SCENE--Three weeks later. A corner of Fifth Avenue in the Fifties on a
fine, Sunday morning. A general atmosphere of clean, well-tidied, wide
street; a flood of mellow, tempered sunshine; gentle, genteel breezes.
In the rear, the show windows of two shops, a jewelry establishment on
the corner, a furrier's next to it. Here the adornments of extreme
wealth are tantalizingly displayed. The jeweler's window is gaudy with
glittering diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls, etc., fashioned in
ornate tiaras, crowns, necklaces, collars, etc. From each piece hangs
an enormous tag from which a dollar sign and numerals in intermittent
electric lights wink out the incredible prices. The same in the
furrier's. Rich furs of all varieties hang there bathed in a downpour
of artificial light. The general effect is of a background of
magnificence cheapened and made grotesque by commercialism, a
background in tawdry disharmony with the clear light and sunshine on
the street itself.
Up the side street Yank and Long come swaggering. Long is dressed in
shore clothes, wears a black Windsor tie, cloth cap. Yank is in his
dirty dungarees. A fireman's cap with black peak is cocked defiantly on
the side of his head. He has not shaved for days and around his fierce,
resentful eyes--as around those of Long to a lesser degree--the black
smudge of coal dust still sticks like make-up. They hesitate and stand
together at the corner, swaggering, looking about them with a forced,
defiant contempt.
LONG--[_Indicating it all with an oratorical gesture._] Well, 'ere we
are. Fif' Avenoo. This 'ere's their bleedin' private lane, as yer might
say. [_Bitterly._] We're trespassers 'ere. Proletarians keep orf the
grass!
YANK--[_Dully._] I don't see no grass, yuh boob. [_Staring at the
sidewalk._] Clean, ain't it? Yuh could eat a fried egg offen it. The
white wings got some job sweepin' dis up. [_Looking up and down the
avenue--surlily._] Where's all de white-collar stiffs yuh said was
here--and de skoits--her kind?
LONG--In church, blarst 'em! Arskin' Jesus to give 'em more money.
YANK--Choich, huh? I useter go to choich onct--sure--when I was a kid.
Me old man and woman, dey made me. Dey never went demselves, dough.
Always got too big a head on Sunday mornin', dat was dem. [_With a
grin._] Dey was scrappers for fair, bot' of dem. On Satiday nights when
dey bot' got a skinful dey could put up a bout oughter been staged at
de Garden. When dey got trough dere wasn't a chair or table wit a leg
under it. Or else dey bot' jumped on me for somep'n. Dat was where I
loined to take punishment. [_With a grin and a swagger._] I'm a chip
offen de old block, get me?
LONG--Did yer old man follow the sea?
YANK--Naw. Worked along shore. I runned away when me old lady croaked
wit de tremens. I helped at truckin' and in de market. Den I shipped in
de stokehole. Sure. Dat belongs. De rest was nothin'. [_Looking around
him._] I ain't never seen dis before. De Brooklyn waterfront, dat was
where I was dragged up. [_Taking a deep breath._] Dis ain't so bad at
dat, huh?
LONG--Not bad? Well, we pays for it wiv our bloody sweat, if yer wants
to know!
YANK--[_With sudden angry disgust._] Aw, hell! I don't see noone,
see--like her. All dis gives me a pain. It don't belong. Say, ain't
dere a backroom around dis dump? Let's go shoot a ball. All dis is too
clean and quiet and dolled-up, get me! It gives me a pain.
LONG--Wait and yer'll bloody well see--
YANK--I don't wait for noone. I keep on de move. Say, what yuh drag me
up here for, anyway? Tryin' to kid me, yuh simp, yuh?
LONG--Yer wants to get back at her, don't yer? That's what yer been
saying' every bloomin' 'our since she hinsulted yer.
YANK--[_Vehemently._] Sure ting I do! Didn't I try to git even wit her
in Southampton? Didn't I sneak on de dock and wait for her by de
gangplank? I was goin' to spit in her pale mug, see! Sure, right in her
pop-eyes! Dat woulda made me even, see? But no chanct. Dere was a whole
army of plain clothes bulls around. Dey spotted me and gimme de bum's
rush. I never seen her. But I'll git square wit her yet, you watch!
[_Furiously._] De lousey tart! She tinks she kin get away wit
moider--but not wit me! I'll fix her! I'll tink of a way!
LONG--[_As disgusted as he dares to be._] Ain't that why I brought yer
up 'ere--to show yer? Yer been lookin' at this 'ere 'ole affair wrong.
Yer been actin' an' talkin' 's if it was all a bleedin' personal matter
between yer and that bloody cow. I wants to convince yer she was on'y a
representative of 'er clarss. I wants to awaken yer bloody clarss
consciousness. Then yer'll see it's 'er clarss yer've got to fight, not
'er alone. There's a 'ole mob of 'em like 'er, Gawd blind 'em!
YANK--[_Spitting on his hands--belligerently._] De more de merrier when
I gits started. Bring on de gang!
LONG--Yer'll see 'em in arf a mo', when that church lets out. [_He
turns and sees the window display in the two stores for the first
time._] Blimey! Look at that, will yer? [_They both walk back and stand
looking in the jewelers. Long flies into a fury._] Just look at this
'ere bloomin' mess! Just look at it! Look at the bleedin' prices on
'em--more'n our 'old bloody stokehole makes in ten voyages sweatin' in
'ell! And they--her and her bloody clarss--buys 'em for toys to dangle
on 'em! One of these 'ere would buy scoff for a starvin' family for a
year!
YANK--Aw, cut de sob stuff! T' hell wit de starvin' family! Yuh'll be
passin' de hat to me next. [_With naive admiration._] Say, dem tings is
pretty, huh? Bet yuh dey'd hock for a piece of change aw right. [_Then
turning away, bored._] But, aw hell, what good are dey? Let her have
'em. Dey don't belong no more'n she does. [_With a gesture of sweeping
the jewelers into oblivion._] All dat don't count, get me?
LONG--[_Who has moved to the furriers--indignantly._] And I s'pose this
'ere don't count neither--skins of poor, 'armless animals slaughtered
so as 'er and 'ers can keep their bleedin' noses warm!
YANK--[_Who has been staring at something inside--with queer
excitement._] Take a slant at dat! Give it de once-over! Monkey
fur--two t'ousand bucks! [_Bewilderedly._] Is dat straight
goods--monkey fur? What de hell--?
LONG--[_Bitterly._] It's straight enuf. [_With grim humor._] They
wouldn't bloody well pay that for a 'airy ape's skin--no, nor for the
'ole livin' ape with all 'is 'ead, and body, and soul thrown in!
YANK--[_Clenching his fists, his face growing pale with rage as if the
skin in the window were a personal insult._] Trowin' it up in my face!
Christ! I'll fix her!
LONG--[_Excitedly._] Church is out. 'Ere they come, the bleedin' swine.
[_After a glance at Yank's lowering face--uneasily._] Easy goes,
Comrade. Keep yer bloomin' temper. Remember force defeats itself. It
ain't our weapon. We must impress our demands through peaceful
means--the votes of the on-marching proletarians of the bloody world!
YANK--[_With abysmal contempt._] Votes, hell! Votes is a joke, see.
Votes for women! Let dem do it!
LONG--[_Still more uneasily._] Calm, now. Treat 'em wiv the proper
contempt. Observe the bleedin' parasites but 'old yer 'orses.
YANK--[_Angrily._] Git away from me! Yuh're yellow, dat's what. Force,
dat's me! De punch, dat's me every time, see! [_The crowd from church
enter from the right, sauntering slowly and affectedly, their heads
held stiffly up, looking neither to right nor left, talking in
toneless, simpering voices. The women are rouged, calcimined, dyed,
overdressed to the nth degree. The men are in Prince Alberts, high
hats, spats, canes, etc. A procession of gaudy marionettes, yet with
something of the relentless horror of Frankensteins in their detached,
mechanical unawareness._]
VOICES--Dear Doctor Caiaphas! He is so sincere!
What was the sermon? I dozed off.
About the radicals, my dear--and the false
doctrines that are being preached.
We must organize a hundred per cent American bazaar.
And let everyone contribute one one-hundredth percent
of their income tax.
What an original idea!
We can devote the proceeds to rehabilitating the veil of the
temple.
But that has been done so many times.
YANK--[_Glaring from one to the other of them--with an insulting snort
of scorn._] Huh! Huh! [_Without seeming to see him, they make wide
detours to avoid the spot where he stands in the middle of the
sidewalk._]
LONG--[_Frightenedly._] Keep yer bloomin' mouth shut, I tells yer.
YANK--[_Viciously._] G'wan! Tell it to Sweeney! [_He swaggers away and
deliberately lurches into a top-hatted gentleman, then glares at him
pugnaciously._] Say, who d'yuh tink yuh're bumpin'? Tink yuh own de
oith?
GENTLEMAN--[_Coldly and affectedly._] I beg your pardon. [_He has not
looked at YANK and passes on without a glance, leaving him bewildered._]
LONG--[_Rushing up and grabbing YANK's arm._] 'Ere! Come away! This
wasn't what I meant. Yer'll 'ave the bloody coppers down on us.
YANK--[_Savagely--giving him a push that sends him sprawling._] G'wan!
LONG--[_Picks himself up--hysterically._] I'll pop orf then. This ain't
what I meant. And whatever 'appens, yer can't blame me. [_He slinks off
left._]
YANK--T' hell wit youse! [_He approaches a lady--with a vicious grin
and a smirking wink._] Hello, Kiddo. How's every little ting? Got
anyting on for to-night? I know an old boiler down to de docks we kin
crawl into. [_The lady stalks by without a look, without a change of
pace. YANK turns to others--insultingly._] Holy smokes, what a mug! Go
hide yuhself before de horses shy at yuh. Gee, pipe de heinie on dat
one! Say, youse, yuh look like de stoin of a ferryboat. Paint and
powder! All dolled up to kill! Yuh look like stiffs laid out for de
boneyard! Aw, g'wan, de lot of youse! Yuh give me de eye-ache. Yuh
don't belong, get me! Look at me, why don't youse dare? I belong, dat's
me! [_Pointing to a skyscraper across the street which is in process of
construction--with bravado._] See dat building goin' up dere? See de
steel work? Steel, dat's me! Youse guys live on it and tink yuh're
somep'n. But I'm IN it, see! I'm de hoistin' engine dat makes it go up!
I'm it--de inside and bottom of it! Sure! I'm steel and steam and smoke
and de rest of it! It moves--speed--twenty-five stories up--and me at
de top and bottom--movin'! Youse simps don't move. Yuh're on'y dolls I
winds up to see 'm spin. Yuh're de garbage, get me--de leavins--de
ashes we dump over de side! Now, whata yuh gotto say? [_But as they
seem neither to see nor hear him, he flies into a fury._] Bums! Pigs!
Tarts! Bitches! [_He turns in a rage on the men, bumping viciously into
them but not jarring them the least bit. Rather it is he who recoils
after each collision. He keeps growling._] Git off de oith! G'wan, yuh
bum! Look where yuh're goin,' can't yuh? Git outa here! Fight, why
don't yuh? Put up yer mits! Don't be a dog! Fight or I'll knock yuh
dead! [_But, without seeming to see him, they all answer with
mechanical affected politeness:_] I beg your pardon. [_Then at a cry
from one of the women, they all scurry to the furrier's window._]
THE WOMAN--[_Ecstatically, with a gasp of delight._] Monkey fur! [_The
whole crowd of men and women chorus after her in the same tone of
affected delight._] Monkey fur!
YANK--[_With a jerk of his head back on his shoulders, as if he had
received a punch full in the face--raging._] I see yuh, all in white! I
see yuh, yuh white-faced tart, yuh! Hairy ape, huh? I'll hairy ape yuh!
[_He bends down and grips at the street curbing as if to pluck it out
and hurl it. Foiled in this, snarling with passion, he leaps to the
lamp-post on the corner and tries to pull it up for a club. Just at
that moment a bus is heard rumbling up. A fat, high-hatted, spatted
gentleman runs out from the side street. He calls out plaintively:
"Bus! Bus! Stop there!" and runs full tilt into the bending, straining
YANK, who is bowled off his balance._]
YANK--[_Seeing a fight--with a roar of joy as he springs to his feet._]
At last! Bus, huh? I'll bust yuh! [_He lets drive a terrific swing, his
fist landing full on the fat gentleman's face. But the gentleman stands
unmoved as if nothing had happened._]
GENTLEMAN--I beg your pardon. [_Then irritably._] You have made me lose
my bus. [_He claps his hands and begins to scream:_] Officer! Officer!
[_Many police whistles shrill out on the instant and a whole platoon of
policemen rush in on YANK from all sides. He tries to fight but is
clubbed to the pavement and fallen upon. The crowd at the window have
not moved or noticed this disturbance. The clanging gong of the patrol
wagon approaches with a clamoring din._]
[_Curtain_]