_The room is a large one in an old brown-stone house. The ceiling
is high, the floor ancient. It serves for a sleeping as well as a
living room. Off it at one end is a kitchen, at the other a small
bedroom._
_There is no woman's touch in the place, but in spite of its
dilapidation there is a mellow and intellectual air--lent, perhaps,
by the books and magazines that lie scattered about; some old
college pennants on the wall; also both architectural drawings and
original cartoons. There is a good architect's drawing board in
use by a window and a rack containing many rolls of drawings and
prints_.
TED _is sitting on the couch, reading an old book. He wears a once
excellent but now threadbare suit_.
TIPPY _wears shabby old dressing gown, short. He has no trousers
on. He is pressing his pants on an ironing board._
_Each is silent and preoccupied_, KEN _makes a finishing touch with
color brush, then turns his board down to a more vertical position
and backs off, surveying his work_.
KEN. Take a squint at that, Tippy.
[TIPPY _carefully turns iron on end and steps over to look at
drawing._]
TIPPY. H'm. Very charming. Very charming. If Comrade Stalin could
see that he would order one for each member of his harem.
KEN. That's a bum joke. Not even Hearst has accused Stalin of
irregularity in his private life.
TIPPY. Sorry. That comes of my not reading Hearst.
KEN. What's more, this drawing's not intended for the Soviets. It's
distinctly American.
TIPPY. But Ken, they like it Americanskee. They approve of the way
we _do_ our living, if not of the way we _get_ it.
KEN. They like our gadgets. The plans I sent to Moscow were all
American inside. But the exteriors were different.
TIPPY. [_Slaps him on shoulder and returns to pants pressing._]
Well, keep at it, old man. All things come to those who work while
they wait.
KEN. Work. I just do this to keep from going nuts.
TIPPY. O. K. Keep occupied. American recovery may yet prove
speedier than Soviet red tape.
KEN. I've given up hope of hearing from Moscow. It's been five
months ...
TIPPY. Make allowances for bureaucracy, Ken.
They're in such a hurry over there they haven't time to do
anything.
KEN. [_Starts to remove drawing._] I don't want Martin to see this.
He'd never forgive me if he knew I'd quit working on stuff for
Russia.
TIPPY. Hi, Ted! Give a look on your fellow artist's work.
[KEN _stands aside_, TED _rises politely, keeping finger in place
in book and looking at drawing briefly._]
TED. [_Indifferently._] It's very nice.
[_He goes back to couch and his book_, KEN _removes drawing and
rolls it up_. TIPPY _finishes pants and cuts off iron_, MARTIN'S
_voice heard in hall, singing._]
MARTIN. Belaya armeya chornee barone
Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee trone
[MARTIN _enters, marching and singing._]
No ot tigee doe bretanskeye Morye
[_Stamps and accents each syllable._]
Anneya krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.
TIPPY. Jesus, Martin, why don't you get Billy Rose to write a new
song for the Red Army?
MARTIN. As soon as Ken learns Krasnaya Armeya I'll teach him the
International.
TIPPY. I can bellyache the Armeya better now than he can.
MARTIN. Damned pity you won't study Russian with us. You have a
natural gift for languages.
TIPPY. The reason Russian is easy for me is because I never learned
the alphabet.
KEN. Boy, what an alphabet!
MARTIN. [_Snapping his fingers._] Da, da, da--ah, be, ve, ge.
TIPPY. [_Picking up book._] Ya, ya, ya,--vas ist das? Das ist ein
buch.
KEN. Da, da, da,--chto etto takoye? Etto kneega.
MARTIN. Fine. Let's go. [_Holds up pencil._] Chto etto takoe?
KEN. Etta karandash.
MARTIN. [_Stands book on table._] Chto?
KEN. Kneega stoeet na stolom.
MARTIN. [_Throws book under table._] Gdye kneega?
KEN. Kneega pod stalom.
MARTIN. Great! Now make a sentence of your own.
KEN. [_Lamely._] Tovarisch Stalin ... [_Stalls._]
TIPPY. [_Cutting in smartly._] Krasnaya armeya pod stalom. [TIPPY
_hangs pants on chair back, and puts away ironing paraphernalia._]
[MARTIN _goes to book shelf and gets Russian reader and
dictionary._]
MARTIN. I've only a few minutes. But we can do half a page. We'll
never get it unless we keep at it eternally.
KEN. For eternity you mean.
MARTIN. You're doing fine with the reading. It'll help you no end
when you get to Russia.
KEN. God, what faith you have!
MARTIN. Sure you're going to Russia. They have millions of
buildings to build, and they can't train architects fast enough.
[_Finds place in book._]
[KEN _hesitates._]
KEN. I'm not kidding myself.--I've been doing this more to help
you.
MARTIN. Listen, Ken. Even if you don't go, you should know Russian
so you can read Soviet architectural journals. The years we wasted
on dead languages!--Russia's alive. They're doing things, new
things, big things! Russian is the language of the next great sweep
in world progress.
TIPPY. Sez you.
MARTIN. You read the New York Times. Where does the real news come
from?
TIPPY. That depends on who is shooting which.
MARTIN. Shooting isn't news. War isn't news. War is old--atavistic,
a confession of failure, evidence of retrogression. News deals with
new things: progress, science, art, invention, the conquest of
nature. That's real news. And where is it coming from today?
TIPPY. All right, all right. When you have learned six thousand
more verbs, each with a hundred irregular forms, then you can read
it in Pravda.
[TIPPY _carries board out to kitchen_, MARTIN _sits at table,_ KEN
_with him_. MARTIN _finds place in book and points to a word._]
KEN. [_Slowly, pronouncing all syllables in monotone, as_ TIPPY
_enters._] Al-yek-tree-feet-see-row-von-nuim ...
MARTIN. [_In disgust._] Stuck on the first word. [_Starts thumbing
dictionary._]
TIPPY. Word? It sounded to me like a derogatory sentence.
[_Knock on the door_, TIPPY _sees envelope that was stuck under it
and picks it up. He is opening envelope when knock is repeated. He
opens door and_ KATE _enters._]
KATE. Hello, Tippy.
TIPPY. Hello, Kate.
KATE. Hi, Ted.
TED. [_Closing book._] Hello, Kate.
KATE. [_Starts toward him but stops at table._] Hello, you bums.
How's the Red Army?
KEN. [_Rising, glad of chance to get away from book._] Tippy just
put it under the table.
KATE. Good for Tippy! He's the only real American among you.
TIPPY. The only real American by conviction. Ted's American by
innocence. He won't know there was a Russian revolution until it
becomes a classic.
KATE. [_Fondly_] That makes him very English. [_Takes_ TED'S
_book._] Is it Chaucer? Or just dear old Ben Jonson?
TED. No such luck. It's a first edition of Hemingway's "The Sun
Also Rises." For a man who wanted it, it's worth ten dollars.
KATE. How much did you pay for it?
TED. Fifty cents.
KATE. _Swell_!
TED. As long as ignorant people go into the secondhand book
business ... It's a tedious business, but if you look over enough
stalls, you're bound to pick up something.
TIPPY. I'm sorry to be sordid in this literary atmosphere, but if
you really have a book worth ten bucks, you'd better sell it.
TED. I will if I can find the right man.
TIPPY. Well--the landlord informs us that he has a more desirable
tenant who wants these quarters. He gives us till tomorrow morning
to raise the rent or he will out us kick.
[KEN _turns away and putters with his drawing instruments_, TED
_goes into bedroom._]
MARTIN. [_Who has been absorbed in dictionary._] Hell, it means
electrification!
TIPPY. Then would I shock you by telling you that the landlord
means business?
MARTIN. Huh? Oh rent! All right, I have my share. Here, take it
now.
[_Hands_ TIPPY _eight dollars_, KATE _takes money out of her
purse_, TIPPY _takes it quietly, nodding understanding._]
KATE. [_With gesture toward bedroom_.] If he does sell his book,
take his eight dollars and hold it. He may not find a ten-dollar
book next month.
[TIPPY _goes to put money in pocket and discovers he has no pants
on._]
TIPPY. Hell. I have no pants.... Sorry, Kate. [_He grabs pants off
chair and goes into bedroom._]
MARTIN. Why don't you quit it, Kate? You aren't helping Ted. You're
ruining him.
KATE. I'm only lending him the money. He'll pay it back.
MARTIN. Like hell he will! The man's been a deadbeat for years.
KATE. [_Desperately._] Martin!
MARTIN. He borrowed off his prosperous friends till he exhausted
that source.
KATE. He sold them books.
MARTIN. Sold nothing!--Disguised gifts. He made the mistake of
naming prices. Fooled me for a while. Then I happened to meet a
real second-hand books man.
KATE. [_Angrily._] What business was it of yours, checking up on
him?
MARTIN. None whatever, so long as it hurt only him and you.
KATE. You boys need his rent. As long as you get it, why can't you
treat him like a gentleman? His pride is all he's got left.
[TED _re-enters. Wears different tie, good fall topcoat, not new.
His hat and book in his hand._]
TED. The man I think should have this book happens to be out of
town. But I know someone else who might take it. I'll go and see
him.
[TIPPY _enters, bathrobe gone, pants on._]
MARTIN. Just a minute, Ted. I've just been told I'm butting in on
something that's none of my business. So, having been accused, I'm
going to justify it.
[TIPPY _tries to gesture him to shut up._]
TED. Yes?
MARTIN. You've been imposing on Tippy here, who is too damned
charitable to speak in his own behalf.
TIPPY. You're not speaking for me, Martin.
MARTIN. All right, then, I'm speaking for myself. Here is Tippy, a
sanitary engineer, cashing in on his education by washing dogs.
He's making a little money. But he could make a lot more if he had
a place of his own.
TIPPY. I'll have it. I'll have it. Give me time.
MARTIN. You'll not have it so long as you let people sponge on you.
TIPPY. That's my business.
MARTIN. You paid Ted's share of the rent last month, [KATE _looks
surprised._] So this month, if Ted stays here he pays not eight but
sixteen dollars. And you stick eight in the savings bank for that
dog laundry.
TIPPY. Now just wait a minute. I can explain last month's ...
MARTIN. I'll not wait for you to think up another kind lie. God
knows I don't enjoy hurting Ted. He was born and raised a
capitalist and an aristocrat. Now he is a cast-off wreck of the
system that made him. I hate the system, not the men it makes--and
least of all the weak ones it throws into the scrap heap. [_Sees
that all are hurt and offended._] Damn it, I'm sorry. My infernal
sense of justice got the better of me. [_He goes out._]
TED. [_With stolid anguish. To_ KATE.] I'm guilty. I took my rent
money and bought this topcoat at a second-hand store.
KATE. You said a friend gave it to you.
TED. I haven't a friend left who'll even give me cast-off clothing.
KATE. But why did you have to lie about it?
TIPPY. That coat's an investment. You can't peddle books on Park
Avenue without a topcoat.--Go along and cash in on your investment.
Sell that book.
KATE. I hope you can.
TED. I probably can--by going through another half hour as pleasant
as this one. [_He goes, shutting door sharply. There is a brief
silence._]
KEN. Well, I might as well tell you I haven't got my share of the
rent, either.
TIPPY. What's the matter? Check late?
KEN. No.--I sent it back.
TIPPY. You what?
KEN. I sent it back.
KATE. Did your father lose his job?
KEN. Bishops don't lose their jobs.
TIPPY. So what are you talking about?
KEN. I've been living off dad for five years.
TIPPY. Starving off him.
KEN. Don't blame dad. I set the amount under Hoover. Bishops aren't
economists.
TIPPY. You sent the check back and asked for a new deal?
KEN. No.
TIPPY. [_Patiently._] Why _did_ you send the check back?
KEN. I'm through letting dad pay me for piddling around here.
TIPPY. But Ken, be reasonable. The landlord must eat.
KEN. Then give him back this place. He can eat the cockroaches.
TIPPY. No tickee, no shirtee; no money, no housee. [_Pause._] And
there's the little matter of our own nutrition.
KEN. I don't expect you and Martin to feed me.
TIPPY. I doubt if we could.
KEN. Martin's right, Tippy. You ought to clear out of here and take
that place you wanted.
TIPPY. Hell, that place has been taken. Bargains like that don't
wait.
KEN. There are other places. But you won't get one as long as you
stay here and we graft off of you. You've been buying half the grub
for the four of us. You fudge the bills against yourself. You're a
goddam fool.
TIPPY. Must you bring that up?
KEN. Listen, Tippy. Martin can take care of himself, anywhere. He
loves flop houses and flop people.
TIPPY. And what about Ted?
KEN. Ted is Kate's problem.
KATE. Why do you feel so bitter toward him?
KEN. [_Savagely._] If you'll recall, we only took him in
temporarily because your mother was coming.
[_Angrily, to_ TIPPY.] Why the hell do you have to plan for Ted? Or
Martin? Or me? I'm not planning for anyone.--I'm clearing out.
TIPPY. Where are you going?
KEN. That's my affair. I'm packing tonight and leaving tomorrow.
[_He goes into bedroom._]
KATE. Lord, what a mess!
TIPPY. Katie, I'm afraid our children are showing too much spirit.
KATE. What's Ken planning? Going on Laura?
TIPPY. Lord, no.
KATE. I'd hardly think so with all that bluff at independence!
[_Pause._]
TIPPY. How much did you girls, as seniors, put down as your
expectation of earning power in five years?
KATE. We didn't do such sordid things at Vassar. And besides, it's
been six years, not five.
TIPPY. Class of '29. Six years, and six of us. Well, we've stuck
together. In solidarity there is strength.
KATE. This looks like a bust up.
TIPPY. Look here, Kate, you'll take care of Ted, won't you?
KATE. Why should I?
TIPPY. [_Snappily._] As an investment. Business is picking up.
Stocks are going up. Culture is coming back. More dogs are being
washed. Rare books will come next.
KATE. So what?
TIPPY. Ted was born a gentleman. The rest of us merely went to
Harvard.
KATE. Believe it or not.
TIPPY. Katie, the coming revolution is poppycock. What's coming is
the same damn thing we used to have. And when it gets back it'll
take its old darlings back into its lap. Ted is one of them. So
hold his hand a little longer.
[_There is a hanging against the door with a foot._ TIPPY _opens
door, and_ LAURA _enters with a tall sack of groceries, which she
shoves into_ TIPPY'S _arms._]
LAURA. Hello. Where's the gang?
TIPPY. Some are in and some are out.
KATE. We speak of Fortune and Dame Fortune walks in.
LAURA. Bringing her own tea.
TIPPY. Fortune. Tea. Ceres. Cornucopia. [_Drops bag on arm, posing
as Goddess with the horn of plenty, and spewing groceries over the
table, fruit rolling to floor._]
KEN. [_Entering from bedroom._] What in ...?
TIPPY. Tea.
KATE. Thank God it wasn't eggs.
LAURA. [_To_ KEN.] Hello, darling.
[TIPPY _retrieves groceries._]
KEN. [_Severely._] What's the idea, Laura?
LAURA. What idea, honey?
KEN. You promised to quit it. There's plenty of grub here.
LAURA. But darling, I can't eat canned baked beans. My ulcer, you
know.
KEN. You haven't any ulcer.
LAURA. Nor any baby. But doctors say nervous girls must be careful,
or they'll have both.
KEN. Don't be a fool.
[TIPPY _starts with bag to kitchen_, KATE _following. At door he
warns her back._]
TIPPY. The preparing of this tea must be a strictly masculine
affair, [KATE _gestures toward_ KEN _and_ LAURA.] I'm sorry, but I
want tea. If a woman enters that kitchen, there won't be tea.
There'll be house-cleaning. [_He goes in and bolts door behind him.
She tries it and finds it locked. She pretends to be interested in
drawings_, KEN _has turned away from_ LAURA _and there is a
pause._]
LAURA. [_Casually._] Anything new, dear?
KEN. [_Savagely._] No. You always ask me that.
LAURA. It doesn't mean anything. Just a little light conversation
to kill that first awkward moment.
KEN. It means, have I got a job.
LAURA. Have you?
KEN. No.
LAURA. Well, you will have one. And more than a job. Some day
somebody will accept your plans for fabricated houses. And you'll
be rich and famous.
KEN. If I kid myself, you needn't.
LAURA. But all this work, Ken ...
KEN. Won't come to anything. I do it from habit. I do it to keep
from going crazy.
LAURA. You do it because you know that fabricated houses are the
coming thing.
KEN. Hell of a chance I'll get at them.
LAURA. There are going to be dozens of firms in the field, and
they'll all want yearly models.
TIPPY. [_Sticking his head in door._] Attention! Sergeant Holden,
go at once to the nearest Commissary and requisition 454 grams of
sucrose.
[KEN _salutes and goes. The girls stare after him._]
KATE. Now what in the _world!_
TIPPY. Sugar, Katie. Sugar.
KATE. But how much?
TIPPY. One pound. He understood. A year in Paris, you know.
LAURA. Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot sugar.
TIPPY. Sorry? It gives him a chance to buy something.--Your failure
to understand the masculine nature is appalling.
KATE. I'll bet you had sugar.
TIPPY. Yes, we had no sugar.--Forget it. [_Exits._]
LAURA. Oh these men!
KATE. You said it!
LAURA. [_Turns on her suddenly._] Kate, what's the matter?
KATE. Matter? Why?
LAURA. You are grouched. Ken is touchy, he wants to quarrel. Tippy
is too nonsensical, even for Tippy. Is something wrong?
KATE. Everything's wrong.
LAURA. Tell me.
KATE. Martin started it. He bawled Ted out for living off me.
LAURA. Oh, well--Martin!
KATE. It seems I gave Ted money for his share of the rent last
month, and he bought a coat with it instead.
LAURA. Oh.
KATE. So Tippy had to pay again.
LAURA, Tippy didn't tell on him?
KATE. You know he wouldn't. Martin found out some way and told for
him.
LAURA. Martin's a beast.
KATE. Maybe he was right. They all but told me to take Ted back and
keep him with me.
LAURA. And you will, I suppose? [KATE _is silent._] I'm sorry.
KATE. I don't mind your question.
LAURA. There's nothing else you can do, really.
KATE. Yes. There's one thing. There's another man.
LAURA. Are you serious?
KATE. _He_ is. Serious, and rich, and--sixty.
LAURA. That beastly old man!
KATE. Every time he said "I'm an old man" I'd say, "Oh, no, Mr.
Selden" till I convinced him.
LAURA. So what, Kate?
KATE. So he thinks he wants me for myself alone. He isn't the least
bit vicarious.
LAURA. Kate, do be serious.
KATE. He wants to reduce his income tax by gifts to eleemosynary
institutions. Don't I look eleemosynary?
LAURA. No. Nor mercenary, either.
KATE. Ah, but I am. And I've been buying love long enough to have
learned the trade. So now I'm going to sell some.
LAURA. And Ted?
KATE. [_Bitterly._] What about him?
LAURA. You love him.
KATE. No, I don't, I used to love him.... But I don't any more. You
can't stay crazy about a man when you give him half your salary
every week. You get to hate him.... Oh, it's worse than hate. It's
contempt.
LAURA. You've stuck it out so long.
KATE. Too long.
LAURA. It'll be different as soon as he strikes something.
KATE. Strikes what? Gold or oil?
LAURA. He'll find something. It takes time.
KATE. Time is the only thing I haven't got to spare. Look, I'm
twenty-seven.
LAURA. But you don't look it.
KATE. I do--I have wrinkles.
LAURA. Don't be silly.
KATE. Around the eyes.
LAURA. You're imagining.
KATE. And yesterday I found a gray hair.
LAURA. Girls of eighteen sometimes have gray hairs.
KATE. But I feel old! And if I don't look it now, I will soon.
[_Pause._] What am I to do, Laura? Keep on working at eighteen
dollars a week till I'm forty?--I haven't a decent thing to wear.
I haven't had a new coat in three years. [_Feverishly._] And I'm
frightened. Calendars frighten me.--I want to have some fun. I want
a man to take me to the Ritz and--pay the check.
LAURA. I know how you feel. Don't you think that I ... What do you
want me to say, Kate?
KATE. There is nothing to say.
LAURA. Look, dear. I don't say you should keep Ted. Drop him and go
it alone a while. If you've been living on nine dollars a week,
eighteen will seem a fortune.
KATE. And what will become of him?
LAURA. If you _are_ leaving him you can't worry about that.
KATE. I do worry about it. That's one of the reasons I'll take the
old man and his money.
LAURA. You're crazy!
KATE. Am I?
LAURA. That's something that--that just isn't done!
KATE. A lot you know.
LAURA. Kate ...
KATE. Oh, stop it! That just isn't done! You don't know anything.
You don't even know how I feel ... week after week giving Ted
money. You've been in love with a man whose fond papa's supported
him so you haven't had to soil your lovely ethics with dirty money.
LAURA. Darling ...
KATE. Don't darling me. And don't tell me what's decent and
proper--and what isn't done!
LAURA. I didn't mean ...
KATE. You didn't mean anything because you don't know anything. But
maybe you're going to learn.--Maybe now you're going to learn
because this gang is breaking up. Not only because my man is a
dead-bent, but because yours is broke.--So now maybe you'll try
keeping a man and see how it feels!
LAURA. Kate!
[KATE _slams out, brushing_ KEN, _who enters, violently aside._]
KEN. What's the matter with her?
LAURA. Nothing.
[KEN _hands sugar to_ TIPPY _and returns._]
KEN. She didn't act like it was nothing.
LAURA. She's going to leave Ted.
KEN. Good! The man's a leech.
LAURA. But he is so helpless.
KEN. He won't starve. We have no jobs in America, but we don't
starve.
LAURA. Ken, are you in trouble?
KEN. In trouble?
LAURA. With your father?
KEN. No. No, indeed--I merely sent dad's check back. It's time,
don't you think? [_With elaborate unconcern._] And as for this
arrangement here ... we're getting on each other's nerves. And
Tippy ought to get out on his own.
LAURA. And you?
KEN. I, too. On my own.
LAURA. But how?
KEN. I don't know. But I'll manage somehow.
LAURA. Oh, Ken ...
KEN. Why don't you clear out like Kate? Forget me. I'm no good to
you. I never will be.
LAURA. Don't talk like that.
KEN. It's true, Laura. Face it. [_She puts her arms around him._]
LAURA. Ken, let's get married.--We've put it off too long.
KEN. Married!
LAURA. Not married then. But let's be together. Let's ...
KEN. It's too late for that. If that was what we'd wanted it would
have happened three years ago.
LAURA. I love you more now than I did then.
KEN. And I'm not saying I love you less.
LAURA. Then?
KEN. In the last three years I've seen a man I used to love and
respect degenerate under my eyes, become a lousy parasite, living
off a woman whose whole income isn't enough for her to live on
decently.
LAURA. How can you compare yourself to Ted?
KEN. Good God, I don't! Yet Ted was once all right.
LAURA. Ted expected the world to support him. He had nothing to
give it. You have ability and ambition. You want to give things to
the world.
KEN. [_Flatly._] I want a job.
LAURA. Of course you do, darling!
KEN. [_Fiercely._] That's all I want. A job. I lay awake nights,
saying over and over, "I want a job, a job, a job ..."
LAURA. Oh, I know!
KEN. I don't think about you when I lie awake at night. I don't
think how nice it would be to have you there in my arms. All I
think about is a job. If it were a choice between you and a job I'd
take the job.--What's the use of kidding ourselves any longer?
[_She is silent. He goes on desperately._] I'm not the same fellow
I was three years ago. People slam doors in my face. Do you
understand? They look at me. They see my clothes, my eyes....
They're antagonized before they speak to me,--just as people are to
a beggar. They say "no" before I ask for anything. No, no, no. They
say it as if I were asking for charity instead of a job. "Nothing
for you." "Sorry." "Nothing today."--It makes a beggar out of you!
[TIPPY _enters, carrying tea tray_.]
TIPPY. Hello! Where's the rest of the tea party? [_Neither
answers._] Well, we'll have double portions, that's nice.
LAURA. Tippy, doesn't your world ever fall out from under you?
TIPPY. Certainly not! [_Pause._]
LAURA. [_With forced gayety._] I say, where's Martin?
TIPPY. Can it be that _you_ are asking for Martin!
LAURA. Uh-huh. I'm ready for him to turn me into a Communist.
TIPPY. That _is_ news!--Where did Kate go?
LAURA. To make a date with her boss. He's sixty and rich--and
serious.
TIPPY. No kidding?--No, my world doesn't drop out from under me. It
merely turns wrong side out in my hand.--Your tea, Ken. It contains
teaffein, which stimulates the heart but quiets the nerves.
Teaffein in tea is the same as caffein in coffee. But under the
profit system we don't know that yet--because no one has invented a
teaffeinless tea.
[KEN _accepts sandwich and tea and tries to be a sport and make the
party._]
KEN. I wouldn't need Martin to turn me into a Communist. All I'd
have to do would be to knock out the partition in the middle of my
brains and let the left side mingle with the right.
TIPPY. As if your brains weren't muddled enough already!
[MARTIN _bursts in, carrying two Soviet posters. Leaves door
ajar._]
MARTIN. Hey, fellows, see what I've got! [_He hangs one up while
the others are inspecting the first._]
LAURA. It's ugly.
KEN. I like them. Why can't Americans make ugly things look
beautiful?
TIPPY. [_To_ MARTIN.] Sow your seed now, Soviet sower. The powers
of darkness have been fertilizing the ground.
[TIPPY _takes thumb tacks and bottle of red ink and goes to
kitchen._]
KEN. A Soviet poster compared to an American lithograph is like a
Soviet film compared with the stuff they grind out in Hollywood.
MARTIN. By God, you're right.--It's the same in all the arts.
LAURA. [_Hysterically jovial._] 'Fess up, Ken. Who's been taking
you to American movies?
KEN. I still remember some I saw during Hoover's administration.
You don't mean they've changed them?
MARTIN. Only the revolution will change that tripe.
LAURA. Gently, Martin. I just told Tippy I was all ripe to turn
Communist. But let's enter by the Socialist door. I don't like
revolutzia. It's bloody.
[MARTIN _pours himself tea_. KEN _squints at posters,_ LAURA
_munches sandwich and giggles_.] Comrade Martin--bring on your
material dialectics.
[_Before_ MARTIN _has chance to answer_, TIPPY'S _voice sings
stridently, as he comes marching in._]
TIPPY. Belaya armeya chornee barone
Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee trone
[_He is now in. A towel is tied about his head with a
big blotch of red ink over his temple. He carries a
broom as a flagstaff to which a red bandanna handkerchief
is attached as a red flag._]
No ot tigee do bretanskeye morye
Armeya krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.
[_On chorus_, MARTIN'S _better voice cuts in strong. He seizes_
LAURA _by the arm, forcing her to march with_ TIPPY. _And_ KEN,
_beating time with goose step, also sings._]
ALL. Tak poost Zheh krasnaya
Shumayet vlasno
Svoe shtik mozoleestoy rookoy
Es vse dolshnee mwee
Neudersheemo
Ette v poslednee sharkee boy.
[_This chorus repeats._]
[_The_ BISHOP _has appeared in the open doorway; they do not see
him and march and sing lustily_, BISHOP HOLDEN _stands and watches
them in growing consternation. They see him and stop suddenly. Only_
MARTIN'S _voice finishes the last line._]
LAURA. Bishop Holden!
BISHOP. What is this?
KEN. Hello, Dad.
TIPPY. Just a bit of fun. [_He tosses the broom with its flag into
a corner, but has forgotten to take off bandage. He steps up and
offers his hand to the Bishop._] How are you, sir?
BISHOP. [_Shaking hands._] What is the matter with your head?
TIPPY. Oh Jesus! [_Yanks off towel._]
BISHOP. Were you rehearsing for a theatrical?
TIPPY. Full dress. My wound was dressed with red ink.
BISHOP. And that song you were singing? I couldn't quite place it.
MARTIN. That's a Red Army song.
BISHOP. Red Army?
MARTIN. Soviet--Russian.
BISHOP. So you were all engaged in a little burlesque? Sorry to
have disturbed you.
MARTIN. Tippy was making it burlesque. He refuses to take anything
seriously.
BISHOP. And the--uh--occasion?
MARTIN. The occasion was that I had just brought home those
posters.
BISHOP. [_Looking at the posters._] Ah, I see.
MARTIN. How do you like them?
BISHOP. The lettering has some Greek characters. I take it that is
Russian?
KEN. Of course, dad. They're Soviet posters.--A rather distinctive
form of art.
BISHOP. Ah, it is the unique art and the martial music you find
entertaining--or were you burlesquing a Communist meeting?
KEN. It was just Tippy's idea of fun.
BISHOP. [_Not quite satisfied._] But you were all singing that song
as if you know it well.
LAURA. Martin's always singing it--till we've memorized it without
the least idea what it means.
BISHOP. [_Satisfied._] Ah yes, of course. I once learned a Japanese
song.
MARTIN. I'm studying Russian.
KEN. It's quite a language, dad. It would be easy for you with your
knowledge of Greek.
BISHOP. Are you studying Russian, too?
KEN. Martin's been teaching me a little. I wish I had your
linguistic preparation for it.
BISHOP. I learned Greek so I could read the Gospels in the original
tongue.
TIPPY. That's why they're learning Russian.
BISHOP. The Gospels in Russian?
TIPPY. Saint Marx, Saint Engels, Saint Lenin and Saint Stalin.
BISHOP. But--if you mean Karl Marx, he wrote in German.
TIPPY. Hitler had him translated into Russian so the Germans
couldn't read him.
BISHOP. You're a very witty young man. Your sense of humor will
save you from any dangerous doctrine.
MARTIN. His sense of humor saves him from anything serious.
BISHOP. While I don't approve of a flippant attitude toward life,
it is far better than accepting dangerous and destructive
doctrines--such as Russian Communism.
MARTIN. Dangerous to world capitalism--but constructive of a new
civilization.
BISHOP. Young man, may I ask if you are American born?
MARTIN. I was born on a Dakota farm. My father was an American
kulak. An insurance company expropriated him.
LAURA. Bishop Holden didn't come to get into arguments with you
boys.
BISHOP. Another time, perhaps. I think I could convince you that
you're following a dangerous delusion.
MARTIN. Thanks, Laura. You're right. I'll run along.
TIPPY. I'll go with you. I've a bit of shopping I ought to do.
MARTIN. I'll get your hat. [_Goes to bedroom._]
BISHOP. And how is your business progressing, Timothy? Kenneth
wrote me about it. Don't be ashamed of it. Don't be ashamed of
honest labor, young man.--You are boarding dogs, I believe.
TIPPY. No. I have no place for that. I only wash them.
BISHOP. You wash them and they pay you?
TIPPY. Yes sir. That is, I wash the dogs, and the people pay me.
BISHOP. Ah yes. I understand.
[MARTIN _comes out with_ TIPPY'S _hat. Picks up his own._]
TIPPY. Clean dogs for clean people.
MARTIN. Lap dogs for kept women.--People are desperate and
destitute.--And Tippy washes dogs for a living!
BISHOP. It's a sad world. It's true that some have too much, and
many have too little....
MARTIN. But we mustn't protest. The meek shall inherit the earth!
BISHOP. And the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
MARTIN. I respect any man for his convictions. But it seems to me,
sir, if you want to save the church when the revolution comes to
America, you had better see to it that the class sympathy of the
church agrees with the class sympathy of the man who founded it.
TIPPY. [_Hurriedly._] Good-bye, sir. [TIPPY _and_ MARTIN _go._]
[LAURA _quickly gathers up the tea things and puts them on a tray
and goes to kitchen. In the following scene she is on and off. The_
BISHOP _walks about, troubled and silent. He looks at posters,
picks up the Russian books and looks at them._]
BISHOP. Russian. Why are you studying Russian?
KEN. I find it interesting.
BISHOP. Chinese would be interesting. Why Russian?
KEN. I am interested in their architectural developments.
BISHOP. My boy, you haven't it in mind to go to Russia?
KEN. [_Evasive._] Wanting doesn't get you there.
BISHOP. Why, of all places in the world, should you want to go to
Russia?
KEN. There is no unemployment there. They need men.
BISHOP. [_Impatiently._] Oof! Russia ...
[TED _enters. He still has the book._]
TED. [_Greeting_ BISHOP _with aloof diffidence._] How do you do,
sir?
BISHOP. [_Very cordial._] How are you? How are you?
TED. [_Sees_ KEN _looking at his book._] My man wasn't in. I'll go
back and try again later. Is Kate here?
KEN. No. She stepped out.
TED. Then, if you'll excuse me I'll go into the other room and lie
down. I've developed a frightful headache.
BISHOP. That is unfortunate. Have you aspirin?
TED. Yes, thank you. [_He goes into bedroom, closing door._]
BISHOP. Now there is a fine young man who's facing a real problem.
He certainly wasn't trained for commercial pursuits. Yet there he
is--selling. Uh, what is he selling, Kenneth?
KENNETH. [_Sarcastically._] Books.
BISHOP. I knew his father well. A gentleman and a scholar.
Unfortunately, he was a gambler. The depression finished him.
KEN. It's finishing a lot of us.
BISHOP. My boy, I would not have you be extravagant, but I still
have enough. I can still support you.
KEN. I'm sick of living on charity.
BISHOP. Charity?
KEN. On your charity.
BISHOP. You are my son. What little I give you is yours by right.
KEN. What right? I'm not a child, nor a cripple. I'm nearly thirty
years old.
BISHOP. These are not normal times.
KEN. They are normal for me.
BISHOP. Be patient a little longer. Our system is not perfect, but
it's the best the world has known. It has been responsible for all
our progress.
KEN. We're not even aiming at progress, only at recovery; only
trying to gain back something we had in the past.
BISHOP. But how can you think there is progress in Russia? It's a
slave state; a tyranny. Freedom is essential to progress.
KEN. I don't want freedom. I want a chance to work. I want my
share.... Other people have their share, and they have dogs. I
don't want dogs, but I want a right to have them.
BISHOP. Your soul is poisoned with envy.
KEN. It's a short life, dad, and mine is half gone already. There
is beauty; I want to enjoy it. There are good things; I want some
of them. Disease and death we can't help, but poverty we _can_
help.
BISHOP. This is Martin's influence. [_Excited._] Ken, you must not
turn Communist. Do you hear? I forbid it.
KEN. The Inquisition tried forbidding convictions.
BISHOP. [_Frightened._] Convictions?
KEN. I'm fed up. [_More savage and bitter as he goes on._] One can
go on so long. Things look hopeless but you still hope. Important
people make cheerful speeches. You believe them. You _want_ to
believe them. You think tomorrow something's going to happen.
Something's got to happen! Tomorrow comes and goes--a lot of
tomorrows. Nothing happens, nothing. And nothing's going to happen.
BISHOP. My son, you are wrong. The situation is improving. Business
conditions are already vastly better. It takes time. You'll get a
job, very soon.
KEN. I've heard that for six years.
[_Pause._]
BISHOP. [_Clearing his throat; takes check from pocket._] Now this
check you returned ...
KEN. [_Shortly._] I don't want it.
BISHOP. But how can you get along without it?
KEN. I'll get along.
BISHOP. How do you propose to live?
KEN. By sleeping on park benches, eating in our bread lines.--Or
I'll tell the government I'm destitute--or get a relief job.--I
won't go on the way I've been doing.--Laura comes and brings food;
Tippy leaves cigarettes around; you send me checks. I'm sick of
having to take from you all!--If I've got to live by charity, I
want to be free to hate charity. That's a beggar's right.
BISHOP. It gives us pleasure to help you.
KEN. But can't you see what you're doing to my self-respect?
BISHOP. I don't want to hurt your self-respect.
KEN. Then leave me alone.
[_Pause._]
BISHOP. [_Clearing his throat._] Have you been to see Stanley
Prescott?
KEN. Yes.
BISHOP. Why hasn't he done something for you?
KEN. I suppose he can't.
BISHOP. Prescott's my friend. He ought to do something for you.
KEN. Oh, the hell with Prescott! [_Contrite._] Don't misunderstand
me. I wouldn't refuse any job he had to offer me. I'd black his
boots if that was the job. But I've been to see him as much as I
can. I can't sit on his doorstep and whine.
BISHOP. Certainly not. You must not do anything that would hurt
your self-respect. [_He has been holding the check, which he now
lays down on the table._]
KEN. Don't leave that check, dad.
BISHOP. But son--
KEN. If you do, I'll tear it up.
[BISHOP _picks up check, talks to_ LAURA.]
BISHOP. I'll leave this check with you, Laura. Give it to him when
he--when he is himself again. [_At this_ KEN _picks up his hat and
walks out without a word. The two look unhappily after him_.
BISHOP, _shaken._] That boy--that sane youth ... What's happened
to him?
LAURA. [_With difficulty._] He wants to break our engagement.
BISHOP. Ah! That's the trouble then. You two have quarrelled.
LAURA. He doesn't need me. I don't mean anything to him....
BISHOP. But of course you do.--There, Laura, there!
LAURA. No. He doesn't. I feel it.
BISHOP. Why, for years you've meant everything to him. He planned
to marry you as soon as he graduated. ...
LAURA. Oh, he's so muddled--he's so muddled!
BISHOP. I know how you feel, my dear, but lovers' quarrels ...
LAURA. It's not a lovers' quarrel. Oh, don't you understand? His
morale's all shot.
BISHOP. Kenneth is essentially sound. Now don't worry, my dear.
[_Indulgently._] I'll wait and have another talk with him, eh?
Perhaps that's what he needs; a good, sound, heart-to-heart talk
with his father.
LAURA. He needs a job! He needs a job! It's more important than I
am--more important than you--more important than anything in the
world.
[TED _opens the door; starts to come out; hears the tense
conversation and stands, hesitant._]
BISHOP. You are right. Work is essential,--more essential than
love. That's what all these young people need. Something to do with
their hands, with their heads. To feel that the world needs
them--that they have a right to live.
LAURA. That they belong!
BISHOP. Yes, yes ...
LAURA. You've got to find him a job. You've got to!
BISHOP. Dear child--if only I could!
LAURA. You've got to!--even if you have to buy one.
BISHOP. Buy one?
LAURA. [_Moving closer to him._] He need never know....
[TED _draws back and softly closes the door._]
SLOW CURTAIN