of lightness.
HUGH. [_Looking up from book, his face expressing delight._] Deacon
Roberts, I have searched for the place of hell, but one book sayeth one
thing, an' another another. Where is hell?
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, where is hell?
[_The bell rings violently. All start except_ NELI. MRS. JENKINS
THE MIDWIFE _enters. She is an old woman, white-haired, and with a
commanding, somewhat disagreeable expression on her face. She wears
a cloak and black Welsh beaver and walks with a stick._
NELI. Yiss, yiss, Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife, I am just lookin' out a
relish for the Deacon. Sit down by the fire, please.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Seating herself on other side of fire._]
Aye, mum, I've come for pins; I'm in no haste.
NELI. is it Jane Elin's baby?
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Aye, Jane Elin's, an' 'tis my sixth hundredth
birth.
HUGH. We're discussing the place of hell, Mrs. Jenkins, mum.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Well, indeed, I have seen the place of hell
six hundred times then. [_Coughs and nods her head up and down over
stick._] Heaven an' hell I'm thinkin' we have with us here.
HUGH. Nay, nay, how could that be? Tell us where is the place of hell,
Deacon Roberts.
[_All listen with the most intense interest._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Nodding._] Aye, the place of hell-- [_stopping
suddenly, a terrified look on his face, as the butter slides against the
forward rim of his hat, almost knocking it off, then going on with neck
rigid and head straight up_] to me is known where is that place--their
way is dark an' slippery; they go down into the depths, an' their soul
is melted because of trouble.
NELI. [_Pausing sceptically._] Aye, 'tis my idea of hell whatever with
souls meltin', Mr. Roberts!
HUGH. [_Tense with expectation._] Tell us where is that place!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Neck rigid, head unmoved, and voice querulous._] Yiss,
yiss. [_Putting his hand up and letting it down quickly._] Ahem! Ye
believe that it rains in Bala?
HUGH. [_Eyes on_ DEACON, _in childlike faith_.] I do.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Yiss, yiss, before an' after every birth
whatever!
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss, who would know better than I that it
rains in Bala?
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, amen, it rains in Bala upon the hills an' in
the valleys.
DEACON ROBERTS. Ye believe that it can rain in Bala both when the moon
is full an' when 'tis new?
HUGH. [_Earnestly._] I do.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Wearily._] Yiss, any time.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, all the time.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE.. Yiss, yiss, it rains ever an' forever!
NELI. [_Forgetting the relish search._] Well, indeed, 'tis true it can
rain in Bala at any time an' at all times.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Paying no attention to Neli._] Ye believe that
Tomen-y-Bala is Ararat?
HUGH. [_Clutching his book more tightly and speaking in a whisper._]
Yiss.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Aye, 'tis true.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE.. Yiss, the Hill of Bala is Ararat.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, I have driven the sheep over it whatever
more than a hundred times.
NELI. [_Both hands on counter, leaning forward, listening to_ DEACON'S
_words_.] Aye, Charles-y-Bala said so.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Still ignoring_ NELI _and lowering his coat-tails
carefully_.] Ye believe, good people, that the Druids called Noah
"Tegid," an' that those who were saved were cast up on Tomen-y-Bala?
HUGH. Amen, I do!
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Nodding her old head._] Aye, 'tis true.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Amen, 'tis so.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Moving a few steps away from the fire, standing
sidewise, and lifting hand to head, checking it in midair._] An' ye know
that Bala has been a lake, an' Bala will become a lake?
HUGH. Amen, I do!
NELI. [_Assenting for the first time._] Yiss, 'tis true--that is.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Dear anwyl, yiss!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_With warning gesture toward window._] Hell is out
there--movin' beneath Bala Lake to meet all at their comin'. [_Raises
his voice suddenly._] Red-hot Baal stones will fall upon your
heads--Baal stones. Howl ye! [_Shouting loudly._] Meltin' stones
smellin' of the bullocks. Howl, ye sinners! [_Clasping his hands
together desperately._] Scorchin' hot--Oo--o--o--Howl ye!--howl ye!
[_The_ DEACON'S _hat sways, and he jams it down more tightly on his
head. Unclasping his hands and as if stirring up the contents of a
pudding-dish._] 'Round an' round like this! Howl, ye sinners, howl!
[_All moan and sway to and fro except_ NELI.
NELI. [_Sceptically._] What is there to fear?
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Groaning._] Nay, but what is there not to
fear?
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Aye, outermost darkness. Och! Och!
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Have mercy!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Shouting again._] Get ready! Lift up your eyes!
[_Welsh beaver almost falls off and is set straight in a twinkling._]
Beg for mercy before the stones of darkness burn thee, an' there is no
water to cool thy tongue, an' a great gulf is fixed between thee an'
those who might help thee!
NELI. [_Spellbound by the_ DEACON'S _eloquence and now oblivious to hat,
etc._] Yiss, yiss, 'tis true, 'tis very true!
[_She steps down from chair and places hands on counter._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_His face convulsed, shouting directly at her._]
Sister, hast thou two eyes to be cast into hell fire?
NELI. [_Terrified and swept along by his eloquence._] Two eyes to be
burned?
[_All lower their heads, groaning and rocking to and fro._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_The butter trickling down his face, yelling with
sudden violence._] Hell is here an' now. Here in Bala, here in Y Gegin,
here with us! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners!
[_All moan together._
HUGH. [_Whispering._] Uch, here!
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Yiss, here!
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. [_Terrified._] Aye. Amen! Yiss!
NELI. [_Whispering._] Here in Y Gegin!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Clapping his hands to his face._] Stones of Baal,
stones of darkness, slimy with ooze, red-hot ooze, thick vapors! Howl
ye, howl, ye sinners! [_All moan and groan. Takes a glance at clock,
passes hand over face and runs on madly, neck rigid, eyes staring, fat
red cheeks turning to purple._] Midday, not midnight, is the hour of
hell; its sun never sets! But who knows when comes that hour of hell?
NELI. [_Taking hands from counter and crossing them as she whispers._]
Who knows?
ALL. [_Groaning._] Who knows?
HUGH. [_Voice quavering and lifting his Welsh essays._] Who knows?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Big yellow drops pouring down his face, his voice full
of anguish._] I will tell ye when is the hour of hell. [_He points to
the clock._] Is one the hour of hell? Nay. Two? Nay. Three? No, not
three. Four? Four might be the hour of hell, but 'tis not. Five? Nor
five, indeed. Six? Nay. Seven? Is seven the hour, the awful hour? Nay,
not yet. Eight? Is eight the hour--an hour bright as this bright hour?
Nay, eight is not. [_The_ DEACON _shouts in a mighty voice and points
with a red finger at the clock_.] 'Tis comin'! 'Tis comin', I say! Howl
ye, howl! Only one minute more! Sinners, sinners, lift up your eyes! Cry
for mercy! [_All groan._] Cry for mercy! When the clock strikes twelve,
'twill be the hour of hell! Fix your eyes upon the clock! Watch! Count!
Listen! 'Tis strikin'. The stroke! The hour is here!
[_All dropped on their knees and turned toward the clock, their
backs to the street door, are awaiting the awful stroke. The book
has fallen from_ HUGH'S _hands_. NELI'S _hands are clenched_. MRS.
JENKINS THE MIDWIFE _is nodding her old head_. MRS. JONES THE WASH
_on her knees, her face upturned to the clock, is rubbing up and
down her thighs, as if at the business of washing_. TOM MORRIS THE
SHEEP _is prostrate and making a strange buzzing sound between his
lips. The wheels of the clever old timepiece whir and turn. Then in
the silent noonday the harsh striking begins: One, Two, Three,
Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Yelling suddenly in a loud and terrible voice._] Hell
let loose! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners! [_All cover their eyes. All groan
or moan. The clock ticks, the flame in the grate flutters_, NELI'S
_bosom rises and falls heavily_.] Lest worse happen to ye, sin no more!
[_The_ DEACON _looks at them all quietly. Then he lifts his hands
in sign of blessing, smiles and vanishes silently through street
door. All remain stationary in their terror. Nothing happens. But
at last_ NELI _fearfully, still spellbound by the_ DEACON'S
_eloquence, lifts her eyes to the clock. Then cautiously she turns
a little toward the fire and the place of_ DEACON ROBERTS.
NELI. Uch! [_She stands on her feet and cries out._] The Deacon is gone!
HUGH. [_Raising his eyes._] Uch, what is it? Babylon----
NELI. Babylon nothing! [_She wrings her hands._
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Groaning._] Is he dead? Is he dead?
NELI. [_With sudden plunge toward the door._] Uch, ye old hypocrite, ye
villain! Uch, my butter an' my eggs, my butter an' my eggs!
[NELI _throws open the door and slams it to after her as she
pursues the_ DEACON _out into the bright midday sunshine_.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Well, indeed, what is it? Has she been taken?
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Getting up heavily._] Such movin' eloquence! A
saintly man is Deacon Roberts!
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, a saintly man is Deacon Roberts!
HUGH. [_Picking up his book and speaking slowly._] Aye, eloquence that
knoweth the place of hell even better than it knoweth Bala whatever!
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Very businesslike._] Aye, 'twas a treat--a
rare treat! But where's my pins now?
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Very businesslike._] Yiss, yiss, 'twas a grand
an' fine treat. But I'm wantin' my soap now.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Have ye any tobacco, Hughie lad?
CURTAIN
WHERE BUT IN AMERICA
BY
OSCAR M. WOLFF
_Where But In America_ is reprinted by special permission of the author
and of the _Smart Set Magazine_, in which this play was first printed.
For permission to perform address the author at Room 1211, 105 Monroe
Street, Chicago, Illinois.
OSCAR M. WOLFF
Oscar M. Wolff was born July 13, 1876. After graduation from Cornell
University he completed his law course in the University of Chicago. In
addition to his interest in law, which he has practised and taught, he
has done considerable writing and editing. He has published a legal
text-book, and his articles on legal subjects have appeared both in law
journals and in magazines of general interest. During the war he was
connected with the United States Food Administration at Washington. At
present he lives in Chicago, Illinois.
In addition to some stories, he has written several one-act plays:
_Where But in America_, _The Claim for Exemption_, and _The
Money-Lenders_.
_Where But in America_ is an excellent play of situation, as well as a
delicate satire on a certain aspect of American social life.
CAST
MRS. ESPENHAYNE
MR. ESPENHAYNE
HILDA
WHERE BUT IN AMERICA[J]
SCENE: _The Espenhayne dining-room._
_The curtain rises on the Espenhayne dining-room. It is furnished
with modest taste and refinement. There is a door, centre, leading
to the living-room, and a swinging door, left, leading to the
kitchen._
_The table is set, and_ ROBERT _and_ MOLLIE ESPENHAYNE _are
discovered at their evening meal. They are educated, well-bred
young Americans._ ROBERT _is a pleasing, energetic business man of
thirty_; MOLLIE _an attractive woman of twenty-five. The bouillon
cups are before them as the curtain rises._
BOB. Mollie, I heard from the man who owns that house in Kenilworth. He
wants to sell the house. He won't rent.
MOLLIE. I really don't care, Bob. That house was too far from the
station, and it had only one sleeping-porch, and you know I want
white-enamelled woodwork in the bedrooms. But, Bob, I've been terribly
stupid!
BOB. How so, Mollie?
MOLLIE. You remember the Russells moved to Highland Park last spring?
BOB. Yes; Ed Russell rented a house that had just been built.
MOLLIE. A perfectly darling little house! And Fanny Russell once told me
that the man who built it will put up a house for any one who will take
a five-year lease. And she says that the man is very competent and they
are simply delighted with their place.
BOB. Why don't we get in touch with the man?
MOLLIE. Wasn't it stupid of me not to think about it? It just flashed
into my mind this morning, and I sat down at once and sent a
special-delivery letter to Fanny Russell. I asked her to tell me his
name at once, and where we can find him.
BOB. Good! You ought to have an answer by to-morrow or Thursday and
we'll go up north and have a talk with him on Saturday.
MOLLIE. [_With enthusiasm._] Wouldn't it be wonderful if he'd build just
what we want! Fanny Russell says every detail of their house is perfect.
Even the garage; they use it----
BOB. [_Interrupting._] Mollie, that's the one thing I'm afraid of about
the North Shore plan. I've said repeatedly that I don't want to buy a
car for another year or two. But here you are, talking about a garage
already.
MOLLIE. But you didn't let me finish what I was saying. The Russells
have fitted up their garage as a playroom for the children. If we had a
garage we could do the same thing.
BOB. Well, let's keep temptation behind us and not even talk to the man
about a garage. If we move up north it must be on an economy basis for a
few years; just a half-way step between the apartment and the house we
used to plan. You mustn't get your heart set on a car.
MOLLIE. I haven't even thought of one, dear. [BOB _and_ MOLLIE _have now
both finished the bouillon course and lay down their spoons. Reaching
out her hand to touch the table button, and at the same time leaning
across the table and speaking very impressively._] Bob, I'm about to
ring for Hilda!
BOB. What of it?
MOLLIE. [_Decidedly and with a touch of impatience._] You know very
well, what of it. I don't want Hilda to hear us say one word about
moving away from the South Side!
BOB. [_Protesting._] But Mollie----
MOLLIE. [_Interrupting hurriedly and holding her finger to her lips in
warning._] Psst!
[_The next instant_ HILDA _enters, left. She is a tall, blonde
Swedish girl, about twenty-five years old. She is very pretty and
carries herself well and looks particularly charming in a maid's
dress, with white collars and cuffs and a dainty waitress's apron.
Every detail of her dress is immaculate._
MOLLIE. [_Speaking the instant that_ HILDA _appears and talking very
rapidly all the time that_ HILDA _remains in the room. While she speaks_
MOLLIE _watches_ HILDA _rather than_ ROBERT, _whom she pretends to be
addressing_.] In the last game Gert Jones was my partner. It was frame
apiece and I dealt and I bid one no trump. I had a very weak no trump.
I'll admit that, but I didn't want them to win the rubber. Mrs. Stone
bid two spades and Gert Jones doubled her. Mrs. Green passed and I
simply couldn't go to three of anything. Mrs. Stone played two spades,
doubled, and she made them. Of course, that put them out and gave them
the rubber. I think that was a very foolish double of Gert Jones, and
then she said it was my fault, because I bid one no trump.
[_As_ MOLLIE _begins her flow of words_ BOB _first looks at her in
open-mouthed astonishment. Then as he gradually comprehends that_
MOLLIE _is merely talking against time he too turns his eyes to_
HILDA _and watches her closely in her movements around the table.
Meanwhile_ HILDA _moves quietly and quickly and pays no attention
to anything except the work she has in hand. She carries a small
serving-tray, and, as_ MOLLIE _speaks_, HILDA _first takes the
bouillon cups from the table, then brings the carving-knife and
fork from the sideboard and places them before_ ROBERT, _and then,
with the empty bouillon cups, exits left_. BOB _and_ MOLLIE _are
both watching_ HILDA _as she goes out. The instant the door swings
shut behind her_, MOLLIE _relaxes with a sigh, and_ ROBERT _leans
across the table to speak_.
BOB. Mollie, why not be sensible about this thing! Have a talk with
Hilda and find out if she will move north with us.
MOLLIE. That's just like a man! Then we might not find a house to please
us and Hilda would be dissatisfied and suspicious. She might even leave.
[_Thoughtfully._] Of course, I must speak to her before we sign a lease,
because I really don't know what I'd do if Hilda refused to leave the
South side. [_More cheerfully._] But there, we won't think about the
disagreeable things until everything is settled.
BOB. That's good American doctrine.
MOLLIE. [_Warningly and again touching her finger to her lips._] Psst!
[HILDA _enters, left, carrying the meat plates, with a heavy napkin
under them_.
MOLLIE. [_Immediately resuming her monologue._] I think my last year's
hat will do very nicely. You know it rained all last summer and I really
only wore the hat a half a dozen times. Perhaps not that often. I can
make a few changes on it; put on some new ribbons, you know, and it will
do very nicely for another year. You remember that hat, don't you dear?
[BOB _starts to answer, but_ MOLLIE _rushes right on_.
Of course you do, you remember you said it was so becoming. That's
another reason why I want to wear it this summer.
[HILDA, _meanwhile, puts the plates on the table in front of_ BOB,
_and goes out, left_. MOLLIE _at once stops speaking_.
BOB. [_Holding his hands over the plates as over a fire and rubbing them
together in genial warmth._] Ah, the good hot plates! She never forgets
them. She _is_ a gem, Mollie.
MOLLIE. [_In great self-satisfaction._] If you are finally convinced of
that, after three years, I wish you would be a little bit more careful
what you say the next time Hilda comes in the room.
BOB. [_In open-mouthed astonishment._] What!
MOLLIE. Well, I don't want Hilda to think we are making plans behind her
back.
BOB. [_Reflectively._] "A man's home is his castle." [_Pauses._] It's
very evident that the Englishman who first said that didn't keep any
servants.
[_Telephone bell rings off stage._
MOLLIE. Answer that, Bob.
BOB. Won't Hilda answer it?
MOLLIE. [_Standing up quickly and speaking impatiently._] Very well, I
shall answer it myself. I can't ask Hilda to run to the telephone while
she is serving the meal.
BOB. [_Sullenly, as he gets up._] All right! All right!
[BOB _exits, centre. As he does so_ HILDA _appears at the door,
left, hurrying to answer the telephone_.
MOLLIE. Mr. Espenhayne will answer it, Hilda.
[HILDA _makes the slightest possible bow of acquiescence, withdraws
left, and in a moment reappears with vegetable dishes and small
side dishes, which she puts before_ MRS. ESPENHAYNE. _She is
arranging these when_ BOB _re-enters, centre_.
BOB. Somebody for you, Hilda.
HILDA. [_Surprised._] For me? Oh! But I cannot answer eet now. Please
ask the party to call later.
[HILDA _speaks excellent English, but with some Swedish accent. The
noticeable feature of her speech is the precision and great care
with which she enunciates every syllable._
MOLLIE. Just take the number yourself, Hilda, and tell the party you
will call back after dinner.
HILDA. Thank you, Messes Aispenhayne.
[HILDA _exits, centre_. BOB _stands watching_ HILDA, _as she leaves
the room, and then turns and looks at_ MOLLIE _with a bewildered
expression_.
BOB. [_Standing at his chair._] But I thought Hilda couldn't be running
to the telephone while she serves the dinner?
MOLLIE. But this call is for Hilda, herself. That's quite different, you
see.
BOB. [_Slowly and thoughtfully._] Oh, yes! Of course; I see! [_Sits down
in his chair._] That is--I don't quite see!
MOLLIE. [_Immediately leaning across the table and speaking in a
cautious whisper._] Do you know who it is?
[BOB _closes his lips very tightly and nods yes in a very important
manner_.
MOLLIE. [_In the same whisper and very impatiently._] Who?
BOB. [_Looking around the room as if to see if any one is in hiding, and
then putting his hand to his mouth and exaggerating the whisper._] The
Terrible Swede.
MOLLIE. [_In her ordinary tone and very much exasperated._] Robert, I've
told you a hundred times that you shouldn't refer to--to--the man in
that way.
BOB. And I've told you a hundred times to ask Hilda his name. If I knew
his name I'd announce him with as much ceremony as if he were the
Swedish Ambassador.
MOLLIE. [_Disgusted._] Oh, don't try to be funny! Suppose some day Hilda
hears you speak of him in that manner?
BOB. You know that's mild compared to what you think of him. Suppose
some day Hilda learns what you think of him?
MOLLIE. I think very well of him and you know it. Of course, I dread the
time when she marries him, but I wouldn't for the world have her think
that we speak disrespectfully of her or her friends.
BOB. "A man's home is his castle."
[MOLLIE'S _only answer is a gesture of impatience_. MOLLIE _and_
BOB _sit back in their chairs to await_ HILDA'S _return. Both sit
with fingers interlaced, hands resting on the edge of the table in
the attitude of school children at attention. A long pause._ MOLLIE
_unclasps her hands and shifts uneasily_. ROBERT _does the same_.
MOLLIE, _seeing this, hastily resumes her former attitude of quiet
waiting_. ROBERT, _however, grows increasingly restless. His
restlessness makes_ MOLLIE _nervous and she watches_ ROBERT, _and
when he is not observing her she darts quick, anxious glances at
the door, centre_. BOB _drains and refills his glass_.
MOLLIE. [_She has been watching_ ROBERT _and every time he shifts or
moves she unconsciously does the same, and finally she breaks out
nervously_.] I don't understand this at all! Isn't to-day Tuesday?
BOB. What of it?
MOLLIE. He usually calls up on Wednesdays and comes to see her on
Saturdays.
BOB. And takes her to the theatre on Thursdays and to dances on Sundays.
He's merely extending his line of attack.
[_Another long pause--then Bob begins to experiment to learn
whether the plates are still hot. He gingerly touches the edges of
the upper plate in two or three places. It seems safe to handle. He
takes hold of upper and lower plates boldly, muttering, as he does
so, "Cold as--" Drops the plates with a clatter and a smothered
oath. Shakes his fingers and blows on them. Meanwhile_ MOLLIE _is
sitting very rigid, regarding_ BOB _with a fixed stare and beating
a vigorous tattoo on the tablecloth with her fingers. Bob catches
her eye and cringes under her gaze. He drains and refills his
glass. He studies the walls and the ceiling of the room, meanwhile
still nursing his fingers._ BOB _steals a sidelong glance at_
MOLLIE. _She is still staring at him. He turns to his water goblet.
Picks it up and holds it to the light. He rolls the stem between
his fingers, squinting at the light through the water. Reciting
slowly as he continues to gaze at the light._
BOB. Starlight! Starbright! Will Hilda talk to him all night!
MOLLIE. [_In utter disgust._] Oh, stop that singing.
[BOB _puts down his glass, then drinks the water and refills the
glass. He then turns his attention to the silverware and cutlery
before him. He examines it critically, then lays a teaspoon
carefully on the cloth before him, and attempts the trick of
picking it up with the first finger in the bowl and the thumb at
the point of the handle. After one or two attempts the spoon shoots
on the floor, far behind him._ MOLLIE _jumps at the noise_. BOB
_turns slowly and looks at the spoon with an injured air, then
turns back to_ MOLLIE _with a silly, vacuous smile. He now lays all
the remaining cutlery in a straight row before him._
BOB. [_Slowly counting the cutlery and silver, back and forth._] Eeny,
meeny, miney, mo. Catch a--[_Stops suddenly as an idea comes to him.
Gazes thoughtfully at_ MOLLIE _for a moment, then begins to count over
again_.] Eeny, meeny, miney, mo; Hilda's talking to her beau. If we
holler, she may go. Eeny, mee----
MOLLIE. [_Interrupting and exasperated to the verge of tears._] Bob, if
you don't stop all that nonsense, I shall scream! [_In a very tense
tone._] I believe I'm going to have one of my sick headaches! [_Puts her
hand to her forehead._] I know it; I can feel it coming on!
BOB. [_In a soothing tone._] Hunger, my dear, hunger! When you have a
good warm meal you'll feel better.
MOLLIE. [_In despair._] What do you suppose I ought to do?
BOB. Go out in the kitchen and fry a couple of eggs.