_SCENE: The scene is the same as that of ACT I, except that it
is five o’clock in the afternoon of a day in late October._
_MARTIN is discovered behind the desk, right. Before him is
a pile of evening papers and some unopened letters. As the
curtain rises he opens one, displaying to the audience on its
back page a page-advertisement of 13 Soap. In a moment he turns
over to others, gives an annoyed exclamation and tosses it
aside. He picks up one of the letters, opens it, gives an angry
grunt, mutters disgustedly “13 Soap”, and throws it into the
waste basket._
JOHNSON. (_Entering door upper L._) Miss Grayson is here to see you, sir——
MARTIN. (_A bit surprised_) Miss Grayson? Well, show her in.
JOHNSON. Very good, sir. (_He exits. MARTIN opens another paper, again
sees an advertisement of 13 Soap and with considerable irritation sweeps
the whole pile off the desk as JOHNSON enters, followed by MARY_) Miss
Grayson. (_JOHNSON exits_)
MARY. How do you do, Mr. Martin?
MARTIN. Come to get your job back, I suppose?
MARY. No, sir.
MARTIN. Well, you can have it—at the old salary.
MARY. I don’t want it.
MARTIN. Oh, Rodney sent you to plead for him?
MARY. No, sir.
MARTIN. Then, what are you here for?
MARY. To make you a business proposition.
MARTIN. Why doesn’t Rodney make it himself?
MARY. He doesn’t know I’m here.
MARTIN. That’s something in his favor: can’t see much use in women tying
up in men’s business.
JOHNSON. (_Entering_) Mr. Rodney Martin and Ambrose Peale.
MARTIN. Oh, the whole firm! Send ’em in, Johnson.
JOHNSON. Very good, sir. (_He exits_)
(_RODNEY and PEALE enter._)
RODNEY. Hello, father. (_Crosses to table_)
PEALE. How do you do, sir? (_Coming down L._)
(_MARTIN grunts to them both._)
RODNEY. (_Seeing MARY_) Mary, what on earth are you doing here?
MARY. I came to tell your father about Marshall Field’s order.
RODNEY. That’s why we’re here, too.
PEALE. Absolutely.
MARTIN. Let me tell you right now, I won’t back any fake company.
RODNEY. But we’re not a fake any longer.
PEALE. We’ve actually sold some soap.
MARY. Fifty thousand cakes.
RODNEY. To Marshall Field.
MARTIN. Then why did you send ’em only five thousand cakes?
RODNEY. Because after we’d got that much from one of your branch
factories you shut off our supply.
PEALE. And we couldn’t get any more soap anywhere.
MARY. (_Accusingly_) And you knew it very well. (_Crossing to R. side of
MR. MARTIN_)
RODNEY. We’ve still got 45,000 cakes to deliver, if we can get ’em from
you. Why let all that money get out of the family? It’s a business
proposition.
MARTIN. No, it isn’t. Don’t fool yourself: I sent that telegram.
RODNEY. What telegram?
MARTIN. The telegram from Marshall Field’s ordering the 50,000 cakes.
MARY. You sent it?
MARTIN. That day at the office you were pretty game, son, and to tell the
truth, I felt so sorry for you, I kind of had to do something, so I sent
that wire——
RODNEY. So that success is all a bluff, too? (_Sits on sofa_)
MARY. But what did you do it for?
MARTIN. Well, I figured an order like that would stall off your
creditors, and then I had fixed it with one of our factories to let you
have 5,000 cakes at three cents a cake. I knew it would mean some ready
cash for you from Marshall Field——
PEALE. But how did you square Marshall Field?
MARTIN. Oh, I just wired ’em I’d be responsible, and, say—(_Turning to
RODNEY, who rises_) you had a nerve to charge ’em sixty cents a cake—and
I had to pay the bill! That shipment cost me $3,000 for $150 worth of
soap. (_PEALE laughs_) That isn’t funny, young man.
RODNEY. No, it isn’t: I thought we’d really made good, and all the time
it was you behind us——
MARTIN. You see, my boy, even if you did nearly trim me, I’ve got a sort
of sneaking fondness for you. Look here, son, why not quit? There’s no
market for dollar soap.
RODNEY. But how do you know?
MARTIN. I had a letter from Marshall Field a few days ago asking me what
to do with the soap. They hadn’t sold a cake. I told ’em to dump it in
the Chicago River; it might help to clean it up.
RODNEY. But you didn’t give our advertising a chance.
PEALE. We only finished a great big advertising campaign in Chicago two
days ago.
RODNEY. I know the soap’ll make good—with that trade-mark.
MARTIN. If your trade-mark was so marvelous, somebody besides your poor
old father would have bought your soap.
PEALE. Oh, what’s the use? He doesn’t believe in advertising!
MARTIN. Oh, yes, I do: sound, conservative advertising, but not the
crazy, sensational stuff you go in for.
MARY. Oh, you’re just mad because the soap trust didn’t think of 13 Soap
itself.
MARTIN. Why, we wouldn’t touch a fool thing like that. If you deliver the
goods, your goods will advertise you—that’s always been our policy.
RODNEY. I’m sorry, father, but you are old-fashioned to knock the modern
way of advertising. Why, do you know, the National Biscuit Company was on
the verge of failing until they hit on the title, Uneeda Biscuit?
MARY. And since then, they have had over four hundred lawsuits to protect
it.
RODNEY. Their trade-mark made ’em. They value that trade-mark now at six
million dollars.
PEALE. Great stuff. (_Turning to MARTIN_)—and Spearmint Gum just as a
trade-mark is worth seven millions.
RODNEY. And the Fairbanks people count their trade-mark, The Gold Dust
Twins, at $10,000,000.
MARY. Ever hear of the Gillette Safety Razor?
MARTIN. I use it myself.
MARY. Tell him about it, Rodney.
RODNEY. It costs you five dollars. Don’t you know there’s a mighty good
safety razor for a quarter, and dozens at a dollar, but you use the
Gillette because Gillette was there first; you buy his razor at a high
price simply because of its trade-mark.
MARY. (_With gesture_) Advertising.
RODNEY _and_ PEALE. (_With gesture_) Absolutely.
PEALE. Ivory Soap in the magazines alone used $450,000 worth of space
in 1913—and at three cents a cake wholesale, that represents 15,000,000
cakes for magazine advertising alone.
MARTIN. I don’t believe it.
PEALE. Yes, and a lot of other guys didn’t believe that iron ships would
float or that machines heavier than air would fly, or that you could talk
to ’Frisco on a wire or send a message across the Atlantic without a
wire. Pardon me, sir, but you want to get on to yourself.
RODNEY. Yes, father, you certainly do.
MARY. And you’d better hurry up.
MARTIN. You’ve got a fine lot of theories, but what have they done for
those 5,000 cakes of 13 Soap out at Marshall Field’s?
PEALE. Why, we haven’t really spent enough money advertising.
RODNEY. That’s true. Every time the American Tobacco Company puts out a
new cigarette they start off by appropriating $200,000 to boom it.
PEALE. And I suppose they are a lot of boobs?
RODNEY. And think what other firms spend! I’ve gone into this thing,
father——
MARY. Yes, Rodney, let’s show him our list.
RODNEY. Sure, it’s an absolutely accurate list of what some of the big
advertisers spent in the thirty-one leading magazines last year. Eastman
Kodak, $400,000, Postum Coffee, $125,000, Arrow Collars, $400,000,
Melachrino Cigarettes, $100,000, Welch’s Grape Juice, $100,000.
PEALE. Grape Juice, my friend!
MARY. Uneeda Biscuit, $150,000. Spearmint Gum, $140,000.
MARTIN. That’s enough.
RODNEY. I’ve only just begun. Grape Nuts, $228,000.
MARY. Colgate’s Dental Cream, $230,000.
PEALE. Campbell’s Soups, $186,000.
MARY. Kellogg’s Toasted Cornflakes, $200,000.
RODNEY. Quaker Oats, $367,000, and these are only a few. You can’t see
how it pays, but you do know that it must pay or they wouldn’t do it.
MARY. Does that mean anything to you?
PEALE. Yes. Does it when you realize that those thirty-one magazines have
only about 10,000,000 readers?
RODNEY. And that there are a hundred million people in this country. Why
just to appeal to one-tenth of the population, fifty million dollars was
spent in magazines last year, and each year people are getting better
educated—more people are wanting to read. It won’t be long before there
are 25,000,000 people buying magazines, and you can reach all of them
by advertising—get a new market, a new population to deal with. Think
what national advertising is accomplishing! It sells automobiles, vacuum
cleaners, talking machines, rubber heels, kodaks, washing machines,
foods, clothes, shoes, paints, houses, plumbing, electric irons, fireless
cookers—mostly to a lot of people who’d never even hear of ’em if it
weren’t for advertisements.
PEALE. But nowadays it isn’t only people who have stoves to sell
or tooth-brushes, that are spending money on publicity. Banks are
advertising for money, nations for immigrants, colleges for students,
cities for citizens, and churches for congregations, and you sit there
thinking it doesn’t pay to advertise.
MARY. Six hundred and sixteen million dollars were spent last year in
magazines and newspapers, billboards and electric signs.
RODNEY. Bringing education and comfort and fun and luxury to the
people of the United States. It’s romance, father, the romance of
printing-presses, of steel rails, of the wireless, of trains and
competition, the romance of modern business, and it’s all built on
advertising. Advertising is the biggest thing in this country, and it’s
only just begun.
MARTIN. (_After a pause_) Why didn’t you boys go into the advertising
business? You seem to know something about that?
PEALE. (_Fairly tearing his hair_) Oh, what’s the use! He’s the old
school—we’re new blood. (_Coming to L. of C._)
RODNEY. (_With enthusiasm_) Youth has got it on old age.
MARY. (_Coming down between PEALE and RODNEY_) You bet it has!
MARTIN. When you boys get through talking and you’re flat broke and down
and out, come around and see me: I’ll show you an old business that has a
lot of money that isn’t radical and manages to keep going without wasting
a fortune in fool advertising.
RODNEY. Then you won’t let us get any soap.
MARTIN. Risk my business reputation on a silly scheme like Dollar Soap? I
should say not!
PEALE. Oh, come on. What’s the use of talking to a man whose brain is
deaf? (_Exit door upper L., keeping in step, single-file_)
MARTIN. (_Rises and comes to center_) Say when you get a new line of
patter, come around. I like to hear you. Dollar Soap!
JOHNSON. (_Enters_) I beg pardon, a gentleman to see you, sir. (_JOHNSON
hands MARTIN a card on silver tray_)
MARTIN. “Mr. Charles Bronson.” What does he want?
JOHNSON. He says he’s from Marshall Field.
MARTIN. Oh, a kick, I suppose? Send him in.
JOHNSON. Yes, sir. (_He exits_)
(_Enter BRONSON._)
BRONSON. (_Inquiringly_) Mr. Martin?
MARTIN. Yes.
BRONSON. I just arrived from Chicago. I am here in reference to the 13
Soap.
MARTIN. Be seated. Well, what about it? (_Sits in chair L. of table_)
BRONSON. (_Sits in chair R. of desk_) While, of course, we understand
that the 13 Soap is made by your son, Mr. Rodney Martin, at the same time
as you wired us you would be responsible for that order, Marshall Field
felt that I should first see you in the matter.
MARTIN. Humph!
BRONSON. We realize, of course, that you are backing your son——
MARTIN. (_Gruffly_) Well, why shouldn’t I back him?
BRONSON. Of course, of course. That is why we’d like to place our order
through you.
MARTIN. (_Amazed_) Place your what?
BRONSON. Through some error we received only 5,000 cakes, instead of
50,000 but that’s all gone.
MARTIN. All gone? What happened to it?
BRONSON. We’ve sold it.
MARTIN. Sold it?
BRONSON. Yes, and we want the balance of the original order you were kind
enough to throw our way, and as much more soap as we can get.
MARTIN. But only the other day I had a letter from Marshall Field saying
they hadn’t sold a cake.
BRONSON. (_Laughing_) I know, I know. We felt at first that of course
there could be no popular market for a dollar soap; we weren’t as
far-sighted as you were. (_MARTIN clears his throat_) But of course,
when those extraordinary advertisements appeared, so different from your
usual conservative publicity, the sales began immediately! We sold the
5,000 cakes in two days.
MARTIN. And the advertising did it?
BRONSON. Of course, what else? Now we want to handle your goods
exclusively in the west—with extensive immediate deliveries. Can that be
arranged?
MARTIN. It ought to be. What do you offer?
BRONSON. I dare say we would contract for a quarter of a million cakes of
soap.
MARTIN. (_Amazed_) A quarter of a million!
BRONSON. (_Misunderstanding him_) Of course we might do a little better
if we could settle the matter at once.
MARTIN. I should have to consult my son first.
BRONSON. (_Rising_) Oh, then perhaps I ought to go see him?
MARTIN. (_Rising_) Not at all—not at all. I’ll attend to it.
BRONSON. But we thought that you would have full power.
MARTIN. As a matter of courtesy I should like to talk things over with my
own boy——
BRONSON. But you control the product?
MARTIN. Bronson, you can trust me to handle this thing.
BRONSON. Of course, of course. When can I see you again?
MARTIN. In half an hour.
BRONSON. Very well. I’ve some matters to attend to. I’ll be back in half
an hour. (_Going to door upper L._) It’s a wonderful soap, Mr. Martin.
MARTIN. (_Dryly_) Oh, wonderful.
BRONSON. See you in half an hour. (_BRONSON exits_)
MARTIN. Wonderful soap—plain pink castile, I’ve got to get in on this.
(_He goes to ’phone_) 1313 Bryant. Hello, is this the 13 Soap Company?
JOHNSON. (_Enters_) Oh, beg pardon, sir, but—
MARTIN. Just a minute. Is Mr. Rodney Martin in? No? Never mind who I am.
Good-bye. Johnson, call up my son’s office every ten minutes and let me
know the minute he comes in. Don’t tell ’em who’s calling. (_Crosses to
R._)
JOHNSON. Yes, sir.
MARTIN. And when Mr. Bronson comes back, be sure to have him wait for me.
JOHNSON. Yes, sir. There’s a lady to see you, sir. She speaks English now.
MARTIN. She does, eh? That’s unusual, isn’t it?
JOHNSON. I mean, sir, when she was here two months ago she could only
talk French.
MARTIN. Indeed! Well, I’m not interested in the languages she speaks. Who
is she, and what does she want?
JOHNSON. She wishes to see you about the French rights of the 13 Soap.
MARTIN. The what?
JOHNSON. The French rights.
MARTIN. Great Scott! Send her right in.
JOHNSON. Yes, sir. The Countess de Bowreen. (_He exits_)
COUNTESS. (_Enters_) How do you do?
MARTIN. (_Comes down in front of table_) How do you do?
COUNTESS. I am the Countess de Beaurien. Your son have told you of me!
MARTIN. No.
COUNTESS. I bet he have not. He is a cheat—he trick me.
MARTIN. Now, my dear lady——
COUNTESS. Attendez, you listen to me: two months ago there in that very
room, I buy the French rights for the 13 Soap. I pay him 15,000 dollar
and now I cannot get any soap.
MARTIN. You will have to see my son.
COUNTESS. But I have seen him, and he give me no satisfaction. If I
cannot get any soap, I must have my money, one or the other, or I put him
in the jail. He is a cheat. I have here ze contract. I sue him in the
court.
MARTIN. My dear lady, you mustn’t feel that way.
COUNTESS. Feel! Ah, mon dieu—I trick no one, I play fair, I am an
honest woman. Mais je vous dis que je suis honnête, très honnête dans
mes affaires. Monsieur votre fils m’a donné le contrat, et j’insiste
qu’il est très malhonnête. Je n’ai pas l’habitude d’être si maltraitée,
monsieur, et je répète que je ferai tout mon possible d’obtenir les
quinze mille dollars que me doit Monsieur votre fils, et s’il ne me les
donne pas, je le poursuivrai sans cesse. Comprenez-vous, Monsieur? (_She
takes the contract from him_)
MARTIN. But I don’t understand French.
COUNTESS. Pardon, Monsieur, always I am excited I speak the French. But!
If you love your son, you pay me back, or else he go to jail. What you
say?
MARTIN. But $15,000 is a lot of money.
COUNTESS. Yes. But it is more to me than it is to you. You pay me, or he
go to prison. Now what you say?
(_JOHNSON enters._)
MARTIN. What is it?
JOHNSON. I beg pardon, a gentleman to see you, sir.
MARTIN. (_Comes to JOHNSON_) Is it Bronson?
JOHNSON. No, sir. (_JOHNSON hands him card_)
MARTIN. By George, just the man I want to see! Show him right in. Hold
on, hold on. Now, Duchess, if you don’t mind, just step in this room a
minute. (_Indicating room lower R._)
COUNTESS. No, no, I do not like that room: I have been there before.
MARTIN. Here is a nice room. (_Points to room lower L._) You will find it
very comfortable.
COUNTESS. Very well, I wait. (_Crosses to left_) But in fifteen minutes
if I do not get the 15,000 dollar, I go to my lawyers, and your son—poof!
he is done. (_Talking in French as she exits_)
MARTIN. (_To JOHNSON_) Did you get my son’s office?
JOHNSON. Yes, sir—he hasn’t come in.
MARTIN. If you reach him while Mr. Peale’s here don’t mention Rodney’s
name; just call him “that party.” I’ll understand. (_Crosses R._)
JOHNSON. Yes, sir. (_He exits_)
(_PEALE enters door upper L._)
MARTIN. Now, see here, young man!
PEALE. Now, one moment, Mr. Martin. I just want to say that I am a man of
few words—that this isn’t advertising, it’s personal. I know you don’t
like me.
MARTIN. Why do you say that?
PEALE. Because I’m a pretty wise gink.
MARTIN. Well, you are a bit——
PEALE. Fresh? Well, I guess that’s right, too. But that’s me—I’m not your
style. Here’s the idea: your son has been immense to me. Great kid, and
it struck me the reason you wouldn’t back him was because I was mixed up
in his business. So I just came to say if that’s the situation, why I’m
out, that’s all. You go ahead with him alone.
MARTIN. You’re not a partner?
PEALE. I should say not. I’m just a hired hand. He could can me any
moment, but he’s not the kind of guy who’d do that.
MARTIN. Then you haven’t power to sign, to make a deal?
PEALE. I should say not. Why, he and Miss Grayson do all the signing.
If I could have signed contracts, I’d have spent a million dollars in
advertising. And believe me, you ought to back him, because, honest, Mr.
Martin, it’s a great scheme—the 13 Soap, on the level, if it’s handled
right and the publicity end is——
MARTIN. Now don’t get started on advertising.
PEALE. That’s right, too. Well, I guess that’s all. I wanted to tell
you how I stood about Rodney. That’s off my chest, so good afternoon.
(_Starts to go_)
MARTIN. Wait a minute. What did you boys mean by trimming that poor
Countess on the French rights?
PEALE. Jumping Jupiter; has she been here?
MARTIN. She’s here now.
PEALE. What did she come to see you for?
MARTIN. She said she’d put Rodney in jail for fraud unless I made good
that $15,000. I’ve got to pay her—can’t see the boy disgraced.
PEALE. Say, if you’d like to save that $15,000, I’ll fix it for you.
MARTIN. But she’s got a contract.
PEALE. I’ll get it for you cheap. Pardon me, sir, but I know how to
handle dames like her.
MARTIN. Mr. Peale, I like you. (_Slaps him on shoulder_)
PEALE. Huh!
MARTIN. Have a cigar?
(_PEALE crosses R. He takes it as JOHNSON enters._)
JOHNSON. I just telephoned _that party_, he is at his office now.
MARTIN. Good, good. Peale, I’ve got to go out on an important soap deal.
(_He starts to go, then goes to PEALE_) Oh, by George, I nearly forgot.
There’s another matter I must attend to first. Peale, you’ll find the
Countess in there. Do the best you can—we’ll settle the details when I
get back. Make yourself at home.
PEALE. Sure. This cigar’s great company.
MARTIN. Good cigar, eh?
PEALE. Corker.
MARTIN. Johnson, send over half a dozen boxes of these cigars to Mr.
Peale’s house. He’ll give you the address. (_He exits left_)
PEALE. And, say, Johnson, wrap ’em up now and I’ll take ’em with me.
JOHNSON. Very good, sir. (_He exits. PEALE walks over to the window and
looks out at the 13 Soap signs_)
PEALE. (_The telephone rings. PEALE looks at it, it rings again, he goes
over to desk and raises it_) Yes, Sweetie—this is the garage. How long
does it take to go to Coney Island? How in hell do I know? (_Business of
changing money and watch to different pockets. Goes to door L., and opens
it_) Countess de Bull Run. (_He goes into some fake French_) De juis—de
joie—politesse noblesse oblige.
COUNTESS. You ought to take up French—your accent’s immense. Well, little
sweetheart?
PEALE. Say, what are you doing in these parts?
COUNTESS. Oh, I came to see Mr. Martin.
PEALE. What for?
COUNTESS. What do you think?
PEALE. See here, now, if you’re aiming to trim the old man, I won’t stand
for it.
COUNTESS. Ambrose, do me a favor.
PEALE. What is it?
COUNTESS. Don’t tell old Martin what I tried to do to you boys. He’s the
kind that would put me in jail. I’ll be on the level. I did come here
to try to trim him, but I’ll cut it out. Honest, I will. Oh, Ambrose, I
don’t like being a grafter. I’ve had to do a lot of things I didn’t want
to. You don’t know how hard it is for girls like me. I never had a show.
I ran away from home when I was a kid. I’ve been pretty much up against
it. Is what I’ve done to other guys going to butt in and queer me?
PEALE. Nix, nix——
COUNTESS. Give me a chance to be on the square. It ain’t easy for a girl
to fight it out all by herself when she’s all alone: no money—no friends
and you got to live—live on five a week. You got a lot for a good time,
haven’t you? God, I’ve been lonely sometimes; you’ve got to be pretty
smart to steer straight—but I’ve done it, I’ve done it, I’ve done it.
(_She breaks down and sits on chair R. of desk_)
PEALE. (_Kindly_) Now, see here, Countess—(_He pats her on back_)—don’t
do that—don’t, don’t—(_She is sobbing a little_) Oh, quit it. (_A pause_)
Keep it for some poor boob who’ll fall for it.
COUNTESS. (_Tearfully_) Oh, Ambrose, don’t talk like that——
PEALE. Say, honest, it’s foolish wasting it on me, kid.
COUNTESS. (_Completely changing to a radiant smile. Rises_) Well, it’s
always worth trying once.
PEALE. (_Genially_) Sure it is. Why, you had me winging for a minute,
but when you pulled that wheeze about “I’ve done it,” three times in
succession, I knew it was phoney.
COUNTESS. But, honest, I was on the level about old Martin.
PEALE. Nix, nix, you came here to trim him for the $15,000 on the French
rights.
COUNTESS. Gosh, have you seen him?
PEALE. Yes, he left me here to settle it. Where’s the contract? Come
on—gimme—gimme——
COUNTESS. You mean you’ve been on all the time?
PEALE. Sure.
COUNTESS. And you let me sit there and emote all over the place.
PEALE. Gimme—gimme——
COUNTESS. Oh, I suppose I’ve got to. Oh, I’m sick of soap anyhow. 13 may
be a lucky hunch for you boys, but it has been a hoodoo for me.
PEALE. And now, my little hearts of lettuce, this concludes your portion
of the evening’s entertainment.
COUNTESS. But at that, don’t give me away, will you?
PEALE. I like you, you’ve got brains. Most chickens are just chickens.
COUNTESS. You are 18-karat, kid.
(_MARY, followed by RODNEY, enters hurriedly and sees PEALE._)
RODNEY. Oh, have you seen father? Is he here?
PEALE. I’m waiting for him now.
MARY. It’s most important.
PEALE. You remember the Countess? (_All bow embarrassed. Pause_)
COUNTESS. Well, I guess I’m not wanted, so I’ll trot. I’ll trot. (_Goes
to door upper L._) So long, you 13 Soap suds. (_Exits_)
MARY. Where is father?
PEALE. Yes, what’s the excitement?
MARY. Just after we got to the office there was a letter from Macy’s.
RODNEY. Ordering 10,000 cakes of 13 Soap.
MARY. Now what do you think of that?
PEALE. Pinch me, I’m dreaming! (_Going down R._)
RODNEY. They say our advertising’s wonderful and has created such a
demand they want to handle the soap in town. (_Goes around table down R._)
PEALE. (_Wonderingly_) Then all the things we said to your father are
really true? (_Goes up center_)
MARY. Of course they are.
RODNEY. (_Protesting_) Now, see here, old man—
PEALE. Gosh! (_Coming down in front of table_)
RODNEY. You see, when I show father this letter from Macy’s he’s got to
admit we’ve won out, and supply us with soap.
MARY. Isn’t it a shame that you can’t get soap from anybody but him?
RODNEY. He certainly has got the soap business tied up tight.
PEALE. Yes, if he busted, the whole world would go dirty.
MARY. Suppose he’s still stubborn and won’t help you? What’ll you do?
RODNEY. Oh, I’ll just have to plod along.
PEALE. Don’t plod—gallop, son—gallop—gallop.
RODNEY. You’re a great pal.
MARY. (_Crosses to PEALE_) Do you know, Mr. Peale, I’d like you awfully.
PEALE. Call me Ambrose.
MARY. (_Coyly goes to L._) Ambrose.
RODNEY. If we ever do come out of this, you’re going to be my partner,
50-50.
PEALE. Aw, shut up.
JOHNSON. (_Entering_) Mr. Charles Bronson; shall I show him in?
PEALE. You have my permission—(_Crosses to L. MARY crosses to table R._)
This isn’t my house. (_BRONSON enters. JOHNSON exits_) This way, sir.
BRONSON. Oh, I beg pardon—I expected to find Mr. Martin.
RODNEY. I am Mr. Martin.
BRONSON. (_Eagerly_) Mr. Rodney Martin?
RODNEY. Yes.
BRONSON. Just the very man I wanted to see—on private business.
RODNEY. Oh, these are my partners. You can talk before them. This is Mr.
Peale and Miss Grayson, may I present—Mr.——?
BRONSON. Mr. Charles Bronson, of Marshall Field.
MARY. (_Stunned_) Marshall Field?
PEALE. (_Falls in chair R. of desk_) Marshall Field?
BRONSON. Now, about your soap——?
PEALE. We’re very sorry—(_Rises and goes to BRONSON_)
MARY. We are; but a bargain is a bargain. (_Rises_)
BRONSON. Sorry? Why, your 13 Soap the last few days has had a most
remarkable sale at our store.
(_MARY and PEALE, speechless, look at each other._)
RODNEY. (_Gasping_) You mean it is really selling?
BRONSON. Rather!
MARY. It’s really selling?
BRONSON. Why, you seem surprised——
MARY. Oh, no—not a bit.
RODNEY. Oh, not a bit.
PEALE. You mean people are actually coming into the store and buying it?
BRONSON. At a dollar a cake.
(_MARY and RODNEY take arm-chair from L. of table and place it in center
of stage._)
RODNEY _and_ MARY. Have a chair?
PEALE. Give me your hat! (_Takes hat and fans himself_)
MARY. It was those page advertisements in Chicago that did it.
PEALE. Absolutely.
BRONSON. Extraordinary advertisements they were, too.
RODNEY. Oh, nothing to what we will do.
BRONSON. You’ll keep up your campaign?
RODNEY. Double it.
PEALE. Triple it.
BRONSON. Good, good. We foresee a tremendous sale for your goods. It’s an
amazing soap.
RODNEY. It’s more than that——
PEALE. Absolutely.
BRONSON. Do you control the company yourself?
RODNEY. Oh, entirely.
BRONSON. Then I can deal with you.
RODNEY. With us—all of us.
BRONSON. We would be glad to contract now for 250,000 cakes. (_PEALE just
flops into chair_) With deliveries to begin next week.
MARY. Our capacity just at present is limited.
RODNEY. Yes, we have so many orders on hand.
BRONSON. Naturally, but how much soap can you deliver now?
RODNEY. I don’t quite know. (_To MARY_) Do you?
MARY. Not quite. (_To PEALE_) Do you?
PEALE. Not quite.
BRONSON. Well, under the circumstances, what can we do?
MARY. That’s the question.
PEALE. What’s the answer? (_Rises. A pause_)
RODNEY. Here’s an idea: in view of our pressing orders, would you
consider for the moment paying us merely for the use of our trade-mark
without any soap at all?
BRONSON. Yes, I think we would.
PEALE. You would?
BRONSON. Your trade-mark is of course your biggest asset.
RODNEY. Yes, of course.
BRONSON. You would naturally give us your formula?
PEALE. Yes, if we still have that cook-book.
BRONSON. I beg pardon?
PEALE. Nothing, nothing. Have a cigar?
RODNEY. You can have the formula.
BRONSON. With a license from you to use the title, we could probably
arrange to have the soap manufactured by Cyrus Martin of the soap trust.
RODNEY. Oh, you think you could—?
MARY. How much would you be willing to pay us for the trade-mark?
BRONSON. I should have to call up our Chicago office, but I think I can
safely say we would be prepared to offer you at least two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars.
PEALE. (_Grasping_) Indeed!
BRONSON. Can I have an option at that figure?
(_Together_)
MARY. No!
PEALE. Yes!
RODNEY. Yes——
MARY. (_Loudly_) No!
RODNEY. No!
PEALE. No, but I hate to say it.
BRONSON. But if you control the company, why not settle matters now?
RODNEY. Why not, Mary?
PEALE. Yes, why not, Mary?
MARY. Hadn’t we better discuss the matter a little more fully first among
ourselves?
BRONSON. Perhaps I could wait somewhere for a few minutes while you talk
things over?
MARY. (_Opening door left_) Yes, do, please—in the library.
BRONSON. I am very glad to have met you.
RODNEY. Not half as glad——
PEALE. Not half so glad——
MARY. —not half as glad as we are to have met you.
PEALE. No, not half as much!
(_BRONSON exits L. lower door._)
RODNEY. Why not give him an option at a quarter of a million?
PEALE. Yes, why not? For the love of gee whiz, tell us that!
MARY. Because maybe we can get more money than that out of your father.
(_JOHNSON enters with letter, and crosses to table R._)
RODNEY. Mary, you are a wonder.
PEALE. Gosh, I wish you were going to marry me!
MARY. Johnson, oh, Johnson, you know I’ve always liked you——
JOHNSON. I beg pardon, Miss?
MARY. Will you do me a favor?
JOHNSON. Why, yes, Miss.
MARY. When Mr. Martin comes back, don’t tell him that Rodney and Mr.
Peale are here, or Bronson, either; say I’m alone.
JOHNSON. Yes, Miss, but Mr. Martin just drove up in his car, he’ll be
here directly——
MARY. Hurry up, then, tell him I’m here, waiting for him.
(_JOHNSON exits._)
RODNEY. But I don’t understand?
PEALE. Neither do I.
MARY. I do. I’ve got a great idea. You two boys go into that room,
(_Indicating lower R._) and stay there. When I ring this buzzer twice,
you call me on this ’phone—there’s a switch in there—and never mind what
I say. Hurry now, both of you.
RODNEY. But what’s your plan?
MARY. I’m going to try to make a deal with your father.
PEALE. Well, I’ll slip you something that may help you when you see
father. You tell him that I’ve got that contract. He’ll understand.
RODNEY. But I don’t know what any of this is about?
PEALE. Neither do I. Come on, she’s got more brains than both of us.
(_They exit R._)
(_MARY settles herself in chair L. of desk, as MARTIN enters._)
MARTIN. Hello, Miss Grayson, this is a pleasant surprise. Where is Rodney?
MARY. That doesn’t matter. I’m here.
MARTIN. Where’s that—that Mr.——?
MARY. Mr. Peale—oh, Mr. Peale’s gone back to the office—but he told me to
tell you that he’d got that contract——
MARTIN. Great, great! He’s a smart boy.
MARY. We are all smart—it’s a smart firm. We just got a letter from
Macy’s for 10,000 cakes of 13 Soap, and this time you didn’t send a
telegram——
MARTIN. Macy’s, eh? Well, well. Now, I’ll be frank. I want Rodney to come
in with me—and you’ve got to help. You started this scheme. Now finish it
up.
MARY. What’s changed you all of a sudden?
MARTIN. Well, Macy’s, for one thing. That shows sensational advertising
does pay. Those boys are right. I’ve been too conservative, but anyhow
I’ve got the whip hand: Rodney can’t get his soap for Macy’s except from
me, and if I’m going to furnish three-cent soap that he sells wholesale
for sixty cents, I’m going to be in on the profits. Any young man who can
do that is just bound to have me for a partner whether he wants me or
not. What do you say, Miss Grayson?
MARY. I’ll do all I can for Rodney.
MARTIN. You have authority to close the deal?
MARY. Absolutely.
MARTIN. Good. Now, what’s your proposition? (_Sits_)
MARY. Five hundred thousand dollars cash.
MARTIN. (_Rising_) What!
MARY. (_Calmly_) Sit down. That isn’t all: we get 51% of the stock, you
put up a factory and give Rodney $50,000 a year, Peale, $30,000, and me
$20,000.
MARTIN. As my son once observed, what a lovely autumn we’re having! (_He
leans back and lights a cigar. As he does so, MARY pushes the buzzer
twice. N. B. The audience must hear this buzzer. Almost instantly the
’phone rings. MARY quickly takes ’phone_)
MARY. Shall I answer it?
MARTIN. Go ahead—say I’m out.
MARY. (_In ’phone_) Oh, hello—(_To MARTIN_) It’s for me. Hello,
Rodney—you’ve seen Bronson?
MARTIN. (_Sitting up_) Bronson?
MARY. (_In ’phone_) He did? Why, that’s a splendid offer. I hardly dared
think Marshall Field would be so generous.
MARTIN. (_Promptly. Rises_) I’ll accept your proposition, Miss Grayson.
MARY. Wait. (_In ’phone_) Have you closed with Bronson yet?
MARTIN. What’d he say?
MARY. Oh, you haven’t?
MARTIN. Good.
MARY. No, I think you’d better come right up from the office and see me
before you sign anything.
MARTIN. Here, let me talk to him. (_He reaches for ’phone_)
MARY. (_Quickly_) Oh, hello, hello. (_She jiggles ’phone_) Oh, dear,
we’ve been cut off. Still, it doesn’t matter; it’s all settled now.
MARTIN. That’s splendid, Miss Grayson. I’m mighty grateful to you.
MARY. (_Nervously_) Shall we sign a memorandum now?
MARTIN. Sure—sure—just the rough details.
MARY. Sure, never put off till to-morrow what you can sign to-day.
MARTIN. (_He crosses to table R., sits and makes memoranda. Writing_)
Fifty-one per cent—Rodney—fifty thousand. And what’s that young man’s
name again—Spiel——?
MARY. Peale.
MARTIN. That certainly is one hell of a name—thirty thousand—Grayson
twenty thousand. There. (_To MARY_) You sign here.
MARY. No, you sign first. (_MARTIN grunts and signs_) Now I’ll sign for
Rodney. (_She does so gleefully_)
MARTIN. That’s great. (_Rises and goes L._)
MARY. You don’t know how great it is. (_MARY starts for door_) Now, I’ve
a big surprise for you. Rodney’s not at the office—he’s in there.
MARTIN. What do you mean?
MARY. Only that I thought I’d handle you less sentimentally than he
would. You see, once before I spoiled Rodney’s plan. This time I thought
I ought to fix it up for him. (_Opening door_) Rodney—Ambrose.
MARTIN. Say, what is all this?
(_RODNEY and PEALE enter._)
RODNEY. Hello, father!
MARY. Rodney, it’s all settled. Your father has gone in with us. I’ve the
contract.
RODNEY. Then we can get some soap!
MARTIN. All you want.
RODNEY. Then I don’t care what the arrangement is—now that we can make
good—twenty per cent of the profits, and any old salary.
MARTIN. Twenty per cent! Why, she buncoed me out of fifty-one per cent
and half a million down.
PEALE. (_Gasping_) Half a million!
RODNEY. (_To MARY_) You did? Mary, you are a peach!
PEALE. Absolutely.
MARY. (_To RODNEY_) And by the terms of my contract with you, you now owe
me 10% of what Rodney has made: $50,000.
RODNEY. What contract?
PEALE. I don’t get you.
MARTIN. So that’s why you held me up, eh? Just to get your 10%. Say,
young lady, I’ve got a lot of other money that you are overlooking.
RODNEY. Father, what do you mean?
MARTIN. (_To RODNEY_) I’ll tell you what I mean. She got engaged to you
to make you go to work—she only left me to keep you on the job because
I promised her 10% of what you earned. All the time that she’s been
pretending she would marry you, she’s been making use of you. (_Goes to
R. of table to sign check_)
RODNEY. Mary, you did this to me?
PEALE. I don’t believe it.
MARY. (_To MARTIN_) You owe me fifty thousand dollars—can I have the
check, please?
MARTIN. Yes, if you’ll quit now—get out of here for good.
MARY. Certainly.
MARTIN. I’m disappointed to think you’d treat my boy like this.
MARY. What’s the difference? If I’d really loved him, you’d have objected
to his marrying only a typewriter.
MARTIN. Objected! If you’d been on the level I’d have been proud to have
you for my daughter. (_Handing check to RODNEY_)
RODNEY. (_Gleefully_) Hurrah, Mary, it’s all right!
PEALE. I don’t get you.
MARTIN. What is this—a joke? (_Rises_)
RODNEY. Certainly it is: you two put up a joke on me, and Mary and I
thought we’d put up one for you. Mary told me about that fool contract
weeks ago.
MARTIN. You mean you’re going to marry her?
RODNEY. Certainly not.
PEALE. Now see here——
MARTIN. Why aren’t you going to marry her?
RODNEY. Because we were married this morning, and we thought before we
told you of our marriage we’d get her percentage for a wedding present.
(_Hands check to PEALE. He gives it to MARY_)
MARY. And it’s bigger than we ever hoped for.
MARTIN. By George, you boys were right: I am an old fool. Anyhow, I’ll
win that bet from old John Clark.
MARY. And now for Bronson. (_Goes to door L. lower_) Oh, Mr. Bronson?
MARTIN. You boys know Bronson?
MARY. Oh, yes, we had a long talk, with him, right in this room, about a
proposition from Marshall Field——
(_Enter BRONSON._)
BRONSON. (_Crosses to MARTIN, SR._) Mr. Martin—Mr. Peale.
RODNEY. (_To BRONSON_) Now you talk to father.
MARY. Yes, you talk to him, father.
PEALE. Yes, father, you talk to him.
BRONSON. (_To RODNEY_) But I thought I was dealing with you?
MARTIN. No, sir, with me—now what’s your proposition?
BRONSON. A quarter of a million cash just for the trade-mark.
MARTIN. A quarter of a million? Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself
to try to trim these poor boys like that. You know that 13 Soap is worth
half a million in Chicago alone, and you try to take advantage of these
kids’ ignorance. Why, it’s outrageous, but you can’t trim me! No, sir, we
wouldn’t take a million. Do you know that the Uneeda trade-mark is valued
at six million, the Gold Dust Twins at ten million and our trade-mark is
better than theirs! We’re going to advertise all over the world. That’s
what advertising means: the power of suggestion—the psychology of print.
All you have to do is to say a thing often enough and hard enough, and
ninety-seven per cent of the public’ll fall. Say, what kind of garters
do you wear? Boston! Why? Because all your life every time you opened a
magazine you saw a picture of a man’s leg with a certain kind of a garter
on it—Boston!
_Curtain._
[Illustration: IT PAYS TO ADVERTISE
ACT I & III]
[Illustration: IT PAYS TO ADVERTISE
ACT II]
PROPERTY LIST
ACT I.
STAGE PROPERTIES
Typewriter desk
Typewriter
Office swivel chair
Library table
Couch
Six large chairs (living room chairs)
Footstool
Writing set on large table
(Pen, ink, etc.)
Magazines and books
Check book on large table
Stenographer’s note book
Walking stick
Telephone on desk
Telephone on table
Clock (?)
Carpet or rugs
Push bell on Right flat near Door R. I E.
Telephones may be connected.
Three telephones in Third act may be connected to be ready for second
Act and may remain through as two are used in Third Act too.
SIDE PROPERTIES
Walking stick—Martin
Book of passes—Peale
Pencil—Peale
Parasol—Countess
Suit case—Rodney
Cook book—Rodney
Two contracts—Peale
Money for Rodney
Letters for Johnson
Salver for Johnson
Calling cards—Johnson
Martin’s foot tied up
ACT II.
STAGE PROPERTIES
Large flat-top desk
Typewriter desk (same one as Act I)
Typewriter paper, etc.
Small table or desk for telephone stand
Three telephones and three books (directories)
Box of cigars in desk
Plane in drawer of desk
File cabinet
Letter file on cabinet
Letters in file cabinet
Signs for walls
Sandwich men signs (6)
Rubber stamp and pad on big desk C.
Ledger—or ledger sheets for MSS. case
Buzzer connected up on Desk C.
Buzzer connected up on Desk L.
About six office chairs
Two swivel office chairs
Papers, check book, etc. Desk C.
Papers like contracts for Rodney to sign
Hat rack
SIDE PROPERTIES
MSS. case—Mary
Pencil and pad—Peale
Peale—telegram
Letter—Mary
Draft—Countess
Cane—Ellery
Hand bag—Countess
Handkerchief—Countess
ACT III.
STAGE PROPERTIES
Same furniture as Act I—Arranged
Same, except might have small table where desk was in Act I.
Newspapers on desk C.
Letters sealed on desk for Martin to open
Circulars in these letters
Advertisements on N. Y. papers: 13 soap
Waste paper basket
Check book on Table C. with ink, etc.
Buzzer connected at typewriter desk
SIDE PROPERTIES
Letter seal on large table
New York papers with ads of 13 soap
Cigar—Peale
Contracts—Countess
List of Advertisers—Rodney
Card and Tray—Johnson
Bronson’s hat
Cigar for Martin
Matches—Martin