_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.)
End of Project Gutenberg's Class of '29, by Orrie Lashin and Milo Hastings