CHAIR D. L. CARTOONS (on walls) PICTURES of dogs, and supply signs (on walls) SIGN—"I CLIP, PLUCK AND TRIM" on wall over door U. R. SIGN—"DOG LAUNDRY" outside door U. R. NEW CREAM WINDOW SHADES (at window and door L.) LACE CURTAINS (on transom) WALL MIRROR over console table R. WASHTUB with water D. R. 2 WET TOWELS, 1 on floor below table c, 1 U. L. of table C. GREEN EYESHADE (on hook on jog U. L.) DOG LEASHES (on jamb of door U. L.)
OFF STAGE D. R.
BUREAU from Act I against backing dressed
PERSONAL PROPS
TIPPY: Suit coat, rubber apron off D. R. MARTIN: Hat on showcase U. C. KEN: Cigarettes CASE WORKER: Fountain pen and pencil
PROPERTY PLOT—ACT III
(Same as Act II) NOTE: Strike package on showcase U. C.
PERSONAL PROPS
LAURA: Fur (on chair above table C.) MARTIN: Hat (on case U. C.)
THE END |
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