ACT IV.

Scene:The drug-store, as in Acts I and II.

At rise:The line of convicts is filing past the counter, as at the opening of Act I, having their prescriptions put up by Porter. They are in a state of angry excitement, with difficulty repressed by the guards. Every man is moaning or snarling at every moment when the guards’ eyes are not upon him. The guards move here and there, threatening men with their clubs and commanding: “Silence! Shut up there! Hold your tongue!” But at some other place in the line men will shout, exclamations which are repeated again and again: “Jimmie Valentine is dead! You murdered Jimmie Valentine! Liars! Scoundrels! To hell with you! To hell with the state of Ohio! God damn this prison! You killed Jimmie Valentine! Murderers!” Porter fills the prescriptions, keeping tightly shut lips, but his hands are trembling, and it is evident that he also is deeply moved. Joe is making his usual pretense of cleaning up, but with difficulty, because of his excitement; he turns this way and that as he hears the cries, and his eyes are staring wide. Finally the last of the line is driven off, and the roaring dies away to a murmur.

Joe: Gawdamighty, Misteh Porteh, de men in his place is sho gone crazy! Dey is somethin goin to bust loose here tonight. (Porter makes no reply, but puts away his boxes and bottles) Oh, dat po feller, Jimmie Valentine! Didn’t even give him a chance to see his po ole mammy! Misteh Porteh, did you hear what dey say bout her? (silence from Porter) Dey say she’s stannin all day out by de gate in de snow. Dey won’t even let her in to see de body; dey ain’t tole her when dey gwine bury him. What you spose dey got agin dat po ole woman? (No answer) Ah knows how it is, Misteh Porteh, you doan trust yoself to open yo mouth bout his hyar business. Well, Ah seen times when I’d missed a lot o trouble if Ah’d kep my mouf shut. Maybe dis is one of em. Well, Ah go empty de trash-basket. (takes the basket and goes off left. Porter sits at his desk, staring in front of him)

Dr. Walters(enters right): Well, Porter?

Porter: Good evening, doctor.

Dr.: Having trouble here this evening?

Porter: A little noise.

Dr.: Too bad! Too bad! A nasty situation. Looks as if it might be worse before it’s better. What do you think?

Porter: I am here as an inmate, doctor; I am not supposed to have opinions.

Dr.: Humph! Discretion is the better part of valor. Well, have you anything to report to me?

Porter: I took the liberty of sewing up the head of a guard who had a spike thrown at him.

Dr.: Seems a good job; thank you.

Porter: Here is the week’s report. (hands him paper; he takes the paper and examines it. Joe appears at door, left, with empty trash-basket; seeing the doctor he stops, and thus overhears the conversation which follows)

Dr.: By the way, another matter—not a pleasant one. (he goes to the shelf and takes bottle of alcohol) This alcohol continues to disappear.

Porter: I don’t think so, sir.

Dr.: You don’t? (he holds it to the light critically)

Porter: I have had occasion to use quite a little of it on my night’s rounds.

Dr.: Indeed? (a pause) I think it will be advisable for me to go with you on your rounds, and see how that happens.

Porter: Certainly, doctor. (a pause) There is something I will say about that.

Dr.: Well?

Porter: I hope you are not suspecting me of being a thief.

Dr.: I have no right to do so; but it is my duty to try to make certain about the matter. We cannot have drinking going on in this institution, especially at such a ticklish time as this. I don’t like the job of playing detective, but somebody has to do it.

Porter: Doctor, I wish you to understand something that I have never before talked about in this place. I am here because I was accused of taking bank funds; but somebody else got that money—I did not. I am taking what fate handed out to me, but I wish you to know that I am not that sort of man.

Dr.: I possess a normal amount of discernment, Porter, and I appreciate your services in this position; it is not always easy to find a registered pharmacist in a prison.

Porter: Thank you, doctor.

Dr.: Nevertheless, it will be my duty to go the rounds with you this evening.

Porter: Very well. (the doctor goes out, right, and Porter remains seated at his desk, staring gloomily before him)

Joe(comes on, puts down the empty trash-basket, and begins feeble pretense at dusting the bottles and boxes): Misteh Porteh, you didn’t see po Jimmie Valentine befo he died, did you? (silence) Ah spose you jes couldnt bear it. Lordy, but mah eyes is sore wid all dis cryin. (silence) Dat Docteh Walters is a stiff kindeh genleman, aint he, Misteh Porteh? (silence) He say he doan like to play detective, but he do it good, seem to me.

Porter(sternly): What do you know about that?

Joe(scared): Ah was comin, Misteh Porteh—Ah had to come in wid de trash-basket, Ah couldn’t hep hearin. Ah wasnt meanin to spy—de Lawd knowsAhaint no detective, naw suh! (silence) But youknow (timidly) Ah was goin be yobody-servant, and kindeh look out fo you; an Ah know dat Docteh Walters is a stiff kindeh genleman—he’s a Yankee genleman, not like dey is in de South.

Porter: Get out of here now and stop your chatter.

Joe(goes right, towards the door into hospital; as he reaches the door a low murmur comes from the next room, and rises to a clamor of moans and protest; Joe looks off, then turns to Porter): Oh, Misteh Porteh, dey’s come to put dat po Jimmie Valentine in de wheel-barrow. An dey aint let his po ole Mammy see him! Oh, dat po feller! Oh, dat po feller! He’s daid an gone an dey goin to put him in de wheel-barrow! (his voice rises to a wail as he goes off right)

Porter(puts his hands to his ears to shut out the sounds; his manner indicating utter despair and breakdown): Oh, God! Oh, God! (as the clamor from the next room continues, he rises, looks about him cautiously, and then crosses to the shelf containing the bottle of alcohol. He takes a glass and starts to pour some out)

Joe(reappears in doorway, right, and watches Porter, then runs quickly to him in distress): Oh, Misteh Porteh, naw suh, you mussnt do dat, suh!

Porter(angrily): What the devil have you to do with it?

Joe(in frenzy of fear): Oh, Misteh Porteh, suh, dat Docteh Walters fin’ it out! Oh, suh, de Lawd hep us, suh, dey put you in de hole, dey take you down in de basement and paddle you, dey give you de water sho—you couldn’t stan it, Misteh Porteh, oh suh, please suh—doan let em ketch you takin it!

Porter(draws himself up with dignity): Joe, you are making a presumptuous fool of yourself.

Joe: Listen, Misteh Porteh, suh, you aint quite yosef right now, Ah knows how it is, suh, you mos crazy oveh what happen to dat po Jimmie Valentine! But oh, suh,pleasesuh—doan take it out o dat bottle—

Porter: You black ape, how do you know what’s in this bottle?

Joe: Ah knows, Misteh Porteh, Ahshoknows!

Porter: I thought you said you couldn’t read.

Joe: Hanwritin, Misteh Porteh, hanwritin. But Ah knows what’s in dat bottle, cause Ah done tuck it mahself—many’s a time—

Porter: Why, you infernal scoundrel!

Joe: Befo you come hyar, Misteh Porteh, Ah tuck it. Not since you come, boss. Ah wouldn’t do nothin to git you into trouble. Aint you tole me Ah was yo body-servant, jes like mah ole daddy in de Jedge Adair famly?

Porter: Was it the duty of the body-servant to run his master’s life?

Joe: Yes, Misteh Porteh, hones, it sho nuff was. (he grins) Misteh Porteh, lemme tell you story—a sho nuff true story, what you kin write—it’s what mah ole daddy tole me jes befo he died—he hadn’t never tole it befo, but he wanted me to know bout Jedge Adair an de famly troubles. De Jedge, he was president of de Traders’Bank, and de bank was gittin into trouble. Mah ole daddy he know bout what was goin on, an he seen de Jedge was worried, he was drinkin too much whiskey. An one night mah ole daddy had to go to de bank, it was somethin what he had forgot to do, so he went at night—he had a key, cause de Jedge he trusted him wid everything. Well, mah ole daddy was in dah, and he heard someone a foolin wid de do’. He thought it was a burglar, so he hid hisself, and who should he see come into de bank but de Jedge hisself. De Jedge went to de vault, an he open it, an he take out a suit-case and start to go off wid it. Mah ole daddy he guess right quick what dat meant, de Jedge was in trouble an goin to run away wid de money of de bank. So mah ole daddy come out an speak to him an plead wid him fo de honor of de famly not to take dat suit-case; and de Jedge, first he was mad, den he choke a little, an he say, all right, an say no mo, an mah ole daddy drive him to de depot an he go away widout de suit-case.

Porter(puts the bottle back in its place and stands thinking about the story): Where did he go, Joe?

Joe: He went fishin, Misteh Porteh.

Porter: Fishing!

Joe: Yessuh; he was a goin fishin wid Cunnel Gwathmey.

Porter: But what did he want with the bank’s money if he was going fishing?

Joe: Ah dunno dat, boss; maybe he meant to hide it.

Porter: Did the judge ever admit to your father what he hadin that suit-case?

Joe: Naw, suh, he doan never speak of it again.

Porter: And your father never had a chance to look into it?

Joe: Naw, suh.

Porter: And you say the judge was drinking too much?

Joe: Yes, suh, dey was talk of it.

Porter: Well, you ebony jackass, you woolly baboon! (a chuckle) You wait, and I’ll write that story, and read it to you, and you’ll see what it was Judge Adair left behind him when he went fishing with Colonel Gwathmey!

Joe(puzzled, but pleased to have accomplished his purpose): All right, boss, Ah sho be glad to hear dat story. Yes suh, Ah be glad to hear any story what you write, cause Ah sho been hearin a lot bout dis writin you’re doin—(sounds of shrieks from under the stage; Joe starts) Oh, Misteh Porteh, dey beatin some po felleh fo makin a noise! Dey be beatin a whole pile of em—all night long, fo helpin in dis ruction! Us gotta stay here all night an lissen to em, Misteh Porteh; you gotta stan it somehow!

Porter(distracted): Yes, I’ve got to stand it!

Joe(a fresh roar from the hospital, off right): Oh, dat po Jimmie Valentine! (he goes to door and looks off) Oh, dey got him in de wheel-barrow! Dat po Jimmie Valentine, dey takin him to de dead-house, an his po ole mammy aint seen him! (the sound of the wheel-barrow off right, approaching)

Porter(wildly): Turn off that light, Joe. I can’t stand the sight of it! (he staggers to the desk, and falls into the chair, his head buried in his arms).

Joe(switches off the light. His voice rises to a shriek): Dat po Jimmie Valentine! Dat po Jimmie Valentine!

(The wheel-barrow crosses from right to left, as in Act I. The sounds of its bumping become thunderous; these sounds, with the clamor from the hospital, the cries from under the stage, and the wailing of Joe, cover a quick change to the bank scene as in Act II. Joe exit. When the change is complete, the noise dies away, and violet light appears upon the scene, disclosing Porter seated at the desk in the bank, staring before him in deep thought.)

Jimmie Valentine(enters, in his dapper business man aspect; he greets Porter with quiet friendliness): Hello, Mr. Porter.

Porter(quietly, in half-dream fashion): Hellow, Jimmie. (pause) Jimmie, I’m a damned coward.

Jimmie: Oh, no, Mr. Porter.

Porter: I didn’t come to see you before you died, Jimmie; I ducked on it.

Jimmie: Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Porter, I understood that.

Porter: I just couldn’t bear it; I knew I’d break down, and I ran away.

Jimmie: There wasn’t a thing you could do, Mr. Porter—it was better to have it over with.

Porter: And that poor old mother of yours, waiting outside at the gate in the snow—

Jimmie: It wouldn’t have done any good for me to see her, Mr. Porter. Nothing would really make her happy but to have me back as a kid.

Porter: Life doesn’t do us that favor, Jimmie.

Jimmie: I know it. But I’m all right now. I’m going to marry a sweet girl, and be vice-president of this bank before long. Would you like me to show you how I opened the vault?

Porter: No, Jimmie, no! That’s another way I was a coward; I wrote it differently—I had you use a kit of tools.

Jimmie: That’s all right, Mr. Porter—that’s the way I wanted it. People will see me like I wanted to be, and maybe that’ll help some poor kid to keep straight. Write your stories that way, and people will get some good out of them. Well, so long, Mr. Porter.

Porter: So long, Jimmie. (he rises and goes left, to wave Jimmie off; after Jimmie has gone, he stands partly in the shadows; the light grows dimmer)

(Uncle Caesar enters right; he is Joe, made up as his old father, but wearing blue uniform and cap. He pays no attention to Porter, but takes some papers from cashier’s drawer and puts them in his pocket, and is about to leave, when there is a sound at the door off right; he steps back into the shadows and stands watching as the Judge enters, made up as Judge Adair, bank president, clad in longwaterproof coat, waterproof fisherman’s hat, and carrying several fishing rods, disjointed and wrapped in little cloth covers. The Judge does not see Porter or Caesar, but sets his rods on the desk and goes to the vault and turns the combination and opens it; he goes in and comes out at once, carrying suit-case)

Caesar(having watched this procedure with signs of intense concern, now comes forward, hesitating and trembling): Marse Jedge.

Judge(starts): Who’s that? Caesar? Why, you old blackguard, what the devil you doin’ here this time of night?

Caesar: Ah done tole Sisteh Adeline Hoskins to come to mah house at sebin o’clock tomorrer mawnin, fo to git de pass-book of de Sons and Daughters of de Burnin Bush, fo to kyar it to de meetin of de bo’d of rangements. Ah done fogit it, so Ah come to git it.

Judge: Humph! You better get home out of the night air. It’s damp. You’ll hardly be worth killing tomorrow on account of your rheumatism. Think it’ll be a clear day, Caesar?

Caesar(terribly embarrassed and frightened, but summoning his resolution and stammering): Ah low it will, suh. De sun sot red las night Marse Jedge, you member de day dey-all rode de tunnament at Oak Lawn? De day, suh, dat you win in de ridin, and you crown Miss Lucy de queen?

Judge: Tournament? Yes, I remember very well—but what the deuce are you talking about tournaments here at midnight for? Go long home, Caesar. I believe you’re sleep-walking.

Caesar: Miss Lucy tetch you on de shoulder, wid a sword, an say: “Ah mek you a knight; rise up, pure an fearless an widout reproach.” Dat what Miss Lucy say. Dat’s been a long time ago, but me nor you ain’t forgot it. An den dar’s another time we ain’t forgot—de time when Miss Lucy lay on her las bed. She sent for Uncle Caesar, an she say: “Uncle Caesar, when Ah die, Ah want you to take good care of Marse Jedge. Seem like”—so Miss Lucy say—“he listen to you mo dan to anybody else. He apt to be mighty fractious sometimes, an maybe he cuss you when you try to suade him, but he need somebody what understan him to be roun wid him. He am like a little child sometimes”—so Miss Lucy say, wid her eyes shinin in her po, thin face—“but he always been”—dem was her words—“my knight, pure an fearless an widout reproach.”

Judge: You—you old windbag! I believe you are crazy. I told you to go home, Caesar. Miss Lucy said that, did she? Well, we haven’t kept thescutcheon very clear. Two years ago last week, wasn’t it, Caesar, when she died? Confound it! Are you going to stand there all night gabbing like a coffee-colored gander?

Caesar: Marse Jedge, fo Gawd’s sake, doan take dis wid you. Ah knows what’s in it. Don kyar it wid you. Dey’s big trouble in dat valise for you. Hit’s bound to destroy de name of Adair an bow down dem dat own it wid shame and triberlation. Marse Judge, you can kill dis ole nigger ef you will, but don’t take away dis hyar valise. If Ah ever crosses over de Jordan, what Ah gwine to say toMiss Lucy when she ax me: “Uncle Caesar, wharfo didn you take good care of Marse Jedge?”

Judge: Caesar, you have overstepped all bounds. You have presumed upon the leniency with which you have been treated to meddle unpardonably. So you know what is in this satchel! Your long and faithful service is some excuse, but—go home, Caesar—not another word!

Caesar: Marse Jedge, gimme dis hyar valise. Ah got a right, suh, to talk to you dis hyar way. Ah slaved fo you an tended to you from a child up. I went th’ough de war as yo body-servant tell we whipped de Yankees an sent em back to de No’th. Ah was at yo weddin, an Ah was n fur away when yo Miss Azalea was bawn. Ah been a Adair, all cept in color an ’titlements. Both of us is old, Marse Jedge. Taint goin to be long tell we gwine to see Miss Lucy an has to give an account of our doins. De ole nigger man wont be spected to say much mo dan he done all he could by de famly dat owned him. But de Adairs, dey must say dey been livin pure an fearless an widout reproach. Gimme dis valise, Marse Jedge—Ah’m gwine to hab it. Ah’m gwine to do Miss Lucy’s biddin. Turn er loose, Marse Jedge.

Judge: Take it, Caesar. And let the subject drop—now mind! You’ve said quite enough.

Jennings(calls off right): Hello, there, Judge! Are you comin? (enters, as Colonel Gwathmey, in fishing costume, with rods) We’ll miss that train. What’s the matter here?

Judge: Well, Colonel, I’ve been having a little trouble. I came in to get the liquor that I had in this suit-case—

Caesar(with gestures of amazement and confusion): What’s dat you say, Marse Jedge?

Judge: I said the liquor that I had in this suit-case. What did you think I had in it?

Caesar(staggered): Ah—Ah—oh—Ah—dat is—(recovering himself suddenly) Dat’s right, Marse Jedge, de liquor. Ah didn’t zacly hear straight, Ah’s gittin so ole—mah ears is wusser an wusser—

Judge(to Jennings): Well, this infernally presumptuous old nigger has been breaking up our arrangements. I don’t know how he found out what I was doing—I had the liquor hid in that vault, and was trying to sneak it out, but here he is, and he’s vetoed the proceedings. He means right, and—well, I reckon heisright. He has noticed that I’ve been indulging a little more than a gentleman should, and he has laid for me some reaching arguments.

Jennings: Well, I’ll be hornswoggled.

Judge: I’m going to quit drinking. I’ve come to the conclusion that a man can’t keep it up and be quite what he’d like to be—“pure and fearless and without reproach”—that’s the way old Caesar quoted it.

Jennings: Well, I’ll have to admit that the old darkey’s argument can’t conscientiously be overruled.

Judge: Still (with a ghost of a smile) there are two quarts of the finest old silk-velvet Bourbon in that satchel you ever wet your lips with. Take it home, Caesar, and put it somewhere I can’t find it!

Caesar: Yes, Marse Jedge; thank’ee, Cunnel Gwathmey. Ah hopes you genlemen has a good fishin day. Looks to me like it promise mighty fine weather—de sun sot red las night, an you know what dat means fo fishermen’s luck. Ah members one time when de Jedge an me was youngsters—(the three of them go off, at right, in the midst of the Negro’s chatter)

Porter(wanders about distracted; goes to cashier’s drawer and opens it): It’s gone! It’s gone! The money isn’t here that ought to be here. And they’ll blame me for it! Oh, why did I ever come into a bank? What do I know about taking care of money? (he stops and gazes at Athol, who enters right, clad as in Act I)

Athol(drifts towards him, dreamlike, silent; at last she whispers): Will!

Porter: Athol! (with intense distress) Sweetheart, some of the money is gone from the drawer, and they’re blaming me for it. You know how it is—people take money out, and they’re supposed to put in a slip, but they forget to do it and what can I do?

Athol: Will, dear, I love you.

Porter: They are going to put me in prison—five years, they’ve sentenced me to. And when I come out, I’ll be an ex-convict. People will brand me with it—I’ll never be able to escape!

Athol: Will, dear.

Porter(sobs): Sweetheart, I can’t go to prison, oh, I can’t stand it! I’m going to die! I’ll kill myself!

Athol(gently): No, Will, you won’t do that. You know that I love you. And there is Margaret—who would take care of her? I can’t last much longer, you know.

Porter: Oh, God, I can’t stand being in prison—the things they’ll do to me! They’ll handcuff me, and shave my head, and put me in stripes—they may even beat me! I’ll come out a maniac!

Athol: Whatever they do, you will stand it for my sake. And you will come out, and start over, and be yourself. You know my faith in you, Will—and you have to be the thing I have dreamed.

Porter(with sudden intensity): Listen, Athol, there is an easy way to die; the thought of it haunts me—to die for the poor devils in prison! That’s what I ought to do—take a stand against the graft and cruelty, and let anything come that will!

Athol(embraces him, tenderly, as if he were her child): A man’s wife learns to know him, Will. Listen; you will die many deaths, in your imagination; but always you will live to die others.

Porter(yielding a little to her beguilement): Ah, sweetheart, if only I could have your guidance.

Athol(leads him to chair beside the desk, facing audience; she kneels beside him): You have it, Will—always; you have everything you’ve ever had, and many things you’ve only dreamed. Preciousgifts, you have—fancy, and tenderness—and merry words, a shining flood. You will take them into prison with you, and bring them out unharmed; and you will learn new things, new understanding, new pity—and the future will be before you. You will find a way to help people—your own way; to suggest a little kindness to them, a little humor, in the hope that sometime it will become contagious.

Porter: I said those very words in the prison; I am always quoting you.

Athol: Once upon a time you told me about some foolish person in New York who talked about the Four Hundred—those few who really counted. You said you would write about the Four Million—they were the ones who counted.

Porter: I think of that now and then.

Athol: Write about them, Will! Writeforthem! I see them, eager, hungry, craving just the sort of pity mixed with laughter that is your gift. Yes, I see them! Will! Will—look at them! (she points; a searchlight behind the scenes is suddenly turned upon the audience through an aperture in the back drop; it plays here and there, and Athol’s voice rises with excitement) Faces! Faces! Millions of faces—and all of them your lovers! Eager faces, shining, with gratitude, with hope, with fun—all of them ready to cheer you, to shout to you—to tell the affection they bear you! Go forth, Will Porter! Do your work, and take your place as their story teller—the voice of the Four Million!

(Dulcie enters at right; the little shop-girl, clad in pitiful imitation finery; frail, emaciated, hungry in body and soul; she carries a wreath of laurel)

Porter: Who are you?

Dulcie: I am Dulcie, the little shop-girl. Mine is the Unfinished Story, which you will finish. I have never had a true friend—not among men; but you are my friend. (she puts the wreath upon his head) Rise, O. Henry, the little shop-girl’s knight! (he rises, and she steps back a foot or two, and recites)

He comes with vaudeville, with stare and leer.He comes with megaphone and specious cheer.His troupe, too fat or short or long or lean,Step from the pages of the magazineWith slapstick or sombrero or with cane:The rube, the cowboy or the masher vain.They overact each part. But at the heightOf banter and of canter and delightThe masks fall off for one queer instant thereAnd show real faces: faces full of careAnd desperate longing: love that’s hot or cold;And subtle thoughts, and countenances bold....And be it said, mid these his pranks so oddWith something nigh to chivalry he trod.And oft the drear and driven would defend—The little shop-girls’ knight unto the end.

He comes with vaudeville, with stare and leer.

He comes with megaphone and specious cheer.

His troupe, too fat or short or long or lean,

Step from the pages of the magazine

With slapstick or sombrero or with cane:

The rube, the cowboy or the masher vain.

They overact each part. But at the height

Of banter and of canter and delight

The masks fall off for one queer instant there

And show real faces: faces full of care

And desperate longing: love that’s hot or cold;

And subtle thoughts, and countenances bold....

And be it said, mid these his pranks so oddWith something nigh to chivalry he trod.And oft the drear and driven would defend—The little shop-girls’ knight unto the end.

And be it said, mid these his pranks so odd

With something nigh to chivalry he trod.

And oft the drear and driven would defend—

The little shop-girls’ knight unto the end.

MAMMONARTAn Essay in Economic Interpretation“Mammonart” studies the artists from a point of view entirely new; asking how they get their living, and what they do for it; turning their pockets inside out, seeing what is in them and where it comes from.“Mammonart” puts to painters, sculptors, poets, novelists, dramatists and composers the question already put to priests and preachers, editors and journalists, college presidents and professors, school superintendents and teachers:WHO OWNS YOU, AND WHY?“Mammonart” examines art and literature as instruments of propaganda and repression, employed by ruling classes of the community; or as weapons of attack, employed by new classes rising into power.“Mammonart” challenges the great ones now honored by critical authority and asks to what extent they are servants of ruling-class prestige and instruments of ruling-class safety.“Mammonart” asserts that mankind is today under the spell of utterly false conceptions of what art is and should be; of utterly vicious and perverted standards of beauty and dignity in all the arts.“Mammonart” is a history of culture, and also a battle-cry.E. HALDEMAN JULIUS telegraphs: “This is real constructive criticism. My heartiest congratulations.”GEORGE STERLING writes: “You may not know everything, son, but you can sure turn out interesting stuff!”400 PAGES. CLOTH $2.00; PAPER $1.00UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, Calif.

MAMMONARTAn Essay in Economic Interpretation

MAMMONART

An Essay in Economic Interpretation

“Mammonart” studies the artists from a point of view entirely new; asking how they get their living, and what they do for it; turning their pockets inside out, seeing what is in them and where it comes from.

“Mammonart” puts to painters, sculptors, poets, novelists, dramatists and composers the question already put to priests and preachers, editors and journalists, college presidents and professors, school superintendents and teachers:WHO OWNS YOU, AND WHY?

“Mammonart” examines art and literature as instruments of propaganda and repression, employed by ruling classes of the community; or as weapons of attack, employed by new classes rising into power.

“Mammonart” challenges the great ones now honored by critical authority and asks to what extent they are servants of ruling-class prestige and instruments of ruling-class safety.

“Mammonart” asserts that mankind is today under the spell of utterly false conceptions of what art is and should be; of utterly vicious and perverted standards of beauty and dignity in all the arts.

“Mammonart” is a history of culture, and also a battle-cry.

E. HALDEMAN JULIUS telegraphs: “This is real constructive criticism. My heartiest congratulations.”

GEORGE STERLING writes: “You may not know everything, son, but you can sure turn out interesting stuff!”

400 PAGES. CLOTH $2.00; PAPER $1.00UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, Calif.

400 PAGES. CLOTH $2.00; PAPER $1.00

UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, Calif.

The Brass CheckA Study of American JournalismWho owns the press and why?When you read your daily paper, are you reading facts or propaganda? And whose propaganda?Who furnishes the raw material for your thoughts about life? Is it honest material?No man can ask more important questions than these; and here for the first time the questions are answered in a book.The first edition of this book, 23,000 copies, was sold out two weeks after publication. Paper could not be obtained for printing, and a carload of brown wrapping paper was used. The printings to date amount to 144,000 copies. The book is being published in Great Britain and colonies, and in translations in Germany, France, Holland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Italy, Hungary and Japan.Hermann Bessemer, in the “Neues Journal,” Vienna:“Upton Sinclair deals with names, only with names, with balances, with figures, with documents, a truly stunning, gigantic fact-material. His book is an armored military train which with rushing pistons roars through the jungle of American monster-lies, whistling, roaring, shooting, chopping off with Berserker rage the obscene heads of these evils. A breath-taking, clutching, frightful book.”From the pastor of the Community Church, New York:“I am writing to thank you for sending me a copy of your new book, ‘The Brass Check.’ Although it arrived only a few days ago, I have already read it through, every word, and have loaned it to one of my colleagues for reading. The book is tremendous. I have never read a more strongly consistent argument or one so formidably buttressed by facts. You have proved your case to the handle. I again take satisfaction in saluting you not only as a great novelist, but as the ablest pamphleteer in America today. I am already passing around the word in my church and taking orders for the book.”—John Haynes Holmes.440 pages. Cloth-bound, $1.50; paper-bound, $1UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, Calif.

The Brass CheckA Study of American Journalism

The Brass Check

A Study of American Journalism

Who owns the press and why?

When you read your daily paper, are you reading facts or propaganda? And whose propaganda?

Who furnishes the raw material for your thoughts about life? Is it honest material?

No man can ask more important questions than these; and here for the first time the questions are answered in a book.

The first edition of this book, 23,000 copies, was sold out two weeks after publication. Paper could not be obtained for printing, and a carload of brown wrapping paper was used. The printings to date amount to 144,000 copies. The book is being published in Great Britain and colonies, and in translations in Germany, France, Holland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Italy, Hungary and Japan.

Hermann Bessemer, in the “Neues Journal,” Vienna:

“Upton Sinclair deals with names, only with names, with balances, with figures, with documents, a truly stunning, gigantic fact-material. His book is an armored military train which with rushing pistons roars through the jungle of American monster-lies, whistling, roaring, shooting, chopping off with Berserker rage the obscene heads of these evils. A breath-taking, clutching, frightful book.”

From the pastor of the Community Church, New York:

“I am writing to thank you for sending me a copy of your new book, ‘The Brass Check.’ Although it arrived only a few days ago, I have already read it through, every word, and have loaned it to one of my colleagues for reading. The book is tremendous. I have never read a more strongly consistent argument or one so formidably buttressed by facts. You have proved your case to the handle. I again take satisfaction in saluting you not only as a great novelist, but as the ablest pamphleteer in America today. I am already passing around the word in my church and taking orders for the book.”—John Haynes Holmes.

440 pages. Cloth-bound, $1.50; paper-bound, $1UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, Calif.

440 pages. Cloth-bound, $1.50; paper-bound, $1

UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, Calif.

THE GOSLINGSA Study of American SchoolsBy Upton SinclairWho owns the schools, and why?Are your children getting education, or propaganda? And whose propaganda?No man can ask more important questions than these; and here for the first time the questions are answered in a book.H. L. MENCKEN on “The Goslings”: “I’d be recreant to my vows at ordination if I did not commend his volume unqualifiedly as excellent reading. It is, in fact, one of the most interesting books I have got through for months. It presents a vast mass of scandalous and amusing facts, it sorts them out very deftly, and it is very well written. Why he has had to publish it himself I can’t make out. Are all the regular publishers idiots?”The Los Angeles “Times” on “The Goslings”: “As to the truth of the charges, we have only the author’s word for it.... One would think that if one-half of the charges are true something should be done about it; on the other hand, if they are not true, something should be done to suppress the book.”From Floyd Dell: “Written with a magnificent and tragic candor.”“The Goslings,” 464 pages; cloth $2, paper $1UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, California

THE GOSLINGSA Study of American SchoolsBy Upton Sinclair

THE GOSLINGS

A Study of American Schools

By Upton Sinclair

Who owns the schools, and why?

Are your children getting education, or propaganda? And whose propaganda?

No man can ask more important questions than these; and here for the first time the questions are answered in a book.

H. L. MENCKEN on “The Goslings”: “I’d be recreant to my vows at ordination if I did not commend his volume unqualifiedly as excellent reading. It is, in fact, one of the most interesting books I have got through for months. It presents a vast mass of scandalous and amusing facts, it sorts them out very deftly, and it is very well written. Why he has had to publish it himself I can’t make out. Are all the regular publishers idiots?”

The Los Angeles “Times” on “The Goslings”: “As to the truth of the charges, we have only the author’s word for it.... One would think that if one-half of the charges are true something should be done about it; on the other hand, if they are not true, something should be done to suppress the book.”

From Floyd Dell: “Written with a magnificent and tragic candor.”

“The Goslings,” 464 pages; cloth $2, paper $1UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, California

“The Goslings,” 464 pages; cloth $2, paper $1

UPTON SINCLAIR, Pasadena, California

THE GOOSE-STEPA Study of American EducationBy Upton SinclairWho owns the colleges, and why?Are your sons and daughters getting education, or propaganda?And whose propaganda?No man can ask more important questions than these; and here for the first time the questions are answered in a book.From H. L. MENCKEN:“‘The Goose-Step’ came in at last yesterday afternoon, and I fell on it last night. My very sincere congratulations. I have read on and on with constant joy in the adept marshalling of facts, the shrewd presentation of personalities, the lively and incessant humor. It is not only a fine piece of writing; it is also a sound piece of research. It presents a devastating, but, I believe, thoroughly fair and accurate picture of the American universities today. The faults of ‘The Brass Check’ and ‘The Profits of Religion’ are not in it. It is enormously more judicial and convincing than either of those books. You are here complaining of nothing. You simply offer the bald and horrible facts—but with liveliness, shrewdness, good humor. An appalling picture of a moral and mental debasement! Let every American read it and ponder it!”A few questions considered in “The Goose-Step”: Do you know the extent to which the interlocking directors of railroads and steel and oil and coal and credit in the United States are also the interlocking trustees of American “higher” education? Do you think that our colleges and universities should be modeled on the lines of our government, or on the lines of our department-stores? Do you know that eighty-five per cent of college and university professors are dissatisfied with being managed by floor-walkers? Do you know for how many different actions and opinions a professor may lose his job? Do you know how many professors have to do their own laundry? Do you know why American college presidents with few exceptions are men who do not tell the truth? Do you know to what extent “social position” takes precedence over scholarship in American academic life?A few of the institutions dealt with:The University of the House of Morgan; The University of Lee-Higginson; The University of U. G. I.; The Tiger’s Lair; The Bull-dog’s Den; The University of the Black Hand; The University of the Lumber Trust; The University of the Chimes; The Universities of the Anaconda; The University of the Latter Day Saints; The Mining Camp University.500 pages, cloth $2.00, paper $1.00, postpaid.UPTON SINCLAIR, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

THE GOOSE-STEPA Study of American EducationBy Upton Sinclair

THE GOOSE-STEP

A Study of American Education

By Upton Sinclair

Who owns the colleges, and why?

Are your sons and daughters getting education, or propaganda?

And whose propaganda?

No man can ask more important questions than these; and here for the first time the questions are answered in a book.

From H. L. MENCKEN:

“‘The Goose-Step’ came in at last yesterday afternoon, and I fell on it last night. My very sincere congratulations. I have read on and on with constant joy in the adept marshalling of facts, the shrewd presentation of personalities, the lively and incessant humor. It is not only a fine piece of writing; it is also a sound piece of research. It presents a devastating, but, I believe, thoroughly fair and accurate picture of the American universities today. The faults of ‘The Brass Check’ and ‘The Profits of Religion’ are not in it. It is enormously more judicial and convincing than either of those books. You are here complaining of nothing. You simply offer the bald and horrible facts—but with liveliness, shrewdness, good humor. An appalling picture of a moral and mental debasement! Let every American read it and ponder it!”

A few questions considered in “The Goose-Step”: Do you know the extent to which the interlocking directors of railroads and steel and oil and coal and credit in the United States are also the interlocking trustees of American “higher” education? Do you think that our colleges and universities should be modeled on the lines of our government, or on the lines of our department-stores? Do you know that eighty-five per cent of college and university professors are dissatisfied with being managed by floor-walkers? Do you know for how many different actions and opinions a professor may lose his job? Do you know how many professors have to do their own laundry? Do you know why American college presidents with few exceptions are men who do not tell the truth? Do you know to what extent “social position” takes precedence over scholarship in American academic life?

A few of the institutions dealt with:

The University of the House of Morgan; The University of Lee-Higginson; The University of U. G. I.; The Tiger’s Lair; The Bull-dog’s Den; The University of the Black Hand; The University of the Lumber Trust; The University of the Chimes; The Universities of the Anaconda; The University of the Latter Day Saints; The Mining Camp University.

500 pages, cloth $2.00, paper $1.00, postpaid.UPTON SINCLAIR, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

500 pages, cloth $2.00, paper $1.00, postpaid.

UPTON SINCLAIR, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

Transcriber’s NotesItemized changes from the original text:Front matter: Added period to match other entries in list (Act. IV)p. 3: Removed period from “Al. Jennings”p. 9: Replaced “Misth” with “Misteh” (Ah wants you to know, Misteh Porter)p. 14: Replaced “offstage” with “off-stage” (a voice calling, off-stage right)p. 15: Supplied missing opening parenthesis (Uncle Caesar looks about...)p. 16: Replaced “steal” with “steals”p. 19: Replaced “galliptious” with “galluptious”p. 19: Replaced “silk velvet” with “silk-velvet” (silk-velvet Kentucky Bourbon)p. 30: Removed period from end of stage direction (...fires a shot)p. 33: Replaced “red hot” with “red-hot” (I’ll mix them red-hot)p. 36: Replaced “lemon-peel” with “lemon peel” (lemon peel on the cocktail of creation)p. 40: Substituted em-dash for unclear punctuation in printed text (...teach someone else that trick—)p. 41: Replaced “ma’m” with “ma’am” (forty-five years, ma’am)p. 45: Added colon to match format (sings:)p. 46: Replaced “Well-Fargo” with “Wells-Fargo”p. 46: Added period after “del amor” to match other occurrencesp. 47: Added italics to stage directionp. 48: Removed duplicated word “guards” (“prison guards enter”)p. 52: Replaced “body servant” with “body-servant” (I was goin be yo body-servant)p.53: Removed duplicated word “in” (“had in that suit-case”)p.55: Replaced “scuteheon” with “scutcheon” (haven’t kept the scutcheon very clear)Some other inconsistencies in the original text, including inconsistencies in hyphenation, punctuation in contractions, and variations in spelling in dialect passages, were not corrected.New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

Transcriber’s Notes

Itemized changes from the original text:

Some other inconsistencies in the original text, including inconsistencies in hyphenation, punctuation in contractions, and variations in spelling in dialect passages, were not corrected.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

Back to Index Next